In Bed with the Bodyguard (17 page)

I
cleaned out some drawers for you.” Lance yanked on a wooden knob, chattering like an idiot to fill Arianna's noticeable silence. After a long, sweaty day of packing, they'd made the last of several trips to unload her clothes and junk at his apartment.

“I'm not staying. I'm going to a hotel. Can I keep a few boxes here until I find another place?” She picked at a loose thread on his navy plaid bedspread.

He hated her low, flat tone. It was unlike her usual musical cadence. He was starting to regret ever having the balls to admit he loved her. “Your stuff is welcome here, but I'd prefer the owner to stay with her stuff.”

The look on her face cracked his heart a tiny bit.

“Lance, don't do this to me.”

“Don't do what? Help you pack? Tell you I love you?” Anger mixed with pain. “Fine. Stay, leave. Your choice, but at least be honest enough to admit you're running out of fear. Have you ever let anyone other than Valerie inside your walls?”

She shook her head. “It's true. I hate it, but I know.”

“Why? Don't you trust me?” He swallowed down any guilt he had about his deal with Sullivan. He had yet to report anything about Arianna to the FBI. Hopefully, he'd never have to.

She looked stricken at his question. “I don't trust anyone right now, least of all myself. Please let me go.”

He grasped desperately to keep her here longer and guided her to sit on his bed before sitting next to her. “What does that even mean, Arianna? Why are you so scared?” The movers had arrived in the midst of their conversation, and the time for intimate revelations disappeared: there had only been time to pack in a flurry.

He breathed in deeply as Arianna scooted closer and put a hand on his thigh, enjoying the subtle scent of her even through the grime and sweat from the day's hard work. He kept talking with all senses focused on the gentle touch of her delicate, manicured hand. The pale pink nail polish color was pretty, sweeter than last week's lurid turquoise.

“You keep telling me to trust you, but do you really trust me? You were barely able to tell me about your dinner with your dad. I got steak, salt, and the Palm. That's it, Lance. Maybe the question is, have you ever let anyone inside
your
walls?”

He covered the back of her hand with his own callus-roughened one. “You want pieces of me?”

She met his gaze. “Yes. No, I don't know. What would it help?”

“Maybe it would help you realize that there are people in this world who have your back, people you can trust. You don't trust your parents, I get it. I really do. Did you know that when I entered the service training program, my dad handed down an ultimatum to join MarketFresh or get cut off from the family money? At first I thought they were kidding, you know? It sounds like a bad movie. ‘
Follow in my footsteps or I'll cut you out of the will
.'”

She flipped her hand so their palms kissed and interlaced their fingers. “Wow, really? I'm now even more impressed that you followed through. I would have caved. You turned your back on a lot of money; I don't know many people with that level of integrity.”

He squeezed their hands tighter and gave a small grin, not daring to question her sudden affection when five minutes ago she was ready to run from him. As long as she was willing to stay next to him, he wasn't fighting it. “I don't know if I'd call it integrity. Maybe I wanted permission to shoot bad guys.”

“Don't make light of it. You went after your dream and paid a high cost, figuratively and literally.”

It was hard not to bask in her praise, but if she wanted pieces, he'd give her pieces. “About two years ago, my father had a minor heart attack.”

“Oh, no,” Ari murmured.

He shrugged. “Well, it was crystal clear to him that it was the perfect time to step down as CEO and install me in his place.”

“But I thought your sister…”

“Yeah, Lisa thought so too. She waited until Dad was home from the hospital for exactly one day before she went on the warpath and made a case why she should be MarketFresh's new leader, complete with PowerPoint and everything.”

Arianna laughed.

“My father agreed, but still has not stopped hounding me. I think secretly he wants Lisa to marry and make babies and for me to sit at a desk and wear a suit every day.”

“You do wear a suit to work.”

“I wear whatever helps me blend in. A suit most days, or jeans, or golf gear. One time, I wore a cap and gown to fit in when the president gave the commencement address at Harvard.”

“I bet all the coeds were lusting after you.”

He dared to plant a quick kiss on her forehead. “My father nearly had another coronary. I was in crimson, and he's a Yale man.”

Arianna sighed. “Seems we both have problematic fathers.”

He hugged her tightly and breathed more easily when she didn't bolt at his hug. “Seems so.”

“At least you know where yours is.” She hugged him back, and his groin tightened at the feel of her breasts squashed against his chest.

“I do, but I guess what I'm trying to tell you by sharing about my family is that I get it. I know what it's like not to trust the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally. Did I want my parents cheering and videoing my Secret Service induction ceremony? Hell yes, but it's not in the cards, and I'm not going to let their pigheadedness stop me from what I want in life.”

“To be an agent.”

“Yes, among other things, namely you. There are a million and one reasons we make no logical sense as a couple, and one great reason we do.”

“You love me.” Her glowing smile washed over him.

“And you love me.” He said it and held his breath, waiting for her to confirm or deny his bold statement. She did neither, and instead kneeled up to kiss him and straddle his lap.

He held still as she cupped his unshaven cheeks in her soft hands and met her gaze directly. She didn't say the words, but her expression told him what he needed to know. She was his.

He made love to her sweetly and slowly, erasing all her thoughts of escape.

A
ri glanced at the address on her cell phone screen then up at the numbers on the arched doorway. “Two doors down on the corner,” she said.

Valerie followed at a close distance until they reached another possible location for Ari's upcoming show. They'd been hunting all morning, pausing only for a quick lunch, then continuing their search. Everything they'd seen was out of her price range or too small to hold more than a few canvases.

One likely possibility required her to sign a two-year lease. Ari refused to commit to anything that long-term when her whole life was in flux. Plus, she still held out hope that she'd somehow be able to gain hold of her former gallery again. Her lawyer, Sean, had cautioned her against that dream, but didn't deny the possibility.

“Here it is,” she said, knocking on the black metal and glass door of a modern-looking storefront in a newly gentrified neighborhood in D.C. “The manager, Carlos Banning, should be meeting us here. After the Literacy Gala, one of my father's friends offered the space for a reasonable discount.” They waited a minute until the door was opened by a flamboyant-looking man dressed to kill in a light gray suit and sky blue tie.

“Ms. Rose,” he said, and stepped back a fraction of an inch to let her pass into the storefront. “Ms. Arianna Rose?”

Ari froze in the act of pushing past him and turned to look at him. They were nearly eye to eye and she was no giant. “Yes, Mr. Banning, I'm Arianna Rose. Tell me right now if you have a problem with that, and I'll leave.”

He grinned and widened the entrance, stepping back a foot. “No, of course not. This neighborhood is full of notorious characters; you'll fit right in. Please, call me Carlos.” He grasped her by the elbow and leaned in. “And if you want to bring any of your strong-bodied, low-IQ boyfriends along, I'll lower the rent.”

Valerie let out a peal of laughter and poked Ari in the back. “See, Ari, not everyone who read Sorenson's interview believed it.”

“Oh, please. I could see right through that load of baloney. No one with your sense of style would choose to be called Anna over Arianna, or…” He turned to Val. “What did you call her? Ari? Perfect.”

Arianna spun around the nearly all-glass room. “A lot of people did believe the lies in the article. I've been getting hate emails and phone calls.”

“Ignore them,” Carlos advised.

“Or,” Val said, “arrange your own interview with a reputable journalist. Set the record straight.”

Carlos clapped his hands together. “I love it. Brilliant.”

Val smiled. “Told you. Listen to your friend who works in PR.”

Ari walked to the window and looked out. “My lawyer would have a heart attack.” She watched an eclectic mix of people walk past the store—nannies pushing strollers, teenagers shouting to each other despite their close proximity, and a family of tourists holding a guidebook—while she pondered Val's idea.

There was some merit to the thought. Valerie had quite a reputation in the industry as the go-to public relations guru when a CEO got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was how she'd met Jason. He'd been caught in a compromising situation, and the county had hired her to rehab his and the other firefighters' images.

She turned back to face Carlos and Val. “Okay, let's do it, but I need your help to make sure I don't make a fool of myself on camera.”

“Camera?” said Carlos.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Sorenson went to second-rate bloggers. If I'm going to do this, I'm doing it right. I still have the card from that producer at NBC who called when Dad was first investigated. I'll give her a call; see if she's still interested.”

“Go big or go home,” Carlos said.

“You said it.” She laughed, feeling more lighthearted than she had in days. She took a step toward the door to the street, then turned back to the owner. “Carlos, this is a gorgeous property, but it's not right for my purpose. Too many windows; I'd have nowhere to hang all the canvases. Thank you, though. It was lovely meeting you.” Feeling flush with energy and excitement, she pulled Val along and headed back to her parked car.

“I'm going to marry her, Sullivan.”

“What?” His boss rose to full height and leaned forward, planting both beefy hands on his immaculate wooden desk.

“You heard me. I'm going to ask Arianna Rose to marry me. It's crazy, it makes no sense, and yet nothing seems more right.”

Sullivan sat back down with a huff and propped his polished-to-a-mirror shoes up. “Does your father know?”

He shook his head. “You're the first person I'm telling.”

“Me?” He raised a brow. “Why tell me first? We're not friends.”

Lance inwardly chuckled at Sully's no-nonsense bluntness. “I'm telling you first because I want you to call off the hounds. Tell the FBI to stop following her.” He kept talking at his boss's shaking head. “Hear me out. Arianna is innocent.”

“Of course she is.” Sully snorted. “I've seen the news and surveillance video. If a pretty piece of ass like that was in my bed, I'd believe anything.”

Lance clenched his fists and reminded himself hitting his boss was not only a fireable offense, but possibly illegal too, given that Sullivan reported to the president of the United States. “I'll say it again. Arianna is innocent. Stop following her.”

“Sorry, Lance. That's up to the feds, not me. I simply offered to lend a hand in this case.”

Lance sat in the chair facing Sullivan. “She doesn't know shit about her father and hasn't spoken to him in eight months.” He mentally glued his ass to the chair. He wasn't leaving until Sully picked up the phone and made the call to the FBI surveillance team and called them off.

“Why should we believe you? You're clearly biased and under the influence of her magic hoohah. All records show that Ms. Rose lived with her father alone from the tender age of seven until she left for college. Phone records from two years ago show almost daily calls between the two. She is the best lead to finding Stanley Rose.”

Lance's heart clenched at the head games Stanley Rose had played on his daughter. Poor Ari. No wonder she was averse to risking her heart to him. Her father had shit all over it without looking back. “Stanley Rose screwed her over, Sullivan. She had no fucking clue he was stealing the money. Her own trust fund is gone, thanks to him.”

“Then all the more reason she should want to find her father.”

“Trust me, she wants to find him more than anyone else, and if she knew where he was, she'd tell the FBI,” he said.

“Would she?” Sullivan's brow rose.

“Hell yes, she would.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he was infused with a sense of conviction and belief in Arianna. “Of course she would.”

He waited for a response, but his boss had turned to check something on his computer monitor. “So you'll do it? Call off the FBI?”

Sullivan turned back to him with a frown. “Sorry, no can do. Everyone's out for blood in this case. The president's own brother-in-law lost money to Rose. But look on the bright side. You'll be back at work next week and you'll have the mental comfort of knowing your woman is being looked after by professionals. Won't that give you some peace of mind? Didn't you tell me someone's been gunning for her? Playing pranks?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but we found him. Poor teenage kid turned himself in.”

Sully chuckled. “A teenager? No shit? The kid evaded D.C. police and you for nearly two weeks. Tell him to send me his résumé in a few years.”

With a view of Sully's back, Lance realized he was fighting a losing battle. He stood to go. His boss was never going to make the call. “Fine, keep the feds on Arianna, but you'll get nothing more from me. I'm there for Ari, period. I'm staying out of anything to do with Stanley Rose.”

He turned to leave and missed his boss shaking his head and muttering expletives about delusional, lovesick bastards.

Ari threw armfuls of shirts into the open suitcase without folding them. She had to get out of Lance's apartment before he got home, but the large body filling the doorway told her it was too late.

“What the hell is this? What are you doing?” Lance had returned from his meeting with Sullivan.

Ari looked up from the suitcase on the bed rapidly filling up with her clothes. Darn it. She'd thought she had more than an hour, but Lance had arrived at the apartment earlier than expected. “What does it look like I'm doing? I'm packing,” she said in what she hoped was an indifferent tone, although inside, her heart filled with unshed fat, salty tears.

How had her day gone this terribly wrong? She'd left Carlos's building full of energy and optimism. Now she felt surrounded by dark storm clouds and it was all thanks to the handsome man in the room. He might look like an angel, but she knew the truth now. He was a rat bastard. A two-faced jerk.

“I can see you're packing. What I want to know is why.” His censorious and autocratic tone lashed at her. “Didn't your gallery hunt go well? Where's Valerie?” Lance peered around the room as though looking for her best friend.

“I'm leaving. Going to a hotel, like I should have done in the first place.” She focused her attention on the semi-packed suitcase, willfully ignoring Lance's bewildered gaze. His hand caught her wrist, freezing it in place. She tried to shake free, but he inserted his body between her and the bed, leaving her no choice but to look at him.

“Talk to me.”

“Why? So you can report what I say back to your boss?”

The sudden tautness in his face told her what she'd already known: that he was a sneak and liar. She was such a fool. How had she fallen for his pretty lies about love and trust?

“How did you find out?”

“That you're a fraud and a bastard?”

He released her hand and sat down heavily on the bed. “It's not what you think.”

“Oh? Did you, or did you not, spy on me for the FBI?”

“Not.” He crossed his arms over his chest and amended it to “Not really.”

She stared at him and narrowed her eyes. The bastard was still lying to her. Her arms crossed over her breasts and she waited for him to defend himself with more lies.

“My boss offered to shorten my leave time if I aided the FBI.”

“Well, that makes it all right, then.” She used her sarcasm as a protective cloak against more of his self-serving tales. “And what about—no, never mind.” She couldn't ask about his declarations of love. To hear those had been lies would cut too deeply. She stepped over his outstretched legs to slam more clothes into her suitcase.

“Ari, please stop packing and listen to me.”

Desperation laced through his voice, rekindling the onslaught of pain once again. Every word out of his mouth stung like lemon juice poured over a paper cut.

“I didn't report anything. I told them I'd only report back if there was actual contact with your father, anything to give a clue to his whereabouts.”

She froze her packing and turned to glare at him. “And you think that makes it better? It doesn't change the fact that you were willing to spy on me, to…” She took a deep breath. “…To sleep with me to advance your career. No matter how you slice it, it makes you a whore.”

They both fell silent.

“Is that what you think of me?” Lance finally asked in a hoarse voice.

“For all intents and purposes, right now, yes.”

He rose unsteadily to his feet and stumbled to the door of the room, pausing only to place something gently on the tall dresser. Her gaze followed him through the doorway, but then he turned back. “It all changed for me once I got to know you. It was real as hell for me. Still is and always will be. I
never
lied about loving you.”

She stared after his retreating back, feeling the hot tears dripping off her chin onto the front of her t-shirt, then looked over to the object left on the dresser. A small box, tiny and black; the perfect size for an—
ohmigod.
She tiptoed over to it and ran a finger over the velvet, feeling the grain of the material on the pad of her finger. With a deep breath, she flipped open the lid and widened her eyes at a tiny emerald-cut diamond set in platinum that caught the light even in the box.

It was perfect, the type of ring she'd select for herself, not that she was selecting rings anytime soon. She'd had no idea Lance's brain had moved this far along the relationship ladder. She'd barely copped to loving him. What did this ring prove? Sure, maybe he loved her, but he'd proven not to be trustworthy. Like her father.

She snapped the lid shut on the ring box, trying not to relive her earlier conversation with her FBI tag team. Why, oh why, had she thought to be friendly and bring them coffee? It only opened the door for conversation, a conversation that resulted in them revealing that Lance was a spy for them. She was such an idiot, especially when the agents had smirked at her and stated in surprised voices that they thought she knew Lance was double-teaming for the Secret Service and FBI.

No, she hadn't known, but she should have. What a fool she was. Of course he'd reported back to his superiors on her movements. Why else would he have checked in on her daily, and insisted she move in with him? And she'd allowed it.
Idiot.
Berating herself further was a waste of time. She had a suitcase to pack and an apartment to find. Maybe Valerie and Jason would come back for the rest of her things so she'd never have to face Lance again.

Ten minutes later, she zipped up the suitcase and attempted to heft it off the bed, but Lance moved silently into the room to face her. He eyed the suitcase as if it were a bomb about to detonate. “Help me?” She gestured to the suitcase. She could only get out two words over the massive lump in her throat.