by Lori Wilde
“Too bad,” he echoed. They looked at each other and his heart lurched sideways.
“Do you ever get used to it?” she asked.
“Get used to what?”
She waved her hands. “Being under the microscope. Being watched.”
“I’m one of the ones doing the watching,” he said. “Or at least I used to be.”
“How’s the role reversal working for you?”
“It’s an adjustment,” he admitted. “You get used to the feeling of being watched, but you never forget you’re under scrutiny.”
“It restricts you,” she said. “Limits your freedom, your choices.”
“Yes.”
“Kind of ironic, huh?”
“Kind of,” he agreed.
“We’re being watched right now, aren’t we?”
“Uh-huh.”
She rubbed her upper arms with her hands as if she’d gotten a chill. He realized to his dismay she was still wearing that peepshow blouse of hers.
He tried not to look, but he couldn’t help himself. His gaze tracked down the length of her long neck to lodge firmly in her cleavage.
God, she was stunning. Hot, sensuous, and curvy.
Stop thinking like this.
He cleared his throat. “I came to see if you’d like to go sightseeing.”
“With you?” She arched an eyebrow.
“Yes. It’s Elysee’s idea. You’ve never been to DC and she’s entertaining relatives from out of town. She thought you might be feeling out of place.”
“Sure,” she said. “I’d love to take a breather from the fishbowl. Just let me get my coat.”
Shane had called her sweetheart.
Tish could think of little else, which was a bit surprising considering they were at the Smithsonian. It was probably just a slip of the tongue, she told herself. He didn’t mean anything by it. She knew that, but it didn’t matter. Shane had called her “sweetheart.”
The museum was crowded and they found themselves jostled together. Shane’s arm would brush against her shoulder or her hip would collide with his. It shouldn’t have been any big deal, but she was acutely aware of every tiny bump and touch.
She kept sneaking glances over at him, trying to gauge whether their contact was having any effect on him, but the guy was a regular Mount Rushmore. Stoic self-control. At least when it came to his emotions.
Nothing rattled him.
In profile, in the museum lighting, he was as ruggedly handsome as ever. Maybe even more so. His craggy features had always appealed to her more than classic good looks. His chin jutted out in determination, his cheeks were high slabs of masculine dominance.
Delight shivered over her spine. Stop it.
“I would so have loved to come here with you when we were married. Think of all the dark alcoves we could have explored.” She wriggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“There’s security cameras everywhere.”
“Oh yeah, like you’re not a bit of an exhibitionist, Mr. Get-Naked-on-the-Galveston-Island-Ferry-in-a-Rainstorm.”
He grinned. “That was a helluva night.”
“Incredible,” she agreed.
Then they both fell silent. She could tell that he was thinking about the consequences of that night, just as she was.
She had to distract herself. “Let’s check out the photography exhibits.”
“It’s where I was headed all along.” He held up a map of the floor plans. “We’re almost there.”
A warm, sappy sensation settled in her bones. He’d been thinking of what she’d like to see. Stop it, stop it.
“Oops, watch out.” He reached out, grabbed her elbow, and tucked her against his side, pulling her clear of a pack of unruly preteens in school uniforms.
This close she could smell him. She halfway expected for his scent to have changed—gone all highbrow like his new lifestyle. But he smelled like he did when she was married to him. Soapy clean and serious.
The kids passed by.
Head reeling, Tish stepped away from him and darted toward a display of architectural photographs. “Look, pictures.”
Shane came to stand behind her. She was acutely aware of the heat of his presence.
“I love this one.” She cocked her head to study the black-and-white photo of an old village church resting pastorally on a bluff overlooking a turbulent sea.
“Explain to me why it’s so special,” he said.
“The composition is magnificent.”
“I just see an old church.”
Tish clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Look closer. The photographer has perfectly captured the peace of the church and contrasted it with the churning waters below, suggesting underlying turmoil.”
“Hmm.”
“You still don’t get it.”
“The church represents faith?”
“And the sea?”
“Rebirth?” he guessed.
She shook her head.
“What then?”
“Temptation.”
He inhaled sharply. “If you say so.”
“Here, look at the clouds.” She pointed. “See, in this part of the sky they’re white, fluffy, safe.”
“Safe,” he echoed.
“Exactly. While over here in this corner we have the dark, brooding clouds, gathering quickly, promising trouble.”
“So what does it mean?”
“I’m not going to spoon-feed you. Come on, you can think this through.”
“I had no idea pictures were so complicated,” Shane groaned.
“Regular pictures aren’t, but photographs good enough to hang on the wall of the Smithsonian? You betcha they’re complicated.”
“I’m beginning to understand you now.”
“Me?” She swiveled to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“Why you’re attracted to photography. What it is that you see when you look through the viewfinder of your camera.” He placed a palm against the back of his neck.
“You’re saying I’m complicated?”
“Understatement of the century.”
She felt a pleased little flush run up her neck, but swiftly turned back to the picture so Shane couldn’t read the telltale signs in her face. “Examine the colors.”
“What colors? It’s in black and white.”
“I know, but pay attention to the grays. The gradations between light and dark.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Can you see the complementary play of brightness against shadows?”
He squinted, his gaze following her fingers as she traced the air in front of the framed photograph. “I think so.”
“Is it making more sense to you now?”
“Not really,” he confessed. “Over my head. I’m too literal.”
She sighed. What could she do to get through to him, to make him see? “Let’s try a different approach. What do you feel when you look at the picture?”
He stared for a moment, and then straightened. “This is too much pressure. Feels like the art appreciation class I took as a gimme credit in college and almost failed.”
“It’s not rocket science. Look at the picture and tell me what you feel.”
“I feel stuck.”
“Interesting. So what is it in this picture that makes you feel stuck?”
He chuffed in exasperation. “I dunno. Let’s see. No roads, no cars, no people. There’s nothing going on. Stuck.”
“Oh no, no, no. That’s where you’re dead wrong. There’s something very important going on.”
“What’s that?” He cocked his head, trying to look at it from a different angle.
“In this serene, bucolic scene, a fierce battle is being waged.”
“Between good and evil?” he ventured. “That light and the dark, faith and temptation stuff?”
“Nope.”
He threw his hands into the air. “I give up.”
“Between balance and chaos.”
“Ookay, if you say s
o.”
She laughed. “Maybe you are too literal.”
He stepped closer to the photograph. “The sea is wild, untamable, shrouded in mystery. The church is stable, grounded, rooted in tradition. Together they’re balanced. But one without the other, apart, it’s chaos.”
Her pulse skipped for no discernible reason. “Yes.”
“Why do I feel a sudden need to pray?”
“That’s something for you to figure out.” Her hands were quivering and she clasped them together to keep him from noticing. He was standing over her, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. He wasn’t touching her, but she could feel him like a brand on her skin. She inhaled the honest, masculine scent of him and her heart pounded.
How easy it would be to turn around, frame his face in her palms, and kiss him. How easy to fall blindly into chaos.
Do it. Touch him. Kiss him. Hold on to him.
Tish clutched her hands into fists, fighting off her impulses. No, you can’t.
Donning every ounce of emotional armor she could muster, Tish bit down on her lip, tossed her head, and gathered all her willpower to slip weak-kneed away from him. She wasn’t going to trust what felt easy when it came to Shane.
Not ever again.
While Shane and Tish were wandering around the Smithsonian, Cal Ackerman and Elysee were in the safety-deposit vault at Citibank.
“You want to explain to me what we’re doing here?” Cal asked.
“I do not.” Elysee tossed her hair. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but something about Ackerman rubbed her the wrong way. He made her bristle in a way no one else ever had.
“If it concerns your security,” he said, “I have a right to know.”
“It doesn’t.” Elysee sent him a scathing look. Agent Ackerman was going to take some getting used to. He wasn’t at all like Shane. He was bigger for one thing and he made her feel unsettled instead of safe the way Shane did. “Now mind your own business.”
He glowered. “FYI, your safety is my only business.”
“Do you have a problem with me, Agent Ackerman?” she said in the most haughty first daughter tone she could muster. “I could have you reassigned.”
“Who, me?” He held up his palms.
“That’s what I thought,” she muttered and turned to the safety-deposit box the bank officer had carried over to the table for her.
She turned the key in the lock and flipped open the lid, revealing the box full of valuable coins.
“Holy shit, what’d you do? Rob Captain Jack Sparrow?” Ackerman breathed.
Elysee narrowed her eyes at him. “Not a word of this to anyone.”
“What’s the big deal?” Ackerman shrugged. “It’s your money.”
“Exactly.”
“How much is there?”
“Again, none of your business.”
“How come you’re sassier with me than you are with other people?” he asked.
“You have a way of bringing out the worst in me.”
“Looks like the best to me.”
Elysee felt her face flush.
Ackerman was standing over her, eyes assessing the coins. “That’s some valuable change you’ve got stowed there. Collector’s items.”
“How would you know?”
“I collected coins as a kid.”
“You?” She arched an eyebrow.
“That so hard to believe?”
“Yes. You look like the guy who beat up the kids who collected coins.”
“I didn’t get my growth spurt until my senior year. Before that I was president of the geek squad.”
“Charming story, I’m sure.” She dumped the coins into the black leather bag she’d brought with her.
“Whoa,” Ackerman said. “You’re not just going to waltz out of here with over a hundred grand worth of change in your carryall.”
“Why not? I’ve got a badass Secret Service agent as a bodyguard. Who’d be dumb enough to try to snatch it?”
He looked pleased that she’d called him a badass. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
She shot him a look. “Where would you guess?”
“Coin dealer?”
“Bravo. He’s got an I.Q. Who knew?”
“And who knew you had such a smart mouth?”
I don’t, Elysee thought. Not normally. But this swaggering tough guy set her teeth on edge. She was definitely going to have to talk to her father about having him reassigned.
Elysee stood up with the carryall. It was so heavy she couldn’t hold her shoulder straight.
“Here.” Ackerman reached for the bag. “Give it to me.”
“I can carry it,” she protested.
“Not without signaling to everyone who sees you walking out of the bank toting a black bag you can barely carry that you’re a target.”
“Please, I spend my life as a target.” She reached for the bag.
He held it over his head where she couldn’t get to it. The thing had to weigh at least thirty pounds and he was holding it like it was a bag of popcorn.
“Give it up,” he said and pushed the buzzer for the bank officer to let them out of the vault.
Elysee seethed at his high-handedness. “You’re a very infuriating man, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“And arrogant.”
“Been told that, too. If you’re planning on insulting me you’re going to have to do better than that.”
“Ass.”
“Princess.”
“Jerk.”
“Sweetheart.”
“If I wasn’t a lady…” She broke off her threat.
“Ah, but you are.” He winked, took her elbow, and escorted her out of the vault.
Chapter 14
The engagement party held at the Ritz-Carlton was unlike anything Tish had ever attended. Lavish far beyond normal standards. Elaborate ice sculptures. Exotic flowers in leaded crystal vases on every table. Extraordinary cakes constructed by world-renowned bakers. The opulence stole Tish’s breath away. She felt as if she’d stepped into a fairy tale.
If this was just the engagement party, what in the world would the wedding be like? The notion spun her head.
Elysee’s secretary, Lola, escorted Tish into the room just ahead of the guests so she could find a prime spot for filming. No other video cameras were allowed in. After the party, Nathan Benedict planned to hold a press conference, officially announcing his daughter’s engagement to the world.
Tish had an exclusive.
You got the exclusive only because you used to be married to the groom.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. However she got the gig, she had it and her career was going to be made because of it. She owed Elysee a debt of gratitude.
I’m living my dream.
This was more than she could ever hope for. Yet, in spite of her excitement, an exquisite sadness seeped into her limbs, weighing her down, making the camera feel impossibly heavy. Yes, she was on top of the world careerwise. It didn’t get any higher than this. After the wedding was over she would be one of the most renowned wedding videographers in the world.
Why, then, did she feel so blue?
A string quartet played chamber music as the guests filtered in. She thought of her mother and wished Dixie Ann was here to see this. After settling her camera on its tripod, she dug out her cell phone, found an unobtrusive spot in the corner, and placed a call.
“Dixie Ann,” she whispered as soon as her mother answered the phone. Her mother didn’t like to be called Mom. She always said it made her feel old. “You’ll never guess where I’m calling you from.”
“Tish, honey, is that you? I can hardly hear. What’s that noise?”
“I’m at Elysee Benedict’s engagement party.”
“Elysee who?”
“Elysee Benedict. You know, the daug
hter of the President of the United States.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“You’re pulling my leg. Stop teasing me right now, Patricia Rhianne Gallagher.”
“Swear to God, I’m not.”
“How?”
“Elysee hired me to videotape both her engagement party and the wedding.”
Dixie Ann squealed. “I’m so proud of you! That’s wonderful. You deserve something good in your life.”
“Thanks, Dixie Ann.”
“Have you seen the President? He’s nice-looking for an older man. And he’s single. You’re a pretty girl, Tish. You’ve got just as good a chance to hook him as the next gal. Are you wearing something nice? ’Cause you know nothing attracts—”
“Affluence like affluence, yes,” Tish interrupted. “I know. You’ve told me over and over.”
Dixie Ann said longingly, “Oh, I wish I could be there with you.”
“I know. That’s why I called.”
“So who’s there? What are they wearing? What food’s being served? What’s the music? Are any movie stars there?”
“Oops, sorry, Dixie Ann, I’ve gotta go. Shane just came in. I’ll fill you in on all the details later.”
“Shane? He’s there?” The excitement in her mother’s voice hit top pitch.
“He’s here.” Tish looked across the room at him and her heart was in her throat. He wore a black tuxedo, and when he entered the room, he took stock of his surroundings, surveying the entrances and exits, eyeing the crowd. Secret Service to the bone. Even with his damaged right hand tucked in his pocket, he looked imposing and dangerous. James Bond had nothing on him.
Seriously, you gotta stop drooling over your ex.
“Tish, this is wonderful, wonderful news. You’re videotaping Elysee Benedict’s engagement party and you and Shane are getting back together and—” Her mother’s excited voice jerked her back to the cell phone conversation.
“No, Dixie Ann, you’ve got it all wrong. Shane and I are not getting back together.”
“Oh.” The sound of Dixie Ann’s disappointment grabbed hold of Tish’s gut and twisted. “Then what’s he doing there?”
“He’s getting engaged to Elysee Benedict.”
A long silence ensued. Tish could hear the sound of her own heart beating in her ears.
“What did you say? There must be something wrong with your cell phone reception because I thought you said your Shane was marrying the President’s daughter.”