Rage (31 page)

As the shimmering sun rose over Sueset Bay, Stephanie

leaned her head lazily on Phillip’s bare shoulder. They’d slept

some off and on, but each of them had taken a turn waking the

other in the night for more lovemaking. Just before dawn, Steph

tumbled out onto the patio and ran the water in the hot tub. If the sex Olympics were to continue, she knew her muscles would

thank her for the hydrotherapy. The water level was almost

above the jets when she felt a hand on her naked ass, and Phillip quickly silenced her surprised squeal with a mind numbing kiss.

The sunrise had come and gone, and they’d been boiling in

the water for twenty minutes when Phillip growled playfully and

pulled her onto his lap like some dirty Santa Claus.

“Hey, little girl. Want some candy?” His accent was nearly

impossible to resist.

She emitted a throaty laugh and shook her head. “Listen,

baby, if we keep this up, I won’t be able to walk.”

He touched his forehead to hers with an exasperated huff

and stuck out his bottom lip. She kissed it with a loud smacking sound and ran her hands down his chest, resting her right hand

on his tattoo.

She hesitated and then traced the outline of the triangular

shape with her finger. “Tell me about this.”

His fair eyes dropped to her hand, and the color rose in his

cheeks. He blinked and looked away. “Oh. Well…it’s kind of

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embarrassing.”

“I’m all ears.” She cocked a sassy eyebrow and smiled soft-

ly. He positioned her so she was facing him, and she straddled

him.

“When I thought I’d lost you, I went to hide in the bottom

of a whisky bottle on Inishmore. Do you remember me telling

you about my uncle?”

“The ex-mercenary?” she asked. Phillip nodded seriously,

and Steph climbed off of his lap. She took the bench across from him, making herself comfortable for what could be a long story.

“He owns an inn there. It’s where I went…after.”

Steph nodded silently and felt her pulse quicken. Like the

rest of the world, she’d been dying to know where he’d been

during what E Entertainment Television referred to as

“Phillipwatch”.

“It was cowardly, and I was wallowing. Anyway…his

friend Bones came around and that dude is an Inkmaster. I told

him I wanted something over my heart. Something Irish. It had

to be something that would remind me never to give my heart

away again.” The passion with which he spoke made Steph un-

comfortable, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fo-

cusing on the water in front of her.

Phillip splashed forward and came to a stop in front of her,

his hands finding her hips under the water. “Hey. I was drunk

and stupid. Fortunately, he saw through me and knew what I re-

ally wanted. That must be the secret talent of every exceptional tattooist. He gave me this Celtic knot.”

Phillip took her finger between two of his and traced it

along the tattoo. His pale blue eyes caressed her as he explained his logic. “Later, when I sobered up, I did some research. I

know, it was backwards, but you know me. Anyway, I found out

that knots with multiple paths interwoven like mine are referred to as “love knots.” Endless paths are thought to represent eternity.”

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Steph felt a monstrous lump in her throat as Phillip lifted

her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“The one Bones gave me is a trinity knot. Three paths, three

corners. I’ve been thinking a lot about it the past couple of days.

I’ve decided the three paths are mine, yours… and the baby’s. I

hope you don’t think that’s daft.”

Steph shook her head and swallowed hard. “I named her.”

Phillip whipped his head in her direction, and her phone be-

gan to ring.

“Shit. And so it begins.” She sighed and climbed out of the

hot tub, creeping carefully over to her purse. She answered, and the sound of loud caterwauling greeted her.

“You need to get your ass to the spa. Now.” Cheyenne

spoke in hushed tones over the heinous wailing sound. It was

clear that though it was only about seven a.m., she was already

frazzled.

“Is that Liam?”

Cheyenne snorted. “No. It’s Yara. She woke up this morn-

ing with a zit the size of Mt. Rushmore.”

“What the hell do you want me to do about it?” Steph

asked, admiring Phillip’s edible ripped body as he came through

the balcony door.

“Tell her you can fix it with the magic of photo shop, I

don’t know!” Cheyenne exhaled, and Steph could tell she was

smoking again. Steph was very grateful that she wasn’t a

bridesmaid. “Misery loves company, bitch. I was just hoping

you’d bring me some cheese to go with this wine.”

As if on cue, the horrid sound began again. Steph held the

phone away from her ear; Phillip covered his ear and frowned.

“Dear God.” He laughed.

“Did I just hear Phillip?” Cheyenne demanded, her hushed

tone full of gossip and promise.

“I’ll be there in a little bit.” Steph hung up and tossed her

phone onto the bed beside Phillip. “Can I call in sick?”

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He smiled from the edge of bed and pulled her to him, nuz-

zling into her naked breasts. “You just have to get through today, love. One more day.”

She wrapped her arms around him as his words resonated

through her. One more day. Today was their last day on Noro-

nha. She had a plane to catch the next morning, and the thought

of flying back to Paris and away from him unnerved her. She

wondered what would become of them, what this all meant, if

anything. He looked up at her, and the conflict in his eyes told her that he had similar concerns.

“I have to go.” She explained, “Cheyenne’s on the verge of

strangling the bride.”

“Well we can’t have that now, can we?” Phillip’s response

was casual, “I need breakfast anyway. I have some protein stores to replenish.”

“Quit making it so hard to leave,” she groaned, lightly

scratching her nails across his shoulders as she released him

from her embrace.

“Quit making
it
so hard,” he replied with a sly grin. She tossed her head and laughed. Turning, she bent over to pick up

her discarded clothes, and Phillip pulled her back onto the bed.

“Sorry, love. I’m not quite through with you just yet.” One

look at his mischievous grin and she knew she was going to be

very late for pre-wedding photographs.

As Steph climbed the long path back up to the lobby, she

felt her stress level rising with each step. It couldn’t be put off any longer. She had to go to her room, and she had to face Christopher. He was such an unpredictable man that she had no idea

what lay ahead. Phillip had pressed her to let him come along,

but she knew that would only make a bad situation disastrous,

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and she insisted on doing it on her own.

When she finally reached the main building, she decided to

be stealthy and took the long way around. It was a calculated

move to avoid being seen by anyone in the dining area. She did

not relish doing the walk of shame in last night’s clothes in front of Nathan Clayton. She cut around the front of the building and

had nearly reached the valet doors when she saw Enrique wheel-

ing luggage to a land rover. Her lugs turned to rubber when she

saw Christopher trailing him, his phone to his ear. Stephanie had the overwhelming urge to run.

I may as well have a neon sign flashing the word
Whore

over my head. Joy.

She was about to turn around the way she came when Chris-

topher looked in her direction. His phone remained firmly to his ear, but he eyed her up and down.

“We’ll discuss this further when I get back. Cheers.” He

hung up. Steph inhaled deeply, unsure where to begin. Christo-

pher pulled an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket. “This is my resignation. I’m handing you over to Debz. She’s not a shark, like I am, and she’s a bit unorthodox, but then, so are you. You should get along quite nicely.”

“Chris, I’m sorry.” She could feel her skin growing splotchy

as it always did when she was embarrassed. He held up a hand to

stop her.

“Don’t be sorry. From the beginning I knew you weren’t

over him. I’m the one who jumped in with both feet. I knew bet-

ter, and I ignored my instincts. Shame on me.” Enrique appeared

at his side, gracing Stephanie with a disapproving sneer. She narrowed her eyes at him and then turned back to Christopher.

“I need to say something to you,” Steph said, grabbing his

arm as he turned away. He stopped and looked down at her hand

neutrally. Pulling off his sunglasses, he looked down at her with his game face firmly in place. “You’ve been a damn good agent,

Christopher, and a hell of a friend. You pulled me out of a very 204

RAGE

dark place and whether you believe it or not, I’ll be forever

grateful to you.”

Christopher chewed on the corner of his lip as if rolling her

statement around to get the feel of it. He nodded slowly, his eyes flitting briefly to her face. He hid it well, but the hurt under his polished surface shamed her. Without another word, he climbed

into the passenger seat.

Steph watched as his Land Rover sped away and disap-

peared behind the tree line. Her phone rang again, and when she

saw it was Cheyenne again, she didn’t bother to answer it. In-

stead, she hurried in the direction of her room.

Phillip couldn’t contain the swagger in his step as he wan-

dered into the dining area and plopped down into a chair next to Nathan. With only the band members present for breakfast, it

was surprisingly quiet in the dining room. Across from him, Bret looked like the human equivalent of a dried apple, and David,

who for the first time in recorded history looked frayed around

the edges, was shoving a water glass in front of Bret and waving the waitress over for coffee refills. Scot turned to Phillip, his coffee cup halfway to his lips.

“Good day, sunshine.” Scot mused. Phillip felt his face

break into a huge smile.

Nathan lit a cigarette, eyeing Phillip with suspicion and

amusement. “I heard you had a guest last night. Looks like your

little visit was… invigorating.”

Bret chugged his glass of water, winced, and said “Do tell.”

Phillip paused, casting a reluctant eye around at his brothers

in arms. “Stephanie and I worked things out.”

“‘Bout bloody time!” David didn’t look up from the phone

he was franticly texting on. Bret snorted and pulled a five pound 205

TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

note out of his pocket and flung it at David, who stuffed it in his pocket without looking up from his text. Nathan groaned and

reached for his wallet. Scot grinned like a fool and motioned for him to keep the money coming.

“Fork it over, bitch.”

Phillip gaped in shock, but never lost his grin. “You wa-

gered on us?”

Scot fixed him with a mock withering glance and a wicked

grin. “Get over it.”

“Relax. Phil. We didn’t wager on whether or not you’d

sleep with Steph. That would be ridiculous. We just wagered on

when,” Nathan replied. “Bret and I said after the wed-

ding…David and Scot said before. They’re optimists.”

Scot grinned. “And winners, it seems.”

“I never win anything,” Bret snapped, downing more cof-