Husband--Or Enemy?

by Caroline Cross

  Yet as she stood and went to find Cynthia to say her goodbyes, she knew it wasn’t that simple. Because lately she’d begun to wonder if it was really Riley she was determined to keep at arm’s length.

  Or if, perhaps, it was her growing feelings for him.

  Eight

  The soft ripple of Angelica’s laughter drifted down the hallway.

  Riley paused as he stepped through the front door, his hand tightening on Cosmo’s leash at the seductive sound.

  He gave his head a slight shake—man, he was in sorry shape when something as run-of-the-mill as a simple giggle could make his pulse pick up—and looked down at the dog. “I suppose we should go say hello, huh?”

  Cosmo grinned up at him, tail whipping in anticipation.

  Riley wished he could match the dog’s enthusiasm. But then he’d had better days.

  A muscle jumped in his jaw as he thought again about the meeting he’d had with Cynthia after work today. Although she was doing her best to remain optimistic, he knew damn well things weren’t looking good for him legally. The case against him, though entirely circumstantial, was starting to seem overwhelming even to him—and he knew he was innocent. He didn’t want to think about what was going to happen if the thing actually went to trial.

  Rocking impatiently back on his heels, he ran a hand through his hair, hating his sense of powerlessness. There was no denying that something fraudulent had gone on for months on the Children’s Hospital construction site, something that had cost Fortune Construction a bundle, something he should have caught. And no matter how often he reminded himself that it wasn’t his job to scrutinize invoices or keep track of supplies, that the company paid several people good money to do just that, he couldn’t help but think that if he’d just worked harder, paid more attention, been more vigilant, none of this—the fraud, Mike’s death, his own current situation—would have happened. As it was, somebody had found it incredibly easy to frame him.

  Which, he thought bleakly, they couldn’t have done without help. Someone on the inside had to have been in on whatever had gone on. And since it wasn’t him…

  He blew out a frustrated breath, not liking the suspicion he’d entertained about Mike for a while now. And yet, unless Angelica’s brother just happened to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, he had to have died for some reason.

  The one saving grace was that Angelica didn’t seem to realize it. Nor did he intend to enlighten her. She’d been hurt enough by her brother’s death. He hated to think how she’d react if his hunch about Mike turned out to be correct.

  Cosmo jerked impatiently on the leash, snapping him out of his reverie. “What’s the matter, buddy? You want to go join the action?” The dog tugged again and he sighed. “Okay, okay.” He reached down, unclipped the lead and Cosmo promptly bounded away down the hall.

  “Fickle dog,” Riley muttered, following more slowly.

  It was a sentiment that gained ground when he entered the family room and saw Cosmo happily greeting Chris Rogers.

  With the boneless grace of youth, the kid was seated cross-legged at Angelica’s feet on the floor by the coffee table, his back to the leather couch. Deepening Riley’s disgust, the youngster gave a good-natured laugh as Cosmo took a swipe at his face with his pink doggy tongue.

  “I’m glad to see you, too,” Chris said, shoving the dog away.

  That made one of them.

  Angelica twisted around from her perch on the edge of the couch. “You’re back.”

  “Yeah.” Was it just wishful thinking, or did her eyes seem to brighten a little when she looked at him?

  “How was your walk?”

  “Okay. It’s hot out there, though. I practically had to carry Cos the last mile home.”

  “Really?” Angelica’s skeptical gaze skated over him. “You don’t look like you did more than stroll around the block.”

  Damned if the dog didn’t look over at him and appear to smile.

  “In the first place, we live at the end of a cul-de-sac. In the second—” he glanced down at himself, pleased to see his loafers were dust free and the sleeves on his immaculate white shirt were still neatly rolled back “—Fortunes don’t sweat. At least not from something as plebeian as dog-walking,” he added, sending her an intimate look.

  To his satisfaction, two little spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. Feeling more cheerful, he glanced past her at Rogers and forced himself to look friendly. “Hey, Chris. How you doing?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “That your Jeep in the driveway?”

  “Yeah. I bought it from my brother. It’s a little beat, but I’m planning to fix it up.”

  “Yeah? Well, good for you. The first vehicle I ever owned was a Wrangler.”

  “You had a Jeep?”

  “Yeah. Sure did. Had a hell of a good time with it, too.” Right up until he’d rolled it one night taking a curve in Arroyo Canyon too fast. After that, he’d graduated to sports cars designed to take corners at a hundred-plus miles per hour.

  The boy nodded with reluctant approval. “Cool.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned down to pick a mud-colored hair off his beige linen slacks and walked around to the sink to wash his hands. “Are you two getting hungry?”

  “You bet,” Chris said promptly at the same time Angelica said, “Maybe a little.”

  “Spaghetti sound all right?”

  “You don’t have to cook,” Angelica protested. “We can order a pizza.”

  “I don’t mind. Unless you’d prefer pizza.”

  “Spaghetti would be great,” Chris offered.

  To Riley’s surprise, she shot the boy an irritated gaze. “Give him a break. He’s worked all day,” she informed him.

  The kid flushed and sent Riley an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to do it. You two just go ahead and study. It shouldn’t take me long to put things together.”

  Angelica worried her lower lip. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Just ignore me.”

  With a flattering air of reluctance, she slowly turned around and went back to work.

  Something had changed in the handful of days since Isabelle’s wedding shower, Riley thought as he put the sauce together, set it to simmer and began browning hamburger and onions. Although Angelica hadn’t gone so far as to invite him to bed, she did seem to have lowered her guard. She was more open, more relaxed, less standoffish. Even more encouraging, he’d looked up more than once lately to find her watching him, a rapt expression on her face. It might not be world peace—or an invitation to make love—but it would do for now.

  He dumped the meat and onions into a colander to drain off the grease, then added it to the mixture. After checking the heat on the burner, he replaced the lid on the saucepan and walked over to open the refrigerator.

  “It smells wonderful.”

  He glanced up as Angelica walked up beside him. “Thanks.”

  “Can I do anything to help?” She studied the fridge’s interior.

  He looked over his shoulder at the empty family room. “Where’s your friend?”

  “He went to take a quick swim. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “Sure.” He opened the crisper and began gathering the makings for a salad.

  “You’ll be happy to know—” she sent him a shrewd look “—that you improved your stock considerably with your car talk.”

  He shrugged. “Just a little male bonding.” Turning, he gave the refrigerator door a nudge with his shoulder, managing to rub his thigh against hers in the process. “Sorry,” he murmured insincerely.

  She stepped back, but not before he heard her breath catch. “No problem.”

  He carried his cache of produce to the counter and got out the big glass salad bowl.

  “I really would like to help,” Angelica said, trailing after him.

  “You can butter the French bread if you want.”

  “Great.” As he began s
licing vegetables, she got the bread from the drawer, then mixed together garlic, parsley, parmesan and margarine and spread it on the slices. “Can you hand me the foil?” she asked after they’d worked several minutes in companionable silence.

  “No problem.” He got the item out of the drawer and handed it to her, managing to graze her wrist with his fingers during the transfer. Her gaze flew briefly to his and lingered a moment before she looked away.

  Realizing he’d forgotten to heat water for the noodles, he got a tall pot out of the cupboard. He filled it up, added a dollop of olive oil to keep it from boiling over and turned toward the cooktop at the same time that Angelica stepped back from sliding the bread into the oven. On the verge of bumping her with the heavy pot, he instinctively jerked back.

  Water sloshed down his front. “Damn!” He hastily set down the pot.

  “Oh, Riley!” Lips pursed in dismay, Angelica snatched up a kitchen towel, stepped close and began blotting at his chest. “You really nailed yourself.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, “it’s just water.”

  “Yes, but you’ve been so great about everything. It doesn’t seem fair.” She patted a line from the vee of his shirt downward, her movements getting slower and slower the lower she went.

  “Things could get a whole lot worse—or better, depending on your outlook—if you don’t stop doing that,” he said huskily.

  Her hand stilled above his narrow gold belt buckle and she raised her gaze to his. Awareness and something else—uncertainty, apprehension, anticipation?—looked back at him from her soft green eyes. Her cheeks flushed; the pulse at the base of her throat began to speed up.

  It was too good a chance to pass up. He leaned forward. Careful not to touch her anywhere else, determined not to scare her off, he angled his head and settled his mouth over hers.

  He heard her inhale, but she didn’t back away. Instead, after only the slightest hesitation, she began to kiss him back, her lips parting eagerly for his. A moment later, she brought her hand up and threaded her fingers into his hair, trailing her thumb over his cheek. A second after that her other hand stole around his neck.

  With a light hand to the small of her back to keep her with him, he settled his back against the countertop, cradling her between his thighs.

  He kissed her again, and it was sweet torment as her tongue met his and she took a step closer. Lost in each other, it was several long, delicious minutes before they surfaced for air.

  Angelica leaned weakly against him. “Oh, my.”

  “Yeah.” He felt a little light in the knees himself. But that didn’t stop him from lowering his head and stringing a necklace of kisses along the fine-boned curve of her jaw.

  “Riley, we shouldn’t,” she protested, even as her head fell back to allow him better access. “Not with Chris here.”

  He flicked his tongue against the shell of her ear. “I don’t see him at the moment.”

  As if on cue came the sound of a woof. Glancing over, he saw Cosmo come trotting up to the slider with a wet Chris, towel slung around his neck, not far behind.

  “Terrific,” he muttered, turning back to Angelica. “How soon after dinner do you think we can get rid of him?”

  She glanced at the window and back, and shook her head. “I’m afraid it doesn’t matter. I have to be at work in an hour.”

  He sighed and tried not to look as frustrated as he felt. “I guess that means I’d better quit messing around, go change clothes and get the noddles on, huh?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  He nodded. Then, not giving her a chance to escape, he leaned down and kissed her again, this time hot and hard, making sure she wouldn’t forget what she was missing.

  When he finally set her away from him, she was breathing hard. “Later,” he promised before setting off to change his shirt.

  Feeling better than he had for days, he decided that if he could just stay out of prison, things might turn out okay.

  Nine

  The distinctive whine of the automatic garage door opener switching on filled the quiet house. Seated at the kitchen counter, textbooks spread out around her, Angelica went still as she heard it, then glanced at the oven clock.

  She frowned. It was barely after three. In her admittedly limited experience, Riley normally didn’t get home from work until at least five-thirty.

  Anticipation filled her, nevertheless. Thanks to a late spring virus making the rounds, the Corral was currently short-handed, so she’d wound up working the dinner shift every night this week. She and Riley had barely seen each other since Monday night when he’d fixed spaghetti dinner.

  Not that she’d missed him or anything, she was quick to assure herself.

  Still, it would be nice to have a chance to talk, to hear about his week, to let him flirt with her. Plus there were several things she wanted to tell him.

  She heard the door into the house open, then the sound of approaching footsteps. Marking her place in the child psych text she’d been studying, she tugged at the hem of her rose-colored tank dress, fleetingly wishing she was wearing something a little more substantial.

  In the next instant, Riley walked into the room. She twisted around on the stool. “Hi,” she said. “You’re home early.”

  He dropped his sport coat over the back of the couch and tossed his keys on the counter. “Yeah, I am.”

  “How was your day?”

  “I’ve had better.” His voice clipped, his movements uncharacteristically stiff, he walked around the end of the counter, opened the fridge and grabbed a long-necked beer. He started to shut the door, then seemed to think better of it, reached in and grabbed a second bottle. “I’m going to go get out of these clothes.” Without another word, he headed for the hall that led to the bedrooms.

  Angelica sat frozen in place, wondering if she’d done something to offend him. Then she caught herself. The world didn’t revolve around her, for one thing. More importantly, Riley had seemed perfectly fine this morning. Most likely he’d just had a bad day.

  A really bad day.

  The best thing she could do was give him some space.

  She turned back around and opened her book. Finding her place, she again started to read yet another discussion regarding nature vs. nurture.

  Her good intentions lasted a full nineteen minutes, when she realized she was listening for Riley’s return rather than concentrating on the theories laid out before her. With a sigh, she pushed the book away. He’d had plenty of time to change. Where was he?

  Telling herself it couldn’t hurt to check on him, she climbed off the stool. She’d just ask what he’d like for dinner, make sure he was all right, then leave him alone.

  Standing in the hallway a moment later, she found his bedroom door was ajar. She knocked softly.

  There was no response. She hesitated, then knocked again, louder. This time when there was no answer, she pushed the door open and looked in.

  The room appeared empty. She glanced toward the bathroom, but the door was open and there was no sign of movement. And then she saw the sheer draperies to the terrace flutter and realized that the French doors were open.

  Her bare feet made no sound on the thick carpeting as she crossed the room and pushed the sheers aside. “Riley?” she said softly.

  “What?”

  He was sprawled on his back on the chaise longue on his private patio, one tanned arm covering his eyes. He’d changed, if you could call it that. She tried—and failed—not to stare at the sight of him wearing nothing but a pair of white shorts.

  Her memory hadn’t exaggerated his perfection. Contrasted with the shorts, his taut, unblemished skin was a beautiful bronzed gold color. He was wide at the shoulders and narrow at the hips, with the sort of washboard stomach usually only seen in body-building commercials. His hands and feet were long and tapering. And she knew for a fact that the parts of him she couldn’t see were just as perfect.

  It was suddenly hard to breathe.

&
nbsp; “Aren’t you due at work?” he inquired less than politely.

  She dragged her gaze away from his torso, saying a prayer of thanks that his eyes were still covered. “I was, but…” She trailed off, not at all sure this was the time to share her news.

  “But what?”

  “I decided to take you up on your earlier offer, and take some time off. I told my boss last night.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “Great.”

  She studied him. Lines she hadn’t seen before were etched around his nose and mouth. “Riley, what’s the matter?”

  “Just let it go, Angelica, all right?”

  “No. Is it your legal case? Has something happened?”

  “Nope.” For the first time his guard slipped and she heard a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I’m still the prime suspect.”

  “Then what’s going on?”

  He sighed, but lowered his arm. His gray gaze locked on her face. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” He scooted up a little higher, reached for his beer and took a long pull before setting the bottle back on the accessory table at his elbow. “You’re not the only one on hiatus from work. Count me in, too.”

  “What? Your cousins fired you?”

  “No. Tyler and Jason would never do that. But…all the talk and speculation about what happened to Mike, and my alleged part in it, is a major distraction. At this point, my involvement in the firm makes it hard to get things done. And there are some serious discrepancies between the order logs and the on-site job invoices that need to be looked into—by somebody neutral, somebody who’s not me. We had a meeting to talk about it and eventually we agreed that it would be best for the business if I took an extended vacation until this whole thing is…decided.”

  “Oh.” It was clear he’d done what he thought was best for Fortune Construction. It was also very clear that, voluntary or not, the decision cut deep.

  He must’ve seen the sympathy in her eyes because his own suddenly grew shuttered. “Not that it’s a big deal. It’s just a job. I’ll survive.”