by Claire Kent
It made her feel like she was just using Ander—in the same way everyone else always had.
She knew she still was. She knew her change of routine was mostly an empty gesture. But it made her feel better. Made her feel like their liaisons weren’t quite so superficial and objectifying. And she had a good time with Ander—even outside the bedroom.
On the first evening she’d suggested a change, they’d gone to an exhibit of antique Asian fans that the art museum was displaying for the month. Ander had wowed her with his knowledge of Asian fans until she’d needled him into admitting that he’d spent the day before doing research on them.
For their next engagement, they’d gone out to eat and then to a newly opened bookstore, specializing in used and rare books. They’d spent almost two hours searching the shelves and talking about books before they’d gone back to the hotel to have sex.
And today they were going to ice skate. Something Lori had always wanted to do.
Now she wasn’t sure why.
She was horrible at it. She knew how to roller-skate, and she’d done some roller-blading in college. Somehow she assumed that experience would help her on the ice.
It didn’t. She wobbled around, clinging to the wall or to Ander’s arm and falling down so many times it was mortifying. Six-year-old kids were skating better than she was. And Ander, damn him, had to be the most patient, considerate teacher imaginable.
She would feel better if he would just laugh at her.
Lori hadn’t said a word to him about knowing who he really was. She felt kind of guilty about snooping into his personal life—when he’d been so clear with her before about his vigilance over his privacy. Plus she wasn’t sure what to say. He obviously had reason to keep his identity secret, and he’d probably be mad if she blurted out that she now knew the truth.
She told herself it didn’t matter. He was still the same Ander she’d known for the last six months.
But it did matter. It made him feel even more like a whole person. A person with a traumatic, conflicted history and a father whom the papers and news shows constantly characterized as heartless and money hungry. A man who never hesitated to wipe out anyone who happened to be in the way of what he wanted.
Had Lori met Ander as Ander Milton, she probably would have been immediately suspicious and taken him for a spoiled, selfish playboy. But she knew Ander now. Knew he’d probably been one of his father’s most damaged victims.
Knowing who Ander’s father was made her feel weird and awkward in a way she hadn’t expected.
The change in their routine helped, and pushing her knowledge of Ander’s identity from her consciousness helped some too. But a tiny, stifled part of Lori’s mind kept hinting that she wasn’t going to be able to shuffle through this emotional balancing act for very long.
Determined to enjoy herself as much as she could for as long as she could, Lori tried to skate another lap around the rink. She did a little better this time. Her ankles wobbled a bit, but she held herself upright and made it several yards before she felt herself lose her balance.
She reached out to clutch at Ander, who was skating slowly beside her and trying to give her some pointers.
Ander came to a neat stop in time to catch her. She whimpered in frustration and buried her face in his shirt for a moment. Then she looked up at him and gritted out, “Damn it!”
Ander’s lips twitched just a little. “You’re doing fine.”
“No I’m not. Everyone is doing better than me. I’m usually good at things. This is ridiculous.”
His arms loosely draped around her waist, Ander’s eyes were momentarily so warm they took her breath away. Then he said with his typical cool composure, “You’re too uptight now. It’s making you clumsier than normal.”
Lori gasped indignantly. “Clumsy!”
“Just a little,” he qualified with another twitch of his mouth. “Try to relax and have fun with it. You’re in good shape, and you’re coordinated. You’ll do just fine if you relax a little.”
She’d never dare to admit it, but a lot of Lori’s tension was caused by something other than the new skill she was trying to learn. Being with Ander now made her feel kind of jittery. Tense and confused. Part of it had to do with the knowledge of his identity.
And the rest of it was caused by intense feelings Lori was too afraid to explore too deeply.
To cover her nerves, she glared up at him. “If you dare tell me I need to breathe... ”
Ander let out a brief burst of laughter, and Lori felt a little wave of delight at having amused him that way. It was always like this for her now, swinging from one emotional extreme to another.
But then Ander gave her a thoughtful look. “Actually, that might not be a bad idea.” Before Lori could do more than huff, he continued, “Think about breathing the way you did the first few times we were together.”
She stared at him suspiciously.
“Just do it,” he said with an ironic smile. “Trust me.”
As incongruous as it sounded, she did trust him. So with a last roll of her eyes, she began to breathe slowly and evenly.
After a minute, Ander nudged her forward. “Let’s go. And move your legs with your breathing.”
It sounded absolutely ridiculous, and it really shouldn’t have worked.
But it did.
Ander had to help her coordinate her motion at first, but Lori soon got the hang of it. Breathe and slide. Breathe and slide.
She made it halfway around the rink before she started to wobble. And then she didn’t even fall. After a while, she could make it around the entire rink by herself. And soon she could actually enjoy it.
They skated for a little more than an hour, but then the rink started getting more crowded. It was a Friday night, and this was apparently a favorite spot for high school dates. Lori could feel her cheeks were bright red from effort and activity, and her legs were getting a little tired.
So when Ander suggested just one more circle around the rink before they left, she was in full agreement.
She was delighted with herself when she made it the whole way without even a wobble. She clung to Ander’s hand and decided she understood why she’d always dreamed ice-skating would be such a fun and romantic activity.
Lori was brimming over with victory at her accomplishment and with giddy excitement as they finally came to a stop and stepped off the ice.
She took off her skates, grinning to herself and thinking how much fun she would have had skating with her best friend and crush from high school. She kind of felt like a teenager again right now, so she could only imagine how she would have felt back then.
“Have fun?” Ander asked, straightening up after he slid on his shoes. His face was relaxed, and she could have sworn he was having a good time too. Surely he wasn’t just pretending for her benefit.
Lori stood up and beamed up into his face. “Yes.”
He looked so adorable in his dusky purple shirt, with slightly flushed cheeks and soft eyes and mouth that she wanted to hug him.
Then she couldn’t think of a reason not to.
Without letting herself question the action, she wrapped her arms around him, pressed her body against his, and squeezed him tightly. “It was wonderful! Thank you for taking me.”
She felt Ander stiffen in her arms for just a moment before he relaxed and hugged her back.
She supposed she must have surprised him. It should be pretty obvious that hugging one’s gigolo out of pure joie de vivre wasn’t a normal activity.
But he returned her embrace soon enough and warmly enough to keep her from getting too self-conscious. He smelled wonderful, and Lori breathed him in as she squeezed him.
When she pulled back, she caught a flicker in his eyes of a feeling she couldn’t quite name. Her mouth parted in surprise as she gazed up at him, trying to catch a glimpse of it again.
His mouth quirked up with a familiar, dry humor. “Someone really should have taken you ice-skating befor
e now.”
Lori snorted. “Yeah. Tell me about it. But they wouldn’t have been such a good teacher as you.” She slanted him a quizzical look. “Do you have to be good at everything?”
Ander just chuckled as they began to leave the rink. He suggested a little Italian place just a few blocks down for dinner—remarking it was one of his favorites—and Lori agreed. It was a mild evening, and Lori enjoyed the walk and was genuinely interested in the story Ander told her about the architect who designed the building on the corner.
She was evidently too relaxed, however, because she randomly spoke what was on her mind. Rarely a good idea.
“You know, Ander, sometimes it’s a little unnerving to be around you. I mean, you’re so good at everything. You know everything.”
Ander gave her a sideways look. “I told you the other day that I only knew about Asian fans because I did my homework.”
Lori couldn’t help but laugh. “I know. But seriously, you’re amazingly knowledgeable and competent. I generally think I’m a smart, talented person. But I sometimes feel like an inexperienced ignoramus when I’m around you.”
Her tone had been light, but Ander came to a stop on the sidewalk, causing the couple behind them to veer widely around them with a muttered grumble. “Lori, that’s absurd.”
“I know.” She felt shy and kind of squirmy for some reason. “I’m not saying it’s something I believe. I just feel that way sometimes. And sometimes I wish... I wish you didn’t always have to be the teacher. I wish there was something I could teach you.”
Her voice faded off on the last words, as she was mostly speaking to herself. She stared at the concrete and processed what she’d just said.
But Ander suddenly grew tense, and he moved a hand to her face, lifting it so she was looking into his eyes. “Lori,” he said, his voice unexpectedly thick. “Do you have any idea what you’ve taught me?”
Lori’s mouth fell open again. “What?” she breathed, her pulse starting to pound frantically.
For just a moment she thought she would drown in his eyes. They looked more gray than blue in the lowering light, and they held such depth she couldn’t begin to understand them.
Then his mouth quirked up with a dry humor she recognized. She usually loved his sense of humor, but the sight of it now made her want to scream—since it meant his mood had shifted from the delicious tension of a moment ago.
Ander murmured something that might have been the truth but was obviously not what he’d originally intended. “You’ve taught me how to research Asian fans.”
AS THEY WALKED THE last two blocks to the restaurant, Lori’s high spirits returned with the quicksilver variability that seemed to define her time spent with Ander over the last few weeks.
She was actually giggling as they walked into the small, candlelit restaurant. The air smelled like garlic, and delightful music played in the background. A genial Mediterranean-looking man greeted Ander by name and turned to Lori with a blinking smile that looked vaguely surprised.
Lori loved the place immediately.
There weren’t very many tables, and evidently all of them were taken. The host was extremely apologetic and offered them a complimentary drink while they waited a few minutes for one of the tables to vacate.
Not used to such treatment by a restaurant host unless she tossed around the name Lucy Anderson, Lori leaned toward Ander as they stood near the wall in the pleasant entryway. “What have you done to earn such treatment?” she murmured, foolishly enjoying the sense of having him so close to her in such a public place.
Ander smiled, his eyes lingering on her face in a way that made her shiver in delight. “I come here a lot.”
When the host brushed by her on his way to scout out table availability, Lori swayed even closer to Ander, instinctively putting one hand out to curve gently around his side, just under his ribs. “Do you live around here?”
She had no idea where he lived, and she was dying to know what his home was like. But she asked the question absently, without any underhanded motive to pry.
“Not far.” Ander didn’t look particularly closed off, although his answer wasn’t at all forthcoming. He didn’t pull away from her. In fact, he shifted a little, leaning against the wall and somehow moving even closer to her.
Their hips, chests, and arms brushed against each other, and Lori still hadn’t removed her hand from his side.
She liked the way he was looking at her. She liked the way his body felt beneath her palm—the warm, firm flesh she felt beneath his shirt, not sexual as much as intimate.
And she realized that this was something she was missing—the feel of being with a man in public, having everyone around them know they were together. She was paying Ander for his time and attention this evening, but everyone who saw them must assume they were a couple.
It felt like they were together. And that tiny, nagging, inner voice that always insisted on spoiling Lori’s simple fun kept telling her she was treading very dangerous water here.
She wasn’t entirely a fool. And she was very afraid she was becoming one of those silly, desperate women who started to believe in a fantasy. Who convinced themselves that what they had with Ander was real.
She was relieved when the host came back over and brought them their drinks. Lori sipped her red wine and watched, strangely fascinated, as Ander took a swallow of his scotch.
“Sorry about the wait,” Ander murmured, adjusting so his arm was around her and she was leaning against the wall with him. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”
“This is great,” she said, telling herself she would enjoy this evening and tomorrow she would sort through a few unsettling recognitions that she just couldn’t shake.
She leaned her head against Ander’s shoulder and took another sip of her wine. She saw the host talking to a waitress. They were obviously preparing a table for them. When the host glanced over toward Ander and Lori, he smiled with an unexpected fondness in his gaze.
He looked almost like a proud papa, and Lori vaguely wondered what had prompted the look.
She slanted her eyes up to Ander and surprised another unsettling expression on his face. He gazed down at her with soft eyes, and for a moment she lost her breath.
Then she remembered the way he’d looked at Sarah Jacoby. The way he probably looked at all his clients.
That was his job. Make them feel special. Act like a besotted, romantic escort.
She ducked her head abruptly and told herself not to picture him with anyone else. But she kept seeing Ander with Sarah. Flirting with her. Seducing her. Kissing her. Having sex with her. Fucking her with pulsing intensity and hot, hungry eyes.
Exactly like he did with Lori.
“What’s the matter?” Ander asked, tilting her head up so he could scan her face.
She shook her head and let out a breath of rueful laughter since the only other choice was to cry.
“Lori?” he prompted, leaning his head down and frowning. She couldn’t tell if he was concerned or annoyed, and she wasn’t sure which she’d prefer.
Lori took a slow sip of wine and tried to hide her face with the rim of the glass. Then she smiled at him, just a little shaky. “Looks like they’ve got our table ready.”
To Lori’s relief, they did. The host hurried back, gestured them over to a cozy table in the far corner of the restaurant, and took their drinks to carry over himself.
Ander put his hand on the small of Lori’s back as they walked, and the gesture felt supportive and protective.
She liked it. Way too much.
They were halfway through the restaurant when she felt Ander stiffen dramatically beside her. He didn’t really move, didn’t make a sound. But she felt it—as sure as if she’d tensed up herself.
Looking over at him quickly, she felt her heart drop when she saw a frozen expression on his face. His features were stoic. Completely blank. And so immovable they terrified her.
She followed his fixed gaze ov
er to the other side of the restaurant where a couple was seated over half-finished pasta and a nearly empty bottle of wine. The woman was beautiful—slender, elegant, red-haired, and probably in her midthirties.
The man was much older, with long limbs and a contained appearance that spoke of a lifetime of power and strategy. He had a craggy face that was oddly mesmerizing. And a distinctive mane of thick, longish, graying hair.
Lori knew who it was, and she knew why Ander had become a stony statue beside her.
Peter Milton’s knowing eyes scanned the restaurant casually. He couldn’t have failed to see his son standing half a room away. From his vantage point, he may have even seen Ander and Lori as soon as they’d entered. Certainly when they’d been standing in intimate proximity and waiting for their table.
But Peter’s eyes passed over Ander as if his son didn’t exist in the world.
Lori gasped from a sharp wrench of pain at the obvious slight. Ander hadn’t moved, and his complete lack of reaction was perhaps the scariest thing of all.
She grabbed his arm, pressing up against his side with a protective instinct she couldn’t possibly control. As she moved, Ander’s hand dropped from the small of her back to hang limply at his side.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” Lori said, trying to keep her voice natural and utterly failing. “I’m not sure I feel like Italian after all.”
It was an implausible excuse, but it was all that she could think of. And she couldn’t help thinking the most important thing in the universe was getting Ander out of this restaurant.
Ander’s eyes turned to stare at her blankly, but she was sure he couldn’t really see her. “What do you mean?” He was better than she was at composing his voice, but his eyes were so empty they broke her heart.
Lori shot a nervous glance back over at Peter, who was looking once more at his companion but smiling smugly in a way that she knew was meant for Ander.