Sins of My Father (Black Brothers #1) Page 4

  I watched as he pushed my front door open. Even the familiar squeak of the hinges didn’t interrupt the charged air buzzing between us. Transfixed, ten seconds crawled like an hour as I stood, waiting for something. That’s when it hit me like a firm slap across the face. I wanted him to kiss me. Where the hell did that come from?

  His eyes dropped to my mouth, and my lips tingled, craving the moment he made contact. Oh shit. He wanted to kiss me too.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  I promised myself I wouldn’t go down this road again—that I’d stay light-years away from anyone affiliated with my stepdad—but less than an hour in Archer’s company and I wanted to make an exception.

  “Well, goodnight,” I said, turning my head to the side, severing the connection shimmering between us, willing it to disappear entirely both physically and mentally. My muscles still strung tight with anticipation and longing, I played with the metal latch on my clutch, opening and closing it.

  Click.

  Click.

  Click.

  “Goodnight,” he responded.

  If I had kept my eyes on his instead of staring at the scuff on the tip of my right heel, I would’ve predicted his next move and sidestepped it, but I didn’t. I was too busy processing what had almost happened and clicking the latch of my clutch to consider what could happen.

  Quick as lightning and without giving me the opportunity to evade him, he cupped my face and pressed his lips warmly against mine, back and forth. Blood roared in my ears like a freight train, growing louder and louder with each brush of his firm lips. He tasted like bourbon, and he smelled like a spicy slice of heaven. The energy sizzled between us like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I molded my body against his, forgetting who he was, who I was. None of that mattered.

  But within a flash, he stepped back. The kiss had ended before it started. Irrationally disappointed, my eyes sought out his, and the cocky bastard grinned, probably because I gave in. “I’ll pick you up on Sunday for lunch. Be ready at noon.”

  He spun around and jogged down the stairs, never looking back. I guess he didn’t want to give me a chance to snub his invitation. I wouldn’t have rejected him, not after that kiss. I already bought what he was selling, but he didn’t need to know that.

  I closed the door and leaned against it, my body sagging with relief and longing. I felt like I had spent the last five minutes in a lightning storm, dodging fate. My heart battered the walls of my chest, and my muscles felt like an elastic exercise band stretched tight and ready to snap. One simple brush of his lips and I was like a powder keg of desire, ready to explode with even the slightest spark.

  Sunday. The day after tomorrow. I had a date. Six months had elapsed since my last one. Hopefully this one would end better than that one. If my reaction to his kiss was any indication, it would, and that fact scared me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Langley

  “Thomas would like a moment of your time in his office before we leave.” My mom opened the door to the home she had shared with my stepdad for the last ten years.

  Though petite, only five foot three and one hundred pounds, she was a force of her own. She landed a world-renowned actor in her twenties and a distinguished senator in her thirties, and over the years, more than one person had been reduced to tears by the strength of her icy words and frozen glare.

  I tapped the strings of my covered tennis racket against my leg and then twirled it between my hands. Today was our weekly tennis match.

  Saying my mom and I didn’t have anything in common was an understatement. For starters, tennis wasn’t my thing, but she loved it. Don’t get me wrong. I loved to exercise. Five days a week, I exercised every morning at the physical therapy office where I worked, but I hated tennis. My mom forced me to play as a child, which probably explained some of my distaste for the sport. She knew that, but for some reason she deemed it the perfect once a week mother-daughter activity, which suited me. Running back and forth while slamming a ball over the net made it difficult to have a meaningful conversation—something I avoided at all costs.

  “I don’t have time today. I have to catch up on some paperwork at the office.” I cringed inwardly at the lie. I never worked on the weekends. We both knew it.

  “He’s your dad. Show some respect.”

  “Stepdad,” I corrected without any heat. This argument was so old, the lines so familiar that I should’ve taped our first conversation a decade ago and played it every time she brought up the subject. It would’ve saved us both a lot of time.

  “He considers you his daughter. He offered to make it official, but you refused.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Because I had a dad. I don’t need another one.” I had eavesdropped often enough to know that my stepdad only agreed to adopt me because my mom demanded it, and even then, he didn’t relent until three months before my eighteenth birthday. Besides, I wasn’t blind. He didn’t feel any fatherly affection for me, or at least nothing he expressed outwardly.

  “He didn’t raise you…not like your stepdad.”

  “Senator Wharton doesn’t have anything to do with the person I’ve become.” Just the thought of giving my stepdad credit for anything in my life made my chest ache with emptiness. Sure, the first year after they married, he showed up at my sports events and attended parent-teacher conferences, but by the time I graduated from high school, he stopped making any effort. He didn’t even attend my high school or college graduation.

  My mom’s lips thinned and she dropped her chin, disguising her reaction, but I didn’t need to see it to sense her disappointment. It vibrated around us in heavy waves, beating at my chest, squeezing my ribcage until I couldn’t breathe. My mom didn’t trade barbs or yell. That would be beneath her. Silent, thick, guilt was her weapon of choice, and she wielded it like a knife, slicing away little pieces of her target until she got what she wanted. “I’m sorry we failed to meet your expectations as parents.”

  I glanced at my watch to indicate my impatience. “Is he ready to see me?” I asked, ignoring her comment. I refused to take her bait.

  She pushed her dark hair away from her face with two expertly manicured fingers. “I think so, but knock before you go in.”

  Without another word, I wove through the stark white paneled hallway, treading with feather soft steps over the black and white checkered marble floor. Traditional black mullioned windows lined one side of the hallway, and polished nickel lanterns hung at even intervals from the barrel-vaulted ceiling.

  At the end of the hall, I came face to face with espresso-stained double wood doors marking the entry into Senator Thomas Wharton’s private domain. I banged my knuckles against the heavy door twice, and then I lowered my hand to my side, curling the fingers around the hem of my black and gray tennis skirt. The sound bounced unnaturally off the walls. God, I hated this house. It reminded me of a museum rather than a home.

  “Come in,” he said.

  I cracked the door, eased my eyes around the corner, and peeked inside before crossing the threshold. Light and bright colorless walls ceded control to dark, heavy wood-paneled walls. A plush, diamond patterned sapphire-blue and saffron-colored rug covered all but the one foot perimeter of the dark hardwood floor. Two burgundy leather chairs sat in front of his oversized desk. Dark wood floor-to-ceiling shelves held thousands of leather bound books.

  My stepdad never wanted a private audience with me in his study unless he intended to chastise my behavior, and as I crossed the room, dread seeped into chest. My hands were clammy, and my heart fluttered against my breastbone like a caged butterfly. Even at the age of twenty-four, I still had a hard time seeing him as a normal man who I could discuss things with on equal footing. I didn’t want him to hold this invisible power over me anymore. I needed to take control of my life, but it was easier said than done.

  I ran fingers over the brass nail heads on the top of the burgundy leather chairs, silently counting each one of them.
Counting calmed me.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four…

  When I counted the last one on the back of the chair, I squared my shoulders and took a seat.

  “My mom said you wanted to talk to me.” I crossed my ankles to stifle the budding urge to bounce my knee up and down like a child being reprimanded for bad behavior.

  Senator Wharton leaned back in his chair. He was a tall, thin man with a head of dark hair that had begun to gray at the temples in the last two years. His eyes were dark and unreadable as usual. He was a politician, after all. Wasn’t that a prerequisite?

  “You didn’t stay long last night.” It was a statement, not a question.

  I dropped my eyes to my lap. “Two hours.” After all these years, the man still managed to intimidate me with a few words or a well-placed glare.

  He fingered the edge of a stack of papers and newspaper articles on his desk. Unlike most people who read their news online, Senator Wharton still had his staff assemble a daily briefing summarizing the news they thought worthy of his attention.

  He cocked his head to the side and steepled his fingers in front of his chest like a man accustomed to getting his way, and Senator Wharton was accustomed to getting his way on and off the senate floor. “Did you talk to anyone new?”

  Sensing the trap closing in around me, my eyes flitted around the room before landing once again on Senator Wharton. “Well, I…” I cleared my throat, composing my thoughts. Clearly, he wanted to discuss Archer, but I didn’t understand why or how he got wind of our encounter. I decided to offer a vague answer until I understood his angle. “I met a few new people.”

  Senator Wharton rested his elbows on the edge of his desk, and his lips thinned into firm, hard lines. Just like that, the battle lines were drawn. “Hm…interesting. I thought you were acquainted with just about everyone there. I’ll have to be more diligent about introducing you to everyone next time. With the official launch of my presidency in two weeks, you to need study the talking points and memorize faces and names.”

  Two weeks. That was news to me. I took a deep breath. “Sure. That’s probably a good idea,” I said, even though I would rather stick a hot poker in my eye than contribute time to his campaign.

  He took a sip of the amber liquid in diamond patterned cut crystal glass. “What about Archer Black? Was he one of the people you met?”

  Like a finger tracing the individual bumps of my spine, a slow shiver traveled through me. “I think so,” I answered, my voice as detached as I could make it.

  “How long have you known him?” Tension creased his forehead into thick ribbons.

  “We already covered this. He’s one of the people I met last night.”

  Senator Wharton slid a newspaper article across his desk. “Can you explain this?”

  I kept my eyes locked on his. We were like two dueling adversaries awaiting the signal to fire at will. I wanted him to know I wouldn’t meekly bend to his will.

  After an exhaustive beat, he nodded his head and I canted forward, slowly lowering my gaze to the article. A picture of Archer and me leaving the fundraiser last night covered the top quarter of the paper. His hand cradled my lower back as we gazed fondly at each other. The image painted a picture of intimacy that hadn’t existed in real life, or at least not at that moment. When he dropped me off at my house later that night, it was a different story. At least the photographers didn’t make the effort to follow me home.

  I shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “We shared a taxi to The Lux. He met his date, and I met Winnie.”

  His eyes narrowed and he pushed his chair back. “That’s it? There’s nothing else you want to add?”

  “That’s it.”

  “And you don’t have plans to see him again?”

  My eyes darted to the side, taking in the scenic flowers outside the bay window of his office. I rubbed my arms as though I were cold. “I don’t get why you’re interested in Archer Black or my connection to him.”

  Senator Wharton drummed his fingers on the table, the cadence echoing unnaturally through the room. “Archer Black has a rather unsavory reputation. I don’t want you to associate with him, especially during my campaign.”

  My back tensed and my hands white-knuckled the arms of the chair as a sudden burst of anger surged through me. “I’m well past the age when you can tell me who I can and can’t talk to. Besides, he’s not so unsavory that you’d refuse to take his money. Wasn’t that why you invited him to your fundraiser?”

  “I’m not taking his money.”

  “Because he didn’t offer it.”

  Senator Wharton sighed. “You’re associated with me, and anything you do affects my image. This is an important year for me. As I said, I’m going to announce my intention to run for president in two weeks or so.”

  I popped out of my chair like a jack in the box. “And anything you do affects me, but I haven’t forced you to stop.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Uncomfortable silence stretched between us, the tension in the room so weighty I thought my knees would buckle under his glare. “I don’t know. Nothing.” I couldn’t tell him anything. I made my decision six months ago. I couldn’t change course now.

  “Fine.” He folded the newspaper article into fourths. “Your mother is probably waiting for you.”

  I stood up and walked toward the door without another word. How old did I have to be before Senator Wharton stopped trying to control me?

  As my hand circled the polished nickel door lever, Senator Wharton dropped his hand on my shoulder. He flashed a phony smile, complete with his signature dimple. “Please stay away from Archer Black. I don’t want you to get hurt. Even though I never adopted you, you’re still like a daughter to me. I love you, Langley. I only want what’s best for you and our family, and Archer Black is not it.”

  I stepped out of his grasp. “Thanks for your concern,” I answered instead of promising anything. I hated empty promises and half-truths. I would play along for the sake of his campaign, but I wouldn’t let my stepdad dictate my personal relationships. I had every intention of seeing Archer again. Since he had left me on my doorstep Friday night, his dark hair and even darker eyes kept drifting to the forefront of my mind. My stomach fluttered like it was filled with Pop Rocks every time I thought of him. I hadn’t been really interested in or tempted by a man in a long time. For that reason alone, I wanted to see him one more time, even if he was a complication I couldn’t afford right now.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Archer

  At exactly twelve in the afternoon on Sunday, I knocked on Langley’s door with a bouquet of her favorite flowers—pink peonies—in hand. I planned to take her to her favorite restaurant for her favorite food. Without asking, I knew all this and more about Langley.

  The last three months of my life, I had poured over the details of her life, committing every preference and detail to memory. I knew where she lived long before I escorted her home two days ago. Senator Wharton owned her townhome and rented it to her for twenty percent below market value. She worked as a physical therapist, but she always wanted to pursue an acting career and follow in her dad’s footsteps. Unbeknownst to Langley, her mom sabotaged her chosen profession by turning down roles and casting calls without her consent.

  Red was her favorite color. She dated Brandon for six months. She had four serious boyfriends since she turned eighteen. Her mother introduced her to each and every one of those men, except one. When she turned thirty, she would gain control of the trust created by her deceased father. Her mother had skimmed around a million dollars from Langley’s trust in the two years before she married Senator Wharton.

  I had a whole file cabinet filled with miscellaneous details about Langley’s life. Nothing was too small. After all, I needed every piece of information I could get to accomplish my goal, but I overlooked one thing. A big fucking wildcard in the dangerous game I started last night—we
had chemistry. Too much chemistry. There were hundreds of reasons why I shouldn’t be interested in Langley, but the minute I met her, none of them mattered. If I were smart, I’d ignore the tension crackling like lightning between us, but I couldn’t. It was too overpowering.

  “Hi,” Langley said when she flung open the door less than a minute later. She wore black slim-fitting pants and a creamy sweater that highlighted her sun-kissed hair, making it look like a halo.

  “Hi.” I held out the bouquet of flowers.

  “I love peonies,” she said, taking them out of my hand and holding them to her nose. “Did someone tell you?”

  “Just a lucky guess,” I lied.

  “Come in.” She waved me into her townhome.

  “This place is nice.” I took in the large windows, the newly refinished hardwood floors, and the gleaming white kitchen cabinets.

  “Thanks. I couldn’t afford it if my stepdad didn’t lower the rent, but I’m going to buy it from him in a couple months if he agrees.”

  “I didn’t think a physical therapist made that much money.” The purchase price of a townhome like this in Georgetown easily exceeded one million dollars. I’m sure she planned to buy it with the funds from her trust, but I wasn’t supposed to know anything about it. Not many people did.

  She filled a white bone china vase with water. “How did you know I’m a physical therapist? I don’t remember mentioning it.”

  “I did my research.”

  Her brows furrowed. “You Googled me?”

  “Didn’t you Google me?” I said, deflecting her question because I did a whole lot more than Google her. I investigated every part of her life I could feasibly get my hands on. Her school records. Her family history. Her medical history. Her friends. Nothing was too small.

  A smile danced on her lips as she fiddled with the flowers. “I might have.”

  “And what did you decide?”

  I wasn’t worried. I kept a tight leash on the details of my private life. Only information I approved and leaked to the press could be found in an internet search, and I never dated without signing a nondisclosure agreement. I preferred it that way. Other than the carefully crafted narrative of my childhood and pictures of me at benefit dinners with dates, not much information was available.