Lace and Bullets: A Hitman Romance (18 page)

She shook her head and hopped on the web, searching for anything to do with her or her stepbrother. It didn’t take long.
Oh my god
.

Photo after photo of the pair of them—Tate’s arms wrapped around her in the booth, him whispering in her ear as he mixed—lit up the website. She’d never heard of
Miami Heat
before, but from first glance, it looked like a gossip rag. She scrolled past the headline—
Knock Out?
—and all the pics to read the few lines of text.

Her hand shook and she bit her cheek to keep from crying. Why would they even be news? She wasn’t a celebrity and Tate never boasted about any sort of fame. It was ridiculous. And this was why the shoot was canceled?

She glanced up and looked at his body sprawled out and snoring in bed. The only man who’d brought her to life in the bedroom. The only man who made her come so hard she thought she’d died. He’d defended her, protected her, shown her a glimpse of heaven. And opened her eyes to the possibility of more. Of love.

But if just being together in the club brought that kind of bad publicity and threatened her career, what would happen if people found out they were step-siblings? It would ruin them both.

She ran her tongue over parched lips and closed her eyes. She couldn’t hurt Tate’s reputation. DJing was his life. Taking it away from him wouldn’t be fair. And she’d worked too hard to walk away from modeling.

A tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away, stooping to pick up her bag and shove her things inside. Tate would understand. He would have to. She scrawled a note on a stray piece of paper and called a cab. With a last look into his bedroom, Jessica took a deep breath and ran.

T
ate rolled
over and flung his arm out, searching for Jessica’s warm body to snuggle against. But he came up empty. He reached further, pawing at the cold sheets until he hit the end of the bed.
Where is she?
“Jess, baby, you in the shower?”

When she didn’t answer, he sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Images of last night—bound arms and legs, flush skin, moaning lips—filled his brain and he smiled. It’d been the best night of his life. And he couldn’t wait to see where their new relationship would go.

Tugging on a pair of boxers, he stumbled out of his room and peeked into the bathroom. No sign of her. Shaking his head, he made his way into the living room and looked around. Her stuff was gone. No bag, no pile of laundry, nothing.

Did she have an early shoot? He swore she said they all started in the afternoon. Glancing at the coffee table, a lone piece of paper caught his eye. It perched on the wood, folded in half with his name scrawled across the front.

A shock wave tore through him.
No. Nonononono
. Snatching it, he unfolded the note and began to read.

Crumpling the paper into a ball, Tate stalked back into his bedroom. He didn’t get it. She’d been the one begging to take it to the next level and he’d been the one resisting. She’d chased him down at the club, flaunting her body, hoping he’d give in and give her what she wanted. Why now, after all they’d shared, did she run away?

It didn’t make any sense. Part of him wanted to hunt her down—confront her and demand answers. But if she’d already said goodbye, would it make any difference? Something changed her mind. Something big.

Uncurling his fingers, he looked down and the wadded up paper. Pulling it apart, he smoothed it into a legible mess and read it again. Her shoot was canceled. Because of them? How would anyone even know?

He grabbed his jeans and pulled them on as his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He picked it up and read the text.

It was from the owner of Blur. “Yo, man. You’re famous. Thanks for the free publicity. It’s gonna be a packed house tonight. Any chance you can DJ?”

Tate frowned and clicked on the link. A Miami gossip rag website filled his phone—with pictures of him and Jessica all over it. He read the article and a wave of nausea threatened to send him to the bathroom. Now he understood.

She was afraid. Afraid the news of them together would ruin her modeling and his gig. And if it had already caused her shoot to be canceled without anyone knowing the complete truth…Then she was right.

He wished she’d never shown up that night. Never come into the club and run into that asshole. Then there’d have been no news, no story. They could be together. Even if it had to stay secret. He’d do it for her.

The DJ job meant nothing compared to Jessica. She’d opened herself up to him. Bared her fucking soul to his hands and lips. And he’d fallen. Hard.

She might not know it, but there’d never be another woman he wanted so much. Loved. Fuck the guilt and shame. He didn’t feel any of it. Not anymore. He’d be a damn bag boy at the grocery store if it meant being with her. But…her career?

A shooting stab of pain arced through him as he thought about it. She’d just caught a break with her first national spread and had a chance to make something of herself. He couldn’t ask her to give up that dream for him. No matter how much his heart wanted her to. He didn’t deserve it.

With a groan, he pulled himself off the bed and tugged on a t-shirt. He needed a distraction from the ache burning inside him before it consumed him.

J
essica trudged
into the kitchen and plopped herself down on a barstool. She’d made the right decision—leaving Tate before he could claim any more of her heart—but it sucked all the same. A gnawing emptiness tore at her insides as she propped herself up on her elbow. She never knew a few days of heaven could leave her so empty and raw.

“Okay. Spill it. You’re obviously grieving and it can’t be just the shoot. What’s going on? Did some boy break your heart?”

Jessica’s mother pushed a steaming cup of coffee across the counter and she took it, wrapping her fingers around the warmth to feel something. Anything other than loss.

“It was my big break, Mom. A spread in a national magazine. With Malcolm Donovan, the photographer. He’s famous.”

“I’m sure, but so are lots of other photographers, honey. That can’t be what’s gotten you so upset. You look like someone killed your cat. Or broke your heart.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yes you do. You’re just being stubborn. No good ever comes from wallowing in self-pity. So talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

“You won’t understand.” Jessica took a sip of coffee and focused on the grain running through the granite counter. If she stared hard enough, she could make out the flecks of gold buried inside.

“It’s Tate isn’t it?”

Jessica snapped her head up, squinting at her mother across the kitchen. “It’s none of your business.”

Her mom gave her one of those ‘oh, honey,’ smiles and stepped close enough to pat the back of her hand. “I’ve been telling your stepfather for years that the two of you would be good together.”

Jessica tried not to let the shock show on her face. “You wouldn’t care if Tate and I dated?”

“Why would I?”

“Because we’re step-siblings. Hello?”

Her mom laughed and shook her head. “So? It’s not like you’re family. Not really. Tate was a legal adult when I married his father. And he has a mother already. A family has nothing to do with what’s written on paper. It’s how you treat each other.”

“It’s wrong.”

“Is it really?”

“How can you even ask that?”

“Think about it this way. Aunt Sylvie’s not your real Aunt. She was our neighbor when you were little. But you still think of her as your Aunt, right?”

“That’s not helping, Mom.”

“Just give me a minute. But what about Harold? He’s your father’s brother—your blood uncle—and you don’t consider him family, do you?”

“No!” Jessica leaned back and gawked at her mother. “He’s an asshole. The way he treated you when you left Dad—it was disgusting.”

“My point exactly. Family is what we make of it, Jessica. What’s on paper has nothing to do with it.” She poured herself a new cup of coffee and took a sip. “If you love Tate and want to be with him, then do it. Your stepfather and I won’t stand in the way.”

“You’re sure Dave feels that way too?”

Her mom paused and gave her a grin. “He’ll come around. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jessica ran her fingers over the rim of her mug and frowned at her mother. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s over. I ended it.”

Her mother sighed and set her mug on the counter. “I figured something like that had to happen. Why? Were you worried about us finding out?”

“In part. But I’m more worried about Tate’s job.”

“Why?”

“I went to his gig. We…um…danced and stuff. He might have punched a guy out because of me.”

“Jessica!”

“I know, it was stupid. But the worst part? Some sleazy gossip magazine took photos of us and plastered them all over its website. That’s what ended the shoot.”

“Did they know who you were?”

“No. But what about next time?”

Her mother frowned but didn’t say anything. She could tell she was holding her tongue. “What is it? What aren’t you saying?”

“Well, I just—I wonder when you started caring so much about what other people think of you. I thought I raised you to let negativity go. There’s always going to be someone out to put you down.”

Jessica took a sip of coffee and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess modeling’s made me more concerned about my image.”

“Then maybe you need to rethink modeling as a career. Do you want to be a slave to random internet magazines? Always watching what you say and do for fear it might give you bad press?”

“I want to be a model.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow and dumped the rest of her coffee in the sink. “Well, then I guess you’ve made your decision. It’s a shame, though. Because you could do a hell of a lot worse than a gorgeous man who cares enough about you to risk his job defending you.”

Jessica blushed and looked away.

“It sounds like Tate risked everything he had for you. And you got scared and ran.”

“It’s better this way.”

“It doesn’t look like it to me. But it’s your decision.” Her mom walked out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs. “Rinse your cup when you’re done, sweetie. I’m going up to take a shower.”

Jessica stared at her mother’s back as she climbed the stairs. Of all the people she’d thought about when the possibility of her and Tate came up, she’d never pegged her mom as a supporter. She’d assumed she’d be equal parts horrified and ashamed. Instead, she was their biggest cheerleader.

She stood up and made her way to the sink, dumping the rest of her coffee down the drain. Was her mother right? Did she spend too much time caring about what strangers thought of her now that she was in the modeling industry? Did it even matter?

She’d already walked away—told Tate goodbye and left before he even woke up. Taking the cowardly way out probably ended any chance she’d have to be with him anyway.

With lead feet, she walked to the door. She needed to go home, get herself together, and move on. Without Tate.

T
he beer helped
, but only marginally. Tate turned the bottle around on the counter, waiting at the bar for the owner to show up. The guy had nailed it—the club was packed and it wasn’t even ten at night. Apparently, in the club circuit, any publicity was good publicity.

He wished it applied to modeling too. He’d thought all day about how to make it work. How to convince her they could be together despite the risk. Over and over he’d read the article, trying to find a way to marginalize it. To make it irrelevant. But if fitness magazines ended photos shoots over it, he didn’t see an answer.

With a mumbled curse, he spun the bottle again, letting the bottom ridges bounce across the counter.

“You work that bottle any harder and you’ll drill a hole right through the bar.”

Tate looked up to see a woman standing next to him. He nodded and went back to messing with the beer.

“You’re DJ T, right?”

He took a swig of the beer and set it back down. “Uh-huh.”

“You’re one lucky guy, then. Jessica is going to be a star.”

With a frown, he turned to the woman. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Jessica Mallory. I saw the photos in
Miami Heat
, I just assumed you two were an item.”

“We were. What about her?”

“I’m sorry, you must think I’m crazy. Brandi Jenkins.” She held out her hand and Tate gave it a brief shake. “I do talent search for Totally Fitness magazine. Ms. Mallory had a shoot with us this weekend. Such a shame that didn’t work out. She’d have been a real asset to next month’s issue.”

Tate snorted and rolled his eyes. “Is this some sort of a joke?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you cancel the shoot because we were photographed together?”

The woman looked at him like he had three heads. “The shoot was canceled because the photographer got caught in a child pornography sting. It’s all over the news.”

“What?” Tate put down the beer and turned toward the woman.

“Malcolm Donovan. He’s a big time fashion photographer—well, he was anyway. We were thrilled to get him for the shoot—it would have made your girlfriend an instant star. But it turns out he’s a real creep. Convincing young models to pose nude for him and selling the photos to nasty porn outfits all over the world. It’s disgusting.”

“Are you serious?”

“Mm-hmm. As soon as we found out, we terminated the shoot. I called Ms. Mallory and let her know right away.”

Tate’s head spun. If the shoot wasn’t canceled because of the photos, then there was nothing stopping them. “So, let me just make sure I’ve got this straight. You don’t care that we’re together?”

“Why would I?”

Tate swallowed and went for it. He didn’t have anything else to lose. “Because our parents are married—we’re step-siblings.”

The woman paused and looked at him for a minute. “Not what I was expecting. Um…why are you even telling me?”

“I don’t know. Jessica walked out on me this morning. Convinced she’d ruin her career if people found out.”

She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows.

“You think she’s right?”

“That your relationship would hurt her modeling? I don’t see how it would even come up, honestly. But…is there some reason it would?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, did you grow up together?”

“No.”

“Live in the same house?”

“No. We don’t even have the same last name.” Tate took a sip of beer and gave her a half-smile. “You know, we hardly knew each other before your photo shoot. She came to stay with me and…well…things changed.”

“Well, it sounds like you two were strangers, then. And if you’re not really related, then I could care less.” She shook her head and took a sip of her drink. “And I’m sure most people would feel the same way. It’s not like you took advantage of her or something. Not like that photographer. Now that is a major PR nightmare, let me tell you.”

“I can imagine.”

Tate finished his beer and hopped off the stool. He had somewhere to be. “Ms. Jenkins, right? Thank you so much. You…made my night.”

Tate held out his hand and she took it, giving it a brief shake. “You’re welcome. Tell Ms. Mallory that we’re sorry the shoot didn’t work out and that we’ll keep her in mind for future work.”