A Secret Life (16 page)

“We go upstairs,” he said easily, gesturing for her to precede him.

“We’re going to have kinky sex on the catwalk?”

“Who said anything about kinky sex?”

“But…” Her jaw dropped open as she realized his intent. “You pervert.”

“I think we pretty much established that already.”

She bopped him in the chest with the end of her fist. “You’re going to look up my skirt.”

“Hey, it was your idea in the first place.”

“I—”

“And it was a good one.”

“And you swore you didn’t do that kind of thing.”

“Not without permission.” He moved closer again. “Can I assume I’ve got your permission?”

“You may not.”

This time, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Never took you for a tease.”

“I’m not a tease.”

“You sure make promises you won’t keep.”

“You tricked me.”

“I did,” he nodded. “That was my master plan all along. Get shot, and get you to promise me kinky sex.”

“You’re insufferable.” It might not have been a setup, but it sure felt like a setup.

“Tell me something, Heather.”

“What?”

“Do you
want
to climb up those stairs in front of me?”

His question sent a shiver down her spine. She opened her mouth to tell him no, but his intent gaze told her he’d know she was lying.

Truth was, now that she really thought about it, climbing up those stairs with Samuel behind her would be daring. It would be sexy—like nothing she’d every done before, like nothing she’d ever do again.

“It’s just you and me, babe,” he rumbled, his rough fingertips brushing a tendril of hair back from her face. “None of your Boston boys will ever have to know.”

He had a point.

She lifted her lashes to gaze into his dark, sinful eyes. If she was ever going to go out on a sexual limb, now was the moment to do it. And this moment might never come again. She was more than a little nervous, but she turned away and started up the first steps.

Her skirt swished, and her thighs fanned each other as she walked up one step, then another, then another. She could feel Samuel’s gaze, hot and prickly on the backs of her legs.

The aging wood groaned and the staircase bowed as he mounted the first step. She kept climbing, and he kept pace, the distance remaining constant between them.

By the time she stepped out on the catwalk, she was a heated mass of hormones. Her skin gleamed slickly in the fading light. And it was a fight to keep from throwing herself in his arms.

Samuel moved to a floor-level window, removing the camera from around his neck. “This’ll work,” he said, then eased his big body down to lean back against the wall.

Heather stared at him in disbelief. Where was the kiss? Where was the embrace? Where was the fast, hard sex up again the wall?

“What?” he asked.

She pushed back her damp hair, trying to ignore the throbbing insistence between her legs. “I thought…”

He lifted his brows, his expression deadpan.

She took a step forward. “Then
what the hell
was that all about?”

He grinned. “That was about me watching you walk up a flight of stairs.”

“But—”

“You thought we’d have sex now?”

Who wouldn’t think they’d have sex now? Wasn’t that the point of foreplay? Wasn’t that the point of getting her out of her panties and talking dirty?

Unless he didn’t want sex. Was there something about the glimpse of her butt that had turned him off?

“Put the insecurity on hold,” he said, lifting his sling. “I’m waiting until I have two good arms.”

“Oh.” They couldn’t do it more than once?

He nodded out the window. “And I can’t get a picture of our thief if I’m banging you, can I?”

Okay. Fair enough. Now she just felt stupid.

His voice turned gentle. “But come and sit on my lap.”

She rolled her eyes. “Will you make up your mind?”

“I have made up my mind. I’m here for a stakeout. But you’ll make it more entertaining. Unless you think the bare floor will be more comfortable.”

She squinted down at the wooden planks. “I’d probably get splinters.”

“You probably would.” He held out his good arm.

She moved toward him. “Fine. But you keep your hands to yourself.”

He steadied her as she lowered herself into his lap. “Ah, Heather. I’ll put my hands anywhere my little heart desires.” And then he set his warm, broad palm on the top of her thigh.

“I hate you,” she said, wishing he’d take his hand away, but hoping he’d move it higher. She was a pathetic jangle of sexual need, and he had her completely under his spell.

He chuckled. “It’s not me you hate. It’s that prison you’ve locked yourself inside.”

What a ridiculous statement. “I’m not in a prison.”

His fingertip moved ever so slightly, and she sucked in a gasp.

“What should you be doing?” he asked.

“About what?”

“Tonight. It’s Friday. If you weren’t in Indigo with me, where would you be?”

A pithy swearword zinged across her brain as she realized she’d stood up her date.
“Jeffrey Plant.”

“Who’s Jeffrey Plant?”

“My date. Back in Boston. I’m supposed to be at the Heidelberg Strings. What time is it?”

“A little past eight.”

“Give me your cell phone.”

“Please?”

She turned to glare at him. “Please.”

“Sir?”

“This isn’t about sex.”

“Everything’s about sex.”

“Well, we’re not going there.”

“Sure we are.”

No, they weren’t. They were
not.
“I need to call my boyfriend,” she lied.

He reached into his pocket and handed her the phone, his expression telling her he guessed she was exaggerating the relationship.

“Thank you,” she said, before she realized being polite would only encourage him in his fantasy.

“Sir,” he rumbled, as she pushed the buttons.

“Never,” she growled back.

“Hello?” came Jeffrey’s voice through the small speaker.

“Jeffrey?” She tried to sit forward, but Samuel snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her back into the cradle of his thighs.

“Heather? Where are you?” The sound of a crowd was in the background, and she could picture him in his tuxedo in the lobby of the Wang Center.

Guilt had her struggling in Samuel’s grasp, but it was futile. “I’m in Indigo with Joan.”

Samuel snorted, and she reached back to bop him.

“You’re supposed to be
here,
” said Jeffrey.

“I’m sorry…sir,” she added to needle Samuel.

In retaliation, his hand moved up and closed over her breast.

She inhaled sharply at the sensations that instantaneously shot through her body.

“I don’t like what I’m hearing about your sister,” said Jeffrey.

“What are you hearing?” She bit down on her bottom lip in an effort to combat the impact of Samuel’s caress.

“What do you mean, what am I hearing? I’m hearing what everybody else is hearing.”

Samuel’s fingers closed on her hardened nipple.

She swallowed a groan. “It’s complicated,” she gasped into the phone.

“I don’t particularly care if it’s complicated. When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

His voice turned imperious. “Make it now.”

Heather didn’t remember that tone being so annoying. “I can’t.”

Samuel’s fingers tightened, not quite enough to hurt, but enough to command her total attention.

“Yes, you can.”

She pawed at Samuel’s hand, but she was no match for his strength. “I have to go, Jeffrey.”

“Go where?”

If he knew. If he only knew.

“Bye,” she whooshed, and quickly hung up. Then she rounded on Samuel. “That was outrageous!” she sputtered.

He grinned unrepentantly. “That was fun.”

“You can’t…just…when I’m…”

His palm smoothed over her aching nipple. “You going to tell me you didn’t like that?”

She breathed deeply, trying not to get distracted from her anger. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point. Whoa.” His hand left her breast, and he quickly lifted the camera to his eye.

Heather swung her gaze toward the window. “You see something?”

“Hang on.”

She pulled back. “Should I move?”

“You’re fine.”

She focused on the tiny figure moving through Samuel’s backyard. The shutter clicked in her ear as Samuel took pictures of the person making his way toward the porch.

“Should we go grab him?” she whispered.

“I don’t want any more shooting,” said Samuel. He clicked the shutter a few more times.

“Are the pictures any good?”

“Not yet. I’m just getting the back of his head.”

“Where’s he—” The man kept on going right past the porch.

Samuel lowered the camera from his eye. “Maybe it’s not him.”

“Then what’s he doing in your yard?”

“I don’t know.”

The man disappeared into a copse of trees. “Where’d he go?”

“The tool shed’s down that trail. There.”

The figure reappeared, jiggling the catch on the wooden door.

“He won’t find anything in there,” said Samuel. “Nobody’s been in it for years.”

While they watched, the man gave up on the door and walked down the side of the shed. At the back corner, he look furtively around and then dropped to his knees.

“What on earth?” Heather breathed.

Samuel put the telephoto lens back up to his eye. “He’s digging.”

“For what?”

“Now, that’s gotta be the long shot of the century.”

“Buried treasure?” asked Heather.

“Is he going to check every square inch of my yard?”

They watched for a few more minutes.

“Should we call Alain?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Samuel tossed her the phone again.

“Maybe he’s crazy?” she offered as she glanced down at the lighted number pad.

“I’d say that was a safe—” Samuel froze.

“What?”

“He’s… Son of a bitch!” Samuel all but shoved her off his lap. He jumped to his feet and bailed down the long staircase.

J
OAN STUFFED
her clothes into the suitcase that was open on the high, four-poster bed in the opulent hotel suite provided by the network. Too bad she wasn’t going to be able to stick around and enjoy the amenities. It had been years since she’d lounged in a whirlpool bath, sipping champagne and gazing out at the lights of a beautiful city.

But right now, it was more important to get out of L.A. and back to Indigo. She was holding herself together by a thread around Anthony, second-guessing her decision, inches away from begging him to take her back. She needed to cut the cord and get completely away from him.

He was a publicity maniac, she told herself. Their approaches to her career were in complete opposition to each other. The fact that he was funny and smart and sexy, and that she had an unfilled sexual ache for his body had no bearing whatsoever on her professional decision.

He muddled her thinking, and she needed to get away from him as soon as humanly possible.

She slammed the suitcase shut and pushed the catches closed.

“Joan?” Anthony’s voice sounded from the entry hall, and her heart sank.

She’d told him she was going straight to the airport in the hopes he’d waste time scouring LAX. Her plan had been to make a quick stop at the hotel and then take a cab to Ontario Airport. She could get a flight to New Orleans from there.

“Joan?” he called again, his voice getting closer as he made his way down the hall.

There was a slim chance she could cut through the bathroom and evade him.

“Joan?”

So much for that.

He strode through the bedroom doorway. “You tried to have me
arrested?
”

She didn’t look up. “I was trying to get you to back off.” Why, oh, why couldn’t he take a hint?

He was quiet for a strained moment and the muted sounds of traffic wafted through the windows.

“So, this is really it?” he asked.

Of course it was it. She thought she’d made that pretty plain. She finally looked up. “What were you expecting?” Her hand tightened on the suitcase handle, and she heaved the bag off the bed.

He leaned forward and tried to take it from her.

She shook her head, pulling back. “I’m fine.”

“It looks pretty heavy.”

“I’ve been carrying my own suitcase most of my life.” Why couldn’t he just go away?

He waited patiently until she finally met his eyes.

His blue ones burned into hers, and it was impossible to miss the hurt and confusion in their depths.

She felt terrible hurting him. He was her friend. He’d stood by her side for ten years. Sure, his ideals were different from hers. But until
Charlie Long Live,
he’d never deliberately undermined her. Maybe she hadn’t given him enough time to explain. Maybe…

While she argued with herself, something shifted in his expression. His eyes swirled to cobalt, and her hormones answered. Her pulse spiked in reaction, causing sweat to gather on her palms and form between her breasts.

“I can’t believe you’re going to let it end like this,” he whispered, shifting forward, his husky voice adding to the confusion in her body.

“It’s already over,” she rasped.

“Can we at least say goodbye like civilized adults?”

She swallowed, her pulse rate erratic beneath her tingling skin. “Goodbye, Anthony.”

He took two final steps, and he was right in front of her, forcing her to look up at him.

“Goodbye, Joan.” He smiled sadly. “You have been…” As his voice faded, he leaned ever so slightly toward her.

His scent surrounded her, and her wild pulse pounded in her ears. Her suitcase handle grew slick against her palm.

His voice dropped even further, “…
the
greatest experience of my life.”

The suitcase slipped from her fingers to topple on the rug.

“Anthony,” she sighed, abandoning her iron control, fixating on his lips, remembering every second of every kiss they’d ever shared.

He bent toward her. “I’ll miss you, Joan Bateman.”

She felt tears burn the backs of her eyes. “I’ll miss you—”