The Fall of Legend Read online

  A few minutes later, we pull up to the building where Bump and I go racing every couple of months. I might not trust the kid behind the wheel of my Bronco, but he’s one hell of a driver on the track, and listening to him laugh and cheer is enough to make any day better.

  As we head inside, Scarlett stares at everything in quiet wonder. I may have taken the girl out of the city, but I doubt it’s easy to take the city out of the girl.

  “You sure you want to do this?” I ask, pausing before we approach the counter.

  She nods three times but doesn’t speak. Her hands are balled into fists, and I can read the tension on her face. I step closer to her, cupping her right fist in the palm of my hand, and using my thumb, I unfold her fingers one at a time. Little by little, her shoulders relax.

  “I might be apprehensive about trying certain new things.”

  I lift my free hand to her chin and tilt it up so I can see her whole face. Her gray eyes are so wide and expressive that I’m pretty damn sure I could drown in them. Every emotion plays out across her face. Fear, excitement, nervousness. I can’t stop myself from stroking my thumb across her cheek. Her skin is ridiculously soft, and fuck, I want to kiss her more than I want to take my next breath.

  Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking do it.

  I dip my chin, inhaling the sweet scent coming from her hair. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. You have my word.”

  “And if I finish last in every race and people are pointing and laughing at me?” she whispers, and I can feel her breath on my lips.

  Don’t fucking kiss her. Don’t.

  “Fuck everyone else. We’re here for you to have a good time. Nothing else matters.”

  She blinks twice, like my statement requires extra processing, and that’s when I realize that this woman always has to care what people think. Every moment of every day, she’s being watched and judged for everything she does.

  She may be the rich one, who has never had to worry about money a day in her life, but I never considered how living like that would impact someone. It’s all she knows, and suddenly, I want to change that for her. I want her to get crazy and do something new and different without the fear of judgment. I want her to live, not just go through the safe motions.

  “Nothing else matters,” she repeats quietly. A smile curls her lips upward as she considers the statement. “No one here knows who we are or cares, so I don’t care what they think. Let’s do this.”

  Forty-Six

  Scarlett

  Gabriel drives like he was born with a steering wheel in his hands. After watching him effortlessly maneuver his giant truck through the bustling traffic of Manhattan, I should have known he’d race like a pro.

  Even so, with his superior skills, he doesn’t crush me. After a few hesitant laps, I finally get the hang of it. Now we’re lined up at the start again, waiting for the green flag to wave and let us go for our final race. Except this time, I’m at the front of the line and Gabriel is at the back of the pack. I know the minor handicap won’t keep him from winning, but I’m going to try my damnedest to make a good showing.

  That’s when I realize that coming here, to this go-kart-racing track, is the most fun I’ve had—other than Saturday night—in years. I’ve laughed more than I thought possible. I’ve cheered on little kids as they battle out what appears to be a death match, while waiting for our next race.

  And it’s all because of him.

  I take one more quick glance behind me and give Gabriel a thumbs-up. He nods and gives it back to me. That small gesture, a thumbs-up, sends more of a charge through me than the smoothest move Chadwick could ever have dreamed of pulling.

  More than anything, today has made me realize that my body has absolutely no problem getting excited over a man. It just had to be the right man.

  Before I can think more on that discovery, the flag drops and we’re off.

  I grip the wheel with both hands, steering around the corners, trying to stick to the center, because I know I’m not fast enough to take the inside track. I make it almost half a lap before Gabriel’s kart flies by me. I catch a hint of the grin beneath the cover of his helmet, and a surge of joy rises in me. Instantly, I snapshot it in my brain and caption it happy gabe.

  He looks so different when he smiles, and I want to give him more of it. I want to see that expression on his face again and again.

  I force myself to focus on the race, but it’s nearly impossible. I’m . . . I’m . . . in serious danger of falling for this guy who I have no business even knowing he exists.

  He’s not for me.

  We may live in the same city, but we’re from different worlds.

  Yet, for the first time in my entire life, I don’t care about any of that. I love how he makes me feel, and I don’t want it to stop.

  This is what I’ve been missing. This is what I need in my life. Something real.

  Three laps later, all but two of the other drivers and me are off the track. I don’t care that one kid looks about sixteen and the other is in his early twenties, I’m not going to be last. No, sir. I will not.

  The older kid edges me out for the inside lane, but I jam my accelerator to the floorboard of the kart and slide in right behind him, cutting off the younger boy. I don’t know anything about racing, but I once saw Days of Thunder, and I remember that whole scene about drafting when Tom Cruise is pushing the sugar packets up Nicole Kidman’s leg. I know he said something about doing a slingshot around the guy in front of you, but I don’t think I’m equipped for that level of expertise. I’ll settle for not finishing last.

  I see the checkered flag waving up ahead and the younger kid is attempting to pass me, right before the finish. Not happening. I’m going for it. I jerk my steering wheel to the right and bump into him. Didn’t the old guy in the movie say something about rubbing being part of racing?

  I don’t know, but it slows the kid down long enough for me to cross the finish line on the tail of the older kid—and I’m not last!

  As soon as I swing my kart into the lane where I’m supposed to park, I unbuckle my seat belt and remove my helmet. Before I can climb out, Gabriel is there, lifting me into the air and swinging me around.

  “You beat him! I saw that bump. You killed it, ladybug. Fucking proud of you.”

  I’m dizzy, and it has nothing to do with him spinning me in circles. I stare down at him, and there’s only one thing I can possibly do.

  I lean down and press my lips to his.

  In that single instant, we stop moving and his arms wrap around me tighter, pressing me against him from ribs to hips.

  The kiss takes on a life of its own. His lips move and shift, coaxing my mouth open until his tongue slips inside, tasting me and unleashing a wave of heat. One of my hands slides up from his shoulder to bury in his dark blond hair as the kiss goes deeper.

  “Enough of that now. Race is done. Off the track.”

  The voice of the guy responsible for waving the flags steals into my consciousness, and I jerk my head back. Or at least, I try. Gabriel holds me close, taking one more taste before he lowers me.

  As soon as my feet hit the ground, I know that I’ve either made a terrible mistake, or the best decision of my entire life.

  Except, I won’t know which it was until he opens his mouth.

  I follow as he leads me off the track, my hand gripped in his. I expect him to stop moving as soon as we’re in the viewing area, but he doesn’t. He tugs me along until we exit the building and are standing outside, next to the passenger door of his truck. His expression is completely unreadable.

  “Gabriel—”

  He moves in and pins me against the side of the truck, one hand beside my arm and the other beside my head. “I need to do this again.”

  Then he swoops in.

  His lips take my mouth, molding and shaping it until it’s the perfect match to his, and then he devastates me completely. Slow nips, tilting heads, deep draws, and soul-drugging kis
ses.

  Kelsey told me Gabriel Legend was dangerous, but she didn’t even know the half of it.

  When he finally pulls away and those piercing blue eyes lance through me, I know that I’ll never recover from this man.

  He’s the one.

  Forty-Seven

  Legend

  I shouldn’t have kissed her back the first time. I shouldn’t have dragged her outside and pinned her against the side of my truck either. But I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to stop myself. For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the feel of Scarlett’s lips on mine.

  I pull away because I know that if I don’t, there’s a good chance I’m going to end up fucking her in the back seat, and she deserves better than that. She deserves better than me.

  But, fuck, that one kiss was better than anything I’ve felt in a hell of a long time.

  Innocent. Sweet. But with a promise of fire.

  It’s that scorching silent vow that scares me the most. She’s just waiting for the right man and the right moment to realize her full potential. When she does, it’s going to be a fucking sight to see.

  A sight you won’t get to see, asshole, the voice in my head reminds me. Get your fucking hands off her, take her home, and tell her the deal is off. You’re not the guy for her.

  Why not? I want to yell the question at myself, but instead I drop my hands from the side of the truck and take a step back.

  “You’re a natural.”

  “At racing or kissing you?” she replies with a teasing grin on her face.

  I have to look away. She’ll fucking slay me if I don’t. I buy some time to reply by digging my keys out of my pocket.

  She steps away so I can open the door for her.

  When she doesn’t hop up, I realize she’s waiting for a boost from me like I gave her before, since my lifted Bronco has no running boards and can be tough to enter if you’re under five-eight. Fuck, do I even trust myself to touch her?

  No. But I do it anyway.

  I should get my hands off her as quickly as possible, but I find myself pausing as I lower her into the seat.

  “Both, ladybug. You’re a natural at both.”

  “Do you want to come in?” Scarlett asks as I pull into a shockingly empty street-parking spot in front of her four-story brownstone. “Everyone else is gone for the day.”

  The word no is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t get it out. I don’t want to wipe that smile off her face.

  “Come on. Let me give you a tour. I promise I won’t bore you to death.”

  She has no idea that it’s not boredom that scares me. It’s her. She’s got me so off-balance; I don’t know which way is up.

  There are fifteen texts I need to answer. Some from Bump, Q, Zoe, Rolo, and a few others. But I don’t want to talk to them. I want to talk to her.

  You’re fucked. So fucked.

  I nod, and Scarlett’s wide smile shines a thousand watts more brilliantly.

  “Good. Come on.”

  She opens her door, but my brain is throwing my body into high gear. I’m out of the truck and around the side to lift her down to the ground before she can jump.

  I slowly lower her along my body, breathing in her sweet scent and committing it to memory. I don’t know what the hell it is, but I’ll always associate it with her.

  “Thank you,” she whispers before threading her fingers through mine and leading me up the sidewalk to the front door.

  As she reaches into her purse with her free hand to pull out her keys, I stare down at our joined hands.

  When is the last time I held a woman’s hand while we walked? For the life of me, I can’t think of a single instance in the last fifteen years. Not since I was young and idealistic and full of dreams. Before life showed me exactly how ruthless it could be, and how easily it could take everything from you.

  It’s such a simple thing to hold a woman’s hand, but when you haven’t done it in about fifteen years, it feels a hell of a lot bigger.

  The door opens, and she tugs me inside.

  “Welcome to Curated,” she says with pride in her voice as she releases my hand.

  Part of me doesn’t want to let go, but I force my fingers to relax.

  “Everything in here is for sale, except for a few pieces of the furniture. We’re open to the public on Fridays and by appointment Tuesday through Thursday. I used to handpick every single item we sell, since no two are alike, but the bigger we’ve gotten, the faster inventory moves, so I’ve had to enlist the help of a network of finders all over the country. We turn over our inventory every week. People get one chance to buy it, and after that, it’s gone forever.”

  My brain finally clicks into logical, rational mode as I listen to her describe her business model. It’s fucking brilliant. “One of each and only one chance to buy before it’s gone forever means that you feed off impulse buys and scarcity. Shit must fly out of here on Friday.”

  Scarlett nods. “Fridays are insane. We have a line out front hours before we open. We only let a certain number of people inside at once, but there’s also no limit to the number of items you can buy. We’ve had people come in and literally take home an entire roomful of product. It blows my mind.”

  I take a few steps forward, scanning the bookshelf of classics, peppered with knickknacks that even I can tell are unique and cool and probably expensive as fuck.

  “Where do your finders dig all this up?”

  “Flea markets, garage sales, antique stores, eBay . . . everywhere, really. My only requirement is that it’s something we’ve never sold before, and we will only stock one. Unless it’s a set, then we’ll sell the entire thing.”

  I walk toward the kitchen area, where mismatched dishes are arranged on a table that looks like it’s waiting for a family to sit down to a homecooked meal. The chairs don’t match either, and somehow it’s still fucking perfect and makes me wish I’d had even a sliver of this kind of home life as a kid.

  “Why this?” I ask, turning to face Scarlett as she moves a salt-and-pepper-shaker set three times to get them to sit at the perfect angle next to a napkin holder.

  She bites down on her lip and pauses. “You want the real answer or the one I give the media?”

  “Both.”

  “I want everyone to have the chance to have the perfectly curated home and life on their social media feeds. I don’t think that should be the exclusive purview of the wealthy, creative, or those who have great taste. I think it should be accessible to all.”

  “That’s the canned answer, right?” I ask her.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, what’s the real reason?”

  Scarlett glances out the side window before looking back to me and answering. “I hate the idea of all this amazing stuff not getting a second chance to be important. I hate the idea of it sitting in a storage unit or closet or garage—or even worse, in the dump. I don’t like living in a disposable world where we don’t value what we have. Each piece in here has a story, and that makes it special. I want other people to appreciate that too.”

  The corners of my mouth tug my lips into a brief smile. “I think you’re doing a hell of a job, ladybug.”

  “Chadwick thought it was stupid. He thought all of this was junk and that I should work for my dad.”

  I close the distance between us as the light in her eyes fades with the memory of that fucking loser. I should have taught him a lesson Saturday night. He deserves to bleed for how he made her feel. But that doesn’t help me now.

  “Chadwick clearly didn’t appreciate special. Otherwise, he’d still have you.” The words come out without thought, and as soon as I speak them, I know I’ve fucked up.

  She leans against me, and I have no choice but to kiss her.

  Just. One. More. Time.

  Forty-Eight

  Scarlett

  I watch him walk down the sidewalk from between the lace curtains in the front room. I know firsthand how strong that muscled body of his is now. I
’ve felt the hardness against me. I’ve heard him laugh. I’ve seen him smile. I’ve tasted his lips.

  And I want more.

  That’s the only thing I’m completely certain about right now.

  More Gabriel Legend is the only cure for whatever is happening to me. My skin heats when he’s near, and I can’t hold still. I want to touch him, strip off his shirt, run my hands over his bare skin . . .

  He fires up the truck and glances toward Curated once more. I wave from the window, not caring that he can see me watching him. He lifts his chin and pulls away from the curb, leaving me staring at taillights that disappear a moment later.

  I wrap my arms around myself and smile big.

  “He calls me ladybug,” I whisper to the empty room. “And I really, really love that.”

  I wander upstairs and unlock my apartment. I wanted to show him this too, but . . . a tiny bit of apprehension kept me from doing it.

  “What the hell am I doing? Am I really doing this?” When no one answers my question, I grab my phone and call Kelsey. Thankfully, she answers on the third ring.

  “Hey, babe, I’m just walking out of my last appointment of the day. You need me to head your way? I didn’t have you on my calendar for tonight.”

  “I kissed Gabriel Legend.” I blurt it out without preamble.

  “What? Hold on, let me get out of this building. My service is acting weird, because I could swear you just said—”

  “I kissed Gabriel Legend. Three times.”

  “Ho-ly shit. No way! Where? When?” Kelsey’s screeching nearly deafens me.

  “Today. This afternoon. We hung out. We drove go-karts. And I kissed him, and then he dragged me out of the go-kart place and kissed me against his truck and then again in Curated’s kitchen. Oh my God, Kels. It was . . . Jesus. The man is a kissing savant. My knees could barely handle it.”

  “I don’t know what to say. For the first time ever, I think I’m totally speechless,” she says, this time sounding dumbfounded.