Personal Geography (13 page)

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

“I’d do more than that if I thought you’d enjoy it.”

Rey chuckles. “Matty did say you had a good time.”

“I really did.”

“The talking?”

“Not so bad.”

“And the rest?”

I swoon in my chair, and Rey laughs.

“I see. The feeling appears to be mutual. He must’ve called right after you left.”

More butterflies. Why the fuck have I turned into a giggly adolescent? I want to roll my eyes, but I’m too damn pleased. It wouldn’t be the first time someone called Rey as soon as I walked out the door, but it’s the first time I’m as eager.

“When do you have time?”

“Not until July.”

“Oh, kitten.”

“I know. This sucks. I asked for passable. Why’d you have to find me perfection when I don’t have any time to enjoy it?”

The thought of Cris giving up on me makes me queasy. I know I was so eager to be the rebound fuck, but the idea of Cris with someone else makes me feel… Is this jealousy? Is that what this is? The fury and pukey feeling and possessiveness that come over me when I think of his hands on someone else?

“Do you think he’ll wait?”

“From the phone call I got last night? Yeah, he’ll wait.”

Relief extinguishes some, but not all, of the annoying and unfamiliar feeling. I down the remainder of my mojito to try to get rid of the rest.

*

I pull up
my email and start sifting through my leftovers from yesterday. Jack’s got a twenty-four hour rule on emails, and more than one associate’s been fired for breaking it. I bang out a dozen replies, setting up meetings and conference calls and answering easy regulatory questions, and mark off a couple others to dig into when I’ve gotten through the rest. I dash off quick responses to let them know I’m working on it and I’ll have an answer by the end of the day. Before I get the chance to start my research, there’s a knock and a flustered-looking Jack—no tie, no jacket, and crazy hair—storms in.

“What are you doing for the next week?”

“I get the feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“You’re going to Denver. Fucking Leo had a heart attack.”

“Is he okay?” Leo’s not my favorite, but I don’t want him dead.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s going to be fine, but he’s not getting on a plane anytime soon.” Jack paces in front of my desk and gesticulates like a raving lunatic.

“Jesus, Jack. How about you lead with that next time? You’re going to give
me
a heart attack, and then where would you be?”

“Please, India, don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t got a heart. But you
have
got a nice rack. I like this get-up. Sexy.”

“Just what I was going for.” I shake my head with boredom.
Let’s get this show on the road.
“So, Denver?”

“File review. You’re taking Patterson, Rodriguez, Evans, and Chow.”

Shit. Evans makes me want to staple my hand to the desk.

“Do I have to take Evans? You know he has a crush on me. It’s pathetic.”

Evans, like my trainer Adam, is a purebred puppy dog. Not a golden retriever, though—not that All-American and good-looking. Maybe some sort of spaniel? The round, adoring, melty chocolate eyes fit.
Sit, stay, stop drooling. Good Evans
.

“I’m not paying to change another plane ticket. You’re taking him. I’m sure your charm in close quarters will extinguish any torch he might be carrying for you. Just don’t wear that.”

I heave a sigh. If Evans ever got me naked, he wouldn’t know what to do with me. Fucking Boy Scout. No, not even a Boy Scout. Scouts are handy with knots.

“Fine.”

“You, minion, are too saucy. You get this done, and you can have next Friday off. Does that make up for the puppy dog eyes you’ll have to endure for the next seven days? Have him fetch your coffee. It won’t be so bad.”

Next Friday off? Two weeks is
far
better than two months. If Cris is even free. I need to call Rey, stat.

“Actual Shakespeare, Jack? Color me impressed. He’d have to get down on his knees and lick my Louboutins to make it worth my while, but next Friday off is a good start.”

My retort gets me a shake of Jack’s head but a short laugh to go along with it.
Rest of the office, you should
all
get down on your knees and kiss my shoes for digging Jack out of what could’ve been a days-long funk. A screaming, throwing-stuff, firing-people-left-and-right funk. But you’d do it badly, and that’s insulting.

Denver, huh? I can do Denver.

*

Rey messengers me
Cris’s new contract while I’m at my hotel in Denver. Cris had been quick to say he’s free, and I’m excited to have proof that I’ll get to see him again—and so soon. It’s a welcome distraction from the numbers and codes swimming in my head. I fucking hate file reviews. And Jack was wrong. Close contact with Evans doesn’t seem to have doused any fire he thinks he’s got burning in his loins for me; on the contrary, he’s gotten worse. Now he makes me want to stick a letter opener through my eye.

I give the contract a cursory glance—I’d be surprised if anything much had changed—but when I come to the end, I frown.
Nothing
has changed. Well, the dates, but that’s it. Not even the weird talking clause at the end.
What the fuck?
Cris doesn’t strike me as lazy. I’m insulted he’s not even bothered to review the damn thing before sending it back. I fill the tub and climb in before I punch Rey’s number into my cell.

“Hey there, Rocky Mountain Highness.”

“What the hell? He didn’t even look at it, just sent it back.”

“Not true.”

“The only thing that’s different are the dates.”

“Yes.”

Goddammit, Rey, you’re annoying.
I’m sure he can feel my glower from across the Rockies.

“I’m insulted, India. Did you think I wouldn’t have looked at this before I sent it to you?”

“No.” Rey’s very thorough.

“I thought it was…unusual, so I called him. He’d like to speak with you.”

“Again?”

“Apparently.”

Oh, I’d like to wipe that smug look off of Rey’s face. “Why?”

“Maybe he liked you.”

Crap. I don’t want Cris to like
me
. I want him to like Kit Bailey-Isles, submissive edition. Contracts, fake names, and the ten-foot-high barbed wire fence of anonymity Rey erects around me—that is how I roll. I don’t do relationships. The damage Hunter did still smarts, and I’m not stupid enough to let that happen again.

“Did you not like him?” Rey prods.

I scowl. I did like him. Too much. And because Rey has some sort of trainer telepathy, he knows.

“I see,” he says. “I suppose you could call it—”

“No!”

“That’s what I thought. Matthew will see you there. Be good, be careful.”

‡

“K
it,” he greets
me, opening my door and offering me not only help down from the annoyingly high Jeep, but also a deliciously crooked smile.

“Cris.”

He’s even more attractive than I remembered—and that was pretty damn attractive. As my skin meets his, a thrill slips through me. He offers Matty a cursory nod and steers me to the main house with a hand at the small of my back.

“I hope you had a good trip.” His voice is casual, but strained. He’s nervous, too.

“I did, thank you.”

Again the long flight was welcome, giving me a chance to sleep uninterrupted. Unlike when I was in Denver, with visions of Evans’ hangdog face haunting me at night.

“It’s a pleasant surprise, seeing you again so soon. When Mr. Walter told me July, I thought it was a nice way to give me the brush off—” I’m about to protest, but he cuts me off with a smug smile. “—but I was assured that wasn’t true.”

Goddammit, Rey, what did you say?

“It’s just that I’m very important and extremely busy.” My attempt at self-deprecation is a major fail. It’s not my strong suit.

“I don’t doubt it.”

He shows me into the house, and it’s exactly as I remembered it, including the big dining table set for two. I wonder if it’s ever full. He pulls out my chair, and I sit while he heads into the kitchen, returning with plates filled with seafood paella.

I don’t waste time, spearing a shrimp on my fork. So good. We eat a few bites in silence before I tease, “So, Mr. Ardmore, you wanted to speak with me?”

“I did.”

“And why this time? I know it’s not because you think you’ll be stealing my virtue.”

He snorts. Whatever he thought might be left of my virtue when I arrived last time, he took care of it.

“No. I just… I liked talking to you.”

My heart thumps, and I have to work up the nerve to open my mouth. “I liked talking to you, too.”

He regards me curiously. “Do you not usually speak with them?”

“No one’s ever asked.”

“I’d say that’s a shame, but I’m glad.”

“Why?” Why does Cris give a crap about whether other guys have wanted to talk to me?

“You wouldn’t have gotten to me if any of them had bothered to get to know you. They’d never have let you go.”

There’s an explosion of warmth in my chest. Is this what it’s like to have a man say he
likes
you? Not just wants to fuck you? Or that you’ve done good work? That he likes
you
and not the pretty little submissive you shape yourself into to have some fun or the frigid bitch you affect to get shit done? It’s delicious and terrifying at the same time. I’m so flustered I can’t even make a joke.

I reach for something, anything, to say before I start to blush. “How did you break your nose?”

He’s surprised by the non sequitur but unlike me isn’t so nonplussed he can’t cover it. “Is that fair, Kit? You get to ask me personal questions, but I don’t get to ask you?”

He’s poking fun, a half-smile lighting up his face, but fairness is a big thing for me.

“You’re right.” I look down at my rapidly emptying plate. “It’s not fair. I apologize.”

“Hey.” He uses his stern voice, and I’m feeling more like Kit than India. This is not going well. What was I thinking? How long did I think I was going to be able to pull this off? He waits for my eyes to meet his, and his face has softened. “I was teasing, Kit.”

“I know.”

“You’ve already got more dirt on me than the CIA.”

“I don’t.”

“What do you mean? I think the only information Mr. Walter didn’t ask for was my shoe size.”

“And Mr. Walter’s the only one who knows most of that information. Him and Mr. St. James.”

His brows crease, trying to put together the scattered pieces of the Kit Bailey-Isles jigsaw puzzle. “All the more reason for us to have a conversation. You know, there’s an easy way to make this fair.”

“What did you have in mind?” I ask, finding my feet. I’m perfectly willing to trade sexual favors for information.

“You can ask me a question, and I get to ask you one.”

That
is not what I had in mind. “No.”

“Two for one?”

“Two for one, and I have veto power. You don’t.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Isles. Are you an attorney?”