Dragging her attention from Raquel, Margo looked toward the door. And froze. Larger than life, Jared Carson's impressive physique filled the doorway. This couldn't be a coincidence. She'd called in and told her editor where she was having breakfast, in case anyone needed to reach her. Jared must have called to track her down.
Like a fist, her stomach pressed upward against her heart. Her throat clenched. Well, this would save her the trouble of looking for him later. After all, she still had an article to write, and he owed her a favor.
The thought of Jared repaying a favor sent tendrils of desire stretching through her veins. Seeing him again was dangerous, but by seeking her out he'd left her no choice.
Steph reached out and grabbed Margo's wrist. "Oh, it is him, and he's coming this way."
"Great. Not again."
Raquel's reaction made Margo glance in her direction. The attorney's eyes glittered dangerously. She looked angry. Why?
"Good morning, ladies."
Margo jerked her head toward the sound of Jared's unforgettable voice. Though it seemed impossible, he looked even better this morning wearing jeans and a soft gray T-shirt. Muscles rippled in his tanned arms and coarse dark hair accentuated every bulge and hollow.
"Hey, look who's here." Steph feigned surprise. Badly. "I don't think we caught your name last night. I'm Steph Knutsen." She thrust out her hand.
Jared shot her a crooked grin and took her hand in his. "Jared Carter," he said. "Pleased to meet you." Releasing her hand, he looked expectantly around the table.
Carter. Carson. Very smooth. Jared was lucky she'd attended college away from home so her family had never met him. Margo tried to avoid his gaze and turned her attention to Raquel. The woman's nostrils flared slightly, and her lips looked as if they'd been glued together. No doubt about it—Raquel Eastwood had some pretty strong feelings about Jared.
When no one else made an effort to introduce themselves, Steph took it upon herself to do so. Margo sighed, wondering how two sisters could be so different.
"This is Raquel Eastwood, our attorney," Steph said.
Raquel looked up and nodded, but made no effort to extend her hand.
"And this is my sister, Margo Riley."
"Margo. Nice name."
Margo mumbled something polite and allowed him to take her hand. The feel of his warm, rough skin against hers sent a jolt of awareness through her, flooding her mind with memories. Vivid memories. The things he'd done to her with those hands…
The interview, Margo. She had to remain focused on her assignment. Jared meant nothing to her—not anymore. She couldn't let him mean anything to her now. She was too vulnerable after losing Nick, though it had been two years. Two centuries probably wouldn't be enough. Besides, everything she and Jared shared had been destroyed forever. Even acknowledging that simple truth seemed disloyal to her dead husband. Guilt pressed down on her, hard and fast.
Jared released her hand and stiffened slightly. "Riley and Knutsen." He kept smiling, but the familiar twitch in his jaw revealed his internal struggle to hold his feelings tightly in check. "Guess one of you sisters must be married then."
"Margo's a widow," Steph supplied, earning a groan from Raquel.
Surprise registered in Jared's eyes. The expression he turned toward Margo was a blend of sympathy and astonishment, without a trace of the malice he'd once held for Nick.
"I'm sorry," he said, sounding sincere.
Tears scalded her eyes, but Margo blinked them into retreat. Sympathy from Jared was more than her raw emotions could take right now. Part of her wanted nothing more than to have a long talk with him, while another part of her wanted to run fast and hard. Facing Jared alone would resurrect it all—the pain, the joy, the hunger. And now, here he was expressing genuine sympathy about Nick's death.
Too much. She couldn't breathe. They were all staring at her expectantly. Waiting. Somehow, she had to get away. She'd find another stripper to interview. Jared was too dangerous, too memorable.
Too desirable.
"Uh, I really have to get to the office. I have a million things to do today." Resisting the urge to sniffle, she pulled some bills from her blazer pocket and thrust them toward her sister. "This should cover my check. You all have a nice day, and thanks for inviting us to breakfast, Raquel."
Without looking at anyone or responding to Steph's objection, Margo slid from the booth and headed toward the back of the diner. The room was nothing but a blur of moving colors and shadows as she made her way toward the rest room. She was running away.
Damn straight.
And she would hide in the bathroom all day if she had to.
Whatever it takes.
The bathroom was blissfully empty, and Margo leaned her flushed cheek against the closed door. Sanctuary. Her breathing gradually calmed, and the tears ceased to threaten her composure. She blew her nose and splashed her face with cool water, then reapplied her powder and lipstick.
After running a comb through her hair, she stared at her reflection. Shame ebbed through her. Margo Knutsen Riley was not a coward.
Oh, yes I am.
No. No I'm not.
She drew a deep, fortifying breath. Damn it, I am not a coward. Later today, just before the Studfinder opened, she'd go find Jared and conduct the interview.
And face all her ghosts—past and present.
5
Nick Riley was dead. Jared jogged out to the Studfinder, trying to digest that shocking information. Unbelievable. He'd had no idea. Margo was available.
He paused across the street from the nightclub, his breath catching. Talk about tacky. He didn't even know how long Nick had been gone, and here he was thinking about—
Past tense. Why would Margo want anything to do with someone in his insane career field—either his current fake one or his real one—not to mention someone her late husband had hated and that she believed had been unfaithful to her? With a sigh, Jared crossed the street.
He had to put Margo out of his mind, though he still needed to talk to her again to ensure she would keep his cover. The Margo he'd known would never break a promise, but they'd both changed a lot since college.
Knowing the other dancers wouldn't be there yet, Jared slipped into the dressing room and ran his usual search, coming up empty-handed—again. So far, he'd seen no proof of drugs coming into or out of this establishment, though he needed to get back into the office again and check out the computer. The muckety-mucks had been sure enough to set up this crazy assignment. All Jared could do was keep his eyes open for anything unusual.
Besides local police interference.
He shook his head, still pondering Charlie's words of assurance last night. They'd sounded weak. Uncertain. If the Studfinder really was a front for a drug cartel, and Jared's cover was blown, his ass was toast.
The door behind him squeaked open, and Jared slid between two lockers, waiting to identify the intruder. None of the dancers had a reason to be here this early. The only other living thing around this time of day was the resident cat. If the owner caught him, he'd come up with some kind of excuse, but not being discovered at all was an even better idea.
He held his breath as the person emerged from the dark hall. Margo. Alone, she stood peering around, waiting. She was looking for him—why else would she be here?
Jared stepped from his hiding place and just stared. All the feelings he'd carried in his heart for so many years punched him in the solar plexus. It was a miracle he could remain standing at all. For a few miserable moments, he couldn't even draw a decent breath.
She started toward him, and he dragged in a shaky breath, preparing himself. Seeing Margo again was amazing. And agonizing. Damn. There'd never been anyone else for him—never would be.
"We need to talk," she said quietly.
She'd been crying. Over Nick. Jared gritted his teeth and nodded. "Not here."
"Fine." She cleared her throat. "My office is only—"
"Not there. Too publi
c." He gripped her elbow and steered her toward the side entrance. "Do you have your car?"
"Yes, but—"
"Let's just get out of here first." He struggled against the urge to stop and pull her into his arms, to murmur words of love and comfort, to kiss her until they both forgot everything that had happened since the last time they'd kissed. "Then we'll talk."
She remained silent but managed to free her arm. Without looking over her shoulder, she marched toward a red BMW with a vanity plate that read LOVENICK.
Perfect. Just frigging perfect. She punched her remote and the locks clicked. Jared reached in front of her and opened her door. She glanced back at him, her eyes wide and filled with questions, her lips slightly parted and beckoning.
He cleared his throat and pressed his hand to the small of her back, urging her to enter the car before he did something stupid, like kiss her. Besides, the sooner they were away from the Studfinder, the safer he'd feel. Having Margo here, where she could be in danger if his cover was blown, made Jared nervous.
A nervous cop is a dangerous cop.
Remembering those words from his training didn't help put him at ease. Once she slid into the driver's seat, he slammed her door and hurried to the other side. Within seconds, he was in the posh leather interior, buckling his seat belt.
Margo locked the doors and started the engine, backed the car out of the parking space, and pulled toward the exit. The engine purred, the ride like skating on butter.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Your place."
"I don't think that's wise."
He looked at her. Big mistake. Trying to ignore the lick of lust that damned near made him groan aloud, he said, "You have questions for me, and my answers aren't for public consumption."
She set her lips in a thin line. "Very well, but this is just business."
"Whatever you say." He flashed her a grin, enjoying the leap of her pulse in the side of her neck and the color creeping upward from the neckline of her blouse. "Nice car." Except for the license plate.
"Nick bought it for me." She sighed.
And the vanity plate. Jared didn't want to talk about Nick, but they had to. Dead or not, Nick still lurked between them. He always would.
"I—I'm sorry, Margo." He waited a beat and bit his lower lip. "About Nick. I didn't know."
"You must not go back to Riley's Crossing very often." She turned the corner, keeping her gaze on the traffic, sparing Jared those devastating gray eyes of hers. "The whole town was in mourning."
Because Fred Riley still owns the place. "No, not once since college. My uncle moved to Florida—no reason to go back."
"That's right. You didn't have any other family."
You were the only family I wanted.
Margo stopped at a wrought iron gate and inserted a card. The gates swung open for her, and she drove into the complex. Posh condos sat in a parklike setting among immaculate gardens, fountains, and trails.
Jared kept expecting to see Nick Riley's gloating expression, and every time the thought struck, guilt answered.
Margo punched a button and a garage door opened. She steered the car inside, killed the engine, and lowered the door. Only a small light overhead dispelled the darkness. She punched yet another button on her handy remote and a brighter light filled the garage.
So, this is the good life. Nick had always known how to appreciate the finer things. "Nice place."
"It's all right." She opened her door and Jared unfolded himself from the passenger side.
"Just all right?" he asked over the roof of the car.
She lifted a shoulder. "Nick wanted this, but I wanted a little Victorian fixer-upper across town."
He met and held her gaze. "So move."
She looked nervous as she slammed the door. "No. Not yet anyway. This is fine."
She's not over Nick. Remembering the way she'd left the breakfast table this morning, why did that surprise him? Because he wanted her to be over Nick. Damn.
Jared followed her up a flight of stairs, where she keyed some numbers into a control panel and opened the door. They emerged into a huge kitchen where everything gleamed a blinding white, from the ceramic tile beneath their feet to the cabinets and appliances. The place was so contemporary it almost made his eyes ache. There was nothing homey about this kitchen.
Nothing Margo.
Surprised, he wondered what kind of kitchen would suit her. The Victorian she'd mentioned, of course. He could picture her surrounded by wood, some of it a bit scarred or distressed. Ruffled curtains, old-fashioned copper pots hanging from hooks, and friendly pottery sitting all over the place.
And if that wasn't the most unmanly thought Jared Carson had experienced in his adult life, he didn't know what was. He shook himself, banishing the image. DEA agents didn't think about kitchen decor. A smile curved his lips. Damned good thing no one could read his mind.
Margo turned on the flame beneath a white kettle. "Tea?" she asked over her shoulder.
"Sure." Jared never drank tea, but for Margo he'd have said yes to battery acid. She arranged white cups on a white tray with a white carafe. The white thing was really getting ridiculous.
A few minutes later, they were sitting at a small table off the kitchen that overlooked the fancy gardens below. Jared felt uncomfortable as hell. The tabletop was glass, and the base was wrought iron. White wrought iron…
He had to ask. "Is the whole place white?"
Margo smiled, and a distant expression flickered in her eyes. "Pretty much. Nick liked the sleek, modern look. He almost fainted when I mentioned painting one wall in the den red."
"I'll bet." The last thing in the world Jared wanted to discuss was anything about Nick, but he didn't want to rush Margo. He still had hours before he was due at the club. "Red, huh?" He managed a smile, just for her.
"Good chi." She laughed at herself and poured tea into both their cups. "Milk? White?"
"Uh… no. Just sugar. White." Not that Jared knew enough about tea to be sure of his answer. He liked black coffee with sugar, so tea was probably the same.
She leaned back in her chair and took a sip, "Well, I suppose we've delayed this long enough."
Jared met her gaze, hoping his eyes didn't reflect his churning emotions. "I suppose."
She set her cup down with a clatter, reaching out to steady it with both hands. They trembled, making the china clatter even more. Finally, she bit her lip and clutched her hands together on the glass surface. "I'm sorry."
"Nothing for you to be sorry about." He took a sip of tea and remembered immediately why he was a coffee drinker. He set the cup aside, congratulating himself for not shuddering.
Until he saw Margo's hands on the table. Unable to stop himself, he reached over and covered her hand with his own. She flinched slightly, and her eyes widened. A moment later, she blinked and turned her palm upward, into his.
"It really is good to see you again." Her voice trembled a little. "You look well."
"You look ravishing." He followed the comment with a smile, hoping he wouldn't scare her away. This Margo seemed uncertain and frightened, very unlike the self-assured, loving young woman she had been in his arms.
Had Nick done this to her? No. He shoved the thought aside. Nick Riley had been selfish and competitive, but he never would have harmed Margo—at least, not physically.
It felt good to hold her hand. He wanted to do a lot more but sensed that Margo wasn't ready. Meeting her gaze, he had to wonder if she'd ever be ready.
"I really am sorry about Nick." He gave her hand a squeeze. "There wasn't any love lost between us, but he sure didn't deserve to die so damn young."
She released a breath as if she'd been holding it. "Thanks for that. I wasn't sure…"
"How I would react to the news?" He shook his head. "You know me better than that, Margo."
She lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked right at him. "Yes, I do. And last night's performance was definitely out of chara
cter." A gleam entered her eyes, and she pulled her hand out from under his. "Do you mind if I tape our interview?"
"Our what?"
She rose and grabbed a leather briefcase beneath the breakfast bar. "Interview," she repeated. "Did you forget?" She withdrew a small recorder and a notebook, then returned to her seat. "You owe me. Remember?"
So much for her being frightened and uncertain, Carson. "Is this a defense mechanism?" he asked, quirking one corner of his mouth upward.
"Is what a defense mechanism?" She gave him a confused look.
"The Lois Lane treatment."
"Ha-ha." Margo grimaced and arranged the tools of her trade. "So can I record the inter—"
"No." His answer came out harsher than he'd intended. "Sorry, but…" Hell, now he was the nervous one. He raked his fingers through his hair and released a breath in a whoosh. "Margo, this has to be off the record. I promised you an explanation, but I have to make sure you won't blow my cover first."
"Cover?"
He saw reporter instincts flashing behind her baby grays. "Off the record, Margo."
She held his gaze for a few moments, then popped the cassette out of the recorder. "All right, off the record for now, as long as you give me something for my article."
"What's your topic?"
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "My editor's brilliant idea for a human interest piece."
"Uh, okay." He lifted one shoulder. "What human interest piece?"
Margo's eyes danced with mischief, and she waggled her brows. "What would make an intelligent man resort to bump and grind as a career? Basically."
Heat flooded Jared's face. "Not by choice."
"If we aren't taping this, we might as well talk in the den."
With her notepad and pencil in hand, she led him into a room with white walls, white pleated shades, gleaming white-and-glass tables, and white leather furniture. Weird.
She sat on the couch, and he sat beside her. All right, so he probably should've taken the chair across from her, but the urge to sit beside her had stolen his common sense. "What do you want to know?"
Clearing her throat, she set her notepad and pencil on the glass-topped coffee table, then half-turned to face him. "Before we get to my interview, I want to cover the off-the-record stuff Why are you pretending to be an erotic dancer?"
Irresistible Forces Page 23
