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“Oh, that makes perfect sense. Sloane has done a few rash things over the years.” Sloane is Ripley’s wife and works for the DIA.
I lay my head against the headrest. “How do you deal with it? It’s like they have no concept of dying. What happens if she gets caught?” Like I need something else to keep me up at night. Now I have to worry about Lola.
“If you love her, you’ve got to find a way. I can’t live without Sloane, and she can’t live without me. But I can’t control her every move, and we have open communication. That doesn’t mean there aren’t times I intervene to keep her safe, which lands me on the sofa for a few nights. But it’s worth it. She’s alive, and the make-up sex is phenomenal.”
Love? I stop breathing. Do I love Lola? I wasn’t looking for anyone like her. I was searching for a submissive woman–one who needed me to lead the way. But none of those women worked out. Before my injury, those relationships never lasted longer than a month. They bored me to tears.
Then the injury happened, and I’ve been celibate since, never trusting anyone to get close. After my body healed, the nightmares were still there, and who wants a man with a bunch of scars? Emotional ones and physical ones.
Lola is not like those women. I can’t lead her to water and make her drink. But she never bores me. She drives me crazy. The only time she’s submissive is during sex. Is that the best of both worlds?
“Dude, are you still there?”
“Yeah. Sure. I was thinking about something.”
“So, who is this woman who has you tied up in knots?”
“Congressman Sutherland’s daughter.”
“Whoa.” Ripley coughs. “The socialite who left her groom at the alter?”
Apparently, he looks at the tabloids standing in line at the grocery store also. “It wasn’t like that.” I tap my fingertips on the steering wheel–one after another in a soothing cadence. “They’re friends, and their fathers wanted them to get married. Neither of them was on board with the plan.”
“Man, I was busting your balls. I’ll have everything you need by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Perfect.”
“I have to tell you something about this Maitland character.”
“Okay.” My heart thuds in my chest. If he knows the man by name, that’s not good.
“There’s word underground his investments are too good to be true. Things might be closing in on him.”
Son of a bitch. Truman and Lola were right, which puts her at even greater risk. “Ponzi scheme?”
“Likely.” He clears his throat. “Let me talk to Beck. I think we have had an open case on him as well. I’ll wrangle an invite to the party and serve as your backup.” Jacob Beck owns the security company Ripley works for.
“I would appreciate that. Thanks.”
“It’s great to have you back in the field.”
“I’m only doing it–this once–to keep Lola safe.” I pause for several seconds as I push back the image of the overly tan, blinding white-toothed man threatening Lola and ripping jewels out of her hands. That’s not going to happen. I protect what’s mine to the death. “I care about her, and my top priority is to keep her from getting hurt.”
And I’ve got to apologize to her for acting like a jackass. If this is love, it’s got me acting like a jerk.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lola
As I travel down the grand staircase of my family home for the first time in several weeks, I gaze at the decorations and the crowd that’s gathered. At the base of the entryway is a large placard with my mother prominently displayed. She’s dressed in a crimson sequined gown while resting against the arm of a Victorian sofa. Her black hair is piled high on her head, with loose tendrils accentuating her face. Sapphire blue eyes watch all those who pass by.
Tearing my eyes away from my likeness, I survey the rest of the room. As usual, my father has outdone himself. Everything is stunning, from the interior of the home to the lantern-lined garden. The scent of garlic and other spices wafts through the air.
At the base of the stairs, my father stands welcoming guests. I’ve avoided him for the last three hours. I’m only now encroaching on his territory because there’s a crowd to serve as a buffer.
My father is trim with dark hair. At his temples is the subtle hint of silver. He has a few wrinkles, but they make him appear distinguished, not old. He catches my reflection in the mirror above the entry door and turns with a smile. “Hello, pumpkin.”
He’s happy to see me. My heart swells. Why did I doubt that? No matter what, I’m still his little girl. I stop on the last step and raise my cheek for a kiss. “Hello, daddy.”
