Sweet Southern Betrayal (8 page)

“I’m going for a run before dinner,” he said, watching as Risa’s eyes zeroed in on where his fingers opened a button on his shirt before slowly tracking upward to meet his gaze.

Damn. She really needed to stop looking at him like that. Especially since he liked it so very much.

He stood up, trying to shake off the ache of want in his veins. The heat traveling over his skin, down his belly to settle in his groin was something else he could take care of with a little exercise. She smiled, a wicked full-on flash of teeth that made him wonder if she could read his mind.

She stood. “Can I join you? I brought my gear.”

“I’m hoping to get in about seven miles. You think you can keep up?”

Risa gave a happy skip and glided past him while delivering a quick slap to his ass. “You try to keep up with me, sweet cheeks.”

Teague turned to watch her swagger the few steps to her room. A fine body. Delicious curves. A sarcastic mouth and backbone. Secrets. A deadly combination in a woman.

It was a good thing she was headed back to Las Vegas.

Chapter Seven

Risa was afraid to touch anything.

Their seven-mile run ended at Elliott House, where they collapsed on the porch of the sprawling house straight out of
Gone With the Wind
to cool down and rehydrate. Just like during their run, people strolled by on the sidewalk all waving and saying a few words of greeting to Teague. He was gracious to everyone, his accent perfectly suited for the role of Southern man of the manor. Her legs weren’t wobbling like wet noodles from the run alone. And to her relief, he’d dropped the topic of the money she owed. She knew that if he kept digging he’d find out about Big Tony, and from there it would only be a matter of time before he discovered the whole mess and her part in it.

Big Tony had called twice but left no message. Not a good sign.

After cooling down, Teague offered a tour of the house. You didn’t pass up a chance to see a place like this, but she wasn’t prepared for what she saw: antiques, lush rugs, twelve-foot ceilings—everything screamed money. Even her most house-proud foster mom couldn’t hold a candle to this place. Teague tossed out names and stories as they passed by generations of Elliotts on the walls. When they reached the wide landing at the top of the stairs, she tugged on his arm, her eye caught by a familiar face staring down at her from the wall.

“Wait. Is that you?” she asked, walking over to the huge painting on the wall. It was Teague, younger, but still the same self-assured man who stood next to her. He was on the front steps of Elliott House in khakis and a light-blue oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his muscled forearms. The sun caught the gold in his hair and his eyes spoke volumes of how comfortable he was in his world. A large chocolate Labrador sat at his feet.

“Yes. Mother had it done when I graduated from the University of Virginia.”

“Is this something everyone does around here?” She had no concept of families with this kind of money and history. Did they all have portraits painted like some people snapped Polaroids? “Is it a Southern thing?”

He shifted beside her. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but she couldn’t stop looking at the portrait.

“I don’t know about
everyone
doing it, but we do.”

“It’s so realistic.” It was as if she could reach out and touch the hair just falling into his eyes if she wanted. “Very handsome.”

“Thank you.” Teague’s breath on her ear made her realize they were closer than she realized. She couldn’t remember if she’d moved toward him or vice versa.

Risa realized she still had her hand on his arm and she lowered her arm to her side, curling it around her midriff. It was a protective habit she’d picked up at foster home number four.

“I meant the dog,” she said, taking two steps backward.

“Right.” Teague laughed, the deep sound reverberating off the walls in the otherwise silent house. “That was Buddy. The best dog ever. He died when I was in law school at Harvard.”

“I always wanted a dog,” she said. “But I was never allowed to have one.”

“Allergies?”

“No, foster care.” She felt rather than heard his sharp inhale of breath, the tension in his body communicating that the topic of her crappy background made him a little uncomfortable. “I could only take what I could fit in a small suitcase, and pets were never permitted.”

“Do you have one now?”

“No. But now that I own my home, I plan on getting one.” Risa was done with talking about her. Time to change the subject. “This is a big house. Why do you live in the apartment?”

Teague barked out a laugh as he took another drink of water. “Thirty-two-year-old men do not live with their mothers.”

“So which one was your room?” She walked over to a closed door, hand hovering over the doorknob. He shook his head and she moved to the next one, grasping the knob when he gave one quick nod. Opening the door she was hit with the overwhelming smell of furniture polish and fresh linen, the sign of a room still tended regularly. She flipped on the light switch.

“It’s like a shrine of Teague,” she murmured as she walked fully into the room, barely registering the large, heavy four-poster bed for the display that could rival a museum exhibit. A desk and built-in bookcases sat on a long wall that was covered with trophies, certificates, plaques, photographs, ribbons, many of them saying first place.

Teague was an overachiever.

She stood in front of the wall, reading aloud as she scanned the impressive wall of achievement. “Quarterback and captain of the football team. Senior page in US Senate. Rhodes scholarship. University of Virginia. Harvard Law School. Clerkship in the Supreme Court.” Risa turned, leaning to rest against the edge of the desk. Teague was watching her, his eyes cautious, but the tiny, amused tilt of his mouth told her he was waiting to see what she had to say about this display. “Have you been running for president since birth?”

“From the womb, actually. With two godfathers, one a US Senator and the other Vice President, it was inevitable.”

“What?” She had been kidding. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” Teague stepped forward, knee-to-knee with her as he reached over and grabbed a photograph from one of the bookshelves and handed it to her.

Risa scanned the photograph. Teague stood between two older men in a fancy government office—that wasn’t the Oval Office, was it? He was striking in one of his custom-fitted suits. She couldn’t help but wonder what a guy like Teague was doing dealing with a man like Big Tony. They might as well have been from separate planets. But she understood why Big Tony would want dirt on Teague—it would never hurt to have a politician in your back pocket. And Teague was definitely on his way to the big time.

“Very impressive.”

“You don’t sound impressed,” he said, taking the frame from her and replacing it on the shelf.

“I’m…” Risa paused, trying to gather her thoughts and avoid insulting him when he had obviously worked so hard. “Is it something you want to do?”

“Of course it is. It’s been my goal for as long as I can remember.”

“It just doesn’t sound like you had much of a choice. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a good goal to have, but it sounds like it was chosen for you.”

“I’m pretty stubborn. I don’t think anyone is going to make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

“Marrying a showgirl from Vegas wasn’t on the list, I bet.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I’m so sorry.” And she was. Not just for Big Tony but also for missing out on really knowing the man in front of her. It was definitely her loss.

“Hey.” His hand slid across her skin until his palm cupped the back of her head, forcing her to look him in the eye. “It takes two to sign up for the ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ package and I can take care of it. It will be like it never happened.” His finger wrapped around a curl that had escaped from her ponytail during the run and the little tug he gave sent a shiver of pleasure along her skin. Teague leaned in closer, his breath a warm puff against the sensitive skin just in front of her ear. “Except for the memories of a night spent with a sexy redhead in a scary Elvis hotel.”

Risa shifted where she leaned on the desk, her legs opening just enough to allow him to slide between them and get within firing range of shattering her resolve not to indulge in the man-sized indulgence known as Teague Elliott.

“Too bad those memories are so fuzzy. I think we were probably fabulous,” she said.

“Yeah, I think we were, too.” His lips curled into a self-confident smile. “Five condoms in one night says we were having a pretty good time to me.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“This is a really bad idea,” he murmured, moving in even closer if that was possible.

“I know.”

He kissed her. She knew for a fact that she wasn’t the one to lean closer. She wasn’t the one to meld their bodies together from hip to chest to hot, searching mouths. And she wasn’t the one who slid his one hand higher into her hair and the other around her waist until it rested in just the right spot on her lower back to make her press even tighter into the deliciously hard bulge in the front of his running shorts. But she was the one who opened her lips and welcomed his tongue inside, moaning at the invasion and relishing the taste of him. And she was the one who pushed both hands under his T-shirt to trace the muscled expanse of his abdomen and upward to feel the soft texture of the hair of his chest.

He pushed her fully onto the desk and braced himself against the bookcase with one hand. The position gave him total access and the perfect leverage to continue their frantic press toward the ultimate goal of giving themselves a current memory of how good it was between them. Fully clothed and within two feet of his perfectly adequate adolescent bed they rode the beast, humping like two horny teenagers and rocking the desk until they rattled the bookcase and sent books and framed photos raining down around them.

“Jesus.” Teague curled himself around her and Risa huddled under his body, feeling the aftershocks of the impact of the items as they hit him on the way down to their final destination on the floor. When their passion-induced earthquake ended, he asked, “You okay?”

Risa nodded as he stepped back, wincing when she spotted a red welt on his forehead where he was struck by some piece of flying memorabilia.

“Are
you
okay?” she asked, reaching out to touch the spot. He flinched a little when she made contact. “It didn’t break the skin so I think you’ll live long enough to sit in the Oval Office.”

“Good to know.” He leaned over and picked a book off the floor, hefting its weight in his hand. “I think this is the culprit.”

She read the spine. “
The Iliad
. In Latin. Sounds heavy.”

“It felt like a brick when it hit my head,” Teague grumbled as he tossed the book onto the desk.

The book might have hit Teague but it had knocked sense into her, and she knew that going there with him was a really bad idea. She had no right to have anything with this man. She’d betrayed him and tomorrow she was leaving and would never see him again. She backed up two steps. “I don’t think we should have apocalypse sex.”

“Wait. What?” Teague rubbed his head just over the bump, totally confused. “What does our having sex have to do with the end of the world?”

“We think having sex is a safe thing because I’m leaving tomorrow and we won’t ever see each other again.” Teague still stared at her blankly and she tried again to explain. “In the movies, people hook up when they think Armageddon is coming and then have all kinds of ‘oh shit’ moments when they save the world. Got it?”

Teague nodded and huffed out a laugh. “I got it. I don’t like it, but I got it.”

In spite of their agreement they stood together for a few moments longer, his hands on her body and her body thrumming like an overloaded electrical wire. He was the first to break the connection, moving back and looking at his watch.

“So…we have dinner with my mother in an hour.”

“Sure. I guess we need to go back to your place and shower.” Risa grabbed her forgotten water bottle, relieved by the change in topic. “Do you want to jump in first?”

“We could take one together.”

Risa turned to look at him and was struck by the way his handsome face was transformed by a wicked grin. “I think I’ll go first. Alone.”

“Fine. Make sure you use all the hot water.” Teague took the few paces to meet her at the door, smiling down at her. “I’ll need a cold shower to make sure I don’t embarrass myself.”

He thought he was being so cute, but she had news that would fix his little red wagon. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble keeping your mind off sex.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. Your mother called me earlier when you were at work.”

Suspicion crept into his eyes and the grin lost some of its power. “What about?”

“Four words. ‘Behind Closed Doors’ and ‘vibrator.’” Risa skipped out of the room and down the stairs, laughing full-out when Teague’s horrified voice met her ears just as she hit the bottom step.