Private Lies

by Wendy Etherington

  “We’ll suit each other,” Gage said, then downed the rest of the drink.

  Stephano rose. “You and your lady freshen up. We’ll meet in the lobby in an hour.”

  Gage lit a cigarette—his nerves might actually need the tobacco at this point. “Sure.”

  “We’ll celebrate. There’s a great Italian restaurant on Chartres Street. We’ll take my limo and relax.”

  Trapped in a dark car with a mobster heading to an Italian restaurant. Holy hell, when had his life become an episode of The Sopranos? “Sure.”

  Stephano smiled at Roxanne. “I’ll see you at dinner, Marina.”

  Her gaze rose slowly. Gage noted her large, black pupils and the exaggerated way she lifted her hand to pat Stephano’s cheek—and swore, internally and viscously.

  “Sure, honey,” she said, then gulped a swallow of champagne.

  Stephano smiled, then kissed the back of her hand. His gaze lingered on Roxanne’s longer than necessary. “An hour. Mettles, with me.” He strode off.

  Fists clenched, Gage stood next to his fiancée—the delicate flower he’d fought so hard to protect. And miserably failed. “Let’s go.”

  She plopped down her champagne flute and slid off the stool. “Sure, Gage, baby. This has been a blast.”

  She wasn’t so tipsy that she couldn’t inject a tone of sarcasm into her words. Even as Gage admired her guts, he tossed a few bills on the bar and wondered how he’d ever manage to save the best—really the only—relationship in his life.

  SOMEWHERE BETWEEN fuzzy fear and hot rage, Roxanne stood back to let Gage unlock his room. He eased the door open and nodded for her to go in first.

  Her gaze bounced around the elegant, sunken living area, noting the bedroom off to the left. Blinking back tears, her gaze latched on to the windows across the suite. She moved toward them, laying her palm against the cool glass, staring at the lights below.

  The whole night seemed a dream. Or a nightmare. She couldn’t even remember how much time had passed since she’d watched her reflection in the mirror as Toni had transformed her from a pale, plain redhead into an exotic Gypsy.

  Toni. At least she’d had the sense—maybe premonition—to send her friend out of the bar. She’d wanted to confront Gage alone.

  “I need to call Toni. She’s waiting downstairs.”

  Gage laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll—”

  She shrugged. “Don’t touch me.”

  Silence. Then his hand fell away. His breathing seemed the only sound to fill the room, and she longed to turn and find his gaze. But those eyes had looked into hers and lied too often.

  “I’ll get you down there,” he said. “You can leave.”

  She nodded. But she had questions first.

  She might not like her dad’s and siblings’ jobs, she might distance herself from anything relating to their work, she might still grieve for the tragic, unnecessary loss of her gentle mother, but she hadn’t spent twenty years in the Lewis household wearing blinders.

  Gage wearing a disguise. That Stephano character with his dead eyes. She wanted to laugh. Hysterically. Her fears of infidelity seemed so distant. The reality might be much, much worse.

  Beneath the dull layer of alcohol, her stomach churned. “Who are you, Gage?” she asked quietly.

  He sighed. Then, as she sensed him moving away from her, she turned. He paced alongside the glass and chrome coffee table. His long legs ate up the distance quickly, and even as she wanted to throw something at him, she had to admire his profile—the strong jaw, the broad shoulder, the curve of his tight backside. As long as she lived, she doubted she’d ever find a man she wanted as much. Before tonight, she’d even thought she loved him.

  But now betrayal and anger and fear vibrated in her veins. She fought to stay calm. She wanted to give him time to explain. Though how any of this could make sense, she couldn’t imagine.

  He stopped finally. He stared directly at her. Their gazes locked—brown to green, instead of silver to gold. She wanted to scream at the deception. “Dammit, Gage, what the hell is going on?”

  “I’m a cop. A Secret Service agent working undercover for the Enforcement Division of the United States Treasury Department.”

  Her heart jumped. “Come again?”

  He disappeared into the bedroom, then returned moments later, holding out a badge: Gage C. Dabon, U.S. Treasury.

  “Secret Service agents protect the president.”

  “That’s only one of our functions. The ATF and the Customs Service fall under the Treasury Department. We also investigate a variety of financial crimes.”

  Light-headed, knowing it wasn’t the champagne, she raised her gaze to his. “What does the ‘C’ stand for?” She didn’t know her own fiancé’s middle name. How ridiculous was that?

  His mouth tipped up on one side. “Colin. After my father. He’s my boss.” He paused. “He reports directly to the undersecretary of enforcement.”

  He’d told her his mom and dad had retired to a planned golf community in Florida. Was anything they’d shared real? Would she ever really know? Did she even care?

  Gage is a cop. A federal cop. A bark of laughter escaped. Then another. She sank to the floor.

  Gage knelt beside her. “You’re upset.”

  “You bet your sweet ass I am.”

  “And pissed. You’ve cussed at me twice in the last minute.”

  “You deserved it.”

  His eyes flashed—with regret, with other emotions. Deeper feelings? Or was that, too, a lie? “I’m sorry.”

  She glanced at their joined hands, then back to his face. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  He flinched. “It’ll never be the same, will it?”

  “No,” she said slowly, her breath catching in her throat, knowing she’d certainly never be the same. “I don’t think it will.”

  As she concentrated on controlling her breathing, some part of her started to accept the situation. Gage wasn’t a banker. He didn’t trade stocks or advise on investment strategies. He’d lied to her with every breath he’d taken. That dangerous side she’d sensed was a reality, not a sexual fantasy she’d imagined. Her thoughts in the bar came back to her…as if the charming man she knew, the man she lived with was an act, and this dangerous stranger had risen to take his place.

  That was the reality. She drew a breath, then let the air seep. As she rose to her feet, his arms slid around her, and the tension in the room suddenly changed. She remembered way too many nights of whispered passion and shared need. One controlled stroke of his fingers could bring her completion like she’d never known before. Rolling waves of fulfillment, a gasp of surprise. Her stomach clenched at the thought. Warmth sparked between her legs, then spread outward. With him moving inside her, she’d felt powerful, invulnerable.

  She wanted that feeling again.

  But her world had spun completely around, and he’d caused the pain. No matter how she longed to touch him, she kept her arms stiff at her sides.

  “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this, Rox.”

  “I’m sure.”

  His hands roamed her back. “Surely you understand why I couldn’t tell you.”

  She stepped back. “I don’t.” Then, she added, “I understand why you didn’t at first, but not after we got…close.” Intimate. Supposedly in love. “But not later. We were supposed to be married, Gage.”

  He went very still. “Were?”

  She’d already put their relationship in the past, she realized. In an effort to convince him? Or herself?

  But she wasn’t going there. Too many other problems and questions and lies lay between them. “What about Mettles and Stephano? Who are they?”

  “It’s a case. I can’t really divulge—”

  She jabbed her finger in his chest. “Well, you’d better start divulging, buddy. I’m not leaving here until I know what the hell is going on.”

  He winced. “More cussing?”

  She scowled. “I’m in
the middle of this mess. Start spilling.”

  His face turned stony. “No, you’re not.”

  Roxanne wasn’t about to debate the point at the moment, but she’d landed herself in a dangerous mess and escape wasn’t going to be easy. “You owe me an explanation.”

  He stared at her silently as the air conditioner clicked on. Finally, he slid his hands into his pockets and said, “I’m investigating a counterfeiting operation. Stephano is the ringleader.”

  “And Mettles?”

  “Clark Mettles is the brains.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “An MIT-educated engineer who thinks crime does pay.”

  Disgusted, Roxanne shook her head. “Kids today.”

  “We think alike, babe.”

  She stiffened. They were so little alike, she wanted to cry.

  He crossed to the black, marble-topped bar, then poured himself a drink. “You want something?”

  She rubbed her temples. “No. Yes. Coffee.” Sinking onto the sofa, she sighed and wondered if the caffeine would help her get her thoughts in order or just make her jumpy and irritable. “And Gage Angelini?”

  “A less than honest, but wealthy businessman willing to invest in the project for a cut of the profits.” He started the coffee, then crossed the room, sitting on the table in front of her. “Is my cover worse than finding out I’m a cop?”

  She stared down at her hands, linking her fingers to stop the shaking, then glanced up to find his serious gaze on her face. She’d shared her negative views about loved ones in law enforcement many times. She may have even said she’d never date a cop. “I’m not sure,” she said finally.

  He rolled his crystal glass between his hands and said nothing.

  From the angle of his body, with his head bowed, his ponytail caught her attention. Truthfully—and God knew she needed a bit of truth at the moment—it fascinated her. Discovering that dark side truly existed, and probably defined the real him, was enticing, tempting her far more than it should.

  He lied to you, her conscious reminded her. He’s made a fool of you. He doesn’t care about you. He’s using you…. Though for what she couldn’t imagine.

  She shook away these thoughts and concentrated on the ponytail. It had to be fake, of course. Gage’s hair was trimmed conservatively whenever she saw him. She found herself wondering how he’d attached the ponytail and longed to thread her fingers through the black, silky-looking strands. She lifted her hand to—

  “It’s an extension.”

  She jerked her hand back, embarrassed he’d caught her staring and that she’d nearly touched him. This man was a stranger. He’d lied. He’d proposed. Then he’d lied some more. None of this was real. Nothing about him was real.

  “What?” she asked, as if she didn’t know he’d responded to her unspoken curiosity.

  “The ponytail. It’s a hair piece woven into the back of my hair.” He set his glass aside, then wrapped a long, curly strand of her black hair around his finger. “A wig, I guess.”

  “Of course. You’re wearing dark brown contacts.”

  He nodded. “And green for you. Toni’s idea, I assume.”

  “Her shop came in handy.”

  “You sensed something today at lunch.”

  She pressed her lips together for a second. She should have known she wasn’t fooling him. “She saw you in the Quarter last night. This case, I guess.”

  “What are the odds?” He shook his head, as if the path they’d traveled to get here was irrelevant. And, in a weird way, it was. “I was arranging with a minor player to meet Mettles,” he continued as his hand slid to cup her face, his eyes darkened with tenderness. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  He had. She knew it. He knew it. It seemed ridiculous to deny her feelings.

  He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone, sending sparks shooting down her body, even as she longed for the strength to pull away. “The dusky makeup really completes the look.” His eyes turned dark, smoky. A look of desire she recognized all too well. “If I didn’t know you…”

  What? she wanted to ask. What would you do with me? To me? Even as an illicit thrill raced through her at the idea of actually being able to pick up Gage at a bar, take him back to her hotel room and explore his body well into the night, she wondered if a woman that confident would have accepted and been fooled by his lies.

  “Tanning cream and bronzing powder,” she said.

  His gaze slid down her body, lingering on the plunging neckline. “You two looked like tourists on the make.”

  Surprising pleasure rushed through her, and she remembered those first few moments after she’d approached him. He’d had no idea who she was. Gage Dabon, savvy, hardened—he’d always seemed hardened, even as a banker—experienced Secret Service agent fooled by Roxanne the quiet accountant. “We certainly convinced you.”

  “You did,” he admitted, though he seemed reluctant. “The attitude sent the disguise over the top. You were bold.”

  She had kind of gone full force with the Mysterious Mediterranean Marina thing. “Really?”

  His thumb, stroking her face, brushed her earlobe. His white teeth flashed in a knowing smile. Even with the slick ponytail and brown eyes—maybe even because of them—he made her libido hum a merry tune. “Mmm. Bold and adventurous.”

  Hunger rolled off him. He wanted her. Really. Now. The fact that she could want him so much in return should have worried her. Instead, she felt strong. “You liked it?”

  His hot breath brushed her cheek. “Very much.”

  “Was I sexy?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He leaned forward, his lips a breath from hers. “Totally unlike yourself.”

  As his warm, persuasive mouth settled on hers, she desperately wanted to sink into him, forget the circumstances that had brought them to this place, indulge in unrelenting, overwhelming passion. She recalled his gentle, then sometimes demanding, touch. The waves of satisfaction he alone could bring. But his words seeped into her brain.

  Sexy…Totally unlike yourself.

  She planted her hand on his shoulder and shoved. Hard. “I don’t think so,” she said confidently, rising.

  Maybe it was the “Marina” disguise, maybe she’d tapped into some hidden inner strength, or maybe she was just completely pissed off, but she found the assurance to move away from him. A month ago, a week ago, hell, an hour ago, she would have let him pull her under the spell of passion. But not now. Maybe not—she drew a deep breath—ever.

  The trust she’d had in him had been shattered tonight. And she’d never let him break her heart again. No matter what else happened, he was a cop. She’d held up her part in the deception earlier, but the moment they were safe…bye, bye, baby.

  “I thought you were cheating on me,” she said, facing him, her arms crossed over her chest.

  Gage clenched his jaw. How could she think—

  He stopped himself. She’d thought a great deal about him tonight—and none of it good. “I’m not—I wouldn’t—” Damn, given his deception, no response sounded right. And he feared nothing in his life would ever seem right again. Still reeling from her rejection of his touch, his brain buzzed with plans to bind her to him, even as another part of him scrambled to find a way to save his investigation. We were supposed to be married.

  They would be married.

  And he would get Stephano.

  “I’m not that kind of man?” she asked in a mocking tone he’d never envisioned her thinking, much less voicing. “I wouldn’t cheat on you? I wouldn’t lie to you?”

  As she spun away, he took a step toward her. “Roxanne, I—” Didn’t mean to lie to you? To hurt you? He’d known he was doing those things and did them anyway. Denying his actions seemed petty and worthless. The coffee hissed into the pot, punctuating the silence with monotony. “I’ll get the coffee.”

  He retrieved a steaming cup, adding cream and sugar as she liked, all the while rolling plans around his brain. He ha
d to get her out of the hotel undetected. And she had to be long gone before the meeting with Stephano. He wouldn’t let that oily mobster get his grimy hands on Roxanne. Somehow, he’d finesse his way through the man’s anger at being denied her presence.

  Oh, yeah, then he had to save the only relationship he gave a damn about.

  You can do all that in your sleep, Gage.

  Right.

  As he carried coffee to Roxanne, he prioritized his plans—first, her safety, then Stephano, then relationship. He handed her the mug. “We need to get all that off you.”

  Sipping her coffee, she lifted her eyebrows. “Think again.”

  No sex. He fought a wince over that bit of reality. Roxanne had never refused him, but at the moment her safety was a priority. He had to stop acting like a man and start acting like a cop. “I meant the costume.” He retrieved shorts and a shirt from the bedroom. “Put these on. If any of Stephano’s goons spot us, they won’t recognize you.”

  She nodded and started toward the bedroom. Then she stopped. “What will Stephano do when I don’t show up in the lobby?”

  Gage shrugged, though the volatile mobster wasn’t exactly known for his graciousness. It was rumored he’d once cut off an associate’s thumb with a switchblade for bringing Stephano the wrong brand of scotch. “He’ll get over it.”

  “Come on, Gage. He’s not going to just say, ‘Gee, that’s too bad,’ when you tell him I’m not coming to dinner. You heard Mettles. He’ll kill you.”

  “I’ll tell him we had a fight and you ran out on me.”

  She frowned. “Won’t that look like you can’t control me?”

  “I don’t want to control you.”

  She sighed and walked toward him.

  The woman certainly had some kind of walk in that cat suit. Sweat popped out on his forehead.

  “I know you don’t want to control me me, but you want the mob to think you can control Marina me. It’s a loss-of-manly-respect thing.” She angled her head. “Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

  Irritated, he snapped, “Of course I’ve done this before. How do you know about the mob and their codes?”