Layers Crossed Read Online Free

tonight.
Have you seen that girl who danced last? She went backstage to
change, and it’s been a while.”
    “The one with
the gems?” Her brow rose in a funny way, as if this was a question
she’d already answered more than once tonight.
    “Yes.” My eyes
flew open.
    “Emma. Her
name is Emma.”
    “Emma.” The
moment I said her name, something odd happened in my chest. The
profound pounding and a light-hearted sensation were new to me. I’d
never experienced lust of such height. I mean, I’d gotten hot for
women before – it was only natural that I would – but Emma. God,
Emma just took over my entire being with her presence, and if I
didn’t see her soon, I’d go insane. “Where is she?”
    “She
left.”
    What? The
waitress was lying – she had to be. There was no way that Emma
could have dismissed the connection we’d had so easily. Was she
safe? I quickly ran out the front door. There was no sign of a
struggle or commotion. Why would she have disappeared so quickly?
It couldn’t have been me, could it? Was I too forward? Too strong?
Dealing with city women who had a mind of their own wasn’t my thing
– but Emma… If I ever got a chance to see her again, I would never
let her go.
    When I
returned, I asked the same waitress, “Do you have Emma’s last
name?”
    “Sorry, hun, I
don’t.”
    “An address,
or a license plate at least? Anything?”
    She shook her
head sideways.
    “Fuck,” I
swore under my breath, running my fingers through my hair, already
imagining spending the rest of my life looking for the one that got
away. “I’m sorry. She said she’d come back…”
    Was I fucking
stuttering? What the hell was that about? How could I have let
myself be affected by a woman to a point of desperation? There was
no reason to even hope now, was there? I’d better forget about her
– think of Emma as a dream. A dream that would never come true.

     
    C HAPTER 3
    Emma
    I shuffled
through the photographs on my desk re-arranging them for the fifth
time this morning, wondering how I would break the news to
Christine of her husband’s infidelity. The zoomed-in pictures of a
girl younger than my client by at least two decades, riding her
husband, was unmistakable. There was a specific order in which I’d
need to show her these. See, some women had to be broken down
first. If I showed a young model blowing the cheater like he was
the best lollipop in the world, they’d accuse me of forgery. It
took much longer for the truth to sink in – even though deep down
they’d always known what it was. Instead of slamming into them, I’d
need to work my way into their heart first. Most of the time, I’d
show my client a photo of her husband meeting his mistress, maybe
even exchanging a kiss before the clothes were torn off.
    Christine was
different, though. She was a fighter and I knew she’d want to see
the worst damage as soon as she sat down in the leather chair at my
desk. And the image I’d held in my hands of her husband wearing
nothing but a leash, tied to a bed with his leather-bearing bitch
right over him, was enough evidence to help her decide how to
proceed. She’d been smart enough to have a pre-nup. With the
airtight clauses I’d seen in there, the bastard would get nothing
from her.
    My heart tore.
This work was beginning to eat at me from the inside out. Couldn’t
my brothers see I wasn’t happy, constantly dealing with cheating
couples? How in the world was that supposed to restore my faith in
true love? The faith I’d had two years ago before I joined Cross
Enterprises, our family-run top private investigations firm,
full-time. My only reason for doing so then was to lose myself in
my work – to forget the pain and eventually work my way up the
ladder. While my brothers’ love for their wives was the only thing
that kept me from completely losing hope in a successful
relationship, I was beginning to think that honest men like Julian
and Tristan didn’t exist anywhere else