About That Night

  Rylann pushed the door open and stepped outside. As usual, the crowd was thick in front of the bar as students discussed the all-important questions of which after-hours party to go to and whether to make a pit stop at La Bamba for burritos along the way. “I’m sure there are plenty of women who are more than happy to be nice to you,” she said to Kyle while navigating her way through the crowd. “I figured I’d buck the trend.”

  Kyle followed her. “Who’s making assumptions now?”

  “You hang out at a bar preying on random women buying multiple drinks. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this isn’t the first time you’ve ‘escorted’ a girl home.”

  “First of—” Kyle was cut off as he became momentarily separated from Rylann by a group of women walking in the opposite direction. Ignoring the women’s interested looks, he continued. “First of all, I don’t prey on anyone. Second of all, I don’t, as a habit, hang out at bars picking up women. Tonight was an exception. I saw you at the table with your friends and followed you to the bar when you walked over.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged matter-of-factly. “I thought you were hot.”

  “Thanks,” Rylann said dryly.

  An inebriated undergrad stumbled obliviously as he walked past them. Kyle took Rylann by the waist and pulled her out of the man’s path just before they collided.

  They stopped at the street corner, keeping a safe distance from the drunk guy, and waited for the light to change. Kyle looked her over. “I didn’t know then that you’d also be this…spicy.”

  “You’re free to rescind your initial offer of interest.”

  Kyle laughed. “Christ, you are a law geek. I’m not rescinding anything. I don’t mind hot and spicy. Actually find that appealing in a girl.” He cocked his head, thinking this over. “And chicken wings.”

  Rylann turned her head and stared at him. “Did you really just compare me to chicken wings?”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Chicken wings are the bomb.”

  Rylann had to fight not to smile at that one. “Why do I get the feeling you’re never serious?”

  Kyle gestured with his arm to the surrounding crowd milling on the sidewalk and spilling into the street. The feeling in the air was tangibly ebullient. “Who wants to be serious tonight? Law school’s over for the year, counselor. Live a little.”

  Frankly, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of Kyle Rhodes. The logical part of her knew that with the whole hot-billionaire-heir-wearing-work-boots thing he had going for him, she was likely one in a parade of women he’d hit on. Still, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit she found the attention at least somewhat flattering. This was a guy many women would chase after, and he was chasing after her.

  At least for five minutes.

  “Look,” she said to Kyle. “I appreciate you walking me home. Really. But just so we’re on the same page, that’s all this is. A walk.”

  The light turned green, and they crossed the street in tandem.

  “No offense, but you seem a bit uptight about the rules here,” Kyle said. “Don’t you ever just go with the flow?”

  “I’d say I’m more of a planner than a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type.”

  He groaned. “I bet you’re one of those people with a five-year plan.”

  “Mine’s six.” Rylann caught his look. “What? That’s how long it will take to get where I want to be,” she said with a touch of defensiveness. “Not all of us have the luxury of ambling our way through our twenties until we decide it’s time to grow up, Kyle Rhodes.”

  Kyle spun around and stopped in front of her, so abruptly that she nearly barreled into him. “Listen, I’m going to fast-forward through the whole give-the-rich-guy-his-comeuppance speech. I’ve been dealing with that routine since high school.” He pointed emphatically. “And I don’t amble my way through anything. As a matter of fact, the reason I was out celebrating tonight is because I just took my qualifying exam to become a PhD candidate.”

  She stood corrected. “Impressive. In the future, you might want to open with that line instead of the lame guess-my-major routine.” She smiled charmingly. “Just a suggestion.”

  Kyle threw up his hands. “I swear, never again. This is what I get for approaching a strange girl in a bar. I pick the sarcastic one.” He stalked away in frustration.

  Rylann let him go for a few feet before calling out, “You’re headed in the wrong direction.” When he turned around, she pointed innocently. “My apartment’s that way.”

  He switched directions and coolly breezed past her.

  Rylann watched with amusement as he walked by. She kind of liked this cranky side of Kyle Rhodes. It felt much more real than the Smug Dimples pseudo-charm routine. “I don’t think it counts as walking me home if you’re a half block ahead of me,” she called out to him. “I’m pretty sure there’s a five-foot rule or something.”

  Kyle stopped but didn’t turn around. He waited in silence for her to catch up.

  When she did, she paused before him, standing a little closer than before. “I suppose congratulations are in order. Tell me more about your PhD exam.”

  “Oh, now you want to be nice,” he said.

  “I’m considering it.”

  They continued walking in the direction of her apartment. “I’m in the computer sciences grad program,” Kyle said. “My focus is on systems and networking research, specifically security. Protections against DoS attacks.”

  “That sounds very…technical.”

  Seeing her cluelessness, he explained. “DoS means “denial of service.” In basic terms, a type of computer hacking. Companies view them mostly as nuisances, but my prediction is that these types of attacks will continue to grow more advanced over the next few years. Mark my words, one day somebody is going to cause a lot of panic and mayhem if websites don’t start taking these threats seriously.”

  “Your father must be very proud that you’re going into the family business,” Rylann said.

  He grimaced. “Actually, that’s a bit of a sore subject. I’m not planning to work for him. I’d like to teach instead.” He caught Rylann’s look of surprise and shrugged casually. “Can’t beat a gig that lets you have summers off, right?”

  “Why do you do that?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Put out this whole laid-back, don’t-take-me-too-seriously vibe. I assume that’s the reason for the work boots and flannel getup.”

  “No, I wear work boots and flannels because they’re comfortable. In case you haven’t noticed, we go to school in the middle of a cornfield. Black tie isn’t exactly required around here.” He cocked his head. “Besides, why do you care what kind of vibe I put out?”

  “Because I suspect there’s more to the illustrious Kyle Rhodes than meets the eye.”

  They paused at a street corner, only two blocks from Rylann’s apartment. A cool breeze served as a quick reminder that she was wearing a damp shirt. With a slight shiver, she folded her arms over her chest and rubbed them to stay warm.

  “Nope. I’m still the same jerk you thought I was with the lame pickup line.” Without discussion, Kyle pulled off his flannel shirt and handed it to Rylann. Underneath, he wore a gray fitted T-shirt that hugged the toned muscles of his chest, abs, and biceps.

  Rylann waved off the shirt, trying not to stare at his body. And failing miserably. “Oh, no thanks. We’re only two blocks from my apartment. I’ll be okay.”

  “Just take it. If my mother knew I let a woman walk home shivering in a wet shirt, she’d kill me.”

  Rylann took the shirt from him and slid her arms into it. It was warm from his body. “Twenty-three years old and still listening to Mom. That’s cute.”

  Kyle stepped closer and adjusted the collar of the shirt, which was caught underneath the neckline. “Twenty-four. And my mom’s pretty kick-ass—you’d listen to her, too.” He nodded, satisfied with the collar. “There.”

  When his hand brushed a
gainst Rylann’s neck, her stomach did a little flip-flop.

  Major sparks.

  Dammit.

  “Thank you,” she said. Not this one, she firmly reminded herself. This guy had no place in her six-year plan. Hell, he had no place in her six-day plan.

  Kyle gazed down at her. “I lied when I said I followed you to the bar because you’re hot.” He touched her cheek. “I saw you laughing with your friends, and your smile sucked me right in.”

  Oh…man. Rylann’s heart did this strange skipping thing. She debated for a moment as she peered up into those incredible blue eyes of his, then decided, what the hell? After the year she’d been through, she had earned a little treat.

  She stood up on her toes, lifted her lips to his, and kissed him.

  The kiss was teasing and gentle at first, and he cupped her cheek as he slowly, seductively, claimed her mouth with his. She slid one hand up his chest, momentarily forgetting—or not caring—that they were standing on a street corner where anyone could pass by. She pressed up against him, and the kiss deepened as his tongue swirled around hers, hot enough to make her body feel like it was melting.

  It felt like an eternity before she managed to slowly pull her lips away.

  His hand was still on her cheek as their mouths hovered inches from each other. His eyes were a deep, burning blue. “What made you do that?”

  “I thought I’d fly by the seat of my pants for a change,” she said, a little out of breath.

  He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  Exhilarating. Rylann smiled to herself, having a sneaking suspicion that Kyle Rhodes had already heard enough compliments about his kissing to last a lifetime. So she shrugged noncommittally. “Not bad.”

  Kyle scoffed. “Not bad? Counselor, there are two things I’ve got mad skills at. And computer science is the other one.”

  All righty, then. Rylann rolled her eyes. “Seriously, where do you come up with these lines?” She turned away and began walking the remaining two blocks to her apartment, figuring there wasn’t enough room for her, Kyle Rhodes, and his ego on the sidewalk.

  She’d gone a few feet when she heard him calling after her.

  “It doesn’t count as a walk home if you’re half a block ahead of me,” he said, teasingly echoing her earlier words.

  “I’m releasing you of all your obligations,” she shouted without looking back. She could hear his laughter, warm and rich, following behind her.

  When she reached her building, she cut through the courtyard and walked straight to the weather-faded wooden stairwell that would take her to the second-floor apartment she shared with Rae.

  “Rylann.”

  She turned around and saw Kyle standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I was wondering if you’re sticking around this cornfield for the summer?” he said.

  “Not that it matters, but yes.” She sniffed. “I’ve got an internship with the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

  Kyle climbed up the steps to meet her midway on the staircase. “In that case, have dinner with me tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He tugged the collar of the shirt she was wearing. “You’re just going to take my shirt and run?”

  She’d completely forgotten about that. She began to slide the shirt off. “Sorry. I—”

  Kyle put his hand over hers. “Keep it. I like the way it looks on you.”

  Darn sparks shot right down to her toes. She gave him her best no-nonsense stare. “This was supposed to be just a walk.”

  “It’s only one date, counselor. We’ll get chicken wings and beer and bitch about how bored we’re going to be living here this summer.”

  Actually, that didn’t sound half-bad. “And what if I’d said that I wasn’t sticking around for the summer?” Rylann asked. “What if you’d been right, and tomorrow I was leaving for Chicago to move into my quaint and overpriced two-bedroom apartment in Wrigleyville?”

  He grinned, a smile that could melt the polar ice cap. “Then I guess I’d be driving two hours to pick you up for those chicken wings. See you tomorrow, counselor. Eight o’clock.” With that, he turned and strode back down the staircase.

  A few minutes later, safely ensconced inside her apartment, Rylann leaned her head against the front door, musing over the evening’s turn of events. She closed her eyes, a smile curling at the edges of her lips despite all her attempts to fight it off.

  Wow.

  AS FATE WOULD have it, however, the good feeling didn’t last.

  Rylann waited until ten o’clock, two hours after the time Kyle had said he’d be at her apartment. Then she finally gave up and slid out of her jeans and heels.

  He’d stood her up.

  This was okay, she assured herself. Her internship, which she’d been looking forward to for months, started in a week, and she didn’t need to be distracted by first dates with a sometimes-charming sexy billionaire computer geek and the whole will-he-call rigmarole.

  Poor Rae would be crushed, she thought. Before leaving for the summer, she’d left Rylann her black Manolos specifically for the occasion.

  “I can’t have you running around in flip-flops for your date with a billionaire,” Rae had lectured, playing it cool and trying not to appear too sentimental as she’d handed over the shoe box to Rylann before getting into her car.

  Rylann had hugged her friend. “You and the rest of your shoes need to get back here soon.”

  “Call me tomorrow and let me know how the date goes,” Rae had said. “Maybe he’ll fly you to Italy for pizza or rent out a restaurant for your first date.”

  Or maybe he’ll just forget the whole thing.

  Resolved to ignore the disappointment she felt, Rylann changed into a camisole and drawstring pajama pants. No sense in being dressed up if she had no place to go.

  She got comfortable on the couch and absentmindedly flipped through the television channels. It struck her how quiet her apartment was, and in the next moment, she realized how dangerously close she was to wallowing in self-pity.

  No way, she told herself, refusing to go down that road. It wasn’t as though Kyle Rhodes was that great. For starters, he was cocky and too confident, and he dressed as if he’d just fallen off a tractor. And the whole computer thing? That was a snooze-fest of a conversation topic if she’d ever heard one.

  Honestly, she hadn’t even liked the guy much.

  Really.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Rylann came out of her bedroom dressed and ready to go for a run. With all the studying she’d done over the last few months, she’d barely worked out and felt the need to rectify that situation. She suspected this enthusiasm would last for about fifteen minutes, until she collapsed in a gasping heap somewhere in the middle of mile two.

  She was in high spirits for a woman who’d been stood up the night before. Most of this stemmed from the fact that she intended to toss Kyle Rhodes’s flannel shirt in the Dumpster on her way out, and also from the fact that she had this great one-liner planned in the event she ever did run into him again, about how she hadn’t gotten the chance to put his shirt where she’d really wanted to, so she’d stuck it in the other place the sun didn’t shine.

  When she stepped outside her apartment—MP3 player in one hand and the soon-to-be-forgotten flannel shirt in the other—she saw the newspaper lying in front of her door. As she picked it up, the early morning sun made her blink, and somewhere in the back of her mind she was thinking about how it was going to be a warm, gorgeous May day. A perfect day for the pool, she thought. Maybe I’ll—

  It took a moment for the newspaper’s headline to register. At first it seemed like any another tragic headline, the kind that makes a person pause at the brief sadness one feels when hearing such things. Then it dawned on her.

  WIFE OF BILLIONAIRE ALUMNUS

  KILLED IN CAR ACCIDENT

  Marilyn Rhodes.

  Kyle’s mother.

  Without looking up from the newspaper, Rylann sh
ut her front door, sat down at her kitchen table, and began to read.

  Three

  Nine years later

  THE CHILLY MARCH wind cut across Lake Michigan, an icy sting that could easily bring tears to one’s eyes. But Kyle barely noticed. When he was running, he was in the zone.

  It was dark outside, after seven p.m., and the temperature hovered right around forty degrees. Every day for the past two weeks, he’d hit the jogging trail that ran along the lake and run a twelve-mile circuit from his apartment and back. His doorman, Miles, had commented yesterday on the routine, and for simplicity’s sake, Kyle had said he was training for a marathon.

  In truth, he just liked the quiet solitude of running. Not to mention, he reveled in the freedom he’d come to appreciate while running. Ah…such glorious freedom. The knowledge that he could keep going, with nothing but physical exhaustion to stop him.

  And, of course, a team of armed U.S. marshals if he went more than ten miles from home.

  A minor technicality.

  Kyle had quickly realized there was one drawback to his running routine, something he’d figured out around mile three the first morning: the electronic monitoring device strapped to his ankle chafed like a bitch while jogging. He’d tried sprinkling some talcum powder on it, but all that had gotten him was a white mess that left him smelling like a baby. And if there was anything a committed bachelor in his thirties did not need to smell like, it was babies. A woman got one whiff of that and suddenly all sorts of biological clocks came out of snooze mode and started ringing with a vengeance.

  But, as Kyle knew full well, a man could have worse problems than chafing and baby powder. A man could get arrested, say, and be indicted on multiple federal charges and end up in prison. Or a man could find out that his stubborn, pain-in-the-ass twin sister had nearly gotten herself killed while working with the FBI as part of an agreement to secure his early release from said prison.

  He still wanted to throttle Jordan for that one.

  Kyle checked his watch and picked up the pace for the last half mile of his run. According to the terms of his home detention, he was allowed ninety minutes per day for “personal errands,” as long as he stayed within a ten-mile radius of his home. Technically, he was supposed to use those ninety minutes for food shopping and laundry, but he’d figured out how to game the system: he ordered his groceries online and had them delivered to his front door, and he utilized the dry cleaner located in the lobby of the high-rise building in which he lived. That gave him ninety minutes a day outside his penthouse, ninety minutes when life seemed almost normal.