The Billionaire's Touch (The Sinclairs #3) (21 page)

“I don’t care,” Evan agreed readily. “I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

Micah had planned on having his pilot drop him off in New York and then fly on to get Julian back to Hollywood. But if Evan wasn’t using his own plane, Julian could get back faster as he wouldn’t have to make the trip to New York first.

“Thanks,” Julian muttered.

“We need to get home. We have an early morning tomorrow,” Micah said. He stood and grabbed his tuxedo jacket off the back of the wooden chair.

“I need to write to Randi,” Evan said hoarsely as he stood unsteadily.

“Leave it until tomorrow, Evan.” Julian’s voice was sincere as he rose and put on his own formal jacket. “I’ve got the tip.”

Micah wasn’t sure how much Julian left for Kristin, but judging by the wad of bills bulging from under the napkin holding the empty beer bottle, he was assuming it was plenty.

“Let’s go, Evan,” Micah prompted his cousin.

“I’d like to talk to Hope,” Evan notified Micah, his words starting to slur even more as he downed the rest of his drink and stood up.

“I doubt she’s still at the party. She was showing Davy off around at the Center, and she’s probably in bed by now. It’s getting late.” They’d been at Shamrock’s for a while. Micah was pretty certain that the party had already wound down.

Evan frowned. “I can’t wake her up. She’s tired anyway because she’s up a lot with the baby.”

Micah spotted Evan as he weaved toward the door. He finally grasped him by the collar and steered him in the right direction.

“Thank you for coming. Have a good night,” Kristin called from the bar.

Micah raised his hand in acknowledgment, but he noticed that Julian just turned around and shot her a false smile.

“She’s a nice woman,” Micah commented as he assisted Evan into the car.

“She’s a major bitch,” Julian retorted, grinning.

“I like her,” Micah argued, not seeing Julian’s grin because he was busy trying to get his drunken cousin situated in the vehicle.

Julian sighed. “I like her, too.”

Micah rolled his eyes, wondering how his brother would act if he really
didn’t
like a woman, because he’d been a real prick to Kristin. He didn’t show his interest in a good way. “Then quit acting like an asshole when you see her.”

Julian shrugged. “I can’t. I have too much fun watching her eyes change color when she’s pissed off.”

It was interesting that Julian even noticed. Micah waved for him to get into the car before climbing in himself.

He lingered for a moment, wondering if Tessa had noticed that he was gone. Picturing her face as they’d danced made his cock stiffen. He saw her face in his mind as she smiled up at him, and he swore she looked familiar, like it was a face he’d seen somewhere before. But he didn’t think he’d actually been introduced to her. He would have remembered her.

His fingers curled around the crystal Beatrice had given him. For some reason, he’d kept it, even though he shouldn’t have accepted any kind of a gift from an elderly woman he didn’t know.

Problem was, there was no redemption for him, and no woman waiting for him to claim her. He was as free as a bird, traveling from place to place looking for a new extreme. Micah loved his life just the way it was right now.

He let go of the stone and jerked his hand from his pocket as he slid into the car.

Not able to completely forget Tessa’s beautiful, delicate face, Micah tried to focus his attention away from her and on Evan so they could figure out a way to get him his woman back.

Nevertheless, when Micah boarded his own jet the next morning, he did wonder how long it would be before he’d see her face again in the future.

He hoped it wouldn’t be long.

CHAPTER 21

The next morning, Evan sat in front of his computer in his downstairs office, wondering how in the hell he was going to write to Randi. It had always been so easy before, so natural, that he never thought about what to say. It was so much different now, and there was so much at stake.

His stomach rolled as he took another slug of his coffee. He’d already swallowed some pills to make his head stop banging. While the headache was slowly improving, the coffee he was swilling wasn’t helping his gut.

He popped a few antacids into his mouth and threw the roll back into the drawer.

No wonder I never drink. I feel like crap.

Ignoring his discomfort, he stared at the blank email in front of him with a scowl. Granted, he had known Randi wouldn’t be happy that he hadn’t shared who he really was with her, but he didn’t know she’d feel betrayed. All he’d wanted was a little more time. It nearly killed him that his actions had made her sad and distrustful. He’d rather die than to see her in pain, emotionally or physically.

What am I going to do if she doesn’t forgive me?

“Not an option,” Evan growled to himself as he placed his fingers on the keys. He’d gone from elation to the depths of despair last night. She’d told him she loved him, and then she’d left him. “She still loves me,” he muttered. “I need to make her understand that I didn’t intend to hurt her.”

No. I was just being a selfish prick. I didn’t think about how my secret would affect her, how she would feel because I didn’t share the discovery with her immediately.

Putting himself in her place, he would have probably been annoyed, too, but he would have gotten over it. He would have eventually ended up being pretty damn happy that the two women who fascinated him were one and the same.

Problem was, he hadn’t been certain she’d feel the same way.

I can never love a man like him . . .

Dammit . . . why had she written those words? There was nothing that would have stopped him from claiming her for a lifetime if he’d known that she loved him. He didn’t care what background she came from or what obstacles they had to overcome to be together.

I love you.

Had those words been real, or just a momentary thought when she was in the throes of a good climax? If she had meant it, did she
still
love him?

Evan was starting to hate himself because he was wracked with insecurities. He wasn’t a man who dealt well with failure, anxiety, indecision, or self-doubt.

“To hell with this,” he said aloud, talking to himself. He wished Lily were here. At least the canine would cock her head and pretend to be listening to him. She pretty much agreed with everything he said—that was the way he chose to interpret her actions, anyway. “I’ll keep writing to Randi until she listens.”

He’d had a brief conversation with Hope that morning to explain why he, Micah, and Julian had gone missing before the festivities had ended. He’d confessed that he hadn’t taken her advice. After a long lecture, she agreed that writing to Randi and giving her some space was the best option.

I’m writing, but I know it won’t be long before I show up on her doorstep. I can’t stay away.

Evan was wrestling with himself to not go directly to her house and demand that she belong to him forever.

“She’s mine. She was always meant to be mine. There’s never been anyone else for me,” he grumbled angrily, knowing he’d blown his one chance at real happiness. He knew what happy was now; it was Randi.

Maybe he’d known since the day he couldn’t resist replying to her smartass email over a year ago, but he just hadn’t been able to admit it. He hadn’t been lying when he told her that, maybe subconsciously, he’d always hoped she was his mystery woman. He’d blown off the idea months ago because of the way she signed her emails and the fact that he didn’t know Randi had a foster mother. They had never spoken to each other enough for him to know much about her life in person. But somewhere deep inside, Evan didn’t think the possibility had ever left his heart—even if it didn’t make sense to his conscious mind.

Evan was discovering that not everything was based in reality; some feelings just happened . . .

Dear M.,

Have you ever wanted something so badly that you did something stupid to get it?

“Please be home. Please read my email. Please understand me,” Evan whispered desperately before shooting the email into cyberspace, hoping she’d do all three of those things before he lost his mind.

I’m not checking my email. I’m not checking my email.

Randi patted Lily on the head, consuming a large sandwich as she chanted the mantra in her mind. She’d already done her run for the day, gone through her yoga routine, and then meditated.

It hadn’t helped.

She was still fighting the urge to check her email and see if Evan had written. It was late morning, so she had no doubt he was already gone. She’d nearly broken down in tears as she’d watched the two private jets climb in the sky early this morning during her run. It had been cold and clear when she’d woken up, so she’d decided to forgo the treadmill and do a cold-weather run instead. It had felt good to be outdoors, and she’d been exhilarated until she heard the roar of jet engines flying low overhead, meaning a private jet had taken off from the small airport outside of town. Actually, two planes had taken off within minutes, and Randi knew it was Evan and Micah because Julian didn’t have a jet, and none of the other Sinclairs had plans to go anywhere.

I knew he was leaving. It shouldn’t have hurt that badly. I wonder if he thought about me.

Most of her anger was gone, had disappeared as she thought about all of her conversations with both S. and Evan. The initial shock had worn off once she’d determined his actions had been more careless than intentional.

I’m not checking my email. I’m not checking my email.

Of course, she
could
get on the computer. She just didn’t have any reason to log in to her email for the Center.

Randi sighed as she dumped the rest of her sandwich in the garbage, suddenly not very hungry. She’d spent last night mostly awake and restless, trying to figure out who the real Evan Sinclair was. Granted, she’d been hurt initially, and it hurt even more that he was gone now. After almost an entire night of tossing and turning, reliving a lot of the things he’d said to her, she wondered if his motivation had really been to make her a fool. Everything they’d shared, online and offline, had felt so
real
.

She walked into her foster parents’ former bedroom slowly, finally sitting down after going back and forth for what seemed like a thousand times and then leaving without turning the computer on.

Oh, for God’s sake, just look. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone.

The desire to know if he had tried to contact her before he left was killing her. He hadn’t texted or called, so this was her one last hope.

If he didn’t write, I can start moving on, start trying to forget. If he didn’t at least try to explain himself, he’s not worth all of the moping I’m doing right now.

Randi flipped on the computer and proceeded to bring up her email for the Center, holding her breath.

She felt pathetic as she waited, pinning so much hope on some kind of explanation. Maybe she should have listened to him last night, but her immediate reaction had been one of betrayal. She’d been feeling vulnerable and wounded because she’d told him she loved him and then . . . bam! The news that he’d known for quite some time that she was his mystery friend had broadsided her.

Finally, the mailbox came up and she released a shaky breath as she saw that there
was
an email from him, and he was using the exact same email address that he’d always used to write to her.

Dear M.,

Have you ever wanted something so badly that you did something stupid to get it?

Randi stared at the one-liner for a moment, trying to figure out why he was still using the same style and her mystery name to ask her a question. Checking the date, she noticed it had been sent less than an hour earlier. Contemplating the question, she knew it was about the two of them. What stupid thing had he done?

Dear S.,

She started her reply knowing she was going to play along. She wanted answers too badly not to. She didn’t want to go through the rest of her life not knowing why he hadn’t come clean with her. She continued.

No, I don’t think I have. I’m not certain I’ve ever wanted anything badly enough that it required doing something stupid. Was it illegal?

She shot the reply into cyberspace, hoping he was going to explain. Not expecting a reply while he was in the air, she was surprised to see an answer come back in a matter of minutes.

M.,

It wasn’t illegal, but it should be. I hurt you, and that is unacceptable to me. You’re the last person on earth I’d want to hurt, but I did because I was stupid. I’m so sorry, Randi.

Tears started to flow down her cheeks as she saw his apology. Breaking all pretense, she wrote back.

Evan,

Why didn’t you tell me? I have to know.

She assumed the S was short for Sinclair. He’d used a businesslike initial just like she did when she’d first started writing to him, using the first initial of her real name. They were beyond that now, and she wasn’t going to hide behind an initial that she rarely used.

Her heated conversation with Evan the night before flowed through her memories, especially the part about the possibility that deep down inside she’d always known that S. might be Evan. Although she’d never acknowledged it, or even really thought about the possibility consciously, maybe there was a part of her that wished they could be the same man. Maybe that was one of the biggest reasons she hadn’t wanted to meet him in person—because she suspected she’d never feel the same chemistry for another man that she felt with Evan. If she’d met S. and the chemistry wasn’t there, she’d lose a friend who had come to mean a lot to her.

Evan had mentioned that he wasn’t all that surprised when he realized she was M. Was she really all that surprised now that Evan was really her mystery man? She’d always been drawn to both of them in different ways, yet the connection was similar. Now that she put them together, it was hard not to realize that they were the same person. They’d had time to get to know each other through emails, but the connection was strong for two people who had never met face-to-face. Her physical connection with Evan in person had been immediate and intense. Both of them were powerful bonds like she’d never experienced before. So was it really so surreal that they were one and the same man? Probably . . . not.

Did I secretly always hope that S. was really Evan? Is that why I never wanted to meet him? Did I want to keep the fantasy alive that I’d be just as attracted to him in person as I was via email?

Now, she could answer with certainty that she
did
want them to be the same man. It was highly possible that she’d always wanted that, but had been afraid of disappointment when she discovered they weren’t.

It took a few minutes, but Evan finally answered.

Randi,

I could easily say that I don’t know why I did it, or that I just hadn’t gotten around to telling you yet, but that wouldn’t be the truth. The truth is that I was afraid of losing you. What if you didn’t want me to be your mystery friend? What if he was more important than our physical relationship? I was trying to figure out how I’d deal with that, but I couldn’t. I guess I was a coward, and I was trying to find out how you felt about me by continuing to be S. for a while. It never occurred to me that it might hurt you. I was going to tell you before we went to the ball, but when you said you couldn’t love a man like me in your email, it nearly destroyed me. I guess I felt like there was no point in confessing after that.