by Jill Shalvis
suggested her answer had no importance at all, but she knew better.
“Omitted,” she said. “Not nearly the same thing as lying.”
Rick’s mouth tightened. “I’d like to talk to Maddie, Leena.”
Oh, God. “That’s not necessary.”
“I think it is. We have things to discuss, her and I.” He snapped his fingers, and the two goons who’d been standing behind him like statues vanished, presumably to go contact Maddie.
Who was standing in front of him.
“She’s probably pretty busy,” she said, trying to think over her panic. Brody hadn’t been kidding—her life was complicated. “You know, living her life.”
“She’ll make time to talk to her family. To maybe visit if things don’t work out here during your visit, Leena.”
Oh, shit. He’d just given her a whole bunch of information she didn’t want, such as if she, as Leena, screwed up, Maddie was going to pay.
Well, no way in hell she was giving herself up to him. She valued her new life way too much for that. She valued Brody’s life too much for that, and she stepped even closer to her “husband.” For show, of course.
But also for the sheer comfort in having him there, big and reliable, and at her side.
On her side.
He immediately tightened his grip on her, running his hand up and down her arm in silent comfort.
He was here for her, right here. The marvel of that was never going to get old. “Why don’t I get to work,” she said. Before your goons go and find out that Maddie is standing right here in front of you.
“You’re in a hurry?”
“Well, I do have a honeymoon to get back to.” She leaned her head against Brody’s chest and felt the solid, comforting thump of his heart. “I’d like a charter here waiting for me when I’m done.”
“All right.” Again, Rick’s gaze flickered to Brody. “The notes are in your workroom. And so are all the materials you’ll need.” He gave Brody another long, considering look. “I assume you’ll still work completely alone, without distraction, as you’ve always insisted. Maybe your husband would like to go back to Nassau and wait for you there. I can arrange for deep sea fishing or any number of activities—”
“No.”
This from Brody himself in a voice of steel. His eyes matched. “I’m staying.”
Oh, crap. Why didn’t he just pee on her to mark her as his territory? Turning her back to Rick, she shot Brody a look of warning.
He ignored it. “I’m staying with my wife.” He smiled down at her. Sweetly. Kindly. So much so that she had to blink.
She’d seen him smile, of course. With genuine affection and amusement for Shayne and Noah, with triumph when he’d rebuilt any of a hundred different planes. And then there’d been that smile of wicked intent just before he’d put his tongue between her legs and taken her to a whole new world of pleasure just last night, but she’d never seen him smile like this. Like she was the love of his life. It was a bit . . . dazzling, and she had to remind herself that this was all for show. She turned to Rick. “He’s staying.”
Looking none too happy about that, Rick nodded and gestured them inside. “Let’s get on it then.” He gestured to a new Muscle Guy, who had two inches on Brody and no neck at all and looked as if he was a steroid-for-life kind of guy.
His name turned out to be Tiny Tim, and he led them into the foyer of the house. The décor had been updated and changed since Maddie had seen it last, now done up in a ritzy beachy decadence.
She could hardly breathe. Everywhere her gaze touched filled her with memories—sliding down the front sweeping arch of a banister and hitting the huge white tiles in the great room where she’d broken her arm. Hiding behind the two marble sculptures and knocking one over. Pretending to be an ice skater in her slippers along that cool, smooth floor . . .
Tiny Tim held up a hand to halt their progress and whipped out a metal detector. Okay, that was new to the Welcome Home process. Wielding the thing like a weapon, he walked around the back of Brody, or tried to, but Brody simply turned with the guy, keeping him face-to-face.
“Looking for weapons,” Tiny Tim said and gestured for Brody to turn around.
Maddie squeezed Brody’s fingers hard enough to bruise her own, and after an indescribable look in her direction, he indeed turned, facing her while the goon searched him for weapons.
“Now face me,” Tiny Tim demanded. “Arms out.”
With a grim tightening of his mouth, Brody turned, lifting his arms as directed, letting the guy thoroughly search him.
Finally, Tiny Tim gestured him aside and turned to Maddie.
Her turn, and she had a knife in her boot and a gun in her bag, both of which would light up the detector like a Christmas tree.
Thoughts whirling with ready-made excuses, she held out her arms, but to her surprise, the guy set aside the metal detector and stepped close, a gleam in his eyes.
He was going to pat her down by hand.
Okay, this could work. Because unless he asked her to strip, he was going to miss the knife. But then he put his hands on her, and not exactly gently or with care for her personal space, and over his bent head, she locked gazes with Brody.
Such temper shot from his eyes that she nearly flew backwards from its blast. He took a step toward her, and just like that, her life flashed before her eyes. Don’t, she mouthed.
He stilled with obvious difficulty, his body tense enough to shatter.
Oblivious to the silent battle, Tiny Tim stood in front of her, his meaty paws patting down her hips, her legs . . .
Jaw ticking, Brody jammed his own fisted hands into his pockets, probably to keep them from closing around Muscle’s throat as Maddie continued to silently beg him to behave himself and stay still.
Muscle didn’t so much as glance at Brody, but Maddie knew he had to be incredibly aware of the sheer fury resonating off of her “husband,” whose eyes were promising her that if Tiny Tim took this any further, he would take action.
Oh, God. And what then?
But Tiny Tim finally finished getting his jollies feeling her up and straightened as she took a breath. Okay. Okay, they were nearly done here—
Except not, because then he settled those hands back on her waist, gliding them upward, heading with wicked intent toward her breasts.
Brody’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he took another step toward him, but by some miracle, Tiny Tim’s phone chirped, and he turned away to answer.
Maddie let out a slow, careful breath and took a quick glance at Brody, but before she could say a word, Tiny Tim turned back, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Follow me,” he said gruffly, not even glancing at Brody as he took them to the huge, curved staircase.
Miraculously still armed, Maddie followed with Brody in the rear. She didn’t speak to him, mostly because she knew from living here all those years ago that the place was under surveillance. Most common areas of the grounds and house were under camera surveillance, with only the bedrooms and bathrooms off-limits.
“Where are we going?” he asked, not knowing about the sound system, his voice filled with a lethal calm and absolutely no quietness or meekness about him.
“To Leena’s room,” Tiny Tim said. “Where you’ll stay until you’re needed.”
“And Leena?”
“She’ll go to work.”
Brody didn’t say a word, but his opposition to this plan practically bounced off the walls as if he’d shouted.
Silent and doubting her own sanity, Maddie let Tiny Tim lead them up the stairs to Leena’s bedroom. The place was spotless, as always, and Maddie wondered if Rick’s housekeeper Rosaline still worked here. Once upon a time, Rosaline had been the sole soft spot in this entire place, always kind and gentle with Maddie and Leena, their only true female influence. Maddie wondered if it was possible that the woman had put up with Rick all these years . . .
Next to her, Brody was taking it all in, the elegance and sophisticat
ion, the museum-quality art and furniture, his expression going more and more grim. At the top of the stairs and down a wide hallway, Tiny Tim opened a door, gestured them in. “I’ll be back for you in a few,” he said to Leena, then left.
Silence settled over them. In Maddie’s case, it was heavy with the weight of the memories from being back in Leena’s childhood bedroom. She wasn’t surprised to find that nothing much had changed, not the pale yellow and white lace or the expensive Victorian furniture Leena loved.
Brody moved through the room, his big shoulder nudging the corner of the dresser so that a vase perched there nearly toppled off. He neatly caught it, then as if he felt like a bull in a china shop, set it back with exaggerated care, letting out a low breath as he backed away from the dresser. “That thing is probably worth more than my car. Hell, everything in this place is worth more than my car.”
His tone was light, but nothing about his body language said light, and certainly nothing about the fire spitting from his eyes said it either.
But he was right about the value of the vase. Everything in here was valuable. Or invaluable. It was how Rick liked things.
Almost robotically, she stepped toward a pocket door just beyond the dresser.
Sliding it open, she felt the full force of the blast from her past as she stared into her own childhood bedroom.
Chapter 19
Brody took in Maddie standing in that inner doorway, shoulders stiff, body practically shimmering with tension, and wished like hell he’d never let them get this far. She was clearly fighting demons, and damn it, he wanted to slay them for her, but he didn’t even know what exactly they were.
His kick-ass warrior concierge had a helluva lot more secrets than he’d imagined.
The house around him had secrets, too. He’d never seen anything like this place. The art on the walls alone could have funded a third-world coup. And then there was the furniture, the rugs . . . hell, even the air had class.
He’d always looked at Maddie and seen that class and told himself a million times to keep his hands off. And he had, mostly.
Until last night.
And now he was here, playing at being her husband.
Husband. But even that wasn’t as terrifying as Uncle Rick or his goons.
No, nothing about this was going to be easy, not if one more person threatened or touched Maddie.
Especially touched.
Maddie was gripping the doorjamb in fists gone white, her shoulders and spine so stiff he was surprised she didn’t just explode on the spot. He wanted to say her name, her real name, but he didn’t dare, not here. “Are you okay?”
“Sure.”
She was a liar. Beautiful, strong, amazing, but a liar nevertheless. He might not be privy to half of what was really going on here, but the other half had been pretty damn clear. Maddie as Leena needed to do this job and keep it under wraps and out of the hands of the good guys, or Rick was going to go after Maddie.
A threat. Christ, he hated threats.
But what he hated even more was the look of sheer misery radiating off of Maddie. They might be The Princess And The Peon here, but he wasn’t stupid. Being back here was killing her. He wanted to drag her ass out of here and keep her safe.
Always.
Only, that wasn’t really an option. In fact, he had few options at all at the moment, which only served to make him feel all the more helpless, an emotion he especially hated and always had. Moving close, he set his hands on her shoulders, not surprised when she tensed. “Just me,” he reminded her, but stayed on guard because with Maddie he never knew. She could dropkick him. She could slug him.
She could kiss him.
He personally wouldn’t mind door number three but didn’t see that happening, so he remained alert.
Reaching back, she gave him a little go-away elbow.
But he wasn’t going away. Instead, keeping his hands on her, he peered over her shoulder into the room she was staring at so intently. Another bedroom, not yellow and white and girly, but blue with stark white trim. The furniture was pine and wrought iron. Very expensive and very spartan and completely empty of all personal belongings. But he didn’t need personal belongings to know what he was looking at.
Maddie’s childhood bedroom with all its elegance and class.
Yeah, they’d grown up worlds apart, that was for damn sure. Tilting his head, he looked into her face, a virtual frozen mask of inscrutability. She was giving nothing away, but she didn’t have to, the self-loathing was escaping out her pores, and this bothered him more than anything he’d learned in the past two days.
Leena stood frozen in horror and humiliation on the steps to Ben’s art gallery as Ben looked through her as if she was nothing to him.
Less than nothing.
He was everything she remembered and more, including being the best-looking man she’d ever met. Not magazine gorgeous, but real guy gorgeous with the shaggy hair that he’d finger combed at best, faded jeans and a T-shirt, both splattered in paint, neither hiding his graceful, athletic body, the one that fueled her deepest fantasies in the dark of the night.
Once upon a time, his smile had been the only thing that could somehow reach deep inside of her and spread warmth where she was always cold.
But he wasn’t smiling now.
“Is that for me?” he asked in his quiet Irish voice, gesturing to the envelope in her hand. When she didn’t answer, he reached for it, but she had at least enough wits about her to take a step back.
Yes, the letter was for him. Of course it was, but the thought of him reading it in front of her was way too much.
Seeing him was too much. How had she thought she could do this?
She’d missed him incredibly, but she’d also hoped never to see him again because she couldn’t handle watching his face when he learned the truth about her.
No, that she most definitely couldn’t handle. On the flight, she’d realized that to do this, she needed anonymity, she needed to be gone, long gone.
Or she couldn’t do it at all.
Motionless, unable to do anything, including walking away, she stared at him as he came down the two steps.
Run, she told herself, but her feet didn’t budge.
Slowly, he reached out, but instead of grabbing the letter, he took her free hand, then startled her by leading her up the steps and into his gallery.
“I can’t stay,” she managed, still letting him pull her inside.
“Okay.” Watching her as one might watch a deer stuck in the headlights, he very slowly and carefully took the letter out of her hands.
And she let him. Oh, God, she let him because apparently she really needed to completely and totally humiliate herself.
“I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again,” he said.
She hadn’t planned on it either. . . . She really shouldn’t have come inside. She had no business being here . . . “Ben, I’ve got to—”
“Wait.” He kept his grip on her. Not hurting her, never hurting her, but not letting her go either. Eyes on hers, he tore the envelope open with his teeth, then let it fall to the floor so he could read the letter while still gripping her hand.
Two more times, she tried to pull free.
And two more times, he simply tightened his grip and held her at his side as he read.
Silently.
Without a single hint on his face of what he was thinking, he took in the words from the very depths of her heart and soul, the words that bared her to him like nothing else ever had. When he finally lifted his gaze, it was dark and unreadable. “So you did know about the gems,” he said. “I wondered.”
Sick at heart, she nodded.
“You knew they’d been switched, and you didn’t tell me.”
Again, she nodded.
