Bed of Lies

by Paula Roe

  “But—”

  “Move. Now.”

  Her eyes went in the direction of his nod, to the fire stairs nestled in a concrete alcove, then widened.

  And all hell broke loose.

  Four

  Like a deer caught in the headlights, she froze.

  A second too late.

  A handful of reporters surged forward from the stairwell, surrounding them like a fluid entity. Cameras flashed, microphones thrust forward as they yelled out questions and jostled for a better position.

  “How are you taking the suspension, Luke?”

  “Have you hired Gino’s lawyers to defend you?”

  “Any truth to the rumor you’ve been accused of insider trading?”

  The air buzzed, frantic and urgent. Luke fought against the sea of bodies, shielding his face as he grabbed Beth’s wrist just before a camera slammed into his shoulder. Sucking in a grunt and with Beth firmly in his grip, he turned and ran.

  Beth gulped in huge lungfuls of air and picked up the pace, her flat shoes slapping on the concrete as they raced toward their car.

  Luke glanced back before aiming his keys at the car. With a pop and flash of lights, the locks disengaged. “Get in!”

  She barely had time to close her door before he gunned the engine and took off.

  The car flew over a speed bump. Luke spun the steering wheel and the tires squealed, the smell of burned rubber hitting Beth seconds later as she slammed into his shoulder.

  “Slow down!” She righted herself from that wall of muscle quickly. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

  “Just trying to lose their tail and avoid any pedestrians with a death wish.”

  He followed that with an abrupt swerve, barely missing a jaywalking youth. Luke ignored the obscene comment and gesture left in their wake. He did, however, inch his foot off the accelerator.

  Beth glanced through the back window. A beat-up cream-colored car that had been following was stuck at the now-red light. “You’re losing them.”

  Luke barely managed two more yellow lights before their pursuers were lost in the steady flow of traffic.

  He matched the car’s speed to the signed limit and Beth finally loosened her grip on the door handle.

  “You okay?” He glanced at her.

  Her pulse pounded in her forehead, but she gave him a nod, grateful for the blasting air-conditioning. “How on earth did they know where we were?”

  “People noticed us at the mall. It only takes one phone call.” He glanced in the rearview then changed lanes.

  “Great.” Beth sighed and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear as her heart began to slow. “So what do we do now?”

  “We’re going to the airport.”

  “The what?”

  “Here, take the wheel.”

  She grabbed the steering wheel as Luke flipped open his phone. “This is Luke De Rossi. I need the plane ready for takeoff in around thirty minutes.” He paused, said, “Thanks,” then hung up.

  “We’re flying?” She relinquished the wheel.

  “Yep.”

  Her throat tightened, suddenly dry, and she squeezed her eyes shut, the stony walls of frustration lying heavy on her shoulders for one brief second.

  It had been ten years. Ten long, full years of triumphs and achievements. She’d worked hard, been in control. She’d overcome enormous hurdles many would have run from. She was living her life.

  It made sense to do this. It was the quickest way to leave the tailing press behind.

  But a plane…

  For a nanosecond the awful flashes screamed by, but she refused to let them linger.

  She swallowed again and straightened her spine. You can do this. You have to.

  It was one thing to convince herself while they were driving, but soon they were on the tarmac, the shiny Beechcraft King Air plane awaiting them.

  She stared at the clean white lines of the turboprop plane, the large twin engines, the glossy paintwork as her heart began to race.

  Pound, pound, pound. The sudden primeval urge to run snaked low as a shaky breath jammed in her throat.

  Therapy worked. It stopped those nightmares. It helped to handle the fear and guilt. It can’t rule your life anymore.

  When she choked down a short groan, she could feel Luke’s eyes on her.

  “You don’t like flying?”

  She nodded mutely, her eyes still locked on the plane.

  “Soooo…” He paused. “You’ve never been on a plane at all?”

  “Once. It…didn’t go well.” Boy, understatement of the century. She blinked, filling her lungs slowly then emptying them again, just as she’d been taught.

  “After instrument check, it’s a fifteen-minute flight to Surfers—we go up, we come down. The whole thing will take an hour. I’ve made the trip a thousand times.”

  But it only takes one. She remained silent, her heart battering her tight chest.

  When Luke took her hand she nearly jumped out of her skin, her nerves lurching as his fingers laced intimately through hers.

  “Okay?”

  “No.”

  “You can do this.”

  With his hand enveloping hers, she let him tug her across the tarmac, the steady roar of Brisbane airport’s air traffic swirling around them.

  “Mr. De Rossi.” Their pilot stood by the stairs and nodded. “We have clearance, when you’re ready.”

  “Get us up, John.” Luke mounted the stairs, still holding her hand. Her viselike grip must have been uncomfortable, but he said nothing. His warm skin, firm fingers and cool authority were a welcome distraction, even if her breath still raced as they walked up the metal stairs one clanky footstep at a time.

  But when she stepped into the plane’s cool interior, fear was momentarily suspended.

  “Wow.” Perfectly circular tinted windows let in enough light to display the oval interior to luxurious perfection. She counted six spacious seats in soft honey leather before running her gaze over the polished mahogany paneling and fittings, the immaculate carpet, then the cockpit just beyond. She barely registered Luke’s hand slipping from hers as she took one step inside, then another.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” he said behind her.

  “It looks like a limousine.” She slowly ran her hand down one headrest.

  Just as soft as it looked. She breathed in a myriad of scents—leather, new carpet, even a faint whisper of cigar smoke. The scent of power and money.

  Then Luke shifted behind her and suddenly a luscious hint of ginger and spices, mingled with something all male, flooded her senses.

  Her heart kicked up, but whether it was from the impending flight or Luke’s proximity, she couldn’t tell.

  Then his hand was on the small of her back and she had to swallow back her nerves.

  “Take a seat and buckle up.” He nudged her forward then took the seat next to hers, the leather squealing in protest.

  She could do nothing but follow his lead.

  Luke watched Beth squeeze her eyes shut as the plane began to taxi down the runway, her breath coming short and sharp. Sweat beaded across her forehead and her grip tightened on his, threatening to cut off his blood supply. He swallowed a wince.

  “Hey. Look at me.”

  Reluctantly, her eyes edged open. “What?”

  “It’s better if you don’t shut your eyes.”

  She scowled. “What would you know about it?”

  “My aunt hates flying, too—her first and only trip was when she and Gino immigrated here forty years ago. If she can’t get to it by car or boat, she doesn’t go.”

  “Oh.” She jumped as the gears clunked into place. Then he began to gently stroke her knuckles and she blinked.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calming you down.”

  “That doesn’t help.”

  “No?” He continued, his eyes fixed on her pale face. “When were you in a limo?”

  “What?” The plane sped up and she dragg
ed in a raggedy breath, but Luke wouldn’t let her look away.

  “You said the plane looked like a limousine.”

  “Yes.”

  He reached up and twisted the knob for the air-conditioning in the overhead panel, and when the cool air flooded down, she breathed deeply.

  “A limo?” he prompted, settling in his seat.

  “A bunch of us hired one to celebrate our final year of study. My first and last taste of the high liiiii—!”

  The plane swooped up, his stomach quickly following, and Beth’s hand gripped his until his fingers began to throb.

  He winced and ignored the pain.

  Beth swallowed, knowing she was hurting him but helpless to stop. Yet past all that blood-thumping anxiety, his strong hands wrapped around hers and his deep voice murmured gentle inanities that eventually broke through her panic. Yes, she still wanted to jerk her hand away, but the desire to overcome this awful debilitating fear was greater.

  She hated losing control. Yet as she kept her eyes focused on Luke, listening to him recite the plane’s capabilities and luxurious interior specifications, she felt something shift. It could’ve been the intimate warmth of skin on skin, or the sensual timbre of his voice. Or maybe it was the promising flicker behind those eyes she wasn’t quite sure she’d seen.

  When he leaned in, she did, too, her gaze snagged on that sensual mouth only centimetres away. But it was his scent that made her tummy flip in a completely different way.

  Lord, he smelled wonderful. She took a deep, shaky breath, just to make sure. Yes. Oh, yes. She closed her eyes. Ginger, peppermint. Hint of bergamot. And…

  “Are you sniffing me, Beth?”

  Her eyes sprang open, her face hot. “I…uh…”

  His mouth curved. “We’re in the air, by the way.”

  “What?” She yanked away and whirled to the window, heart reverberating in her throat.

  “You don’t need to look.” He recaptured her hands, forcing her to turn back. “Just keep focusing on me. Just breathe. And tell me about your work.”

  “My work?”

  “Well, how did you get your own business? Did you go to university?”

  “No.” She swallowed, allowing his eyes to command hers. “I did a course at my local college. Four years and I had my diploma in massage therapy. I—”

  The plane banked right and Beth tightened her grip.

  “Go on.”

  She swallowed then continued faintly, “I did a few business courses, worked a bunch of jobs. And here I am.”

  “Why massage therapy?”

  “Because I’m good at it.” And I like the idea of taking away someone’s pain.

  “Your family?”

  She bit back a familiar sliver of sorrow. “None.”

  His gaze softened. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “What about yours?”

  “My parents died when I was fifteen.” She noticed the tightening of his expression, the tiny twitch at the corner of his jaw. “Robbery gone wrong.”

  “That’s…” Sad? Awful? Terrible? Beth paused. Any word she chose was inadequate.

  Luke took pity on her. “Yeah. Gino and Rosa took me in until I was eighteen.”

  Beth flicked a nervous glance out the window, to the clouds floating by, then back again. “You were a gifted child, right? Graduated from a seven-year university degree at nineteen.”

  He moved uncomfortably in his seat. “Yep. I’ve been working for Jackson and Blair since then.”

  Despite the air-conditioning, she felt the slow trickle of sweat meander down her back, coming to rest at the base of her spine. She shifted, the heavy echo of her heartbeat drowning out the engine’s gentle drone.

  After a moment or two, he said, “It’s like a roller coaster.”

  “What is?”

  “Flying. You start off real fast, take off and roll with the dips and turns. It’s over before you know it.”

  She smiled suddenly. “I liked the Tarantula better.”

  “The what?”

  “You know, the ride that swoops up and down and in and out as it spins?”

  Luke grinned. “Gotta say, I’ve never tried it.”

  “Really? You do not know what you’re missing.”

  “Tell me.”

  Beth took one look at his serious expression, debated for half a second then continued.

  “My mother used to take me to the annual Bathurst Show. The guy who operated the Tarantula always slowed it down in the middle of your ride and called out, ‘Do you wanna go faster?’ And of course, we all screamed, ‘Yes!’ and he’d yell back, ‘Let me see your hands!’ and then we’d wave our hands above our heads like crazy while he cranked it up, faster and faster.” She sighed. “We flew and it just stole your breath, like being out of control but in a good way…” She paused at his grin then added a little self-conscious one of her own. “Aaaand I’m rambling. Sorry.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “It was.”

  They remained that way, held only by their smiles, until Beth sensed something more, something…kind of dangerous and yet somehow comforting lying just below the surface.

  She stared. A shot of desire hit the pit of her stomach and spread, heating her body. His gaze slowly slid down to the swell of her bottom lip and she was too late to steel herself. Her breath stuttered out. As he continued his slow scrutiny, her skin began to tingle, an irritating yet anticipatory buzz that spread up from her legs to her belly in seconds flat.

  Arousal—hot, dark and unwanted—body-slammed her, stealing her breath, eliciting a small gasp of dismay.

  She dragged her hands from his and leaned away, swallowing a murmur as the plane began to descend.

  “We’re nearly there,” Luke said as he pulled his phone from his jacket and began scrolling. “You did well.”

  “Thanks.”

  An intimate, almost tangible silence fell as the plane swooped in for a landing. Beth refused to break it. She couldn’t bear to vocalize what had nearly passed between them.

  Because there was no way she was going to succumb to the charms of Luke De Rossi, simple as that.

  Five

  The landing was a gut-clenching, lip-biting affair, but she managed to make it through without completely losing it. A gray limousine—one of Surfers’ most common modes of transportation—was waiting for them as they disembarked.

  At least it’d provide much-needed anonymity, space and distance from the roadblock in her life that was Luke De Rossi.

  She settled in the soft leather seat, buckled up and prayed for the forty-minute drive to be over as quickly as possible.

  “Drink?”

  She glanced up and he nodded to the bar fridge laid into the dash. “Mineral water, juice, Coke…”

  “Tequila?”

  He didn’t bat an eye. “Sure.”

  She smiled humorlessly. “Mineral water’s fine.”

  She waited until he’d finished playing host, until he handed her the drink, poured himself a Scotch on the rocks then settled back.

  She pointedly turned to the window and drew the icy glass across her cheek with a sigh.

  First those cameras, the frenzied questions, everyone pushing and shoving. Then the scary, gut-wrenching flight that felt as if her stomach had been sucked out with a straw.

  Yet she’d made it.

  Triumph curved her lips in the tinted reflection. She’d done it. With Luke’s help, she’d taken that first step into the unknown and conquered some of her fears.

  The victory lingered briefly, until the inevitable memories began to seep in. And slowly, she watched her mouth flatten and her eyes harden.

  She’d been eighteen—just a kid. Too young to know better, too weak to hold on.

  Frustration snaked its way under her skin, making everything achy, her breath like jagged pieces stabbing her throat on the way in. Those months after the crash had been mind-numbingly tough, her desperation for privacy tested by the public’s morbid
fascination with every gory detail. On the very first anniversary she’d caved and given an interview, naively assuming the reporter would keep her personal details anonymous. In the ensuing press avalanche, she’d gone off the grid, working a dozen different cash-in-hand jobs, living in near squalor in Sydney’s far west before reinventing herself. All had been worth it to finally get through night college and earn her TAFE certificate in remedial massage.

  She could’ve joined the other survivors in their class action suit but that would’ve involved too many questions, too much publicity. For so long the crash had been her first and last waking thought, consuming every hour, every day, every dream and horror-filled nightmare until she’d somehow managed to leave the past behind and focus on her future.

  Stop. You can’t go back. Only forward.

  Beth rubbed at her eye sockets until her face ached, until she managed to shove those memories away and her shoulders slowly relaxed.

  When she softly exhaled, the window misted. She wiped it away. Now was not the time and place to lose it, not when she needed all her wits and strength to deal with the here and now.

  Through the window’s reflection she glanced at Luke, but the melting ice in his drink had his rapt attention.

  He handled millions, no, billions, on a daily basis, rubbed shoulders and dealt with clients who made ridiculous amounts of money. The sheer scale of the league she was now in blew her away.

  “Do you still think I’m your uncle’s secret mistress?” she asked quietly, still staring out the window.

  He paused, but when she turned to face him, he shook his head. “No.”

  “Good.”

  Another moment of silence passed as they studied each other like wary opponents unwilling to concede.

  “I’m serious about my offer to buy you out,” he said suddenly. “I can make it worth your while. You can start over in a new place, something closer to Surfers—”

  “Let me tell you something.” She shifted, crossed one leg over the other and gave him her full attention. “Imagine someone gives you a car—it’s old, it’s worn, there are a few bumps and scratches on it and a bit of rust. But still you can see the potential behind all that because up until now, all you’ve ever had were total lemons that weren’t even roadworthy. You spend years on improving that car, banging out the dings, replacing the tires, giving it a new paint job. You sweat and obsess because it gives you a purpose, transports you from your studies, from your crappy waitressing and cleaning jobs, and shows you the possibilities that come with a little hard work and determination. It becomes more than just a project—it becomes a part of who you are. And finally, when you’ve got it running perfectly and that sweet feeling of pride sings through your veins, a guy shows up and demands you turn it over to him. Yes, legally I know I’m just a tenant,” she added quickly just as he opened his mouth. “But, Luke, I put my heart and soul into that place when I had absolutely nothing else. Can you understand that?”