Sleeping With the Enemy

by Tracy Solheim

  Stuart laughed, his deep voice booming over the phone. “Do they still have the massage beds where you put a quarter in and the bed shakes? My brothers and I used to beg my parents to let us do that when we were on a family vacation.”

  Digging her fingers into the soft mattress, Bridgett forced herself to try not to imagine it vibrating from anything but the thunder overhead. “No, but it would make a nice flotation device if necessary.”

  “No more joking, Buffy,” Stuart said. “You stay safe down there. And don’t forget to keep our client happy.”

  Bridgett bounced back onto the bed again as she clicked her phone off. Rain and wind pelted the window overlooking the dark parking lot and the lights flickered again. In order to keep her mind off the storm—and what things she could do to make Jay happy—she dialed her sister Gwen’s number. Gwen picked up before it even rang once.

  “Where have you been?” Gwen demanded.

  “Well, Gwen, I know it’s hard to believe, but I do actually work for a living.” Bridgett heard what sounded like a sob come from the other end of the phone. Worried that something might have happened to a family member, she sat up on the bed, softening her tone toward her sister. “Gwen, what’s wrong?”

  This time there was no mistaking Gwen’s distress. “I think . . . I think I need a lawyer.”

  Her words made Bridgett’s pulse jump. While her oldest sister was annoying and overbearing, Gwen was still family and Bridgett would do anything to help her. “Tell me what happened. Why do you need a lawyer?”

  “It’s Skip,” Gwen sobbed. “He’s cheating on me.”

  Bridgett couldn’t say she was surprised. Her brother-in-law had proven himself as a rat bastard many times over. But still, she was angry and hurt for her sister and their children. “You’re sure about this?” The question was somewhat rhetorical but of course Gwen didn’t take it that way.

  “Yes, I’m sure!” she yelled through the phone. “He’s been doing his assistant Lucy for months now. He thinks he’s so discreet but that idiot flaps his mouth as much as he flaps his zipper. Do you know how embarrassing it has been to hold my head up in this town for the past six months?”

  “Okay, calm down.”

  “Calm down? Calm down! The bitch was in the gynecologist’s office today getting a pregnancy test, Bridgett, while I was getting my friggin’ annual exam. I can’t calm down!”

  The lights flickered again ominously and Bridgett felt that queasiness she’d been battling all day bubble up to the surface. If what her sister was saying was true, it would explain Gwen’s testiness the past months. She suddenly felt guilty for not having probed a little deeper to find out what was troubling Gwen.

  “Dammit, Bridgett, when are you coming home? I need you,” she choked out.

  It was the first time in her life Gwen had ever said those words to her and she didn’t want to let her down. But she was stranded in a motel during a tropical storm.

  “It’s going to be a day or so. I’m stuck in Virginia Beach due to bad weather. But I’m going to call the office and get someone working on this right away, okay, Gwen?”

  “I don’t want anyone else to work on this,” Gwen whispered. “I don’t want anyone to know. Not Mom or Dad or anyone in the family. Not yet, anyway. It has to be you.”

  Bridgett’s breath hitched at her sister’s embarrassed plea. “Gwen, you need to trust me on this, okay? There are people in my firm who are much better at this than I am. They’ll make sure you and the kids are taken care of.”

  “But you’re the best lawyer I know, Bridge,” she cried. “I can’t do this without you. I’m not strong like you are. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Her sister’s plea brought tears to Bridgett’s eyes. “You’re stronger than you think you are, Gwen. And I won’t ever let you go through this alone. Just let me get the ball rolling so Skip doesn’t do something to catch you off guard. Promise me you’ll keep it together until I can get back to Boston?”

  Gwen sniffled several times before promising. Bridgett reassured her sister that she’d call her back in a few minutes after she got in touch with Stuart. As soon as she disconnected the phone, the lights flickered again before going out for good.

  Eight

  Jay was drenched by the time he returned to the motel. His hands were filled with plastic bags so he kicked the door with his foot. The curtain covering the big window moved and a bright light beamed out at him, making him squint. “Open up, Bridgett.”

  She held the door steady against the wind as Jay hustled inside the now-dark room. Bridgett shined the flashlight on her phone in a wide arc around the room. “Please tell me you got a flashlight or some candles. My cell is about to die and there’s no sign of Jagdish,” she said.

  “There are both in here.” He dropped the bags onto the dresser and went in search of the towel to wipe off his wet face and head. Water squished in his shoes with every step. Bridgett’s light followed him as he peeled off his sodden raincoat.

  “You’re soaked.”

  His stepped out of his shoes before pulling off his suit jacket. “Your parents must be proud of that Harvard education.”

  With a huff, she redirected her light back to the dresser. As she rummaged through the bags of supplies, he peeled off his pants that were wet from the calf down.

  “Hey!” The beam was shining back on him again. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m soaked, remember, Captain Obvious? I’m gonna take a shower.”

  “In the dark?”

  “No, you’re going to hand me one of those nauseatingly pumpkin-scented candles and a box of matches first.”

  The light was obscuring her face, but Jay was sure her eyes were narrowed in annoyance while a sweet pink blush stained her cheeks. He longed to invite her to join him in the shower, but after his admission earlier today, Jay knew he had to tread lightly. He’d win her over eventually; of that he had no doubt. Just not tonight, unfortunately.

  She handed him one of the stocky candles and a box of matches. “If you don’t like pumpkin, why did you get them?”

  Because they were the only damn candles left in the store. “They didn’t have mango,” he said instead, making his way into the darkened bathroom before he changed his mind and dragged her in with him.

  Ten minutes later he emerged from his steamy shower dressed in a T-shirt and his boxer briefs. The room was aglow with the many votives he’d bought. The place smelled like Thanksgiving Day probably did in most of the homes across the country. Bridgett was seated Indian-style on one of the beds, a blanket spread over her lap as her fingers tapped out notes on her tablet. When she looked up, her eyes held a look of profound anguish.

  “Hey,” he said, sitting on the bed opposite hers, tamping down the impulse to reach for her hand. “We’re safe here. The storm should burn out in a couple of hours.”

  She waved a hand. “I know that. It’s just I’ve had a bit of a family emergency come up and I need to get home. To Boston.”

  “Nothing life-threatening, I hope.”

  “Not unless my sister goes all Lorena Bobbitt on her husband, no.” She grimaced. “Gwen’s husband has been cheating on her. She wants to divorce—she’s going to divorce him—she’s just not used to being on her own.”

  “She’s lucky to have you.”

  Bridgett laughed. “Yeah, kind of funny since she’s the one who made me cry the other day.”

  “Why?”

  She shook her head, the brief glimpse behind the cool veneer she kept in place closed. Instead she gestured to his pants, which she’d hung over a chair. “They’re still damp at the cuffs but I squeezed as much of the water out as I could. You may have to roll them up at the ankles.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Worried you might not be able to keep your hands off me without my pants on?”

  Her blush wa
s obvious even in the candlelight as she quickly stood and walked over to the dresser filled with the food he’d brought back—a can of potato chips, peanut butter crackers, two apples, and the necessity of women everywhere: a bag of Dove chocolate. He’d also grabbed a couple bottles of water, a bottle of chardonnay, toothpaste, and two toothbrushes. The wine wasn’t the best vintage, but he knew they’d both appreciate something a little stronger than water right about now.

  “Thanks for leaving the roller food at the gas station, but you forgot the corkscrew.”

  She kept her back to him as he pulled on his pants. He stepped behind her, reached past her shoulder into his briefcase, and pulled out his pocket knife. Bridgett’s breath caught as his arm brushed over hers. When he clicked a button on the bottom, a corkscrew emerged. Jay handed it to her and went into the bathroom to grab the two plastic cups.

  “I should have known,” she said as she worked the screw into the cork. “You never went anywhere without one that summer. Frankly, I’m surprised you went into the dot-com industry and not the wine business like you’d planned.”

  “Who says I didn’t,” he asked, taking the bottle from her and finishing the job.

  Bridgett held the glasses while he poured. “I guess there’s a lot about each other we’ll never know.”

  Her words sounded almost wistful and the warm wine went down rough as Jay swallowed. “Even without being chilled, our chardonnay is definitely better than this.”

  She sat on the bed, leaning on one arm as she sipped from her cup with the other. “So tell me, how did the guy who wanted to rule the world one bottle of wine at a time end up establishing a major dot-com business instead?”

  “There’s a lot more money to be made on the Internet than in the vineyards.” He sat down on the bed across from her, leaning up against the headboard and crossing his feet at the ankles.

  “But wine was your passion.”

  Jay eyed her over the rim of his cup. “I’ve learned that it’s not always a good idea to be ruled by passion.”

  Bridgett kept her gaze level with his. “Exactly what I’ve been telling you all along.”

  “I didn’t say I gave up on passion, Bridgett. I’ll never do that.”

  That got the reaction he was hoping for as she gulped the remainder of her wine and began prying open a package of peanut butter crackers. “With Lloyd Davis as a stepfather, money shouldn’t have been an object.”

  “Lloyd’s money was Lloyd’s money. And now it’s Charlie’s.” He took another swallow of wine. Everyone always thought Jay should be resentful of the situation, but he wasn’t anymore. Perhaps that was the best gift Lloyd had given him: the anger to become a self-made man. Now that he’d accomplished that, the bitterness toward his stepfather had faded.

  “She doesn’t seem at all like the little girl you described that summer.”

  Jay snorted. “That little girl died when her father did.”

  “Your mother . . . is she . . . is? I mean, the tabloids never mention her.”

  He reached over and took one of her crackers. “My mother is not very maternal. She’s the smartest person I know, which begs the question of why the hell she had kids in the first place.” He shrugged. “When she’s not in the lab or some ivory tower, she’s really very kind, just distracted. She loves Charlie; they’re just from two different universes.”

  “And you?” Bridgett asked softly. “Does your mother love you?”

  “Yeah. But after my father died, her work became her one true love. She only married Lloyd so I’d have some sort of father figure in my life.” Too bad Lloyd never saw Jay as anything but a protégé to be molded, and not a boy who made mistakes.

  “But you and Charlie are still close?”

  Jay blew out a breath. “Well, there have been many times when she’s made me mad as hell.” He winked at Bridgett. “But she’s never made me cry.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Yet.”

  He laughed then as his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

  “Hey, boss,” Linc said. “Can you talk?”

  Jay glanced over at Bridgett. There was so much he wanted to tell her, share with her. But he knew better. He was better off keeping his own confidences.

  He moved to get off the bed, but Bridgett rose instead.

  “I’m going to take a bath,” she said as she refilled her wineglass and snatched up the bag of chocolates.

  “Yeah,” Jay said after he’d heard the lock click on the bathroom door. “What do you have?”

  “You’re not gonna like it.”

  Jay was only half paying attention as he heard the water begin to run and his body reacted to his mental picture of Bridgett stripping out of her clothes by candlelight. He relaxed against the headboard, imagining himself in the small bathroom with her pressed up against him. He’d peel her panties off her and then begin exploring every inch of her with his hands and his mouth.

  “Are you listening, boss? She’s gone. Princess Charlotte has flown the coop.”

  • • •

  When Bridgett emerged from her bath, Jay was agitated and aloof, furiously texting from his phone and then his tablet when his phone died. Gone was the quiet intimacy they’d shared over the crackers and wine. Bridgett should have been relieved. Except she wasn’t. If he’d noticed she’d slipped into the dress shirt he’d left in the bathroom, he didn’t mention it. On edge from the overwhelming events of the day, she’d eventually drifted off to a fitful sleep, cocooned in Jay’s warm scent.

  The storm let up sometime in the middle of the night. The lights suddenly flashed back on at four eighteen the next morning, startling both of them from restless sleep. Jay wasted no time arranging for a car to retrieve them from the motel and take them back to the airfield. When they boarded the plane at six thirty A.M., hot tea, fruit, and pastries were waiting in the small galley. The majority of the town was recovering from the storm, but Jay had managed to make sure she was comfortable. Again.

  “It should be a much smoother ride this morning,” the pilot told them as they took their seats. “We’ll be wheels down in Boston by nine.”

  “Boston?” Bridgett asked as the pilot closed the cockpit door.

  Jay looked up from the text he was frantically typing. “You said last night that you needed to be in Boston.” One of his eyebrows went up questioningly. “Has something changed?”

  Nothing had changed. Gwen had been sending out dire distress texts and e-mails all night. Once the power had returned, Bridgett had responded for her to sit tight, she’d be there by dinnertime. Now it seemed she’d be in Boston in time to make sure Gwen didn’t off anyone in the carpool line.

  She shook her head. “But what about our noon deadline with Ms. Warren?”

  “Call her at eleven fifty-nine and tell her we’ll see her in court.”

  While she’d been all in on that strategy yesterday, Bridgett had some qualms this morning. “And if she decides on a media smear campaign?”

  “I can handle it.”

  “And if it’s not just you she’s attacking?”

  He looked at her then, his blue eyes weary and tinged with what looked like concern. Bridgett’s insides twitched at the sexy, rumpled Jay before her. Stubble outlined his jaw and he hadn’t bothered to button up his shirt or put on a tie. He looked approachable and lovable. And she suddenly wanted to be back in that motel room with him, and she realized now why she’d been on edge all night: She wanted him. This man who had destroyed her heart still had the power to make her body sing.

  “I gave you my word that I’d protect your secret. At least give me a chance to honor it.”

  She wanted to trust him. Bridgett ached to turn the clock back thirteen years and have him beside her in that hospital room. To have it all turn out differently. She didn’t realize she was crying until he reached over and gently wiped a tear off her
cheek. “I miss the two people we used to be,” she whispered.

  His hand found its way behind her neck and he pulled her toward him. Her lips met his without hesitation and she heard his soft groan of pleasure as her tongue tangled with his. Jay allowed her a minute to play before he took control of the kiss, possessing her mouth until every part of her ached for release. He was unbuckling his seat belt and moving to the seat next to hers when the plane began to taxi down the runway.

  “This would have been much easier in the motel room, but I like your sense of adventure, Bridgett,” he murmured against her ear.

  She wasn’t sure whether it was adventure, exhaustion, or simple frustration, but Bridgett didn’t complain when his mouth found hers again. Leaning the seat back, he lifted up the wide armrest and pulled her body next to his. Her fingers threaded through his thick hair when his mouth drifted lower. His hand slid beneath the waistband of her skirt as he tugged her Dolce & Gabbana blouse free.

  The plane left the ground smoothly, quickly climbing to altitude as Jay’s hand slid just as smoothly along her rib cage. A soft sigh escaped her lips and Jay took it as an invitation to explore further. He leaned over her, still plundering her mouth as his other hand made its way up her thigh and beneath her underwear.

  The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, startling Bridgett. “It’s pretty calm up here, so feel free to move about the cabin if either of you need to.”

  His words were all the enticement Jay needed. He unbuckled them both and quickly pulled her across his lap. She gasped as she came in contact with the hard evidence of his desire. “Jay,” she whispered as her mind warred with her body. Bridgett wanted this. She needed this. But he was her client. Worse, he was the Antichrist. She hated him. Most of him, anyway. But she was so damned tired. Tired of being Bridgett, the perfect one. She wanted to be that girl again, the one she’d been that summer long ago.