by Angel Payne
“What’s going on, Ethan?”
He dipped his head. “I guess we’re going to go take a lot of pictures.”
“And you’re really this calm about it?”
He jutted his jaw and looked down the hall. “Guess I have to be.”
“Then why won’t you look at me and say it?”
With an angry grunt, he lifted his head. But the second his stare tore into hers, his ire transformed to something else, an emotion she couldn’t place, intense and conflicted. The force of it pulled at every muscle in her body…and reawakened every nerve in her sex. Holy shit, how could the man do this to her with one look? Why was he doing this to her with one look? He was with Bella. Belonged with her. End of story. Someone cue the dramatic music and the happily-ever-after sunset backdrop, please.
“Ava.” It finally fell from him on a guttural rasp. His chest rose and fell, betraying more of his inner battle. “Please don’t push. Not now.”
For a second, his urgent voice rendered her without one. She blinked again, processing the realization that the tickles of her instinct were founded in truth—a truth that had made Ethan, a man who took orders from nobody except his superiors, pleading with her to back the hell away. “Don’t push at what?”
The perfect cliffs of his features fell into deeper shadow.
“Ethan?” She took a step toward him, cocked her head, and glared. “Damn it, talk to me. Don’t push at what?”
The next moment, as he watched someone appear around the corner, his features darkened into deep secrecy again. The moment was gone.
“My dolce Ava!”
She spun at Enzo Lemare’s greeting. The man approached with a champagne flute in each hand, his deep-set Roman eyes sweeping over her. After a gallant bow, he offered her one of the glasses.
“Mr. Lemare,” she murmured. “Errmm, thank you but I’m working tonight and—”
“Not anymore.” With the aplomb of Caesar, the man pushed her hand up, urging her to take a sip of the chilled Cristal. “I told Bella that since you’ll be working very hard the next few days, you have the rest of the night off. And you’re enjoying dinner at my table, as my guest.”
She managed a smile but there wasn’t a shred of comfort behind it. “That…is so…sweet…” Sweet? Did you seriously just use the same word on Enzo Lemare that you pulled out to turn down Bobby Weller for junior prom? “But I’m—I’m not dressed correctly—and look at my hair—”
“All right.” He stunned her into silence by deftly yanking out the two pins that held together her “style” then combing his fingers down, to bring it all tumbling around her face. “If you insist.”
For some reason, every bone in her body longed to run.
One look at Ethan convinced her otherwise.
Though his lips were fixed in a cordial expression, his eyes betrayed a different objective. The potent desire to hurt Enzo Lemare.
Didn’t take the man long to return with the mixed messages. Okay, despite Lemare’s insistence that Ethan go to first name basis with him, an underline of tension between them was a given. Bella had been with Lemare, at least for a night, before scooping up Ethan. That had likely been filtered by the Dominant side of Ethan’s brain into a degree of protective jealousy. But the octane level of his glare was burning much higher. He looked like he longed to remove the man’s spleen by hand. Why?
Mierda. She needed to go home, trade the champagne for a cup of chamomile tea, and call it a night. No espionage books. No more binge watching her favorite spy shows. Straight to bed with the vow that Ethan was Bella’s concern now, no matter how much it ached to do it…no matter how deep the certainty that the woman rarely coupled the word “concern” with anything past crow’s feet and where she ranked on the latest best-dressed lists.
The same certainty that made her stomach fold over on itself.
Which was why she gritted a smile at Lemare and allowed him to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow before guiding her into the ballroom for dinner.
* * * * *
She should have opted for the tea and her pillow.
Two hours and a crap-load of discomfort later, she was no closer to figuring out the purpose behind Ethan’s cryptic words in the hallway. The man himself didn’t turn over a single clue, spending the evening between his whispering love cocoon with Bella and his robust “man chat” with Enzo. That itself gave her eyebrows a nice workout. Ethan actually looked like he enjoyed hashing out the finer points of his first manicure, the nuances of a good chianti, and what shoe silhouette was going to prevail over the fall and winter.
When Ava wasn’t biting back giggles, she was swallowing back tears. Apparently, the interesting half of the table ended at Enzo. Despite the producer’s attempts to include her in their exchanges, Ethan barely acknowledged her beyond a few polite nods. In short, he did everything he could to enforce his command from out in the hall. Whatever door she’d been pushing at, he wanted her off the stoop for good.
It hurt. She didn’t want it to. She didn’t need it to. Damn it, wasn’t she the one who told him they’d be better off this way? Then why was she the one who could only pick at her filet and prawns, appetite gone and apprehension on high? Why was she the one who couldn’t banish the memory of that brilliant blue gaze, unwavering at her, filled with the same force of his words? Ava. Don’t push.
It was finally time for dessert, though even the triple-chocolate ganache wasn’t enough to keep her at the table. As Bradley Cooper, the night’s master of ceremonies, got up to announce they’d be starting the program soon, she frantically looked for the door. Even a few minutes of respite from Ethan and his weirdness would be Heaven.
“Needing some air, mi dolce?”
She smiled in real gratitude at Enzo. Though his overtones of gallantry were a little excessive tonight, she couldn’t blame the guy for wanting to lick the wounds Bella had dealt by pouncing on Ethan two days after he’d left her bed. Enzo would realize that in the morning, after the wine had worn off. In the meantime, she appreciated him fabricating an excuse to take a phone call in order to escort her out to the foyer, where she scooted into the ladies room for some much-needed solitude.
The break helped freshen her lipstick, if not her senses. Like the tides hitting the beach outside, she was awash in confusion one second but bright with clarity the next. She didn’t care what Ethan did but watched his every move through the night—and by doing so, had gotten another huge lesson in puzzlement. Why did he fawn over Bella only when she was looking? Why did his regard of Enzo swing to such extremes, openly admiring one second but seething with animosity the next? And why did he stare at everyone else in the room like they were all potential suicide bombers?
She headed out from the bathroom with a growing headache.
There was no sign of Enzo anymore. A spattering of applause sounded from the ballroom, so she assumed he’d gone back inside so as to not miss the start of the program. She released a little sigh of relief. One last chance to get her shit together before returning to Awkward Central.
There was a small buzz from her purse. She smiled when pulling it out. A text from Charlie.
When the HELL were you going to text me about Grant Fulsom?
“Oh, dear.” She murmured it on half a giggle, making her way out to the patio to dash a quick retort. The glowing, empty screen taunted her. This message had to be a doozy. Something full of breezy yet witty remorse, ending with the kicker that she’d been unable to message due to being occupied at dinner with—
The man who stood on the patio now, pacing intently with his cell at his ear.
Ava backed up as quietly as she could. Wow. Enzo really did have a phone call to take. A hairy one, by the looks of it. “Duh, Chestain,” she muttered while sinking into a chair just inside the door to the patio. “The man isn’t at the top of all the industry lists because he only takes calls until six.”
She settled further into the cushion, wondering if she could just ask Housekeepin
g to bring her a blanket and tuck her in for a good night’s sleep in the luxurious thing. “Focus,” she muttered, redirecting thoughts back on her message back to Chaz. Shit, she was tired. The strain of the last four days piled on her like a truckload of bricks, dragging her eyes down.
Enzo’s voice, raised and ruthless, stabbed the peace of her reverie.
“I am telling you that I have it handled, Mateo. You and Alex caused this mess; now you will let me clean it up with no more questions!”
For some reason, she kept her eyes closed. There was no way the man could see her from this angle but the viciousness in his voice told her this was no ordinary business call. Her gut clutched. Her palms got clammy. She pressed herself back, wishing the chair would simply swallow her.
“Do not worry about that. I have them handled. Yes, all of them. Cameron’s idea on that is proceeding perfectly. Of course he knows what he is doing. You know what they say…keep your enemies close, qué no?”
She wanted to squirm but kept herself frozen. And the whole time, called herself ten kinds of an idiot. Did she think production deals got negotiated over rainbow sprinkle cupcakes and a round of wine spritzers? Men like Enzo were called the big sharks for a reason.
Of course, the second she entertained that thought, the man broke out with a warm and friendly laugh. “Now that is what I was hoping to hear. Perfect, perfect. We must work together, my friend. One hundred percent success is the only acceptable benchmark, one we can only accomplish together. Call Cameron Stock and I when you get into town. We shall want to know you have gotten here safely and are ready to proceed.” After a long pause, he went on, “Stock has that handled, as well. He is interfacing with the relevant specialists on a daily basis.”
That comment made her indulge a small smile. Despite the mess it had created for her personally, it had been satisfying to have Ethan, Rhett, and Rebel on set, recognized for their expertise and service to the country.
“Yes, of course, of course. Thank you, Mateo. Soon, my friend, it will be next Tuesday night, and our mission will be complete. We shall celebrate our grand triumph together. Very well. Buenas noches.”
As he ended the call, Ava scrambled up and strolled out to the patio like she’d just gotten there. Though it was reassuring to know he was fighting for the success of the show’s big night, her deeper instincts still told her it wasn’t a good idea to reveal she’d been eavesdropping.
“Well, here you are.” She plastered on a relaxed smile.
Enzo held up his phone. “The ball and chain.” He pocketed the device and cupped her shoulders. “The fog is coming in. It is cold out here. You should be inside swooning over Mr. Cooper along with the other ladies.”
She let her face tighten. The idea of facing Ethan and his antics again registered on the scale of having to run a marathon right now. “I’m getting a pretty awful headache.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “And we’re in for a crazy ride up until the live broadcast next week…”
Enzo gave her a gentle smile. It turned his face into something that could be on the cover of European GQ in its handsomeness. “I understand. I will render regrets to the table on your behalf.”
Ava forced herself to return the look. Damn it, why couldn’t she truly feel the emotion beneath? What was wrong with her? Enzo Lemare was gorgeous in all the right ways, had treated her like a queen tonight, and probably toweled his toned bod in hundred dollar bills every morning. He at least deserved a smile she hadn’t ratcheted into place.
“You’ve been so amazing to me tonight.” The awe in her voice was genuine. “I feel like Cinderella at the ball. Thank you.”
She couldn’t read his reaction to that. His dark stare traveled across her face before he lifted a hand to frame one side of it. Without another word, he softly kissed her.
Technically, it was a kiss. He brushed her lips with just enough pressure, pausing at just the right second to determine if she’d encourage him to do more, to qualify it as such. Ava searched deep, frantically begging her senses to respond, but came back with nothing. Compared to the heat Ethan brought with his mouth, this was more like a pleasant caress or a parting peck between friends.
Damn it.
She grabbed Enzo’s hand and squeezed it, wishing it could be transformed into a mental chalkboard eraser. On the newly blank slate, she’d dutifully write a thousand repetitions. I will not fall for another military man again. I will not fall for another military man again. I will not fall—
“Ava.” Enzo’s voice, a satin cushion around her name, coaxed her mind back. “Cara, what is it?”
She sighed. Just do it. One step and you’re there. His embrace offered strength, his eyes promised comfort. But that nagging intuition compelled her to let him go and back away. “Nothing a full night’s sleep won’t help,” she answered. “I’m—I’m just going to head home.” With an impish tilt of her head, she added, “See you at the office tomorrow?”
“The office,” he echoed with a chuckle. “Of course.”
She took the quickest route home, south on Coast Highway. The fog that rolled over the road, thicker every minute, seemed an ironic fit for her mental preparation for the days ahead. She’d learned a long time ago that “expecting the unexpected” was an understatement in this business, and most of the time she even thrived on the mantra, but the strange unease in her stomach, introduced when she’d overheard Enzo on the phone, had only gotten worse as she had the chance to replay it. With Ethan’s shit storm of confusing behavior stirred into that, she was surprised she was able to steer the car home correctly.
Her head and her heart had declared war on each other. And short of hitting the Delete key on her brain, she didn’t know how to enact a truce. But doing that would mean eradicating everything, including every moment that she’d shared with Ethan…every kiss, every smile, every connection that contained no sound or word, because it didn’t have to…
With a heavy sigh, she fell into bed, grateful for the weight of exhaustion that pulled her under the waves of sleep, into the dark hours of nothingness before the war started again.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m still not sure whether to feel right at home or mildly freaked out.”
Tait responded to Kellan’s quip with a snort. “Mildly?”
They joined each other in stares mixed of astonishment, amusement and plain what-the-hell-ment while watching Grant Fulsom and his crew set up for Ethan and Bella’s photo shoot in the Desert Garden of the Huntington Botanical Gardens. The Huntington was located about a half hour from the hub of LA and offered an impressive collection of plant habitats that represented all corners of the world, including this area Fulsom had transformed into a Middle East oasis. Since the photo spread’s theme was “Army Undercover,” that apparently made sense to the man, even if he felt the need to hide a good chunk of the flowering succulents and cacti behind a Bedouin-style tent filled with fabrics, rugs, drapes, and pillows.
“Welcome to Marrakech,” Kell cracked.
Tait gave that a light laugh. “Didn’t think anything could best the back lot watch but I could be wrong.”
Kellan fiddled with the Nikon camera around his neck that they’d purposely banged up last night. They were here under the guise of being Ethan’s photography-crazed battalion buddies. “I’ll bet there’s plenty of double-sided tit tape around here.”
“Only thing I care about is if Lor’s around here.” While muttering it, he peered around the garden and scowled again. There was no sign of the pretty man producer, despite confirmation from Runway and Double-O that Lor planned on being around for most of these photo shoots. It was the reason Tait and Kell had been pulled off the roof.
Their new purpose was two-pronged. First priority: watch Lor for any behavior that told them he had the memory stick or new laptop here with him. Their second goal, just as essential, was to back up Ethan. With a team of stylists constantly foofing him, there’d be no way he could hide a wire or earpiece for monitoring his interac
tions with Bella and Lor. Yeah, the guy could read people more clearly than a voodoo shaman, but that talent was good as a limp dick if his cover was made, or worse. Tait and Kellan would serve as his eyes and ears while remaining in contact with Rhett and Rebel, who were able to hang back at the Dress Blues set and get in more searches of “Lemare’s” office.
With any luck, something would shake out soon. They were all patient men, used to waiting it out for long stretches to get the intel they needed to get their job done, but this stint in a land where even half the buildings weren’t real was just damned exhausting.
Garrett and Zeke had lucked out. At least their women were around, making the nights and mornings better. The rest of the guys had learned the area around the hotel and even ventured to other parts of the city from time to time, but Tait had started bailing on some of those excursions, claiming the hotel’s free HBO was too good a treat to ignore. He wondered if anyone actually believed him. Speculated if anyone except Kell had discerned his truth. Yeah, that truth. The hope, however ridiculous, that a certain convict-turned-agent would reconsider her self-imposed celibacy and come knocking on his door. And confirm that everything he’d felt in that bar’s storeroom had been at least a little real…and a lot right.
Kellan’s snicker yanked him off that emo-lined path. Tait followed his teammate’s glance and instantly exchanged morose for snarky. Beyond his control, a chortle spewed off his lips.
Ethan, who’d just walked into the catering area where they’d been hanging, snarled as Kell raised his wrist. The live-stream camera taped beneath Kell’s sleeve now broadcasted every inch of Ethan’s attire to Colton’s office across town.
“Lower it now if you value your fucking arm.” Ethan punctuated it with a lethal glare as he grabbed a bottle of sports drink and ripped off the cap.
Kellan tempted fate by delaying one more second. Tait didn’t blame him. The sight was just too damn fine to ignore.
