Sinful Temptation

by Christopher, Ann

  Assumptions?

  He supposed he was. Hell. Wasn’t this whole trip down to the Village to see her all about one giant assumption?

  And yet…

  She was into him, too. He knew it. He could feel it.

  Straining his brain, he tried to think of the letter—the exact paragraph, sentence and words—where she’d admitted she had feelings for him. She had said it, hadn’t she? Why couldn’t he remember? Why had he taken her precious letters with him that last day, tucked inside his vest pocket for luck? Luck. Yeah. Funny. Luck hadn’t saved him from being captured, and it hadn’t saved his letters, which had probably been kindling for some insurgent’s fire.

  Now he couldn’t reread them and find the proof he needed.

  Oh, but it got worse.

  In this cold light of a May day, months later, he had to admit that it was possible he’d imagined something between the lines of her letters—something that had never been there.

  Had he imagined her tenderness?

  Was he that deluded, on top of the PTSD?

  No, something shouted inside him.

  Where did the absolute certainty come from? Maybe it was that crawling gut instinct that had repeatedly kept him alive during the war, or maybe he was just insane, pure and simple.

  “Talia.” He chose his words carefully, afraid of getting everything wrong and driving her away by sounding like an arrogant jackass. “I thought we were developing something.”

  She nodded, her gaze now fixed on some immovable point to the right of his eyes. “We were. Friendship. That’s all. I don’t have romantic feelings for you.”

  Bullshit, screamed his gut instinct. Inside him, the frustration rose.

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “If it’s that cut-and-dried, why aren’t you looking at me?”

  That got her. Her gaze flickered to her fingers, which were twined and buried in her lap, then to his collar. She opened and closed her mouth. Opened it again. Finally looked into his eyes.

  The utter darkness he saw there made him flinch. It was like staring into one of her black hole paintings. It leached the soul out of his body and left nothing but emptiness.

  “I don’t want a relationship right now, Tony. I’m not sure I’ll ever want one. I don’t have room in my life—”

  “Why not?”

  Her mouth worked and worked, but no words came out.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m taking time off from work. I want to travel. I’ve hardly been anywhere in my life—”

  “Travel, then. I’d never try to stop you from doing what you want to do, Talia—”

  “—and I just… I can’t handle any complications right now.”

  “Wow. That’s pretty much everything and the kitchen sink. Anything else?”

  Her brows contracted into an indignant line. “Is this a cross-examination? Am I on trial? Is that what’s going on?”

  “You’re not on trial. But I don’t believe anything you just said. Especially the part about not having feelings for me.”

  She nailed him with a glare that nearly made his face bleed. “Nice. Arrogant, much?”

  Brilliant, Davies.

  He ran a hand over his nape, trying hard to arrange his features into an expression that felt less intense. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…” He fumbled, struggling for words that kept skittering just out of reach. If he’d cut out his tongue with his boot knife, the conversation still would have been easier than this. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Your letters meant so much to me. And then when you refused the last one—”

  “I didn’t think it was fair for me to give you mixed messages. That’s why I sent it back. You were reading too much into it.”

  Funny she should mention mixed messages.

  He stared into her face, seeing her turbulence, and he felt the ghostly imprint of her body fitted perfectly against his. He heard the echoes of her joyful cry when she had first seen him just now, and of her needy sigh when he’d almost kissed her.

  Most of all, he remembered the unspoken subtext of longing in her letters.

  Weighing all of that against her unimpressive denials, he decided that, while he might well be crazy, it was more likely that she was a liar.

  Since he couldn’t figure out why she would lie if she wasn’t involved with someone else, he felt the first twinges of anger.

  “You’re pretty good at giving mixed messages, Talia.”

  Something flashed in her eyes, and he couldn’t tell if it was anger, fear or garden variety turmoil. He was still struggling to make sense of this giant and incomprehensible puzzle when she speared him right through the heart with the worst possible weapon against him.

  “They were only letters, Tony,” she said coolly. “I’d’ve done the same for any soldier.”

  Drenched in sweat and arms pumping, Tony sprinted around the Reservoir in Central Park for the third time, which meant he was flirting with three miles so far. He’d need at least three more before he had any hope of quieting the relentless chatter in his head, so he kept going, working harder and crashing through all the limits of his endurance. His lungs burned; his thighs screamed; his heart was a frantic beat or two away from exploding out of his chest.

  On the one hand, the workout was an excruciating punishment, bordering on torture. On the other hand, this was the perfect exercise to keep the rising frustration at bay.

  It was either run or throw back his head and roar until his head cleared.

  Since he didn’t fancy an involuntary trip to Bellevue for overnight evaluation, he ran.

  They were only letters, Tony. I’d’ve done the same for any soldier.

  That’s what Talia had told him. Translation? He wasn’t special, and the shared connection forged through those letters had been a beautiful mirage carved out of his overactive imagination, nothing more.

  So that was it, then.

  That was the end of his crazy fantasies about Talia falling into his arms and then…

  What, Tony? asked a mocking little voice inside his head.

  What, exactly, did you see happening then?

  He squinted and strained, trying to get his mind’s eye to focus a little, maybe tell him what it’d had in mind for him and Talia, but he couldn’t see it, and it didn’t matter anyway. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t happen. Ever.

  His feet pounding, he dodged and wove, avoiding strollers, walkers and other joggers, all of whom were moving too slow and needed to get the hell out of his way.

  He’d wanted to know whether he and Talia had a chance. Now he knew, and, though the knowledge was painful, it was better than not knowing.

  Well, no. He’d already known, hadn’t he? What else could that refused letter have meant, dumbshit? I’m waiting for you with open arms? Yeah, right. He should’ve saved himself the train fare for the humiliating trip into the city, but, oh well. Lesson learned, and better late than never. The end.

  That’s what he told himself, anyway.

  Deep inside, though, he couldn’t force himself to accept it.

  Which was why he kept running.

  He was rounding the curve nearest the Metropolitan Museum of Art when his cell phone vibrated inside his shorts pocket. Thinking—desperately hoping—it might be Talia, he snatched it, punched the button and had it up to his ear before he remembered: she doesn’t have your cell number.

  Dumbshit.

  “Yeah,” he snarled, still running.

  “This is your sister,” answered Arianna’s dry voice.

  While this was better than a call from, say, the IRS with concerns about his most recent tax return, he still wasn’t in a mood for talking. “Hey.”

  “Have I offended you somehow?”

  Right now, the whole stinking world offended him.

  “Nope,” he said, swerving around a dog that was sniffing at his legs, wanting to say hi as he passed.

  “Because you don’t sound too happy to hear my lovely v
oice.”

  “Sorry,” he puffed. “Bad morning.”

  “What’re you doing? Hauling logs?”

  “Jogging. In Central Park.”

  “Um…okay. I feel like I should hang up and get 9-1-1 on the line…”

  “I’ll be okay. What’s up?”

  There was a long pause. “I was just checking in. I don’t want to take the baby on any airplanes just yet with all those rampant germs, so I think it’ll be another week or so before we’re ready to come visit, sunshine. At which point I hope you have a better attitude than the one you have now.”

  That did it. Few things had ever brought him to heel like a guilt trip from Arianna, with whom he’d always been close. They’d had a joyous reunion a few weeks ago, right after his return from overseas, when he’d flown to Columbus to see her after the birth of her first child, a daughter. Arianna didn’t deserve his gruffness. God knew she wasn’t the one who’d smashed his hopes to bits.

  “Sorry.” He slowed down and dropped onto the nearest empty bench, where he doubled up and tried to get his breath. “It’s not your fault I’m being a, ah—”

  “Grouchy SOB?” she supplied helpfully. “What’s got you all bent out of shape?”

  He opened his mouth and out popped the automatic denial. “It’s nothing.”

  “Hmm.” Arianna, as usual, read between the lines and came up with the right answer. If he believed in reincarnation, he’d put his money on her having been a bloodhound in a past life. “Or should I say, who’s got you all bent out of shape?”

  He sat back, hung his arm across the back of the bench and drummed his fingers, thinking about this for a minute. He wasn’t in the habit of discussing his personal life with his sister, but his personal life had previously consisted of brief sexual relationships with women who didn’t expect anything from him other than a nice dinner and a few orgasms.

  In short, he’d never had an issue like Talia before.

  But he had to face it—Arianna was a smart woman who had the additional qualification of being happily married. Tony still had a reservation or two about the neck-tattoo-sporting dude she’d chosen (Tony had a couple tats himself, but, come on, on the neck?), but that was an issue for another day.

  For now, maybe she could help his ass out.

  “So there’s this, ah, woman.”

  “Yay!” Hearing the distinct sound of hand clapping, Tony rolled his eyes and waited for her to get a grip. “Where do you know her from?”

  “We met before my last tour, and we exchanged a few letters.”

  “And…?”

  “And I thought we were, ah, making a connection or something, but when I, ah, made a, ah… When I mentioned my feelings, she, ah—”

  “Wow. And here I thought English was your first language. So she’s not that into you, right?”

  Tony swiped his dripping face with the bottom of his T-shirt and struggled to put his thoughts into words. “That’s just it. I thought she was into me.”

  “What made you think that?”

  “I don’t have objective proof. That’s the problem. I just have my gut feelings, which don’t count for anything. But this morning, when I went to see her, there was a second when I thought—”

  “How did she look when she saw you? Don’t think about it—just blurt it out.”

  “Overjoyed,” he said. “She looked as thrilled as I was.”

  “Hmm.” Arianna lapsed into a thoughtful silence that made his nerves stretch with impatience. “Is she involved with someone else?”

  “She says she’s not. She claims she’s too busy with her career and stuff. She’s an artist.”

  “Hmm.” More silence. “Is she a lesbian?”

  “No.” He dismissed this possibility out of hand. He could compete with another man if he had to, but if what Talia really needed from a romantic partner was a vagina, then he was out of luck. “She’s not gay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive,” he lied.

  “Okay, well, then the answer’s simple. She’s scared.”

  “Scared? Of what?”

  “You. The way you make her feel. The way she feels about you.”

  “Bullshit,” he said, but already the wheels were turning in his mind, and he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something to it. “Why would she be scared of me?”

  Arianna heaved a long and exasperated sigh. “Oh, come on. Who wouldn’t want a hot guy like you showing up on their doorstep? You’re incredibly sexy—”

  Astonished to hear his sister talking like this, Tony jerked the phone away from his ear and stared at it.

  “—and she probably figures you can have any woman you want. I’m betting she’s afraid of getting hurt. Plus, maybe she’s already been hurt by someone—”

  His mind darted to the faceless Paul, whom he’d never liked.

  “—and she doesn’t want to go down that road again. It’s your job to figure out what’s scaring her. If you care enough, that is.”

  Oh, he cared.

  He struggled with this hypothesis. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that she was secretly wild about him.

  “Well, that’s a brilliant theory, Sherlock,” he said, “but maybe you had it right the first time. Maybe she’s just not that into me.”

  “I see. So during your time in Afghanistan, you lost all your abilities to read a woman’s signals. Is that it?”

  “I’m just saying that it’s possible that—”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I’m not a stalker, Ari. She’s said no, and I—”

  “You give up? Really? Starting when?”

  That hit a nerve, especially after his experiences as a POW.

  Something inside him hardened with determination. “I don’t quit.”

  “Good. I’m not suggesting you drag her off against her will, by the way.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I’m just saying that for once in your life, you might have to work a little harder to get the woman you want. That’s all.”

  “But—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Tony!” she snapped. “Does the woman want you or not? Yes or no?”

  “Yes,” came the honest and immediate answer. “She wants me. I can feel it.”

  “Then figure it out.”

  “Oh, figure it out. Brilliant. And how am I supposed to do that, O wise one? My suggestion box is open.”

  “No idea. But you’ll think of something. Mama, God rest her soul, and I didn’t raise you to be a fool when it comes to women.”

  That ringing endorsement made Tony laugh for the first time in hours.

  Chapter 3

  Talia was already at the studio the next morning, looking at the brochures her travel agent had given her, when Gloria arrived, half an hour early. Although she was wearing a familiar expression of grim concern, she had armed herself with coffee and for Talia, her favorite daily treat: a jumbo cappuccino with extra foam and extra cinnamon. Without a word, she handed it to Talia, who flashed her a grateful smile. These days, Talia was happy for any fortification she could get, and it didn’t matter if it was emotional or caloric.

  They leaned against the nearest worktable and sipped for a few minutes. Then Gloria, who’d miraculously managed to delay the questioning till this moment, launched into the inevitable interrogation.

  “What gives?”

  Shrugging, Talia tried to keep it light and airy, which would have been an easier proposition if her sister hadn’t known her so well. “Tony’s a friend. I met him when he picked up his nephew from one of my classes. He was about to return overseas. I wrote to him.”

  Gloria waited for the rest, brows raised.

  “He was presumed dead for a while,” Talia added.

  “He ain’t dead.”

  “Nope.”

  More silent sipping ensued. Gloria stared at her.

  “What?” Talia demanded, her nerves fraying at the edges. “That’s it.”

  No one did skepti
cal like Gloria. She had a way of giving her lips a derisive twist that said it all. “That’s it?” she said dubiously.

  “That’s. It.”

  “Bullshit,” Gloria pronounced.

  “Okay.” Talia slammed her cup down, shoved away from the table and, flustered, looked around for the catalogue on African safaris. “You know what? This conversation is over. O-V-E-R. In other news, I’m thinking about Kenya—”

  “Here’s what I don’t get,” said Gloria, who had never yet allowed a discussion to end before she had the last word. “Why are you so upset? You’ve barely said two words since Tony left. If it’s so cut-and-dried, and there’s nothing to you seeing your pen pal—” she made quotation marks with her fingers “—again, what’s the big deal?”

  “There’s no big deal,” Talia lied.

  Once again, Gloria waited.

  Once again, the pressure-filled silence caused Talia to blather when she should have kept her big fat mouth shut. “Well, okay, he wants to be more than friends, but that’s not a good idea. For obvious reasons.”

  “Right. Because he’s obviously a troll.”

  Well, there it was. Tony’s physical appearance had made an impression on Gloria.

  It’d made quite the impression on Talia, too.

  Tall and dark-skinned, with the clean-shaven, hard-jawed, square-shouldered look of a man’s man—a military man—Tony was leaner than he’d been the only other time she’d seen him, but was still blessed with the perfect amount of toned muscle and butt power. He’d worn crisp khakis and a blinding white tunic, a summery combination that brought to mind ocean breezes, rum drinks and slow-swinging hammocks. He was vital and intense, strung tight with an energy that emanated from his brown eyes and filled the air around him.

  Captain Antonios Davies was, in short, a walking, talking, breathing jolt of electricity to the female body.

  That didn’t mean that Talia wanted to get involved with him.

  Well, she wanted to, of course, but she wouldn’t.

  “Talia.” Gloria waved a hand in front of her face and clicked her fingers a couple of times. “Focus, girl. Snap out of it.”

  “Okay, look,” Talia said, seriously annoyed now. Why did she have to explain herself to the person who should understand her reasons better than anyone else on the planet? “There’s an attraction there. I admit it. But I think I have enough going on in my life without—”