A Secret Life

by Barbara Dunlop

  He didn’t think so.

  “Quit it,” barked Brett.

  “Quit what?”

  “Quit trying to reason this out logically. Apologize now, apologize often.”

  “I’d be lying.”

  “You’d be putting your ego on hold.”

  “I don’t have an ego.”

  Brett tipped back his head and laughed. “Anthony, you are a slave to your ego.”

  “Get stuffed.”

  “It’s her career.”

  “It’s my job to give her advice.”

  “How are you going to give her any advice if she’s not speaking to you?”

  Brett had unknowingly hit the nail on the head. If Anthony was no longer Joan’s agent, how could he give her any advice at all? Who knew what kind of illogical choices she’d make without him?

  Maybe Brett was right. Maybe he needed to give a little to gain more influence in the end?

  That would mean apologizing to Joan. That would mean backing off and letting her go underground again. But at least it might not mean losing her. And Anthony was nearly sick at the thought of losing her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE SUN had set. The kids had been put to bed. And Oscar had turned on the lanterns around the deck, giving the backyard a festive glow.

  Brett appeared and put his arm around Nadine, and Joan felt an arm go across her back. She turned to see Anthony’s smile.

  “Hey,” she said and smiled back. She was still enjoying her emotion-denying margarita buzz, and she wasn’t about to let anything bother her right now.

  “I’m sorry,” he said into her ear.

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For everything.”

  She saw Brett grin in her peripheral vision. “Everything?” she asked, not quite believing what she was hearing.

  Anthony nodded. “Yeah. All of it.”

  “Then you’re not fired,” she said magnanimously, seizing the moment.

  Brett jumped in. “She fired you?”

  Joan put her fingers over her lips and giggled. “You didn’t tell them?”

  “I didn’t tell them.”

  “Why’d you fire him?” asked Nadine.

  Anthony glared at his brother and sister-in-law.

  “Our lips are sealed,” Nadine vowed, and Brett nodded to signal his concurrence.

  Anthony still looked skeptical.

  “Sorry,” Joan stage-whispered, feeling rather giddy, more from having rehired Anthony than from the margaritas, she realized.

  “Are you going to remember any of this in the morning?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Did she seem that drunk?

  Then it occurred to her Anthony didn’t know she’d switched to nonalcoholic margaritas a couple of hours back. She decided it might be fun to mess with his head. She faked a hiccup. “Maybe.”

  Anthony heaved a sigh.

  Nadine giggled in delight. She knew Joan was barely tipsy.

  Getting in on the act, she elbowed Anthony. “Might be a few other things she won’t remember in the morning.”

  Brett stared at his wife in shock.

  Nadine ignored him. “This could be your big chance,” she said to Anthony.

  Joan winked at Nadine. Then she walked her fingers up Anthony’s bare forearm, feeling dangerous and flirty. “Got any ideas, Anthony?”

  He brushed her hand away. “Quit fooling around.”

  “That’s not what you said last night.”

  Nadine guffawed.

  While Joan gave Anthony an exaggerated pout, Nadine whispered something to Brett. He grinned.

  “Last night?” asked Brett with evident interest.

  Joan decided to keep the joke going. “Last night, he said—”

  Anthony’s hand clapped over her mouth.

  She tried to talk, but no words could get through his grip.

  “Joan is going to bed now,” he informed them.

  She tried to tell him she was just joking around, but he turned her smartly toward the house.

  She struggled to get free. She couldn’t disappear without saying good-night to her hosts. It would be unbelievably rude.

  “Hmmff,” she said, gesturing toward them.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” said Anthony. He waved to his parents. “Thanks, Mom. We’ll see you in the morning. ’Night, Dad.”

  Joan renewed her effort to get free. “Hmmffeeff!”

  “Just a few more steps,” he said.

  Then the kitchen door banged shut behind them, and he took his hand off her mouth.

  “Anthony!”

  “Careful.” He kept a firm hand on her upper arm, almost lifting her off the floor as they made their way down the hallway.

  She redoubled her struggle. “I have to say good-night. I have to thank them.”

  “Oh no, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do!”

  He glared down at her. “And tell them I think you’re the sexiest woman alive?”

  “I was joking.”

  “It wasn’t funny.”

  “I mean, I wasn’t going to tell Brett and Nadine you said that.”

  “Sure, you weren’t.”

  “I’m not drunk, Anthony.”

  He scoffed.

  “Seriously.”

  He turned suddenly, and she stumbled.

  “Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe just a little tipsy.”

  “I’ve been watching you slam back margaritas for four hours.”

  “You’ve been watching me?” That made her smile. She’d been watching him, too. All evening, she’d been questioning her motives for firing him.

  But she’d rehired him. That was smart.

  They started up the stairs.

  “You said yes, right?” she asked.

  “Yes to what?”

  “To being my agent again.”

  He stopped on the top landing and turned to face her. “Ask me again in the morning.”

  “I told you, I’m not drunk.”

  “Then you can hold your liquor a lot better than I can.” He pointed to a door. “Mom told me to put you in Brett’s old room.”

  “What about Brett and Nadine?”

  “They’re in David’s room.”

  “And David?”

  “In the rec room, where there’s space for their kids. Why are we having this conversation?” He reached past her and pushed open the bedroom door.

  Joan walked in, gazing around at football pennants, trophies and rock and roll posters.

  “It’s like a shrine,” she breathed. Then she turned to throw a saucy gaze at Anthony. “Can I see your room?”

  He sucked in a tight breath. “Tomorrow.”

  She glided meaningfully in his direction and pouted. “Not now?”

  “Not now.”

  She sidled up close, making her voice sultry, thinking how wonderful it would be to kiss him all over again. “You afraid of me?”

  “Joan.”

  She walked her fingers up his chest this time. “Tell me you’ll be my agent again.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Stop.”

  “Tell me, or I’ll rescind my offer.”

  “You’re not thinking straight.”

  She tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “I switched to nonalcoholic margaritas two hours ago.”

  Anthony stilled. “So…”

  “I’m not drunk, Anthony. Okay, tipsy, maybe. But just enough to keep me relaxed. I will remember every second of this tomorrow.”

  “And you’re flirting with me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re rehiring me.”

  “Which one of those makes you happier?”

  Instead of answering, he kissed her. There was no preamble this time, no tasting, no testing. The kiss went long and deep from the first second, and every fiber in her body swooned from the exquisite sensation.

  His hands roamed their way beneath her blouse, pushing aside her flimsy bra to cup her aching breasts. She pressed her nipple into h
is palm, desperate to get closer. Nothing was going to tear them apart this time.

  Laughter sounded from downstairs.

  His family.

  Oh, no. His family.

  He reached behind him and shut the door.

  “But—”

  “It locks,” he assured her.

  “But, you,” she breathed. “Your room. They’ll know…”

  “Come here.” He took her by the hand and led her across Brett’s bedroom. There he opened a door to an ensuite bathroom and guided her inside.

  “The bathroom?” she asked in surprise. It wasn’t exactly her fantasy, but if that was—

  “Not in the bathroom.”

  He whisked her through it to a second door and pushed that one open.

  “My room,” he said gruffly.

  An equally impressive shrine to Anthony opened up before her. While he locked the door, she gazed around at basketball trophies, boxing gloves and ski racing ribbons.

  “You ski?” she asked. It seemed like an odd sport for a Texan.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. Then he grasped both sides of her blouse. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

  She looked down at his tanned hands against the delicate white fabric.

  He pulled. The fabric gave way and the buttons popped, scattering over the wooden floor.

  She dropped her head back, and he kissed her neck, drawing the delicate skin into the heat of his mouth, surely leaving marks.

  Her hands went to his thick hair, and she moaned his name.

  He kissed the mounds of her breasts, dampening her lacy bra while his hands roamed down to her bottom and pulled her tight against him.

  She struggled with the buttons of his dress shirt, not feeling any patience at all. They’d been here three times now. Twice they’d stopped.

  He grabbed the lapels of his own shirt and ripped it off. Then he pushed her blouse from her shoulders, kissing their curves, tasting the tender skin as he dispensed with her bra.

  “Hold me close,” she whispered, and then they were skin against skin.

  “I can’t wait,” she told him, wriggling in impatience.

  “Neither can I.” He reached under her skirt and tugged off her panties. Then he dispensed with his slacks and backed her up to the bed.

  He smiled. “Never pictured you here.” He gently pushed her down on his bedspread, laying her back and flipping up her skirt. “But what a great teenage fantasy.”

  She grinned at that one, as he followed her down.

  His hands trailed over her breasts, while she explored his firm pecs and delineation of his chest. He kissed her. Gently at first, but then with increasing force and passion.

  He cradled her face. “My beautiful Joan.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, remembering all the hurtful things that had passed between them.

  He shook his head. “Shhh.” His fingertips trailed along her thigh. Higher and higher, until she gasped out loud.

  She was close to the edge. He’d barely touched her, and she was already…

  “Now,” she cried. Her hips arched and her breathing escalated.

  He moved on top of her, grasping her hands, entwining her fingers with his, staring straight into her eyes as he entered inch by careful inch.

  She watched his irises, sky-blue, as his rhythm started off slow. Then they darkened to turquoise and sweat broke out on his forehead.

  Liquid passion poured through her body, igniting her veins, making her skin tingle and her nerve endings cry out for release. The room grew hotter. The scents grew sharper, and Anthony’s rough breathing synchronized with her own.

  His eyes turned dark as a midnight sky. And shooting stars took flight on the periphery of her vision. He moved faster, his muscles straining against her body. He was as hard as steel inside her. Her thighs tightened, her breathing held, until her whole world exploded in a shower of shooting sparks.

  Anthony cried out her name as she floated through a cloud, spiraling round and round, the earth far, far beneath her.

  ANTHONY COULDN’T move.

  He might never move again.

  Which was fine with him.

  He could die right here, a happy man.

  “Wow,” Joan breathed.

  “Wow,” Anthony returned, gathering her warm body against him, spoon fashion, in his bed.

  “We’ve known each other how long?” she asked.

  He chuckled against her hair. “Ten years.” He drew a deeper breath. “Believe me, if my fantasies had been more accurate, I never would have kept my hands to myself this long.”

  She smiled. “You’ll have to tell me about those fantasies someday.”

  “Someday, I’ll show them to you.”

  She stretched, yawning delicately and closing her eyes. “Sounds good.”

  He toyed with a loop of her hair. “You’re going to remember all this in the morning, right?”

  Her lips curved into another smile. “Are you kidding? I’m going to remember all this on my death bed.”

  “We’ll do it your way from now on,” he said.

  “Do what my way?”

  “Your career.”

  She looked up at him and nodded. “Yeah. That’s the only way it’ll work.”

  Her reaction wasn’t as gracious as he’d expected.

  He felt his jaw clamp down on a rebuttal, and he repeated Brett’s words inside his head.

  “Because I can feel the pull,” she said, her tone softening. “And I have to tell you, it scares me.”

  “The pull?”

  “The pull for more publicity, more notoriety, more sales, more fame, more power.” Her words sped up. “It goes on and on and gets faster and faster and more and more seductive.”

  “What exactly scares you?” What did she mean by seductive? Did she hate it? Or did she like it and hate herself for liking it?

  She shook her head. “Oh no, you don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t start debating the merits of my opinion with me.”

  “I’m only—”

  “I mean it, Anthony. It’s my opinion and my choice. I won’t let you take that away from me.”

  He stared down at the determination in her eyes. “Okay,” he agreed, repeating the mantra of Brett’s words. If she fired him again, he couldn’t do a thing for her. If he gave way on some fronts, he’d be there to advise her on others.

  It was a tactical retreat.

  “Who wants to talk business now anyway?” he asked.

  “Not me.” She curled her small hand into his. “I like your family.”

  “They like you.”

  “They said that?”

  “Mom didn’t give us connecting rooms by accident.”

  Joan glanced around. “Basketball, huh?”

  “In high school,” he said. “By college, I wasn’t tall enough.”

  “Is that when you skied?” She shifted and came up on her knees, reaching to the shelf over his headboard to retrieve a downhill trophy.

  “Upstate New York and in Canada.”

  “Were you good?”

  “I won, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah. But it might have been one of those B-level, northwestern, southern quadrant state league things.”

  He reached for the biggest trophy at the end of the shelf and held it in front of her. “Junior Nationals.”

  She put back the smaller trophy and took the national one in her hands, smoothing the gold skier as she grinned. “It’s a big one,” she said with mock reverence.

  He whisked it out of her hand. “Oh, give it back.”

  “Didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “You didn’t insult me.”

  “You seem a little touchy there about your trophies.”

  He wasn’t touchy. Or maybe he was. He just didn’t want her to think he was some hick jock. He could compete with the big boys.

  “What did you do in college?” he asked.

  She scooted
back down under the covers, lying in the crook of his arm. “Played the piano.”

  “Are you any good?” he joked.

  “Didn’t win the national junior championships, but I once played with Azek Breeze.”

  “No way.”

  She nodded. “It was in their early years. But then my mother found out. And, poof, that was the end of that.”

  He was impressed. “You could have been a rock star.”

  “Or Azek Breeze could have tanked because they had a lousy piano player.”

  Anthony shook his head. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Joan would have succeeded as a musician.

  “That was when my parents knew for sure I was trouble,” she said.

  He ran his fingers through her silky hair. “You’re not trouble. Why do you say things like that?”

  “Because I’m always embarrassing them.”

  “Frankly, I think they’re the ones who are embarrassing to you.”

  She twisted her neck to look at him again. “Are you kidding? Nobody’s embarrassing in Chanel couture at the opening of a pediatric hospital wing. My parents might be a lot of things, but they’re not an embarrassment.”

  “Joan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s change the subject.”

  She nodded.

  “You’ve got a lot of books to autograph tomorrow.”

  She relaxed in his arms. “I couldn’t believe Nadine had read everything.”

  “She couldn’t believe I knew you.”

  Joan chuckled. “It’s a bizarre experience having people think you’re somehow special.”

  “You are special.”

  “You know what I mean. Leila was afraid to ask me to read her book. She wanted a cover quote, of all things.”

  Anthony stiffened. He didn’t particularly like the idea of Leila capitalizing on his relationship with Joan. “You don’t have to do that, you know. She should have—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’ll read her book. And I’m sure I’ll love it.”

  “Joan, you can’t—”

  “What’s that? Business comes before family? Did I hear you correctly?”

  “They’re not your family,” he corrected.

  “I’ll read her book. For what it’s worth, I’ll give a nice quote.”

  “Readers will take your recommendation.”