Losing Control: 2

by Tina Donahue

  Shit. Would he go to jail too, even though he knew nothing specific about the agency’s operations?

  Alexa had made certain of that, never allowing him to come by, not even to meet her for lunch. He’d never seen any of the girls, didn’t know their names or those of the clients.

  What if that didn’t matter to the holier-than-thou types? What if they’d screw him over just for the hell of it? Alexa gripped the edge of the table, feeling as if she’d stumbled into an episode of The Sopranos. “Are you wearing a wire?”

  Catherine continued to edge back, her expression horrified. “Of course not.” She leaned forward, hurt registering in her eyes. “How can you even think such a thing? Do you actually believe I’d sell you out to save myself?”

  The possibility of a lengthy prison sentence made people do all kinds of stuff they never thought they would.

  Catherine frowned at Alexa’s silence. “You think I’m afraid to go to jail? Given the hellhole I was born in, prison would be a step up. Three squares and a cot. TV. Exercise equipment. No rats and trash-filled hallways. More than I ever hoped for as a kid.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I don’t want anything happening to Hunt.”

  Catherine mumbled, “If you’re so worried about that, why do you keep doing this? Maybe you should just quit.”

  And let Ronnie down? That wasn’t an option and Catherine damn well knew it. Ronnie had been there for Alexa when she’d had no one, ignored by her parents, in particular her father. Hunt understood her bond with Ronnie, never once asking or demanding that she cut all ties with the woman or the agency. As long as she gave herself to him alone, he accepted her need to helm the business during Ronnie’s absence. “You want to tell me what’s wrong? Why you really wanted to come by today?”

  Catherine’s previous hurt and offense evolved into caution.

  Damn. “Are you pregnant?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “You’re sure? You look like you want to throw up.”

  She stopped running her hand over her mouth in favor of drumming her nails against the conference table.

  Alexa laid her hand on top of Catherine’s to stop the annoying sound. “Is this about you quitting? You can, you know. Whenever you feel the need.”

  “Then that will be never. Have you forgotten about the bills I have to pay for Opal’s care?”

  Alexa figured they were enormous. When Opal suffered her stroke, Catherine had placed her in one of the District’s finest nursing facilities, telling anyone who’d listen that the woman was her aunt…family.

  Catherine didn’t have any relatives, certainly not a mother or father who’d ever want back into her life. Opal was a neighbor who’d taken Catherine in as a child, saving her from abandonment or worse. Their bond was deeper than blood, the same as Alexa’s with Ronnie.

  She squeezed the young woman’s hand. “You need some cash? You know I’d be happy to give you whatever you—”

  “Thanks, but no. This isn’t about money.” She turned her hand and curled her fingers around Alexa’s, as though she needed to hold on in order to stay seated.

  A bit more pressure and her embrace would hurt. “Then what is it about?” Alexa asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Catherine sighed. “I made a date with one of our clients. A real date.”

  Ah. That was a definite no-no, not that Alexa was about to lecture anyone on it given that she was now shacking up with Hunt. “You’re going out with Zachary?”

  Catherine frowned. “Who?”

  “Zachary Victor,” Alexa offered, providing the man’s full name.

  Didn’t help. Catherine still seemed stumped.

  Alexa explained, “The geek—guy you were with on Saturday at that holiday party.”

  Surely Catherine knew his name if they’d made a date. What Alexa couldn’t figure out was why Catherine would have agreed to see him for free or without someone forcing her to do so. Zachary Victor was nice-looking and mega-rich, but such an officious turd that he didn’t seem the type to capture and retain a woman’s interest, unless she was brain dead or a masochist.

  Catherine brought back her hand. Wrapping her arms around herself, she squeezed. “Not him.”

  Alexa thought back to the recent appointments Catherine had gone on. The men were either industrialists or Wall Street titans. Two were senators. Good lord, she couldn’t have been foolish enough to have made a real date with a lawmaker who’d toss his own mother under a bus to save his career. “Are you going to make me guess?”

  She looked uneasy again. “Tim.”

  Frowning, Alexa recalled the names of the agency’s current clients. The only man named Tim was an oil baron. The last she’d heard, he was in the Middle East with his people, working out some kind of deal with the Saudi princes. “Hastings?” she asked, providing his last name.

  “No.” Catherine cleared her throat, then mumbled, “Bellamy.”

  She watched astonishment, then disbelief register on Alexa’s face. It left her looking almost as bad as when she’d thought Catherine was wired, ready to send her, Ronnie and Hunt to prison.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have come here today and confessed what she’d already done and was going to do. After all, she was an adult. She didn’t need Alexa’s permission to see any man, not even one she’d been more or less forbidden to know.

  Alexa sagged in her chair as though someone had knocked the wind out of her. “You’re kidding, right?” She arched one eyebrow. “I know you have a weird sense of humor. This is your idea of a joke, correct?”

  “I’ve never been more serious.”

  “Good god, Catherine.” Alexa pushed up and leaned toward her. “How in the hell did this happen? Tim’s not a client—well, not an active one,” she amended. “His only contact with the agency was that night he, David, Hunt and I…” Her words trailed off to an uncomfortable silence.

  Thank god for that. Catherine didn’t want to hear about that evening again. At first, the tale intrigued her, because Alexa had found her prince charming. Since meeting Tim, any mention of that night reminded Catherine that he’d slept with Alexa and possibly still liked her.

  “Oh hey.” Squinting, Alexa studied Catherine’s face. “Are you jealous? You can’t be.” Her eyes widened. “There’s no reason for that.”

  “I didn’t say I was jealous, all right?”

  “Then why are you looking at me as though we’re no longer friends?”

  Catherine pushed her feelings away and sighed. “I’m not.”

  Alexa shook her head, obviously flabbergasted. “How in the hell did this happen? You and him? You pissed about him and me?”

  “Dammit, I said I wasn’t pissed.” She paused and lowered her voice. “And I won’t be unless you force me to hear about that night again.”

  “Force you?” She frowned. “Trust me, there was nothing, there will never be anything between Tim and me. It’s just like I’ve already told you. Every time I have to see him—thanks to Hunt being his friend—he barely says hello. I think he’s afraid to open his mouth. If he said anything wrong or what he really thinks, Hunt would clobber him.”

  “Oh come on. Hunt wouldn’t do that.”

  “You haven’t seen him.”

  “I don’t have to, I’ve seen Tim. What makes you think Hunt would win?”

  Alexa’s eyebrows shot up again. “You actually think Tim could take Hunt?” She laughed. “Be serious. Hunt didn’t grow up in a platinum bubble like Tim. He lived in the real world, the shitty version of it, just like you before he clawed his way out. Believe me, he can take care of himself.”

  “Want to bet?”

  That wiped the smirk off Alexa’s face. “You actually want them to fight?”

  No. Maybe. Crap, she was losing her mind. “So, Hunt’s the Terminator. Good for him.” Good for Alexa. Hunt was probably Attila the Hun in bed with a touch of Superman for out-of-this-world orgasms.

  Alexa kept shaking
her head. “Wow. You’re really into Tim.” She appeared completely stumped as to why. “How in the hell did this happen?”

  Catherine tightened her arms around herself and glanced at the stack of dossiers at the other end of the conference table. She shouldn’t have read his file. His background and the pictures of him—some taken without his knowledge—had intrigued her far too much and revealed too little.

  Why hadn’t there been any mention of what had happened in Paris? She ached to know who he’d loved…what kind of woman he wanted now. For the moment, it seemed to be her. How long would that last? A few dates? God, could she even agree to that? If she did, would they be together for several weeks? Could she even hope for it lasting that long?

  “Did you get his number from his file and actually call him up?” Alexa asked.

  “What?” She frowned. “No.”

  “Then how in the world did this—”

  “He was at the holiday party. The one I went to with…” She paused, trying to recall her client’s name.

  “Zachary Victor,” Alexa offered.

  “Yeah, right. Him.”

  Alexa’s shoulders sagged. “If you were with Zachary, how did you hook up with Tim? Oh crap, did you hook up with him?”

  A wave of warmth spread from Catherine’s chest to her neck and cheeks. She recalled the feel of Tim inside her, his thick, rigid cock forcing her sheath to accommodate his size, him tonguing her nipples, drawing them into his mouth, so hot and wet, suckling her at his leisure. His musky scent was something she’d never forget, along with his teasing strokes on her clit.

  After she’d agreed to a date, he’d taken her again. This time, he’d bent her over the table, pushing her gown up to expose her ass, directing her to part her legs widely. She’d pictured her pussy, plump, juicy, in need of his rod. He’d buried his shaft inside her cunt, taking her in that wonderfully submissive position, bringing her to another explosive climax.

  Sated, Catherine hadn’t wanted to move. If she’d had her way, they would have spent the entire night in the closet with their bodies still joined.

  To her dismay, Tim had pulled out far sooner than she’d hoped, then watched as she got decent, his manner that of an overlord viewing a woman who now belonged to him. It made her even wetter, willing to do whatever he wanted.

  Taking her hand, Tim led her to the door, cracked it open and stiffened immediately.

  On her toes, she’d whispered in his ear, “What is it?”

  He pushed her back and closed the door, his body against it, a human barrier. To what?

  She grabbed his arms and whispered, “Someone else is out there? Is it the couple who owns this place? What if they come inside? How could we stop them? They live here. Will they tell the others they found us?” Would they tell her stupid date? “Will they—are you laughing?”

  His shoulders shook with it. “God, I can’t help myself. You are so gullible.”

  She’d punched his arm for putting her on, nearly giving her a heart attack that someone might report them, exposing her for who she really was. Just as quickly, he turned her to the side and smacked her ass playfully.

  “Now be a good girl,” he said, his order rough, filled with decadent promise.

  Before Catherine could retort or dwell on the delicious heat from his brief paddling, he’d pulled her from the closet, through the room and back into the hall.

  At the memory, she slumped in her chair and sighed.

  “Oh my god, you did sleep with him,” Alexa accused. “What in the hell were you thinking? I told you to stay away, that he was trouble. Clearly, you didn’t tell him you worked for the agency.”

  She frowned. “And why is that so clear?”

  Alexa edged back at the challenge in Catherine’s tone. “I told you how he felt about Hunt getting serious with me in spite of my past. You’re saying you told him the full truth about what you do and he’s good with it? Doesn’t bother him in the least?”

  Catherine lowered her face, worry eating at her.

  “Aw, sweetie, what did you tell him?”

  She waved her hand in dismissal, not wanting to dwell on it. “The cover story, what else? That I was there with…uh…”

  “Zachary Victor,” Alexa sighed.

  “Yeah, him. And that he was the brother of a friend. I gave Tim the story I give people I meet in my classes, about my parents being dead, owning a line of cleaners and how that paid for my bachelor’s degree and my master’s program.” Her stomach continued to knot, making her queasy. “At least the academic part is true.”

  “You actually like him?”

  Catherine curled her upper lip, not appreciating the sound of that “actually”, pissed at Alexa for believing Tim was some kind of monster. Not the tender man who’d seemed so saddened when he mentioned Paris and was so giving as he’d made love to her. How could any woman resist that part of him or the way he’d teased her about someone being in the bedroom? Pricks didn’t do that. They didn’t focus on anyone but themselves. Spending an evening with Zachary Whatever had convinced Catherine of that.

  “Yeah, I do like him.” She turned to Alexa and lied, “But just casually. That’s why I’m going to see him again, have some fun. We have a date this coming weekend. I want to be with a guy for once with the evening being between him and me, not us and the agency. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

  Alexa pushed her fingers through her hair, dragging it back. “You could do that with the guys you meet at school.”

  Those babies? They had no idea how the real world worked. They seemed so young and clueless, not damaged like her and Tim. He bore the same scars on his soul that she did on hers, no matter his privileged existence. “They don’t interest me. Never will.”

  Alexa’s hand dropped to her lap. “So you’re not going to tell Tim the truth?”

  And have everything end right now because she’d lied to him already? All she’d been able to think about was being with him again, laughing, losing herself in his desire.

  When he’d asked what she liked to eat, do and where she lived, she’d hedged on the last question and answered the first two by saying, “Surprise me.”

  “Mild or wild?” he’d asked with a grin.

  Was that really a choice? “Surprise me,” she’d said once more, then whispered, “but don’t make it mild.”

  The hunger in his eyes said he would not.

  They’d have their date this weekend and maybe a few more. She’d pretend she was no different from any other woman with a normal past, loving parents, a middle-class existence rather than the destitution and loneliness she’d known. She’d indulge in Tim’s wanting of her. And then it would be over. She’d find some excuse to break up with him, letting him down gently unless he cut her loose first.

  Always a possibility, maybe the best outcome. They’d go their separate ways. It would be hard on her. She couldn’t kid herself about that. However, she’d have some very good memories of their time together.

  “Catherine,” Alexa prodded, “if you’re intending for this to last, you need to tell him who you really are before things get too serious.”

  So true…if she intended for it to last. Which she didn’t. Couldn’t.

  Chapter Five

  It was supposed to be a working lunch, except Tim hadn’t gotten the memo.

  Hunt leaned back in his chair and lifted his drink—bourbon neat—as their young male server passed, a large tray propped on his shoulder. The boy nodded his acknowledgement of Hunt’s request and delivered plates of sizzling bacon-wrapped steaks, twice-baked potatoes and a vegetable medley to the group of patrons at the next table.

  Hunt’s stomach rumbled, the sound lost beneath the other noises in here. Laughter and conversation mingled with the clack of utensils hitting china that the bus staff had placed in large rubber bins. Rather than the usual R&B pumping through the sound system, Bing Crosby crooned White Christmas. Holiday wreaths adorned with colorful blinking lights decorated the dark
-paneled walls, while gold-and-silver garland graced each table. The usual banker’s lamps were gone, replaced with fat red candles that gave off a festive pine scent.

  Finishing what remained of his drink, Hunt regarded Tim. The man continued to stare out the front window at the snowy scene outside, oblivious to the question David had just asked about their most recent client. The firm they worked for had scored a major high-tech group that needed lots of TLC. This luncheon meeting was supposed to be about strategy to keep their clients happy and within the fold.

  Generally polite to the extreme, David now cleared his throat loud enough for Hunt to notice. Tim didn’t as much as blink. If the man hadn’t continued sitting upright, Hunt would have suspected he’d also stopped breathing.

  “Earth to Tim, Earth to Tim.” Hunt tapped his forefinger against the table for good measure.

  Tim exhaled noisily and settled his frown on Hunt. “What?”

  He pointed at David. “Answer his question.”

  “What question?” Tim asked their friend.

  David exchanged a glance with Hunt. Despite his thirty-four years, David looked far younger, his Asian features almost boyish. The brutal winter wind had mussed his straight black hair. Several locks still grazed his forehead and temples.

  “Do you think we should introduce our clients to Everstald and Meade?” he repeated.

  Returning his attention to the front window, Tim stroked his scotch and soda, rather than drinking it. Condensation beaded on the tall glass.

  Hunt figured either Tim had gotten some dire news from a doctor or his distraction was due to a woman. He settled on the happier scenario, given how Tim was fondling his drink. “Who is she?”

  This time, Tim heard. He smiled broadly.

  David glanced around the packed room as though looking for the woman in question. Apparently not seeing any female who stood out, he spoke loud enough for Hunt and Tim to hear him above the other racket. “What are you talking about?”

  Hunt pointed at Tim this time. “The lady our friend is stuck on, replaying his last moments with her in his mind. Correct?”