"I know," he said. "But trust me, it's better this way."
"For who?"
His voice was very quiet. "You."
What a load of crap.
I recalled our conversation in the car, and suddenly it all made sense. With a bitter laugh, I said, "Oh, I get it."
He studied my face. "No. You don't."
"Oh yeah? How do you know?"
"Because I can tell."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, so you're a mind-reader now?"
"No. But I can read your face."
"Great." I gave him a stiff smile. "So what am I thinking?"
"You're thinking I don't want you here."
"That's no mystery," I said. "You just told me that yourself."
"No." His jaw tightened. "What I told you was that it would be smarter if you left. That's not the same."
"Oh, give me a break," I said. "What, you think I forgot what you said in the car?"
"Sorry, but you're gonna have to be more specific."
I lowered my voice. "You said 'starfuckers' weren't your thing. Is that what you think I am?"
"You?" He frowned. "No."
"Oh, please," I said. "You don't have to be nice about it." I made a show of looking around, taking in the candle-lit tables and romantic view. "What was this? Some sort of test? To see if I'd swoon if you turned on the charm?"
He stiffened. "What are you getting at?"
"You know exactly what I'm getting at," I said. "You ran a fun little test, and I failed. So now you're giving me the boot."
He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "That's what you think?"
I lifted my chin. "Well the timing can't be a coincidence."
With a low scoff, he said, "In case you didn't notice, I could've fucked you in the car."
I sucked in a breath. "What?"
"Shit." His eyes filled with regret. "I shouldn't have said that."
I forced a smile. "Why not? We're being honest, right?"
"Listen…" He shoved a hand through his hair. "Let's start over, okay?"
"From when?" I tried to think. "The beginning of the book tour?"
"No." His voice softened. "The beginning of dinner."
Dinner. The food had been delicious, and the company had been amazing.
Until now.
Now I was wishing that I hadn't eaten a thing, because it suddenly wasn't sitting so great. I pushed back my chair and stood. "Forget it. Dinner's over."
And with that, I turned and marched out of the restaurant, refusing to look back.
Chapter 45
Jack
Fuck.
Noble intentions. Of those, I had plenty. But making them work? It wasn't so easy.
I yanked out my wallet and pulled out a wad of cash. I tossed it onto the table and headed for the door, only to be stopped mid-way by our server, who wanted to make sure that nothing was wrong.
Something was wrong all right. But it had nothing to do with the food or the service. Trying not to be a dick about it, I assured her that everything had been great and kept on going.
Still, the delay had cost me.
By the time I caught up with Becka, she was halfway to the car. I strode up behind her and said, "Becka, wait."
When she didn't stop, I moved forward and reached for her elbow.
Without turning back, she yanked free of my grip and kept going. Short of tackling her in the parking lot, there wasn't much I could do, except hit the keyless entry to make sure she had someplace to go.
She made straight for the car and yanked open the passenger's side door. Wordlessly, she climbed inside, slamming the car door shut behind her.
As for myself, I strode around the opposite side and claimed the driver's seat. By the time I shut the car door behind me, Becka was buckled up and ready to go.
Not so fast.
I turned to her and said, "You're not getting what I'm saying."
"Sure I am."
"No. You're not." Deliberately I softened my tone. "My fault, not yours."
"Sure, whatever." She pointed to the steering wheel. "So, are we swinging by the hotel?" Her mouth tightened. "Or, are you just taking me straight to the airport?"
I could. It would be easy enough. The jet was fueled and ready. But I didn't want her to go, not like this.
Still, I had to know, "Is that what you want?"
"Yes." Her shoulders sagged. "And no."
"I know the feeling."
She whirled in her seat to face me. "No you don't. You have no idea how I feel." She sighed. "Look, I'm really thankful for what you did, I mean as far as the pictures and everything else. Truly, I am. But do you realize, you've been treating me like a pariah for most of the trip?"
She was wrong. She was no pariah. But she was other things – a temptation, a distraction, a complication. She was the thing that kept me up at night, and the person who made me smile when I was supposed to be getting serious.
And she noticed far more than she should.
I replied, "It wasn't my intention."
"It was, too," she said. "You practically admitted it, remember? You told me flat-out that you didn't want to encourage me, or however you put it."
Wrong again. "No. What I said was, I didn't want to encourage myself."
"Well it must be nice to have that kind of luxury."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you avoid me for days, then turn on the charm for like two whole hours, and then all of sudden, you announce that you're sending me away." She shook her head. "I don't get it. I'd never do that to you. I'd never do that to anyone."
I believed her. But that didn't change a thing. "You would if you were me."
"And why's that?"
"Maybe I'm looking out for you."
"Do you realize, you've been 'looking out for me' ever since we met?" She made a sound of frustration. "Has it ever occurred to you that I don't need looking out for?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not true. We all need that."
"Oh, really?" Her tone grew sarcastic. "Do you?"
"I'm different."
"Yeah, no kidding."
"And," I said, "if you think I'm not gonna look out for you, you're crazy."
"Well, I may be crazy," she said, "but I still don't want to be treated like a child."
From the driver's seat, I gave her a good, long look. She was no child.
Far from it.
Her lips were full, and her curves were sweet. And her eyes – brown with flecks of gold – made me want to yank her into my arms and prove to her how terribly wrong she was.
But this wouldn’t be doing her any favors. So instead, I replied, "I'm not treating you like a child. I'm treating you like something else."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Someone worthy of protection." I leaned toward her. "You think I act this way with everyone?"
"I don't know. Do you?"
"No."
"So why me?" she asked. "Is it because of the Flynn connection?"
"It started out that way."
"And now?"
"Now?" I said. "It's complicated. And believe me. I do want to see you." I paused. "But after the tour."
She frowned. "Why after?"
"Because you're too smart for your own good."
"Oh, so now you're flattering me?"
"If I wanted to flatter you, I can think of better ways."
"Like what?"
"You really wanna know?"
She gave a tight shrug. "Sure, why not?"
"All right," I said. "But remember, you asked."
Chapter 46
Becka
As I stared at him from the passenger's seat, I was dying to hear what he'd actually say. Pathetic, I know.
Who knows, maybe he wouldn't say anything. Maybe this was all one senseless game, where he got off on seeing me dance to his twisted tune.
He was good at that.
But this time, I was ready.
I gave h
im a no-nonsense look. Go ahead. Bring it on, Smart Guy.
Finally, he said, "You know what? Screw flattery. I'm gonna tell you the truth."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
He frowned. "You make me happy."
I studied his face. "Yeah, I can tell."
"I'm not happy now," he clarified.
"Why not?"
"Because the timing sucks."
It sounded like an excuse, a brush-off, a way to make me leave without hurting my feelings. As far as flattery, it was seriously lacking. I looked away, eyeing the parking lot ahead. "So, are you done?"
"Not by a longshot." His voice softened. "Becka, look at me."
I turned to look. And when I did, my pulse quickened. His eyes were so vividly blue and filled with an emotion that I couldn’t quite decipher.
Longing?
Frustration?
Something more?
And already, I was falling under his spell. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what.
Softly, he asked, "You wanna know what I did last night?"
"What?"
"I thought of you." He paused. "And I don't mean for a few minutes, or for an hour. I mean, I thought of you all night."
The petty part of me wanted to throw his claim back at him, to tell him that thoughts were cheap, just like his oh-so pretty words.
But I couldn’t, and now I was more curious than ever. "So let me get this straight," I said. "You sat in your hotel room all night, thinking of me? That's what you expect me to believe?"
"Something like that."
"See? That's exactly what I mean. Why is a simple yes or no so hard for you?"
"Because things aren't that simple."
"All right. Enlighten me. What part of the statement was true? And what part wasn't?"
"Okay… I was thinking of you."
"But what? You weren't there all night?"
He frowned. "See? That's the problem."
"What's the problem?"
"You've got this way of cutting to the chase, asking things you shouldn't. And I don't want to lie, even by omission."
Already, my wheels were turning. If he wasn't in his hotel room all night, what did that mean?
Was he out with someone else? It sure sounded that way.
I just had to ask, "So, where were you?"
"Not where you think."
"How do you even know what I'm thinking?"
"It's written all over your face," he said. "So let me save you the trouble of asking. I was alone."
I felt annoyingly relieved, but even more curious. "Doing what?"
In what felt like a change of subject, he said, "I need a favor."
"What?"
"Stay," he said. "Not as my assistant. And not as a family friend. But as my guest."
"But I don't get it," I said. "Inside the restaurant, you told me you wanted me to leave."
"That's not what I said. I said you should leave. But trust me, that's not what I want."
"You do know that's another mixed, message, right?"
"I do," he said. "And you haven't heard the full favor."
"Okay, so what is it?"
"Stay," he repeated. "But stop asking questions, all right?" He paused. "And you might see things. I need you to ignore them, pretend you don't see."
It was one of the oddest requests I'd ever received.
And now I didn't know what to say. As I considered his request, I studied his face long and hard.
A few years earlier, I'd gone through this whole paranormal romance phase, where most of my reading list consisted of stories where the guy had a secret life as some mythical creature or another.
For some reason, his request made me recall all of those stories. With a shaky laugh, I asked, "So what are you? A vampire or a werewolf?"
"Neither," he said. "I'm just a guy."
Now that was a joke. He wasn't just a guy. He was a billionaire, a world-famous author, and the sexiest person I'd ever seen.
And, as if this weren't fantastical enough, he was also looking at me like I was the interesting one.
What he was asking, it was no favor – other than the one condition I'd never agree to.
I said, "So let me get this straight. If you come back with lipstick on your collar, I'm supposed to pretend that I don't see it?"
"If you see lipstick on my collar," he said, "it'll be yours." Slowly, he shook his head. "There's no one else. And there won't be. I promise."
Desperately, I wanted to say yes. But it felt like I was giving in way too easily. Plus there was the fact that I actually enjoyed working on the book tour.
I liked meeting his fans, and I liked going places with him. And I hated the idea of getting money or credit for something that I wasn't doing.
With sudden inspiration, I said, "If I say yes, do I get a favor, too?"
"Name it," he said.
"All right. I want to keep working."
"That's no favor," he said. "Name something else."
"What are you saying? You won't let me do my job?"
"I'm saying, that's a favor for me, not for you."
I wasn't quite sure I agreed. But I didn't want to be too hasty either. I said, "Then maybe you'll owe me two favors."
"Done."
A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. "But you don't even know what I'm gonna ask."
"It doesn't matter," he said. "Ask it, and it's yours."
It was an odd thing to consider, because Jack was one of the few people in the entire world who could probably deliver just about anything.
But at the moment, I didn’t want just anything. I wanted him.
Now that would be a favor.
Still, his claim from earlier echoed in my brain. "I could've fucked you in the car."
How humiliating was that? It didn't help that it was true.
Even more humiliating, I still wanted him, even now. And yes, we were sitting in a car.
I gave the back seat a quick glance, enjoying the mental image that popped into my head just before I gave myself a mental slap.
Forget the car. We had not just one, but two, perfectly good hotel rooms waiting and ready.
Good grief.
Maybe I was a starfucker, chasing after someone for what he was, not who he was. It was a sobering thought and scarily appropriate, considering that I knew very little about Jack Ward – meaning the guy, not the author.
And yet I'd been embarrassingly eager to jump into his arms – or worse, his back seat – just because he'd expressed a smidgen of interest.
That wasn't me. And, in spite of my eagerness, I realized just how foolish I'd been.
After a long moment, I said what needed saying. "All right. Here's my favor." I bit my lip. "But it's a toughie."
His gaze met mine. "I think I can handle it."
Oh, God. Even now, he looked so annoyingly sexy that for the briefest instant, I almost blurted out my original favor – which involved a whole lot of nakedness regardless of the location.
But instead, I stiffened my resolve and said the thing I'd been dreading. "I think we should pretend that today didn't happen."
I braced myself, wondering what he'd say. Would he be angry? Upset? Disappointed at all?
Apparently not.
With a shrug, he replied, "Done."
I should've been relieved. But stupidly I wasn't. "Don't you want to know why?"
"Hey, it's your favor. You don't need to explain."
Oh, but I did. "It's just that, well, it seems like we went from zero to sixty in just a few hours, and–"
"It's all right," he said. "Like I said, you don't owe me an explanation." And with that, he turned away, fired up the engine, and backed out of the lot.
As I'd done so many times before, I studied his face in profile, wondering what exactly was going through his head.
I didn't bother asking. And why? It was because I fully realized it would be for nothing. He was Jack Ward, the king of non-answers.
W
hen his profile offered zero clues, I finally turned and slumped deeper in the seat.
Who knows? Maybe he was glad that I'd come to my senses.
As for myself, I felt oddly unsatisfied, especially when it became painfully clear that he still expected me to live up to my end of the bargain.
Chapter 47
Jack
She was a bullet to my heart, and I should've been relieved. Dodging the bullet had been easy, thanks to her sudden bout of sanity. But forgetting the taste of her lips and what might've been – now that was hard.
It didn't get any easier over the next few weeks as we both pretended that nothing had happened between us.
She was a good employee, and I was a decent boss.
This might've been enough, if not for the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Her sweet lips, her tight body, and her inquisitive mind – these were the things that haunted my nights, even as I prowled through the places on my list.
It was just past three in the morning in downtown Indianapolis, and I was returning from one such place when I spotted her in the hotel lobby, sitting with her head buried in a book.
I stopped in my tracks. What the hell?
She looked too sweet and too vulnerable, curled up on the lobby's sofa like she was sitting in the safety of her own living room.
I didn't like it.
The lobby was empty, and the security was a joke.
Shit, she didn't even realize that some guy was ogling her from afar. Okay, so the guy was me, but the point was still valid.
I strode forward and didn't stop until I reached her side. In a quiet voice, I asked, "What are you doing?"
She looked up. "Reading. What are you doing?"
"Forget me," I said. "You realize you're alone down here?"
"I'm not alone," she said, glancing toward the front desk.
I turned to look. The desk was empty. I looked back to her and said, "You sure about that?"
"Well, maybe they're not there now," she said. But they were there when I came down. And I'm sure they'll be back any minute."
Obviously, she meant the front desk clerk, whoever that was tonight. But it didn't matter. Becka was missing the point.
I asked, "What's wrong with your room?"
"Nothing."
"You realize it's past three, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So don't you think you'd be better off up there?"
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