Prologue
Clayton
The whiskey’s burn
was soothing as it slid down my throat, a harsh bite that morphed into a warm
wave, flowing through me until the heat pooled in my stomach. I closed my eyes as savored the smoky
aftertaste that lingered in my mouth.
Damn. I’d forgotten just how good
a decent whiskey could be. I was not
without addictions – strong predilections for coffee and runner’s high were
definitely among my vices – but the buzz of alcohol wasn’t something that I
often sought. But today I sure could use
a drink.
Claudia Ellers had
called me this afternoon to give me the good news: Sean Reynolds had just asked
her to marry him. And of course she had
said yes. I grimaced and took another
draw of the amber liquid.
I was happy for
them. Really I was. A blind man could see that they were perfect
for one another. And although I had my
reservations about Sean’s past, it was obvious that he loved her more fiercely
than anything else in the world.
The only problem
was that I was in love with her too.
I had fallen for
her while she was gathering information on Sean and the Westies for the FBI, a
task that I had assigned her. She had
been so brave and so beautiful and so damaged.
Everything in me screamed at me to help her, to take care of her. And then she had looked at me with those
striking grey eyes, and I could see a growing trust there that tugged at my
heartstrings.
But I had never
had a shot in hell. Claudia’s heart had
already belonged to Sean on the day that I met her, even if she didn’t realize
it herself at the time. I had been
promptly friendzoned.
Now I considered
Claudia one of my closest friends, and I had grown to respect Sean as well, but
I couldn’t shake my feelings for her.
Hell, I hadn’t felt this strongly about any woman since Jen, and I had
dated her in my junior year of college.
I knocked back the
rest of the glass at the thought of Jen.
That was nine years ago. Nine
years and what had happened with Jen still haunted me. I hadn’t been with anyone seriously since
then. But I had my job, my mission. My work with the FBI was important. More important than my love life.
“I’ll have what
he’s having.”
There was a hint
of laughter in the woman’s melodic voice.
I turned on my barstool to find myself looking at one of the most
beautiful women I had ever seen. Her
long, straight platinum-blonde hair fell around her delicately boned face like
a silvery wave, and her pale skin seemed to shine with some inner glow. Her eyes were striking: a light, crystalline
green ringed with indigo. Those eyes
were looking at me expectantly.
“What?”
I cursed myself
for an idiot as soon as the word left my mouth.
Could I be any less composed? I
clenched my jaw to keep my mouth from hanging open in awe.
Her hand reached
out to touch my glass, and her fingers lightly brushed against mine as she did
so. Even the slight contact sent a jolt
running up my arm before thrumming deeper through my body.
“What’s your
drink?” She asked, her voice a bit
throatier than it had been when she first spoke.
“Oh. Um…”
Shit, Vaughn, string two goddamn words
together!
“Glenfiddich
neat.”
Small lines
appeared in her flawless skin as her brow furrowed slightly. “What’s that?”
I could understand
her confusion. This wasn’t the kind of
bar where you ordered a nice scotch. It
was where you came to pound cheap liquor so that you got drunk fast. It was a dive, but I had chosen it because it
wasn’t likely that I would run into anyone that I knew there. I was in a brooding mood, and I hadn’t wanted
to inflict that on anyone. Well, I had
been. All thoughts – as well as most of
my sense – had been knocked out of me as soon as this gorgeous woman had spoken
to me.
“Scotch whiskey,”
I explained.
She gave me a
small, slightly mocking smile, showing her perfect white teeth. There was a playful light in her remarkable
eyes, and I found myself entranced.
“Never mind, then
Mr. Fancypants,” she said, releasing me from the magnetic hold of her eyes in
order to address the bartender. “We’ll
have two shots of tequila, please.” She
glanced over at me, looking me up and down.
I had the feeling that I was being measured up, and I wasn’t at all sure
if I was going to meet whatever standard this woman had set. Her gaze fell on my suit before flicking back
up to my eyes. “Is Cuervo good enough
for you, Fancypants?” She asked.
I hated tequila,
but I nodded. She smiled at me broadly,
and I could feel my own expression widening into a grin.
