by Jo Leigh
“If you know it’s harmless, what bothered you?”
Angie sniffed. “I guess I’m just the jealous type.” She laughed, but it was rueful and matched her small shrug. “I didn’t know until I met Ryan that I could be jealous. I haven’t had a lot of good experiences with men. Mostly because of the trust fund.”
“Oh?” Delilah walked them over to an outcropping large enough for both of them to take a makeshift seat. “Your family is wealthy?”
“Very,” Angie said. “We’re not old money, third generation with me. But I’m an only child and my father was the one who inherited, so there wasn’t a lot of practice dealing with men. I mean men who weren’t with me for the money.”
“Ah. Trust issues.”
“Trust fund issues. After my third boyfriend turned out to be a lying bastard, yeah, you could say I came to some conclusions. But Ryan, he wanted the prenup. He gets nothing if we get divorced. It would be ridiculous for someone who was only after my money to do that.”
“But deep down, you still think he’s another fortune hunter?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Angie said, after a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m probably not being fair because of my own baggage. That’s why I jumped all over coming to this retreat when he suggested it. I want to believe in him and love him properly, but I’m not sure I can.”
Delilah squeezed Angie’s hand. “After this is over, I can’t recommend strongly enough that you consider marriage counseling. Ryan’s crazy about you. I can see it as clear as day.”
Angie couldn’t help but smile. That conclusion proved that Delilah hadn’t bothered to look past the superficial. But then, this whole sting had been predicated on the fact that the therapists would see only what the Bureau wanted them to see.
It would have ruined everything if Delilah had gotten close enough to realize that while Ryan liked sex, and he liked Angie, there was no possibility he was crazy about her.
“You flinched.”
“What?” Angie straightened to attention. “I did?”
“When I mentioned that Ryan is crazy about you.” Delilah genuinely looked sad. “For a minute, let’s consider I can see something in each of you the other can’t right now. Ryan cares, of that I am certain. But I think he has trust issues of his own. It could be very powerful for you to work on it together and that’s why I want you to seriously explore counseling. But also?” Delilah waited until Angie met her gaze. “Give yourself a break. You’ve had some stinkers. They leave a mark.”
Angie nodded, but in her head she was hearing Delilah sound certain that Ryan cared. Her ridiculous heart pounded as if the words had been true, and that was the trouble with what they’d done last night. This surging emotion was terrific for Angie Ebsen. But it nearly crippled Angie Wolf, because she would be the one returning to L.A., working in the same office as Ryan.
And there he was, heading toward the hot springs with Ira. It was eighty-five degrees in the water, and everyone splashing around looked relaxed and happy. Three couples had decided to let it all hang out, but Angie didn’t care. She wanted to be done with this part of the afternoon. Return to the resort, slip into her familiar running clothes and run as far as her legs would carry her.
“Thanks,” she said, as she stood. “I’m glad we spoke.”
“Anytime.” Delilah squeezed her shoulder. “Please think about what I said.” Then the woman went to join Ira, passing Ryan with a smile.
He came straight up to Angie, took her hands in his. “You okay?”
She nodded, afraid she was close to tears. It would be okay, though, the fake Angie would—
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Not a peck, not a tease, but a full-on blistering kiss that stole her breath. Of course, Ira and Delilah were watching. Everyone was. But Angie’s talk with Delilah had left its mark, and she wasn’t sure how her character should respond to this very public declaration. She started to pull away, but the hand at the small of her back and the groan that only she could hear stilled her thoughts.
They’d gone from zero to sixty in five seconds. She felt dizzy with flashes of their night. God, she remembered his body as if she’d studied it for years, the hard planes and the soft skin. Her hand went to his thigh, the indent that had flexed when he walked naked from the bed to the bathroom.
She had to squeeze her own thighs together at the primal reaction he stirred in her. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, but with each breath she could feel how her nipples had beaded, and how they ached for more than the material of her bathing suit top.
The sound of catcalls from the hot springs hit her like a slap in the face and she jerked back, dislodging his hold as if they’d been fighting.
Ryan’s lips were still wet and parted, his eyes filled with a level of hurt she couldn’t understand at all. Why hurt? It couldn’t be, because Delilah was wrong. Ryan was a consummate actor, that’s all. That’s all any of it was. Even if her heart didn’t want that to be true.
She was in trouble. Her reaction to him was so not part of the charade it wasn’t funny. No more. No more sex with him. Not again; not ever. It was imperative that she get herself together. Everything was at risk. Her career, this sting, her dignity.
Her job was to play this role. If not for that, she’d have never touched him, never kissed him and, by God, she’d never have been in the same bed as Ryan Vail.
Frantic to get away, she opened her mouth to tell him she was going to get in the water. Nothing came out so she just started walking, leaving Ryan behind, sure he was watching her and wondering what the hell had just happened.
* * *
IT WAS AFTER SIX WHEN THEY finally made it back to the room. Ryan had gone with the flow, acting the chastened and groveling husband, but Angie’s performance had been all over the place. One second she’d been hot, the next freezing, and while he considered himself an intuitive guy, he’d been lost.
Of course, they hadn’t been able to talk about it until now.
“Listen,” she said as she put down her tote bag once Ryan had completed his search for bugs. “You go ahead and use the shower first. I’m going for a run before dinner.”
“Right now?”
She was standing by the round table at the far end of the room, her arms crossed over her chest. Her nod and smile were equally awkward.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Noth—” He stopped, took a breath as he tossed his sunglasses on the dresser. “Did you have a plan for the evening? Aside from running?”
“I don’t know,” she said, turning to her tote and pulling out first the towel, then her sunscreen. “Debrief. Sleep. I’m wiped out.”
He almost asked her why she was going running then, but it seemed unwise. “Okay,” he said. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll be cleared out of the shower by the time you get back.”
She abandoned her unpacking to grab her shoes, but instead of putting them on, she just waited until he was at the bathroom door.
“Would you like me to order some room service for dinner?”
“No,” she said, looking anywhere but at him. “That’s okay. But go ahead if you want that. I’m probably going to pick up a salad from the café.”
Again, he stopped himself from asking the obvious question. But what was the point? Dammit. He didn’t want her running off before they talked this thing through; he just wasn’t sure how to stop her. Or even if he should. It was increasingly evident last night had been a spectacular error, but they still had a case to work here.
She’d put on one shoe, and was about to slip into the other. “Angie.”
She froze. Just stopped moving at all.
“We should talk.”
Her answer came after what felt like far too long. “We will. But I need to think.”
“Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”
She kicked into gear again and in a moment she was at the door, a small backpack he’d neve
r seen before strapped on. It was too little to carry all her clothes in case she wanted to book a separate room. She didn’t look back.
He used his long, hot shower as his own time to think. The fact that she’d run was actually a good thing. She’d set the future terms of the game very clearly. In her own way, she’d said everything that needed to be said.
Rather than put her through any more discomfort, he decided to clear out for the evening. After he dressed, he wrote her a note, letting her know he was going to see if he could find Marcus, set up the massage thing. He’d catch up with her later, and they’d talk in the morning.
The words he used were straightforward, all business. Surely she’d read between the lines and realize he wouldn’t bring up last night again.
He had no illusions that he wouldn’t think about it. But he’d keep his thoughts, and anything that wasn’t the job, to himself.
12
NOT ONLY HAD SHE RUN at least six miles, but Angie hadn’t changed into her sports bra and running gear. Big mistake. Especially with the backpack. Small wonder, since mistakes were becoming something of a specialty. It was ironic that it was the bra that had done the most damage. She was so small it didn’t seem possible, but the way her stride worked and the position of the material under her right arm hadn’t gotten along since the half-mile mark.
She really needed to shower, to eat, to sleep. But first, she needed her friend. And perspective. She found herself a nice little corner in a building not only far away from the room, but primarily used by staff. There was a patch of green about the size of the backseat of her car, and she was still breathing heavily after her post-run stretch.
She dialed Liz, hoping very hard that she was home, because Angie didn’t want to face Ryan with only her own thoughts in her head.
Liz connected, and Angie felt so grateful she nearly cried. God, she was tired.
So was Liz if her flushed face and heaving breath were any indication. “What’s up?”
“You want to go shower before I hit you with my news?”
Liz walked her to her kitchen. Although the view was weird as hell, bumpy and dizzying, but Angie heard the way her sneakers squeaked on her kitchen tile, the soft whump of her fridge opening because the door tended to stick, and knew Liz was pulling out OJ before she saw the bottle. Liz always pulled out a bottle of OJ first, with a water chaser. She gulped a few times, then brought the tablet’s camera up. “Talk to me, I missed you yesterday.”
“I followed your advice. Kind of.”
“What adv— Oh, do not say this unless you’re telling me the absolute truth. You slept with him.” Liz sat down hard enough to make the chair groan, then straightened the iPad again.
“Yes. But not because I was ‘going for it.’”
“What the hell does that mean? And where are you? That’s a horrible sound.”
Angie looked down the path and watched as a huge cart full of sheets rolled noisily past. “I’m hiding. Near the laundry, evidently.”
“Good choice. Anyway, back to the earth-shattering news. Why did you sleep with him?”
Angie closed her burning eyes. “I may have gotten three hours of sleep last night, but I’m probably off by two and a half hours. It’s complicated.”
“Start from the beginning.”
“I have no patience for beginnings. Bottom line is that I got confused. I let down my guard. He saw me half-naked, okay? What was I supposed to do? We’d been bugged, and he came in the bathroom. And then he got hard, and he was wired, and there was all this adrenaline.”
“Okay. Getting some of this. Thinking this wasn’t a slam against the wall, rip your clothes off and do it on the floor kind of encounter, even with the adrenaline.”
“You’d be correct. It was, however, a confess things about your life and family and other intimate stuff, then be totally decent about it, and smell so damn good kind of encounter.”
Liz’s eyebrows had gotten comically high on her forehead. “That’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever heard. I couldn’t have written it better. Me? I go for against the wall, but you love all that confession crap. And men being decent. So what’s your damage?”
“I. Work. With. Him.”
Liz waved her hand so dismissively it was a good thing they were hundreds of miles away from each other. “You are so busy trying to meet every unrealistic expectation of that insane family of yours, you are missing the best parts of things. Last night was the marrow of life, Angie. The thing you’ll remember when you’re seventy. You won’t give a rat’s ass about this assignment by then, you know that, right?”
Maybe calling Liz wasn’t the smartest move. “That’s all well and good and dramatic and poetic and all that other shit, but the truth is I’m not seventy and I have a lot at stake here. I can’t be this off balance. It’s day three. We’ve still got two more to go, and I can’t imagine getting in bed with him tonight.”
“Why not?”
Angie wiped her face with her hand, and looked at her friend, who was calmly drinking her orange juice. “Please be here for me. Be on my side. I need you.”
Liz lowered the bottle. “Sweetie, I am here for you. I have been and will continue to be here for you. However, I will also consider the fact that the broader picture is not what you’re looking for at the moment. So here’s what you do. Talk to him. Tell him you’re confused, and you desperately need to sleep. That you don’t regret what happened, but it probably won’t happen again. How does that sound?”
Angie nodded. She could do that. She could say those things. They made sense. They sounded as if an adult had come up with them. And it didn’t leave any room for arguments. “Thank you. Perfect. But do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Email me those exact words because I’m too tired to remember them.”
“Will do. And I’ll be here all night, so if you need me, call. Cell phone or Skype, whatever will work best. If not, please be in touch tomorrow, okay? I’ll worry.”
“I promise.” She disconnected, put the iPad in the backpack and made it back to the empty room ten minutes later. Starving and wobbly, she called for a room-service dinner, then made it into the shower and stayed there for a long time.
When she was dressed again, just jeans and a T-shirt, she found Ryan standing by a room service cart signing for her dinner. He’d gone for the same look, in a pair of jeans that she hadn’t seen before. They must have been his own, not part of the wardrobe, because the wear was obviously from his body, not some artificial distress. His snug T-shirt was tucked into those close-fitting Levi’s, and before she could attempt to stop it, her body reacted with a hunger that had nothing to do with the scent of pasta.
Her forehead dropped with a thunk to the wood of the open door. It hurt.
“You okay?”
She stood up straight. Ryan was alone, standing by the ottoman where her meal had been laid out. “I should have called you. Asked if you wanted me to order something.”
“I ate. With Marcus.”
“Ouch.”
“Not the most fun I’ve ever had. You should eat, though, if this is the first thing you’ve had since lunch.”
Her stomach reinforced his point, and after stashing her things, she sat in the big wing chair and practically stuffed half the pasta into her mouth in ten seconds.
Forcing herself to slow down, she dared another glance at Ryan. The jeans and T-shirt look was just as effective from the front, although there had been a special something about his butt and how the denim curved. It didn’t help that he was leaning against the round table across the room, staring at her, arms and ankles crossed, and dammit, she had to stop thinking about him as a man.
“Why don’t you fill me in on Marcus?” she said, then turned her attention to her salad.
“I gave him a very similar story to the one I told Ira. Didn’t want it to be verbatim, because I assume they talk to each other. This time I went for more of a physical angle. Asked him if he’d teach m
e how I could use nontraditional methods of showing you how much I loved you.”
Swallowing her bite carefully, she gave him a quick glance. “Nontraditional?”
“Yeah, massage. Oils. Candles. All that crap. He was far too eager to show me.”
Angie caught the tail end of his full body shudder. “Eww.”
“Hey, sometimes we have to take one for the team.”
She popped a cherry tomato in her mouth, reining her thoughts back, and then back further.
“The point is, he knows about the affair, the trust fund, that I’m desperate. The only one who might still need more convincing is Tonya. Thoughts?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out a way to find out about her stealth faxing, but honestly, I can’t. I’m guessing she’s up to speed with our situation by now.”
“Yeah?” he said, and his arms came down so he could grab the edges of the table.
Angie switched her gaze back to her salad. This was becoming a serious issue. They were having a work discussion. There was no thinking about his body during work discussions, period. “I’ll try to have a friendly talk with her in the morning, poke around, see if she was included in the conversations from the hot springs.”
“Maybe talk to her about that tantric massage thing?”
Thankfully Angie hadn’t been eating because she’d have spit the food straight out. She knew just enough about tantric methods to know it was done naked, with no parts left un-massaged. “And I would do that why?”
“Maybe because you want to keep me interested.” He kind of shrugged one shoulder, the move casual, but the rest of him tense. “Maybe Angie Ebsen doesn’t want to kick her husband to the curb just yet.”
This was bad. Horrible. She couldn’t read him. Even staring straight into his eyes. She had no idea which Angie and Ryan he was talking about. A flash of an image hit her, Ryan on the bed, in her, and she darted her gaze away, knocking her napkin to the floor. She picked it up slowly, willing the heat to dissipate from her face. So, so bad.