What the Lady Wants
Page 20
Ahh, now they were getting to the crux of the matter. The words stung, but Thea just kept curling the weights, breathing, breathing, breathing. It didn’t matter that the older woman was right. It didn’t. And if she told herself that enough times, she might even come to believe it in say, oh, twenty years or so.
“God, you’re such a child.” Margo’s taunt was followed by a soft laugh. “Look at you, pretending not to hear what you don’t want to admit to. Brennan always said you were nothing more than a little girl playing at being a grownup. Looks like he was right about—Hey!” She jumped back with a yelp as one of the dumbbells dropped to the ground inches from her toes.
“Sorry,” Thea said. “It slipped.” She sat up on the bench and gave a quick shake of her head to Kirsten as she put down the other weight and grabbed her towel to dab at the perspiration on her face. No intervention needed.
“Slipped my ass.” The word ended in an angry hiss. “You did that on purpose.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been standing so close.” Or been such a bitch. Thea picked up the weight she had dropped and replaced both on the rack in their proper cradles. When she turned back, she sighed. Margo was still standing there, her posture tight and aggressive, fists clenched at her sides.
Great, just great. Thea didn’t need this right now. All she wanted was a hot shower and to go home where she could try to figure out what to do about Amelia and Charles. A public brawl was not on the agenda, as much as she might like to knock Little Miss Attitude on her butt.
But Margo, it seemed, had no qualms about making a spectacle of them both. She got in Thea’s way as she tried to walk past her toward the locker room, refusing to let her by. “How dare you?”
Thea tried to step around again but was blocked once more. She sighed. “You don’t want to do this, Margo. Just walk away.” She shot another look at Kirsten, who was quickly approaching with a determined look on her face. Thea made an abortive gesture with her hand to call her off. The only danger Margo posed was to Thea’s already-shredded feelings.
“Such a little princess.” Margo sneered. “Thinking you can buy anyone and anything with Daddy’s money. Well, you can’t buy Brennan. He knows what he wants, and it isn’t you!”
Accepting the slice to her heart with barely a wince, Thea shook her head. “I’ve never tried to buy anyone, least of all Doyle. He decides who and what he wants all on his own.”
“He wants me!”
The hint of desperation in those words made Thea take a long, objective look at the woman uttering them. At first glance, Thea could understand why Doyle would be interested. Margo was tall, attractive, and had curves enough for two women. She dressed to accentuate her assets and wasn’t shy about letting more than a hint of her impressive cleavage show.
But up close like this, Thea saw the faint fan of lines edging her overly made-up eyes, indicating she was probably closer to forty than to thirty, as Thea first guessed. It was a good job, but her wavy auburn hair owed more to a high-end salon than it did to nature, and the blue eyes that glared at her with such anger and determination had the bland uniformity of color that usually came from colored contacts.
Together with the enhanced bustline that Peter Beaumont and half of Boulder drooled over, Margo had certainly put together a package meant to grab a man’s attention. What she hadn’t yet figured out, it seemed, was that there needed to be something worthwhile inside all that pretty outer wrapping in order to keep it.
Suddenly feeling sorry for the woman, Thea shook her head again. “That’s between you and Doyle.”
She made one more attempt to step around the other woman, only to be brought up short when Margo grabbed her by the arm. As she stared at the offending hand, every drop of sympathy she’d been feeling dried up in a heartbeat. “Let. Go.” Thea was actually proud that she managed to sound so calm when what she really wanted to do was haul back and deck the woman.
“Leave him alone. Do you hear me?” Margo not only didn’t let go, she tightened her grip. Fingers strengthened by years of doing massage therapy sank into the tender flesh of Thea’s upper arm with enough force to cause real pain. “He’s mine, and I won’t let some stupid little girl like you steal him away!”
All the lessons with Doyle and his team kicked in. Just as Kirsten was reaching to grab hold of Margo, Thea’s free hand went for Margo’s elbow, her thumb digging into the front crevice, her fingers curling into the back where the radial nerve lay. Like magic, Margo’s grip loosened and she gasped in pain.
Training and inclination had Thea itching to follow-through and put her attacker to the floor, but sanity and the awareness that they had an audience prevailed. She drew in a shaky breath, refusing to rub her sore arm—there would be bruises there for sure—and glared at the other woman. “Don’t you ever put your hands on me again.”
Cradling her arm to her body, Margo spat out, “Bitch!” There were watery tears in her voice, but even more so there was rage.
“When the need arises,” Thea said with a sharp smile. “Now get the hell out of my way, and stay out of it.”
“Or what? You’ll sic your bodyguards on me?” Margo sneered the question, but she looked worried when she darted glances at both Kirsten and Sam, who had sprinted over and now flanked Thea on her other side.
Thea spread her arms. “Did I need to have them help me just now?” She lowered her arms and picked up the towel she’d dropped. “Leave me alone, Margo. If you see me in the future, walk the other way, and I’ll do the same. Don’t talk to me, don’t approach me, and don’t you ever, ever, put a hand on me again, or so help me God I’ll make sure you regret it.” Spinning on her heel, Thea stalked toward the locker room, Kirsten on her like glue. It was hard, but Thea willfully ignored the avid attention of the few other gym patrons who had caught wind of the budding argument in the weight area and had been not-so-subtly waiting to see if it would explode into an all-out catfight.
Great, she thought. Just wait till wind of this juicy little tidbit made its way back to Mrs. Westlake. She’d be lucky if she was even allowed to attend Amelia’s wedding, much less participate in it.
Chapter Nineteen
Usually when she was going somewhere to meet with her friends, Thea drove her own car and her guard du jour followed in one of the unobtrusively bland sedans from the security carpool. When she was going someplace alone like the gym, however, she usually rode with her shadow and enjoyed the company.
Today, though, she wished she’d chosen differently. The last thing she wanted was company, and she knew if she opened her mouth to try and hold a normal conversation, she’d end up ranting like a lunatic. Thankfully, aside from inquiring if she needed any medical attention for her arm, and asking if she wanted to file a police report—both of which she’d declined as unnecessary and humiliating—Sam and Kirsten were wise enough to remain silent.
If it had been only Kirsten in the car, Thea might have given in to the overwhelming urge to vent her fury and frustration, but Sam’s presence held her back. Which was a good thing, because what might have made her feel better in the short-term would have opened up a whole other set of issues about just why Fit’s massage therapist had gone all Fatal Attraction on her. Kirsten had been close enough to hear most of the conversation. She could draw her own conclusions without Thea connecting the dots. So Thea sucked it all up, kept her mouth shut, and hoped she wouldn’t explode before she got home.
She made it, but only just. As soon as the door to her room shut, she let out the shuddering breath that was the dam break for the tears that made her eyeballs ache for the past ten minutes. It was stupid to cry, but it was either that or scream.
How dare she? How dare she?
Bad enough she’d gotten Doyle to abandon her at the restaurant. Bad enough that she’d taken him home and done who knew what with him until the wee hours. Bad enough that she’d won and Thea lost. Bad enough that she chose to rub Thea’s face in it.
In public no less.
That was the strike to the very center of her heart that Thea was certain she’d never recover from. She’d accepted—if not yet found a way to deal with—the fact that Doyle didn’t love her. Wouldn’t love her. Ever. But she’d at least thought she still had his respect, his friendship. Hadn’t he given her the “I value your friendship” speech just last week? But no friend would ever ridicule another in such a way. It was mean, and spiteful, and…and…
And not at all like something Doyle would have said about her, not to Margo or anyone else for that matter. Ever.
The tears must have flushed the adrenaline-induced veil of stupid from her brain, because now that she thought about them, rather than simply reacted to them, the words that made her want to throw up simply made no sense. Not coming from Doyle.
But coming from Margo? Oh, yeah, they made perfect sense.
The bitch was good. She’d known right where the chink in Thea’s emotional armor lay and attacked it with the deft hand of a master.
Point to her.
Feeling marginally better and knowing that her time was limited, if not already almost up, Thea headed for the shower that she’d forgone at Fit in favor of a fast getaway. She doubted Sam or Kirsten would wait until the end of the shift to file their reports about the incident, and she knew that no matter what else lay between them Doyle wouldn’t shirk his duties as the head of Fordham security to come see her for the details. She preferred to be clean and dressed when that happened.
She was still toweling her damp hair when the sharp knock came. Staring at her tight expression in the mirror, she sighed, rolled her shoulders to try and loosen the tension knot that had settled there, and walked to the door. There was a second knock before she got there, this one quicker and harder.
“I’m fine,” she said as she opened the door, trying to head things off. Judging by the harsh lines on Doyle’s face that betrayed his inner fury, it wouldn’t help. Above and beyond his job, Doyle was a protector by nature. Someone he considered under his protection had been threatened, and despite the fact that there had been more insult than injury, he’d still feel responsible.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, trying for a more reassuring tone when he continued to stand in the doorway, staring at her. “Really. It was nothing. Well, almost nothing.”
“What happened?” His voice was low, even, and nowhere near calm. There was a guttural edge to it that Thea had never heard before. It sent a small frisson of fear through her. Or was it excitement?
Unnerved by her conflicting reaction to Doyle’s alpha male dominance display, she spun and stalked back into her suite, heading toward the sitting room side as she blotted the ends of her hair with the towel.
“Since you’ve obviously gotten an incident report, you already know. Why should I go over it again?”
“Because I want to hear it from you.” She jumped when he spoke from right behind her. She hadn’t heard him follow her. Damn sneaky Marine training. Trying to cover her reaction, she gave a snarky laugh and dropped into one of the cushy velour chairs that flanked the fireplace.
“So who don’t you trust? Me, Sam, or Kirsten?” When Doyle just continued to stare, his arms crossed over his broad chest, she picked at the edge of the towel in her lap and sighed. “Okay, that was a dumb thing to say. I just don’t see…Fine.” It was clear he wasn’t letting it go, so better to just get it over with fast and with as little pain as possible. “I was at the gym, and your friend Margo came over and started being bitchy, so I left. End of story.”
“Try again.”
Thea sighed. “Okay, I was at the gym, and your friend Margo came over and started being bitchy, so I tried to leave. She grabbed my arm. I threatened to smack her in her big fat mouth, and I left.” She was intrigued by the way his mouth tightened into a grimace every time she used the phrase “your friend Margo.”
“Better, but I’d still like the full version.”
“Why?”
“Humor me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” It was just too damn embarrassing.
“Do it anyway.”
Thea didn’t care for the tone of his voice or the way he towered over her, arms crossed, looking down like she was a recalcitrant child. In fact, at that moment, she didn’t care for very much of anything, much less being interrogated by the man who was the reason she was having such a crappy day in the first place. She jumped to her feet, tossing her head defiantly. “I’ll file a report.”
She moved to stalk past him, head held high, only to bump into his chest as he stepped in her way, effectively body-blocking her escape. Refusing to step back, she tilted her head up and glared at him, fighting not to melt under that wicked hazel gaze. “Move, Doyle.”
“Not until you tell me what the hell happened today.”
“Move.”
“Thea.” He growled her name, eyes narrowing.
It was enough to finally pop the bubble of her control. “Fine! You want to know what happened? Here it is. I was at the gym, minding my own business, when your friend Margo,” she punctuated each word with a finger into his chest, “came over and started making nasty comments. I tried to ignore her, but she kept pushing and bitching. Finally, I had enough and tried to leave. But was she smart enough to just let me go? Oh, no, not your friend Margo.” She poked again.
“Stop calling her that,” Doyle muttered, rubbing the spot she was abusing.
“Why? She is, isn’t she? You know, your friend?” She air-quoted the word and got the satisfaction of seeing Doyle look uncomfortable. Good. The bastard deserved it. “So I tried to leave because getting into a public brawl was not how I planned to spend my Sunday morning, but evidently too much silicone induces severe brain damage because your…Margo”—she settled for sneering the name since Doyle looked ready to snatch her hand up if she tried to poke him again—“grabbed my arm.”
Doyle took half a step back, but it was only to catch her right arm in his hands and give it a quick inspection. The feel of his hands on her skin, sensitized by the recent hot shower, sent a zing of jangled nerves to places far removed from her arm. As he smoothed his palm up over her elbow to the tender flesh of her upper arm, she barely controlled a shiver. This was bad. Very bad.
“The other one,” she mumbled and then cursed herself for the admission. Sure enough, Doyle sent his hands questing along her left arm, starting at the wrist and flowing upward, until they reached the line of faint bruises that had blossomed on the inner flesh of her upper arm. She flinched when he touched them and then nearly flinched again when the touch turned to a caress.
Oh man, she was in so much trouble.
“That bitch.” The words hissed out through clenched teeth, barely audible but for the fact that they were standing so close. So close, in fact, that Thea could see the flush that colored Doyle’s tanned cheeks. Anger? Or…arousal, maybe? His fingers were still stroking softly over her bruised arm, as though his touch alone could make it better. His breathing was a little ragged, almost matching hers. And his lips were close. So very close. Close enough that if she just went up on her tippy toes, she could…
God, what was she thinking! She was doing it again. Doyle was checking up on her, making sure she was okay. That was all. Just like before, she was reading something into it that just wasn’t there.
Pathetic, pathetic, Thea.
Suppressing a groan, Thea eased herself from his grasp and took the step back that she should have taken when she first bumped into him. “So, thanks to all the self-defense lessons you insisted I take, I broke her hold without having to break anything else and told her to stay the hell away from me in the future.” She shrugged. “That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“And where
was your security detail while all of this was going on?”
“Oh, no. Don’t even try to make it about them,” Thea said. “I waved Kirsten off. There was no reason for either her or Sam to get involved until things got physical, and by then I’d already taken care of the matter, so there was nothing left for them to do.”
“Hmm.” Doyle stared at her, studying her with such intensity that it was all she could do not to squirm. The man would have made an excellent cop. All he’d have to do was use that silent stare down on a suspect and they’d confess to everything they’d ever done wrong. And probably a few things they hadn’t.
Right now, the only thing saving her from babbling like a fool was the fear of total humiliation. Self-preservation seemed to trump Doyle’s super-stare.
“Why was Margo hassling you?”
“Why do you think?” Could he be any denser?
“Because of me.”
“Ding-ding-ding. She was warning me off. I told her I got it.”
“Got what?”
He sounded so wary that Thea wanted to cry, but instead she pulled up her big-girl panties like Doyle had once told her to and sought to reassure him. “That you and she are…you know. Together.”
“No.”
“No?” She cocked her head. “No, what?”
“No, we are not together. Margo and me. We’re…” Doyle scrubbed at his face and shook his head, looking adorably frustrated and put upon. “We were never a real couple to begin with.”
“Could have fooled me.” Thea bit her lip when she realized she’d said it out loud.
“We were never an exclusive couple, and the last time I was out with her was almost a month ago.”
“A week.” Thea wanted to slap a hand over her wayward mouth. But, really, couldn’t the man tell time?
“No, a month,” he said, firmly. Then his expression faltered. His eyes closed for a second as though on a painful memory. “Rudolfo’s.” He refocused his gaze on her before she could mask the intense shaft of pain that single word and its accompanying humiliation brought her, and his expression hardened. “I really screwed up that night, Thea, I won’t lie. I should never have taken the coward’s way out by leaving with Margo like that. But I did, and I hurt you when I never meant to do that. I was just trying to keep things from getting out of hand between us. I am so sorry.”