by Linda Style
Rooted to the spot, Whitney watched as Rhys and Luth exchanged some papers, a handshake and then headed in different directions. The woman went with Luth, but not before Whitney noticed Rhys’s appreciative glance as she walked away.
A sharp pang of envy gave her second thoughts. Maybe she’d stay in. Maybe she’d just not show up, like Rhys had done earlier. She closed the door and stood with her back against it for a second before stalking to the mirror where she stared at her image with disgust.
She didn’t look like a schoolmarm at all. She looked like an old-fashioned nun, covered from ankle to neck in black and white. Irritated with herself, she tugged on the white underblouse, which, like the cuffs, was loosely attached with a series of basting stitches inside a neckline that plunged to a low V.
But not too low, she decided, studying the outfit from all angles. At midthigh, the top wasn’t any shorter than the mini-dresses she’d seen on some of the women outside, and since it was Lycra, it clung to her body and wasn’t likely to ride up.
She turned, scrutinizing her backside. In her world, she didn’t care what other people liked or disliked, but for some reason, tonight, in this Mardi Gras atmosphere, she wanted to fit in. She wanted Rhys to look at her the way he’d looked at Luth’s friend.
And frankly, she was damned tired of always looking the same, always doing what was expected—always playing it safe. Maybe she ought to break out, as Rhys had said earlier.
Without another thought, she yanked off the collar and cuffs, peeled off the leggings and removed the barrette from her hair, allowing the long strands to drift around her shoulders. She marched into the bathroom, moistened her fingers under the faucet and brushed them through the sides of her hair, lifting it slightly from her face. A touch of gloss over her usual pink matte lipstick, a dab of blush on her cheeks, and she was ready to go.
She slid into her shoes, got her purse and headed for the door. This time she wouldn’t look back—because if she did, she might not get out the door at all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RHYS STARED INTO the stubby glass of scotch and soda on the bar in front of him. Listening to the pianist’s rendition of Strangers in the Night further added to his melancholy. He’d met Luth for a few minutes, then arrived at Smoky Joe’s, the hotel bar, early to wait for Whitney, hoping to forget about the morning meeting at the bank.
His loan application had been soundly rejected. He didn’t generally wallow in self-pity, but right now he wasn’t sure he gave a damn. This past year had been the hardest of his life, and not getting the loan felt as though his last hope had been ripped away.
His mood had been dark all morning, which was why he’d skipped lunch with Whitney and asked Luth to take his place. No reason to spoil her enjoyment of the event with his negativity. Skipping lunch hadn’t kept him from thinking about Whitney, though—despite the fact that there could never be anything serious between them.
He didn’t want serious. He couldn’t afford serious. At least not with a woman like her. He wasn’t in her league—wasn’t even within pitching distance.
That acknowledgment didn’t stop his fantasies. Her mouth opening to his, her lithe body, naked and molded against his own, his fingers softly exploring while his tongue traced a path to that most sensitive place…
His breathing deepened. He shoved the glass away. Hell, he didn’t need a drink. What he needed was a cold shower.
He reached for the glass, picked it up and tipped it from one side to the other, swirling the amber liquid over the cubes of ice. Deciding, he tossed it back. One drink would be it.
He needed all his faculties if he planned to spend any time with Whitney. Because if he let his guard down, the intensity of his hunger for her could easily eclipse all rational thought.
As he stared into the empty glass, his senses prickled. He felt her presence…as powerfully as if she’d actually touched him.
Raising his head, he saw her…in the doorway, haloed by the light behind her.
Pale blond hair floated over her shoulders, and her face was partially hidden in shadow like a surrealistic photograph. His pulse raced—his groin tightened.
Two suits next to him were well into their drinks, and one of them remarked, “Hey, look at that! You wanna flip, see who can score?”
Rhys bolted to his feet. “Forget it, pal. She’s with me.” He started toward her.
“Hey, lucky guy,” one of the men said, elbowing the other.
He clenched his hands into fists. If that jerk said another word… Rhys glared at him and continued toward Whitney.
“Right on time,” he said, glancing at his watch. Her disarming smile lit the room and cut through his anger—anger that felt suspiciously like jealousy. He took her arm and directed her to a booth as far away from the two jerks at the bar as possible.
When she sat, he settled on the other side, safely across from her. The waitress scurried up to take their order.
“Nothing for me, thanks,” Whitney said.
He hesitated. He’d had one and that was enough. Still, he felt a bit disoriented and ordered another.
“You don’t drink?” He fished a twenty from his pocket and laid it on the table for the waitress.
Whitney’s eyes held a hint of apprehension. “Sometimes.” She paused, running her tongue over her bottom lip. “Sometimes I have a glass of wine.”
She lowered her gaze. He could tell the subject made her uncomfortable. Or was it something else?
“We don’t have to stay here. I just figured it would be a good spot to meet and make some decisions about tomorrow.”
Her uneasiness made him uneasy. “Really. If you want, we can go somewhere else.”
“No.” Whitney shook her head. “I’m fine. In fact, I think I’ll have a diet cola,” she said to the waitress who’d just come over. The woman nodded and left again.
“I’m sorry about lunch. I hope you didn’t mind.”
He saw her stiffen just the tiniest bit before she smiled. “Not at all. I had a lovely afternoon. Your friend was charming, and very knowledgeable.”
Her body language belied her words, and the strange look on her face made him wonder just what had happened when she was with Luth. When he’d asked his friend to go in his place, it occurred to him that if Luth didn’t know better, he’d probably make a move on her. So he’d warned Luth in advance that she wasn’t his type.
It never occurred to him she might like his buddy in that way. He didn’t like the idea one bit. He shifted in his seat, watching the waitress return with her drink.
Hell, he hadn’t been holding himself back for that. “I guess that means you had a good time?”
Whitney leaned forward, both elbows on the table and brought her mouth to the straw, slowly sipping as she looked up at him.
“A wonderful time,” she said when finished. “Of course I was disappointed that you couldn’t make it, but Luth was great.” She paused. “He said you were busy.”
Her words were so cool icicles could’ve formed on them. Did that mean she was upset he hadn’t shown up because she’d wanted him there instead of Luth? Or was she pissed that he’d blown her off? Man, he needed a course in woman speak. But he hoped it was because she’d have preferred him to Luth.
“I wasn’t busy, but I wouldn’t have been very good company, so I sent Luth, instead.” He could tell her about the bank, but for some reason, he didn’t want to. But, other than squashing his pride, what difference would it make?
Their lives were so different they might as well be from different planets. And he knew all too well what happened when planets collided.
Still…she looked as if she was waiting for an explanation…and why not make the day’s rejections complete. “I wasn’t successful at the bank, so, like I said, I would’ve been lousy company.”
“Oh.” Her eyes softened, and she reached across the table, placed a hand over his. “I’m sorry, Rhys. How awful for you.”
He stiffened. “No big de
al. There are other banks.” He picked up his drink. “It wasn’t a pity plea.” So save it for someone else.
“I didn’t think it was,” she said, pulling her hand away.
And now he’d made things even worse. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a jerk. Let’s talk about your day,” he said. “Did you get what you needed for the book?”
She pressed her lips to the straw and took another sip. “Some, but not nearly enough. I definitely need more skin.”
“Skin?”
“Yeah, you know—people.”
She smiled, the slowest sexiest smile he’d ever seen, then said huskily, “Photographer’s slang.” Her mouth went to the straw again.
“You two ready?” Luth’s familiar voice brought Rhys to attention, but it was all he could do to drag his eyes from Whitney’s. Luth and his girlfriend stood next to the booth.
“Dinner’s on, buddy! Let’s move it.” Luth looked from Rhys to Whitney and smiled. “Hello again.”
Luth rarely smiled. And damned if Rhys didn’t have that feeling again. Something primitive. Possessive. Territorial.
Ridiculous.
“Your date looks pretty hot,” Luth said to Rhys, giving Whitney a thumbs-up.
“We’ll be right behind you.” Rhys stood and offered his arm to Whitney, guiding her with a hand at the small of her back as the four of them walked toward the banquet room.
When they sat at one of the round tables for dinner, Rhys watched Whitney’s face light with excitement. She reminded him of a little kid, ready to open a surprise package. He liked that about her. He liked a lot of things about her.
He liked her spontaneity, her sensitivity, her acceptance. She was different from the women he’d known in his other life. Never once had he felt she was looking for a thrill or the excitement of the forbidden. He’d never once heard her complain, never once heard her bad-mouth anyone. And he even had the feeling she liked being with him—the real him. He liked that about her, too.
A lot.
Being around her made it easy to forget his troubles—and the differences between them.
“I wish I’d brought my camera,” she finally said, leaning toward him. “But that would seem rather rude, wouldn’t it?”
“We’ll get it later.”
He breathed in her soft sensual fragrance, suddenly engulfed by a very recognizable need. A need that came from the usual expected places, but also from a place he hadn’t expected—that empty place in his chest.
***
Whitney skirted the tables and chairs on her way to the ladies’ room during a program break. She’d wanted to ask Rhys about the boy Luth had mentioned. She’d started to ask him while they were in the bar, but there’d been too many people around. Granted, he might tell her it was none of her business; if he’d wanted her to know, he would’ve said something already.
Why did it even matter? Even if Luth wasn’t talking about Rhys’s nephew, even if Rhys had ten children by ten other women, what difference did it make?
She sighed, admitting the truth. It mattered because Rhys mattered. If he had another child, she wanted to know. She wanted to know everything about him.
Was this boy from his former marriage? Or from another relationship like the one he’d had with Morgan? If the boy lived with his mother, surely Rhys would have visitation rights, wouldn’t he?
Maybe that second birth certificate meant he had a son and the boy was named after him. And maybe the boy was impaired and living in a care-giver facility…or the mother had taken him away…or he’d died somehow. There could be dozens of reasons no one talked about it.
Why did she have to think the worst? Why didn’t she just give Rhys the benefit of the doubt? There would be a logical explanation for all of it, and sooner or later she’d find out.
Yet, finishing up, she wiped her hands and reminded herself of Brock. Her ex-fiancé’s betrayal simply underscored the fact that she was a lousy judge of character when it came to men. She absolutely had to remember that.
When she entered the ballroom, again, she saw Rhys at the table, looking in her direction. He waved and her heart skidded.
In that one split second every question she’d had vanished. She’d never ever been so intrigued. Never been so enticed—so blatantly enticed that whenever she was around him, she experienced that slow inexorable pull inside.
And, God help her, despite all the uncertainties she had about him, she liked it. Liked him. Way too much.
Making her way toward him, she grimly told herself it didn’t matter what she felt, because he didn’t know who she was and why she was there. Once he learned the truth, he’d never want to set eyes on her again. Her lies, her subterfuge, weren’t something she could explain away.
When she’d almost reached the table, Rhys got up and quickly redirected her toward a door on the other side of the room.
“What? Where’re we going?”
He placed a finger over her lips and continued tugging her by the hand. “Be patient and follow me,” he said softly, edging around a corner in the long hallway.
“Rhys—” she whispered “—what are we doing?”
“Checking out the entries,” he answered, keeping his voice to a stage whisper.
“What entries? What are you talking about?”
“They’re all in there.” He motioned to a door at the end of the hallway, and as they approached it, he removed a key from his pocket. “Got it from a friend,” he whispered.
Opening the door a crack, he slipped inside, drawing her with him. When he shut the door, blackness enveloped them, and she clutched his arm.
“Rhys, where are the lights?”
“Hold on a sec. Don’t move or you might hit something.” He pulled her flush against him, his left arm circled her waist as he searched for the lights with his other hand.
“The lights are…”
She felt him reaching, his body moving against hers. Deliciously so.
“…right here somewhere,” he said.
Her face was nestled on his shoulder, and as she breathed in his freshly showered soapy scent…every sensory nerve in her body ached with need. If he didn’t move away soon—
“There.”
She heard the click and the room filled with light. But he didn’t release her. She blinked. He tucked his chin to look down at her. “Your eyes will adjust in a second. Then you can turn around.”
Tipping her head up to look at him, her mouth was dangerously close to his. So close, his warm breath fanned her lips.
Her pulse raced. Lord, she wanted to kiss him—to touch her mouth to his. She had to pull away. She had to pull away.
But she couldn’t. Not if her life depended on it.
His sultry gaze met hers, and when she finally spoke, her voice was low and breathy. “Will I like what I see?”
His eyes locked on her mouth. “I hope so,” he murmured. “I know I do.”
With his lips hovering over hers, she melted against him…felt his arousal. Hot desire pulsed within her.
“You better turn around and take a look, or we’ll never make it back for the ceremony,” he said, grinning as if he didn’t give a damn whether they did or not.
And she didn’t give a damn either. But, reluctantly, she peeled herself away and turned.
Seeing a roomful of gleaming custom bikes, her mouth fell open. “Wow!” was all she could say as she stared wide-eyed at the colorful display of machinery.
“I thought you might want to get some work done before the place gets packed.”
She turned to him. “You mean, if I had a camera.” She started toward the first row of motorcycles, sectioned off by a gold satin cord.
“Yeah, I know.” He smiled sheepishly. “What about your phone?”
“In my purse at the table.”
He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. “You can try a few with this…or we can get yours later and come back.”
She quickly clicked off a couple of shots, then looked at th
e results. “Not very good.”
“It’s a cheap phone.” He plucked it from her fingers. “And right now, we should have dinner.”
Still holding her hand, Rhys led her back to the ballroom, not letting go until they reached the table.
“I wondered if you two were going to make it in time,” Luth said, a knowing expression on his face.
“Thought maybe something better came up.”
Rhys looked at Whitney. “Something did.”
Whitney cheeks heated. Yes it had. Something much better than dinner.
***
Rhys held the chair for Whitney, then sat between her and Luth, forcing himself to think of anything but the desire still coursing through him. Liver and onions, buddy. Night crawlers. Maybe bats. He leaned back in his chair, able to see both the stage and Whitney’s profile.
“Bets?” Luth poked him in the ribs with an elbow and waved a hand in front of Rhys’s eyes. “You with us, buddy, or is that glazed look permanent?”
“Yeah.” Rhys bolted to attention. “What’s up?”
“Bets. You know, our annual bet on which bike is going to win.” Luth gave him a puzzled frown. “The bikes you just went to look at?” He sent Rhys another sidelong glance and slapped fifty bucks on the table.
“Sure.” Rhys reached into his pocket for some bills to cover the bet. What was fifty bucks when he needed thousands? And if he didn’t bet, Luth would wonder why.
“C’mon.” Luth tapped the table. “Right here. The ladies will guard the stash.” He produced a pen from his shirt pocket and shoved it at Rhys, along with a napkin.
“Here’s my number,” he said, pointing to his napkin.
“Write down yours and prepare to lose.” Luth eyed Rhys who was still thinking.
“Can’t decide?” Luth’s dark eyes darted to Whitney and back to Rhys again. “Or were you too busy to get the number?”
Rhys scribbled something on his napkin, folded it in half and handed it to Luth’s date, Lee Ann. His buddy was right. He’d been too preoccupied to think about anything but Whitney. Fortunately he remembered his favorite bike from earlier that day.
The rest of the ceremony dragged. Like it or not, he couldn’t take his mind off the woman beside him. She was the remedy for what ailed him. Thanks to her, he’d even forgotten this morning’s disappointment at the bank.
