by Nika Rhone
Doyle went through the roster in his head. “Sam is supposed to be your outside escort today.” He frowned. Sam Britten was one of the younger members of the security staff, only a few years older than Thea at twenty-six. He was sharp-witted, cool-headed, and had instincts that would have made him a top-flight law enforcement agent had his color blindness not disqualified him from almost all work in that line.
He was also blond, blue-eyed, and had a face that made even the usually immovable Francine sit up and take notice when he came into a room.
Suddenly, sending Sam out with Thea didn’t seem like the best of ideas. If the kid could put Francine on point, how would he be able to keep a proper watch on Thea while at the same time fighting off the gym bunnies that were sure to swarm him like bears to honey? Doyle refused to consider the possibility that his sudden concern might be for more than Thea’s safety. In no way was the sudden tightening in his gut personal. He was a professional. His actions were professional.
So it could only be professionalism that motivated him when he said, “Take Kirsten with you instead.” Was that disappointment that flashed across her face? The possibility that Thea had wanted to spend time with Sam bothered Doyle in ways that it shouldn’t. “Sam can’t follow you into the locker room,” he said, although he wasn’t sure if that bit of justification was for Thea or himself.
“And Kirsten can’t run yet on her twisted ankle.” The pucker of Thea’s brow said that Doyle, of all people, should have known that. And he did, dammit. He’d just forgotten. He never forgot, especially important things. What was it about this girl that made him act so brainless sometimes? Maybe he was allergic to spandex. Maybe it was sucking all the brain cells right out of his head.
Maybe he was avoiding giving her an answer.
His reason for sending Kirsten in place of Sam was valid. A male bodyguard wouldn’t be able to follow Thea into certain parts of the gym. Members only or not, it was a risk that, under current circumstances, he wasn’t willing to take. But he also knew that while she enjoyed her runs, Thea preferred to do it with a partner. He’d already disqualified himself. The only other female not away with the senior Fordhams was Francine and she was off duty. Switching Sam with one of the other men would make it seem as though he had a problem with Sam accompanying her and doing his job. And he didn’t.
Really.
“I’m sure you’ll find yourself a run-buddy when you and Kirsten get there.” Realizing from the surprised look on Thea’s face that he must have sounded more dismissive than he meant, Doyle tried to soften his words with a smile. It didn’t seem to help.
“I’m sure I will. There are lots of men who don’t find the idea of spending time with me such a trial.” Without a goodbye, Thea spun on her heel and stalked out of the office. Actually stalked. Doyle sighed to himself. A trial? God, yes, the girl was that and more. She was a thorn in his side. She was trouble with a big, fat T.
She was also on her way to the gym wearing an R-rated outfit to seek out the company of men who wouldn’t mind spending a few hours getting winded and sweaty with her.
Doyle shook away the unwanted image that thought brought with it. She was going for a run. In a public place. With lots of people around. It wasn’t like she was going to a bar to get picked up.
Although Fit was where he’d first met Celeste.
And Trina.
And Margo.
Well, hell, there was a trend he didn’t want to examine too closely. Anyway, Thea wasn’t like Margo and the others. She was only looking for a run-buddy, not a fuck-buddy. And Kirsten would be there just in case anyone got the two confused.
So why did the idea still bother him so much?
****
Nothing was going the way it was supposed to.
First Doyle had backed out of their run. Okay, she could live with that. In fact, she’d pretty much seen it coming over the past few days, ever since she’d adopted her new wardrobe and consigned her comfy sweats to the back of the closet.
His growing discomfort had been a sure sign that he was seeing her as more than his boss’s young daughter. That he was—finally, thank you, God!—seeing her as a woman. Although in these outfits, she thought wryly, it would be almost impossible to not see her as a woman, since every womanly part she owned was out on display.
Three cheers for spandex.
No, backing out of their run was an almost predictable retreat for Doyle. It gave her hope. As had his snap decision to yank Sam from escort duty in favor of Kirsten. For a second there, just a second, he actually looked jealous. How much better did it get than that? Okay, she had hoped that he would relent and substitute himself for Sam, which would have been way better, but she knew Doyle well enough to be happy with baby-steps of progress.
But then he had totally blown all her good feelings out of the water by telling her to go find herself a run-buddy at the gym. Any run-buddy. Any tight-abbed, muscle-bound run-buddy she wanted. Stupid man! Did he care, or didn’t he? Had he believed Kirsten would scare off anybody who was looking for more than a few laps around the track, or did he think she couldn’t attract anyone worth him worrying about?
Thea wanted to groan out loud. This had all sounded a lot easier than it was turning out to be. Wear sexy clothes, get Doyle’s attention, have sex, make him fall in love, and live happily ever after. Okay, maybe that was an oversimplification of the plan, but still, things weren’t even coming close. She’d worn sexy clothes, gotten Doyle’s attention, and twice now sent him running in the other direction. So not the way it was supposed to go.
Was it her? Was she so repulsive? Or boring? Or…or…what?
Finishing her final lap on Fit’s indoor track, Thea slowed to a cool-down walk, but her mind was still going full gallop. What was it about her that was holding Doyle back? She didn’t think he was totally disinterested, not after the way he’d nearly tripped over his own feet the first day she’d shown up for their run in one of her new outfits.
The look on his face had been one of such pure male admiration that she’d barely been able to keep from doing the happy dance right there in his office. But then, as was to be expected, he’d packed away whatever he was feeling and become stoic Doyle again, his eyes as unreadable as if he were wearing his trusty, all-concealing mirrored Oakleys.
So, she knew she could attract his attention. But how did she keep it?
Thea chewed her bottom lip as she thought on that. This was Lillian’s area of expertise, not hers, but running to her friend every two days to ask for advice was starting to make her feel even more inadequate than she already did. Sure, Lillian had a new boy-toy in tow every other week. She was cuteness personified with a personality that attracted people, men and women both. That didn’t make her an expert on relationships.
Thea sighed. Maybe Lil didn’t have experience with long-term relationships, but at least she had experience with short-term ones, and that was still more than Thea had herself. A few dates and one steady boyfriend scattered over her high school and college years didn’t really add up to much more than a sadly deficient love life, and a somewhat depressed sense of self-worth.
Of course, those long lonely years had been her own doing, much as she hated to admit it. Even as far back as her teens, she’d held onto the fantasy of Doyle suddenly confessing his undying love for her and demanding her hand in marriage from her father, before sweeping her off her feet and taking her off to his private bungalow as the music swelled to a resounding crescendo around them.
That was where the fantasy ended when she was sixteen, like some old Cary Grant movie. Now she knew what came next. She wanted what came next, and she wanted it with Doyle.
Too bad Doyle wasn’t cooperating.
But she wasn’t giving up yet. Not by a long shot. She just needed to find the right way to crack that shell he was so damned good at wrapping around himself, the one that held his emotions in and everyone else out.
But how?
Chapter Five
&
nbsp; “Sex.”
Caught in the middle of swallowing, Thea choked on her peach iced tea. Fighting to catch her breath, she left it to Amelia to ask, “Isn’t that, like, skipping a few stages?”
Thea nodded, tears streaming down her face as she wrestled her lungs into compliance and dragged in a ragged breath. “Yes.” It came out as a croak. She held up two fingers when further words proved impossible.
With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Lillian tossed her napkin over the patio table to her choking friend, who used it to mop her face. “Not sex with Doyle, you dope.” When Thea’s eyes widened in alarm, Lillian barked out a laugh. “And not sex with anyone else, either. Geez, get a grip, will you?”
“Well, you could have been a little more specific,” Amelia said.
Again, Thea nodded. Then, when Lillian remained silent, Thea made a “give me” gesture with her free hand, beginning to feel as though she were participating in some bizarre game of charades.
“Sex. Appeal.” Lillian enunciated each word as though teaching two incredibly slow children. And perhaps she was, because both Thea and Amelia wore identical expressions of confusion, causing Lillian to mutter something unpleasant under her breath. “Sex appeal, you know, when you strut your stuff, shake your booty, jiggle your—”
“Lil!” Amelia squeaked.
“—assets.” Lillian grinned as Amelia’s face turned bright pink. To Thea she said, “You’ve been wearing the clothes, but you haven’t been wearing the clothes, if you know what I mean.”
Stupefied, Thea gave her head a slow shake and then cleared her throat. “’Fraid not.” Good. Her voice only sounded like she’d been swallowing broken glass instead of gargling razor blades.
With a very put-upon sigh, Lillian slumped back in her chair. “You do know that you’re totally hopeless, don’t you?”
Knowing her friend as well as she did, Thea could tell that far from being as exasperated as she looked and sounded, Lillian was enjoying the hell out of herself. It wasn’t often that she, out of the three of them, had the upper hand in social situations.
“So, help me be unhopeless.” Out of habit, Thea folded the napkin she’d used and placed it back on the glass and iron table. It was strictly linen and fine china in the Westlake household, even when snacking on iced tea and lemon sherbet on the patio. “Or at least less hopeless. I’m in serious trouble here, Lil. I can’t lose him before I ever really get him.”
“Not a chance. You said he nearly tripped over his tongue the first day you showed up in your yummy new workout clothes, right? And he acted jealous of sending cutie-pie Sam with you to the gym?”
Thea nodded.
“So you’ve got his attention. Now you just have to hold onto it.”
“This is where the shaking and jiggling comes in, isn’t it?” Amelia grinned into her drink when Thea shot her a dirty look.
“Don’t forget strutting.”
“I don’t strut.” Thea folded her arms in rebellion. “Or shake, or jiggle, or…or anything else that makes me sound like a bowl of Jell-O. I want to get Doyle’s attention, not make him think of dessert.”
“Oh, sweetie!” Lillian sputtered as she collapsed into laughter. “That’s exactly what you want him to do!”
Feeling her face turn hot, Thea gulped the rest of her drink. Images that Lillian’s words had conjured up flashed through her mind. Doyle laying her on the huge mahogany table in the formal dining room. Doyle stripping her of her clothes under candlelight. Doyle drizzling warm honey over her breasts and then removing it with his tongue…
She grabbed up the napkin again and used it to blot the sudden sheen of perspiration from her face. Good God, where had that come from?
Smirking, Lillian refilled Thea’s empty glass from the insulated carafe on the table. “You look a little warm, hon. Have some more. It’ll cool you down.”
“The sun is a little strong,” Amelia said, missing the byplay. “Maybe we shouldn’t have taken down the umbrella.”
“I’m fine,” Thea said, answering both of them at once. “I just…” Just what? Had an erotic daydream that nearly singed my eyebrows off? Took my obsession with Doyle to a whole new—not to mention disturbing—level? She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”
“Mm-hmm.” Lillian gave her a knowing look, but thankfully, she let the matter drop. “What I meant by strut, shake, etcetera, is that there are certain mannerisms that go with the clothes. A flip of the hair here, a turn of the ankle there…”
“I’m not turning into some brainless, hair-twisting bimbo. Not for Doyle; not for anyone.”
“Brainless, hair-twisting bimbo?” Amusement danced in Amelia’s eyes.
“You know.” Thea jumped to her feet and struck a pose, one hip out, one hand catching the end of her chestnut locks and turning them around and around her fingers as she pursed her lips into an exaggerated pout.
“Hi, Mister Studly-man,” she cooed in a breathy Marilynesque voice. “I may not have two brain cells to rub together, but I certainly have two of something else you might be interested in.” She did an exaggerated jiggle of said somethings. “So hows about buying me some sparkly jewelry because girls like me just love anything shiny, and then you can take me someplace expensive to eat, and then we can go back to your place and hump like bunnies.”
Over the hysterical laughter of her two friends, Thea heard the small gasp from a few feet behind her. Without even turning around, she knew who it was just by the heavy aroma of expensive perfume that overtook the fresh air like a floral miasma. It was just the way her luck was running lately.
She closed her eyes, as if blocking out reality would let her disappear down a rabbit hole somewhere—with or without humping bunnies—but it didn’t work, so she pasted on her best smile and turned. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Westlake.” Belatedly, she remembered to drop her hand from her hair and the other from her hip, which she tucked back into its proper, demure position.
Mrs. Westlake did not look upset. She didn’t look surprised. In fact, she didn’t look like much more than a smooth bit of cool marble, thanks to her recent conversion to the religion of Botox. Judging by the total lack of movement on her face, Amelia’s mother had been praying (or was that paying?) at the altar of her plastic surgeon that very morning.
“Cynthia.” Only one word and Thea felt the need to check for frostbite.
“Excuse my language, ma’am.” She did her best to sound contrite. “We were just joking around.”
Even without a wrinkle of expression, Mrs. Westlake’s snapping eyes were enough to warn Thea that she hadn’t found anything amusing about what she overheard.
“A true lady never uses vulgarity, no matter the cause.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That sort of humor can only betray a lack of breeding, as you well know.”
Said the old money to the new. Thea forced herself to remain as expressionless as the older woman was. “Yes, ma’am.”
“In a few short weeks, there are going to be hundreds of very important people here for the engagement party. You are a member of the bridal party.” Thea heard the unspoken “unfortunately” at the end of that reminder. “Just think how it would reflect on us if you were to use such language within earshot of one of our guests.”
“Mother!” Amelia gasped in embarrassment.
Mrs. Westlake paid her daughter no mind. Instead, she narrowed her eyes as best she could—which was to say, not by much—and delivered her coup de grace. “Even if you don’t care about your own reputation, you could at least be concerned for Amelia’s. Her position as a future senator’s wife will depend on how well she’s received by the Washington elite. Alienate them now, and she might as well not get married at all.”
“Mother, that’s totally unfair!” Amelia was now bright red with mingled indignation and mortification. “You know Thea isn’t like that. We were just goofing around. There was no one else around to hear.”
“I heard, didn’t I? And it only takes
offending one person to destroy everything we’ve worked for.”
“People who eavesdrop rarely hear anything good.” Lillian muttered it so low under her breath that Thea wasn’t entirely sure she’d meant to say it out loud. As aggravated as she was by Mrs. Westlake’s reprimand, it wasn’t the first time the society matron had taken her to task for her lack of breeding and social graces. Nor would it be the last.
Still, it rankled that she always managed to take the one moment out of a thousand that showed Thea at her less than best and use it to beat Thea over the head to drive home the point that she wasn’t one of them. She couldn’t trace her money back five generations, couldn’t pick up a who’s who and point out a half dozen family connections, and would never be able to claim a proper place in High Society.
Which was all fine with Thea, because as far as she was concerned, High Society sucked. She was much happier with her middle-class beginnings and values, thank you very much, and would happily slit her own wrists before she ever shoved a silver spoon down her own children’s throats.
“I would never do anything to hurt Amelia,” Thea said, striving to keep any trace of resentment from her voice. And she wouldn’t. She’d glue her lips shut first. Which might be the only way she’d get through an entire evening without Mrs. Westlake finding her at fault for some social infraction or another.
With a disdainful sniff that said she’d love to differ but was too much a lady to do so, Mrs. Westlake turned her attention to her daughter, who had sunk so low in her chair that she was in danger of sliding completely under the table. That fast, she found a new direction in which to vent her scorn.
“Amelia Ann! Dear Lord, what kind of posture is that? Sit up straight, girl. And why are you sitting in the sun? You know you get spots. You can’t afford to look anything but your best for the photographers. Your engagement pictures have to be perfect. Do you want to embarrass poor Charles? What on Earth were you thinking?” She snapped a look at Thea as if she’d forced her daughter into the sun at gunpoint.