Front Page Affair (5 page)

P
AYTON
stood beneath the hot spray, her body tender from sensual satisfaction, her mind whirling a mile a minute as she began to compartmentalize everything that had happened with Nate. Everything that would happen. She needed to be cool, to make sure he understood she didn't have expectations about a future together. Or at least a romantic future. Because while last night had been incredible—exciting in a way she hadn't believed possible and would never regret—it was the going forward that mattered.

Going forward as friends.

Tipping her face beneath the water, she pushed back the sodden curls, wringing the heavy mass clean.

These past hours with Nate had been a taste of what she'd missed so much over the years. Someone who could see her as she truly was. Accept her without recrimination. He hadn't balked at her attraction—her interest in a single night of insanity. He'd helped her embrace it.

She needed that kind of freedom and acceptance as she edged out of the mold of perfect daughter to a man no longer there to maintain it for. She needed to be real.

Brandt wouldn't approve of this business with Nate, and her mother—well, she was already worried out of her mind about the changes Payton had made with her career, her apartment, Clint. Most of all Clint. Nate would be just one more thing.
But it was time she stopped living her life to someone else's expectations.

Turning the brass tap fixtures to “off”, she stepped from the shower and knotted a thick terry bath sheet between her breasts. Stared into the mirror seeing the foggy image of a woman no one knew.

She'd been alone for too long. Surrounded by so many people—all the right people with their picture-perfect smiles and placid conversation—yet none of them knew her. What she really thought. Who she was.

And at the first sign she might be more than they believed, the talk had started. Concerned talk. Catty talk. The kind of talk she'd never been interested in and didn't care to listen to now. She'd rather be alone. Only eventually loneliness wore on a person and they started to search for someone—a friend—to take them as they were.

A breath eased from her chest. A smile curved her lips.

She'd found Nate. And he'd asked her to be the friend he needed. When she needed one most. So this would work.

She opened the bathroom door and stepped into the now sun drenched suite, scanning the floor for her panties and bra. And her dress! She didn't want to put that thing on again, but unless she planned to sprint for Nate's limo in a robe it was the only option.

They'd started by the wall, but the floor was clear. Then the bed—

Her lips parted in silent awe.

Nate sat reclined against the headboard in his black trousers and bare feet, hair a spiky mess and tuxedo shirt hanging open down his chest. His attention fixed on
The Wall Street Journal
in his hands.

The look was all sin and seduction and wild bad-boy. This was the shot the magazine should have run next to his most-
wanted bachelor bio. He wouldn't be able to beat the women off with a stick.

Forcing her gaze away before he needed the stick for her, she noticed the pink lounge pants, zip jacket and shirt neatly folded at the foot of the bed. An accompanying set of lacey panties and bra lay beside them. “When— How?”

Without looking up, he yawned, “While you were in the shower.”

She checked the tags. This man had practice purchasing women's clothing. “Quite an impressive skill set you have going on—your ability to guess sizes so accurately.”

A wry smile tugged at his lips. “I've got my limitations. I'd've had a tough time eyeballing you for a fitting. But I know exactly what fills my palm.”

“You're bad,” she muttered, running a fingertip over the soft fabric.

“Yeah, but, as we've already established…” he folded the paper and tossed it beside him “…you like it.” Rising from the bed, he cast a lazy glance her way—and stopped. His eyes riveted to her.

“What?” Her hands went to her hair, seeking out some pile of suds she'd missed. Then, tucking her chin, she looked down. Everything packed away where it was supposed to be, and yet Nate's halted posture—his unsettled reaction—was clearly in response to her. “Is something wrong?”

And then she saw it, in the last second before he gave an abrupt shake of the head and turned his back to her.

Heat. Desire. Ruthlessly shut down. She understood they weren't continuing a physical relationship, but his almost hostile reaction—

“Nate?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest to stave off the cool chill running through her heart.

“Nothing. Just realized I forgot a file at the office,” he
answered abruptly. “Go on and get dressed and we'll get out of here.”

Payton took a step back. “Sure. Of course.” Just as well. She'd been looking at Nate like too much of a temptation anyway and that wasn't going to work. Not for either of them. Gathering the loungewear he'd gotten for her, she went back to the bathroom. The sooner they got out of this suite and back onto solid friendship ground, the better.

A few minutes later she returned to find a hastily scrawled note atop the bed.

Payton stared down at the note in blatant disbelief. She'd been on the other side of the door, a few panels of wood between then, and he'd left a note? The nerve!

No—this was something other than nerve. Nate would never intentionally hurt her. He might cat around, but he wasn't cruel and he wasn't callous. Her mind played back the minutes before he'd left, slowing to that last glimpse of desire and then anger. He hadn't wanted to see her that way. Hadn't wanted the attraction.

So be it. She'd look at this as the clean break they needed.

When she saw him again, it would be as friends.

And then her
friend
could explain what kind of a mess he'd gotten himself into that he needed a pretend affair to cover it up.

 

Nate raked his fingers through his hair, balling them at the base of his skull before letting go with a grunt. His dogged strides ate up the sidewalk, taking him fast from the scene of the crime. He was a jackass of the most contemptible variety.
But seeing her there, wrapped in that towel, wet tendrils of hair snaking over her bare shoulders, tiny beads of water sprinkled across the swells of her freshly scrubbed skin—it was like being thrown back in time. To a place he didn't want to revisit.

To a time when he was still mere potential and promise. Trying to exist within the confines of an environment that wanted to squelch the pride and drive out of him. Teach him a lesson. Show him he wasn't good enough. That nothing he did could change it.

When all the frustrations and inequities of his youth came to a head—all driven by one inadvertent mistake. One look. One girl.

And like that, the years folded over and his feet were pounding up the stairs at the Liss house as he went for the textbook he'd left on Brandt's floor the night before. Breaking the landing, he'd looked up, and through the open door of Payton's bedroom, there she was. Brandt's little sister emerging from her bathroom—fresh from the shower. Totally unaware.

He stopped breathing. Stood, mouth agape, stunned. Payton, his little shadow—always bundled in those conservative sweaters, jackets and formless clothing, her hair restrained, her legs covered—stood wrapped in a towel, her curls wet and wild, her curves unmistakable, her legs bare and pink and looking so soft. He jerked his gaze away. Snapped his jaw shut and forced his fists into his pockets.

God help him, she was beautiful. Hell, he'd known she was beautiful. Sweet and funny. But he'd never wanted her until that very minute and it caught him like a sock to the gut.

For too many reasons he had to get out of there. Couldn't risk that he'd look again.

Turning, he opened his eyes to the enraged red of Brandt's face. And in that instant the façade of forced civility between them crumbled and the cold truth glared back at him.

Hatred.

Nate had always been aware of the barely contained aggression simmering beneath the surface with Brandt. It wound the kid off to no end to be dependent on a guy he considered his inferior for the tutoring that put the Ivy League school so necessary to his elitist identity within reach. There'd always been a cool distance. The laughingly misplaced attitude Brandt was the one doing Nate a favor, rather than the other way around. Yeah, Nate had gotten paid—he sure as hell hadn't spent four afternoons a week for three years waiting on Brandt to get off the phone or bother to show up out of friendship. But still, he hadn't expected the depth of loathing he now saw
.

“Take it easy. It's not what you think—”

“Bull! You were staring at her.” A hand shot out, shoving hard at Nate's shoulder. “I saw your damn face, man. You aren't good enough for her. Not even to look!”

Nate didn't take to being pushed around. Not by anybody, but Payton was Brandt's little sister. So, rather than knocking the guy's head back with the punch gathering in his fist, he reached out and hauled him down the stairs and out to the front yard. Away from Payton. “You're off base. I was leaving.”

“Damn straight you are,” Brandt sneered. “And you're nuts if you think you're ever coming back here.”

“Fine, whatever.” Let the Lisses deal with the fallout. The school year was nearly over anyway. He'd get another job, something to last through the summer until he got out of this inbred cesspool and into U of I. “Look, I was going for my Calc book upstairs. If you get it for me, I'll take off.”

Brandt let out a snort, rocking back on his heels to look down his nose at Nate. “Yeah, I'll get right on that.”

He looked up to the house. He needed that book and, after this, going to Payton wasn't an option either.

Brandt followed his eyes and let out a disgusted grunt. “What'd you think, with summer a few weeks off you needed another ticket onto the gravy train? That sniffing around my sister would get you back by the poolside?”

Screw him.

“Forget it, Evans, Payton's not like the rest of your dates. The girls who go out with trash to get back at their daddies.”

Nate's blood, already hot, began to boil beneath the rise of a deep-seated pride held too long in check. It was absurd and he knew it. But still something in the jab stung. Hit a little too close to an insecurity he didn't want to acknowledge. A sense of alienation he couldn't quite get past. “Go to hell.”

“After you. And here.” Brandt went for his wallet and pulled out a stack of crisp bills. More money than Nate earned in a month. “For the cost of your book.”

Extracting a fifty, Brandt dropped the bill to the dirt and ground it in with his heel. “Go ahead. Pick it up. You know you can't afford to replace it on your own.”

Nate's muscles bunched, his knuckles whitened at his side as the world closed in around him. He had to get out of there. Forcing his legs to move, he turned. Took a step to leave.

It didn't matter. Brandt didn't matter.

But the kid wouldn't give it up and grabbed for him. “Hey, I'm not done with you yet.”

“Don't be stupid, Liss,” he warned, easily shaking the other boy off, determined to walk away.

“You calling me stupid?” Brandt grabbed again…cocking his arm as he spun Nate back.

Mistake. One too many…and then the blood was flowing fast and red before Nate even realized he'd thrown. Brandt staggered back a step, fell on his ass with a howl before finding his feet and running toward the house. “You're going to pay for that, Evans!”

Damn it, where was his control? Nate's heart slammed within his chest as the repercussions of his actions sped through his mind. Arrest, expulsion, college, his escape from a life he'd almost been free of. His dad could end up paying for this mistake. What the hell had he done?

The door to the Liss house flew open and Payton, now dressed in jeans and a turtleneck, rushed onto the lawn. Eyes wide with hurt disbelief, she stared down at Nate's knuckles and the smear of her brother's blood streaking them.

“I'm sorry.” His voice was rough with emotion, shame and disgust. He should have known better. He'd been so close to escaping this place without giving into his own sense of injustice. And now this.

In the end, he hadn't been arrested. Hadn't paid any price beyond his own personal shame at allowing Brandt Liss to goad him into losing control. But that price had been enough.

Hell, it was crazy. One glimpse of Payton wrapped in her towel back in the suite and all the insults and accusations had sliced through time, cutting fresh into his mind. Stupid prejudices. Words he couldn't believe he'd let bother him.

So why had his gut tightened, as though controlled by unpleasant muscle memory? Why had his body instantly wound tight, setting for a fight? And why, beneath it all, was he still tied up by that single forbidden memory of Payton and the taunt of a guy whose significance to Nate's life barely registered?

Not good enough…not even to look…

Maybe. No, definitely. But sure as hell not for the reasons Brandt believed.

I
T WAS
close to two when the bell rang. Payton had spent the better part of the morning—what was left of it once she'd been dropped home—doing her best not to think about Nate and what would happen when they saw each other. How exactly one transitioned from lover to friend, and what it would take for her mind to stop playing out scenarios where she ended up back in his arms, beneath his kiss.

That was thinking she couldn't afford. So she'd done as little of it as possible.

But now her avoidance was at an end. Nate was downstairs. At her door. And all the thoughts she'd so effectively ignored were bombarding her at once.

Thoughts like spending the night together had been reckless. Careless. And might have irrevocably changed his feelings for her. Jeopardized their friendship by putting her on par with some nameless “double D” he'd picked up at a club.

Her anxiety rose with each step she descended until she swung open the security door, took in the vision of him—big and broad, dressed casually in weathered jeans, untucked oxford and a lightweight, ash V-neck sweater—and lost her breath to the enormous bouquet of yellow roses he held out in offering.

She fell back against the door, a hand going to her throat where emotion threatened to choke her. He'd brought her
friendship flowers. The perfect transition from last night to today. A tender reassurance of the caring between them.

“Oh, you're good,” she said, shaking her head in awe.

“What kind of greeting is that for your secret lover?” Nate asked, a smug smile on his face. “Shouldn't you be suspiciously glancing around and then dragging me inside before someone catches sight of us out here?”

“So back to the charade, then?” Trying to curb the grin that spread to her lips when she'd opened the door, she crossed her arms. “You're enjoying this way too much.”

He cocked his head as if considering, then shrugged. “You might be right, but, the way I see it, it's a pretty good way to feed my fantasies. Just play like there's a crowd watching and I get a beautiful woman to heed my every command.”

He thought she was
beautiful.
“Your every command, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm. Very kinky. The whole control thing. Sorry we didn't get around to it, but there's a limit to even my abilities within one night.”

She couldn't help but laugh, wondering how it was that the world at large believed Nate Evans so frightening. She'd never met anyone who took
themselves
less seriously—while at the same time being so seriously driven to success. “So you've gone mad with power, have you?”

“Seems I have.”

“Well, in that case…” She made an exaggerated show of peering down the sidewalk and street, first one way and then the other, before grabbing for Nate's shirt and towing him in through the security door. Then, casting him an impish wink, she asked, “Was it good for you? Because it was definitely good for me.”

Nate's jaw set to the side as he shook his head. “Sassy thing.” Then after a beat, “Are you really okay with this?”

If he led the way…yes. “I am. But before we tempt fate with another hallway, let's get upstairs.”

Nate nodded, and then as he glanced around his brow furrowed. She saw the moment his surroundings registered. No flash, no glitter. Just aging tile flooring. A worn banister leading up a simple staircase.

“I figured you for a skyrise penthouse or something. With a fleet of round-the-clock security guards, closed-circuit monitored elevator. This place isn't what I expected.”

She headed up the first flight, acting as though his observation hadn't struck a nerve. It was okay. He wasn't entirely off-base, just about twelve months too late.

“I moved in last year.” A few weeks after her father passed away. She couldn't stand to live in the apartment he'd been renting for her—let alone afford it. And when she'd found this…well, it suited her.

Catching up, Nate grunted something unintelligible and she decided not to ask. She'd been hoping he'd see the building and understand she was supporting herself. Maybe respect her autonomy. But it didn't matter. He'd see soon enough she'd made herself a home.

Nate rounded the third landing working through the reasons why Payton Liss would live in an apartment like this. Real estate speculation? She'd bought the building and was living-in while she worked a refurb of some sort. But where was the telltale smell of construction? And why the third floor apartment and the hallway reeking of ethnic cuisine. “Something on the stove?”

She shook her head, drawing in a deep breath. “No, that's the Craines on two. I get hungry every time I walk past.”

The single door on the third floor stood ajar, left open from when she'd run down to let him in, and two things struck him at once. The first, single women should never leave their apartment doors open. And the second, what the hell had she been
running down to the first floor for—where was the security box to screen and admit her guests? Before he could ask, she swung the door open and, smiling wide, walked in.

To a shoe box.

Not even as big as the place he'd lived with his dad.

“What is this?” he demanded, hostility welling inexplicably within him.

“This is my apartment, Nate. And stop scowling at it like it's something you need to scrape off your shoe.”

“But what are
you
doing living in it?” She had money, security. It didn't make sense.

She rounded on him with an open-mouthed expression of disbelief and maybe something worse.

He didn't care. “Where's the security intercom?”

“What?”

“It's not safe to leave your apartment and come down to check the security door. How do you even know who's out there? Someone could be waiting in the hall for you to open the door.” She was so slight, so petite, she'd never stand a chance against an attacker. His aggravation flared.

Crossing to the front windows, he checked the latches and tested the frame. Secure enough, but—

“For your information, Nate, I like it. It's affordable, close to the school, the ‘L' and the lakefront.”

A glimpse out the window confirmed what he already suspected: a trip to the lakefront entailed taking the pedestrian underpass below Lake Shore Drive. He turned on her. “Tell me you don't walk over there by yourself.”

She looked as though he'd slapped her, but if she didn't have sense enough to look out for herself, then she was going to have to put up with some pointed questions from him.

“Does Brandt even know about this?” Where the hell was her brother's protective instinct now? Her father was gone and
that prick Clint had bailed. She needed someone looking out for her now more than ever.

“Yes. Brandt knows. I've had him to dinner once. Though, like you, he found it lacking and he prefers to take me out.”

Found it lacking.
That was for damn sure. So why hadn't he set her up somewhere more suitable? He knew for a fact Brandt just bought some office building downtown. There was money, so why was Payton living like a pauper? Maybe dropping in on Brandt at work would shed some light on it. He could put the priority of Payton's security into perspective for the guy.

No, forget it. Bad idea. He'd handle the situation himself. He didn't have time to be worrying about her safety.

“You can't live here. We'll find another apartment this afternoon.”

Payton's back stiffened, and those earthy warm eyes that had been looking up at him as if he were the only man in the world mere hours ago took on a glare that said he was just another jerk. “What?”

The decision made, he pulled his phone from his pocket to call up a realtor he knew. “Don't worry about the rent.”

But then Payton was in his face, her finger jabbing into his chest. “Have you lost your mind?” she snapped. “Of all the controlling, overbearing— I'm not moving out. I chose this place so I could have my
independence. I love it here.
”

He stared at her, comprehension dawning, but not quickly enough to stop the next barb. “When did you become such a damn snob, Nate?”

So she was paying her own way. He knew all too well about independence. The need for it having driven him to finish school early while working a job at the same time. Anything to get far enough ahead he wouldn't have to go back. But if she wasn't safe, it wasn't acceptable. “The intercom—”

“Is being replaced on Monday. And, not that it's any of your
business, but I jog at the lakefront every morning and always carry pepper spray and an emergency air horn. The crime rate in the neighborhood is particularly low, my landlord's security precautions are high, and I don't appreciate your steamrolling one bit.” Her arms were crossed, her breath coming fast with her frustration. But her eyes—beneath that sparking hostility he caught the glimpse of hurt and disappointment.

What was he doing?

This place was important to her and he'd stormed in and treated it like garbage. What was the matter with him? He'd taken one look, decided it didn't fit his idea of what Payton's life should be like and flown off the handle in what he could only explain as an overprotective, testosterone-driven mania.

“I'm being an ass. There's nothing wrong with your apartment.” In fact, as he adjusted his perspective, he couldn't see anything wrong with it at all. It wasn't brand-new or extravagant, but it was clean. Neat. Cozy. The view was attractive, the light good. The design was old Chicago, with attractive molding and high ceilings throughout. Crystal-knob fixtures and etched-glass transoms. A brick hearth. Hardwood floors. The apartment was attractive. The furniture tasteful and conservative. Homey.

He simply hadn't expected to find Payton Liss living here. And for some reason, it irritated him that she did.

Arms still crossed, she shifted her weight from one hip to the other. Blew out a breath that sent a stray curl momentarily adrift, and then moved over to the couch and plopped down into the cushions. “You weren't much worse than Brandt. So, I suppose I'll have to forgive you.”

Wow
, not much worse than Brandt. He needed to spend more time with his dad if he'd become that much of a snob.

Nate glanced over to where she'd leaned into the cushioned armrest. An open paperback lay atop the coffee table beside
her and a cup of tea that looked as though it had gone cool some time ago. He dropped into the opposite corner. It was comfortable. Good to be sitting with her. Only… He reached across and pulled Payton into him, tucking her under his shoulder, adjusting her just so as she laughed, not bothering to protest at all.

“Oh, yeah, that's it.” Nice.

How many times had they sat like this as kids, watching TV, talking, joking around? How many times had he thought about it while wondering why another woman didn't fit quite as well? Payton was small boned and delicate, with all those sweet soft spots that made her fit just right.

After a minute of enjoying the familiarity, he rubbed a hand over her shoulder and leaned back to look at her. “I'm not trying to be insulting, but I've got to ask. What about your father's estate? I mean, the Lisses are wealthy.”

She plucked a bit at the hem of her shirt before answering. “Honestly, my family is very generous and my mother would probably love to finance my every expenditure, but that kind of dependence comes with too many strings. I earn my own salary and…now that my father is gone, I prefer to pay my own way.”

Ah-h-h. There it was. The mention of her father with the accompanying wince to go along. The visible twinge of guilt as though the admission that she was going against his wishes still pained her.

And yet she was doing it anyway. Changing her life.

With no rescue necessary, all he had to offer was the gentle squeeze of his hand over her shoulder. The quiet communication that he understood. And maybe a confidence of his own.

“We've got a date Tuesday night to stir up more press and gossip, but today's beautiful. What do you say we take a ride somewhere and talk?” Payton deserved to know what had
spurred this whole fiasco. “Head down to the Dunes? We can work out the game plan for the month. Pace it out. And maybe just catch up some, too.”

Her smile lit up the room. “Let me grab a sweater.”