Zero Control

by Wilde, Lori

  “There’s someone on the tour….” What was he going to say? That something about Roxie raised his suspicions at the very same time his gut was telling him she couldn’t possibly be a saboteur? He had no proof to go on, and honestly, if she was the culprit, why would she risk standing under the spotlight she’d loosened?

  “That’s got all your senses on alert?” Taylor supplied.

  That was certainly true. “Yes.”

  “You suspect this person?”

  Dougal drew in a deep breath. How did you tell your boss that you’d already broken the morality clause you’d signed and you’d broken it with your prime suspect. “I don’t know.”

  “Is it a woman?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And you’re attracted to her?”

  “I am,” he said.

  “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would renege on an agreement,” Taylor said.

  “I’m not reneging. I just don’t think I can be objective about this person.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “She was a volunteer in the Shakespeare skit and she, um…kissed me.”

  “And you felt things.”

  He didn’t deny it. “So you see why I need to excuse myself from the case.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Taylor said.

  “What do you mean?” Dougal frowned and paced the cobblestone walkway.

  “If she is the saboteur and she’s attracted to you, this gives you the perfect opportunity to get close to her, get her to let down her guard and confess her sins to you.”

  You have no idea how close I’ve already gotten to her.

  “Just don’t act on the attraction. If word got out that members of my staff were sleeping with the guests…well, let’s just say it would be a PR nightmare. But I do encourage you to string her along, keep her wanting more.”

  This is the time. Tell her you’ve already acted on it.

  But for some reason, Dougal simply couldn’t force himself to say the words. Part of his silence was a misguided attempt at chivalry. Part of it was because he felt ashamed for losing control so easily. He also didn’t want to disappoint Taylor.

  “Don’t let this attraction throw you. You’re a strong man both physically and mentally,” Taylor said. “You can get close to her and determine if she could be our suspect without letting your feelings take over. You learned your lesson in Germany, did you not?”

  “I did.”

  That, Dougal realized, was the real reason he didn’t tell Taylor the whole truth about what he’d just done to Roxie in her bedroom. When it came down to it, this assignment was all about proving that he had learned from his mistakes.

  “Dougal,” Taylor said, “just find who is undermining my resorts by any means possible.”

  ROXIE COULDN’T SLEEP. If it wasn’t so late, she’d go knock on Sam and Jess’s door and ask for advice on how to keep casual sex casual.

  But it was almost three o’clock in the morning, and Dougal had been gone for hours. Already she missed him.

  This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  And she was wallowing in a hole in the bed from all her tossing and turning. She might as well get up and take a moonlit walk in the gardens. Maybe the fresh air would clear her feverish head.

  She got dressed, slipped on a light sweater and stepped out to stroll the cobblestones. She kept thinking about Dougal. Emotions overwhelmed her. She felt thunderstruck, inquisitive, voracious, jubilant, empowered and amorous all at once. Good feelings, euphoric feelings, but very scary. She wanted to hop up and down and clap her hands like a six-year-old at her birthday party.

  At last.

  The thought hung in her mind. She didn’t know what it meant; she simply felt it in every part of her body.

  At last.

  At last what? That she was finally exploring the sexuality she’d hidden down deep inside her while she’d raised Stacy? At last she’d found a guy who didn’t mind role-playing with her? At last…

  She didn’t really want to follow that thought to all the places it could lead because she knew she was vulnerable. Knew Dougal was the kind of guy she could fall in love with. Especially since she had no experience with keeping things casual. She trailed through the garden, the air heavy with the scent of flowers and dew collecting on her slippers.

  So what was she to do? Forget about all the delicious promise inherent in a fling, or take the plunge and risk getting her heart broken? She plunked down on a cement bench at the back of the garden and pondered the question under the glow of the moon.

  Maybe you don’t have to get your heart broken, whispered the quiet voice at the back of her mind. If you just keep playacting, maybe you can have your sex and keep your heart intact.

  If she pretended to be someone else and donned a new persona every time she was with Dougal, she wouldn’t be the one falling for him. It would be the muse falling for Shakespeare or Lady Chatterley falling for the stableman or Elizabeth Bennet falling for Mr. Darcy.

  What an appealing idea.

  Roxie made up her mind and arose from the park bench with fresh waves of excitement washing over her. That’s exactly what she was going to do. Meanwhile, she had a job to do for Porter Langley and since she couldn’t get to sleep, now was a perfect time to do a little snooping.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Roxie climbed onboard the tour bus headed for an excursion throughout the English countryside. Today she was Lady Chatterley and Dougal was Oliver.

  “Hello, good morning, welcome aboard.” Dougal greeted her just as he’d greeted every other guest boarding the bus.

  Roxie did not linger near him, although she longed to do so. She caught a whiff of his cologne and the spicy, masculine smell immediately filled her mind with images of the previous night. Ducking her head to hide the pink flush burning her cheeks, she headed for the long bench seat at back of the bus, figuring it was safest to put as much distance between Lady Chatterley and Oliver as possible.

  She’d just sat down when Jess and Sam plunked into the seat beside her, chattering nonstop. “So what happened last night?” Jess asked.

  “Happened?” Roxie fiddled with the strap of her purse.

  “You know, with Mr. Handsome, after the spotlight fell,” Sam added.

  “Um…nothing happened.”

  “That wasn’t what we were reading from his body language,” Jess said. “That man is seriously into you.”

  Be cool. Don’t give yourself away.

  “Is he?” she said mildly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Woman, you need to make an appointment with an ophthalmologist because you’re going blind. When you two are near each other, the rest of us can practically see the smoke rising off you,” Sam said.

  From his place at the front of the bus, Dougal was regaling the group with saucy tales of legendary lovers throughout British history. His eyes landed on her. Quickly Roxie jerked her gaze away.

  “See,” Jess crowed. “That right there.” She made a hissing noise like the sound of bacon hitting a hot griddle. “Sizzle.”

  “I think we’re making her uncomfortable,” Sam said at Roxie’s fidgeting.

  “Oh, sorry,” Jess apologized. “I was just teasing.”

  Roxie quickly changed the subject.

  For their first stop of the day, the tour visited an estate in Derbyshire. Reportedly it was the site of D. H. Lawrence’s fictional tale of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Dougal herded the group through the house, and then thirty minutes later, he led them to the stables.

  “Anyone who’s read the book knows this is the setting of some of the most erotic scenes in classic literature,” he said.

  Roxie lifted her head to find him staring straight at her. Feeling decidedly unsettled, she flicked out the tip of her tongue to whisk away a tiny pearl of perspiration that had suddenly beaded on her upper lip.

  “I haven’t read the book,” Sam said. “Can you fill us in?”

  “Let’s just say there’s a re
ason haylofts have come to signify passion in the countryside,” Dougal explained.

  This brought suggestive comments from the crowd.

  The air inside the barn smelled earthy, musty, lusty. Dust motes danced on a shaft of sunlight. Saddles and horse blankets and leather riding crops hung on the walls. Cameras clicked as everyone vied for the best shot. Jess and Sam mugged it up in comically sexy poses with some guys they’d met on the tour.

  Unbidden, Roxie imagined that it was she and Dougal making good use of the hayloft and its intriguing accoutrements. She gulped at the fantasy of his long, tanned fingers caressing her body.

  “Ultimately,” he said, his tone of voice stroking something deep inside Roxie, “Lawrence’s book is about Connie’s realization that she cannot live by her mind alone, that she must be sexually active to remain vital. As Oliver and Connie’s relationship develops, she learns that sex is nothing to be ashamed of, while he learns about the spiritual challenges that come from sexual love.”

  Roxie knew it was a canned speech, but Dougal’s eyes smoldered. All she could think about was getting him into bed again. The events from last night kept circling her brain, tossing her thoughts around like a tumultuous tornado.

  For the remainder of the tour, she avoided meeting his eyes, but she couldn’t shake the scent of him from her nostrils. By the time the tour was over, Roxie’s skin ached hot and raw; her imagination was a fertile and dangerous erotic playground. In the ladies’ room, she dampened a paper towel and pressed it against the nape of her neck.

  “Are you okay?” Sam asked.

  Roxie forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Jess piped up. “Your cheeks are flushed.”

  “And your eyes are shiny,” Sam added. “Do you have a fever?” She made a move as if she was going to put her hand to Roxie’s forehead to check.

  Roxie stepped back. “No, no, I just got a bit—” she paused, searching for the right word “—overheated in the hayloft.”

  “Didn’t we all?” Jess fanned herself with a hand. “Dougal sure made Lady Chatterley’s Lover come alive.”

  Jealousy bit into her. She knew most of the women on the tour were lusting after him, but she didn’t want to hear about it.

  “But Dougal only has eyes for Roxie,” Sam said.

  Roxie washed her hands. She dashed out into the hall and almost ran smack-dab into Dougal’s hard, muscled chest.

  “Whoa,” he said, reaching out a hand to slow her forward momentum. “Where’s the gold rush?”

  Flustered, she sidled away from him. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize.”

  She didn’t look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her.

  Once everyone had rejoined the group, Dougal said, “Let’s head back to the bus. Next stop is lunch at Tom Jones Tavern.”

  Forty minutes later they arrived at a quaint little pub on the outskirts of a picturesque village. Just before he signaled for the driver to let them off the bus, Dougal sauntered down the aisle passing out orange plastic tags with numbers printed on them. “We’re mixing things up for this meal,” he said. “The numbers on the tags correspond with a seating chart inside the restaurant. A stimulating vacation pushes you out of your comfort zone and that’s what’s happening today. So go find your seats and enjoy meeting new friends.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd at this turn of events.

  The bus doors whispered open and by the time the front of the bus emptied, Dougal had made it to the back. He passed the last two tags out to Jess and Sam.

  “We’ll see you inside.” Sam waved to Roxie and then turned to follow her twin sister off the bus.

  “Will you look at that,” Dougal said, holding out his open palms. “I’ve run out of tags. Looks like you’ll just have to sit with me.”

  “You did that on purpose,” she said.

  “It’s the only way to have lunch with you without calling attention to our having lunch together.” He leveled a seductive smile at her. She thought about last night and a shiver raced down her spine.

  “Are you sure it’s wise to risk it?”

  “Wise?” He arched an eyebrow. “Probably not.”

  “But you’re going to do it anyway?”

  “I can’t seem to stay away from you.”

  Roxie was flattered. She’d never had a guy flirt with her like this. Then again, she usually did her best to avoid male attention. Normally it made her uncomfortable. The fact that she was enjoying this banter with Dougal was quite telling indeed. The Gordian knot in her stomach tightened.

  Once inside the pub, they took the last remaining booth tucked into a darkened corner away from the majority of the diners. On the flat-screen television above the bar, the eating scene from the movie Tom Jones played out its lusty message of culinary excess. Menus lay on the table. She picked one up and studied it.

  Dougal folded his hands and sat watching her. After a moment, she glanced up from the menu and forced herself to meet his gaze. “I have a yearning for a nice, juicy turkey leg. What are you getting?”

  “I’m tempted to say oysters.” His gaze flicked to the onscreen movie snippet where the actors were in the midst of seducing each other with raw oysters. “But that would be too obvious.” His own lusty smile heated her from the inside out. “I think I’ll join you and have the turkey leg, as well.”

  His eyes snagged her gaze and held it over the flicking candles secured with wax into the necks of empty ale bottles. The walls were constructed of knotty pine, the floors of centuries-old planks. Food was served in trenchers instead of on plates, the drinks in pewter mugs. The rustic decor, along with the scent of roasting meat, had the intended effect—basic, raw, sexy.

  The waitress, decked out in a serving wench costume, appeared at their table. “What’ll you two be ’avin’?” she asked, hamming up the Cockney accent.

  “Two turkey-leg lunches.” Dougal ordered for them both. “With all the trimmings. I’ll have a lager and she’ll have…” He paused, raised his eyebrow at her.

  “I’ll have a lager, too,” she said. Why not? She was on vacation.

  After the waitress left, Roxie leaned forward to whisper, “Are you sure we should be doing this so out in the open?”

  “Is there a better way to conduct a secret affair? No one suspects if you’re open about it.”

  “Are we having a secret affair?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of losing your job?”

  “I’m more afraid of losing the chance to get to know you better.”

  That surprised and embarrassed her a bit. She’d never had a man come on so strong. And she liked it. Was that bad? “Really?”

  His eyes were warm. “Really.”

  “Still, I’d feel guilty.” She glanced around the room, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention. That helped her to relax a little. She sank against the back of the booth. “If you got into trouble…”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  Roxie didn’t know what to say. Her body yearned for his touch and getting to know him was a smart thing in regard to her reason for being here. Surely he possessed insider information she could pass along to her boss, but the thought of using him left a bad taste in her mouth.

  Dougal leaned back, mirroring her movements. “So,” he said, “tell me more about Roxanne Stanley.”

  “I’m pretty boring, actually,” she confessed. “You already know I love emocore, chicken Marsala and walnut brownies and that I’m an executive assistant. I’m originally from Albany, but I moved to Brooklyn when I got a job in the city. That pretty well covers me.”

  “What about your parents, your siblings?”

  Roxie drew in a deep breath. Even though it had been ten years, she still hurt to think about her parents. “My folks were killed in a car crash when I was eighteen and my little sister, Stacy, was eight.”

  He looked genuinely sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that. I apologize
for prying. I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories. You don’t have to tell me anything else.”

  “It’s okay.” She told him about Stacy, how she’d raised her alone. “I couldn’t bear the thought of sending her to live with distant relatives or worse, having her end up in foster care. We’re really close.”

  “That must have been really hard on you.”

  “You’d think so, but honestly we didn’t notice. We had each other and we had a lot of fun together. Because I was so young myself, I let her do things like have ice cream for breakfast once a week and on Saturdays we’d spend the day in our pajamas.”

  “A girlie version of Neverland?”

  “Something like that. Plus we had friends and neighbors that helped us. The experience taught me people are basically very good at heart. Of course, growing up with parents who ran a dinner theater had already given me a cheery, soft-focus view of the world. We were always playing or singing or watching upbeat movies together.”

  “So that’s where you got your acting talent. It sounds like a nice way to grow up,” he said.

  “It was. The biggest adjustment for me was moving to the city and figuring out not everyone was as kind and welcoming as the people I’d grown up around. Even so, I’ve met more nice people than rude ones, but I’ve been accused of wearing rose-colored glasses. The criticism doesn’t bother me. I believe people and places live up to your expectations. How about you?” she asked. “Where are you from?”

  He made a face. “I don’t like to talk about my childhood.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair. You can’t leave me hanging. I opened up to you. For this to be a real conversation you have to reciprocate.”

  “You’re right.” He shifted in his seat, then paused a moment before saying, “I was born in Detroit, on the wrong side of the tracks.”

  “I’ve heard Detroit is a tough town.”

  “It can be.”

  “Do your parents still live there?”

  His eyes darkened. “My father took off when I was eight. I haven’t seen him since.”

  She saw the long-ago pain of being abandoned by his father flicker in his eyes, but it quickly disappeared. “What about your mom?”