by Tiffany Snow
I could reach the fastening of his jeans and couldn’t resist cupping the hard length of him through the denim. Oh yeah. This would definitely be worth the morning-after regrets.
Ryker’s lips moved to my shoulder and I tipped my head to the side as he brushed my hair back. I had his belt undone, but the fly was proving more difficult, so I didn’t notice that he’d gone still.
“What’s this?”
Opening eyes made heavy with desire, I glanced up at him, but he was looking at my arm, a frown on his face.
I felt my face get hot. “Oh that,” I said. “It’s just a bruise.” The imprints from that guy’s fingers were clear, which was a big reason why I’d worn something with sleeves tonight. I hurriedly yanked my shirt back up, but Ryker stopped me, pulling it back down and turning me for a better look.
“It’s not just a bruise,” he said, and gone was the husky desire in his voice. This was business, with anger lurking just under the surface. “It’s a man’s handprint. Did Parker do this to you?”
And that effectively killed what little was left of the mood.
“Of course not!” I snapped, stepping out of his reach. I pulled my shirt back on, quickly buttoning it back up. “You really don’t know him if you think he’d do that.”
“I know you’d cover for him if he had,” Ryker shot back, which really pissed me off.
“A customer assaulted me in a cab last night,” I said. “Parker helped me.” My fists were clenched in anger. “I think we’re done here, like really done, Ryker. You can go.”
But Ryker’s eyes narrowed and he made no move to leave. “What do you mean, ‘a customer assaulted’ you? Which customer? It was the Russians, wasn’t it.” That last part wasn’t a question. Somehow, he knew.
I swallowed. Shit. In my anger, I’d said something I probably shouldn’t have.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“It was nothing,” I lied. “Just someone concerned that their privacy would be breached, that’s all. He was very…forceful about it.”
“Did he do anything else?”
Other than scare me out of my wits and make me wish I was Lara Croft? “No,” I said. “I’m fine.”
Ryker glared hard at me. “You still want to tell me Parker doesn’t know exactly who these people are and what they do?”
Parker had told me himself that he knew who they were. He’d also told me he’d take care of it. Neither statement would uphold his innocence in Ryker’s eyes, so I remained silent.
Ryker bit out a curse, shoving a hand through his hair. I flinched at the harshness in his voice and decided I really didn’t like being on the receiving end of his anger, which was decidedly intimidating.
“I’d like you to go,” I said again.
Without a word, he walked to the door and jerked it open. He stepped through, then turned back to me. His blue eyes were intent on mine as he spoke. “Be careful, Sage. If you get in their way, they’ll kill you. You can’t tell me Parker’s worth that.”
The door closed quietly behind him and I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Things had just gotten way more complicated.
Chapter Six
I met Parker at the airport Monday morning. All day Sunday, I’d been thinking about what Ryker had said. Was he right? Could Parker somehow be involved with these people in a way that left him vulnerable to arrest and prosecution? I couldn’t imagine him doing that. I’d never, in the entire time I’d worked for him, seen him do anything illegal. Occasionally the firm might be involved with something in the gray area, but never outright against the law.
What if he’d gotten dragged in against his will? It’d be just like Parker not to say a word and to try and figure it out on his own.
Once through security, I grabbed a cup of coffee on my way to the gate, unsurprised to see Parker already there.
“Good morning,” I said, taking the empty seat next to him. He glanced up from his iPad.
“Morning, Sage.” He returned to his reading.
I sipped my double-tall soy latte (add whip), peering sideways out of my eye at what he was reading. Looked like a news website. I wished I had something to do, too, but the only reading material I’d brought was the latest copy of Vogue, which was slightly embarrassing in light of Parker reading the news. Flipping through a glossy mag looking at the pictures wouldn’t exactly make me look like a brain trust. Hmm. Obviously I hadn’t thought that one through.
“Did you have a good weekend?” he asked, still perusing the iPad.
“Um, yeah,” I answered.
“No surprise visitors?”
“No.”
“Good.” He seemed satisfied at that.
“What about you?” I couldn’t resist adding, “Did your…friend come back?”
Parker did glance up then and I quickly averted my gaze, taking another sip of coffee. That question had probably been out of line, but it was too late to take it back.
“No, she didn’t,” he replied. “I worked this weekend. What about you?”
I shrugged, noncommittal. I really didn’t want to tell him about Ryker and now I was sorry I’d asked a personal question.
As if he’d read my thoughts, he asked, “Have you heard from Ryker since your…date the other night?”
Shit.
I still avoided looking at him as I answered. “Um, yeah,” I mumbled. I thought about lying, but I didn’t like lying to Parker, so I told the truth. “We went out Saturday evening.” I plucked an imaginary bit of lint from my skirt.
Parker was silent for a moment. “I see.” Disapproval laced his words. “You do realize the only reason he asked you out is because of me.”
I jerked my head up, stunned and hurt that he’d say that to me. Our eyes met and his gaze was shrewd as he looked at me.
“Could you possibly be more insulting?” I hissed, keeping my voice down so I didn’t make the scene I dearly wanted to make by clobbering him over the head. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a single woman, with a decent job, good hair, who works out on a semi-regular basis.” No sense stretching the truth on that last one. “It’s not like I’m a troll.”
Just then, a woman’s voice came over the intercom, announcing first-class boarding for our flight. Parker was the first to look away in our staring contest, gathering up his things. He stood, then glanced down at me.
“Aren’t you coming?”
Still pissed, I snapped, “I’m in coach.”
He nodded and I expected him to leave, but he paused. Leaning down until his mouth was near my ear, he said, “Yeah. I noticed.” Then he was gone.
I watched him disappear down the Jetway, my mouth agape.
With any other man, I’d say he’d been flirting with me. But it was Parker, so what did that mean? Or did it mean anything? He had just been answering my question, after all.
It didn’t matter. He’d been an asshole, saying that about Ryker. I sipped my coffee, glumly staring out the window at the plane while I waited for my row to be called. Finally, it was my turn to board. I glanced at Parker seated in the first-class section as I walked by, but he was engrossed in his iPad.
Since I’d gotten my ticket so late, I had the dreaded middle seat, and when I got to my row, I wanted to groan in dismay. Seated by the window was one of the biggest guys I’d ever seen—like muscle-bound, MMA fighter, don’t-mess-with-me kind of big. It amazed me that he’d been able to squeeze into the seat, but since quite a bit of him overlapped into mine, I guess I could see how he’d managed.
Stowing my carry-on in the overhead bin, I smiled at him as he glanced up when I sat down. He didn’t smile back. Great.
I squeezed into the seat, digging for the seat belt. The guy’s arm overlapped into my space, as did his leg. I sighed. It was only a bit over two hours for the flight to New York. Surely it wouldn’t be that bad.
Just then, a woman came down the aisle with two boys in tow. The youngest could only have been three or four; the oldest looke
d maybe seven. The mom looked up at the rows, then sat the older boy in the empty seat next to me while she and the other kid sat across the aisle.
Joy.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like kids. I did. Kids were great. Just so long as I didn’t have to talk to them, listen to them, or basically interact with them in any way.
I found out pretty quick that the youngest boy was named Steven and the oldest Jeffrey, because the mom was constantly saying their names, trying to get them to behave. They had a slew of electronic toys, coloring books and crayons, and various action figures that they were constantly dropping and having to squirm down to the floor to pick up.
The first few times, I tried to help, but then Jeffrey beat me to it, his foot smacking me in the face as I leaned down. The mom didn’t even notice—her hands were full with Steven, the little monster—and Jeffrey didn’t either. He had his hands on his toys again, though now the electronics caught his eye. No earphones meant I got to hear the beeping and repetitive music of Mario for what seemed an eternity.
When the flight attendant came by to pass out drinks, I prayed the mom would see sense and not let the boys have them. But it was not to be. Smooshed in my seat, I watched in dismay as she set a full cup of cola on Jeffrey’s tray. It lasted six minutes, until he dropped his crayons and dove to grab them, knocking the cup directly into my lap, onto my pristine white skirt.
I gasped in dismay as the ice-cold liquid seeped through the fabric. I couldn’t even jump up because the guy next to me was asleep and snoring, his meaty arm blocking me in.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. Jeffrey get back up in your seat! Look what you did to that poor woman! Apologize to her! No, give me those crayons; you sit quietly in your seat. Steven, hush, you’re fine. No, you cannot have more pop. Jeffrey, sit down; you’re supposed to have your seat belt on. No, I don’t have more batteries. Share with your brother.” And so it went. Jeffrey began haranguing his mom for more cola—which I vowed to dump on the little shit’s head if she gave it to him—while Steven fussed and whined.
I hit the call button and the flight attendant looked sympathetic as she brought me a pile of napkins, but there was nothing to be done. The liquid had soaked into my skirt, right through to my underwear and crotch until I knew I’d be sporting a brownish wet spot on the back of my skirt as well as the front. Frustrated tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back.
I really hated kids.
The flight attendant returned and handed me a drink. I glanced up, questioning. I hadn’t ordered anything.
“Vodka tonic,” she said quietly, glancing at Jeffrey. “Complimentary.”
“Thank you,” I murmured as she walked away. It was five o’clock somewhere, I thought as I downed the drink.
Jeffrey finally fell asleep as we were on our approach to land, the little shit. As I deplaned, I glanced at the mom, feeling a pang of sympathy for her as she roused Jeffrey and took Steven by the hand. She looked exhausted.
My skirt was as wet as I thought it’d be, the stain nice and prominent. Lovely. If possible, I was in an even worse mood now than I had been earlier. When I saw Parker’s eyebrows lift as I joined him by the baggage carousel, his gaze on my skirt, I snapped, “Don’t even say it.”
“What happened?” he asked, ignoring me.
“Jeffrey happened,” I said. “Spilled his pop all over me. Now I look like I wet my pants and he stained my skirt.” I wanted to cry, but stuck with angry. No man wanted to bother with a woman crying over a spilled pop.
Parker shrugged out of his suit jacket. “Here,” he said, swinging it over my shoulders. “Put this on.”
Surprised but grateful, I slid my arms into the too-long sleeves. He was right. The jacket was big enough and long enough on me to cover my soaked rear.
“I’ll get the bags,” he said, tugging the jacket closed around me, “if you need to find a ladies’ room.”
I lifted my gaze to his, mine a little watery. His kindness was sweet, making a lump form in my throat. I nodded. “Thanks,” I managed to say without bawling. “Mine has a hot pink luggage tag in the shape of a martini glass.” A favor from a bachelorette party.
In the nearest bathroom, I went in a stall and carefully hung Parker’s jacket on a hook before pulling off my cola-dampened underwear. Ick. I dropped them in the trash, then tried my best to get the stain out of my skirt, but all I was doing was making it worse. The dry cleaner might be able to get the stain out, but I couldn’t, at least not while in the airport bathroom.
Pulling Parker’s jacket back on, I realized the fabric was drenched in his scent. Not stopping to ask why I was doing it, I took a quick moment to press my nose into the lapel and take a deep whiff.
When I returned to Parker, he had our bags and stood next to a uniformed driver, chatting. His gaze raked me from head to toe, a funny look coming over his face that I couldn’t read.
“We’re just going to the hotel,” he said. “You can change there. Our clients e-mailed me with the time for dinner, so you have plenty of time.”
Sounded good to me.
But my luck didn’t change. When we got to the hotel and they pulled up the reservation, we found out the travel department hadn’t booked me a room like I’d told them to.
“I’m sorry, but we’re full tonight,” the desk clerk said with an apologetic shrug. “The best I can do is get you a room for tomorrow, but tonight there’s nothing available.”
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. If I stepped outside and was immediately mugged, it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.
“What’s going on?” Parker stepped up next to me.
“They messed up the reservation,” I said with a heavy sigh. “They have your room tonight, but don’t have anything available for me until tomorrow. Even though I called to confirm the reservation yesterday.” I gave the desk clerk a withering glare.
“There are two hotels on this block,” the clerk said. “I’ve contacted them both, but neither has any available rooms.”
“Apparently there’s a convention going on,” I said. “Comic books and dentists.”
Parker’s brows knit in question.
“Not, like, together. Separate.” Though I guessed maybe dentists could like comic books, too? Whatever. It didn’t matter. My wet skirt was clinging to me and I shifted uncomfortably, mentally using all the words my mother frowned upon to curse the hotel, the dentists, and the comic book folks.
“Just make sure my room is a double,” he told the clerk. “We’ll make it work until tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind staying nearby,” I protested.
Parker looked down at me. “You’d have to go farther than that to find a room. It’s just for one night, Sage. We’re adults. We’ll manage.” His tone clearly said the subject was closed, so I shut up.
“Here you go, sir,” the clerk said, sliding a packet onto the counter. Parker picked it up. “You’re in room 1427. Here are two keys and the Wi-Fi password. We’ll notify you tomorrow when the second room becomes available.”
“Thank you,” Parker said. Taking my elbow, he led me to the elevator while the bellman followed with the luggage.
I didn’t say anything in the elevator, my nerves jangling at the idea of sharing a room with Parker. Why in the world had he done that? I’d be just a phone call and hasty jog away, should he need me. Though it did cement in my mind that he had no interest in me other than a professional one. No boss would put themselves in this situation—not in our lawsuit-crazy society—if there was even a hint that things could get unprofessional, and Parker was the consummate professional.
The room wasn’t as big as I’d hoped, but was really nice. The bellman set the luggage down and Parker tipped him before he left. I stood awkwardly by one of the beds as the door swung shut, then hurried to shed Parker’s jacket.
“Here you go,” I said, handing it to him. “I’ll just change.”
I bent over to where my suitcase lay on the flo
or, digging through it for another skirt and blouse. My nerves were shot after the plane ride from hell, and now the prospect of sharing a hotel room with my boss made me long for another vodka tonic.
Parker cleared his throat and I glanced over my shoulder at him, but he seemed to have his gaze carefully averted. “I know it may be a bit uncomfortable, Sage,” he said, “but it’s only for one night. After what happened Friday, I’d rather you be here than alone in another hotel.”
Ah. That made sense, though my disappointment in his explanation certainly didn’t.
“Sure, yeah, thanks,” I blurted, yanking out the new outfit. “I’ll just be a few minutes.” Clutching my clothes, I disappeared into the bathroom.
The full-length mirror showed the extent of Jeffrey-the-Terror’s damage and I groaned in dismay at the stain. This was a hundred-and-fifty-dollar Michael Kors skirt! Wait a second…
I squinted, then pulled the fabric tighter across my hips.
“Oh no…”
Spinning around, I pulled it tight across my rear. Sure enough, even with the satin lining, the fabric was see-through where it was wet. No wonder Parker had loaned me his jacket. So when I’d been bending over getting clothes out of my suitcase, my underwear stashed in a trashcan at the airport…
“Oh God,” I moaned, covering my burning face with my hands. No wonder he’d been so clearly looking away from my prominently displayed backside. Didn’t they call that “presenting” in the animal kingdom?
“Oh God oh God oh God…”
I had to stay in the bathroom forever. No way could I go back out there and face him again after that little display.
“Everything okay in there?” I heard Parker say right outside the door.
“Yeah! Yes! Everything is fine!” My voice sounded strangled.
I couldn’t stay in here, as much as I wanted to.
Stripping out of my clothes, I dressed in the skirt and blouse, glad I’d chosen a black skirt this time. The blouse was one of my favorites, a sleeveless wraparound in a soft bronze that brought out the gold flecks in my eyes. It hugged my figure and I thought it looked flattering on me. After what I’d just been through, I wanted to look as nice and professional as possible.