His head snapped up and he nodded before closing the door and making his way slowly around to the driver’s side.
After he’d started the truck and maneuvered out into Memphis traffic, Randa said, “I’ve never ridden in a truck before.”
Tony didn’t answer, just nodded his head once.
“Doesn’t that surprise you?” Randa had no idea how to read him. Whatever small breakthrough they’d had at the pool had evaporated already. She didn’t want to settle for grimly polite Tony. She wanted to pretend that she was the kind of girl who went on dates, not photo opportunities or business meetings or family merger negotiations. And she hadn’t been able to get the image of Tony’s naked chest out of her mind all afternoon.
She had an uneasy feeling that she might never forget his chest or being that close to it.
“You probably don’t go out with many girls who’ve never ridden in truck, do you?” She ran her hand over the dashboard and was completely unsurprised when there was not a single speck of dust. The truck could have been driven off the lot that morning. There were no wrappers, no papers, no empty cans. She didn’t spend much time at home, but her expensive red convertible could always use a little TLC. Gum wrappers were the main offender. If she drove too fast and chain chewed cinnamon gum, she could defy both parents while wind blew her troubles away. Tony’s truck smelled like warm leather and just a hint of aftershave.
That smell was an aphrodisiac. Obviously. Randa wanted to run her hand down his forearm. He had one elbow on the console between the seats and he periodically clenched his hand into a fist and then shook it out. More than that, she was tempted to squeeze his thigh. Afraid she might actually do it with nothing to distract her, Randa watched the scenery whiz by, searching for an irresistible conversation starter.
But Tony saved her. Saved them both actually. She was on the verge of hitting him with trivia about the national interstate system when he said, “No pickups, huh? That doesn’t really surprise me much.” He glanced at her. “I mean, you’re probably way more comfortable in limos, aren’t you?”
Randa had no idea how to answer that. Had he seen her get out of the limo? Obviously, that wasn’t the best-case scenario, but there was no rule that said Elvis fans couldn’t ride in limos. Was there?
Finally she laughed. “Well, I’m not sure comfortable is the right word but familiar might be.”
Tony nodded. “I got the impression you were used to lots of money. Daddy rich?”
“And Mama’s good-lookin’.” When he didn’t acknowledge her quip, Randa watched his face for a minute. His questions… did he know more about her than she thought? She crossed her legs slowly to see if his eyes followed. When they did, she relaxed a bit. The best lies stuck close to the truth. She knew that well enough. “Yes. Daddy has money. In fact, it’s his world and we’re all just living in it.”
Tony passed a slow-moving minivan and said, “So, where is Daddy? And what’s the family business?”
Randa had prepared for this. She might not have much experience in working undercover, but she knew a backstory would come in handy. She was going to be from New York, and her father was going to be a venture capitalist. She spent enough time in New York to answer any test, and lots of people had heard of venture capitalists but very few people knew what they did. But when she turned to answer him, the lie on the tip of her tongue, Tony was watching her. And she couldn’t do it.
“Chicago. And Daddy’s in the business of using his money to make more money.” And that was the prefect, unvarnished truth. He might use hotels to do it, but her father was all about making more money. “He and my four older brothers are all good at spotting opportunities. And weaknesses.” And ruthlessly exploiting them when necessary. That was the Whitmore way. Apparently she’d missed out on that genetic marker somehow.
Tony whistled. “Four older brothers? That must have been hard.”
Randa laughed. “You have no idea. Being the youngest and the only girl was like being born with some kind of invisible handicap. But only in my house. Once I made it out of there, it was like people listened to my opinion and respected my brain. I learned to spend as little time as possible at home. Otherwise, my IQ takes a nosedive.”
And that was probably more truth than he was looking for. Just what every man wants to hear on the first date—the problems of an overbearing father.
“Hard to imagine. That sucks too.” Tony put the blinker on and exited the freeway.
Randa felt a bubble similar to the one she’d felt when he’d called her too skinny. It did suck to be treated like the dumb one because she was the youngest and a female. It was nice to hear a man agree. Not as nice as being called too skinny when she really wasn’t, but nice just the same.
Then he ruined it. “But you don’t still live at home, right?” His tone of voice said that only an idiot would still be at home at her age. And he was right. Randa looked out the window to try to come up with an almost honest, not-quite pathetic answer for him.
This part of Memphis was clean, shiny, suburban. Randa immediately liked it. She could be happy here. In the winter.
“Right?” Tony rolled to a stop at a red light and looked at her, his eyebrows raised in question.
Randa cleared her throat. “Well, I travel a lot, so it’s sort of like…” She felt the heat of a blush flash across her face and wanted to curse. She didn’t blush. She hadn’t thought she was still capable of doing so. “Yes, I do. When I’m in Chicago, I live with Mom and Dad. There are weekly family dinners.” She shrugged a shoulder. “And it’s as miserable as you think.”
“Why do it?” Tony didn’t look at her. That was a good thing.
She opened and closed her mouth twice before she could string anything together. She stared hard out the window and said, “Money. Isn’t it always about money?”
“Maybe, but some people—” Tony broke off and then said, “I mean, most people move out and live on the money they make as soon as they can.”
For a second Randa couldn’t breathe. He was right, but hitting her with the truth like that, like a punch right to the stomach, was uncommon. Snide remarks about how lucky she was to have Daddy footing her bill? Those were a dime a dozen. The implication that she was somehow less than other people, was a cold splash.
While she tried to catch her breath, she wished she had lied better. And that she’d never knuckled under to her father’s demand that she stay in Chicago. Ten years ago, fresh out of business school, she could have gotten a job, moved in with roommates, and struggled just like everyone else did.
Of course, most of her friends did it all with the safety net of a supportive mother or father. The really lucky ones had both.
While she was lucky enough to have the net, it came with so many rules and requirements, she lived life stepping carefully, afraid she’d hit the weak spot that would cause the whole thing to unravel. In college, she’d gotten a taste of what that looked like. Too much fun had led to too little studying and entirely too much media attention. The solution had been frighteningly easy—no car, no money, no cards, and no help when she called. She’d been scared to death but crawling home had been pretty easy then. The memory did not make her brave.
Her mother had been a model before she married. Then she became the model wife. Her duties were both decorative and ceremonial and she took them seriously. She ran a pristine house, served as hostess for powerful men and important business functions, and raised beautiful, accomplished children. And she did it all in a perfumed cloud with a lovely smile.
Randa had learned early on that she should be like her mother. She should be charming and yet cunning enough to pull strings as needed. Intelligence was nice, but beauty was critical.
So instead of trying out for band or for school plays, Randa had done pageants. Without the slightest encouragement, she’d graduated from both high school and college with the highest honors, not because she needed scholarships or help with good colleges, but because it was importa
nt to her.
She wished she’d been smart enough to demand an employment contract from her father. On her graduation day, he’d clapped a hand on one shoulder and told her they’d have a desk ready in the accounting department of the W Group. Each of her brothers had been given a flagship hotel to run and learn the ropes. She’d worked in payroll. And she’d never had to cut herself a check. She worked for nothing or everything, depending on how she looked at it. No matter what ridiculous expense she charged, her father or his assistant paid the bill. She escalated her spending every now and then, her version of an increase to her nonexistent salary. But giving herself pay increases was getting harder and harder.
Her latest raise, a Brazilian blowout, had been her first and last. The price tag was impressive but not nearly as impressive as her stylist’s gas mask. She was willing to suffer for perfection, but she had to draw the line somewhere.
Somehow the Whitmore rules of business didn’t extend to her own employment. For her minor rebellions, she listened to her father chortle about her expensive taste to her mother and to her brothers. For major infractions, like ending engagements, she was sent away.
Even so, Memphis was so much better than the first place she’d been exiled. After serving faithfully in the dusty halls of accounting for a year, her father had promised her a great opportunity. Instead of the hotel she wanted, she got a fiancé whose family had a five-hotel chain in California. She’d been younger then so it had taken actually finding her fiancé in bed with his personal trainer to convince her to break the engagement. And that was the first time her father sent her away. Fargo had been hell on her skin.
Her aesthetician had scolded her through three treatments after that trip, but she’d done so well with the small renovation that her father had given her a bigger one. And she’d made it out of accounting for a life on the road.
Uncomfortably aware of the silence stretching between them, Randa finally cleared her throat. “So, uh… want to tell me all about your perfect family? That might make me feel better.”
Tony rubbed his forehead as he turned into a strip mall. After he parked, he killed the engine. “Yeah, well… I was a foster kid. No family. No money to make up for it.”
Randa squeezed her eyes shut. “God, now I feel like a total idiot. Worse. A spoiled idiot. I’m sorry, Tony.” She really was. She moaned about her own problems so much that she couldn’t even imagine how hard other people had it. Maybe she was paid in spa treatments. And her family made her feel so… wrong, out of step, but she’d never had to make her own way. Not for long anyway.
He smiled and shook his head. “Listen, forget it. My dad died and my mom just… couldn’t handle life. She went to jail. It’s not a big deal now. I was lucky to get good families and I’m doing really well.” He leaned forward. “Got my own space. Drive my own pickup truck. Pay my own bills. Work at a job I’m good at and enjoy.”
Of course he was doing well. He was self-made, a man who did hard things, made sacrifices, served others, and considered himself lucky to have the chance to do so. He should be doing well. He deserved to.
Randa felt a surge of embarrassment, but it receded a bit in the face of stupid jealousy. He was satisfied. She could hear it in his voice. And she didn’t know what that felt like. She’d spent her whole life competing, trying, worrying, and hungry for food, thanks to her mother’s careful beauty queen diet, or attention or… something from her parents. But he was right. He was doing really well. And she was whining about living at home. It was a nice reminder of just how different they really were. That should help convince her to keep her hands to herself. But if he got any more attractive, she’d be in deep trouble.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d fail this assignment and not even have the memory of a naked Tony to show for it.
She hadn’t gotten where she was, wherever that might be, by giving up. She’d learned some hard lessons in the Whitmore school of business. And she knew what she wanted. She just had to get her head back in the game. And it was her decision whether she was going to settle for just the hotel. This wasn’t a date—not really. This was just the next move.
She glanced up and down the strip mall. “Ooh, look, a discount store.” She smiled up at him. “I’m going to load up on books and then, if you can wait for just a minute, see if they have flip-flops.”
Tony nodded and opened his door. When she made to do the same, he said, “Wait.”
Then he crossed in front of the truck, one hand shoving his key ring in the pocket of his jeans, before opening her door and offering her his hand.
“Thanks.” Randa did her best to ignore the stupid flutter in her stomach. This kind of treatment was also pretty rare among the movers and shakers of the business world, the men who’d learned to read e-mails and walk at the same time. They had drivers to open doors anyway. “Nice manners.”
Tony smiled. “I did learn how to treat a woman somewhere along the way.”
There was no question in her mind what he said was the truth. He was a man who’d make a woman feel special, safe. She tried to ignore the longing the whole idea brought on.
Randa slid out of the truck and smoothed down her skirt before she stepped in front of him. Determined to get everything back on track, she put the prowl in her step and looked back over her shoulder at him. Tony’s eyes were locked on her legs. When she pulled open the door to the used bookstore, she had a happy smile on her face.
TONY DIDN’T FOLLOW her in immediately. The Book Nook was one of his favorite places on the face of the earth, but he needed a minute or ten. He waved when she glanced out at him and pointed at his phone.
He didn’t have a call. He didn’t plan on making a call unless it was to someone who’d tell him to get his head screwed on straight. He’d already used a few of the techniques he’d learned to cope with PTSD on the ride over. He might have to invent new ones on the way back.
Or just go ahead and give in to temptation, here and now.
When he’d seen her talking softly to Misty in the lobby, he’d distracted himself from the pang in his heart and surge of lust in his… well, Laura had waved him over to the desk just in time. Work was his number one coping mechanism.
Then when she’d slid into his truck, he’d been two seconds away from sliding his hand from her delicate ankles all the way up the satiny skin of her calf to the muscles of her thigh. He wasn’t sure her skirt would have stopped him before he hit the promised land. Instead of counting to ten, he’d counted to a hundred. And he could still feel the phantom tingle in his hand.
In the truck, he’d gone on the attack. Telling her she ought to be able to support herself had been a dick move. Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t know her any better than she knew him but therapy had taught him most people were battling something. Still, sometimes dangerous times call for dick moves. All he’d wanted was a little space, maybe a little distance between them so he could get a hold on the urge to touch her. And he’d felt like a monster when she’d stiffened in shock and turned away from him. He didn’t talk to people he didn’t like that way. For better or worse, he liked Randa. Thank God she hadn’t cried. He’d have wrecked the truck trying to fix things. No matter how close he was to losing control, he should never have taken it out on her.
He took a deep breath and reached for his normal calm. The close confines of the truck cab meant he could smell her perfume and shampoo, see the fine lines around her eyes that she no doubt battled daily. He could have had one hand on her thigh and the other wrapped in her hair while his mouth conquered hers before she realized he was coming her way.
So far, he’d held on to his control. Barely. And watched her walk away, the red soles of her heels flashing like warning lights as she’d walked into his favorite place in the world.
Tony hung his head and said a quick prayer that she be difficult. Obnoxious. Demand different books or complain about the selection or the price or something. There was no coffee shop, no music playing, and one
chair in the whole place. It was a bookstore and only a bookstore. That’s why he loved it. It was quiet. There were books. It was heaven. Maybe she could judge Roy, the owner, as unimportant and frost the place, lowering Tony’s temperature in the process. He could regain his equilibrium, hold on until Willodean made it back and either turfed her to the street or opened the gates wide. He wasn’t sure which he was hoping for anymore. Throwing her out the day she got here would have been safer, but as the memory of her in her bathing suit and that damn short skirt flashed across his mind, he had to admit she’d already been a lot of fun.
Tony closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He had to be smart. Much as he wanted to kiss her, touch her, and more. He was just getting on his feet again. The wrong woman could knock him flat on his ass. Randa already had his head spinning, and he hadn’t even kissed her yet. He wanted to make sure she was into him for the right reasons. He needed her to tell the truth. He hadn’t missed how she avoided his second question about her father’s business.
He’d like to believe she hated lying as much as he did.
After her comments about her father and the family business, he was convinced she felt the burden of her father’s expectations. That would be enough to convince a normally truthful person to lie.
Wouldn’t it?
A little disgusted with his readiness to make excuses for her, Tony glanced at his watch and then yanked open the door.
“Tony, this place…” Randa spun and pointed at a stack of books on the tiny counter. Roy looked like he’d been hit with a falling piece of sky. His eyes were glazed over, but they followed her as she moved through the small science fiction section. “This is amazing. Thank you so much for bringing me.”
She couldn’t even cooperate with his desire for her to be difficult.
“Got anything new for me, Roy?” Tony did his best to ignore the death rattle of his good intentions.
Roy nodded vaguely and pulled a stack out from under the counter. One of the benefits of being a regular who read everything under the sun was that Roy saved him anything he thought might hit the spot. More times than not, Tony bought every book.
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