Risk (It's Complicated Book 2)

by Ann Christopher

  “Just spaghetti.”

  “Yeah? Can I see?”

  She made a beeline for the kitchen, where she washed her hands, lifted the lid on one of the steaming pots, and breathed deeply, her eyes drifting closed. “Wow.” Opening her eyes, she grabbed the wooden spoon from the counter and stirred. “Hang on. There’s fresh sausage in here.” She made a show of looking around the kitchen. “No empty spaghetti sauce jars anywhere? This is homemade! You can really cook!”

  “I strive.”

  “Did you roast these tomatoes first?”

  “Is there any other way?”

  “This sauce may well be almost as good as mine. Well done!”

  “Yeah, I got your almost,” he said, laughing.

  Spying the bottle of Burgundy he’d opened and left to breathe, she replaced the lid and spoon. “My favorite! You remembered.”

  Yeah, he remembered, all right. He remembered the type of wine she liked, how many slices of pizza she’d eaten the other night, where she kept her plates, how she smelled, and how she felt in his arms.

  “Oh, is that the kind you like?” he asked offhandedly.

  “I have to serve myself, huh?” she said, finding the goblets.

  “Can you pour me a glass while you’re at it?”

  “You got it.”

  After handing him his wine, she roamed over to the table, where he’d laid out the salads—romaine with grated purple cabbage, carrots, grape tomatoes, and mukimame.

  “And look at these beautiful salads! I haven’t been this healthy all week.”

  He frowned. “Try not to sound so surprised. I’m a personal trainer. I know a little bit about nutrition.”

  “Ah, but not enough to keep the sausage out of the spaghetti.”

  “Dry noodles for you.”

  “Don’t even try it. I’m a guest. You have to feed me,” she said as she wandered back to her chair and sat. “So tell me about your studio. I’d heard about it opening.”

  She was a good listener, rapt and wide-eyed as she sipped her wine. He lapped up her attention, excited to tell her about his baby.

  “It’s got all the basic classes—aerobics, spinning, yoga, Pilates. We’ve got treadmills, ellipticals, bikes, and weights in the main room. I do personal training, and we’d like to add another trainer and maybe a massage therapist.”

  “So is this the royal ‘we’ you’re using, or do you have a partner?”

  “Brian’s my partner—you remember him. Luckily he’s got deep pockets, what with his inheritance and all.”

  “It pays to know people.”

  “You got that right.” His sipped his wine and watched her over the rim of his glass, happier than he could recall being since...well, since...he couldn’t recall. “You should stop by.”

  “Will you give me a free thirty-day membership?” she asked hopefully.

  At the moment he couldn’t think of anything he wouldn’t give her if she kept smiling at him like that. But it didn’t pay to be too easy.

  “We’ll see.”

  She glanced toward the bedroom door again. “Maybe I should just check—”

  “She’s fine,” he said, a little more sharply than he’d intended. He’d spend more time with Maya later, of course, but right now he wanted Angela all to himself. “In a minute she’ll come out, wanting to know about dinner. Tell me about your job. Are you a partner yet?”

  “No,” she said, smile fading. “I’m up this year, though. In fact, my friend Carmen—you met her at the funeral—said they’re starting the evaluation process. Just in case I needed one more stressful thing to deal with right now.”

  “Definitely bad timing.”

  “I noticed Janet didn’t stay very long today,” she said, picking lint off the nearest pillow. “Did she go home to try to find the rest of her dress?”

  He laughed. “You didn’t like Janet?”

  “I liked her fine.” She took a delicate sip from her wine. “She didn’t like me, though. I can tell by the way she was looking at me. Did you tell her Maya and I were coming tonight?”

  “Nah. I don’t need to check in with Janet.”

  “Really?” she said sourly, her fine brows inching toward her hairline.

  “Well, since you’re so interested—”

  “What?”

  “—I might as well tell you that Janet and I, such as we were, are over.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Over?”

  “Yeah.”

  Angela blinked and thought about this for a second, and then her brows came together. “You fired her at the funeral?”

  “Fire is such an ugly word.”

  “I’m sure Janet doesn’t think so.”

  He could see her gearing up to defend Janet and give him an outraged rant on behalf of all womankind, so he raised a hand to stop her.

  “Look. Janet and I are both adults and we both knew what we were getting—and not getting. She tried to change the rules mid-game. I had to set her straight.”

  Angela looked as though she’d swallowed a live frog. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little touchy these days about men dumping women in public.”

  This insinuation that he belonged in the same jackass category as Ron pissed him off.

  “Yeah, well, at least I didn’t lead her on for three years, tell her I loved her and then dump her,” he said flatly.

  “Thanks for that unwelcome reminder,” she snapped.

  “I’m nothing like Ron,” he said, irritated. Angela needed to start getting used to the idea that the only thing he, the next man in her life, and Ron, the former man in her life, had in common was excellent taste in women. “The sooner you realize that, the better.”

  “Oh, I’ve got it,” she said, and drained her glass. “Trust me, I’ve got it.”

  “Besides.” He softened his tone and stared pointedly at her mouth. “Janet isn’t the one I want.”

  He looked back into her shocked eyes in time to see the comprehension dawn.

  A flare of alarm came close behind.

  She tensed.

  He stared defiantly, letting her see his absolute determination.

  She saw it.

  She had to see it.

  And then she looked away.

  “Well,” she said on a derisive laugh sharp enough to gut him clean through the middle and spill his innards on the floor. Springing to her feet as though she’d been launched from a catapult, she beelined for the kitchen. “I’m sure your next target will be thrilled to hear she’s been selected for your flavor-of-the-month club. Along with every other woman under fifty in the tri-state area. More wine?”

  “Check, Uncle Justus! Look! You’re in check!”

  Justus stared down at the blue-and-white chessboard on the kitchen table and acted surprised. “What?” Captured pieces—flying monkeys and Munchkins, among others—stood idly on the sidelines. As he’d planned, Maya’s Wicked Witch of the West queen had trapped his Cowardly Lion king in the corner. There were a couple of ways he could escape, of course—for one thing, his Scarecrow bishops were still in play, but she’d stuck to the game for fifteen minutes this time—a record—and he wanted her to win.

  He looked back at her and grinned.

  She waited breathlessly for his pronouncement, her braids quivering with excitement.

  He surveyed the board one last time, just to make it look good, then smiled again, soberly now. “Congratulations on a fine game, Maya,” he solemnly told her, extending his hand. “You win.”

  Maya shrieked, leapt from her chair, and performed a victory dance that consisted mainly of shaking her butt in the air.

  “I won! I won! I wo-on!” She whirled to face Angela, who watched absently from the sofa. “I won, Aunt Ang-la!”

  Angela stirred, making sure she didn’t look Justus directly in the face, something she’d avoided doing all through dinner. He’d thrown her completely off-kilter with his veiled revelation, apparently. On top of that, she seemed never to have reco
vered from the shock of learning he’d taught Maya to play chess with a set of Wizard of Oz pieces.

  Still, she smiled gamely and clapped her hands.

  “Wonderful! High five!” Angela held her hand out, high enough that Maya had to jump up to smack it. She let Maya dance around for another few seconds, then checked her watch. “Time to go, sweetie.”

  After the usual protests, Angela quickly bundled Maya, who had started to yawn, back into her coat, mittens, and hat, then slipped into her own coat. They all walked to the foyer and Angela reluctantly faced Justus, keeping Maya in front of her like a little shield.

  “Thank you for dinner, Justus.” Angela looked up from adjusting Maya’s hat long enough to shoot him a quick look and an uncomfortable smile. “I think that was the best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”

  “I didn’t think you liked it,” he said softly. “You hardly ate any.”

  She shifted restlessly. “Oh, you know. Long day and all.” She looked down at Maya and frowned. “Where’s your scarf, sweetie?”

  Justus knew how to seize an opportunity when one appeared. “Maybe it’s in the bedroom, Maya,” he said, giving her a nudge in that direction.

  Whereupon Angela had no choice but to unclamp her hands from the girl’s shoulders and let her go.

  They watched in silence as Maya hurried off.

  The second he turned back to Angela, she lowered her head and reached into her pocket for her black leather gloves. “You’re so good with her. I can’t believe you taught her to play chess. You’re a wonderful uncle. She’s lucky to have you.”

  His heart contracted, hard.

  Unable to stop himself, he stepped closer. “And she’s lucky to have you.”

  They stared at each other, her wide eyes riveted to his face as if she’d been hypnotized by it.

  She finally blinked and ducked her head, compulsively adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder.

  He stepped closer again and cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the sudden tightness. “You okay?”

  “I don’t know. Rough day, right?”

  “It wasn’t all bad.”

  She raised her head. The edges of her mouth softened slightly, as if she wanted to smile but didn’t dare trust herself—or him, for that matter—with the maneuver.

  It was okay, though. The softness in her bright eyes when she looked at him was enough.

  For now.

  “Here it is!” Maya ran back into view, her purple scarf streaming behind her like a banner.

  Angela used the distraction to take a hasty step back and wrap the scarf around Maya’s neck. “Say goodbye to Uncle Justus, sweetie,” she said, swinging the door open.

  “Bye!” Maya quickly hugged him around the thighs, then darted out the door and down the hall.

  Angela stared after her, shaking her head as she pulled her keys out of her purse. “I don’t think that girl walks anywhere.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Well.” She hesitated. Blinked. Nodded firmly as she turned to go. “Good night.”

  “Not so fast,” he said, catching her arm.

  She froze, took a deep breath, and looked back over her shoulder at him.

  Seeing the wariness in her eyes, he tried to smile. He really did. He wanted to give her time and move at her pace. But she was here, and she was taking up more and more space in his thoughts when she wasn’t here, and the night would be long and lonely until he saw her again, even if again happened tomorrow morning.

  The bottom line was that he had precious little pride left where Angela was concerned, and the most troublesome part of that was that he couldn’t care less.

  “What is it?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Come here.”

  11

  When she hesitated, he tugged on her arm and she came the rest of the way on her own. This was a huge thrill. Her arms went around his waist, both surprising him and providing all the encouragement he needed. He tightened his grip, running one hand around her waist and cupping her nape with the other. Her hair was warm silk between his fingers. Her skin smelled like lilies, expensive face cream, and raw desire.

  A faint croon of pleasure hummed in her throat.

  Her shuddering response undid him.

  The slow heave of her full breasts against his chest told him she was having as much difficulty breathing as he was, and he stored the knowledge away for later, when he could savor it. For that one second out of time, he felt her resistance melt into the beginnings of surrender, and it was enough.

  He’d wanted this woman for ten years. He could wait a little while longer.

  But now he knew beyond any shadow of a reasonable doubt:

  This was his heaven. Right here in his arms.

  When she finally reined herself in, tensed, and pulled back, keeping her face down, he forced himself to let her go without a word.

  It didn’t matter what either of them said or didn’t say right now, as she hurried off without a backward glance and he watched her try to outrun him.

  She ought to know by now that that was impossible.

  Nothing could change what had just happened between them.

  Or what soon would happen between them.

  The following afternoon, Vincent stared across his desk at Angela, who unflinchingly stared back. She’d apparently come straight from work, and looked very pretty in a navy silk dress. She seemed to belong here with the dark paneling, leather furniture, fine antiques, and expensive first editions in his home library/office.

  Unlike some other people he knew.

  His gaze slid to Justus and his omnipresent insolent expression. As usual, his son wore casual athletic clothes and shoes. He’d probably come directly from his little gym, where he didn’t see the need to wear professional attire, let alone a suit. God knew that would be too much to ask for.

  “I assume you’d like to adopt Maya,” Vincent told Angela.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Leaning back in his chair, Vincent sighed and let his thoughts drift.

  The library was his favorite room in the house and contained little gems from his world travels. A Turkish rug from Istanbul. A hundred-year-old globe from the nicest little London shop. And the view was superlative. The tall windows behind Angela and Justus let him look out into the rose garden, not that there was much to see this time of year.

  His attention shifted to the bookshelf and one of his most prized possessions, the hand-carved oak chess set he’d found in St. Petersburg: Napoleon and Josephine faced off against Alexander I. The sight of it would have made him smile if he wasn’t so old and exhausted. Once upon a time, a million years ago, he and Justus had played chess together. He doubted Justus even remembered. Now Vincent’s fondest wish was to teach Maya to play, although it seemed unlikely. His health got worse every day, and of course she was much too young now to play a game as complex as chess.

  Well.

  There was business at hand.

  He cleared his throat and put away his hopes and memories.

  “I think that would be for the best,” he told Angela. “I’d insist on taking her myself, but...my health isn’t...what it should be.”

  That was easily the most outrageous understatement he’d ever made.

  In the last couple of years, his body, which he’d taken such good care of all his life—eating right, walking, no alcohol—had given him the Judas kiss. Heart failure. What a kick in the teeth. Only sixty-four years old and his heart was ready to call it a life, even if Vincent wasn’t.

  Bottom line? He had no idea how much time he had left, but he knew he couldn’t spend it chasing a preschooler around the house. Such an arrangement would be equally unfair to both him and Maya.

  “I understand,” Angela said. “But I know how much Maya needs you. Maybe we can work out a schedule—she could spend every other weekend with you, or maybe one night a week. Whatever works for you is fine with me.”

  Justus made a strangled sound. “Sorry to interrupt. I know y
ou both forgot I was here.”

  Angela shot him a surprised look, but said nothing, which Vincent thought was a little strange. The last few days they’d been glued to each other’s sides, which was also strange because he didn’t think they knew each other well.

  Nor, come to think of it, did he think Justus had ever been friends with a woman or had a significant girlfriend, not that Vincent would be in a position to know.

  But today Justus and Angela were as frosty as the Alaskan tundra.

  “If you two have finished carving up the Maya pie,” Justus drawled in that hateful tone he always used with Vincent, “I have something to say.”

  Angela twisted sideways to look at Justus. “What is it?”

  “I want to adopt Maya,” Justus announced.

  Vincent’s jaw dropped.

  Angela gasped and threw her hand over her heart. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” Justus said.

  There was a long, poisonous pause.

  “But, Justus,” Angela said.

  Clearly deciding to give diplomacy a chance, she put a conciliatory hand on Justus’s arm.

  Justus tensed but didn’t pull away.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to exclude you from the discussion. I know how much you love Maya. So...you and Vincent can alternate weekends, and of course you’ll be involved in all her activities.” She seemed to warm to the topic. “And there’s summer vacation, and—”

  Justus snatched his arm free. “You don’t get it, Angela. I don’t want her for a night here and there. I want to adopt her. And I’m a better choice than you.” He leveled his challenging gaze on Vincent. “Or you. We all know I’ve been way more involved with her life than either of you.”

  Vincent was still too shocked to speak, much less process this accusation. The ornate silver frame on the edge of his desk suddenly caught his eye, and he stared at the lovely photo of Sharon the year before she died. She was smiling in the rose garden, the wind ruffling her shoulder-length hair. Wouldn’t she be spinning in her grave if she knew the lengths her favorite son would go to just to spite Vincent?

  “Absolutely not.” Vincent pointed to the picture and glared at Justus. “And if your mother—”