The frigid anger that she saw in them froze the words in her throat. Speechless, she accepted a consoling hug from Felicity and a shoulder squeeze from Magee before the two of them headed off, leaving her to face Peter, the one person she thought would have accepted her mistakes.
The one person who looked as if he wanted to burn her at the stake.
She decided to avoid him as much as possible, which wasn’t difficult, since the evening was busy. He passed her orders over the bar, but other than that he didn’t send her so much as a smile—but neither did he send another harsh word or cold glance. As the night wore on, she began to wonder if she’d imagined his earlier reaction.
That was it! He’d been surprised by what she’d said about Ben and about her gambling…situation, but Peter wouldn’t desert her. He knew she was the kind of woman who depended on the men in her life.
He took a break at eleven, calling out he’d only be ten minutes. Waving a hand in acknowledgment, she let herself relax a little more. By the time he returned, the bar would be quieter. They could have a few minutes of their usual, comfortable conversation.
She needed the usual. She needed the comfortable.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. She cast a glance toward the door to the combined storeroom/ break room, but it didn’t budge. A little niggle of concern tickled her spine, but she didn’t have a spare second to act on it when a rowdy party wandered in.
Once she’d settled them with their beverages, Peter had been out on break nearly thirty minutes. Signaling to the other bartender that she’d only be gone a second, she dashed for the break room.
“Peter?” she called as she opened the door.
“Go away.”
His voice sounded strained, but she couldn’t see him or into the small break area—essentially a folding table and a couple of chairs—because of some tall stacks of cased beer. “Is everything all right?”
“I’ll be out soon. Go away.”
For a moment she considered it. But there was something in his voice…
She took a slow step around the stacks of beer. Then, seeing him bent over in his chair, she rushed forward. “Peter! What happened?”
“Damn it.” His shoulders hunched and he twisted away from her. “I told you to get out of here.”
The harsh tone of his voice was enough to make her hesitate, but not enough to get rid of her. “Is something the matter? Do you want Jim instead of me?”
“No, I don’t want Jim instead of you. I don’t want anyone.”
She’d come up behind him. “You’ve hurt yourself!” He was cradling his left hand in his lap. Now she could see there was a broken bottle on the floor, that his hand was wrapped in a crimson-stained towel, and that Peter’s face had gone chalky.
Her eyes widened and she backed up a step. “I’ll call an ambulance. You must have lost a lot of blood.”
Peter swayed in his chair. “No!” he choked out. “Not a lot of blood.”
Puzzled, she strode back to him and peered into his lap again. “You need to show me.”
With a disgusted sound, he turned his face away and lifted the towel.
He was right. There wasn’t all that much blood. The cut was hardly bigger than the one she’d gotten on her finger the other day in her kitchen. “Then what’s the matter?”
“Makes me sick,” he muttered, throwing the towel back over the injury. “The sight of blood makes me sick. Now go away.”
She stared at him. “You’re afraid of blood?”
He made that disgusted sound again. “For God’s sake, yes. Terrified. Horrified. Makes-me-want-to-barf scared. Okay? Are you satisfied?”
Keeping a cautious eye on him, she headed for the first-aid kit mounted on the nearby wall. Then, with the antiseptic and a wide adhesive bandage in hand, she crossed back to Peter. It only took a second or two to take care of the cut, but even after it was done, he wouldn’t look at her.
She disposed of the stained towel then went about sweeping up the broken glass. “I had no idea you were afraid of anything.”
He mumbled something.
The pieces of glass clattered to the bottom of the metal trash can. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘To hell with it.’”
Startled, she looked over at him. “Peter?”
His face was set, his eyes glittering. “I said, ‘To hell with it.’ Why should I worry about hiding my weaknesses from you anymore? You don’t want me, so what’s the big deal about another flaw or two?”
“It’s not a flaw—”
“And why you should be critical of me, I don’t know. Jesus Christ, Ashley, you get into gambling and into credit card debt and your way of dealing with it is to tell your dumbass of a baby brother?”
“I wanted to take care of it myself—”
“Give me a break, Ash.” He pushed his chair toward the door. “Calling in Ben to bail you out is not taking care of it yourself.”
She flushed in shame. Peter was right about that. “Well, you know I’m not good at—”
“And don’t give me that, either. That crap about needing a strong man.” He spun the chair to face her, his expression furious. “That’s a bullshit excuse. Bullshit! You let Simon roll over you when he was alive. You let Magee baby you after Simon was dead. But you forget that I’ve seen you when both of them weren’t around. Simon would be gone for weeks at a time, and you were fine then, Ash, and good at taking care of yourself, your job, your home, Anna P. You’d be fine again if you’d can the clinging vine act.”
He spun around and wheeled toward the door again. “Take the advice of someone stuck sitting down, Ash, the advice of someone who’d trade years off his life to be able to do what you should. Put your own two feet on the floor and stand the fuck up.”
Ashley trailed Magee, who carried Anna P. over his shoulder, through the dark house. She followed him into her daughter’s room and watched as he laid the little girl on her pillow. Ashley drew up the covers.
On the bedside table, next to the framed photo of Simon, was Anna P.’s favorite stuffed animal. Magee lifted the fleece llama and tucked it beneath Anna P.’s chin. Then he took Ashley’s hand in his warm one and led her out.
In the living room, he left her to flip on the nearby lamp. She stood where she was, her heartbeat sluggish, her mind numb.
Magee turned and studied her for a moment. Then he crossed to her again, once more taking her hand. His fingers were so warm and strong. She let her hand rest in his.
“I’ve let you down, Ash,” Magee said. “I’m sorry.”
She should shake her head. She shouldn’t let him take any blame. But that took so much energy and she was so, so cold.
“It’s not going to happen again,” Magee continued.
He took a deep breath and Ashley envied him the ability. The conversation with Peter in the bar’s break room earlier that night had stolen hers.
Magee’s fingers tightened on her hand. “Ashley, look at me.”
Strong men made everything so easy. She did as he asked.
“I should have been clearer about this before, Ash,” he said. “I want you to marry me. Marry me and let me look after you and Anna P., just like Simon would.”
Simon. Ashley latched on to the thought of him. Brash, loud, larger-than-life Simon. The one who always knew what she should do. He would want that. He would want her and Anna P. to have someone like Magee to lean on.
“Say yes, Ash,” Magee urged.
Once again, she obeyed.
Aunt Vi’s cats were underfoot, the TV was droning, Charms were wandering between the kitchen and the living room. The only family member who appeared to feel any urgency, Felicity thought, grinding her back teeth, was herself.
“Ben may have gotten into trouble with the Mafia,” she said again. “Don’t you think that requires some action?” The family fidgeted. Knees shifted, coffee cups rattled, someone passed out old copies of Us magazine.
Only Aunt Vi appeared to hear her
. “Ashley and Magee aren’t here yet. Maybe we should wait—”
“It’s Ashley that got Ben into this mess!” It was out before she could stop it. And then, worse, she sensed movement behind her.
Aunt Vi fluttered. “Good morning, you two. Can I get you anything?”
Felicity looked over her shoulder. The late comers, of course. Her gaze slid off Ashley’s face and then caught the strange expression on Magee’s. He was looking at her with—She couldn’t put her finger on it. Disappointment?
She bit her lip, regretting her outburst all over again. “Sorry, Ash,” she mumbled. “You’re not to blame. After Simon died, I…I should have done something. I should have been here for you.”
But she’d had a good excuse! Eighteen months ago, her career at GetTV was revving up. Her All That’s Cool Afternoon had jumped in the ratings and she’d received a personal, glowing memo from Drew’s father, the CEO of the company.
“Look, everybody, here’s how it stands,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “We have the note from Ben. I’m guessing he’s fine and lying low somewhere safe. But we need to find out how much money he owes or find him or both. I’m thinking a visit to the Caruso plant might be a start. And then there’s Ashley—”
“I’ll take care of that,” Magee said, stepping forward. “Ashley, and Ben, too.”
Felicity frowned at him. “We don’t need your help—”
“You have it anyway.” He gazed over her head at Ashley. “Because your cousin and I are engaged.”
“What?” Felicity blinked up at him.
“Ashley’s going to be my wife.”
The room erupted in excitement. Charms pumped Magee’s hand. Someone pulled Ashley forward for a round of hugs.
For her part, Felicity focused on one corner of the room and drew a mental camera there. She imagined it in detail, from the omniscient lens to the little red light on top that signaled it as the camera to play to. And then she gave it her sweet, appealing best, determined that the audience would never know that her smiles and good wishes were anything less than sincere.
Surprise. Betrayal. Humiliation.
They stayed well hidden behind her smooth, professional veneer. After a few minutes she took a little stroll into the kitchen, looking for…for…something. Her gaze snagged on her Joanie, sitting on the countertop, and she lunged for it, her knee connecting with an ajar cupboard door.
Pain bloomed over the tender skin she’d gotten from kneeling in Magee’s car.
Which triggered yet another wave of humiliation.
Her hand tightened on the Joanie, and its abraded exterior scratched her palm. She looked down, staring into its still-serene gaze. “We’re getting out of here,” she promised.
Fifteen
Magee knew the instant Felicity left the living room. Half-relieved and half-sick at how he’d sprung the news on her, he kept watch for her return. He owed her an explanation.
The hell of it was, he didn’t have a good one.
Damn it! She’d sped out of the night and blindsided him! He hadn’t planned what happened after, not any of it. But because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants he’d screwed up. Screwed her.
But what a thrill. She was right about that.
At the screech of peeling rubber, one of the young Charms, dressed for a round of golf, glanced out the window. “Felicity,” he announced. “Driving off like the cops are after her.”
Magee stilled.
Vi leaned over to pick up a cat, then stroked it, a slight frown on her face. “I wonder why?”
Magee wondered where. Had she run off for L.A. without a goodbye? Without another try—and with very good reason this time—at running him over or running him through?
Maybe. He’d said he’d take care of Ashley and Ben.
We don’t need your help. She’d sounded adamant about that—before, of course, he’d announced the engagement.
But hadn’t she mentioned something about a visit to the Caruso plant…?
The hairs on the back of his neck sprang up. Damn stupid, stubborn, crazy woman! His hand slid into his pocket and closed over his keys. He hoped he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.
Felicity pushed out of the double doors of the corporate offices of La Vita Buona Foods and right into Magee’s chest. She gasped in surprise. “How did you find me?”
He grabbed her wrists. “It wasn’t that hard. Now, what the hell are you doing?”
She wrenched her arms from his fingers. “What the hell I did,” she said through her teeth, trying to keep her voice low and calm, “is meet with a representative of the Caruso family.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You had, what? A fifteen-minute head start on me?”
She lifted her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “I work fast.” Then she made to step around him, intent on hurrying down the wide steps and hurrying away from Magee before she blew her cool.
He blocked her way. “We need to talk.”
No! “I don’t have time.” She sidestepped again. Her shoulder bumped his as she rushed down the wide steps of the office building.
He caught her elbow at the bottom of the short flight. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Anywhere you’re not. But she couldn’t say that out loud, not and keep her pride. She couldn’t let him guess what a blow it had been to hear him say he was marrying Ashley and how ashamed she was to be proven just another one of the women he’d slept with, just another one of his thrillbangs.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked again.
Determined to appear unmoved, she looked up and met his gaze. “I’m going across the parking lot to that little store right over there, where I’ll be selecting some Caruso gourmet products.”
“Jesus. Shopping.” He spit the last word out.
Vile, traitorous, rude man!
“It’s shopping that’s saving Ben’s behind,” she hissed, leaning toward him. Then she pulled back, frantically smoothing out her expression. Don’t let him see you’re hurt.
With quick strides she headed toward the small store, hoping his disdain for her and dislike of shopping would take him away. Far away. But he dogged her footsteps, frustration fanning from him like smoke.
“We still need to have that talk,” he said.
Instead of replying, she grabbed the store’s door handle. He slapped his palm against the plate glass to keep it closed. Her spine stiffened.
“Speak,” he said.
“Arf, arf. Now let me go inside.”
His hands landed on her shoulder and he spun her toward him. “Felicity. Don’t be such a smart-mouth.”
She glared up at him. “I have to get on with this, Magee. I need to pick out some products, then I need to call Drew and use my smart mouth to give a kick-butt pitch that convinces him they’ll be sure winners for GetTV. That’s the deal I made to bail out Ben.”
“Jesus, Felicity. You weren’t kidding? You walked into the Caruso corporate offices and brought up their mob dealings?” His fingers convulsed on her shoulders and he gave her a quick shake. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“It worked.”
His expression turned furious and he shook her again. “I didn’t save your goddamn life so that you could end up wearing a pair of high-heeled cement sandals.”
“Your karmic spitwad isn’t as stupid as all that. I told the front desk I was stopping by on the chance that the product manager was free because I was scouting new items for the shopping channel. That got me into a plush office for a private meeting. Once there, I mentioned that my cousin Ben was having some financial difficulties that the Carusos might know about. A phone call later, we were making a mutually beneficial deal.”
His hands had loosened on her shoulders and she used the opportunity to twist free and slip inside the store. A bell rang, announcing her entrance, and she took her first breath of delicious smells—tomato, garlic, onion, and herbs. Stocked like a gourmet shop, the store had floor-to
-ceiling shelves of bottled Caruso sauces and imported Italian products. One corner held a refrigerated unit stacked with fresh pastas. Nearby, a small wheeled bar with overhead heating lights displayed a mouthwatering selection of free samples.
Her stomach growled, the sound covered as the front bell rang again. Pretending not to notice the surly newcomer, Felicity turned toward the freebies and filled a small paper plate with ravioli, penne in a marinara sauce, and a side dish made with white beans and herbs.
“We’re not through,” Magee ground out from behind her.
She used a plastic utensil to fork up a big bite and stuff it in her mouth. Better to chew than chew him out over the end of an affair that had been doomed from the very beginning.
“Ignoring me? Don’t be such a baby, Felicity.”
She stabbed a ravioli. Fine, maybe she was a baby. Maybe she was a big, spoiled baby and that’s why his defection mattered. She was a successful businesswoman, the It Girl of Electronic Retail. He was a scruffy, bar-owning, good-for-nothing-she-wanted cretin. She studied his reflection in the stainless steel roof that housed the food bar’s overhead lights. Hair too long. Faded jeans. A T-shirt—she couldn’t read what it said—that probably insulted her intelligence, her sex, or both.
Why, she should have been the one to dump him. Driven away with a casual wave of her hand, back to her good life and the civilized, successful kind of men who appreciated her. The kind of men who—
—had never known her like Magee.
The ravioli stuck in her throat, a dry lump. He’d known her. He’d made her laugh. He’d found his way past her facade to that raw, physical passion she hadn’t even been aware was inside herself.
“Felicity.”
She turned. It was all there, all that appealed to that secret side of her. Rough-cut hair, rough stubble of whiskers, rough, rangy man who could make her wet with just the touch of his rough, callused fingertip. Her pulse tripped, then started thrumming again, hummingbird wings at her throat, and at her wrists, and under the prim, knee-length skirt she’d pulled on that morning.
The Thrill of It All Page 20