by Carol Caiton
"Because Denise Cooper betrayed a friend. When she accepted that blue icon, she became an adequate employee, nothing more."
"Your support is noted and appreciated. But Denny didn't betray me. She applied for a blue that eventually turned up and it overrode my green. She played by the rules and I might have done the same thing if a blue icon had shown up on my computer."
"But that's not what happened. And you're the one who bore the consequences."
"The awkwardness you mean? The humiliation? You're right. And yeah, I cared for her so it was a double blow—the same double blow Nina's feeling right now. That's the hostility you're picking up on."
Simon studied him for a moment, considered the circumstances, then shook his head. "No," he said. It's more than that." Then he watched a muscle tic in Ethan's jaw.
"Nothing you need to worry about. It's a separate issue."
"Really?" Simon persisted.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."
"Then let it go. She's not your responsibility."
"Stop trying to put me in the hot seat. It won't work."
Simon struggled to separate friendship from the threat he saw coming. Ethan wasn't as insulated as he claimed. Nina was young and pretty and vibrant, and all that innocence and naiveté aroused every testosterone-driven instinct to possess and guard. Simon knew it from experience and he felt all those impulses vibrate in the air . . . from both himself and Ethan.
A separate issue? No. Not so separate.
He tilted his head back, saw the porch light, and remembered the security camera positioned inside the small globe. Like those at RUSH, it rotated on command, providing three hundred sixty degrees of visibility. He knew because Ethan had installed an identical one on his own porch.
Grimly, he lowered his eyes. "Was that phone call from Nina's sister legitimate?"
"No."
His fingers curled into a fist. He unclenched it and drew a tight breath. "Why did you interfere?"
"Because her stress levels were headed for the red zone."
"You don't know that."
"Yes I do. You didn't see the state she was in when I brought her back here."
"I wouldn't have hurt her and you know it."
"She told you three times to let go."
Simon grew utterly still, absorbing the implications of that statement. "You sonofabitch. This is between Nina and me. It's not a triangle. She isn't your responsibility. She's not your concern. She's mine. And you can take that every way you want."
Ethan's expression hardened. "Go home, Simon. Go home before I say something I'll regret."
Simon stared, torn between anger at himself, anger at Ethan, and feeling the fracture that was wedging a split in their friendship.
With a last glance at the closed door, he turned away and started down the sidewalk, hoping like hell Kaylene was gone . . . hoping like hell he never saw her again.
CHAPTER 32
Ethan closed the door, took a couple of deep breaths, and reset the burglar alarm. Then he headed for the guest suite Nina had chosen. Anger and a streak of foul vocabulary dogged his steps and he pulled himself to a stop midway down the hall.
Pushing her away was necessary. But this wasn't the time to hurl a string of curses at her. Not tonight.
Not tonight? He shook his head. He'd never in his life spoken to a woman the way he spoke to her.
Continuing on, he saw that her door was open but no light was on inside. Maybe she'd fallen asleep in her clothes. Or maybe she was sitting in the dark again.
He passed through the sitting room then stopped on the threshold of her bedroom and looked in. He saw boxes littered about, empty ones scattered in the center of the room, filled ones stacked and off to the side. But Nina was nowhere in sight.
Retracing his steps, he started back down the hall. He knew where to find her.
His study was a near replica of his office at RUSH but without the impersonal formality of a business environment. Here at home a couple of framed photographs sat on the bookshelf behind his desk, one of his grandparents and one of his father before he'd shipped off to the Middle East. A couple more hung on the wall beside the door, tangible reminders of the past that sometimes prompted a smile before he turned off the light and left the room.
Notes and ideas waiting to be researched were scattered across the surface of his desk. And directly across from it, a row of surveillance monitors were mounted to the wall. Staring at the screen that displayed four split views of the now deserted front porch, Nina sat behind his desk. She wasn't crying, but he wasn't surprised to see evidence of recent tears.
"I didn't know where to find your study," she said, her voice slightly hoarse.
He crossed the room and propped a hip on the corner of the desk. "You okay?"
"Yes."
She glanced over at the landline, the receiver resting undisturbed in its cradle, then brought her eyes back to his. "There was no phone call was there?"
How much to tell her? How much had she figured out on her own? He'd turned down the audio before heading for the porch to rescue her, but actions and expressions spoke volumes. "No. No phone call."
She nodded. "It looked like Simon wanted to hit you. Whatever you said to him . . . ."
"Yeah, well, I wanted to hit him too. We were both running a little hot."
"I'm sorry, Ethan. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Simon and I are big boys. We'll work it out."
Ironically, she was at the center of this unfamiliar friction between him and Simon, though none of it was her fault. In fact, she seemed to be at the center of a lot of things that weren't her fault. She'd been attacked at the mall—not her fault. Michael's car turned up in a criminal investigation after he'd seen her to safety—not her fault. Nevertheless, her file had generated the first blue icon in the history of RUSH operations, stirring up a whole new set of problems, and that one was debatable.
"How did you know about my sister?" she asked. "How did you know her name?"
He slid the day's mail toward the center of the desk and made himself more comfortable. This close, her signature fragrance drifted to his nostrils, compelling him to move closer. He resisted. "I'm head of security, Nina. Basic background information is sent to me whenever a new client joins."
"What about personal information?"
"Rarely. Generally it's just the basics. But I did look over your file when I learned about your link with Simon. And I checked it again the day you moved on property—after I saw that someone had hit you."
She looked away. "I don't remember seeing you."
"That's because you didn't. I was up in Security Central. I wanted a look at the woman who had drawn Simon in a status-2 blue."
"Did he know you were up there?"
"Probably." He waited a moment, watching her, then said, "I want to ask you a question."
Immediately she tensed. "You want to know who hit me."
"No, not today," he added with a hint of mischief. "I'll get to that some other time."
He was rewarded with a small smile. It was just the reaction he'd hoped for but wasn't sure he'd get.
Pushing that thought aside, he said, "I'd like to know why a phone call from your sister would cause the color to drain out of your face."
The smile disappeared and tension took its place. Several seconds passed while he waited for an answer and he all but saw her mind discarding one explanation after another.
Finally, she said, "I was afraid something had happened—to her or my parents."
It was a credible answer. She'd even looked him in the eye. But he wasn't convinced. There was that extended hesitation and the renewed tension. He took a shot in the dark. "Tell me about your sister."
Sure enough, there it was again—the hesitation, the wariness in her eyes. She even leaned back in his chair to put a wider distance between them.
"Why do you want to know about my sister?"
"Curiosity," he said, shrugging as though his int
erest held no particular significance. "Your reaction out on the porch caught my attention and now I'm curious."
She scanned his face . . . weighing the truth of his response? When he apparently passed inspection she said, "My sister Lydia, is disabled. If anything was wrong, if she needed help with something, she'd get in touch with me right away. So any phone call from her is important."
Again her explanation was plausible. Probably even true. But she looked quickly away and that hint of apprehension kept pricking his instincts.
Her sister was disabled. He hadn't been aware of that. But he didn't know if Lydia's disability was a puzzle piece that would point him in the right direction or if there was a puzzle here at all. He was merely operating on instinct.
"Was your sister disabled at birth?" It was a natural follow-up question—or so he thought.
"No." She stared him right in the eye and her message was absolute. Subject closed.
"Turn-about is fair play, you know."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It means it's my turn."
"For what?"
"You managed to obtain some very personal family history from my grandmother. Uncomfortably personal," he added.
"I didn't manage anything. I didn't even want her to tell me."
"Then why didn't you stop her?"
"What was I supposed to say, for goodness sake?"
She grabbed both arms of the chair and slid forward, regarding him with exasperation. And in keeping with the natural flow of the universe, that belligerent pose pushed those gorgeous breasts out to heart-stopping focus.
The feast was too potent to resist, too tempting to ignore. And, he rationalized, he could use it to play into the scheme of things.
Deliberately dropping his gaze, he fixed on those full womanly mounds, imagined their weight overflowing his hands, and openly, unabashedly stared.
It was a form of self-torture he knew he'd pay for later. Time and again he'd bring this moment back to mind and the shackles that held him in check would feel that much tighter. He knew it, told himself it was a dangerous game, and still he feasted.
Goddamn it, he wanted her. Had circumstances been different, Simon's screw-up would have opened the playing field. But not in this case. Not when the investment of millions of dollars, his and that of several others, depended on the accuracy of the linking system and the favorable outcome of every match. By now, most, if not all of RUSH's clients would know of that blue link. Everyone would be following its progress with a close eye.
So he took a final mental snapshot and pulled his gaze up to her face. It was time to bring back the ogre.
"Payback's a bitch, isn't it sweetheart?"
He knew the moment she recalled ogling him in his shorts. Deep, wild color suffused her cheeks.
"You—" she sputtered. "That was—"
"It sure was, wasn't it?"
"God, Ethan." She released the arms of the chair as if they'd caught fire, then sat back.
"You were telling me about your sister."
"I— No, I wasn't."
"You were getting ready to."
"No." She shook her head. "No, I wasn't."
"Is she blind?"
"No, she's not blind."
"What then?"
"You're prying."
"Really?"
"You said yourself that simple questions can open old wounds."
"You're right, I did. You should have reminded me of that as soon as I began asking questions instead of turning it into a challenge."
"That wasn't intentional."
"It is what it is."
She pushed up out of the chair and started to brush past him so he snared her wrist and pulled her to a stop. "Funny thing about intentions," he said. Her bones felt small in his hand. Delicate. He traced his thumb over her skin. "Sometimes things happen. Things we don't plan."
Honeysuckle tantalized his senses . . . honeysuckle and something more. Something he wanted to taste on his tongue. "Sometimes intentions get twisted around," he murmured. "And sometimes they can't be controlled."
Slowly, gently, he drew her closer, nestling her hips between his legs until a very few short inches separated her mouth from his.
"Ethan?"
His name on her lips was whisper soft, a wary breathless breeze that whipped up a messy concoction of testosterone, restraint, tenderness, and resentment. He wanted her more than he could remember wanting anyone. But . . . . Even if holding himself back hadn't been necessary, she wasn't ready to move on. She had her own messy concoction to deal with. Barely an hour ago she'd been ready to share a bed with Simon.
"You know, sweetheart, I have the resources to dig around and find out anything I want to know."
The jump from seduction to intimidation jarred her yet again and she hauled in a breath.
"You just can't help yourself, can you? As soon as I start to think of you as a friend, you ruin it."
She yanked on her wrist and he let her go.
"My sister was in a car accident," she snapped. "A bad one. Her legs were crushed and now she's confined to a wheelchair. Satisfied?"
Spinning around she stormed across the room and out of his study. He stared at the empty doorway. A car accident. What was so significant about a car accident that she guarded it like a high-priority secret? And why had she blurted it out only after he threatened to probe around?
He stared after her for another few seconds then he pulled out his cell phone. Skimming through his contacts, he located the numbers he wanted, made two calls, then stood up. He'd have the information he wanted by noontime tomorrow.
Was he satisfied? Not even close.
With a last glance at the monitors, he shut off the light and headed out to the kitchen. The M&M's wrapper he'd left on the counter was still there. He walked over, picked it up, and smoothed it out. Had Nina fallen in love with Simon during the few short weeks they'd known one another? Was it possible to fall out of love in just a couple of seconds?
I don't want to be with a man who turns to someone else if we argue or have a misunderstanding . . . .
She hadn't wanted to talk to Simon after watching him get his rocks off with another woman. Understandable. But that was tonight. What about tomorrow . . . or next week after the shock wore off?
He thought about his own reaction to Denny's sell-out, recalled the confusion when he sat behind his desk and tried to pull up her file only to receive a message telling him it had been withdrawn. Less than a minute later, she'd appeared in his doorway, the look in her eyes telling him there had been no mistake, no computer error.
During their time together she hadn't once mentioned that she'd applied for a blue link. He'd even asked Simon if anyone had declined a blue icon. Instead, he should have asked if anyone had applied for one.
So, one day her file was in his system and the next it was gone. Still, she'd come directly to his office to tell him herself. He had to give her that. She'd been looking for marriage—a home, a family—the white picket fence. The irony of it was, if she'd waited he might have fallen for her enough to offer those things. He may not have been looking for them specifically when he'd accepted her green icon, but he'd been ready for more than casual sex.
When you find someone special, if you place a high value on it, you don't turn to someone else.
He looked down at the M&M's wrapper. Out on the porch he'd told Simon that Denny hadn't betrayed him and technically she hadn't. But the value she'd placed on their relationship hadn't been high enough to stop her from walking away. According to Nina, that said it all. And from where he stood, he had to agree.
So now he was working out of Security Central instead of his office at Admin. But that had more to do with pride than trying to avoid Denny. Too many eyes followed them if they happened to be in the same vicinity, so walking through Reception was annoying. The fact was, anything he'd felt for her had died the moment she'd chosen someone else over him.
Maybe Nina felt that way, too.
He smoothed his thumb over the candy wrapper and wondered how long it would take her to recover. Simon wasn't going to give up easily. With a lot of work he might even convince her he was worth a second chance. And he was. Contrary to recent evidence, Simon wasn't a man who treated loyalty and commitment lightly. But yielding to the wiles of another woman told Ethan he hadn't taken to heart the gift he'd been given. That little escapade may have cost him everything.
And still the playing field was closed.
Sighing, he slipped the M&M's wrapper into his pocket and headed toward the utility door. He'd better start carrying Nina's boxes back inside.
CHAPTER 33
At seven o'clock the following morning he squinted through tired eyes at the empty parking bay between his Audi and the Jaguar. Where would she have gone at this hour? It was barely light outside.
Knowing she was an early riser, he'd hauled himself out of bed and over to the guest wing to help with the boxes he'd brought in. He hadn't even had his morning coffee yet, but her bed was made and the room as deserted and lifeless as it had been the night before. The boxes he'd stacked in the hallway outside her door were right where he'd left them, still packed, as though she planned to load them into that ancient car of hers and move out again.
He scowled. Every time he turned around she was gone and he still had no way of contacting her.
The doorbell rang.
Terrific.
Barefoot, he strode back down the hall and across the chilly tile floor of the foyer. It came as no surprise when he opened the door and found Simon on the other side.
"Is she awake yet?"
"Hmmph. Awake and gone." Stepping back, he opened the door. "Come on in. I'll start the coffee."
"Sounds good."
He led the way to the kitchen, though Simon could have found his own way in the dark.
"I owe you an apology," Simon told him, pulling out one of the barstools and sitting down.
Ethan dumped a few scoops of coffee grounds into the coffeemaker, added water, and flipped the switch. "Apology accepted."