by Nika Rhone
“No. I don’t think so, anyway. It’s just…” Thea sighed. “I worry about Mellie. She’s such an easygoing person and so willing to do whatever it takes to make everybody else happy, sometimes to the point of making herself insane. Between her fiancé’s political aspirations, her mother’s Olympic-class social climbing, and her future mother-in-law’s determination to make everything ten times harder than it needs to be, I’m afraid that Mellie’s going to be so busy doing what everyone else wants that she’s going to forget she’s supposed to care about what she wants.” She shook her head. “Did that make any sense at all?”
“Strangely enough, yes, but only because I’m used to you.” Thea smiled at his teasing, her whole face brightening. Doyle felt a shaft of something more than desire zing through him. Something more emotional than physical. Something he really didn’t want to examine too closely, so he shoved it away.
It took a long second before he could gather his scattered thoughts and pick up his side of the conversation again. “She, uh, wouldn’t marry him if she didn’t think she could handle the lifestyle that goes along with his career.”
Thankfully unaware of his sudden inner turmoil, Thea said, “I know. But I can’t help it. She’s one of my best friends. I want her to be happy, and I’m not so sure that Charles knows how to manage that. He spends so much time stomping around the country with his father trying to establish himself in the party that he’d probably never think to come and see her if his personal assistant didn’t put it on his itinerary. And even then, she sees more of Oliver—his assistant—than him.”
Thea scowled, stabbing her fork into her cheesecake as though it were a stand-in for the man in question. “Sometimes I think Charles is marrying Senator Westlake’s connections, and Mellie is just the fully trained political hostess who comes with the deal. Kind of like the toy surprise you get with your burger and fries.”
“You do realize that you’ve just equated your friend’s marriage to a Happy Meal?”
“You know, I’ll be satisfied if ‘happy’ figures into things in any way it can.”
Although he knew Thea’s concern for her friend wasn’t entirely unwarranted, Doyle selfishly didn’t want it to put a damper on the evening, not when he was enjoying himself in Thea’s company for the first time in weeks.
Deliberately, he picked up his fork and helped himself to a large bite of Thea’s cheesecake. It was difficult to swallow without choking on laughter at the look of affronted chagrin that crossed her face at the sneak attack.
“Nope.” He made a show of smacking his lips. “Definitely as good as ever.”
“And why would you think it wasn’t?” Thea watched him lick the fork clean with obvious resentment.
“Well,” Doyle said, eyeing her plate again, “I figured since you were mutilating it rather than inhaling it like you usually do,” he paused a second while she sucked in an indignant breath, trying to ignore the way her breasts heaved upward against the silk of her dress, “that there must have been something wrong with it.”
“Well, you thought wrong, mister.” Wary of the covetous looks Doyle was still throwing at it, Thea moved her plate to where he’d have to lean over her to get at it. “Dessert stealing is a very serious offense, you know.”
Doyle twirled his fork between his fingers, fighting a grin. “Is it, really?”
“Yes.”
“I hadn’t realized that.”
“Ignorance of the dessert laws is not an excuse.”
“Are you going to read me my rights before you haul me in?”
Thea’s lips twitched. “I think maybe we can avoid any hauling, since this is your first offense—this is your first offense, isn’t it?”
With as innocent a look as he could manage, Doyle replied, “Of course.”
“Of course.” Thea’s echo sounded less than believing. A sudden, speculative light lit her eyes. “You will, of course, be expected to make restitution.”
“Resti—” Doyle followed her gaze to his own plate, heaped with one of the most decadent slabs of Black Forest cake this side of the Atlantic. “Oh no. You’re not getting my cake. Sorry. Uh-uh. Go ahead and call the sweets police, babe, because I’ll go down fighting before I surrender any of this.” With good reason. The pastry chef was originally from Germany, and made an authentic Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte worth every overpriced penny Rudolfo paid him.
“Just a bite.”
“No way.”
“Come on.” Thea fake pouted. “Just one itty-bitty bite.”
“Forget it.”
She dipped her head and gave him her best pretty-please smile.
“Just one teensy, little—”
“Oh, God, all right!” He had stolen a pretty large piece of hers, after all. He supposed it was only fair. “One tiny bite, and then we’re even, right?”
Mimicking his earlier almost-innocent expression, Thea replied, “Of course.”
Doyle couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. “Yeah, right.” Only years of trained reflexes allowed him to intercept Thea’s hand as her fork pounced on the prize. He wasn’t surprised to see that the tines had already made indents staking out a piece that was considerably more than tiny.
What did surprise him was the frisson of heat that enveloped him as his skin touched hers, a heat that seemed to follow some internal beacon straight to his groin. He should have let her hand go. He should have. But he didn’t.
Instead, he picked it up and replaced the fork much closer to the edge of the cake. It was all he could do to force himself to release her. He kept his eyes on the cake, not daring to let her see the confused, heated expression he was certain was in his eyes.
After a moment’s hesitation, Thea pushed her fork through the thick layers of chocolate cake, cherries, and whipped cream. Like it was a lodestone, Doyle’s gaze followed as it made the short trip to her mouth, realizing only too late how big a mistake that was.
Her lips closed around the fork, and his unruly body jerked as though she’d closed them over something else. He struggled to talk down his stirring dick, but it was impossible, not with Thea making those soft pleasure noises as she chewed.
“Oh. My. God.” Thea opened her eyes wide and stared at him. “That was…amazing.” The satisfied look on her face was one he was used to seeing in the bedroom after a night of mind-blowing sex. It unnerved him to see it on Thea, but it also sent a shiver of desire through him as well.
God, if she could find that much pleasure in a simple piece of chocolate cake—well, okay, a fantastic piece of chocolate cake—how much more would she find in long hours tangled with him in the sheets, straining and sweating and…
Jesus. Doyle swallowed, fighting to get his suddenly ragged breathing under control. These were not thoughts he should be having about Thea. But once there, the images refused to be erased, and Doyle knew that some of what he was feeling must have showed in his eyes because he could see the same flash of awareness and heat reflected back at him from hers. Neither of them spoke.
Silently, Doyle reached over and rubbed a small dab of whipped cream from Thea’s lip with his thumb. He could hear her breath catch. He caressed her lip again, even though the cream was already gone, and felt her warm breath against his skin as it left her in a rush. He shouldn’t be doing this. There were a thousand reasons why. This was Thea. They were in public. This wasn’t a date. This was Thea.
But none of his reasons mattered when he felt the small flick of her tongue as it darted out and connected for the briefest second with his thumb. This time it was his breath that caught. Reason fled, and all he could think about was how he was going to get Thea out of the restaurant and someplace private while disguising the fact that he had the erection of the century on their way out.
It was an indication of how far gone he was that he didn’t notice the woman standing at his shoulder until she spoke. “Brennan, darling!”
Son of a bitch.
Just like that, the sensual spell that had bee
n weaving around him was broken, and reality slammed back into place with painful clarity.
“Hello, Margo.”
Chapter Eleven
Doyle smiled up at the lush figured redhead standing beside him, although it felt more like a grimace as he struggled to tame his still-raging blood. Normally, he would have stood, as any gentleman should, but at the moment it was out of the question, although it was amazing how fast his arousal was fading at the sight of her. His body usually had the exact opposite reaction.
“I thought that was your car out in the parking lot.” Margo slipped a hand onto his shoulder and leaned down to kiss him, giving him an unobstructed view down her plunging neckline. Strangely, the sight of her bountiful breasts had no effect on him whatsoever.
Without forethought, he turned his head at the last second to give Margo his cheek. Her hand tightened for a telling second on his shoulder, announcing her displeasure at the avoidance. Damn, what did she expect, a full-on lip-lock in the middle of the restaurant? With Thea sitting right across the table?
Oh, hell. Doyle glanced over at Thea. She had a serene, mildly inquisitive look on her face that to anyone else would have passed as polite interest and nothing more. But knowing Thea as he did, he read the tense set of her shoulders, the artificial smile that curved her lips, and knew that she was anything but serene.
There was no avoiding it, so he did the introductions. “Margo, I don’t think you’ve ever met Thea before. Thea Fordham.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to stress that this was his employer’s daughter, but there was something in Margo’s eyes that he didn’t like. “Thea, this is Margo Klein, a…friend.”
Margo laughed, although it sounded a little sharp to his ears.
“Oh, Brennan, don’t be silly.” Her hand caressed his shoulder in a familiar manner that could almost be called proprietary. “We’re so much more than friends.” She turned her gaze to Thea. “So, you’re little Cynthia.” She gave Thea a thorough perusal that even Doyle knew was meant to be insulting. “Brennan talks about you all the time. Cynthia this, Cynthia that. It’s really quite entertaining.”
Thea returned the insulting perusal, the tiniest hint of a sneer teasing her lips in a way Doyle recognized as being a trademark of the haughty Mrs. Westlake. “Really?” She raised her glass of wine in a dismissive manner, also a la Westlake. “Funny, he’s never mentioned you at all.”
Ouch. Doyle was aware that Thea had scored a direct hit even before he felt Margo stiffen. He couldn’t fault Thea’s retaliation since Margo had launched the first salvo, but the trick now was going to be keeping the skirmish from escalating into an all-out war. He’d excelled at tactics in the Corps, but even he doubted his abilities when faced with two women clearly skilled in the art of the cutting comment.
“Are you waiting for your table?” he asked, drawing the conversation back into neutral territory. Or so he thought.
“Oh, no. I’ve already eaten. Except for dessert,” Margo said, in a huskier tone.
“Why don’t you bring your date over to say hello,” Thea said. “I’d love to meet him. I’m sure Doyle would, too.”
“So sorry to disappoint you, Cynthia dear, but my dear friend and dinner companion, Doctor Nathaniel Cummings, was paged to the hospital just as we finished our meal.” The emphasis on friend seemed to mean she didn’t consider him a date. “He was needed for some emergency, an accident or something. It happens all the time, what with Nate being in such demand for his skills as a surgeon.” This last sounded more petulant than proud.
“How terrible for you,” Thea murmured.
Margo gave her a hard glare and then turned to Doyle, her expression once again turning coy. “So, you see, since time was of the essence for Nate, I insisted he go straight to the hospital and not waste the time to take me home first. I was going to call a cab, but then I remembered seeing your car in the lot when we came in and I thought maybe I could impose on you to give me a ride.”
Doyle thought he heard Thea mutter “how convenient” under her breath, but when he glanced at her, she was still smiling that serene, unnatural smile. He’d never realized before how much he hated that smile. He also hated being put in this position, but what could he do? There was no polite way of refusing, something he was sure Margo was well aware of. Damn her!
“We’d be happy to give you a lift.”
“We?” Margo’s smile faltered for the briefest second before it returned at full wattage. “Oh, but, Brennan, you know how little room there is in the back seat of that car of yours.” She gave his shoulder another meaningful stroke. It was hard to resist the urge to shake her hand off, especially when Thea’s smile took on a brittle edge. What the hell game was Margo playing?
“You’re right, of course,” Doyle said, his voice tight. “No need for you to squeeze into the Charger when Rick can drop you off in comfort with the Expedition.” His words had two opposite effects on the women. Thea’s smile turned genuine, while Margo’s hardened into what could only be called a snarl before she recovered and gave him a wounded pout.
“Rick?”
“One of my men. He’s on duty out in the lounge. He’ll see you home safely.” Although at that moment he couldn’t vouch for the bodyguard’s safety, considering the fire that was shooting from Margo’s baby blues.
“On duty?” Margo’s lips pinched together. “I thought you were here to babysit her.” The implication was clear. If Doyle wasn’t there in the capacity of bodyguard, then he was there as something else. Something less official. More personal. And Margo didn’t seem to care for that at all. Doyle didn’t know where this sudden possessiveness was coming from, but he did know that he didn’t like it.
“Her hasn’t needed a babysitter since she was twelve,” Thea said. Her pose was still relaxed, but Doyle figured she was going to have the cut-crystal design from her glass imbedded in the soft flesh of her palm by the time they left if she didn’t ease her grip. “Her is in the middle of dinner with a friend.” A not-so-subtle hint that Margo was intruding on their meal, delivered in a calm, sophisticated manner that only underscored Margo’s rudeness.
Doyle started to fold his napkin. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Rick.”
“No!” Margo laughed nervously and adjusted her tone to a more cajoling level. “I mean, no, I wouldn’t dream of taking away little Cynthia’s bodyguard. He does have his job to do, after all. What if something were to happen to her on the way home?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Thea said. She swirled her wine and gave Doyle a slow smile. “I’ll be in excellent hands.”
Just like that, the heat that had subsided came roaring back to life between them, hotter and more urgent than before. All Doyle could think of were hands—his hands, on Thea, covering her, caressing her, teasing, testing, exploring…
Blood pounded in his ears as he watched Thea’s smile falter and then bloom again into a more seductive curving of wine-moistened lips, her eyes darkening with desire. Desire. For him. Thea wanted him. And, God help him, he wanted her as well, wanted with a desperate need that made him break out in a cold sweat. With Rick chauffeuring Margo home, he’d be all alone with Thea. No watchful shadow, no reports being filed.
No safety net to keep him on his best behavior.
Because, if he was honest with himself, that was the reason he’d had Rick tag along tonight. Not so he could relax his vigilance and enjoy himself, not because it would have been cruel to deny Rick a meal he’d been, by his own admission, looking forward to all day, but so that he’d have a legitimate reason to keep himself in line.
In short, he’d known his resolve was weakening, so he’d brought along a chaperone. A lowering thought, but there it was.
With Rick out of the picture, he’d be back to depending on his own willpower, of which he was well aware he was currently in short supply. But was that necessarily the bad thing he’d once thought it to be? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to explore these new feelings, this new awareness of The
a as a desirable woman rather than the hero-worshipping teenager he’d labeled her for so long.
But not tonight.
The idea of allowing himself to be attracted to Thea was still too new, too strange, too…tempting. And though he was pretty certain that she was right there with him on this attraction thing—hell, she’d licked his thumb, for Christ’s sake!—it was up to him to make sure things didn’t progress too fast or out of control. For either of them.
Manicured nails digging into his shoulder brought him back to himself. “Brennan, darling, you wouldn’t send me home with a complete stranger, now, would you?”
There it was. The excuse he could use to extricate himself from the situation he wasn’t yet ready to face. He grabbed onto it like a drowning man. “No, of course not. I’ll take you, and Rick can bring Thea home. If that’s okay?” he asked Thea, finally gathering his nerve to look at her again as he steeled himself against getting caught back up in the heat that had ensnared him just moments before.
He needn’t have worried. There was no heat. The only thing that he saw was shock. And hurt. And then nothing at all as the bland mask fell firmly back into place.
Fuck.
“Of course,” Thea replied. With a flick of her hand, she drew their waiter to her side and asked for the check.
Already feeling guilty at his knee-jerk decision to abandon Thea in favor of the woman he knew he could keep his hands off of, Doyle reached for his wallet. “I’ll—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Thea’s voice was calm, cool, all that was gracious, but the look she shot him was like a punch in the gut. He was used to adoration, mischievous humor, and lately sometimes even speculative female interest gleaming in her gaze. Never before had he seen…nothing.
Her eyes were flat with no emotion whatsoever; it was as if she were looking at someone she didn’t know. No, worse. As if she were looking at someone she didn’t want to know.
“This was my idea. It’s only right that I pay for it.”
Well, ouch to the nasty double entendre. Doyle ground his teeth as she signed the check, wondering how things had gone so wrong in the space of just a few short minutes. Then the pressure of his shoulder reminded him how. Margo.