He shrugged. “Something wrong with a man buying his girlfriend lingerie?”
Sharon’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh, so she’s your girlfriend. I don’t recall that you’ve had a girlfriend in a number of years.” As if that made him suspect.
Bryan chose to let that comment pass. “Lindsay is pretty special.”
“She seems very…sweet,” Sharon said. “Well, I must get on with this. I’ve been invited to a wedding shower, and though I hate those things, it’s at the Carlyle, and I heard there might be a couple of celebrities present.”
That figured. Sharon had always been a social climber extraordinaire. She came from a wealthy family—Patrick had handpicked her for his son Daniel, after all. But her parents weren’t famous-rich, like the Elliotts, and she’d reveled in her society-wife role, snubbing her old friends and collecting a new, richer batch. Now she was trying to elevate her status even higher.
He didn’t dislike Sharon, for she’d been tolerant enough to him and his brother, Cullen, two boisterous stepsons. But she didn’t give him any warm fuzzies, and she’d been pretty obstinate about the divorce.
She drifted away to shop, and Bryan found himself alone, staring at the wide array of sexy lingerie. Each thing he looked at—each bra and panty set, each nightie, each thong—he couldn’t help but picture on Lucy.
He’d been hoping last night was just a fluke, that he’d merely been turned on by the glamorous trappings Lucy had displayed. But when he’d seen her this morning, he’d known it was something far deeper than clothes or hair color that attracted him to Lucy Miller.
Lucy had an inner core of goodness that radiated from her. He’d never met anyone like her. He, on the other hand, was part of an ugly, shadowy world. Their two worlds were colliding, but that contact could only be temporary. She didn’t belong in his, nor he in hers. He had to remember that.
Lucy reappeared a few minutes later. “Is she gone?”
He nodded. Sharon had grabbed a slinky black nightgown, paid for it and left without a backward glance. He wondered if she would find an excuse to call his dad and report what she’d seen. Despite the pending divorce, Sharon loved to gossip. “I’ll put those up for you,” he said to Lucy, holding out his arms. “You can go back to the nightshirts.”
“No, thanks. I want these.”
He looked again at the slinky, transparent fabrics and daring, skin-revealing styles of the nightgowns she held, and his jeans grew noticeably tighter in the crotch. He did not need to think about Lucy wearing those!
Five
Lucy wore her ice-blue nightgown to bed that night. She felt sexy in it, which made her think of things she probably shouldn’t. But she couldn’t make herself clamp down on her fantasies. She’d spent two years seeing herself as a nonsexual being, and she didn’t want to return to that. It was wonderful being able to feel again, even if some of those feelings were painful.
In the morning she dressed in a pair of pink exercise shorts, a sports bra, a pink tank top with the word Diva across the chest, and her new running shoes. She wore a terry sweatband to keep her hair out of her face.
Bryan was waiting for her when she emerged, grinding beans in his futuristic coffeepot.
“Ready?” he asked, looking pointedly at her bare legs. At least he wasn’t focusing on her chest, or lack thereof. She’d gotten used to the cleavage her fancy push-up bras produced, but those bras weren’t practical for running.
“I’m ready, but I warn you, I’m out of shape.”
“We’ll take it easy.”
Five minutes later Lucy was thinking, If this is easy, I’d hate to see rigorous. She was huffing and puffing like a leaky accordion, her every muscle protesting. She’d had no idea she was in such bad condition.
To his credit, Bryan said nothing, just loped along beside her, breathing normally.
After a few minutes Lucy got into a rhythm and she felt a little better. She started to pay attention to the sights around her, the people hurrying to catch a bus or taxi, the bagel vendors, the honking horns and flocks of pigeons.
Oh, how she loved this city. She hadn’t, however, often seen it at this hour of the morning. The In Tight crew was accustomed to starting the day around noon. Mornings, she discovered, had the same energy, but also a feeling of anticipation, of possibilities.
“You doing okay?” Bryan asked.
She nodded.
They veered into Central Park where they joined dozens of other morning joggers. Lucy dropped back a little so she could run behind Bryan and enjoy the view. He had the most gorgeous, tanned, muscular legs she’d ever seen, and a tight butt she wanted more than anything to grab. She giggled and almost choked to death because she didn’t have the spare oxygen for laughter.
She stopped and coughed a few times, and Bryan, looking concerned, tapped her on the back until she was better.
“Maybe we should head back,” he said.
She nodded, unable to speak.
“That was really good for a first time out.”
She smiled at him, and he smiled back, and her heart did a little plonk. She wished he wouldn’t be so nice to her. She wished she wasn’t just a job to him, a responsibility to be taken care of. She wished they’d met some other way, and maybe they could go out on a date like normal people.
Her life was pretty far from normal.
She was sweating like an ox by the time they made it back to Bryan’s building. Instead of going straight up, they swung into Une Nuit. Bryan introduced her to his manager, Stash, a charming man with a French accent who eyed her speculatively as Bryan put together a plate of pastries.
“This the one, eh?” he said.
“This is the one,” Bryan confirmed, flashing a slightly embarrassed smile.
The one? What the heck did that mean?
Lucy looked around the huge commercial kitchen, which appeared to her like a forest of stainless steel, everything impeccably clean and sparkly. Three men and one woman wearing tall chef’s hats bustled around preparing the day’s menu, all joking and laughing in good-natured camaraderie.
This would be a fun place to work, she caught herself thinking. Not like Alliance Trust, where no one cracked a smile or spoke above a whisper, and the only smells were of new carpet and money. Honestly, that place was like a mausoleum.
“You want to see the rest of it?” Bryan asked, apparently noting her interest.
“Oh, yes, please.”
He led her through a wide, swinging, double door into the main dining room, flipping on a couple of light switches as they went. The decor was nothing short of seductive. Low red lighting illuminated the copper-topped tables, which were surrounded by black suede banquettes and armchairs. Tables and booths were tucked away at odd angles in little corners, and she imagined the famous people who ate here enjoyed the sense of privacy.
The floor was black-and-red stone—marble, or maybe something else. Contemporary wrought-iron chandeliers hung here and there, each one different, each one a work of art.
“Wow, this is beautiful. Did you decorate it yourself?”
“No, I hired a design firm. They did my loft, too. I can’t take credit for that. Except some of the artwork.”
“It’s wonderful. Can we eat here some time?” She nearly swooned at the idea of an intimate dinner with Bryan. Since they would be in public, they would have to act like a couple in love. It wouldn’t be too difficult for her.
“You can eat here anytime you like. Stash will take care of you.”
That wasn’t really what she wanted to hear. She wanted Bryan to be the one taking care of her. They could share a plate of crepes stuffed with stir-fry—or whatever exotic thing was on the menu—and feed each other with chopsticks.
Bryan showed her the bar area, which featured smaller tables and less-cushy chairs, for those waiting for a table or just stopping in for a cocktail.
“Downstairs there’s a private dining room, for parties and such. Do you want to see it?”
She glanced at her watc
h. “I suppose we better get going. I have a lot of work to do on the computer today.”
They went upstairs, showered, then met again in the kitchen to gobble down the French pastries and coffee. Yes, she was going to have to make running a habit.
Hours later Lucy was firmly ensconced in Bryan’s private study, which was upstairs off the master suite. The door had been locked the night Scarlet came over—Lucy had checked the door out of curiosity. But this morning he’d let her in, fired up his computer and put her to work. She had not only the memory stick she’d taken with her when she fled from D.C., but all of the data she’d provided Brian with over the past few weeks. He had been going over it himself, along with some of Homeland Security’s top computer experts, but none of them had been able to figure out who was siphoning money out of the pension funds. The embezzling had been disguised to look like ordinary transactions. Fund managers bought and sold stock and securities all the time. Only by comparing the transactions with the various fund managers’ portfolio profiles could the bogus stock sales be ferreted out.
For the past three hours, Lucy had been going over personal e-mails. She felt terrible for invading her coworkers’ privacy, but Bryan had assured her it was both legal and necessary. The embezzler wasn’t operating in a vacuum. Maybe he wasn’t stupid enough to leave incriminating evidence in an e-mail—but maybe he was.
Bryan had left her alone to attend to his own business. He was checking in with the other agents on his team to see if any progress had been made from their ends. When she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, Lucy was almost giddy at the prospect of seeing him again. She told herself it was only because she was anxious to report what she’d found. But deep down she knew it was more than that. She was forming an unhealthy attachment to her superspy, which was only going to lead to pain and disappointment.
But what could she do? She couldn’t order her emotions to behave. And her hormones were completely out of her control.
Bryan entered the study, and Lucy’s smile died. The strain on his face was obvious. “Bad news?”
“One of the agents on my team is MIA.”
“Oh, no, that’s awful!”
“No one has heard from him in three days.”
“What do you think happened? Where was he the last time you knew?”
“He’s been in France. He infiltrated the bogus charity your embezzler has been funneling money to, and was tracing down wire transfers that matched the amounts we know were stolen from Alliance at certain times. But now he’s vanished. Either he’s blown his cover…or he’s the traitor. But I find that impossible to believe. I’ve worked closely with Stungun on two other missions. I’d have trusted him with my life anyday.”
“Stungun?”
Bryan rolled his eyes. “We all have code names. We don’t know each other’s real names. Not even my superior knows who I am.”
“What are the other agents’ code names?”
“My team consists of me, Stungun, Tarantula and Orchid. Siberia is our control—our boss.”
“It’s okay for you to tell me that?”
He smiled briefly. “We change the code names all the time. I’m Casanova right now, but I’ve been Jackknife, Hustler and Hopper.”
“Hopper?”
He shrugged. “’Cause I’m quick like a rabbit, I guess. I didn’t come up with it.” He sat wearily in a leather office chair. “Have you found anything?”
“You wouldn’t believe what I’ve found out. John Pelton, one of our loan officers, has been downloading porn. Really raunchy stuff. I never would have guessed. Then there’s Cassie Hall and Peter Glass. They’ve apparently been carrying on a torrid affair—and they’re both married to other people! I feel like a pervert, reading their e-mails.”
“Anything pertinent to the case?”
“I’ve been comparing log-ins to the times various illegal transactions were made. It’s painstakingly slow, but I think I might be able to figure out who the culprit is by process of elimination.”
“Any front runners?”
“I’ve been able to eliminate a couple of people. But there are still dozens of candidates. Most people stay logged in all day when they’re at work. Still, it’s a start.”
“Good. Keep at it. There are cold cuts and fruit in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
She glanced at her watch and was surprised to see it was almost two. She’d been so engrossed in solving the puzzle, she’d been oblivious to the passage of time.
“I’m afraid I have more bad news,” he said, his tone positively funereal.
“What? It’s not my family, is it? They haven’t reported me missing or anything, I hope.” She wasn’t in close contact with her parents—she talked to them every couple of weeks. They wouldn’t be worried about her yet.
When he didn’t answer at once, she felt panic creeping over her. “Bryan? What is it?”
“It’s my grandparents. They’re holding a dinner tonight at their house on Long Island. It’s a command performance. We have to be there.”
“Oh.” Word had apparently gotten out about Bryan’s new girlfriend, and she was being summoned for inspection.
“The good news is,” he continued, “my cousins and aunts and uncles will be there, and they’re all at each other’s throats these days, so there’ll be lots of drama to keep everyone distracted. The focus won’t be solely on you—though you’ll receive your share. Are you up to it?”
“Sure. As long as no one asks me how I got from Kansas to New York with no clothes.”
Bryan waited nervously in the living room while Lucy got ready for dinner at The Tides, the home where he’d spent a lot of his growing-up years. She’d been very nervous about what to wear when he’d told her the Elliotts dressed for dinner.
His grandparents could be a bit pretentious, no two ways about it. And controlling? They gave new meaning to the word. The competition Patrick Elliott had set up among his children and grandchildren was a perfect example. He liked to make them jump through hoops.
Still, they were good people, and they wanted what they thought was best for their loved ones.
When Bryan heard Lucy’s bedroom door open and shut, his gaze went immediately to the corner around which he knew she would soon appear, and he caught himself holding his breath. Having seen some of the clothing Scarlet had picked out for his “girlfriend,” he couldn’t wait to see how Lucy had tricked herself out tonight.
He wasn’t disappointed. When she came around the corner, she wore a clingy halter dress in a muted, burnt-orange color. It came almost to her knees, the hem ending in a flirty little ruffle, but that didn’t make it conservative. It showed every delicious curve of her body. She’d draped a silk fringed shawl over her bare shoulders, the color ranging from pale peach to a dark orange. A bold silver necklace called attention to her long neck and the enticing curve of her breasts.
“Too slutty?” she asked. “I don’t want your family to think I’m easy, although if I’ve moved in with you after knowing you only a couple of weeks, I guess I must be.”
“You look terrific, not slutty at all.” He wanted to touch her. He wanted to untie the little bow at the back of her neck and peel that dress right down to her waist. He wanted to kiss the shiny gloss off her lips and tease her breasts until her nipples were hard against his palms—
“Bryan?”
“What?”
“Shouldn’t we go? I don’t want to be late.”
Bryan forced himself to think about the time he’d crash-landed a plane in a Greenland blizzard and had survived for two days on four granola bars. Cold, very, very cold. He’d gotten frostbite and had almost lost his little toe.
Better. “Yes, let’s go.” He offered her his arm in a courtly gesture, and she took it, smiling uncertainly. “You look like a goddess, you know.”
“Oh, stop.”
“You do. And it’s not just the designer clothes and trendy hair. Since your makeover, you carry yourself differently.”
<
br /> “It’s my inner Lindsay,” she quipped, though he could tell she was pleased with the compliment.
On the drive out to Long Island, Lucy worked at memorizing their story. They’d met at a Paris café where Bryan was swapping recipes with a chef. She’d gone there thinking she would write a novel but had found out she couldn’t write. Now she was trying to find herself. She’d inherited a bit of money and so was in no hurry to get a job.
They invented fake names for her parents and a fake Kansas town as her home.
“You can say you worked at a bank, since you know that world, but make it somewhere besides D.C.”
“What about my education? I have a finance degree.”
“Keep it, but say you went to…I don’t know. Loyola. None of my family has ever been near Chicago.”
“I’ll just try to steer conversation away from me. I’ll ask questions about you instead. That worked pretty well with Scarlet.”
“Oh, really? And what did Scarlet say about me?”
Lucy put on her most innocent face. “She said when you were a kid you liked to pull the wings off flies and burn things.”
“What?” The look on his face was priceless.
“I’m kidding. She said you were the only one who didn’t go into the magazine business. Why is that?”
“I’d planned to. I actually studied finance, with some vague idea of working in the EPH home office. But the government recruited me before I graduated. I knew I couldn’t tell my family I was training to be a spy—they’d have gone through the roof. So I bought a restaurant instead.”
“Why a restaurant?”
“I met Stash when I was still in school. It was his dream, and I knew I liked food. So I bought the café and hired him to run it. I had no idea I would enjoy it so much. I’d planned on being more of a silent owner, but it hasn’t worked out that way.”
“Tell me more about your family. Who will be there tonight, besides your grandparents?”
“No telling. Most of the family comes when Granddad calls, unless they’re testifying before the Supreme Court or vacationing in Sri Lanka. But with everyone so tense these days, I’m not sure.”
Dynasties:The Elliots, Books 7-12 Page 6