his arm as he spun Nate back.
Mistake. One too many…and then the blood was flowing fast and red before Nate even realized he’d thrown. Brandt staggered back a step, fell on his ass with a howl before finding his feet and running toward the house. “You’re going to pay for that, Evans!”
Damn it, where was his control? Nate’s heart slammed within his chest as the repercussions of his actions sped through his mind. Arrest, expulsion, college, his escape from a life he’d almost been free of. His dad could end up paying for this mistake. What the hell had he done?
The door to the Liss house flew open and Payton, now dressed in jeans and a turtleneck, rushed onto the lawn. Eyes wide with hurt disbelief, she stared down at Nate’s knuckles and the smear of her brother’s blood streaking them.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was rough with emotion, shame and disgust. He should have known better. He’d been so close to escaping this place without giving into his own sense of injustice. And now this.
In the end, he hadn’t been arrested. Hadn’t paid any price beyond his own personal shame at allowing Brandt Liss to goad him into losing control. But that price had been enough.
Hell, it was crazy. One glimpse of Payton wrapped in her towel back in the suite and all the insults and accusations had sliced through time, cutting fresh into his mind. Stupid prejudices. Words he couldn’t believe he’d let bother him.
So why had his gut tightened, as though controlled by unpleasant muscle memory? Why had his body instantly wound tight, setting for a fight? And why, beneath it all, was he still tied up by that single forbidden memory of Payton and the taunt of a guy whose significance to Nate’s life barely registered?
Not good enough…not even to look…
Maybe. No, definitely. But sure as hell not for the reasons Brandt believed.
Chapter Seven
IT WAS close to two when the bell rang. Payton had spent the better part of the morning—what was left of it once she’d been dropped home—doing her best not to think about Nate and what would happen when they saw each other. How exactly one transitioned from lover to friend, and what it would take for her mind to stop playing out scenarios where she ended up back in his arms, beneath his kiss.
That was thinking she couldn’t afford. So she’d done as little of it as possible.
But now her avoidance was at an end. Nate was downstairs. At her door. And all the thoughts she’d so effectively ignored were bombarding her at once.
Thoughts like spending the night together had been reckless. Careless. And might have irrevocably changed his feelings for her. Jeopardized their friendship by putting her on par with some nameless “double D” he’d picked up at a club.
Her anxiety rose with each step she descended until she swung open the security door, took in the vision of him—big and broad, dressed casually in weathered jeans, untucked oxford and a lightweight, ash V-neck sweater—and lost her breath to the enormous bouquet of yellow roses he held out in offering.
She fell back against the door, a hand going to her throat where emotion threatened to choke her. He’d brought her friendship flowers. The perfect transition from last night to today. A tender reassurance of the caring between them.
“Oh, you’re good,” she said, shaking her head in awe.
“What kind of greeting is that for your secret lover?” Nate asked, a smug smile on his face. “Shouldn’t you be suspiciously glancing around and then dragging me inside before someone catches sight of us out here?”
“So back to the charade, then?” Trying to curb the grin that spread to her lips when she’d opened the door, she crossed her arms. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
He cocked his head as if considering, then shrugged. “You might be right, but, the way I see it, it’s a pretty good way to feed my fantasies. Just play like there’s a crowd watching and I get a beautiful woman to heed my every command.”
He thought she was beautiful. “Your every command, huh?”
“Mmm-hmm. Very kinky. The whole control thing. Sorry we didn’t get around to it, but there’s a limit to even my abilities within one night.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, wondering how it was that the world at large believed Nate Evans so frightening. She’d never met anyone who took themselves less seriously—while at the same time being so seriously driven to success. “So you’ve gone mad with power, have you?”
“Seems I have.”
“Well, in that case…” She made an exaggerated show of peering down the sidewalk and street, first one way and then the other, before grabbing for Nate’s shirt and towing him in through the security door. Then, casting him an impish wink, she asked, “Was it good for you? Because it was definitely good for me.”
Nate’s jaw set to the side as he shook his head. “Sassy thing.” Then after a beat, “Are you really okay with this?”
If he led the way…yes. “I am. But before we tempt fate with another hallway, let’s get upstairs.”
Nate nodded, and then as he glanced around his brow furrowed. She saw the moment his surroundings registered. No flash, no glitter. Just aging tile flooring. A worn banister leading up a simple staircase.
“I figured you for a skyrise penthouse or something. With a fleet of round-the-clock security guards, closed-circuit monitored elevator. This place isn’t what I expected.”
She headed up the first flight, acting as though his observation hadn’t struck a nerve. It was okay. He wasn’t entirely off-base, just about twelve months too late.
“I moved in last year.” A few weeks after her father passed away. She couldn’t stand to live in the apartment he’d been renting for her—let alone afford it. And when she’d found this…well, it suited her.
Catching up, Nate grunted something unintelligible and she decided not to ask. She’d been hoping he’d see the building and understand she was supporting herself. Maybe respect her autonomy. But it didn’t matter. He’d see soon enough she’d made herself a home.
Nate rounded the third landing working through the reasons why Payton Liss would live in an apartment like this. Real estate speculation? She’d bought the building and was living-in while she worked a refurb of some sort. But where was the telltale smell of construction? And why the third floor apartment and the hallway reeking of ethnic cuisine. “Something on the stove?”
She shook her head, drawing in a deep breath. “No, that’s the Craines on two. I get hungry every time I walk past.”
The single door on the third floor stood ajar, left open from when she’d run down to let him in, and two things struck him at once. The first, single women should never leave their apartment doors open. And the second, what the hell had she been running down to the first floor for—where was the security box to screen and admit her guests? Before he could ask, she swung the door open and, smiling wide, walked in.
To a shoe box.
Not
