by Carol Caiton
Nina stood framed in the doorway watching, her emotions curiously detached and unaffected. The woman looked familiar. That was what registered on her mind—that the woman looked familiar. Her bone structure. There was something about her bone structure that teased her memory. She studied the woman's face, ignoring the slender legs wrapped around Simon's waist but was vaguely aware of the rhythmic motion of his body because his thrusts set the woman in motion as well. Maybe it was her jaw. Or possibly the high cheekbones in relation to her jaw.
Unnoticed by either of them, she continued to contemplate the woman. Instead of backing away and escaping to Ethan's Hummer before her presence was detected, she concentrated harder. For some reason, solving the riddle was important.
When a warm hand closed around her arm, it tore through the hazy trance, whisking her back to full awareness. She gasped. It was hardly a sound at all, just a quick soft intake of air. But the woman's eyes flew open. Her gaze darted toward the doorway and the passion Nina had observed vanished as though it had never been.
Simon jerked. His head whipped around, eyes locking on hers, and an explosion of anger stretched across the room, the force of it paralyzing her on the spot.
She tore her eyes away to look at the woman again. But he lashed out with a fierce hushed curse and used his body to shield the woman from view.
Nina stumbled back. The compulsion to flee now urgent. She collided with Ethan and the fingers around her arm tightened, supporting her as she regained her footing.
She let out a small whimper. Not because his grip was painful, but because her humiliation reached so deep, the intensity so sharp that releasing it was unavoidable.
He tugged her gently backward, putting himself between her and the couple on the floor. His voice when he spoke was a rough growl.
"You stupid fuck," he threw at Simon.
Then his fingers squeezed her arm and he half steered, half dragged her back along the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door.
* * *
The night air struck her face like a chilling slap. It hadn't felt this cold just a few minutes before. She wanted Ethan to slow down, take smaller steps, or just let go so she could catch her breath. But he hustled her down the sidewalk to the passenger door of his Hummer. He opened it, slid one arm beneath her knees, and lifted her inside as easily as he'd handled her boxes of clothing. Snagging the seatbelt, he reached across her abdomen, snapped it into place, and slammed the door shut.
When he climbed in behind the steering wheel his face was closed and set. He shoved the key into the ignition and in less than a minute they were back inside his garage.
He hadn't spoken a word and Nina was afraid to break the silence because a large portion of his anger was probably directed at her. Had she not asked him to let her into Simon's house neither of them would have known he hadn't gone to New York. Neither of them would have seen him making love to another woman. And Nina wouldn't be dependent on Ethan's hospitality to the exclusion of her only other option.
His anger was justified. She would accept her share of the blame. But she wouldn't be able to stand up for herself this time, not if he started drinking and took it out on her. After a day of too many extremes her energy was waning and her self-confidence had taken a blow she hadn't expected. She should have known better than to believe Simon felt something special for her. He'd played her for a fool and that's what she was—a gullible fool. The uncertainty she'd felt about RUSH's linking system had been settled, though. Their blue link was nothing but an amber match in disguise.
By the time she fumbled around and unfastened her seatbelt, Ethan was out of the Hummer and opening her door. He waited for the strap to glide back into place then slid his hands beneath her jacket to her waist.
"Ethan." She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I'm okay."
The stony mask was still in place but his eyes fixed on hers. "You're not okay. You're shaking like it's getting ready to snow."
Was she?
A glance at the hand on his arm told her she was. Why?
"I . . . it's cold." And it was cold.
"It's sixty-five degrees, Nina."
She dropped her gaze to her lap.
"Look at me," he ordered.
She didn't want to. She was raw and wounded. But she obeyed because he wouldn't step aside until she did.
Surprisingly though, his featured softened. "Why are we arguing about this?" he asked quietly, maybe even a little affectionately. Or maybe she was just hearing what she wanted to hear.
Tears sprang to her eyes. "I don't know."
And she didn't. She didn't understand the tears, the lump in her throat, or the shaking. It wasn't as though she was in shock. She was hurt, yes, and her pride had been battered. But her heart hadn't been torn open. She may have been prepared to move into Simon's house, but she wasn't in love with him.
Maybe it was delayed reaction now that she was able to think clearly. God, what if she had moved in with him?
She blinked and the tears trickled down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I don't know why I'm crying."
"You don't, huh?"
Before she could answer, his fingers tightened around her waist and he lifted her down to the concrete. "Let's go inside."
He kept an arm around her and guided her toward the utility door. She wiped her cheeks with her fingers while he punched in the security code, then he opened the door and urged her forward.
"Sit down at the island," he instructed.
He walked over to the sink, tore off a paper towel, and handed it to her. Marguerite would have embarked on a five-minute lecture had she been watching, but Nina accepted his offering and used the paper towel to gently wipe her face. Then she slipped up onto the barstool, still wearing her jacket because she couldn't seem to get warm.
"Ethan?"
He looked up from filling the kettle.
"Thank you for getting me out of there."
It would have been better if she hadn't said anything at all. His jaw firmed and the closed mask he wore on the ride home was back. After a curt nod, he returned the kettle to its heating unit and turned it on. "Are you going to give him a chance to explain?"
Frowning, she watched him reach for the smallest canister and remove a tea bag. "There's nothing to explain," she said. She didn't understand why he even asked given that he'd seen exactly what she'd seen. "Simon told me he'd be spending the entire four-day weekend in New York."
Ethan took a mug from the cabinet and dropped the tea bag inside. "Give him a chance to explain, Nina." He turned to face her. Leaned back against the counter, and crossed his arms over his chest. "He'll probably be here in fifteen or twenty minutes."
"Tonight?"
"I'd be surprised if he waited until tomorrow."
"I don't want to see Simon tonight. I don't want to see him at all." She sighed tiredly. "I just want to take a bath and go to bed."
"No." He planted both hands on the counter. "Don't run away. Sooner or later you're going to have to face him and it'll be easier if you get it over with now."
"Fine." God, she was tired. "Fine. If he wants to explain, I'll listen."
"Believe me, he'll want to. You're his future."
She stared. "How can you still say that? What about my future? What about the image that's burned on my brain and the bliss on that woman's face? Would you want to continue a relationship with someone after walking in on her having sex with another man?"
He didn't answer.
But Nina knew the answer. He wouldn't. Not even if that woman was Denny Cooper. When Denny accepted a blue link it may have been a legitimate reason to end her relationship with Ethan, but if she were available now, Ethan wouldn't want her back. He wouldn't know whether or not she'd do something similar if another promising opportunity came along.
"This probably won't lessen the impact of what you saw, but you and Simon haven't been on speaking terms since the night you ran away from him, if I'm not mistaken."
/> "You're not mistaken. So tonight tells me he's moved on, only I didn't realize it."
"He hasn't moved on."
"Ethan, you can't have it both ways. Either he's in a monogamous relationship with me or he's not. Either he's moved on or he's in a monogamous relationship. I don't want to be with a man who turns to someone else if we argue or have a misunderstanding, even if it's my fault. And if it is my fault, just give me a little time to think things through and I'll apologize. Or show me that I'm wrong and I'll apologize right away." She took a breath. "When you find someone special, if you place a high value on it, you don't turn to someone else. You bury your pride and work to make it better."
She looked down at the steeping brew in front of her. "Why did you make tea for me?"
"Because you need sugar in your system." He walked over to the silverware drawer, removed a teaspoon, and reached for the sugar bowl. "Two spoonfuls."
"Two?"
"Two."
"But—"
She stopped protesting. She wasn't shaking anymore. She wasn't even cold now. And she didn't take sugar in her tea. But he'd gone to the trouble of trying to take care of her, so she'd do what he wanted.
Inwardly she was relieved. He wasn't as angry at her as she'd thought. She emptied two small spoonfuls into the mug. But she only took one small sip when the doorbell rang.
Her eyes flew to Ethan's.
He nodded once. "Go answer it."
She wanted to shake her head. But Ethan would have to answer the door and talk to Simon if she didn't. Or worse, turn him away. He'd probably cover for her which meant he might end up calling his friend and business partner a stupid fuck again.
Resignation weighed on her as she slid off the barstool. This was her mess, not Ethan's.
"Good girl," he said as she passed, and his approval made it a little easier.
She opened the door a few inches, took a breath, and the strain of regret she saw in Simon's eyes was unmistakable.
"I'm sorry."
Two small words spoken with no hesitation whatsoever and with so much sincerity.
He glanced off to the side, then back again. "I don't have the words to tell you how sorry I am."
Emotion constricted her throat. More emotion than she wanted to feel. He hadn't asked what the hell she was doing in his house. He hadn't offered an elaborate excuse or even tried to make one up. His first words were an apology.
"I believe you," she said, aching inside. How had she come to care for a man she hardly knew? Why did it feel as though this mutual depth of sorrow joined them in an understanding they hadn't been able to achieve at any other time?
He was so handsome. His features so strong. She didn't know him very well, but to move on to another woman before ending their own relationship seemed out of character . . . inconsistent with who he was.
He appeared freshly showered. Dressed in jeans and a dark shirt, his damp, nearly black hair glistened under the porch light.
For a short while he'd been hers. In a way. He'd pursued her relentlessly. No one had ever focused on her with that kind of determination. No one had ever kissed her with such mastery, inciting a passion she hadn't known was possible. Had he driven that other woman to those same heights? She shivered.
"Nina."
Tightening her fingers around the doorknob she asked, "Has your . . . girlfriend gone home?"
"She's not my girlfriend." His answer came without hesitation. He lifted one hand, swept it over his hair, then lowered it. Glancing at her jacket, he said, "Come walk with me."
She shook her head. "No. I'd rather stay here."
"Then come outside so we're not having this conversation in the doorway."
She didn't want to do that either. But she relaxed her hand, stepped out onto the porch, and closed the door.
"Why did Ethan bring you to my house?" he asked.
It was a reasonable question spoken in a reasonable tone. But moving into his house now seemed incredibly presumptuous. He'd been making love to another woman, for heaven's sake. Of course he'd want to know what she was doing there, but her humiliation was too sharp. She squeezed her eyes and shook her head.
His fingers brushed her cheek.
For a moment she didn't move, didn't breathe. He couldn't know how badly she wanted that comfort. But he'd lied to her. And the image of a royal blue high heel was fresh in her mind.
She opened her eyes, turned her face away, and his hand dropped back to his side.
"I want you to know this hasn't happened before," he said. "I haven't been with another woman since the night I accepted your blue icon. Nina, look at me."
She turned back to face him.
"Tonight was a spur-of-the-moment impulse. There was no emotional involvement—is no emotional involvement. Not even friendship."
"I don't know what you want me to say to that."
"Just know that the woman you saw me with isn't important to me. She's not relevant to our link. To us."
Nina began shaking her head before he finished speaking. "You're wrong. Being with her was important enough for you to overlook the repercussions it could have."
"It was sex, Nina. Don't mistake it for anything more because that's all it was. Like an amber link."
Tiredly she met his eyes. "She looked familiar. Who is she?"
For the first time his expression grew shuttered. "Her name isn't important. It's not relevant."
"You keep saying that but it is relevant. All of it."
The sudden flash of feminine bone structure revealed by a teal-colored demi-mask leaped to the front of her mind. Green eyes. Short coppery hair. Faces were her specialty.
"It was Kay, wasn't it? The woman who helped me draw the murderer."
"Forget you saw her, Nina."
"Forget I saw her?"
"Yes. I'm asking you to forget you saw her."
She stared at him.
"Kay is a public figure. Protecting her identity is imperative."
It was like a slap in the face. Even now, while trying to undo the damage to their relationship, his primary concern was for the woman he'd brought to his house. How could he possibly think she'd ever forget what she saw?
"I want you to leave, Simon."
"Wait." His hand closed around her arm as she reached for the door.
"Let me go."
"Nina, wait."
"Don't worry, her anonymity is safe. Who would I tell?" Kay might not even be the woman's real name. "Has she gone back to RUSH?"
"No, not yet."
She stiffened. "Let go of me, Simon."
"Nina, she's taking a shower. Then she'll leave."
It was another picture of that woman in his house, naked in his shower, that she didn't want in her mind. She tugged at her arm. "I want to go inside now." Tears blurred her vision and began to slide down her face.
"Look at me, Nina."
"No. Let me go."
"Walk with me. Talk to me. We'll find a way past this."
She didn't want to talk anymore. She didn't want him to touch her anymore either.
The front door opened. "Nina?"
It was Ethan. She looked up through teary eyes.
"Do you have a sister named Lydia?"
She drew a breath. "Yes. What's wrong?" She yanked her arm from Simon's grasp and he finally let go.
"She's on the phone. In my study."
Nina hesitated, confused. She hadn't given Ethan's phone number to Lydia. In her ager that afternoon she'd forgotten to.
Behind her Simon cursed. In front of her Ethan stiffened. Charged emotions crackled in the air, hers, Simon's, and now, oddly, Ethan's.
Worried and a little frightened, she searched Ethan's eyes. "Ethan?"
"Go inside and answer the phone," he said.
His tone of voice was the same one he'd used when he told her to sit down at the island. Supportive. Reassuring. He was taking care of her. Why? She didn't know, but she trusted him so she stepped around him and went in search of his study
.
* * *
"I'd like to rip your throat out right now," Simon growled.
"The feeling's mutual," Ethan bit out, equally furious. "Why the hell did you tell everyone you were going to New York?"
"Because I went to New York. What were you doing in my house?"
"I was moving your goddamn blue link in!"
Simon jerked.
"She asked if I had a key," Ethan went on. "She decided she wanted to be there when you got back."
Awed by the chain of events that led to this moment on Ethan's porch, Simon could only stare in stupefaction. All for a goddamn piece of ass.
"Christ," he murmured. "Jesus Christ." He rubbed a weary hand over his face. "The trip was cut short. I flew back late this morning."
"Why the hell didn't you call?"
"I did call. Several times. I got no answer."
Ethan dug a hand into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and muttered a curse. "I need a new phone." He looked up. "The ringer's turning itself off."
Simon drew in a breath and exhaled. Each step leading to this disaster seemed almost orchestrated, as though fate had mapped out one situation after another to sabotage his chances of success.
"Was she worth it?" Ethan asked. "Do you know what you've given up?"
Simon stiffened. "I haven't given up anything."
"If you believe that, you're as naïve as she is. What the hell were you thinking?"
"I wasn't thinking, all right? I was alone. I was jacked. And an offer was made."
"Nina thinks you lied to her so you could spend a long weekend with another woman."
"I know what she thinks. Believe me, I know very well what she thinks. What I don't understand is your hostility."
"My hostility? Let me nudge your memory. While I was linked with Denny you started making an effort to get to know her. You picked up your own mail at the reception desk, spent a minute or two talking to her . . . . Then, after she chose a blue link, you left the mail for your secretary to gather and barely gave Denny a cordial nod. Why?"
