Page 164 of Wicked Little Secret
I raise a brow, still stroking her face. Only now my thumb’s traveled up to her cheek. “This is my home.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’ve already told you. Because I’ve meant every word I’ve said. That includes my confession about how I feel.”
“You’re… in love with me?”
“More than in love with you. Even if you don’t feel the same. It doesn’t change the fact that you are the nexus of my world.”
“It doesn’t feel deserving,” she says. “After everything. My scheme for revenge made youmurderpeople, Theron.”
“I made choices that I don’t regret. In each instance, I was protecting you. Something I will never apologize for.”
She sits in my lap in thoughtful silence, taking even more time to sort through what she’s learned.
“You’re going to finish my plan. You’re writing Heather to lure her?”
“I read your Composition Notebook. You were going to frame me by making it seem like I had taken out Heather.Make it seem like there was something between us. Is that correct?”
“I’m not sure what I was going to do anymore,” she mumbles. “I was wrong about everything.”
“But you had the right people. Except for me. Everyone else has played a part.”
Nyssa leans forward until her brow brushes against mine. “How are you so calm about this? How are you not angry I was going to ruin your life?”
“Because I understand you. You were reacting out of a place of hurt. Justifiably so.” My palms slide along the side of her neck to bring us together in a slow kiss. “I’ve been thinking about an alternative to myself. There’s one other person who deserves to go down for everything he’s done.”
She pulls back to gaze into my eyes with a spark in her own. “So that’s why you signed his name.”
Heather Driscoll shows up a few minutes after nine, as agreed. She’s dressed up even more than usual in a low-cut, blood-red dress that hugs her body and black heels that accentuate how toned her legs are. Her strawberry blonde hair is loosely curled about her shoulders, offsetting the heavy makeup she’s used to paint her face with.
She waits outside the Castlebury Tower with an impatient roll of her eyes. Every minute or so, she resorts to tapping furiously away at her phone. Likely texting someone to bitch about how late I am.
I’m watching from afar as her phone rings in her hand and she answers on the second ring after recognizing the number.
Mine.
Or the number she believes is mine.
“Why don’t you head on up using the private entrance?” I ask in my smoothest tone. The code is 3698. Make yourself comfortable and help yourself to some pinot noir while you wait. I’ll be there soon.”
Heather hangs up with a satisfied curve to her mouth. She pockets her phone in the small clutch purse she has with her and then shakes back her locks of hair as if preparing to strut on a runway.
It takes her another five minutes before she’s able to punch in the code and ride the elevator up to the eighteenth floor where Thurman Adler’s penthouse is. The door opens when she tries it.
Heather takes my advice about making herself at home.
She kicks off her high heels and browses the large penthouse apartment with dollar signs gleaming in her eyes. In the wake of her money troubles following her father’s death, it must be a comfort to see such nice furnishings.
It’s a reminder that the ritzy life is the only one for her.
She helps herself to a glass of the pinot noir I’d mentioned before she sets off on an exploration of the rest of the penthouse.
“Wait ’til you see the older man I’ve caught, Nyssie,” she sneers in between sips of wine. “University dean trumps a measly professor any day. I always come out on top.”
She giggles at her own remark, stopping in the bathroom to freshen up. Her ivory skin tinges pink as she turns on the faucet and reaches for a towel to dab herself with.
“It’s so warm in here,” she mumbles. “Eww, why am I sweating?”