The Blue Link (RUSH, Inc. Book 1)

by Carol Caiton

  The problem with that, however, was the fact that she'd just spent the last couple of hours with Simon and her body language said she wasn't sitting in a dark room because she was too lazy to turn on a light.

  Something had happened. Something that made her lock her knees, hang her head, and fold her hands in her lap like a forsaken nun. Christ, he didn't need this.

  But she was living under his roof. And she'd gone out of her way to save his professional hide instead of walking away and leaving him shit-faced to stumble through the checkpoint and wrap his car around a tree trunk. She'd given him a pushy little lecture and made sure he held the hot-tempered drunk under restraint. She probably didn't think he remembered that. But he did. And whatever the hell had gone wrong tonight, the fact that she was Simon's blue link was reason enough to watch out for her.

  Her head jerked up when she heard his voice. Maybe she thought he'd already gone to bed.

  "Are you going to sit there staring?" he prompted. "Or are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

  She didn't answer right away. She opened her mouth but closed it again. Then her shoulders drooped. She looked away and said, "Simon and I won't be seeing each other anymore."

  He stiffened. Then he reminded himself this had happened before. From what he'd seen thus far, a status-2 blue wasn't the cakewalk he'd assumed would be. "Things have a way of resolving themselves," he told her. Because it was the truth and because he'd seen that happen as well.

  She was already shaking her head though. "Not this time. I've learned my lesson."

  He frowned. The finality in her voice bothered him. It was the same finality he'd woken up to when a low-level blue icon had been chosen over his green. But he wasn't going to ask. He didn't want to know what lesson she'd learned. He didn't want to be pulled into this any deeper than he was right now. It was Simon's affair. She was Simon's woman and however rocky that road might seem, they had a goddamn blue link. They'd work it out.

  "I know you have this unshakable faith in RUSH's linking system," she said as though seeing into his mind. "And maybe it works for some people." When she drew in a breath, her voice cracked. "But trust is the backbone of a relationship, not a computer link, no matter what color it is.

  He stared at her. Hard. What the hell kind of statement was that? What was she implying? "I think you'd better explain yourself," he said.

  Her eyes widened. "I probably shouldn't have said that."

  "Oh, no you don't. You're not getting off that easily."

  "What do you mean?"

  She was stalling. Maybe.

  Ginger ale in hand, he walked into the living room, sat down on the same chair he'd occupied while watching her sleep, then set his glass down on the chunk of stone beside it. "I mean you don't get away with making a veiled accusation, then think you can walk off without justifying it."

  "I didn't—"

  "The hell you didn't. Start explaining."

  "Explaining?" She shook her head. "It's private."

  "Not anymore."

  "Ethan, stop. Just stop." Her eyes shifted to the glass on the table. "Are you drunk again?"

  "Nice try. But this isn't about me."

  She scooted toward the edge of the sofa, looking as though she was about to bolt.

  "Get up off that sofa and I'll put your ass right back down on it."

  She stared.

  He stared right back.

  She stretched out her fingers, relaxed them, then ran her tongue over her lips. "Simon tried to . . . use sex to get what he wanted."

  Well, that wasn't an explanation he expected. "What is it you think he wants?"

  "Think?" Both brows shot up. "He made it very clear. He wants me to move my things to his house and live with him."

  "You see that as a problem?"

  "Yes it's a problem. Simon and I spend most of our time arguing or ignoring one another. Until you phoned him this morning, we hadn't spoken for more than a week." She drew a breath. "Either he's angry at me, or I'm angry at him . . . and it's never because of something small. These are serious misunderstandings but we keep coming back for another try because your damned computer decided we were perfect for one another." She lifted both hands in a plea for understanding. "What would happen if I was living in his house and we decided the computer was wrong? Like tonight. I don't have enough money saved to move into my own place yet."

  "You could come back here. The offer stands."

  She sighed and the energy seemed to drain out of her. "Thank you. Really. But tonight . . . ." She swept her hair back from her face. "It can't be fixed this time."

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Tell me what happened."

  "I can't." She lowered her hand to her lap and shook her head.

  He couldn't be sure in the dim shaft of light from the foyer, but he thought she might be close to crying.

  "All right then," he said. "I'm going to take a shot at guessing. You said Simon tried to use sex to get what he wanted, so I'm going to assume you were in bed together."

  When she didn't deny it he went on. "And since Simon attended the same classes at RUSH that I did, I can say with a fair amount of certainty that he has no trouble bringing a woman to full arousal."

  Still no denial.

  "So I'm guessing you responded accordingly."

  She didn't contradict his assumption, but she wouldn't meet his eyes now.

  "All right." He took a breath. "Maybe Simon took you to the edge. Maybe more than once. But he drew back before you . . . uh . . . climaxed. Am I close?"

  Her eyes were glued to her lap.

  "Was Simon on the edge as well?"

  She hesitated, still refusing to look at him, then shrugged.

  "Was Simon on the edge?" he repeated.

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "You couldn't tell?"

  Her eyes snapped up to his. "Yes, I could tell. Yes, he was . . . on the edge, too."

  "So, in the heat of the moment he draws back, tells you he wants you to move in with him."

  For God's sake, he was sitting in his living room giving a sex ed lecture.

  "Was it an emotional moment?" he asked. "Was it something that might have been said in the heat of passion instead of an ultimatum? Could it have been desire spurring him on?"

  She didn't answer, but a small frown told him she was considering his words, that she was willing to weigh his explanation against her own interpretation. Whether or not she'd capitulate was another story.

  But she surprised him. Eyes closing, shoulders sagging, she dropped her head and sighed. Then she lifted her eyes to his and said, "I ran away."

  Yeah. He'd suspected as much. "Do you have anything against apologies?"

  "No." Her smile was wry, but at least she wasn't on the verge of tears.

  "Then I'd suggest opening the door when he comes ringing the bell again, and talk to him. Listen to whatever he has to say, and if my version of things is on the mark, apologize. Simple as that."

  "Ethan, if your version of things is on the mark, he'll probably give me the silent treatment again."

  "I don't think so. Not this time."

  Christ, she was something. But he'd learned a few things about her tonight. For one, her inexperience had the potential to cause trouble. On the other hand though, she was willing to think things through and admit it if she was wrong.

  Serious misunderstandings she'd said. He decided she was probably the cause of those misunderstandings. But he liked her. So far, he liked everything he'd learned about her. Simon had chosen well.

  She stood up, wiping her face with her fingers, and yawned. But when she lowered her arms, his jaw dropped.

  The sweatshirt she'd worn earlier was gone. He'd taunted her for strolling into his bedroom dressed as an R-link but that same clingy pullover now draped off the tips of her breasts, would probably droop farther if she moved the wrong way. Had she turned on a lamp, he'd be staring at the upper half of two dusky nipples.

  He
dropped his gaze . . . only to find the button of her jeans unfastened.

  God Almighty.

  "Thank you, Ethan."

  She sniffed, but he barely caught the sound. At that moment, he was more concerned with his reaction to her. Erotic in her innocence, she was disheveled and stunningly unaware of it. And all that naked, womanly flesh fired up a need in him he had to struggle to control.

  He tore his eyes away, swearing.

  "I'm sorry I involved you in this," she said.

  He pulsed behind his zipper.

  "I should have—"

  "Go to bed, Nina." He didn't bother reminding her that he was the one who had forced the issue. Right now he just wanted her to leave the room.

  "Go to bed," he repeated, softening his tone. "I'll get the light."

  Finally she turned away. He watched her leave, a dark womanly shape silhouetted by a shaft of light. When she disappeared from view, he cursed at himself, at her, then at Simon for landing him in this situation.

  He reached for the tumbler of warm ginger ale. But he paused with the glass in midair, staring at the pale, watered-down liquid. Glancing over at the sofa she'd vacated, at the cushion that probably still held her warmth, he narrowed his eyes and decided it would benefit them both if she went on thinking he had a drinking problem.

  CHAPTER 27

  The weekly board meeting was moved forward to Wednesday because the following day was Thanksgiving. Ethan's usual place across the conference table sat empty, however, and it was the first time since RUSH opened for business that one of them had missed a meeting. Even Michael, whose habitual tardiness was now more or less expected, had always shown up. But Ethan had phoned to say he was off property and Simon suspected the same thing would happen again next week unless something was done about the young woman behind the reception desk out front.

  On two separate occasions—two that Simon was aware of—Denny Cooper had made an effort to speak privately with Ethan. On the first, Simon happened to walk into the lobby as she called out to Ethan, motioning him over to her desk. Ethan, however, had politely told her to leave a message with his secretary.

  The second time, Ethan had been about to leave the building when the doors opened and Denny walked in. Simon, again crossing the lobby, saw Ethan nod a curt greeting as he passed the girl, watched as she reached for his arm. By then he'd been close enough to hear Ethan's response. His tone, once again, was professional, but it was firm as he told her he was her boss, not her link and if she touched him again, he'd have her written up.

  Simon had to give the girl credit when she continued walking in his direction, her face tinged with color, and offered a polite greeting.

  If there had been any other attempts at contact, Simon didn't know about them. But Ethan had removed himself from the administrative building that day and began conducting business from his office at Security Central. RUSH's mall was now open and the Moon Orchid Spa was about to open, making Security Central a logical base of operations, but . . . . Simon didn't buy it. Neither, he suspected, did Malcolm who sat at the head of the table tapping his silver pen on a fresh legal pad.

  "What's the current status of the new spa?" he asked Elliott.

  "Opening on schedule. Is there a problem?"

  Apparently Simon wasn't the only one who noted the crisp tone in Malcolm's question.

  "Yes, there's a problem." He angled his pen toward Ethan's empty chair. "I want Denise Cooper relocated. Move her over to the spa and bring the spa's new-hire here to Admin. Same position, no change in salary." He looked over at Mason. "Legal?"

  "I don't see—"

  "If we wait it out," Michael cut in, "rumor has it Denny plans to hand in notice by the end of the day."

  "Today?" Oliver asked.

  "Yeah."

  Malcolm arched a brow in Michael's direction. "Any other gossipy bits you'd care to share with us?"

  Michael being Michael, played it out. Waggling both eyebrows, he said, "Nope. Maybe later though." Then he leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs, and grinned.

  "Michael, for God's—"

  "Indeed," Malcolm accepted the challenge. "And would your news have anything to do with some of our women updating their files?"

  The front legs of Michael's chair hit the carpet. "Yeah. How'd you find out?"

  "The same way as you, I'd imagine."

  "Yeah, yeah."

  "Okay." Elliott set his pen down. "What's going on?"

  "Michael?"

  After a half-hearted scowl, Michael turned to Elliott. "Some of the women are talking about updating and activating their files."

  "Why do I get the impression this isn't something to celebrate?"

  "Because it isn't."

  Malcolm sat forward. "Go on."

  "They've picked out a code name for the linking program. They're calling it The Broker. And their goal is blue or nothing."

  "Oh, for God's sake."

  "Terrific."

  Oliver released a weary sigh. "We should never have implemented blue."

  "We didn't have a choice."

  "There's always a choice."

  "We wanted the best," Malcolm reminded everyone.

  "There are plenty of excellent psychologists out there."

  "But we got the best."

  Simon agreed. They had gotten the best. "On the positive side," he intervened, we've just increased our female population exponentially and thirty-six percent of them have already activated their memberships."

  "Now there's something to celebrate."

  "And if statistics hold true," Simon added, "a substantial number of the rest will activate within the next couple of months."

  "That's true."

  "And the Moon Orchid Spa opens shortly after Thanksgiving," Elliott put in, "so we'll have another strong showing."

  Mason turned to Malcolm. "Hannah deserved every penny of that bonus."

  "Indeed she did."

  "Any suggestions as to what we can do to discourage these blue-link applications?"

  "Legal?"

  Mason shook his head. "We'll have to weather it." He looked across the table at Simon. "Have any blues shown up yet?"

  "No, not yet."

  "Any idea as to when, Michael?"

  "Nope. I heard two women talking. I don't even know who they were 'cause I was afraid they'd notice me if I turned around. But I know more than two are in on it."

  Oliver tapped his pen on the tabletop. "If they've given the program a name, it sounds organized."

  "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

  "Simon, let us know as soon as anything shows up."

  Simon narrowed his eyes. "I wonder how many of the women applying for blue have no sexual experience. Michael, can you give me access to the number of virgins that apply for blue?"

  "Legal?" Malcolm asked before Michael could answer.

  Mason shrugged. "It's statistical data. Just don't include anything that could be interpreted as intent to discover identity."

  "Should we consider refusing membership to inexperienced women?" Oliver asked.

  "If we did, we'd lose out on some valuable employees—Hannah for example," Elliott said.

  "Point taken."

  "All right then," Malcolm took control again. "I suggest we take some time to think about this and try to come up with something to discourage high-link applications. If we weren't coming up on a holiday weekend, I'd suggest an evening of brainstorming. Elliott? It's your turn to play host, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "All right. After the holiday. Michael, what are you driving these days?"

  "The Spider. I'm waiting on a new Lotus."

  Elliott harrumphed. "You like to invite trouble, don't you?"

  "I haven't had a single ticket yet."

  "Probably because no one can catch you."

  * * *

  Simon pushed away from his desk two hours later. Walking over to the sliding glass door, he looked out at the sun-drenched jungle and thought about
the empty seat at the conference table.

  So far as he was concerned, losing Denny Cooper to a blue link was a respectable end to Ethan's relationship with her. There was no loss of face or whispered speculation to question the veracity of the linking system. The eyes that followed him now would soon find someone else to follow . . . him for example. His own link was in a shambles. He was a perfect candidate for the gossip and whispers that would catch up to him because, unlike Ethan, he didn't have a respectable excuse to fall back on. And once again, the fault was his own.

  From the very beginning he and Nina had been spinning in circles. They'd stumbled from one misunderstanding to another, one disagreement to another. He was beginning to develop a new appreciation for couples who actually made it to the altar.

  It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman who responded to his touch with naïve, artless abandon. A very long time. He'd forgotten the surge of power it aroused . . . a power that had roared through him as an unawakened Nina came alive. She'd had no preconceived expectations, no prior knowledge. He'd been with enough women to recognize unpracticed sensuality when he held it in his arms and the rush had taken him by storm. He'd wanted her. Badly. But he'd given his word. She was no more ready for a sexual relationship with him than he was for an emotional one with her. So he'd prepared himself to endure the ache of self-denial. He hadn't wanted to jeopardize her newfound trust in him. Which was precisely what he ended up doing.

  His poor choice of words couldn't have been more deplorable. And his timing couldn't have been worse. The bitter truth was, he wouldn't have asked her to move into his house at all had she not decided to move into Ethan's. He barely knew her. In typical fashion, however, Nina had made yet another decision he found completely objectionable. And once again, he'd been elbowed into a situation that demanded immediate action.

  He scraped a hand along his jaw. After grabbing her sweatshirt off the floor, resetting the alarm, and racing outside, he'd made it to the sidewalk in time to see her turn onto the walkway at Ethan's house. He could have called out to her, but he hadn't. He could have rung Ethan's doorbell, but he hadn't. And it occurred to him that he didn't even have her cell number, though he wasn't sure he would have tried to call.