Lying in Bed

by Jo Leigh

  really thought through the language issue.

  Statement two was no better:

  We feel warmth and connection at least twenty minutes a day.

  Who the hell knew how many times they felt connected? He felt connected to the L.A. Kings hockey franchise, at least when they were winning, but that lasted the length of the game.

  He leaned closer to Angie with a sigh. “This is gonna suck. Even if they don’t play new-age CDs.”

  She snorted. Daintily. Whispered, “It’ll be fine. Go with your instincts. Pretend they’re asking about you and your personal trainer. Trust me, all the answers will make perfect sense.”

  He probably should have been insulted by that, but it actually made him laugh. He decided that when he was in doubt, he’d go with the opposite of his instincts, and he should be okay.

  He glanced again at her paper, then stayed for a while, reading. Most of her responses were unsurprising given her backstory. The one about initiating sex equally made him blink. She’d given that a “Happens often.” Good to know.

  Confident that he now had the game down, he tackled his sheet, filling in the numbers for Ryan Ebsen, a man dedicated to keeping his wife and her checkbook. By the time he reached the end of the third page, he figured this thing with Angie was going to work out just fine.

  Then she stood up, leaned over the table to grab another pen, and he got a load of her picture-perfect backside.

  Nope. No. This thing with Angie was gonna kill him. Dead.

  4

  “THE FOOD WAS REALLY GOOD,” Angie said, sipping her coffee from the back of the Blue Room. The group lunch hadn’t been nearly the ordeal she’d stressed over, but there had certainly been moments.

  The whole lot of them had walked the short distance from the Lavender Room, passing another group, all of them holding fruity umbrella drinks. Angie had been tempted to switch her allegiance, or at the very least call room service for a cocktail of her own. Especially after she got a load of the weird as hell layout of their new location.

  The lunch tables had been set up in odd configurations: some were long family style, some round that could seat eight, a couple of them could accommodate four and only one table for two. There were more seats available than participants and each seat had a complete table setting.

  Delilah had asked them all to sit. Anywhere they chose. With no more than a glance between them, she and Ryan went for the round table for eight where, for the most part, they’d eaten and listened to other people talk. The person to her right had been Luke, husband to Erica. Luke had spent the bulk of the meal’s two courses telling her how he was only at this workshop because of Erica and how the whole point of intimacy was sex, and since they had sex pretty much every night, what was the point? He also mentioned the cost three or seven times.

  Fortunately it hadn’t been difficult for her to play her role. Primarily because Ryan had kept checking in with her. Not with words. With a look, a smile, a roll of his eyes. Each one a string between them, connecting, strengthening, woven together like a safety net. That tie relaxed her enough that she was able to answer the few questions asked without overthinking or stumbling.

  The one time she’d tripped up was when she turned to find him staring across the table at Tonya Bridges, the yoga and tantric massage instructor. He’d looked riveted, interested. But then he’d turned back to the man to his left. Chris looked to be in his fifties. The two went on to discuss basketball until it was time for dessert and they’d all been “invited” to find different seats. Ryan had taken her by the sleeve and pulled her straight to the back of the room, to the table set for two where they hid like the bad kids during assembly as they watched the most confusing game of musical chairs ever.

  “I think Ira’s wearing patchouli oil,” Ryan said as he fiddled with his linen napkin. He’d gotten coffee, nothing else, while she’d fixed herself a small plate of fruit. “Think he’s actually old enough to be a hippie?”

  Ryan wasn’t looking at her, but that was okay because she was too busy scoping out the room to look at him. Their little table was situated close to the desserts. There were only three choices: a crème brûlée, a New York–style cheesecake, which was calling Angie’s name, and a bowl of fresh fruit. She ate another piece of cantaloupe and decided the cheesecake had to be a billion times better. “Delilah hasn’t had any work done I don’t think,” Angie said, pushing her grapes around. “Which makes me like her more, and also makes me question her involvement.”

  “What? Why?”

  “They’ve been living in L.A. and Vegas for years. Plastic surgery is practically required by law for any woman over the age of forty.”

  He looked at her, clearly disbelieving. “That might be true for celebrities, but—”

  “Ellen Fincher.”

  Ryan tossed the napkin all the way past the table, which Angie doubted he meant to do. “Get out.”

  Ellen was Palmer’s administrative assistant. Angie knew for a fact she was forty-seven, because Angie had been at the birthday party. Ellen’s present to herself had been eye lifts and some lipo. “Oh, I’m right.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, but why does that make Delilah a more trustworthy person?”

  “If she had a ton of illicit money, she’d probably have a nip or a tuck. She’s pretty, but she’s starting to droop. On the other hand, she could be saving every last penny for her dream retirement in Cancún.”

  “Or maybe she’s just not that vain. You know—” Ryan stopped talking as Zach, the banker from Orange County, came by. Rachel, his wife, followed shortly thereafter, and all four of them chatted about how fantastic the food was until the couple wandered off.

  Angie would have been fine with that if Zach hadn’t been eating his damn cheesecake right in front of her. But after four bites she’d broken like a dime-store toy. “You want anything?”

  Ryan shook his head staring once more at Tonya, who was sitting at one of the long tables, talking with two other couples.

  Angie refilled her coffee, then said, “Screw it,” even though no one was near enough to hear her, and picked up the biggest piece of cheesecake on the table. As she took her first bite, standing there like a heathen, she did a quick scan of the room. No one had left, even though they were perfectly free to do so. Marcus had cornered Olivia and Kyle. Delilah had both Paul and Natalie and Chris and Hannah.

  Ryan watched Angie come back to the table. She sat down, both pleased and troubled that they were alone once more and murmured, “We’re the only ones without a staff member.”

  “Yeah, I was thinking that we should probably move.”

  “Not near Marcus,” she said after she’d swallowed another bite of the incredible cheesecake.

  “We’ll have to talk to him at some point.”

  “Not now. I spent five hours with him when you excused yourself after the main course.”

  He blinked at her. “I was not in the bathroom for five hours.”

  “My point exactly.” She’d rarely run across anyone as beige as Marcus. Not simply his skin tone, his dishwater hair and his clothes, but his voice and his whole demeanor were so dull it was almost mesmerizing. He could put whole cities to sleep. “Now that I think about it, it’s the perfect disguise.”

  “What’s that?” Ryan’s lips were already quirked up a hair, which made her throat tighten for a second.

  “Being so boring people will do anything to avoid you.”

  Ryan’s smile broadened. “How come I didn’t know you were funny?”

  That wasn’t what she expected him to say. “I have no idea. And I don’t think I am. Not funny funny. I’m intermittently amusing.”

  “You’re under-the-radar funny. I imagine it would be very entertaining to sit next to you during bad movies.”

  “Now that I know your taste in films, that’s never going to happen.”

  “Excuse me? Shaun of the Dead.”

  “You said bad movies.”

  He laughed out
right, and she hoped that Delilah and Ira were watching because this moment would convince anyone she and Ryan liked each other very, very much.

  * * *

  “ALL RIGHT, EVERYONE, are we ready?” Delilah glanced around at each couple, smiling serenely, until her gaze stopped on Ryan. “Is there a problem, Ryan?”

  “Nope,” he said, eyeing the bean bag chair. “None.”

  Problem was putting it mildly. This was exactly the nightmare he’d dreaded. Only worse. They hadn’t been back in the Lavender Room for five minutes when the woman had described their very first bona fide intimacy exercise. Of course, it involved a bean bag chair. One chair. To be shared by him and Angie. At the same time. Hell. For a second he’d seriously thought about faking an allergic reaction to something he’d eaten at lunch. But Angie would know. Not to mention they were on the job.

  “Come on, Ryan, move it,” she whispered, her impatient voice edging toward panic.

  He looked around, saw that all the other couples were in place, the husbands somewhere between lying and sitting, their wives cuddled on top of them. Slowly he lowered himself into the torture pit. Once he arranged himself as best he could he stared up at Angie, waiting for her to join him.

  She hesitated, briefly met his eyes, then concentrated on her feet.

  Ha. Yeah, real easy, right? He killed all hints of a satisfied smirk as he offered her his hand.

  Ignoring it, she plopped down, none too gracefully, then swung a leg over him. He sucked in a breath, pretty sure she hadn’t meant to hit him there.

  “Um, sorry, if I—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” His voice came out wrong, more like a fourteen-year-old going through the change.

  He refused to say another word. Just laid there and let Angie do her thing. She’d figure out exactly how they were supposed to be situated. At least her knee had eliminated the possibility of his cock getting involved, so that was something.

  “Is this supposed to be comfortable?” he asked, his lips very close to Angie’s ear as she lay with her head on his shoulder.

  “I have no idea.” She adjusted again.

  Every time she moved, Ryan tensed another notch. Delilah had asked for one partner to be “enveloped” by the other in order to listen to their heartbeat. First off, he didn’t think Delilah knew what enveloped meant, but that wasn’t the issue. Having Angie curl up in his arms? Touching him from shoulder to calf? Mother of—

  “You’re squeezing,” Angie said.

  “Huh?”

  “My elbow. Tightly.”

  Ryan jerked his hand away, but it turned out to be a load-bearing hand and Angie slid down his chest until they reached a brand-new level of discomfort. Especially when her knee ended up on his inner thigh. Perilously near the first event.

  “Oh, boy,” she said.

  He swallowed a moan.

  Then she made things a hundred times worse by trying to scoot back up using that damned knee. Against his thigh. He bit his lip and most definitely did not whimper.

  “Sorry, sorry.”

  He moved, too, attempting to keep his privates out of jeopardy while they struggled to get into position.

  “That’s wonderful,” Delilah said from the front of the room. “Now that you’re all settled, I want you to listen to the sounds of the rain forest and become aware of your breathing.”

  “Settled?” Ryan whispered. He hadn’t known a whisper could be high-pitched. He didn’t dare look around the whole room, but the couples in his line of sight looked as cozy as lovebirds. The bastards. “We’re doing this wrong.”

  “What would you suggest?” Angie whispered back, her frustration making him feel a little better. “We don’t fit on this thing.”

  “Everyone else fits. You have to relax.”

  “Me? You’re as tense as a bowstring.”

  “If you’d just arrange yourself over me like—”

  “I’m not a lap blanket.”

  Her knee moved again and he was running out of thigh. “Stop. Please.” He wasn’t above begging. “They’re all waiting for us.” He’d managed most of that sentence with his teeth clenched.

  Angie lifted her head. “They’re not all settled. Erica looks completely pissed at Luke, and Olivia’s sitting on the carpet.”

  “Ira’s doing something with the iPod player. Where’s Delilah?” Ryan didn’t particularly care, but maybe if he distracted Angie she’d stop moving.

  “Must be at the front of the room. Come on. We can do this,” Angie said. “We’ve just got to coordinate.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to say.” He took in a deep breath and let it go slowly. “I’m going to just lie here. I won’t move an inch. All you have to do is get comfy. In fact, I won’t even watch, that way I won’t anticipate or react. Deal?”

  She rested her head on his chest again. The warmth and weight of it made Ryan close his eyes before he’d planned on it.

  “Deal,” she said.

  “Angie? One favor?”

  “What?”

  “Watch the knee.”

  His eyes weren’t merely closed they were clenched. Which did nothing to stop him from hearing her sharp, soft, “Oh. Sorry.”

  Ryan couldn’t imagine how they must look to the therapists. To the blackmailers. Maybe it would help if he pretended it wasn’t Angie crawling all over him, but Jeannie.

  That was good, good, excellent, he could picture her hair and the stupid second earring on her right ear, but then Angie’s scent caught him by surprise and Jeannie vanished like his humor.

  Instead of throwing in the towel he pictured the woman he’d met at Bordello back in L.A. Terry, Mary, Carrie?

  And there it was. Nothing magical, no, because his balls still ached, but he improved. Relaxed, at least to the point he wasn’t going to snap his spinal cord. He pictured the short-haired brunette on her large four-poster bed. God, she’d been flexible. He’d been tempted to call her again, but hadn’t.

  When she’d wrapped her legs over his shoulders, head arching back on the pillow, he’d had to... How had the image in his head turned into Angie? When? Hell, even with the ache in his groin his cock was getting interested.

  “That’s the ticket,” Delilah said softly from really close by.

  Ryan’s eyes opened to find her crouching next to their bean bag.

  “I thought you two were going to need some special assistance but you worked it out. Don’t worry that it took a few moments to find your comfort zone. Being in a group like this requires some new skills. Trust me, it gets easier.”

  Angie’s head, which was now in its proper position on his chest, lifted. “I think we’re good, but thanks for checking on us.”

  Delilah patted the side of the bag. “That’s what we’re here for.” She rose, walked away until Ryan couldn’t see her at all.

  Angie had draped herself over him with her left hand on his ribs, her front pressed to his side and her leg now safely thrown across his own.

  As he put his hand gently on her shoulder her muscles seized beneath his palm, which caused him to go from uncomfortable to suicidal in seconds. With both of them stiff as statues, he grew hyperaware of every part that touched every other part.

  “This position, curled around each other in total harmony, is home base,” Delilah said, speaking to everyone now, her voice as calm as a summer breeze. “It’s where you go when you need to feel safe. You can use this position in your own rooms or in here, any time you feel at all uncomfortable or restless. In fact, your homework for tonight is to recreate this position when you go to bed. Let your partner reassure you with their body, their breathing.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Angie said, her whisper quavering with panic.

  “Well, shit,” Ryan said, closing his eyes again, this time trying to pretend he was anywhere else on earth.

  * * *

  ANGIE SHOULD HAVE TOLD Ryan she’d meet him back at their room, rather than waiting for him outside the workshop space. Leaving wi
thout him would only add fuel to the fire. She doubted the afternoon session could have been more of a spectacular failure.

  If Ryan was never approached by the blackmailer, she would be perfectly justified in blaming herself. She’d been more nervous lying in his arms than when she’d had sex for the first time. Okay, bad analogy. As if she wasn’t having enough trouble keeping her thoughts on the assignment.

  Some Special Agent she was. Rookies with one day on the job would have handled themselves better than she had.

  Yet, she managed a smile as the other couples left the room. All of them were touching. Every single couple. Chris and Hannah held hands. Kyle and Olivia were so busy gazing into each other’s eyes they almost walked into a pole. Paul had his arm around Natalie and before they reached the gate, he’d pulled her into a kiss that made Angie ache.

  She and Ryan were nothing like them. They were awkward and self-conscious, and if anyone paid attention for more than five minutes they’d see there was no love between them. Worse, there was no familiarity and that’s what was going to blow this whole sting out of the water.

  She wanted to go for a run. At the very least, she wanted to talk to Liz. She’d understand, and she’d help Angie find some perspective.

  Ryan, who’d been talking to Zach, finally made his way out the door wearing a smile that looked genuine. She thought of dessert in the Blue Room, of how nice that had been, and how the minute they’d had to fake real intimacy, they’d completely fallen apart. The irony was not lost on her that what they needed to get through a five-day-long intimacy workshop was a five-day-long intimacy workshop.

  “Zach and Rachel asked us to join them for drinks in the casino tonight,” he said when he rejoined her. “I said I’d let them know.”

  “We can sure talk about it.”

  Ryan kept walking into her personal space, and when his arm went over her shoulder, she did her damnedest not to react. But she could feel her jaw tense, her arms stiffen. With a conscious effort she relaxed and slid her arm around Ryan’s waist. “Did they say what time? I’m ready for a drink right now.”