Riptide (A Renegades Novel)

by Skye Jordan

  “Rude,” she said, easing to a seat. “I know. I’m sorry. I should go before I really lose my patience.”

  “I’d kinda like to see you really lose your patience,” he told her, grinning. He was thinking he’d really like to see her lose a lot more—like those glasses, the bun, her stiff clothes, and every last ounce of composure. “And I wasn’t going to say rude. I was going to say amazing.”

  Her head came up, her expression suspicious.

  “If you’re not with the studio,” he said, “how do you know everyone’s names? Are you a local?”

  “I wish,” she said with a little whimsy. “I got here early. We were talking about Malo’s daughter before the crowd came.”

  How novel was that? A woman who took the time to get to know the help. She might be out of place and a little different, but she was growing on him.

  “Look,” he said shifting closer. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the guy you’re waiting for won’t be here tonight.”

  “Damn,” she exhaled. “I figured that about two hours ago. I was just hoping… Do you know where I can catch him? Your security is better than the Secret Service.”

  Zach chuckled, but then winced. “Sorry—again—but he’s gone.”

  “What do you mean gone?”

  “I mean he flew to Los Angeles. He’s done with his part in the film, so he won’t be coming back.”

  “No.” She stiffened, and her eyes widened. “No, no, no.”

  “Yeah.”

  Her frantic gaze held his for a second. Then her eyes closed on a groan, and she leaned her head into her hand. “Oh my God.”

  Zach wanted to ask why she was so dead set on talking to Ian but wasn’t sure he’d like the answer.

  “Jack,” he called to the bartender. “She’s ready for more wine now.”

  She ran both hands over her face and groaned in an exhausted gesture.

  When Jack came toward her with a wine bottle, she muttered a dejected “Oh, what the hell. May as well drink. I don’t have to keep my brain sharp for anything now.”

  “Ouch.” Zach chuckled. “I may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but I can usually hold my own in a conversation.”

  She sighed with a shake of her head. “Not what I meant.”

  Jack held the bottle high and let the liquid stream two feet into her glass with a theatrical “Sparkling wine for my lady.”

  She leaned away as the wine hit the bottom of the glass and splashed. With her hands up, she turned her head with a husky giggle, and the sound prickled the skin across Zach’s chest.

  Jack offered a self-satisfied “Good to see you smiling again” and moved down the bar.

  “What a showoff.” She laughed softly as she picked up her glass and used it to gesture toward Zach. “And thank you.”

  Okay, that did it—the giggle, the ridiculous suit, her lack of interest, and some mystical quality he couldn’t pin down—he was officially interested. “Sparkling wine, in a club like this. You’re like a misplaced princess.”

  “You have no idea.” Her next laugh was real, one that added color to her cheeks and sparkled in her eyes. Her smile was fucking electric. “Oh so misplaced.”

  Maybe for the space and the clientele. But the way she stirred bubbles around Zach’s gut, he was beginning to think she was right where she belonged. His mind strayed to thoughts of what she might be wearing under her suit and what she’d be like when it was all stripped away. “Where do you think you should be?”

  “DC.” She nodded as if confirming. “I should be in DC.”

  “Washington, DC?” he asked. “Is that where you’re from?”

  “Few people are actually from DC. But it’s where I live. Do you live here?”

  “Temporarily.” Zach found himself a little disappointed that she lived across the country. “I have a shack in LA the rest of the time.”

  “Hmph.” She laughed around a sip of wine. “Aren’t shacks outlawed in LA? I thought the streets were paved with gold.”

  “Then you’ve obviously never been there.”

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Um…maybe once. Long time ago. Ever been to DC?”

  “Nope.”

  She grinned, and her expression was far friendlier now. “How did I know you’d say that?”

  “One of my brothers lives there.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s a campaign manager of some kind.”

  “Has he managed any names I’d recognize?”

  “I wouldn’t know. We aren’t close.”

  “Oh.” Compassion softened her expression. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve made peace with it. I’m the black sheep. My parents are doctors, my sisters and brother all went into high-achieving white-collar professions.” He shrugged and refocused on figuring her out. “What could you possibly have to talk to my lesser half about?”

  “Sorry, it’s personal.” She gestured to the club with her wineglass. “How do you stand all this? It’s maddening. And the women—” She cut herself off and turned that smile on him. “Oh, wait. You’re male. Never mind.”

  Zach laughed, deep and amused. She was refreshingly different. Intelligent, grounded, quick. Just talking with her pulled Zach out of the bullshit he’d been dealing with for the last six months and planted his feet on the ground. He liked that. A lot.

  “You aren’t at all what you seem, are you?” he asked.

  “Evidently not. I’ve been mistaken for half a dozen different professionals today.” Her attitude had shifted from don’t-talk-to-me to you’re-adorable-but-I’m-still-not-interested in ten minutes, making Zach wonder if he’d ever be able to get her to the begging-for-more stage. He always did love a challenge.

  But then she set her glass down and stood from her stool. “Well, thanks for my princess wine, but I need to get home.”

  3

  Los Angeles. Zach had taken off to Los Angeles. Tonight. What were the chances?

  This stress was eating away at her. Tessa had already endured so much, sometimes she thought she’d snap. And right now, after traveling fifteen hours with a three-year-old just to get here, then waiting days for the opportunity to convince Zach to relinquish the most important thing in Tessa’s life, this bad news—no, horrible news—threatened to open a well of emotion she’d been stuffing for years.

  “Hey.” Ian reached out and put a hand on Tessa’s arm. His warmth penetrated her suit jacket and slid along her skin. “Are you okay?”

  She could see why women chased the man. He was wildly attractive, and now she knew he also had a sense of humor and compassion as well. He also had an overwhelming—as in intoxicating—charisma.

  But it didn’t explain why he was still sitting here talking to her. Part of her wanted to stay, just to bask in his attention. She was bewildered by the fact that his gaze hadn’t strayed from her once. Maybe he was so used to these barely clothed beauty queens, they didn’t faze him anymore. Though she was pretty sure that didn’t happen in a straight man’s world. Even her gay friends would be ogling them for their style. But not Ian. And after a lifetime of taking care of others, Ian’s touch and attention felt like the sun on icy skin.

  Which was dangerous in her present mental state.

  “I’ll be fine,” she told him. “I always am.”

  She tipped back her wine and finished off the glass—something she’d regret in about thirty minutes. She’d already had two glasses while waiting. But this one, downed so quickly, was probably going to knock her on her ass. Good thing her condo was within walking distance.

  She dropped a twenty on the bar for Jack. When she turned, a beautiful Hawaiian woman paused in front of Ian with a steaming plate of fajitas. “Would you like to eat at the bar?”

  He glanced at Tessa. “Is this yours?”

  “No.”

  Ian told the waitress, “We didn’t order.”

  “Your friends ordered for you,” she told him. “They said
you haven’t eaten since breakfast.” The waitress set the food down on the bar. “I’ll check back with you.”

  With a quick smile, she hurried off to serve another customer.

  “That was nice of them,” Tessa said. “I’ll let you eat.”

  She was still distracted by Ian’s heartbreaking news. How in the hell was she going to find Zach in Los Angeles? She’d have to hire a private detective. She sure didn’t have enough time off work to search for him herself. She might know how to research a topic to death, but she’d discovered during her search for Zach Ellis that research couldn’t replace detective work. And despite her supposed cop-like similarities, a detective she was not.

  “Where are you going?” Ian asked.

  “Back to my condo.”

  “It’s still early.”

  “That’s all perspective. Besides, I have someone waiting for me.” And she wanted to climb into bed beside her little muffin and cuddle. As long as she still had Sophia, she could handle anything.

  “As in a boyfriend or husband or something?”

  “No.” This ought to squelch his odd interest. “As in a daughter.”

  His brows lifted in surprise. “Is she with a sitter?”

  “Her nanny.”

  She turned away, but he caught her hand in his and held it gently. The move was so unexpected, the feel of his hand so foreign, Tessa froze, unsure how to react.

  “Then stay. Eat with me.” When she hesitated, he added a smile and “No one has bugged me once since you took a bite out of that woman’s ass. It’s the first peace I’ve had all night.”

  Ah. So that was it. She was his unlikely bodyguard. “Malo will take care of you.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’d rather have you take care of me.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Why? Have you not looked around lately?”

  “I have looked all around me for hours, and my eyes keep landing on you. You’re real. You’re sane and interesting and can hold a normal conversation.”

  Somehow, those all felt like drawbacks in this situation, not assets. She was about to tell him that she’d had enough of the caretaker role in her life when the fajitas’ rich scent of spices floated on the steam and hit Tessa like a train. Her stomach clenched around an empty knot and growled.

  Ian grinned, a bright, white, amused grin that tingled through Tessa’s gut. “Your belly’s talking to you.” He lifted a hand to catch the bartender’s attention. “Jack, more wine for our princess.”

  “Oh no,” Tessa told Ian, but Jack had already started pouring her a fresh glass at the other end of the bar. “I really need to get back.”

  Ian slid the fajita tray to the bar between their stools, then set one of the empty plates in front of her spot. “Come on.” The softer, almost pleading edge to his tone made her focus on him again. And again, the deep-blue eyes staring back at her from his handsome face created a hitch in her gut. “I’d like to eat in relative peace. Besides, I want to hear more about what brought you here, your life in DC, your daughter.”

  Someone who actually wanted to listen? She highly doubted it. No one was interested in talking to her, they were interested in talking at her. Still, at least he’d offered. “I’m beginning to think you’re not quite all you seem either.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He gestured toward her stool. “Please, join me.”

  She sighed, and her gaze strayed to the platter of still-sizzling meat and bright blend of peppers. Her stomach squeezed and clattered out an angry sound. Tessa glanced at the time on her phone. Abby would already have settled Sophia down by now. In fact, after running around the beach all morning and traipsing through a museum all afternoon, Sophia was probably sound asleep. If Tessa went home now, she’d do nothing but worry and obsess all night. All over something she couldn’t control.

  By the time she looked up again, Ian had created a fajita and offered it to her. “So tell me what professions others pegged you for again.”

  “Reporter, cop, librarian, teacher,” she said. “And, now, studio executive, which, by the way, is my favorite so far.”

  “Points for me.” He hit her with that amazing smile again. “The others were way off.”

  “Right? Thank you.”

  “I’d have guessed accountant if the studio executive possibility hadn’t thrown me.”

  A spark of humor stirred. Not enough to give her the energy to laugh, but enough to make her sit back down and finger the stem of her fresh glass of wine. “I guess I would look like an accountant in this sea of beach babes.”

  “These aren’t beach babes,” he said, nudging the fajita toward her. “These are groupies.”

  “What’s the difference?” She took the fajita but held his gaze. He was openly staring at her, scanning her face again and again, making Tessa feel self-conscious.

  “Groupies cling in hopes of gaining self-worth by association.”

  She lifted her brows. “That’s surprisingly…deep.”

  He laughed. “Don’t get used to it. You’re making me pull out my A game. It’s rusty and probably won’t hold up long.”

  “Self-deprecation is adorable on you. Your parents must have paid a mint for that smile.”

  “And they remind me every chance they get.”

  Interesting comment. She bit into the flour tortilla, and spices flooded her mouth along with the flavor of seasoned meat and vibrant vegetables. She closed her eyes on a moan of satisfaction, lifting a napkin to her lips. “Oh my God, these are amazing.”

  “Good, because I’m starving.”

  While he wrapped meat and veggies in his own tortilla, she asked, “If these are groupies, what are beach babes?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Just pretty girls in bikinis. And while I’m sure you’d look fabulous in a bikini, you’re also interesting.”

  She hadn’t been in a bikini in years, and, in DC, she couldn’t turn the corner without running into a lawyer. “Again, perspective. Where I come from, I’m not the least bit interesting.”

  “There’s a lot going on beneath that suit.” He paused, considered. “And the glasses.” Ian put the fajita down, dusted off his hands and lifted them toward her face. “May I?”

  Surprised, she leaned away, but his fingers gently closed around the arms of her glasses, and they slid off her face. With the fajita in her hands, she couldn’t grab them back. “What are you doing?”

  He was staring—that was what he was doing. Staring…and smiling.

  Sensation hiccupped through her chest—excitement, fear, angst, frustration. Setting down the fajita, she reached for her glasses, “Let me have them.”

  He pulled them out of reach. “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why? They’re glasses. They help me see. We can’t all be as perfect as you or all these groupies.”

  “I think they help you hide.”

  When he set them on the bar to his right instead of giving them back, Tessa slid off the stool and reached for them. Ian’s hand closed on her forearm, strong enough to stop her but gently enough to shoot tingles up her arm. Her gaze skipped back to his, making her realize how close she’d gotten. Close enough to see the dark ring around his irises. Close enough to feel his charisma mingled with his heat. Close enough to smell his freshly showered scent. Way, way too close.

  “You’re really pretty.” His soft words sent a current across her shoulders. “What’s your first name, Miz Drake?”

  “Tessa, and I’d say thank you, but you’re being an ass.” She didn’t put any heat behind the words, just enough emphasis to relay the fact that she didn’t like this game. “Give me my glasses. Please.”

  “Tessa.” He repeated her name with a hot little grin. “Nice. It fits. Are you nearsighted or farsighted?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Because if you’re nearsighted, you don’t need these to eat.”

  She smirked. “I’m farsighted.”

  He lifted the glasses to the
light and peered through them, then grinned. “Nope. What you are…is a liar.”

  She huffed. “Come on.”

  He set the glasses down again—well out of her reach—and picked up his fajita. “You should eat that before it gets cold.”

  She was too tired to argue with him. She rarely wore her glasses, but she’d opted for the glasses today to give her eyes a rest after too many late nights wearing contacts. And, yeah, probably to help her hide. Maybe. A little. Her transparency annoyed her. That saying, “smart people have no common sense,” wasn’t exactly true in Tessa’s case. But she did have quite a few—what her secretary, Gordon, liked to call—“blonde moments.”

  Tessa dropped back to the stool and picked up her tortilla. “You’re lucky I’m hungry.”

  He laughed again. God, he had a great laugh. If she was a different kind of woman, she would make a move on him. A woman with the self-confidence she pretended to possess every single day. The confidence to take this sexy man to bed. Her imagination strayed to whether he had as much confidence in the bedroom as he did in a bar. And how his heavy, hard body would feel against her own. Lord, it had been a while since she’d had any male companionship beyond work buddies.

  She refocused on her food. She’d had to force herself to eat during the last few months of Corinne’s illness just so she had the energy to continue to go to work every day, care for Sophia and Corinne every day. And over the last week, stress had stolen her appetite. But with Zach running around LA somewhere, it didn’t look like that stress would let up anytime soon. For now, with Sophia safe and happy, Tessa allowed herself the small pleasure of the moment.

  “Okay, not a studio exec, not an accountant or reporter.” Ian finished his fajita and started rolling another. “Teacher, cop, librarian, pffft. Let’s see…who would be involved in the personal business of a—” His gaze darted to hers. “An agent? Did he fire his agent and hire a new one?”

  She smiled, shook her head, and picked up her wine.

  “Don’t tell me,” he said. “I’ll get it.”

  She finished off her fajita and fourth glass of wine—oh, such a bad idea—laughing while each of his assumptions grew more ludicrous than the last: personal trainer, acting instructor, hairdresser, bookie, drug dealer… He offered mini tales about each profession—someone he’d worked with, some story he’d heard from a friend—amusing her. The combination of wine and Ian were heating her from the inside out. While he kept guessing, Tessa slipped off her blazer and hung it over her stool, then sat again, anchoring the jacket beneath her.