Double the Thrill

by Susan Kearney

  “And the reason you lied and didn’t tell me your name was because—”

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” he said quickly, not wanting to admit his reasons. Like that he suspected she was the saboteur. But the stark pain in her eyes told him she’d already figured it out.

  “You thought I had something to do with your problems, didn’t you?” Her tone was like a soft glove over steel. Obviously the hurt was still there, but her anger had begun to erect a barrier between them.

  “There were too many coincidences not to think that your involvement was a possibility,” he admitted.

  “What coincidences?”

  “You were with me at Club Carnal during the time Stiller damaged the trucks. You had access to the computer when the headlines were altered. And you neglected to tell me of your involvement with the senator.”

  Surely she could understand that his suspicions were reasonable?

  “And those suspicions didn’t stop you from screwing me, did they?”

  Her use of the vulgarity not only shocked him, it made him realize just how deeply he’d hurt her. She felt used and he couldn’t blame her. But being with her hadn’t been like that for him. “We were making love.”

  “Were we?”

  “When we were together, I didn’t think you were guilty.”

  “How convenient.”

  She hammered him with words more devastating than a prizefighter’s punches, each reply jabbing him, bruising, cutting, slicing and dicing him into little pieces. Backed into a corner of his own making, he had no place to go, no way to escape.

  He tried again. “Making love to you was special. You are special.”

  “You’ve done nothing but lie to me since we’ve met. Why should I believe you now?” She threaded her fingers through her hair, then tossed her locks over her shoulder. “Hell, Zane, Stiller told you that your traitor is someone close to you. It could be me.”

  “It’s not.”

  “But you don’t know for sure, do you? I’ll prove my innocence to you, and then you’ll never have to see me again.”

  She was going to leave him—but not yet. That meant he still had time with her, time to get her to change her mind.

  She was too angry for him to argue with now, so he simply asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “We’re going to set a trap.”

  TONI HAD NEVER WANTED TO hit a man in her life. But she wanted to pound her fists on Zane’s chest, scream in his face, kick him in the shins. But even if she acted out her rage, she couldn’t make him feel as though his insides had been torn to shreds and left to blow in the wind, tattered, torn, bloody.

  Anger helped her deal with the hurt. Anger kept her going, kept back the tears that tightened her throat, constricted her heart and stung her pride. How could she not have seen that he had no feelings for her? Oh, sure, they had sexual chemistry. No big deal. German shepherds in heat had chemistry. Siamese cats had chemistry.

  Hormones.

  Pheromones.

  Lust.

  He had slept with her, lied to her, caused her to fall in love with him, and she hated that he could have twisted such good emotions into memories that made her ashamed, not of the sex, but of her judgment. How could she have been so wrong about him? Why hadn’t she suspected that he couldn’t trust her? That he couldn’t be trusted?

  Because he was good at his lies.

  Even now as they hid together in the pressroom closet, their bodies occasionally brushing against one another, she felt the connection. Not that she would acknowledge her body’s betrayal. Just because he’d conditioned her to become aroused by his presence didn’t mean she wanted him ever again. Okay, she did want him, but her anger was still way stronger than desire.

  They would catch his saboteur. Her plan had been simple. Zane had called an emergency meeting of the heads of every department. He’d explained that the Louisiana Daily Herald had won a ten-page advertisement that would announce plans for a new mall, hotel and casino. The consortium planned to keep advertising with his paper and only his paper, but it was critical that nothing went wrong with tonight’s run.

  He’d fabricated the entire story and secretly pulled the faked ads himself at the last minute. Tomorrow’s paper wouldn’t include the ten pages of advertisements. However, since Toni had asked Zane to make a huge deal about it, she hoped the saboteur would show up and attempt to stop the presses.

  “I hope Grey’s people bought my little act,” Zane muttered.

  “I’m sure they did. You’re a very good liar.”

  He placed a hand on her arm, tentatively. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I know.” But he had hurt her and they both knew it.

  She would recover from the hurt. What bothered her was that she no longer trusted her judgment. Perhaps she was one of those career women who would end up without a lifetime partner. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. She had her career, her family, her friends. She would go on and put Zane behind her. She would allow herself time to mourn the loss and she would move forward. She would be fine.

  On the other hand, she wasn’t so sure about Zane. He didn’t seem like the same carefree and playful man she’d once known. The lightness had disappeared from his step. His easy grin looked forced. But tomorrow night, he’d probably console himself with a night on the town with some bimbo, while, in spite of herself, she worried about him.

  She felt sorry that he was so clueless about his feelings for her that he was willing to let her go. But she didn’t feel guilty for messing up his perfect playboy world and could only hope that maybe he would come to realize that he did care for her.

  She peered through the closet door slats, unwilling to look in Zane’s direction. The press seemed to run normally. The men running the machines worked with a casual efficiency.

  Maybe the saboteur wouldn’t take the bait. She bent her neck to her shoulder in an attempt to work out a crick.

  Zane immediately placed his hands on her shoulders and began to massage the sore muscle.

  She stepped back. “Don’t.”

  The tension between them couldn’t have been thicker, but as much as she wanted to pretend that his touch meant nothing to her, she couldn’t.

  “I don’t know what words to say to make this better,” he muttered. “But if you just tell me, I’ll say them.”

  She steeled herself against his obvious remorse. “Words can’t always fix what’s wrong.”

  They went back to another uncomfortable silence. Watching the pressroom. Looking for anything suspicious.

  “There.” Zane put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the far wall.

  “I see only dark shadows.”

  “Keep looking. Let your eyes adjust.”

  “There’s a man.”

  “Yep.”

  “Now what?” Her scheme hadn’t gone any further than getting the saboteur to reveal himself. Still, satisfaction swept through her. Zane could no longer have even the slightest suspicion that she was a criminal. Although he never thought she’d committed the dirty work, only been the distraction, if she had been guilty, she would never have helped point out the real culprit.

  “We wait until he causes damage. I want to catch him in the act.”

  “How?”

  Zane took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. The presses seemed to grow louder in volume and she couldn’t hear his words, until he turned and ordered her, “Stay here.”

  How just like a man. Accuse her. Betray her trust. Then use her plan, and when it works, tell her to stay back. She didn’t think so.

  As soon as Zane exited the closet, she followed, curious to see whose face would emerge from the darkness. Besides, she wanted the satisfaction of seeing Zane’s face when he finally realized that she had nothing to do with his problems—at least not the ones at the paper.

  Zane moved in an unhurried fashion. She had no trouble keeping up with him and he couldn’t hear her following, thanks to the n
oise of the presses.

  They were within about ten feet of the intruder when Zane flicked on additional lights. Lights that revealed a man prying open the electric box with a pair of wire cutters, no doubt intent on shutting down the entire electric system and thereby halting the presses.

  “Turn around,” Zane ordered.

  Instead of obeying the command, the intruder threw the cutters in their direction. Zane ducked, she shifted behind a pallet of cartons. She saw now that he should have notified security or his bodyguard. But fearful of leaks, Zane had insisted he could handle the intruder alone.

  And when Zane raced after the man, she sprinted behind him, keeping up as best she could. Up a flight of steps. Through a heavy doorway. Down a hallway. Several yards ahead of her, Zane tackled the man from behind and the two rolled across the floor, each of them flailing for a grip on the other. Elbows and knees slammed into flesh.

  When Toni caught up, she snatched up a potted plant and drew closer, waiting for an opportunity to help Zane. She never planned to see him again after tonight, but she wouldn’t let the saboteur kill him. When the two men rolled in her direction, she slammed the pot into the stranger’s head.

  Zane was breathing heavily. “I think you got him. Thanks, but didn’t I tell you to stay—”

  “Who is he?” Toni asked.

  Zane turned him over and the man’s eyes fluttered open just as the police arrived. “Stephen.”

  Grey’s right-hand man? He’d certainly had the means and opportunity to damage the paper. But what had been his motive?

  “Why?” Zane asked.

  “Grey was going to fire me.”

  As the man revealed his betrayal of Zane’s twin, she read anger and hurt in Zane’s expression. And for the tiniest moment his reaction weakened her resolve. But she hardened her heart.

  “You did this for revenge?”

  Stephen shook his head. “I wouldn’t have done any real damage. I just wanted to prove to Grey that he needed me. When I realized you two had switched places, I figured it was an opportunity to increase my activity.”

  So Stephen had been aware of the switch all along. “You don’t call putting sand in the truck’s gas tanks or oil in the ink real damage?”

  “The Mastersons can afford a few losses. And with you so distracted by the new woman in your life, you never even thought to suspect me.”

  Stephen hadn’t framed her—not exactly. He’d simply used her time with Zane to do his mischief, making her appear guilty.

  Zane picked Stephen up from the floor and shoved him toward the cops. “My brother doesn’t need his kind of help. Take him downtown. We intend to press charges.”

  The cops handcuffed Stephen and read him his rights. Zane gave them a short statement. Toni did the same.

  Then she walked out of the building and didn’t look back. Tears rained down her cheeks when Zane didn’t even make an effort to stop her. Not that he could have stopped her.

  But, damn him, he didn’t even try.

  ZANE SPENT THE NEXT week assuring himself that he would get over Toni Maxwell. So what if his stomach felt as if it were filled with rocks? So what if every time he went out, he kept hoping he might bump into her? So what if she’d spoiled other women for him? So what if he couldn’t go back to his normal schedule, his usual way of thinking?

  Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d resorted to taking an old flame to the casinos. Even a huge run of luck at the crap tables hadn’t distracted him from his misery. Neither had a one-night drinking binge. He’d even taken a businesswoman friend clubbing. The woman was friendly, intelligent, pleasant and a knockout, but he left her at her front door with a kiss on the forehead and a heavy heart.

  Women didn’t do this to him. Women didn’t dump him. Women didn’t make him feel low. And he wasn’t about to let it get to him. But Toni Maxwell had gotten to him in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge or even think about. When fifty-yard-line seats at the Saints-Rams game didn’t pull him out of the doldrums, he knew he was in trouble. Maybe he was coming down with a cold or the flu. Finally he admitted he simply had to give himself time to recover from Toni’s effect on him.

  A week simply must not be long enough to get over a woman. Still, a tiny voice niggled at the back of his mind. He still had his freedom, which he valued most, but what good was freedom if he wasn’t happy?

  He’d always smirked in superiority at other men in his condition, believing they were fools for letting a woman under their skin. And now he thought himself a fool. But he’d get over her. Forget her.

  At night, she haunted his dreams, and he woke up aroused and aching for her, recalling her bright laughter, the way she liked to have fun, the way she made him feel good, happy, eager to face the day.

  As opposed to how he felt now. Moody. Somber. On edge. Fighting gloom and melancholy.

  A week later, he threw himself into work, telling himself that an occupied mind would get him over the mourning period faster. This plan also failed.

  He paced, wearing a path in Grey’s carpet, stared at the phone for hours, and when he got her machine and left a message, she didn’t return his calls. He kept checking his watch. Why? He didn’t know. He kept checking the phone to make sure the line was working.

  When he finally broke down and phoned her shop, he was told she didn’t wish to speak to him. He sent flowers, and she refused them. And when, in desperation, he knocked on her front door, one of her sisters told him that she didn’t want to see him.

  And that was when he realized that he was in trouble. Deep, sinking trouble. No woman had ever refused him. Telling himself Toni’s reaction was his own fault did no good. Who cared whose fault it was? Casting blame only made him seem pathetic. Instead, he would think about what he could do now. What he wanted now.

  He wanted her back. Had to see her and straighten out this mess. But he couldn’t talk to her when she wouldn’t answer her phone or come to her door.

  He considered going to her shop, but he didn’t want to meet her on her own turf where her sisters could have him thrown out. And then one day while he was shaving, he looked at himself in the mirror. He had dark circles under his eyes from brooding and from a lack of sleep. His face was grim, his lips tight, his skin unhealthy looking.

  He considered a change of scenery. Europe could be pleasant in the fall. He could sail in New Zealand or surf Oahu’s north shore or scuba dive the Great Barrier Reef or hunt pheasant in South Dakota. But nothing appealed to him. Not even a photographic safari in Kenya.

  And that was when he knew that something was very wrong with him. As much as he’d tried to deny it, he had uncontrollable feelings for Toni Maxwell. As the abhorrent thought that he had fallen for her hit him, he nicked his face shaving. Blood trickled from the cut, spattered in his sink. With a vicious twist of the faucet, he washed away the blood, wishing he could wash away his feelings.

  Damn it. He hadn’t planned to fall in love.

  He liked his life just the way it was, thank you very much. He didn’t intend to change his freedom-loving spirit for any woman, especially not someone who wouldn’t take his phone calls. Especially not for a woman who wouldn’t see his side of things. Especially not a woman with such high standards.

  Okay, so he had fallen in love. He was human. He would forgive himself the weakness and get over it.

  But as he entered week three, with next-to-no sleep and having dropped another five pounds, he decided to reassess. Living his life alone and his way was making him miserable. Freedom no longer seemed so wonderful. His normally fulfilling activities seemed empty. With the newspaper running smoothly, he was bored, the routine seemed draining.

  But he liked the sense of self-accomplishment he’d achieved from turning things around. He’d found he had a knack for the publishing business. He enjoyed solving the difficulties, but the day-to-day responsibilities bored him. With Stephen behind bars and awaiting trial, and the newspaper’s circulation up, Zane considered expanding the paper across
the state. However, he wanted to talk to Grey, but his brother had been incommunicado since Stephen’s arrest, and Zane, who’d never bothered his brother with his problems before, wasn’t about to start now.

  A challenge would be good for him. He enjoyed solving problems. Too bad he couldn’t set his own life to rights so easily.

  By the end of the third week as he tossed and turned alone in bed, he’d decided that he wasn’t getting over Toni. He missed her. Obviously, she wasn’t going to change her mind about him—unless he did something drastic. But drastic meant that he would have to change. Permanently.

  Restless, he kicked the covers off his feet. Why the hell should he offer to give up his precious freedom and change his life for her?

  Because he was miserable without her. Because if he didn’t at least try to get her back, he’d never forgive himself.

  He punched his pillow. Yes, he was Zane—the freewheeling bachelor who avoided responsibilities. But admitting that he might want a more committed lifestyle didn’t mean he was giving up his identity.

  Bingo!

  All his life, Zane had thought of himself as the free spirit, the laid-back and independent one, the fun twin. But just because he might want to settle down with Toni, maybe raise a few kids, didn’t mean he was some inferior shadow of Grey, the responsible one. If he married Toni, he would still be Zane. He could still have fun.

  Marry?

  Why was he even thinking about marriage when she wouldn’t even talk to him? He must be losing his mind to consider tying himself to a woman who wouldn’t accept his apology.

  He had treated her badly.

  But he’d lied to her before he’d known he loved her. While he supposed he should have recognized his symptoms sooner, why would he? He’d never been in love before.

  Okay, he loved her. Admitting it to himself had yet to kill him. He was still Zane, just a Zane who loved a woman. He could wrap his mind around it. Zane loved Toni Maxwell. Okay.

  He turned on his back, laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling.