by Lynne Silver
“Former fiancée,” Lance corrected.
She let out a breath and allowed a portion of her mind back to the gutter. “Former fiancée? What happened?” She loved a good dishy story as long it didn’t involve the words Stanley Rose or investment fraud.
As soon as he’d slipped about his fiancée, he could’ve kicked himself for mentioning it. It happened a long time ago and he barely thought about it anymore, except February 14, the day he’d proposed. It was surprising when the word fiancée had come out of his mouth.
“Tell me about her.” Ari slid off her heels and rested her pearly pink toenails against the dash.
He glanced at his sexy passenger, curious at her rabid enthusiasm to hear about his past, though it was ancient history at this point. Any feelings he’d had on his broken engagement were long dormant. “Nothing to tell, she was only my fiancée for a matter of hours.”
Her feet slammed down to the floor mat and she sat up in her seat. “Whaaat? Only hours? Are you serious? Spill it, I want to know the whole story.”
Lance focused on keeping his eyes on the road, difficult with a curvaceous redhead literally hanging on to him and listening to his every word. “I said there’s nothing to tell.” He slowed down for a red light and signaled to turn onto Calvert Street.
Arianna licked her lips and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Don’t hold out, Mr. Agent. You have a Past. Spill it.”
He rolled his eyes and gave in. “Her name was Diana. I met her in college and proposed to her on Valentine’s Day of our senior year.”
“Which she accepted. For a few hours,” Arianna said. “Wait, I thought you went straight into the army?”
“You thought wrong. I never went into the military.”
“Oh.” She turned to face the front window again with a frown on her face. “I thought you had to be in the military first before going into the Secret Service.”
“Nope,” he said.
“Oh. Back to you. So you went to college, met Diana, and it was true love.”
He barked out a laugh. “Obviously not true love.”
“So why did she break it off?”
Hmm, how much to tell her? Ari didn’t seem to know who he was, or rather who his family was. He liked being with a woman who wasn’t counting the zeroes in his bank account. It was refreshing, and he’d learned his lesson too many times about a woman’s financial motivations when it came to dating.
If he was keeping mum on the whole my family is on the Forbes 400 list, then he couldn’t tell her about the conversation he’d overheard Diana having with her best friend about landing the wealthiest catch on campus. “First of all, I broke up with her.”
“Hours after proposing?”
“She wasn’t who I thought she was.”
Arianna sat back in her bucket seat and seemed to sink in on herself. “People rarely are,” she said in a quiet voice, a trace of bitterness seeping through.
Who was she thinking of? Her father? A former boyfriend? His grip tightened on the steering wheel in an irrational burst of jealousy over a woman with whom he had no relationship.
“You’re lucky you discovered it hours into your engagement instead of years into your marriage.” She gave a shake as if to remove the negative vibe, and turned back to him with a bright smile. “How long a drive to your grandmother’s house?”
She still seemed nervous about meeting his grandmother, which Lance found amusing and actually perceptive. Taking Arianna to lunch at his nana’s house had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. He’d already planned on visiting his grandmother today, but taking Arianna along hadn’t been in the plans. However, he was feeling a little off-balance with the sexy redhead and he wanted a neutral opinion on the woman. One moment he wanted to kiss her, and the next she had him wanting to storm out of her gallery.
“Around ten more minutes depending on traffic,” he said. Nana lived in a suburb outside D.C. in the same house she’d lived in for the last fifty years. Lance’s mom kept trying to get her to move into assisted living, but Nana was having none of it. A lot of the maintenance and visits fell onto Lance’s shoulders since he was the local family member. Not that he minded: his nana was one of the sharpest women he’d ever met. He couldn’t wait for her to meet Arianna and give her opinion.
They drove the rest of the way in near silence until Arianna switched on the CD player to let the sound of Bruno Mars vibrate throughout the car. Traffic was light, and they made good time to Nana’s sixties brick split-level.
After he parked on the street in front of her house, Arianna opened the door to the car, then grabbed his arm. “Wait. Is your grandmother expecting us? I feel rude showing up. Why don’t I wait in the car while you fix her computer problem?”
Her obvious nervousness was adorable. She was scared of an eighty-three-year-old woman, who, granted, could kick his ass to Tuesday with her no-nonsense speak? “I spoke to her yesterday. She’s expecting me.”
“You. Not me. I don’t want to startle her.”
He rolled his eyes and got out of the car to come around to Arianna’s side to get her. “Don’t be a wimp. Nana doesn’t bite or scare easily.”
He stood outside the car while Arianna swiped on some lipstick and fumbled with her already perfect hair.
“I already told you, you look gorgeous. Get out of the car.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said and used his offered hand to pull her up out of the seat. They made it about five steps toward the front door when Arianna remembered her cell phone charging in the car and walked back to get it.
They finally made it to the front door without further delay, and he knocked to give a warning, then used his key in the door. “Nana? It’s me, Lance.” He stepped into the foyer, tugging Arianna along with him.
His tiny, wiry, but spritely grandmother appeared in the kitchen doorway facing the entry. “Lance. You made it. I was beginning to worry.”
He bent to plant a kiss on her over-rouged cheek. “You? Worry? I don’t believe it.”
Nana chuckled. “You got me. I knew Mr. Reliable grandson was on his way. How’s your leg? Off the crutches, I see.” She turned to Arianna in a whirl. “And who’s this?”
Arianna stepped forward extending a hand. “Hi, Mrs.…” She turned to Lance, a question on her face. “…Brown? I’m Arianna Rose.”
Nana pulled her into an embrace. “Not Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Gold, I’m Lance’s maternal grandmother, but no one calls me that. Call me Nana. Everybody does.”
Arianna clung to Nana’s shoulders with a look of pure bemusement. “Okay, Nana. It’s nice to meet you.” She stepped back closer to Lance.
“How nice you were able to join my grandson on this daytime visit. No job?” Nana asked, cutting straight to the chase as usual.
Pride bled through Arianna’s answer. “It’s Sunday, and I have a job. I own an art gallery in Georgetown,” she said. “So my hours are flexible.”
“Nana, I’m going to take a look at your computer,” Lance said, and headed toward the stairs.
“Wonderful. Arianna can keep me company while I get lunch on the table.”
At least Nana didn’t expect her to help cook the lunch. She’d be sorely disappointed, but Arianna could, and did, set an artistic table.
“How long have you known Lance?” Nana asked while whisking together some oil and vinegar for the salad. “He’s never mentioned you before.”
“We only met last night,” she said.
Nana whirled from facing the countertop to look at Ari. “And he’s already brought you to meet his grandmother?” She sighed.
“Well, he didn’t have a choice,” Arianna said, and felt better that Nana was surprised, too, though she did feel a strange compulsion to defend Lance. “He’s sort of playing bodyguard for me today.”
“Why do you need a bodyguard?”
“It’s a long story.” Even though she wasn’t at all responsible for her father’s actions, she suddenly was a little embarrassed
about the whole situation in front of Lance’s grandmother.
Nana patted her arm. “Normally, I’m the prying type, but I can see you don’t want to share the whole story. I’ll let it drop.”
Gratitude filled her. “Thank you.” She stepped closer to the oven, where a fabulous scent wafted from the vent. “Mmm, that smells delicious. What did you make?”
“You’re in luck today. I made Lance’s favorite. You saw the salad, and there’s gazpacho chilling in the refrigerator; there were fresh tomatoes at the farmer’s market yesterday. What you’re smelling is spinach lasagna in the oven.”
“Yum.” Ari’s stomach rumbled a bit. “I wish I knew how to cook.”
Nana eyed her sharply. “You don’t know how?”
She shook her head. “I make excellent reservations, though.”
Nana smiled and pulled a large glass bowl filled to the brim with deep red soup from the fridge. “Stop by anytime you want to learn. I’m always happy for company.”
“I’d love to,” Arianna said, surprised that she meant it. Cooking had never held any appeal before. Why bother, when you lived steps from delicious food of all nationalities? But somehow Nana’s kitchen welcomed her and teased her with the possibility of creation in the same way a palette of paints and blank canvas did.
Lance appeared in the doorway looking sexy and completely at home in the cozy kitchen. “How’s my favorite girl?” he asked.
Ari’s heart jumped until she realized Lance was grinning at his grandmother, not her. Lucky woman.
“Computer fixed?” Nana asked.
Lance nodded. “All done. You have to be more careful about email attachments. You had some software hiding and spying and slowing your system down.”
The older woman nodded. “Oh, right, that ham, spam you keep going on about. I’ll get it one of these days, but how do they expect an old woman like me to keep up with your Twiddles and Facebooks.”
Ari laughed, but Lance rolled his eyes. “Don’t let her spiel fool you. Nana has more friends on Facebook than you and I combined.”
Ari stopped laughing. “You’re on Facebook?”
“Sure, isn’t everyone?” Nana shrugged. “Enough about me. Time for lunch.”
Lance let Arianna drive home since it gave him time to both rest his sore leg and stare out the window while analyzing how it had felt seeing her in his grandmother’s kitchen. It didn’t take much analysis to conclude that lunch had gone well. Maybe too well. Arianna had fit in as if she were a member of the family.
Except, not exactly a cousin or a sibling. More like…his wife. Not even his actual fiancée had meshed with his beloved nana so well. What required analysis was why it had made him feel a deep satisfaction at seeing the two women chatting so easily.
Hell, he knew why, and he’d be lying to himself to deny it any more. He liked Arianna; he wanted to ask her out, but felt it was unprofessional as long as he was her bodyguard.
“Your nana’s great.” Arianna kicked off her shoes back at her gallery and settled into her desk chair ready to make some work calls.
“She is,” Lance agreed. He paced the tiny office, stopping to examine her many photographs tacked to the walls.
“It must’ve been nice to grow up with someone loving you like that.” She tried to keep the envy out of her voice. She also knew her statement was a leading one. She didn’t just want to talk about his nana. She wanted to talk about Lance. Everything about him from his family, his job, to his strong body intrigued her. Okay, mostly his sexy body. And another lie. She swallowed, realizing for that maybe the first time ever, Lance’s body wasn’t her primary attraction. She actually wanted to get to know him. Obviously the apocalypse was nigh.
“I wouldn’t know. I saw my nana on summer breaks, and only sporadically.”
“Your parents didn’t love you?” It surprised her. Lance seemed like the kind of guy who grew up with two solid parents, a white picket fence, and a dog.
He shrugged. “Oh, they loved me, but they had a funny way of showing it.”
“What do you mean?” She felt strangely closer to him knowing they’d both grown up with unconventional families, though she was pretty sure hers took the crazy prize. She also wanted to find the little lonely boy and soothe him.
“They loved me, but it came with expectations I never could meet. It took me a long time to give up even trying.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but he looked done discussing it, so she let it drop. She had a ton of work to do and calls to make if she was going to get her show ready on time. First call, to Lacey Klein, artist of Club Lily. She’d been dreading this moment all day and prayed Lacey would take it well. No artist wanted to hear her work had been defaced, and Lacey could be temperamental, even at the best of times.
She picked up the phone to dial.
Across the office, Lance picked up a glossy, gorgeous flyer she’d designed herself. “The Rose Gallery presents…?” he said, examining it closely.
“Shh.” She waved a shushing finger at him.
“This is beautiful.”
“Thanks, now be quiet.”
He grinned and zipped his lips.
“Hello.”
“Lacey? Hi, this is Arianna Rose.”
“Hey Ari. What’s up? How’s show prep going? Got the invitations and flyers. Gorgeous, hon, gorgeous. You should be an artist, too, you—”
“Lacey.” Ari had to cut her off. From experience she knew that if Lacey was in one of her gregarious moods—meaning the painting was going well—then she could talk a mile a minute for a marathon. If the painting wasn’t going well, look out. From Lacey’s bubbly enthusiasm, she’d guess all was well over at the Klein studio.
“What’s going on?” Lacey said.
“I have some bad news.”
“Oh, no, don’t tell me you’re canceling the show, because I already sent a ton of emails out and I put it up on my website. There’s this cute guy I met and I invited him…”
“No, no. The show’s not canceled, but you may want to back out when you hear my news.”
“What happened?” Lacey’s voice sobered.
“The gallery was broken into last night.” She ignored Lance’s raised eyebrows. There was no need to remind Lacey that her father was wanted by the FBI and the SEC. “Club Lily was defaced and more than likely damaged permanently.”
Silence on the other end.
Ari let her client absorb the news for a few heart-wrenching moments. “Of course, the gallery insurance will make reparations and I will lower my commission on any other painting you sell at the show.”
“It’s not the money, Ari.”
Oh, shit, it sounded like Lacey was crying. “Of course, it’s not about the money,” Ari said in what she hoped was a soothing voice. Comforting voices were a rarity in the Rose household; she hoped she got it right.
“It’s never about the money. I loved that painting. It was my opus, my everything.”
“Uh, I understand. I’m so sorry.” Lacey was two years younger than she was. How could she have an opus? But there was no arguing with genius. Whatever Arianna was lacking in that elusive X-factor of artistic talent, Lacey had it in spades.
“Was anything else damaged?”
“Nothing, only Club Lily.”
“I knew it,” Lacey wailed. “It’s a sign.”
“What kind of sign?” Ari asked, wishing she’d put the phone on speaker to get Lance’s reaction. His no-nonsense-officer take on the wailing, excitable artist.
“I don’t know, a sign. Feel it, Ari.”
“Oh, I do.” She glanced at her watch. Lacey could keep her all day if she didn’t retake control of the conversation. “Do you have anything else you’d like to show in the painting’s place?”
“Maybe it means I’m going to fall in love, or win the lottery.”
Huh? Lacey must’ve inhaled too many paint fumes, because she made no sense. “Lacey.” Ari drew out her name to get
her attention. “Swing by if you want and bring another piece to show.”
“Okay,” the artist agreed suddenly, all ranting out of her system. “Thanks for calling, Ari. You’re the best.”
“You’re welcome,” she said and hung up. She certainly didn’t feel like the best. A good gallery owner would’ve set the alarms or had more hidden cameras installed to record criminal activity. She made a mental note to do that at the first opportunity, even if it meant taking out another loan. Bank of Dad looked to be closed permanently; she’d have to figure out something.
“Why the glum look?”
Lance’s deep voice startled her for a moment. She’d forgotten he was in the room, though how she’d failed to notice six-plus feet of sexy male, she didn’t know.
“I’m thinking of all the ways I’ve screwed up.”
“Did your artist say something to make you feel that way?”
“No, she took the news okay.”
“That was one hell of a hard phone call to make. You handled it well.” He prowled to her side of the desk.
His compliment filled her with warmth and an unfamiliar feeling of pride. He was right; she was good at running her gallery. She stood up to stretch, not realizing how close he’d come to her. When she rose, her face was inches away from his hard chest.
“Hi,” he whispered, sinking down a bit so she could look at his face.
“Hi.” Her heat level rose at the proximity to his lips. “Have I thanked you today for staying over last night? I know I was bitchy about it, but it meant a lot.”
He didn’t respond by doing anything other than smiling and lowering his head a fraction. Did he mean to kiss her? Why? Had he been feeling the heat all day the way she had? She opened her mouth to ask him these questions, but the second she did, he swept in and erased all questions from her mind. Thank God.
She tasted spicy and sweet all at the same time, like her personality. He couldn’t believe he’d circled the desk and kissed her. He hadn’t meant to, but she had stood there as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders, looking sad. Now that his lips were on hers, he recognized the inevitability of the kiss. The attraction had flickered into life the moment he’d stepped into her gallery last evening, and no amount of water was going to squelch it.