by Tina Donahue
“Everything’s fine,” Ronnie said, more to herself than Francine. She smoothed the cashmere throw over her legs. “You can leave us.”
Francine glanced at Hunt. He stood at the entrance to the family room, his raw masculinity making Ronnie’s country house seem even daintier. Chintz curtains decorated the tall windows. Overstuffed chairs and two sofas in a delicate floral design added to the area’s gentle beauty. The walls were a pale green, the hardwood floor gleaming, reflecting the white baby grand piano in one corner and the stone fireplace in the other.
“Go on,” Ronnie urged Francine when the girl didn’t move. “Mr. Prescott isn’t a threat. Are you?” she asked him.
He smiled.
Ronnie’s belly fluttered. Damn, he was something, right down to his blue-blue eyes and roguish grin. That alone should have been bottled for use on those days when a woman felt old and wasted with no hope to reclaim what she once had. A man’s interest. His obsession for her.
She cooed, “Then you are a threat.”
“Not at all, ma’am.”
Okay, that address broke the magic, not that it kept Ronnie from returning his smile. She should have been long past flirting, but couldn’t help herself. Having a virile male in her home reminded her of times past, prior to the beginning of her first illness, its agonizingly painful and uncertain path. “Go on, sit.”
“Should I bring you anything?” Francine asked.
Ronnie spoke to Hunt. “Are you staying long?”
“That’s up to you.”
“Mr. Prescott will have bourbon, neat,” Ronnie said. “Jim Beam, not Jack Daniels, correct?”
He nodded.
Francine pulled her attention from him, her usually pale complexion tinged with color. “I’ll bring you some more water.” She took Ronnie’s empty glass.
Hunt regarded the vials of pills on the antique end table.
Embarrassed that he’d caught her in such a vulnerable state, Ronnie fooled with her pearls. It would have hurt far less for him to ask for her date of birth than to know about her illness. She didn’t want his pity. She wanted back what she couldn’t have—youth and good health. A chance to make things right, to be happy, everything Alexa could still have.
Reminding herself that Hunt’s visit was about Alexa, not her, Ronnie gestured him to the chair closest to the sofa on which she sat. “Go on. You’re making me nervous standing there like that.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not. You’re an arrogant SOB.” He’d found out the agency’s phone number, Alexa’s name and the location of this place. It wasn’t as if Ronnie advertised any of that information. Hell, she didn’t have a website for the agency or even a business name. It was strictly word-of-mouth. Only a very few, the richest and most powerful, knew of its existence. “How dare you show up here without an invitation or even a warning.”
He leaned back in his chair, his size making it seem too flimsy. “You mean as Alexa did with me at my favorite restaurant.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Ronnie released her pearls and straightened, propping herself on one elbow. “You don’t own the restaurant. It’s a public place. This isn’t. How did you find me?”
He gave her an “oh come on” look.
She waited.
He offered a good-natured shrug. “The same way you found out about the Emerson bill Alexa mentioned that night on R Street. DC has more good investigators than competent lawmakers. Apparently the detective you or she hired told her the places I frequent, because she was following me.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“I’m a regular at the restaurant where she finally blew her cover. So regular, a table’s reserved for me. If I don’t show up, the waitstaff calls to find out what’s wrong. When I’ll be by. So what was Alexa doing there at the same time I was?”
“Coincidence.”
Hunt grinned. “Bull. Wallace just confirmed she was following me. That was Wallace you were speaking to, correct?”
Warmth rushed to Ronnie’s cheeks, tingling and inviting, reminding her of how delicious it was to spar with a good-looking man. “Allow me to add eavesdropping to your dubious talents.”
He laughed, a full rich sound, unconcerned with what anyone thought. “I take it Wallace isn’t a professor from one of Alexa’s old schools as she claimed.”
Ronnie didn’t confirm or deny.
“Is he a client?” Hunt asked, the change in his manner immediate. From casual to predatory, a man protecting what was his.
Was that what he thought…was that what he wanted? Alexa for his own, not just for a good time, but well into the future?
The possibility intrigued Ronnie. This man was definitely a match for Alexa. Strong. Decisive. Completely enchanted by her and not because he knew who her father was. Nicholas Marsh’s background didn’t seem to be in the equation. If it had been, Hunt would have been unctuous, trying to cajole and impress.
Right now, he looked like the kind of man who should be in a woman’s bed. Dynamic, his skin flushed with need and a bit of outrage, his body tamed for the moment by his clothing—a long-sleeved Polo shirt, the color of cinnamon, the same as his pants.
However, once he was naked, Ronnie knew he’d unleash his power, taking whatever he wanted while delivering exquisite pleasure in return.
“No,” she admitted at last. “Wallace is my chauffeur.”
Hunt smiled. Just like that, he was back to being the perfect guest.
“So,” he said, “that leaves the question as to why Alexa’s been following me—and don’t deny it. Of all the places she could have eaten lunch, she picks my favorite. For the very first time too.”
He leaned up in the chair, resting his arm on his thigh. “I’ve never seen her there before. If I had, I would have remembered. So why is she following me if she refuses to book another appointment or agree to a regular date?”
Ronnie couldn’t hide her surprise, though she managed to keep her pleasure from showing. “You actually asked her for one?”
“I actually suggested several things we might do, just like a normal couple. She kept saying no. Why?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“I did. At the restaurant.” He frowned. “Why is she doing this at all?”
“What?”
He was back to being pissed. “Servicing your clients.”
Ronnie bristled at his accusing, self-righteous tone. “So you believe it’s wrong for a woman to seek pleasure, to treat it as a natural right as men do.”
“I didn’t say that, and that’s hardly what she was doing.”
“With your friends, you mean? With them, she was simply on the clock. Only with you was she enjoying herself.”
“I was there, all right?”
“Seeing what you wanted to see,” she countered.
His expression darkened. “So you’re saying she’s following Tim and David too? That’s her thing? Shadowing her clients’ every move? Sorry, but I don’t believe it for a minute.”
“Of course you don’t. You men believe you know everything, especially what’s good for a woman. Like the wisdom of having her earn seventy cents on every dollar you make. And insisting on controlling her body so she doesn’t dare use it to get what she needs or wants.”
He spoke through his teeth. “There are other ways to make a living.”
“Indeed there are. Tell me, Mr. Prescott, has anyone suggested those words of wisdom to you? That you shouldn’t use your good looks and charm to woo those on the Hill, which by the way has enriched you financially?”
“It’s hardly the same thing.”
“Of course it’s not. For you and every other man, it’s business as usual. For a woman, it’s a so-called sin to use her sexuality unless she’s forced into it by a pimp, which then makes her a whore who deserves to be arrested and punished. Her poor client, well, he’s free to find another girl to seduce him into doing something he shouldn’t. It’s not his fault, is it
?”
She smiled derisively. “This big, powerful guy has absolutely no control when it comes to a tiny female. And that’s the problem. She has the power now. So isn’t it far more acceptable to strip her of that, to have her settle for a life where men decide how much money she’ll have. For many of these girls, that would mean ending up as the working poor or existing on welfare, while society tells them to wait and hope for a man to rescue them. Trust me, that doesn’t happen.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Clearly I’ve offended you when that wasn’t my intent. I apologize.”
“Accepted. So tell me, why do you go on dates of the regular kind?”
Confusion replaced his wariness. “To have fun. What else?”
“And you don’t believe you pay for that pleasure?”
“No, I don’t. Never have.”
“Thank you,” she said to Francine, taking the glass of water from her. Ronnie waited until the young woman had delivered Hunt’s bourbon and left the room before she continued.
“You don’t consider shelling out money for a meal, the theater, a movie or any other activity paying for sex? How far do you think you’d get with the ladies if you didn’t romance them with all that other stuff? How many would be thrilled to have you just show up at their apartments or homes so you could haul them to bed and do whatever you pleased?”
“Do you really want me to give you a list?”
My, what confidence. If any other man had said that, she might have laughed. Oddly enough, Ronnie found she liked Hunt even more. He wasn’t arrogant, just uninformed about females, as most men were, despite his obvious success in that department.
“Women who matter,” she clarified. “Women you really want as you clearly do Alexa.”
He took a sip of his bourbon, wrapping both hands around the glass as he swallowed. “I’m not going to debate this with you. I can’t possibly win. I know Alexa wants me as much as I do her. At the restaurant, we…”
Hunt paused and took a healthier sip of his drink.
His unexpected blush wasn’t lost on Ronnie. Feeling mischievous, she asked, “You what?”
“We kissed,” he said, shooting her a look before glancing past. “And we…argued about a date. I know when a woman doesn’t want me, and trust me, I’m not a stalker. If things don’t work out with someone, fine. I move on. But I can’t figure Alexa out.”
He shoved his fingers through his hair, then dropped his hand to his lap. “After she responded to me as she did that night on R Street and at the restaurant, why in the hell would she refuse to have us see each other again? Why in the fuck doesn’t she allow what she calls a one on one?”
“Why should I tell you?”
He let out a disheartened sigh and leaned back in his chair. “For the same reason you let me in here, I suppose. You didn’t have to, but you did. I get that you’re concerned for her welfare. I understand too that you don’t think I’m a threat. I can see it on your face. So why does she insist on two or more men at one time? And don’t tell me it’s because she has a right to enjoy herself just like a guy. I get it. I’m on board. Hell, I’m no saint. I’ve had two ladies taking care of me more than once, but it’s not my preference. As far as Alexa’s concerned, I want her. Only her.”
His confidence was gone, replaced by naked desperation, the kind that consumed a man, taking away his pride, leaving him with nothing but need.
Another woman might have consoled him. Ronnie tapped out her pills and downed them two at a time.
He watched, concern flickering across his face. “Are you feeling all right?”
She swallowed another sip of water and cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” Concentrating on this conversation, seeing his touching desire for Alexa made Ronnie forget her pain for a moment. For that more than anything else, he’d earned her gratitude.
She tempered her previous bitchiness with a bit of warmth. “You have to understand, anything I may tell you about what drives Alexa is pure speculation. I’m no shrink, though I’ve been to my share.”
Hunt put his glass on the end table and leaned forward, clasping his hands. “Just tell me what you think. That’s all I ask.”
She should have refused. In a way, Ronnie sensed she was betraying Alexa. At the same time, she knew she might be saving the girl from the way her own life had turned out. Growing old without a husband and family. Not having the comfort of children and grandchildren that other women took for granted.
“You know who her father is,” she said.
Hunt squeezed his fingers, causing his knuckles to blanch. “Did he treat her badly?”
Ronnie nearly smiled at how protective he was, liking it. “Mostly he ignored Alexa. I suppose that’s why she acted out as she hit her teens, trying to get his attention. She drank, smoked, experimented with drugs and sex. The other kids were doing it too, but she didn’t even try to hide it. Got herself expelled from a lot of fancy boarding schools throughout Europe.”
He grinned. “That’s baby stuff. You should hear about my past.”
Another blush crept up Ronnie’s neck.
Hunt looked equally embarrassed. “Right. I forgot you already have.” He readjusted his weight in the chair. “Her father was an idiot for not caring. How in the hell could he have ignored Alexa, especially when she was a little kid? She was adorable in those glasses.”
Ronnie blurted, “You’ve seen pictures of her in them?”
“Yeah. Not anything personal,” he added quickly. “Just school photos.” He sighed. “She looked lonely.”
“She was. That’s why she likes to be surrounded now.”
Hunt stared, and then understanding swept his features, telling Ronnie he finally recognized what she’d figured out long ago.
Alexa chose to do this because she was the one in charge, the one being sought out, the one who was adored. The men approached the agency and ultimately her. She didn’t make the first move. And if one of them didn’t prove attentive enough, there was always another on hand, at times several, to fill the void her father had left behind.
Not that it lasted. Alexa was still that lonely little girl who wanted a man to cherish her.
“How do I stop her evening with my friends?” Hunt asked. “I don’t want them with her. I’ll pay to stop it.”
“Won’t work.” She fingered the edge of the seafoam-green scarf she wore. “You can’t tell Alexa what to do anymore than you can your friends.”
He pushed out of his chair, his hands fisted. “I swear, if they touch her, I’ll have to kill them.”
Ronnie lifted her brows.
“I’ll hurt them badly,” he amended, then sighed. “I can’t just let this happen.”
“I’m not saying you have to. There is a way to control the situation. One Alexa can’t argue with.”
“How?”
“Stand up to her,” Ronnie said. “Challenge her. Win her to your side.”
Chapter Seven
At quarter past ten, Wallace pulled up to the house, another of Ronnie’s holdings in the District. This one she rented out to keep the curious or self-righteous from asking too many inconvenient questions. Tonight, the building’s residents were in Europe at the halfway mark of their three-month vacation, leaving the place free for an assignation.
For which Alexa was thirty minutes late.
Usually, she arrived well ahead of the men to make certain everything was in order, including herself. This evening, she hadn’t been able to get moving. Showering had been a monumental effort. No matter how many times she’d reapplied her mascara and lipstick, it didn’t look right. Her hair wouldn’t behave. She couldn’t decide what to wear.
“Ms. Marsh?” Wallace glanced in the rearview mirror as he waited for her to depart the sedan.
Alexa stayed put, regarding the three-story white brick house.
Of a Federal design, the Palladian windows on the second floor glowed with peach-colored light. Tim and David were already here, no doubt wondering when…or
if…she was going to show up.
“Is everything all right?” Wallace asked.
Alexa wrung her hands, wanting to run, something that had never happened to her before. In the past, she’d looked forward to these nights, feeling a surge of confidence and power at what she would orchestrate, how she’d make the men notice and want her.
Without warning, intense loneliness replaced her dread. She longed for Ronnie’s embrace…or Hunt’s.
Yeah, right. As if he’d be there for her. He wanted her as many men did, but it was only about sex and winning the game she’d started by refusing to see him again, then giving in to desire at the restaurant. No wonder he was confused at her mixed messages. They were driving her nuts.
This had to stop. Her melancholy was foolish. Like a stupid little girl. She frowned. What is the matter with you?
“This is the correct address, isn’t it?” Wallace asked.
“What? Yes. Of course. I’ll see you later.”
Alexa left the car. Ringing the doorbell was unnecessary. One of Ronnie’s most trusted assistants had watched her approach and now let her inside. Alexa gave the young woman a small smile that felt timid and sad.
Dammit, get a grip.
“Your visitors are in the master suite,” the girl said, her English heavily accented from her native Portuguese.
Alexa moved up the staircase, forcing herself to concentrate on the home’s stark and arresting décor. Black marble floors complemented the walls papered in gray silk. Decorative sconces in geometric designs were a startling white, matching the many doors that lined the hall.
