by Lori Wilde
“If you say so.”
Elysee chose to ignore Lola and any niggling doubts she might have of her own. She was very excited that the WorldFem conference was right here in Houston. When the organizers had learned she wanted to attend, they instantly made her a guest speaker. It was a last-minute invitation, so she hadn’t prepared a speech. She intended to speak from her heart.
Being in the presence of like-minded women fired her up. There were several celebrities on the panel—including a famous actress, a cable news anchorwoman, and a late night talk show host’s wife who’d been instrumental in drawing attention to the plight of women in Afghanistan long before the second Gulf War.
Toward the end of the conference, Agent Ackerman came over to whisper to Elysee. “There’s a woman who wants to speak with you. She says it’s urgent. A matter of life or death, but I don’t advise you to see her.”
“What woman?” Elysee asked.
Cal Ackerman pointed her out. She was waiting near the exit, dressed in a sari with a veil cloaking her face.
“I’ll speak to her.”
“For security reasons…,” Agent Ackerman began, but Elysee cut him off.
“I’ll speak with her in the limo. You can secure that easily enough and check her out before bringing her to me.”
“Yes, Miss Benedict.” He didn’t seem happy about it, but a few minutes later Elysee and Lola were waiting in the back of the limousine. He brought the woman over, opened the car door, and she slid in.
Agent Ackerman started to get in as well but Elysee raised her hand. “You can wait out there.”
His body stiffened in response and his eyes narrowed. He did as she asked, but he didn’t look pleased.
“Hello,” Elysee said to the veiled woman sitting across from her. “Do you speak English?”
The woman dropped the veil. “It is me, E-lee. Your Nana Rana.”
“Rana!” Elysee threw her arms around Rana’s neck and hugged her tightly. “Thank God you’re alive. I saw your picture in People magazine and that’s when I knew I had to get involved with WorldFem.”
“I am so proud you are here.” Tears streamed down Rana’s face. “This is such a happy moment for me. To see you all grown up and passionate about human rights. Your mother would be so proud.”
They both swiped at tears then. Lola extracted tissues from her purse and passed them around.
“Agent Ackerman said you needed to see me on a matter of life and death. Do you need me to hide you?”
“It is not my own safety that concerns me,” Rana said. “I come to you on behalf of another.”
“Yes?” Elysee leaned forward, eager not to miss a single word.
“The young woman’s name is Alma Reddy. Her father is a cabinet minister in India. He was very distressed when she dishonored her family by secretly marrying an American student attending university in Bombay. The young man’s visa was revoked and he was thrown out of India. Alma’s father demanded she renounce the young man and have the marriage annulled. Alma refused and her family has hired attackers to kill her. WorldFem managed to hide her, but we need to get her out of India. Her beloved husband lives in Texas, but we don’t have the funds or proper entrance visa to get her into the U.S. Can you help?”
“How much money do you need?”
“One hundred thousand dollars.”
Elysee sat back against the seat. “That’s a lot of money.”
“We must bribe many people. Pay hush money. Plus the route to smuggle her out of the country is an arduous one. There are many planes, trains, and boats she must take. She must change transportation modes often to ensure she is not followed. We must also hire a decoy and send her on a similar journey. Alma’s father is ruthless. He has put a price on my head. This all must be kept as secret as possible. He has many spies, many eyes.”
“I don’t have access to that kind of money here, Rana. Since I’m not yet twenty-five I can’t withdraw funds without my father’s permission. I do have a safety-deposit box with antique coins left to me by my grandmother. They are worth at least that, but the safety-deposit box is in DC. I’m headed there this coming weekend for my engagement party. If you can meet me there, I’ll give you the money on Saturday.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Rana kissed Elysee’s hands. “You are an angel.”
“I’ll make sure you get an invitation to the engagement party. We can make the transfer there.”
“She’s playing you,” Lola said after Rana exited the limo. “Want to bet you never see her or your money again?”
“Shame on you, Lola,” Elysee scolded. “Rana was my nanny.”
“And that precludes her from being a con artist?”
“You always think the worst of people.”
“That’s why your father hired me as your secretary. You need a counterbalance.”
“Well, I don’t care what you say. I’m giving her the money and I forbid you from discussing the matter with my father.”
Lola shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Squeeze it. Push. Go for the burn.”
Shane grunted against the grapefruit-sized rubber ball the physical therapist, Pete Larkin, had dropped into the open palm of his right hand.
Once upon a time, he could hurl a fastball sixty miles an hour. Those days were gone. Sweat beaded on his brow as he struggled to contract his fingers around the spongy ball.
I’m half the man I used to be, he thought, and tried not to feel bitter. He’d been doing his job for his President and his country. He couldn’t complain when injury and painful rehab came with the territory.
What was he going to do if, no matter how hard he pushed, it didn’t work? Would he be happy with Marshal Vega’s job, running the Secret Service? Did he even want it? What in the hell did he want? He’d never had this kind of self-doubt in his life and it was troubling.
After ten measly squeezes, his throbbing hand forced him to drop the ball. Shane swore loudly.
“Don’t get discouraged,” Pete said. “You’re making steady progress.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“You’re distracted, dude. You’re not focusing on the squeeze. You gotta focus.”
Shane shook his head. He already knew that. After driving back from Louie’s, he’d spent the remainder of the night tossing and turning, unable to get Tish and the impromptu dance he’d instigated off his mind. Hiring her as their wedding videographer had been a huge mistake.
Elysee was convinced working with Tish was the only way he was going to get her out of his system. Shane was determined to prove to Elysee that he had let go of the past and was ready to embrace the future with her.
But his fiancée was naïve. She didn’t understand the complexities of marriage, how emotions lingered long after the legal bonds had been severed.
Shane remembered how it had felt being locked in the bathroom with Tish. The hairs raised on his arms just thinking about how close he’d come to kissing her. Even after being away from her for two years, she still affected him like no woman on earth. Hell, to be honest, the powerful pull she held over him was scary.
If you’re so hot for Tish, why are you marrying Elysee?
Because he’d been down that road before with Tish and he knew exactly where it led. They were oil and water. No matter how hot the chemistry between them. Passion was a very dangerous thing and after Tish, he’d sworn to avoid it at all costs. The thing he had going with Elysee was much safer.
Since when have you opted for safe?
Shane stared down at his hand.
“You wanna talk about it?” Pete asked, casually curling twenty-pound dumbbells, making it look as easy as kneading bread.
“Talk about what?”
“What’s got you tied up in knots?”
“Who are you?” Shane growled, wiping sweat from his brow with a gym towel. “Oprah Winfrey? Dr. Phil?”
“I’m just saying. If you need to talk, I got two ears and a quiet mouth.
I know how to keep secrets.”
“Nothing to talk about.” Shane didn’t like dissecting his feelings. He wasn’t about to open up to a stranger.
“Still, it can’t be easy. Going from the Secret Service agent in the background to center stage as the President’s son-in-law-to-be. I can’t imagine it. But things are just going to get worse, you know, when the media get wind of the engagement.”
“Yeah,” Shane mumbled. He’d already considered that.
And it would happen soon. The wife of the Speaker of the House was throwing a party for him and Elysee this upcoming weekend in DC to officially announce their engagement.
“Elysee hired my ex-wife to videotape our wedding,” Shane confessed.
“No shit.” Pete gave him a grin that said you poor dumb bastard. “Weird coincidence.”
“No coincidence. Elysee hired her on purpose. She wants us to get along. Be friends.”
“Dude”—Pete shook his head—“that’s so screwed up. No wonder you can’t concentrate on physical therapy. Your mental lifting is a helluva lot heavier.”
Shane sank down on the weight bench. His knees seemed suddenly to be made of paper. His nerves poked like sharp spikes, sticking him all over.
His injuries had brought him close to death. Closer than he’d ever been. Was his mortality the problem? Was that what had him questioning everything? Was that what had him missing Tish? Was that what had him fearing that divorcing her was the biggest mistake he’d ever made?
Ah, there it was. The thought he’d been running from all night long. It felt like a dash of ice-cold water in the face. Frigid and sobering.
“Forgive me, Tish,” he muttered. “I was such a damn fool.”
“You talkin’ to me?” Pete racked the dumbbell.
“Yeah.” Shane shoved his thoughts away. The damage was done. He couldn’t turn back the clock. All he could do was make damn sure he didn’t commit the same mistake with Elysee. He couldn’t allow his relationship with his ex-wife to get in the way of their wedding. “Hand me those three-pound weights. It’s time I moved on.”
Chapter 10
Tish arrived at the ranch to find Shane behind a push mower with his shirt stripped off. She didn’t know which was more unexpected. Seeing Shane mowing the President’s lawn, or catching a glimpse of his incredible bare body.
She pulled to a stop in the driveway, slung the backpack that served as her camera bag over her shoulder and got out of the car, bumping the door closed with her hip as she went. Tish shaded her eyes and a rivulet of sweat slid down between her breasts—not because the weather was hot, but because Shane was.
Every chest muscle was perfectly honed and defined, ripped and rock hard beneath the silk of his skin. Her gaze slid over him, her mind remembering how firm and thick his skin had felt beneath her fingers. She remembered and ached to touch him again. His denim jeans hugged his hips, molded to his thighs. His dark hair glistened in the sunlight
She swallowed hard and felt the movement of her gulp track all the way down her throat, leaving her feeling dry and breathless. She’d never been so aware of his body.
Or of her own.
Her heart knocked against her rib cage. She moistened her lips, tasted cinnamon-flavored gloss.
This had to stop. She couldn’t keep lusting after him, not if she was going to make it through the wedding in one piece.
Shane’s left hand guided the lawn mower. His right hand balanced awkwardly against the handle.
Her gaze fixed on that damaged hand. Sadness for him, for them both, swelled inside her on equal par with her regret.
He saw her then, watching him. He killed the mower engine. His gaze lasered into her, sharp as a razor, burning right through her, causing her nipples to tighten underneath her shirt.
His expression was inscrutable, the cool countenance of a protector—a man who always needed someone to look after. That was why he was marrying Elysee; ultimately, it was the same reason he’d left her. She hadn’t let herself need him. At least not in the way that he needed to be needed.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“What are you doing mowing the lawn?” She forced herself not to watch as a bead of sweat trickled down his bare bicep.
At first it seemed as if he might not answer; his mouth drew tight into a straight line. But then, as if forcing the words from his mouth, he said, “Bored out of my skull with rehab. I figured I’d have a go at the last mow of the season. There’s something satisfying about putting in an honest day’s work.”
A hint of a smile quirked one side of his upper lip, and drew her attention to the fact that he hadn’t yet shaved today. The sight of his beard growth made her shiver. She recalled exactly how it had scratched and tickled. Involuntarily, she arched her back; her breasts rose.
He sank his hand onto his hip, looking arrogant and dangerous. His grin widened.
No, no, she thought as her knees quivered, not that damnable lopsided grin. She thought of last night in Louie’s bar, the dance they’d shared, the feelings that touching him again had conjured. Feelings she’d hoped she’d laid to rest.
Her lips craved to caress his mouth, to brush against his stubbled cheek; to lick the salt off his skin. But she couldn’t. Shane no longer belonged to her. He was Elysee’s man now, and she was just their wedding videographer. He was taboo and this feeling was forbidden.
Yet it thrilled her to the very core of her soul.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
The smile disappeared. His eyes darkened as his gaze flicked from her face to her body. She was wearing the same clothes she’d run errands in—a snug pair of jeans and a shirt that conformed to her breasts. He was definitely noticing.
“Elysee sent me.” She held up her camera bag. “She thought it would be a good idea to start on the Our Love Story video for the reception.”
“Our Love Story?”
“Well, your story. Yours and Elysee’s.”
“I’m not following.”
“You know. I take photographs from both of your pasts, mix them together with pictures of you two dating, add your favorite love songs, headlines of the times, and meld all of it into a pictorial video of the story of your romance.”
“Um… Elysee and I never really dated.”
“What do you mean? You’re getting married. How could you not have dated?”
“I was her bodyguard for over a year and then I saved her life. That’s our love story.”
It made perfect sense. Shane loved to save people and Elysee had needed saving. “Yeah, so when did you fall in love with her?”
“I don’t recall you and me having all that many dates before we decided to get married.”
“Look how that turned out.”
“Tish,” he said. An odd expression crossed his face.
“Shane.” She tossed her head.
“I’ve known Elysee longer than we were married.”
“Ouch.” Tish pantomimed pulling a sword from her heart. “Want your blade back, Zorro?”
“You started it.” He raked his gaze over her, his dark eyes narrowing.
They used to enjoy teasing each other with lighthearted banter. It had been the cornerstone of their relationship, back when things were good. Back before the very worst had happened. Tish caught her breath and forcefully shoved away the dark memory from her mind.
“I don’t have time to stand here bickering with you,” she snapped. She nodded toward the veranda where a row of heavy mesquite rocking chairs sat. “Get cleaned up and I’ll meet you on the front porch and we’ll go through your old photo albums.”
“I don’t have any old photo albums.”
“I do,” she said. “That’s what’s in my camera bag.”
“Where did you get old photos of me?”
“Your mother gave me copies of your childhood pictures when we were married, remember? Plus, I did take a few of you myself. I’m a photographer, you know. That’s what I do. Take pi
ctures, make videos.”
“As if that’s something I could forget.” His voice cracked. With sarcasm? Or another kind of emotion altogether? “And you kept photographs of me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” He looked amused. It was not a reaction she’d anticipated. “I would have expected you to scissor my head off.”
She shrugged, keeping it light. Trying to deny her heart had fallen forward against her chest. Trying not to think about all the other things she remembered about him. “Like it or not, Shane, you were a big part of my life. I’m allowed to keep your photographs if I want. You didn’t get sole custody of the photos.”
They stood staring at each other, only a few feet apart, both breathing in the heavy, still air thick with the scent of freshly mown grass. She knew they were being watched. Knew there were security cameras hidden all over the ranch and that there were servants and Secret Service agents within eavesdropping distance.
The knowledge only heightened her arousal. Tish desperately wanted to ask him if he’d kept any pictures of her, but she was too afraid of his answer to ask. If Shane said no, it would hurt her feelings and if he said yes, well, that might hurt even more. To think that he still cared. Even just a little bit.
Resolutely, she turned her back and picked her way across the lawn in her sandals, blades of damp St. Augustine clinging to her toes. She could feel the heat of Shane’s gaze on her back and it was all she could do to keep from turning around, running right back to him, and flinging herself into his arms.
She sat down in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch.
A maid appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. “Would you like some lemonade to drink while you wait, miss?”
“Um, yeah, sure. Thanks.”
It was weird, this presidential life, being waited on hand and foot. Living in a fishbowl. She wondered how Shane was going to like it.
Doesn’t matter if he likes it or not. It’s no concern of yours.
The maid returned with two glasses of lemonade and a plate of homemade sugar cookies. She set the refreshments on the round patio table positioned between the two rocking chairs and disappeared as silently as she’d come.
