Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense) (9 page)

Chapter Eleven

If Alex ha
d to speak to Frank for one more minute about the potential for a biotechnology boom in developing countries, she’d be forced to cut out his throat with her fish knife. Instead, she raised her eyebrows, fixed her mouth a shade lower than a smile, and nodded in agreement with whatever he said.

Regretfully, Frank took that as encouragement to continue speaking. “Our major competition is a US company, Oak Industries. They hold most of the patents in the field and the CEO, Peter Northrop, works nonstop to keep the company on the cutting edge of vaccine development and HIV treatments. It works, because no one beats Oak in biotechnology right now.”

Crap. Of all the people in London, to be paired with someone who knows Dad. God must be having a huge cosmic laugh over this seating plan.

Had Frank ever met her father? If he had, he may also have met her mother. Alex didn’t inherit her mother’s abilities as a socialite, but she did inherit most of her facial features, especially her petite nose and light brown eyes.

At the mention of Oak Industries, she rubbed her thumb over the bandage covering her acorn tattoo. She didn’t want to talk about anything related to her family. The topic soured her stomach and thoroughly depressed her, especially since Frank had spoken the truth. Peter had never been the best father, but was always the best in business.

Frank took a sip of wine and stared at her. “You look remarkably familiar.”

“I do?” she asked, flipping part of her hair in front of one of her eyes.

“Yes, but I can’t place your face. Have you been to any parties in Silicon Valley recently?”

“No. My work keeps me in Europe.”

“Give me time. I never forget a face.”

Their conversation needed to veer away from the biotechnology field. Pretending to drink more than she had, she expounded on the wonderful bouquet in the Chianti complementing the savory beef dish. It worked. Frank followed her into a discussion of vineyards in Italy. She sat through the rest of the meal smiling and providing innocuous answers to probing questions.

One of the Russian beauties whispered to her compatriot in their native tongue. They probably assumed they were either being quiet enough not to be overheard or no one had the intelligence to learn such a random foreign language. A stupid practice, by stupid people.

The lanky brunette told the fake redhead that the blonde sitting next to her was going to marry the earl. The redhead glanced at Alex and smiled. She then raised her eyebrows in condescension and giggled. Even if Alex didn’t know Russian, it would be hard to miss the slight.

“What was he thinking?” Red asked in her native tongue.

Her bony counterpart whipped her hair back and smirked. “He wanted a pretty little thing that wouldn’t cause him any trouble. It won’t last. She has nothing going for her. She’s flat-chested, short, and has a boring personality. He’ll be sick of her before the honeymoon is over.”

They continued to rattle on about their own prospects for marriage and then switched back into English in an attempt to convince the men around them to go clubbing after dinner.

Alex picked at her food and ignored her wine, except for the occasional toast. When dinner had finished, everyone mingled together until a uniformed butler served tea and dessert in the living room. Frank followed her to the dessert table. So much for an escape.

He hovered over her as she picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry. “You should come out to the Funky Goat with us.”

“Funky Goat?”

“It’s a club in King’s Cross. We’re leaving in a few minutes if you need a ride?”

Henry approached them, and the stress of Frank’s pursuit dissipated.

“That’s so kind, but I’m pretty tired and want some time alone with Henry.”

“That’s right. I hear congratulations are order.”

Henry moved in and placed his arm around her waist. Perfect timing. “Thanks, Stevens. I’m lucky she said yes. Will you be in London long?”

Frank’s gaze turned from Henry back to Alex. “Regrettably, no. I must be getting back to our office in San Jose.”

“Call me when you’re in the area again. We can catch up.” Henry spoke with his lips caressing the top of her ear.

The intimacy caused Frank to mumble something in reply and slip away to speak to someone more available.

“How was dinner?” Henry turned to Alex.

“Perfect. I haven’t had foie gras terrine with caramelized apples in forever.”

His support felt good. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you liked it. Do you mind if we take off early? I think we’ve accomplished what we’d set out to do.”

They’d proven everything important. They could appear as an actual couple, Alex could behave well enough to be acceptable in the right circles, and she wouldn’t pass gas at a dinner table. What a proud moment.

It wasn’t difficult. She’d pretended to be her mother for the evening. Gabrielle would have been thrilled to see her embracing her birthright for once. “I’m ready to go. And my feet are ready, too. I haven’t worn heels since my last formal dinner party.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“A long time.”

They bid good-night to his aunt and uncle, before Henry left to retrieve their overcoats.

She approached Red and Bony in the foyer. She whispered to them in Russian. “Henry didn’t choose a woman like either of you because it’s cheaper to pay your type by the hour than commit for life.”

She walked away to join Henry without bothering to wait for their reactions.

…

Henry glanced at Gabe during the drive to Oxford. Her head tilted toward him, eyes closed, and body relaxed. She’d been the most sought-after guest at the party. Her intelligence bubbled up in everything she’d said. Frank had been captivated. His eyes had remained transfixed on her all evening. Who could blame him? She was a beautiful dinner companion who listened thoughtfully and offered intelligent commentary on subjects ranging from economics to the new director of the Bolshoi Ballet.

After pulling the car into the garage, Henry tried to rouse her. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

“Ten more minutes,” she whispered.

“If you don’t walk by yourself, I’ll be forced to carry you.”

“Go ahead. My ankles are swollen from the high heels.” Her eyes remained closed, but her back arched in a cat stretch, and she moaned like a woman in the throes of passion.

He bit back his desire, opened her door, and picked her up. She weighed nothing. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tucked her face into his shoulder. Her breath sent shivers all the way through him.

He entered through the front door and climbed the main staircase. Without thinking, he headed toward his room and placed her on his bed. The light from the hall illuminated her blond hair as though an angel had landed in his presence How long had it been since a beautiful woman’s hair fanned out across his pillow? Too long.

The guest room would have been a better location for her, but his body placed the woman who made his blood boil where it wanted her. His brain, however, kicked in and ordered him to remove her from his bed. His brain lost the argument. He’d leave her alone after one quick kiss good-night. A kiss would be an appropriate finish to an evening spent acting as an engaged couple. In fact, it would make them more comfortable with each other in public. She yawned and then licked her lips. Just one kiss. He placed his lips on hers with a light touch.

One simple good-night kiss on the lips, however, turned into much more when she feathered her fingers over his cheek and returned the kiss.

“Taking advantage of someone sleeping, Sir Henry? Desperation becomes you.” Her breathing became heavy, and her expression turned sensual and welcoming. She stretched her arms over her head. The movement shifted her dress above her thighs.

“It’s Lord Henry to you.” He lifted her chin and deepened the kiss. She tasted of chocolate, the chocolate-covered strawberries served at the end of the party. God, he was hungry for chocolate. Starved.

“Good night, Lord Henry.” Her eyes closed, but a slight smile remained on those pretty lips.

No chocolate for him tonight. He wanted to stay with her, but it had been a long day for both of them. She needed to rest, and he had to leave before he messed up their business relationship.

He made his way to the den. A wood-paneled room created for watching television and unwinding within close proximity to a fully stocked bar. Simon was lounging in his favorite leather recliner, nursing a beer.

“Did you see Nicola tonight?” Henry headed over to pour himself some scotch.

“I did. She told me to say hi to you in between screams of ecstasy.”

His hunger for Gabe unsatisfied, Henry was in no mood for Simon’s bragging. He made himself a double.

They both drank in silence. Despite his current mood, Henry liked living with Simon. The house was too big to live in alone. They rarely bothered each other, rarely became involved in each other’s lives. It worked.

Simon stared at the fireplace. “Where’s your fiancée?”

“Sleeping. She had a few glasses of wine. If she’s not asleep by now, she will be any moment.”

“How did she perform?”

“Like a thoroughbred. My aunt is already prepping invitations for the wedding. Several of the male guests followed her from room to room panting after her. She spoke to several influential MPs and managed to converse with intelligence on a diverse amount of subjects. I’d love to know her background.”

“Me too.” Simon nodded. “Something’s not right about her. Think about it. She’s hiding from someone. She has an impressive knowledge of art she couldn’t have picked up in school alone. My guess is she’s a well-educated American who ran with the wrong crowd. She’s pissed someone off and her only way to stay alive is to live in hiding.”

Henry took a sip of scotch and placed the glass on the table next to him. “Interesting theory. How are you going to test it?”

Simon leaned his head back on the chair. He brought his fingertips together in front of his chin. “Keep watching her. She’ll screw up. Give it time, and then we’ll get to see the real Gabe West.”

Chapter Twelve

Al
ex sat on the stairs and absorbed Henry’s and Simon’s words. Simon had better instincts than Henry. Henry saw what he wanted to see. A woman who had a good head on her shoulders, yet never applied herself to anything. Simon seemed to look through her disguise and hit closer to the heart of her being.

That scared her, especially since she didn’t know anything about Simon except that he baked killer cinnamon rolls.

What if he found out her identity? She couldn’t have Simon messing up her plans.

Without making a creak in the stairs, she slunk back up to Henry’s bedroom.

The next morning, a cloudy day greeted her. Typical for this part of England. She made her way toward the kitchen deep in thought.

Bacon.
She strutted into the kitchen and straight to the man at the stove. Simon’s only redeeming quality had to be his breakfasts. A pile of crispy bacon sat on a plate next to him. She helped herself to three long and greasy pieces.

He undressed her with his eyes, but she saw through the act. He wanted to interrogate her, not sleep with her. Perhaps she could pull some information from him instead.

She took a deep breath and slid into his arms, but his touch felt wrong, and her heart wrenched at her attempt to seduce. To keep herself from running back upstairs, she focused on Matt, murdered while protecting her at the pub. Simon pulled her closer, as though testing her. She tamped down her skittish side and placed her free hand on his chest.
Careful.
She was playing a dangerous game with a dangerous guy.

“Did you grow up with Henry?” she asked.

“Nearby.”

“It must be annoying to have to serve your old friend.”

His head dropped down, and he rubbed his cheek through her hair. “Doesn’t bother me in the least.”

“I would ask you to refrain from manhandling Gabe until the engagement is officially over, and you’ve broken it off with your longtime girlfriend.” Henry’s voice boomed into the kitchen from the doorway.

So much for information-gathering.

“I thought this engagement was pretend, Henry.” Simon brushed his lips over hers, smirked, and returned to cooking. Gabe’s stomach soured at the false intimacy.

She backed away from Simon, moving closer to Henry. The heat in his eyes contained lust for her with a threat toward Simon. His competition chuckled. This could only get worse if she remained in the room, so she grabbed some coffee and headed to the door.

Henry snapped at Simon. “Stay away from her.”

“Yes, sir.” Simon winked at her as she passed him. He was enjoying pissing Henry off.

Halfway up the stairs, she overheard Henry ordering him to “keep your fucking hands off her or find a new place to live.”

Th
e afternoon dragged on. Simon disappeared, and Henry went to complete some work in his study. He didn’t speak to her all afternoon. Perhaps it was for the best. She needed to stay focused on self-preservation. With nothing better to do, Alex located an interesting book titled
Saints, Scholars, and Schizophrenics: Mental Illness in Rural Ireland
on the bookcase in his bedroom and sat near him in his study to read. Twice, she descended the stairs to locate a snack or a drink and rummage through some closets and drawers. A few times, she took a bathroom break to search the medicine cabinets. She also fell asleep for an hour.

“Want more tea, Henry?” She needed another break from staring over the rim of the book at his intense expression. His silent brooding gave her a stomachache, most likely because she had caused his sour mood.

“No, thanks. Feel free to watch the telly downstairs if you’re bored.”

“Okay. I’ll be back.”

She headed down the stairs, but stopped on the second floor. Her need to know about Simon lured her to his bedroom door. Was he really Henry’s employee? Doubtful.

She opened the door and slid inside. His bedroom had none of the expensive furnishings with which Henry surrounded himself. Every piece of furniture seemed forged of steel and black lacquer. Piles of newspapers covered a glass coffee table, and clothes covered everything else. He was a pig. Each dresser drawer she opened contained unfolded shirts, socks, underwear, and nothing of interest. Tension climbed. She needed something and couldn’t be caught.

His closet smelled of dirty gym socks and a strong men’s cologne. He only had three suits and a tux. The rest of his wardrobe consisted of jeans and sweaters. In the back of the closet, she spotted his laptop. Bingo.

She sat near his bed and tried to turn it on, but it required a password. She tried Nicola’s name, “Ripon,” “I hate Henry.” Nothing worked. She wished she’d taken computer science more seriously. A hacker’s knowledge would come in handy. Frustrated, she placed it back in his closet.

Her heart pounded, and her nerves made her efforts more frantic. Searching the pockets from each of his coats, she found several parking receipts, a pair of tickets to a play in London, and a credit card that said
Simon Dunn
. She took the card in case she needed to make a quick break for it. She could repay him when she regained access to her funds in Paris.

She had a few more places to search. Reaching behind his headboard, she found a small hidden drawer. Sure enough, he owned a handgun. She pulled it out. It was loaded. Handguns being mostly illegal in the UK, he was either in law enforcement or doing something against the law. From the cavalier way he went through life, she guessed the latter. She wanted to tuck the gun in her waistband. Perhaps she could kill Luc with it, but her intuition told her Simon would miss it. Instead, she emptied out all fifteen rounds of 9mm bullets into her front jeans pocket. Disarming the gun made her feel safer.

She put the gun back and searched around his mattress. The hallway floorboards creaked under the weight of a heavy tread. Pulling the duvet back in place, she dived under the bed. The sound of thumping in her chest muffled the noise in the hall. She tried to calm herself, hoping no one could hear her telltale heart.

The door opened and from the hefty footsteps that entered, she assumed it was Simon. She tried to relax, but her fear made that impossible.

The duvet lifted up, and Simon’s hand reached forward, like the bucket of an excavator, and dragged her body until she was kneeling at his feet.

“Well. Well. Well. Can’t stay away from me? I don’t blame you. Henry is sort of a dry sot at times.” Simon sat on the bed in front of her.

Shit.

“Hmmm?” She yawned. “Simon, please leave my room.”

“This room is mine, as you damn well know. What are you up to? Napping under my bed? Even I don’t think you’re that barmy.” He was holding his phone and glanced between it and Alex’s guilty face.

“Maybe I’m crazy about big stupid men with huge muscles.” She reached for him, but he backed away.

Mr. Happy actually glowered at her. “Stupid?”

He was definitely not stupid. If only he was.

“No real job. Can’t afford your own place. Relying on Henry to finance your life. And then you go and try to sleep with his fiancée. Nice friend. ”

“So you think Henry would take your word over mine?”

“We are getting married, after all.”

The door opened and Henry stepped in. “Blood is thicker than water, Sunshine.”

“Blood?” What did blood have to do with this?

Henry nodded. “Simon’s my brother.”

Henry’s brother?
That didn’t make sense. “He’s a spare?”

Simon smiled again, making the world almost right itself. “No. The bastard son of his father. And he’s my baby brother. I’m nobody’s spare.”

That made sense.

“Are you done searching his room?” Henry asked.

“Why would you think I searched his room?”

Simon stood and handed her his phone. “The cameras.” His screen displayed a great color video of her rummaging through his drawers.

She scanned the room and couldn’t locate one camera. She hadn’t seen any security around Henry’s rare and expensive works of art, but they used cameras in Simon’s disaster of a bedroom. It didn’t make sense, but she wasn’t going to argue the point.

Henry became a bit more agitated as Simon cooled down. “You went through his drawers, under his bed, into his closet, sat on the floor playing with his computer, and then found his handgun.” They never mentioned his credit card. No camera in the closet?

Simon took out the gun, checked it, and reached into her pocket for the bullets. Luckily, the jeans had a loose fit. His hand wouldn’t have fit into them otherwise.

“Do you have a license to carry that?” Alex asked.

Simon took hold of her chin. “Do not
ever
touch my gun. Is that clear?” He slipped it into the back of his pants. “I’ll be downstairs. Next time you snoop through my things, pick the clothes up as you go, so I benefit as well.” He left Alex alone with a constipated-looking Henry.

“I think I’ll go take a shower.” She tried to walk by him, but he blocked her path.

Henry shook his head like an exasperated parent. “I need to trust you, Gabe. You obviously don’t trust us, which considering your need to run and hide from a mystery man, I sort of understand. But I need to trust you. Otherwise, I’d rather go it alone.”

“Simon doesn’t trust me. He never did.”

“You smashed things in my house, live under an alias, stole a bike, made a pass at him in front of his brother, and rummaged through his belongings. Why should he trust you?”

“He probably shouldn’t.”

Henry stepped closer and brushed a blond wisp away from the front of her eye. “I believe in you, although you’re seriously pushing my limits. I find you intelligent, classy, full of life, and a breath of fresh air. You’re even in possession of a family heirloom I can’t afford to lose. And yet I don’t know how to gain
your
trust.”

“Every time I trust someone, they either let me down or die.”

He wrapped his arms around her. They felt safe. “I’d never hurt you, and I promise to avoid death at all costs. By the way, you looked ridiculously uncomfortable trying to seduce Simon, so I’m assuming you still like me, but you’re trying to push me away. Don’t.”

Henry pulled her into a deep kiss, powerful enough to knock her off her axis.

“You’re not mad at me?” she whispered as they came up for air.

His chin rested on her head, and his arms tightened around her shoulders. “Disappointed you went through Simon’s things. Jealous as hell when you rubbed your body against his. But never mad at you.”

She stepped back from him and looked toward his face. “I’m scared. I don’t generally inspire lots of faith from people.”

“I trust you. Just stop driving me crazy. Dinner’s in an hour.” After another kiss on her lips, he turned and left her alone in the room.

The taste of the kiss lingered on her lips. Three weeks? She could make it to the end, but would her heart?