Risk (It's Complicated Book 2)

by Ann Christopher

  Funny, though.

  She couldn’t recall the last time she and Ronnie had made love.

  “Brianna...and you?” she asked.

  “I’m handling this all wrong.” Ronnie stepped closer and put a light hand on her arm. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t touch me.” She snatched her arm away, earning more curious looks from the bystanders.

  One woman sitting on a settee to her right said, “My goodness,” with exaggerated concern, to Angela’s further embarrassment.

  Ronnie jerked his hands back. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Is there a problem?” asked a quiet voice.

  Justus’s voice.

  “It’s okay,” Angela said quickly, her knees and voice weakening with relief that she had backup, even though she instinctively knew that it would take very little for Justus to reach his breaking point with Ronnie today, and that would be bad. “I can handle it. Really.”

  His expression unfathomable, Justus took Angela’s elbow and gently pulled her back and away from Ronnie.

  Then he squared off with Ronnie and stretched to his full height, a sight as impressive and menacing as a cobra unfurling its hood and spitting.

  Ronnie, who’d turned distinctly pale, stuck out a hand. “Justus,” he said in his crisp doctor’s voice. “I was so sorry to hear about your brother. I liked him. A lot.”

  Justus stared at Ronnie as though Ronnie had fresh shit squished between his outstretched fingers.

  Ronnie, slowly getting the message, dropped his hand.

  “You’re upsetting Angela,” Justus said in a voice like death encased in ice. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  Ronnie’s gaze, speculative now, swung back and forth between Justus and Angela before settling on her. “What’s this about, Angela?” he asked. “Maybe you’ve been keeping a few secrets yourself.”

  Angela all but choked on her outrage. How could Ronnie have the nerve—the absolute gall!—to throw nasty little stones when he lived in a glass house? She glanced to Justus, more than a little worried he was about to swing for Ronnie’s accusatory face, but Justus merely watched her, as though he was as curious about her answer as Ronnie was.

  “My relationship with Justus is none of your freaking business,” she told Ronnie. “And you need to leave. Now.”

  “Angela...” Ronnie began beseechingly.

  She raised a hand to stop him. “We don’t have anything else to talk about. Leave.”

  Ronnie hesitated, opening his mouth.

  “Don’t make me call the police,” she warned.

  Without another word, Ronnie turned and walked off. Angela didn’t want to take any chances, so she kept an eye on his departing figure until he walked out the side door.

  “Punk-ass bitch,” Justus muttered as the door shut behind Ronnie.

  Angela smoothed her ponytail with a shaky hand, thoroughly unnerved. “Yeah, well, even though you interrupted a private conversation, and even though I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, I’d like to thank you for—”

  Justus leveled his flashing black gaze on her. “You wanted to marry that guy?”

  Once again, Angela bristled at this attack on the man she’d invested so much time in. “Excuse me, but I—”

  “Because he doesn’t give a shit about you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “He wasn’t all bad,” she said. “He was chief resident and he’s got a great job now. Plus, he’s active in his church—”

  “I don’t want his résumé,” Justus snarled. “I know he looks good on paper! But did you ever look beyond that and see he doesn’t give a damn about what you need? Why else would he show up here when he knew you didn’t want him to come? Huh?”

  “Well...”

  “I’ll bet your whole little relationship was like that, wasn’t it?”

  Angela’s mind veered off onto the times she’d asked Ronnie if they could vacation somewhere else besides Martha’s Vineyard, only to be shot down. And the times she’d wanted to try a new restaurant, play, or hobby, only to have Ronnie talk her out of it. And the times—way too numerous to count—she’d tried to talk with him about her day, her clients or her work pressures, only to have him roll his eyes and say she didn’t know anything about pressures because she didn’t have people’s lives in her hands. Like Ronnie did.

  To her horror, Justus’s expression had morphed into pity.

  She much preferred the anger.

  “You don’t know anything about it,” she snapped.

  Justus stared her in the face. “I know you’re a million times too good for him. I hope you know it, too.”

  The intensity fueling his emotion was way too much for her right now. “I’m okay,” she insisted, turning away.

  But he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, startling her.

  “Don’t let—look at me,” he commanded.

  He waited until she complied and raised her defiant gaze to his.

  And when she did? Staring into his turbulent brown eyes, it was like...

  Honest to God, in that one bewildering moment, it was like the entire universe was there, concentrated in this young man’s face, waiting for her to notice.

  “Justus,” she said helplessly.

  “Don’t let him hurt you again,” he said. “Never. Again. You feel me?”

  All she could do was nod.

  Something in his expression softened. He stepped closer, opening his mouth.

  She stepped closer and tipped her chin up, eager to hear anything he had to say in this heated moment...

  “Here you are!” cried a syrupy female voice behind them.

  And there, Angela realized with a cold swoop of annoyance, was Justus’s friend with benefits (Janet? Justine? Janice?), wearing a skimpy blue dress and striding into the solarium on her six-inch heels.

  Janet turned on Justus as soon as Angela excused herself and strode off.

  “What’s going on with you and that woman?” she demanded. “I knew something was going on with you two. I could tell by the way you were looking at her the other night at the restaurant. And then you went into the ladies’ room and were holed up with her for half the night, and you’re trying to act like it’s no big deal. I’m not stupid, Justus. I want to know what’s going on.”

  “Nothing,” he said, which was technically true.

  Well, okay, it was a complete lie. He just didn’t see any need to do a Jimmy Carter and confess he was lusting in his heart after Angela.

  “Oh, really?” Janet folded her arms over her chest and her voice went up a screechy octave. “So what did she mean by that just now—‘I’ll see you later’?”

  Justus threw his temper into lockdown, a difficult task considering he didn’t like being interrogated, especially by a woman with whom he was having, at best, a casual sexual relationship. He kept his voice low and deliberate.

  “I suppose it means she’ll see me later.”

  “You’re fucking her, aren’t you?” asked Janet, the very soul of class.

  With that one sentence, Justus hit his lifetime limit of Janet.

  Enough was enough.

  What had started out a few weeks ago as a perfectly pleasant seduction between him and Janet had lately turned into an ongoing interrogation worthy of the top CIA operatives in the business. Where was he? Why hadn’t he called? Why didn’t he return each of her four million daily texts within thirty seconds of her sending them? Why didn’t he stay the night? Who was that girl? Who was that one?

  And all this when they’d agreed up front that all they wanted from each other was sex?

  Hell no.

  And now here she was, grilling him about his nonexistent extracurricular activities at his brother’s funeral?

  Hell fucking no.

  “You need to back off,” he said quietly, intending to dump her later, in private. “And I need to talk to some of the guests.”

  Janet seemed to realize she’d gone too far, and did he
r best to mitigate the damage. “Justus—wait.” Smoothing her voice out, she flashed him a seductive smile. “Should I come over later?”

  Justus sighed and took a breath. Janet had turned into a pain in the ass, but that was no reason for him to be cruel.

  “I don’t think so,” he said gently, maintaining eye contact so she’d get the picture.

  The silence grew, eventually becoming awkward, while tears formed in her eyes.

  “I’ll call you, then,” she said.

  Justus dropped his head, his jaw flexing. He thought of sugarcoating things, of saying, Yeah, great, call me, then ignoring her when she did.

  But that was the coward’s way out, and he wasn’t a coward.

  “I’ll understand if you’re too busy to call, Janet.”

  Painful comprehension finally appeared in her eyes.

  “Fine,” she snapped, looking away.

  He hesitated. So...were they done here?

  Looked like it, he decided, giving himself permission to leave, determined to make his escape before anything else went south.

  “Take care of yourself, Janet.”

  He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and walked off as quickly as he could, already scanning the room for Angela.

  While Vincent ushered the last of the guests to the door at three fifteen, Angela, feeling tired but strangely peaceful, wandered through the French doors into the elaborate courtyard. English ivy climbed the six-foot wall, creating a secret haven. She sat on one of the wrought-iron benches and watched as water splashed down large flat stones that had been stairstepped into the wall and filled a kidney-shaped koi pond. The sun shone overhead and the sky was a vibrant cerulean.

  Yeah. This was just what she needed right now.

  Angela ignored the chill, breathed deeply, tipped her face up to the sun, and closed her eyes.

  “Hey,” said Justus.

  “Hey,” she said without bothering to open her eyes.

  She smiled because she’d somehow known he would come.

  Just as she was somehow beginning to know she could count on him.

  Just as she was somehow beginning to know that things would be okay.

  Notwithstanding Ronnie’s intrusion, the funeral had been everything she could’ve hoped and more. She’d received a powerful comfort from being surrounded by distant relatives, mothers from the playgroup at school, church members, neighbors, and others—all of whom had known and loved Carolyn. All of them repeatedly insisted that she call for help with Maya, who seemed to be universally well liked.

  What was the saying? It takes a village to raise a child?

  Angela was beginning to see the outline of Maya’s village. And for that, she was profoundly grateful.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. You?”

  Taking another deep breath, she opened her eyes to discover Justus staring at her, his dark eyes intense and mysterious. Then he blinked once, and whatever thoughts he’d had disappeared from view, not that she’d have ever managed to read them anyway.

  “I think we did pretty good, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yeah. It’s a beautiful day for them to be remembered. Carolyn would have liked it.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. V.J. too.”

  The cold air finally penetrated her clothes. She shivered.

  “Here.” Justus whipped off his expensive jacket and threw it around her shoulders, where it hung like some huge tent and smelled spicy, like him.

  She shivered again, absorbing some of his lingering body heat from the fine wool.

  He noticed, of course. His speculative gaze skimmed her from head to toe. “Still cold?”

  He had to know she wasn’t, especially when she couldn’t meet his eye.

  “No,” she said.

  “Good.”

  The amusement in his voice threatened to make her squirm. She was on the verge of making up some excuse to go inside when the door creaked and Vincent came out.

  “Well, that’s everyone.” Still looking gaunt and exhausted, he sat on the walled edge of the koi pond. “The caterers are cleaning up.”

  “Mr. Robinson, I can’t begin to thank you enough for all you’ve done,” Angela said. “Carolyn would have loved the service.”

  “V.J. too,” Justus added.

  Vincent nodded, his smile hollow. “I’m glad.”

  He paused before giving her his let’s-get-down-to-business look.

  “Angela, dear, we’ve got a lot to discuss: Maya, the finances, the house—”

  “I know.” Of course he and Justus would want to make sure they’d have visitation rights when she adopted Maya, Angela thought, and she’d be only too happy to work out some reasonable schedule. “Maybe I can come back tomorrow and we can discuss everything? I’ve had about enough for today. Haven’t you?”

  Vincent waved a hand. “Fine, fine. Why don’t you come by around four?”

  “That’s fine with me.” She turned to Justus, who looked grim. “Can you make that?”

  “Oh, I’m sure we can fill Justus in later,” Vincent said before Justus could answer.

  “I’ll be there,” Justus said.

  “Fine,” Vincent said sharply.

  “Mr. Robinson?” One of the white-jacketed caterers stuck his head out the door. “What did you want us to do about the lamb chops?”

  Sighing, Vincent rose heavily to his feet. “I’ll be right there.” He turned to wink at Angela. “I don’t think this day will ever be over with, do you?”

  He disappeared inside.

  “I better go.” Angela stood and checked her watch. “I want to pick Maya up before it gets too much later.”

  “Wait.” Justus stood and touched her arm. “I thought maybe...” He hesitated, smiling sheepishly. “I’m a pretty good cook. I thought maybe you and Maya might want to have dinner at my place tonight. Just so you don’t have to cook, I mean.”

  “Really?”

  “Come at six,” he told her.

  10

  “Uncle Justus!” Maya streaked past the second he opened the door, pausing only long enough to kick her shoes into the hall basket and give him a quick hug around the knees. Then she raced into his bedroom, shedding hat, mittens and jacket to form a trail they could follow if they needed to find her. The door slammed shut behind her.

  “What just happened?” Angela asked, wide-eyed, as she slowly stepped over the threshold and into the small foyer. She stared down the hall at his bedroom door. “What’ve you got in there? Disneyland?”

  “Better,” he said, laughing. “Cable, a king-sized bed, and a big-screen, high-def TV.”

  “Ah. I made some sourdough bread.” She handed it to him.

  “Sourdough? This is my lucky night. Have you been taking more cooking classes at Cincinnati State?”

  “Wow. You have a good memory, don’t you?”

  Where she was concerned? You bet your ass he did.

  He stepped behind her to help with her jacket, unable to stop himself from skimming his fingers along the bottom of the gleaming satin of her hair as he did. He figured the movement of the jacket over her shoulders would disguise his touch, and if it didn’t, well, it was about time she realized his intentions anyway.

  Unfortunately, the brief contact was only enough to torture him a little and make him want her more.

  Served him right, he supposed, putting the bread on the console for now.

  She stepped away, smiling her thanks, and he took the opportunity to stare at her as she did a slow turn around the foyer before heading into the living room.

  God.

  She was beautiful.

  For once she’d freed her hair, letting it fall softly around her face and shoulders. The vee of her black sweater drew his gaze down to a pair of truly amazing titties. Her faded jeans molded so perfectly to her thighs and ass it was hard for him to look anywhere else.

  Still, he gave it his best shot as he trailed after her into the living room, seeing it through her eyes.r />
  When she’d said yes to dinner, he’d raced home to clean up a little, and now, seeing her approving smile, he was glad he had. He liked natural stuff: nature photos; leather furniture; ferns; Navaho prints for the pillows; a simple Shaker dining set. On the other side of that was the kitchen.

  “I love your apartment,” she announced.

  “Thanks.” He pointed, trying to rein in his ear-to-ear grin. “Note the coffee table. Feel free to put your feet on it anytime.”

  To his astonishment, she reached up and patted his cheek with her warm, soft hand. “Poor Justus,” she said condescendingly. “You’re so tragically misguided.”

  His belly swooped with excitement but, too soon, she moved away and sat on one of the chairs.

  “This apartment is the opposite of your father’s house. It feels like a home.”

  “Damn straight it does. I’m not trying to recreate Casa Vincent over here.”

  “Casa Vincent.” She laughed. “That says it all, doesn’t it?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  He sat on the corner of the sofa nearest her and they smiled at each other for a minute in complete understanding.

  Until he began to feel the flush building in his cheeks and decided to keep things moving before he lapsed into open staring again.

  “How’d Maya do at school today?” he asked.

  “Pretty good. I was thinking I’d call this child psychologist Maya’s teacher recommended. He specializes in grief counseling for children. I thought it couldn’t hurt.”

  He nodded. “I agree. Good idea.”

  She looked to the closed bedroom door, from which no sound escaped. “She’s not in there watching the Playboy Channel or something, is she? I’ve never heard her so quiet.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got all her little kiddie channels programmed. She likes to surf.”

  Her mouth twisted. “A surfing three-year-old. Wonderful.”

  “I’m not willing to fight and die on that hill,” he said. “A little TV is fine for kids.”

  “Hmm.” She lifted her chin in the air, sniffing. “Something smells fantastic. What’s for dinner?”