This Wicked Rush Read online

  I never imagined Gabe would see the beauty in my fucked up family, or be the type to understand the value of unconditional love. Love like that is precious, and absolutely worth fighting for. The fact that he realizes that makes me look at him differently, makes me wonder what else Gabe is hiding beneath the bad boy exterior. I had assumed “what you see is what you get” with him, but maybe I was wrong.

  The thought creeps in on spider feet, making me shiver. I can’t decide which is more dangerous—the player, or the man with a secret soft side. In my experience, secrets breed secrets, and no one puts as much effort into hiding as Gabe does without a damned good, and often frightening, reason.

  Chapter Four

  Gabe

  She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed;

  She is woman, and therefore to be won

  -Shakespeare

  While I drive, Caitlin scans the list of off-limits dinner conversation topics I typed into my phone earlier this afternoon. She mutters beneath her breath, and laughs softly when she reaches the end. “The weather?”

  “My mother supports global warming research, but my father doesn’t believe in climate change,” I say, guiding the Beamer onto the country road leading to Darby Hill, the plantation that’s been in my family for generations, wishing Caitlin and I were driving in the opposite direction.

  After meeting her family, I’m even less eager to introduce her to mine.

  There’s a reason my parents only have one child. One was all it took for them to realize parenting wasn’t for them. They like me well enough, and my mother took to managing me with the same enthusiasm she devotes to all her pet causes, but I saw more tenderness tonight at Caitlin’s house than I’ve ever seen from my parents.

  Growing up, my nanny washed my scraped knees when I fell, and easy family banter and shared jokes were things I watched on television. I was expected to keep quiet at the dinner table until I was old enough to contribute to the conversation in a meaningful way, and neither of my parents spent much time with me until I was in high school. I was sixteen before my parents finally took a vested interest—my father when he learned I seemed to share his love of the law, and my mother when I was old enough for her to play matchmaker and set me up with the daughters of all her snobby friends.

  I already knew Caitlin had a softer heart than either of my parents—she wouldn’t have sacrificed so much for her brothers and niece if she didn’t—but I hadn’t been prepared for what I saw tonight.

  The love Caitlin feels for her family is bigger than anything I’ve ever witnessed up close, overflowing in every touch, every kiss, even the way she shouted at one brother and rolled her eyes at the other. It was unexpectedly beautiful, and made her even prettier—something I’d assumed was impossible. Caitlin’s outsides are something special, but her heart is…stunning. Even after fifteen minutes of driving, I still feel a little dazed. My throat is tight and my chest aches, but not in a bad way, in a hopeful way, though I don’t know what the hell I’m hoping for.

  I have no right to be hopeful. Nothing has changed. I still have secrets I’m determined to keep, and Caitlin and I still have an expiration date set in stone.

  There is no “You and Caitlin.” You’re on a fake date, and she’s only promised you one night.

  It’s true, but there was something in the way she held my hand as we pulled away from her house, a tenderness that wasn’t there before, that made me think she might be developing a soft spot in that heart of hers.

  A soft spot for me…

  “Okay, whatever you say, boss.” She sighs as she drops my phone into the cup holder on her side of the car. “No talking about weather, money, anyone’s health, court cases, your college, my job, or religion. I think I can remember all that, but…what else is there? What am I supposed to talk about?”

  “You can talk about the kids,” I say, but immediately rethink it. “Though my mom and dad aren’t into children. They prefer people over the age of eighteen.”

  Caitlin frowns and shifts in her seat to face me. “I thought you said your mom wanted grandchildren.”

  “She does. But she’ll enjoy the idea of grandchildren more than the actual kids.” I shrug. “Not that it matters. I’m not having children.”

  “Me either,” Caitlin says. “The boys and Emmie are plenty for me.”

  I glance at her, a little surprised. “You don’t want to be a mother? Seems like you’ve got a knack for it.”

  “Thanks.” She shoots me a strange look, but I’m forced to turn my attention back to the curving road before I can decipher it.

  “If things were different, I would want kids of my own,” she continues. “But I’m tired already. By the time I get Emmie raised, I don’t think I’ll have any energy left.”

  “Does that make you sad?”

  “A little, maybe, but it doesn’t matter,” she says. “Things are the way they are. No point crying over something I can’t change.”

  I nod. She’s right. Some things are the way they are. There’s no changing them, no matter how much you want to, and tears are a waste of time and energy.

  Other problems, however, can be solved—with money. Money can buy free time, free time can breed opportunity, and opportunities can transform a life, especially for someone as focused and determined as Caitlin. The way I see it, almost all of her troubles could be solved with an injection of money into her life, and I intend to make sure she gets it, one way or another.

  “The five hundred dollars is in my wallet,” I say, turning down the smooth, freshly paved drive leading to Darby Hill, a black ribbon that winds through gnarled live oak trees my great grandfather planted nearly two hundred years before. “I’ll get it for you before we go in. I meant to give it to you at your place, but I—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Caitlin says. “I’ll get it later. I know you’re good for it.”

  “You trust me, then?” I ask, slowing as we reach the end of the drive.

  “I trust you more than I did, even if you did almost cost me my job.” Caitlin leans forward, eyes widening as Darby Hill comes into view.

  The house dates back to the late 1800’s, and was built after the original plantation burned to the ground during the Civil War. It’s a colonial revival with creamy, pale brick walls, a burnt orange tiled roof with the three garret windows, and eight pillars crowded around the entryway. In addition to having at least four too many pillars, the house boasts a curved veranda on each side, making it look like it’s wearing one of those hip bustles women in Europe wore under their skirts for a time, the ones that made it impossible for them to walk through a door without turning sideways.

  It’s ridiculous, but stunning in its way. Compared to Caitlin’s two-story ranch with the sagging roof and crude, concrete steps standing in for the porch that seems to have been stripped away and never replaced, it’s a palace.

  A palace I would gladly exchange for a seat at the crowded table in the corner of Caitlin’s living room.

  Since I dropped out of school in March, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what really matters in life, and a giant house is nowhere on the list. Money is well and good, but after a certain point it’s an overload of icing that destroys your ability to appreciate the cake. Darby Hill is a monster built by slaves stolen from their country, and maintained by my father’s and grandfather’s less than ethical law practice. It should have been donated to the state years ago, but my parents don’t see anything wrong with clinging to privilege paid for with blood and pain.

  I have more than the average rich boy’s disdain for abundance, but I should know better than to assume Caitlin, or anyone else in her position, can walk away from a paying job without making sure she has a safety net in place.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday.” I pull around the circular drive, parking in my usual spot by the azalea bushes. “I didn’t like the way that man was looking at you, but I should have thought about the trouble I might cause before I spoke.”


  Caitlin’s gaze drops to the console between us before she glances back up, a smile teasing the edges of her mouth. “To be honest, I’m glad you said something. Noel’s been putting his hand up my skirt for years. Now I’ll be able to wear a dress on Fridays without having to watch my back every time I bend over to pick up a plate.”

  “Let me know if he needs a reminder to behave.” The thought of the old fuck’s hands anywhere on Caitlin makes me wish it was acceptable to punch senior citizens. “Until I can convince you it’s safe to quit, I’m happy to help.”

  “I’m not—” Caitlin breaks off with a sigh and a shake of her head.

  “What?” I ask, in no hurry to get out of the car, though I know my mother is probably waiting by the front door. I’m surprised she isn’t out on the veranda, watching the driveway—she was that thrilled when I told her I was bringing my girlfriend to dinner.

  Caitlin’s brow furrows. “Why do you care?”

  “You’re my partner in crime,” I say with a shrug, refusing to think too much about the question, or how much I’m coming to care.

  “That was one night.”

  “There will be more.”

  “No, there won’t,” she says. “I’m not going to do anything else illegal, Gabe. If I get caught, it’s not just my life I’d ruin. I can’t put the kids at risk. There’s nobody left to pick up the pieces if I go to jail.”

  “What if I could promise that you won’t get caught?” I reach out, capturing a lock of her silky soft hair and twining it around my finger.

  “You can’t promise something like that,” she says, but she doesn’t pull away. She leans in and her lips part, and I know she feels the pull I feel.

  It’s the lure of the forbidden, the rush that comes from breaking the rules—not because of any desire to be truly bad, but because the rules are wrong. The rules are lies that deserve to be exposed, shattered, ripped apart and sewn back together in a shape that does the world some good. We could do that, Caitlin and I…do the world a little good, while getting high on breaking the law.

  “And you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” she adds, a tremble in her voice.

  “I don’t.” Before she can say another word, I silence her with a kiss.

  I don’t intend it to be a passionate kiss—we have to go inside soon—but the moment my lips touch Caitlin’s the world catches fire all over again. Our second kiss is even hotter than our first. Within seconds I’m drunk on her smell, her taste, deliciously jarred by the electricity that leaps between us like we were made to complete a circuit. My fingers bury themselves in her hair and my tongue slips inside her mouth and every nerve ending in my body ignites.

  The sensation starts at the base of my spine and spirals out, waves of heat and longing that course through me, making me press closer, kiss deeper, tangling my tongue with hers. Her fingers come to my face and her nails dig into my jaw and I moan, a sound she echoes, vibrating my lips, a buzzing I feel over every inch of my skin.

  By the time I pull away, I’m hard enough to shatter glass and don’t know how I’m going to make it through dinner. The only taste I want in my mouth right now is Caitlin’s.

  “I want to have you for dinner,” I say, fingers tightening in her hair.

  “We agreed,” she says, breath coming faster. “No other stuff.”

  “After we leave my parents’ house.” I press a kiss to her throat, where her pulse leaps beneath her skin. “We didn’t say anything about making out in the guest bathroom.”

  “Stop it, Gabe.”

  “That’s what you said last time, but if I remember correctly, you didn’t really want me to stop.” I kiss the warm skin beneath her ear as I let my fingers trail down her neck, across her chest, down to cup her breast through her dress, drawing a gasp from her lips as I find her pebbled nipple and roll it between my fingers.

  Her fingers dig into my shoulders as her breath rushes back in. “Just when I was starting to think you were a nice guy…”

  “Let’s get inside; I’ll show you how nice I can be.” I release her breast with extreme reluctance, the kind that can only be overcome by knowing I’m going to have more of her—all of her—in a few minutes. “We’ll go in the back door and sneak up the servant stairs. My parents won’t figure out where we are until—”

  A door slams, cutting off my words.

  Caitlin’s eyes fly wide. “Your parents?”

  “My mother, I’m guessing.”

  “Jesus, Gabe!” Caitlin braces her hands on my chest, shoving me back across the car before running a hand through her hair, smoothing her skirt, and wiping the edges of her lips. By the time my mother appears at the passenger’s side door, grinning like she’s just been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, Caitlin has pulled herself together and I’ve thrown a casual arm over my rapidly flagging erection.

  Nothing kills a hard on like a guy’s mother. Especially mine.

  Caitlin

  The inside of Gabe’s parents’ house is even more stunning than the outside. There are antiques everywhere—big, heavy, wooden furniture covered in intricate carvings, statues on pedestals with names scratched into their bases that make me think they’re originals, delicate lace doilies decorating claw foot couches and chairs, and so many oil paintings there’s hardly a clear place on the walls.

  I feel like I’m in a museum, and I’m pretty sure I would have been too afraid to sit down on any of the furniture if Gabe’s mom hadn’t looped her arm through mine and guided me to a blue velvet couch in the corner of the dining room, overlooking the gardens at the back of the home.

  I barely have time to absorb the fact that a servant—a real servant, in a pale blue uniform dress with a white starched apron—is setting the long, mahogany table, before I am smothered by another hug from Gabe’s mom and peppered with excited questions.

  “So how old are you, Caitlin? Where are you going to school? What do you want to do with the rest of your life? What are your hopes and dreams,” she says, pausing to dazzle me with a very white smile. “Tell me all about yourself.”

  “Oh…okay.” I cast a frantic glance at Gabe’s back as he leaves the room, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. To say Gabe’s mom isn’t what I was anticipating is like saying a South Carolina summer is a tad warm.

  Instead of the cool reserve I’d expected from an obscenely wealthy woman with a pedigree that stretches back to the Civil War, Deborah is warm, welcoming, and seems thrilled with Gabe’s choice of girlfriend. She doesn’t cast disparaging looks at my cheap sundress, or lift a brow at my nails that haven’t seen a manicure since my sister gave me one at home for my sixteenth birthday. She doesn’t wrinkle her nose when I tell her I’m working full time to take care of my younger brothers and niece, but that I’m hoping to attend college in the future. She only nods sympathetically, her dark blond bob swinging above her shoulders as her ice blue eyes—like Gabe’s eyes, but without the hard edges—fill with compassion.

  “That’s a lot of responsibility,” she says. “Especially for someone so young.”

  I start to shrug, but stop myself, feeling like the casual gesture would be out of place in these surroundings. “It is, but it’s worth it. I want to keep my family together, and give the kids more stability than I had when I was growing up.”

  She sighs and her eyes begin to glisten. “Gabe is lucky to have you. I’m so glad you came into his life, Caitlin.”

  I swallow, not sure how to respond to her words or the emotion making her voice tremble. Gabe warned me that his mom was eager to see him settled down, but I didn’t think I’d be dealing with tears of gratitude.

  Mercifully, Gabe and his father enter the dining room a moment later, sparing me the stress of formulating a reply. As soon as I see the two men together, it’s obvious where Gabe gets his striking good looks. He has his mother’s eyes, but he has his father’s chiseled cheekbones, broad shoulders, and lean, athletic build. Mr. Alexander looks pretty amazing for a guy pushing sixty—attractive
, fit, with a full head of graying brown hair, and clear, intelligent, blue eyes a shade darker than his wife’s and son’s.

  The contrast between Gabe’s dad and mine is even more striking than the difference between our houses. I know Chuck is a few years younger than Mr. Alexander, but he looks a decade his senior. Chuck’s body bears testimony to every bad choice he’s ever made, while Mr. Alexander oozes health and wealth in a way even his wife doesn’t quite manage.

  Deborah’s clothes are clearly expensive and her hair intricately highlighted, but there’s something fragile about her, something delicate and breakable that makes me want to punch Gabe for rolling his eyes when he sees his mother wiping tears from her cheeks.

  “Mother, please,” he says, a hard note in his voice. “You promised.”

  “I know, I know,” she says, sniffing as she forces a smile. “I’m just so excited for you, honey. Caitlin is adorable. Inside and out.”

  “She is. She’s too good for me.” Gabe glances down at me with a look that banishes the urge to punch him, a look that says he means it, and that he wants more from our relationship than someone who will steal things with him.

  I know it’s just pretend, but the look, combined with the lingering effects of the kiss we shared in the car, make it easy to smile up at him and say, “That’s ridiculous. You’re exactly as good as I want you to be.”

  “But no better,” Gabe says with a wink that makes my skin tingle, despite the fact that his parents are watching us.

  I can’t help it, and I can’t quit replaying our kiss, over and over again. All through the introduction to his father, and the small talk the four of us exchange while we wait for the first course to be brought out, I’m thinking about Gabe’s lips on my neck and the way he touched me through my dress.

  Once we get to the table, things are even worse. Gabe sits next to me, close enough for him to rest his hand on my leg under the tablecloth, teasing his fingers up and down the inside of my thigh, sending agonizing currents of longing coursing through my body. I have to fight to concentrate on the dinner conversation, struggle to get my salad to my mouth without dropping lettuce on the tablecloth.