by Nika Rhone
“Was there anything wrong with your desserts, miss?” The waiter looked askance at the practically untouched slices of cake.
“No, they were lovely.” Thea reassured him with a smile. “Franz needn’t worry. His desserts are still decadent enough to die for.” The smile faltered, and Doyle knew she was remembering the moment that had passed between them over that decadent cake because he was as well. He didn’t think he could erase that memory from his mind with sandpaper. “It was the appetites that were lacking, not the food.” The waiter looked appeased and whisked himself away.
“Shall we ask them to box yours up to take with us for later, darling?” Margo asked in a seductive, husky voice, stroking her fingers over the nape of his neck just in case anyone within ten feet had missed her staking her claim. “You know how you like to get creative with whipped cream.”
Doyle gritted his teeth. Getting through the drive to Margo’s was going to be a true test of restraint, and not for the reasons she seemed to be thinking.
“No, I don’t think so.” He stood abruptly, satisfied when the movement forced her hand from his neck, but she was quick to capture his arm in its place. Her hands, strong from the years of massage therapy she did at Fit, were like steel bands, trapping him to her side even when Thea rose, forcing her to scoot her chair back on her own. Doyle chafed, but, short of a scene, there was no way to detach himself from Margo to do the polite thing and assist Thea.
“Well, it was so nice to meet you, Cindy. Do have a good night.” Margo flashed her a victorious smile. “I know we will.”
“Always a pleasure to meet one of Doyle’s friends, Margie,” Thea replied.
“Margo,” came the snapped correction.
Thea gave her a bland look. “Oh, of course. My mistake.” Rather than apologetic, her tone said that the name of one of “Doyle’s friends” was inconsequential. To reinforce that sentiment, Thea glanced past them and smiled. “Do excuse me, but I must pay my respects to the deputy governor and his wife before I go.” With a dismissive nod one might give a servant, she sailed past them.
Doyle had to resist the urge to applaud her poise in slapping down Margo’s pretensions. Then, realizing that he had a seething tantrum waiting to happen attached to his arm, he made a beeline for the front door. After depositing a fuming Margo with the valet to wait for his car, Doyle ducked back inside and located Rick Channing to tell him about the change in plans. He ignored the disapproval in his subordinate’s eyes and beat another hasty retreat, once more cursing the fact that the evening had deteriorated to the point where he was cast in the part of the villain in everyone’s eyes.
He’d been placed in a no-win situation by fate and the red-haired virago waiting impatiently for him outside, and he was none too happy about it. Margo was pleasant company most of the time, in an uncommitted, unattached sort of way. What they had was fun. Nonexclusive. Not even remotely serious. But this sense of clingy possessiveness she’d shown tonight made him wonder if, possibly, she had seen their relationship in a very different way. If that was the case, then maybe it was time to either set her straight or set her loose.
****
Damn him!
Thea fumed in thundering silence during the interminable ride home. At first she tried to make normal conversation with Rick, refusing to be seen as sulking over Doyle’s blatant defection, but her bodyguard-cum-chauffer seemed as stilted and uncomfortable as she did with the effort, so they’d finally both given up.
Not only had Doyle humiliated her, he’d done it in front of a witness. No, witnesses, plural. No way did his exit with that red-haired bitch go unnoticed. Thea had seen too many familiar faces in the restaurant to even hope that her aborted dinner date would go unmentioned. Mrs. Westlake wasn’t the only old tabby that enjoyed the hell out of dissecting every one of her social gaffes as a way of reminding themselves how absolutely superior they were to the uncultured New Money in their midst.
After thanking Rick for driving her home, she breezed in past Graham, her father’s butler/major domo, with a cheery smile that she managed to hang onto until her bedroom door was locked behind her and she could vent the red-hot fury that had been simmering since the moment Margo had first appeared.
“Damn, damn, damn!” She only just resisted the urge to fling her purse across the room. “Of all the rotten, unthinking, horrible things he could have done!” Finally, the sob that had been choking her broke free. She dropped into the oversized chair by the fireplace as she fought back a second one, refusing to let herself be reduced to such a pitiful state. “I am not going to cry over you, Brennan Doyle.” She swiped at the tears that were leaking through her lashes against her will. “You’re an unbelievable bastard, and I don’t even know what I ever saw in you.”
At least she was honest enough to know she was lying to herself. She knew exactly what she saw in him. He was smart, and funny, and while he’d never admit it, he had a soft streak in him a mile wide. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man. He was far from perfect, but he was perfect enough for her.
Why couldn’t he want her the way that she wanted him? It had seemed like he did there for a minute; she could swear it. The look in his eyes had made her feel hot and cold and a little bit dizzy, and she’d been so lost in the unfamiliar sensation that she would probably have done anything he wanted. A small shiver ran through her. No, she would have definitely done anything he wanted.
Unfortunately, what he’d wanted was to send her home like some unwanted package.
That thought restoked her anger and forced her once again to her feet, sending her pacing in increasing agitation around the room, hands clenching and unclenching impotently at her sides. She stopped when she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror near the dressing table and forced herself to do a critical analysis of her appearance.
Aside from the too-bright eyes shining out of her flushed face, she thought she looked just as attractive as Margo “more-than-a-friend” Klein. Thea wasn’t as stacked as the older woman, but she had nice curves, and the silk of the dress she’d spent hours choosing showed them to elegant perfection. Or so the saleswoman and Lillian agreed when she’d bought it.
“Perfection,” Thea said mockingly to her reflection, spreading her arms wide. “Then why are you here alone in your room talking to yourself while he’s over at Margo’s doing…” Preferring not to dwell on just what Doyle was most likely doing, she dropped her arms and sighed. “All dressed up and no place to go. And no one who’d want to go with you even if you did.”
Nick would.
The errant thought brought a smile to her face. Yes, Nick probably would take her out someplace if she asked, even if he did have his meeting to go to in the morning. He didn’t seem to mind spending time with her. He wouldn’t dump her for somebody else if they came along and rubbed their breasts on his arm, unlike some other jerks she knew.
Thea glanced at her watch. It was still early. Twenty minutes to drive there, a half hour in the lounge for drinks, an hour tops, and Nick could still be tucked in bed before eleven. Plenty early for the good night’s sleep he’d said he needed.
She was already pulling up the Hyatt’s website on her phone for the hotel’s phone number when she remembered her promise to steer clear of Nick until Doyle gave the all-clear on his background check. It was a stupid, stupid promise. She’d only made it in the first place to keep Doyle happy. And why should she care about making Doyle happy now, when he’d just managed to make her feel the crappiest she’d ever felt in her entire life?
Nick would never hurt her. He was just a nice guy who’d found a friendly face in a city full of strangers. They got along well. Better than well. Nick made it easy to talk to him, almost as though they’d known each other for years instead of days. He made her feel good. Attractive. Interesting. And right now her ego could use all the balm she could manage to scrape together.
Even so, Thea’s conscience nagged at her. No matter what Doyle had done to her tonight,
he was still her father’s security chief, looking out for her wellbeing, and she had made a promise.
She sighed and put down her phone. As tempting as it was to thumb her nose at Doyle in an act of rebellion, it wasn’t fair to use Nick that way. It was poor repayment for his company and friendship.
It just isn’t fair! After all this time, things were just starting to go right. He was just starting to notice me, and then she had to come along and ruin what had been shaping up to be my deepest fantasy coming true.
Margo.
Thea bared her teeth. A bottle-dyed redhead with a gravity-defying bosom that couldn’t possibly be attributed to nature and an obvious threat to all of Thea’s well laid plans. She wasn’t stupid; she knew Doyle had had women in his life over the years, some for longer than others, although none had seemed to be able to pass the six-month mark, something Thea had secretly taken great comfort in.
But coming face-to-face with Margo had made her more real. Seeing her hanging all over Doyle had been agony, especially when he hadn’t done anything to discourage her. Watching him leave with her had just about ripped out her already shredded heart.
Why? Why would he do that? He could have stuffed old Margo in the back of the Charger (and Thea was so not going to think about the hints that had been dropped about that backseat) if she really didn’t want to catch a ride with “total stranger” Rick, which any way you cut it was a pretty lame excuse since he was one of Doyle’s own men, and therefore trustworthy. Yes, as annoying as it would have been to have to share Doyle for as long as it would have taken to drop Margo off at her apartment, Thea could have coped. But being ditched entirely for the obnoxious redhead was unacceptable.
Painful.
Humiliating.
And all too typical of the way her ongoing pursuit of Doyle always seemed to turn out.
That sad truth hit home with enough force to make her sit on the bed with a deflated slump. Was she really that pathetic? Had she been misreading everything about the evening? She hadn’t asked Doyle to take her out, after all. All right, yes, she’d manipulated him a little bit, but he’d been the one to act insulted. He’d been the one to suggest himself as escort. It wasn’t like he’d had to do it to save her from social ruin or anything. He’d done it because he wanted to.
Hadn’t he?
Dear God, had she made him feel so sorry for her dateless state that he’d felt he had to take her to dinner? Had what she’d thought the best evening of her life been nothing more to him than a…a pity date?
Thea groaned and threw herself backward onto the mattress. Now she felt humiliated for a whole different reason. But it made sense. Doyle had been his usual nice self, and she’d misinterpreted “nice” for “interested,” and he’d known it. She’d licked his thumb, for God’s sake!
Faced with the ride home together, knowing that she was thinking all the wrong things, it was no wonder Doyle had grabbed the opportunity Margo presented. He’d not only gotten out of what was sure to have been an uncomfortable ride, but he also got his point across to Thea about how things actually stood between them without having to utter a single word.
With that lowering realization, Thea stripped off her dress, ignoring the tempting array of silks and satins now populating her lingerie drawer and instead pulling on her oldest pair of cotton pajamas for comfort before crawling under the covers. It was too early for bed, but all she wanted to do was lose herself in the oblivion of sleep so she could hide from the sickening certainty clawing her gut that she’d managed to humiliate herself beyond all repair.
Chapter Twelve
Thea was avoiding him.
Drumming his fingers on the folders strewn over his desktop, Doyle felt a sense of dread weighing on his chest. It had been three days since that disastrous night at the restaurant, and for each and every one of those days Thea had managed to be up and off the estate early enough to avoid him and come home late enough to accomplish the same.
At this rate, the only way he would get a chance to talk to her was to have the person on escort duty call him when they were heading back to the estate, so he could stake out the garage and pounce on her when she got out of her car.
Doyle shifted in his chair. The mere thought of pouncing on Thea’s lush, nubile body was still enough to stir him, which proved he was totally out of his mind. Four days ago, he would never have entertained ideas of Thea and sex together in the same mix.
But now…
Now, he couldn’t seem to think a coherent thought without erotic images intruding into it. But dammit, he just couldn’t forget that look on her face, in her eyes, when he shared that bite of cake with her. When he wiped that stray dab of cream from her lip. When she touched her tongue to his bare skin. She’d been aroused. Deeply aroused. And she’d wanted him.
Now he couldn’t even get close enough to say one word to her.
Fuck.
Well, at least he knew where she was, and it wasn’t with her new “friend” Nick. Damned good thing, too, considering what his people had been able to dig up so far. It was too soon to be sure, but everything was beginning to point to Hastings as their stalker. The most damning evidence so far was his frequent cross-country travels for work. Once they matched his itinerary to the postmarks on the letters, they’d be able to take it to the local D.A. and get the bastard off the streets, and, more important, away from Thea, once and for all.
But while his cyber experts tackled that endeavor, Doyle was stuck with little more to do than ponder how he was going to handle Thea’s silent treatment, if he could call it a silent treatment when he was never within a hundred yards of the person in question. It was more like an escape and evade maneuver.
Doyle gave a grim smile. E&E had been his forte in the Corps, but damned if Thea wasn’t giving him a run for his money.
She’d spent the last two days holed up at Amelia’s house on the pretext of helping out with last minute arrangements for the engagement party being held a week from Saturday. Knowing Amelia’s mother, Doyle thought it more likely she was there to help her friend keep her sanity in the midst of dictatorial chaos.
Being able to avoid him was just a bonus.
He shoved his chair back and spun around so he could grab the coffee pot on the credenza. His nerves were already jangled from too little sleep, but he needed the caffeine kick to make it through the morning. Maybe he’d take a power nap at lunchtime to make up for the restless nights that had been plagued by an uncomfortable mix of guilt and sexually frustrated dreams. Or maybe he’d go to the gym and work off some of the nervous energy that was making his skin feel jumpy, like an electrical current was running just below the surface.
But, no, if he did that, he might run into Margo, and that was the last thing he wanted. He’d been as neatly sidestepping her these past few days as Thea had been him, and, judging by the increasing number of hang-ups on his voice mail, Margo was none too pleased about it. He should have made a clean break with her the other night, but she’d been annoyed that he didn’t come up for coffee and “dessert.” He hadn’t wanted to make it worse by ending things while sitting in the car in front of her apartment building. She kept it well hidden, but Margo’s temper was like cordite. It burned hot and fast and almost always ended with a bang.
Not that he understood why she got so upset with him in the first place. Margo needed a ride, and he needed an excuse not to be alone with Thea. He hadn’t said anything to lead Margo to any wrong conclusions about his motives or expectations. Granted, she’d been acting disagreeable and possessive, and he hadn’t done much to dissuade her—yet another mistake on his part, not protesting the way she’d acted toward Thea, but he’d thought calling her on her behavior might have just made the situation worse.
Try as he might, Doyle couldn’t forget the instant of pain that had crossed Thea’s face when he’d agreed to pawn her off on Rick, and no matter how he tried to sugarcoat it with excuses, that was what he’d done.
No two ways about it,
he was a dick.
He hadn’t handled the situation well, but he hadn’t been in a position to explain himself and his reasoning at the time, which, in hindsight, had been more than a little faulty. He needed to make those explanations now and try to make amends for his brutally stupid mistake.
Which he couldn’t do unless he could pin Thea down in one place.
Well, when Thea came home—whenever that might be—he’d be waiting. She might try, but she couldn’t hide from him forever.
****
“You can’t hide from him forever, you know.”
Doing her best to ignore the comment that had been lobbed into the conversation, and not for the first time, either, Thea kept her head bent to the seating chart that had long ago bored her to tears, in part because she didn’t know most of the people on it, but more because it was a futile endeavor.
Any of the changes Amelia wanted to make to it would be ignored by her mother, just like every other suggestion her friend had made regarding her engagement party. And, judging by the names on the seating chart, it was looking less and less like a gathering of friends and family so much as a who’s-who of the Washington political scene.
She squinted at the chart and pointed. “Is that the vice president?”
“Yes,” Amelia said. “Thea, it’s been three days. Don’t you think you should talk to him?”
“I’ll bet your mother was steamed that she only snagged the vice president and not the big guy himself,” Thea said, ignoring the question. “Quite a let-down in her social expectations, huh?”
“He’ll be at the wedding. What are you going to do about Doyle?”
Thea blinked in surprise. “Really? I thought your mother was kidding about that.”
“Yes, he’ll be there. He’s one of my father’s cronies. Who cares about him? What about Doyle?”
“That’s so cool. Think he’ll mind me getting my picture taken with him?”
