In Too Deep

by Janelle Taylor

  “Oh, hell,” he muttered. No, it wasn’t. But this was torture and he wondered why in God’s name it mattered so much.

  He’d broken a cardinal rule: he’d gotten involved with someone outside his social class, someone rich.

  And now he had to go find her, come up with some lame excuse about why he was in town, and then protect her from that homicidal ex-husband of hers.

  Hunter squeezed his fingers into his palms. Sobering thoughts. He wondered if he should find Jenny first, or go check on her son Rawley. Jenny was pure trouble. Rawley would be a piece of cake by comparison.

  “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered, heading for his Jeep.

  Puerto Vallarta was only hours away, but it was already a long, long time ago.

  * * *

  Sex made a man hungry, Troy thought with satisfaction as he cut into his prime rib. Red juice pooled from its rare center. Red. Like Blondie’s blouse.

  Her name was Dana and she invited him to her teensy little house in one of Houston’s less fashionable neighborhoods. Good old Dana had been around the block a few times, and she wasn’t surprised by anything a man might want to do to a woman. The nastier the better. Hell, she thrived on it!

  It had been a rollicking good time for a lot of hours, but by the time Saturday night rolled around Troy was pretty sick of her. Her place was a sty: dirty dishes in the sink, wrinkled sheets that smelled of sex.

  Suddenly he’d wanted to get away from her. She stank of cheap perfume. He couldn’t understand what he’d seen in her in the first place. He was mildly surprised to realize she didn’t look like Jenny at all. She was bleached and squat and spewed filthy words in his ear during sex. He felt physically revolted when she drew a thick line of red lipstick on her mouth, then squatted down to suck on him. Watching those red lips as if from a long, long distance away, he suddenly grabbed her by the hair and yanked her away from him, throwing her across the bed. She looked at him in surprise, those red lips a big “O.” He’d slapped her hard enough to raise a welt on her face.

  After that he’d taken her one final time, pushing her ugly red-smeared face into the covers and climbing on behind her. She thrashed and cried for air. Troy held her face down and she bucked beneath him. Then the sex had been good. Yes, indeedy. And when he’d left she’d been sitting up and coughing, head hanging, sobbing a little.

  He’d almost gone back for one more bout. God, he loved being in control. But she was just too dirty.

  “Coffee?” the waitress asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  Troy chewed on a piece of beef, sucking the juice from it. “No, thanks.” He watched her walk away. Women were everywhere. They just wanted a man to reach out and grab them.

  But Troy wasn’t interested. Not tonight. He wanted something better and that something was Jenny. He hadn’t realized how much he lusted for her until he saw her again. That lovely, luscious body wrapped around a cold, virginal core. And she came with money! More money than stupid bipolar Frederica, drab Patricia, slutty Val, and that dopey, doe-eyed Michelle Calgary combined.

  And she’d had his son.

  “Rawley,” he said aloud, softly. Maybe he should have whispered the boy’s name when he’d called her this afternoon. Hearing her voice had sent a shiver down his spine and a jolt of desire through his veins. Even her frigidity was a turn-on. He’d almost gone straight over there but common sense had prevailed.

  Charm was the order of the day. Jenny’s charming ex-husband had come back to make amends, and that’s what she was going to get, by God.

  When the waitress slipped by, he caught her by the hand, surprising her. “I’ve changed my mind about the coffee.” She threw him a bright smile and Troy chuckled to himself. From a pocket of his jacket he pulled out the game schedule for the Three Winds Soccer Camp he’d found in Rawley’s drawer. Saturday night. Final playoffs for the Three Winds World Cup.

  He dropped a tip on the table and winked at his waitress, who was taking another table’s order. Then he walked out without paying the bill.

  * * *

  Benny’s scratching at the door wakened Jenny. She’d fallen asleep on the couch, testimony to her lack of sleep the night before. Exhausted, she opened the door, squawking a bit as the mutt wriggled by her and made for Rawley’s bedroom.

  “He’s not there,” she said. “He’s still at soccer camp.”

  Benny came back and laid his head on Jenny’s lap. Touched, she scratched his ears, then gently probed his side for the injured ribs. The dog whimpered a bit and shifted away, but his eyes were trusting as they gazed into Jenny’s.

  “Who was it?” she asked him. “Troy?”

  He woofed at her. Lightly. And it sounded so much like an answer that Jenny drew in a quick breath and glanced around the room.

  What was Troy’s plan? Did he want Rawley? He didn’t want her, she knew that. Although that should have made her feel better, she knew she wouldn’t rest until Troy showed himself and made his demands clear. For demands there would be. Troy always wanted something.

  It struck her how much she knew about him and how clearly she understood his character. Why couldn’t she have been so aware when she was young? Why had she felt the need to fight her father and make such awful choices?

  But you have Rawley.

  “Yes,” she answered herself, hugging Benny’s silky head close. “Rawley.”

  The two boys collapsed at the side of the field, sweltering in the heat, heaving with rasped breaths, furious beyond reason. One was blond, one was dark-haired and glowed with the promise of movie star good looks.

  “Damn that Berger!” the first one shouted, glaring at the hapless goalie who’d been unable to block the shot.

  Berger hung his head. The second boy also gave him a dirty look. He didn’t care as much as Brandon did, but he knew better than to go against the tide. There were a lot of players in front of the goalie who could have fought off the opposing team, he and Brandon being two of them. But the goalie always got blamed.

  “Now we’re out of the finals,” Brandon fumed.

  Rawley lay spread-eagled on the grass. He just wasn’t going to get worked up about the loss like his fiery buddy Brandon Ferguson was. It was over. The camp was nearly over and he was leaving.

  He stared up at the glaring lights illuminating the soccer field, momentarily blinded by their brilliance. Above them a few faint stars appeared in the dark blue sky. He clenched his hands. He felt restless, anxious and scared. Scared to leave. He wanted this moment to last forever. He wanted boyhood to never end. He wanted to cry, but he knew that might be the bitter end of his continuing friendship with Brandon.

  He wondered sometimes if he cared …

  “Berger’s an asshole,” Brandon muttered.

  Rawley didn’t answer. He thought of Brandon’s father, Rick, and let his mind wander down its favorite path. Dreaming, he pretended Rick was his father. Rick would be coming with his mother tomorrow to pick him up. They wouldn’t have to be married now. That would be okay. Rick could stay with Janice. She was okay, too. But they would come together as his parents and he would have both of them. It was a heartwarming fantasy that put a slight smile on his lips.

  “Who’s that?” Brandon asked.

  “Who?” Rawley didn’t even look.

  “That man. He’s waving at us.”

  “Maybe he’s waving at Berger. Probably ready to scream at him, too,” Rawley said with wry humor.

  “Uh-uh …”

  Rawley lifted his head and watched the man approach. He walked with a confident stride, almost a swagger. Sitting up, Rawley waited, examining the newcomer with all the suspicion of any fifteen-year-old faced with an unknown authority figure.

  The newcomer stopped directly in front of him, his body silhouetted by the glaring lights.

  “Rawley Russell?”

  “Yeah?” he responded with just a hint of rebellion. Something skittered down his spine. A premonition. He didn’t speak up and tell him his last name w
as Holloway.

  The man reached out and clasped his hand, offering him a smile. “Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  Rawley stared at him while Brandon frowned at the both of them. A long silence ensued while the three of them sized each other up. It was Brandon who broke the moment and demanded, “Who the fuck are you?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  In the end she decided to go to Riccardo’s. Her apartment seemed to have survived the violation of the breakin. She realized some petty cash she’d kept in a kitchen desk drawer was missing, but that was about it. It almost made her feel better, like the burglary was committed by a penny-ante thief. Still, thoughts of Troy couldn’t be completely dismissed and she kept thinking about the sound of her son’s voice, running it through her mind over and over again as an assurance that everything was all right.

  Twice she picked up the phone to call her father. She was desperate to know if Troy had contacted him again. Twice she replaced the receiver, unwilling to open that particular can of worms. No. She would wait. Rawley would be home tomorrow and they would be out of here in a matter of days. She called Gloria and only half-listened to the headstrong chef’s list of complaints. After she ended the call she pulled out some boxes, intending to start packing. But she simply couldn’t focus, so she decided to go to the restaurant and say good-bye to her friends.

  Riccardo’s was just as she’d left it: bustling, fragrant with spices and cooking, packed with customers, and under Alberto’s iron-fisted control. He was lambasting one of the junior chefs when she walked in and he stopped in mid-yell.

  “Bella!” he cried, embracing her warmly.

  “Hello, there, Alberto. I see nothing’s changed since I left.”

  “Nothing’s changed? Nothing’s changed?” He clucked his tongue and stood back to look at her. “You’ve got a nice color to your cheeks.”

  “I’m tan,” she admitted. “From hours of lazing around in the sun and drinking margaritas.”

  He tsk-tsked, waving his finger at her. “Naughty girl.” But she could tell he was pleased that she’d relaxed. “And what about a fella? Did you meet a nice one, eh?”

  That stopped her. Sensing that the other chefs and the waiters had slowed their work to listen, she said, “Everyone’s nice in Puerto Vallarta.”

  “Oh, sure, sure.”

  “Seriously, Alberto, how’s the new bookkeeper?”

  He flapped his hands at her. “He comes. He leaves. He complains. I let him go.”

  “Alberto!”

  His brown eyes grew pleading. “Please, will you fix things?”

  “I can’t. You’ve got to get someone. I’m leaving as soon as I can!”

  “You won’t stay?”

  “No!” she declared with a smile. “You know I’ve got my restaurant in Santa Fe. It’s practically up and running. And you know you can’t leave a restaurant in someone else’s hands. Gloria only wants to cook and she’s tearing her hair out over all the decisions.” She brought him up to date on her conversation with her chef. “So, I’m leaving by the end of the week,” she added with sudden determination. “I’m not waiting a minute more.”

  “Okay.” He couldn’t have looked more chagrined. “I have called the agency and they are sending someone else. Today.” He pursed his lips. “Probably looks like a horse with the brains of a fish.”

  “Some people think fish are smart. Fishermen who can’t catch them.”

  He sniffed. “All right, go. Go!” He hugged her again.

  She relented. “I’ll look over last week’s entries and see how you’re doing. But this is my last night.”

  His face brightened as if someone had turned on a light. “Grazie. Thank you.”

  Jenny just shook her head. Carolyn breezed into the kitchen and cried with delight upon seeing Jenny. “How was Puerto Vallarta?” she asked.

  The thought of Hunter’s hard-muscled arms holding her close nearly left her speechless. “Don’t ask,” she said, infuriated to feel a blush burn her face.

  “That good, huh?”

  Jenny snorted, tried to lie, then gave up. “Yep.”

  Carolyn clapped her hands together and grinned like a devil. “Well, it’s about time!”

  In her tiny bookkeeping room, Jenny tried to hold back a tremulous smile. It wasn’t smart to cherish the memories of her brief time with Hunter. Not smart at all. But she couldn’t help herself.

  Maybe he’ll find you.

  She told herself silently to get over it, and worked diligently, depressed by how screwed the books had gotten in the space of a single week. Whoever Alberto had hired had not been up to the job. She hoped the next person was more capable.

  Finally, carrying the books with her, she headed for the door. Homework, she mouthed to Carolyn as she turned toward the back door.

  “Did that guy ever contact you in Puerto Vallarta? Or was he the one you met?” Carolyn teased with a growing smile.

  “What guy?”

  “Dark hair, blue eyes. He asked about you and I wasn’t sure how much to tell. But I did mention you were on vacation there with friends.” She hesitated. “Did I do wrong?”

  “No. No … he didn’t contact me.” Carolyn could have been describing Hunter, but then she could have described a lot of men, including her ex-husband. She warned herself not to make too much of this. “Did he say he would?”

  “He was looking for you,” she said. “I told him you were moving.”

  “Did you tell him where?”

  “Jenny, you’re scaring me!”

  “No, I’m just wondering.” Her heart was beating rather fast. “Just in case he looks me up. I take it he didn’t leave a name.”

  “Umm, yeah. His name was … Bill … something.” Carolyn shook her head, glancing toward the main dining room. “It’ll come to me. I’ve got to get some orders.”

  “Do it.” Jenny waved her away, then pulled on the handle of the back door. She took one step, nearly ran into a solid wall of man, then cried out in surprise. Hunter Calgary stood directly in front of her.

  “My God!” she whispered, shaken.

  “Hi,” he greeted her.

  “Hi.” She looked back, but Carolyn had disappeared into the main room.

  “For someone who hired a bodyguard, you sure took off without giving a lot of notice.”

  Jenny wanted to throw herself into his arms. She hadn’t known how much she cared about him until this moment She was thrilled to see him. Absolutely thrilled! “You still want the job?” she asked in a small voice.

  “I still want the job.”

  She tried to ignore the way Hunter looked. The soft leather of the black bomber jacket he wore; the long, jeans-clad legs; the boots; the denim shirt, open at the throat. He radiated a powerful sexuality she remembered only too well.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “An educated guess.” He shrugged. “You said you worked for Riccardo’s.”

  “I’m—so glad you came.”

  It was her way of apologizing. She wanted to say so much more, but she didn’t quite know how. His forgiveness came in a slow smile that started her heart beating in a slow rhythm.

  “What made you decide on the back door?” she asked as he walked with her to her car. But then, beside a black Jeep which was much like the one he’d rented in Mexico, there was only one other car—her blue Volvo.

  He shrugged. “Seemed like the regulars came through this way. Thought if I came in this way I’d catch you.”

  “You were right,” she said lightly.

  They stood awkwardly in the parking lot. She watched the play of the street light on the planes of his face, aware in the growing darkness how seductively sinister he appeared. His handsomeness was evident, but his raw masculinity and sternness overshadowed it. She wondered why she’d never noticed before, and why it didn’t bother her more.

  “Could we go somewhere?” he suggested.

  Should she take him to her place? Should she invit
e him inside? She wouldn’t be picking up Rawley until tomorrow.

  “I don’t live too far from here …”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  Jenny told herself she should pay attention to her misgivings as she led the way to her apartment, but all she could think about were flashing images of toned muscles, smooth flesh, hard fingers, urgent lips. She was a basket case in the worst way. She was glad he’d come after her. If he hadn’t, she would have gone crazy with remorse.

  She watched him remote lock the Jeep, listened to its chirp-chirp, then pretended to be concentrating on something else as he moved toward her. She was nervous as a teenager facing her first kiss. She’d been thirteen when that occurred, her lips pressed against Danny Durant’s braces until she’d thought they would leave indelible impressions. Nothing much to tell after that. No rampant adolescent desires and fumbling touches. She’d practically run from the scene of the crime, glad she didn’t have to do that again anytime soon. But what stayed with her, what she remembered most was her nervousness, nearly the worst she’d ever experienced. Well, it was back.

  “It’s not too far from here,” she told him as she climbed into her car. He nodded, and she turned over the engine, carefully pulling into the street and making sure his headlights stayed right behind her. He parked on the street, met her near the courtyard and they walked inside together.

  God. She had to rack her brain to think of anything to say to him. She glanced upward, to her door. “Benny’s here,” she said with relief.

  Hunter followed her gaze. “The dog.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jenny hurried ahead to the door. Benny gave Hunter a searching look, growled softly, warningly, then sauntered after Jenny to the interior of the apartment. Hunter followed him inside and Benny stationed himself next to Jenny.

  “You’ve already got a protector,” Hunter observed. “A pretty good one, by the looks of it.”

  “Something happened to him.” She massaged Benny’s ears until the dog broke into a panting smile. “It makes me furious when I think about it.”