Clark, Rachel - Alicia's Awakening (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

ALICIA’S AWAKENING

RACHEL CLARK

Copyright © 2012

Chapter One

I’m in love with my best friend.

I’ve known it for a very long time, but lately it seems to be getting harder and harder to hide. Surely he can sense my feelings for him. I’m positive I have a neon sign flashing above me that everyone can see. But I’m not brave enough to do anything about it. He doesn’t think of me that way. I’m almost certain of it. Why else would we see less and less of each other in the past year or so?

So instead of being honest, I sit here beside him in this classy restaurant as we sip our drinks and wait for our blind
dates
. Notice the plural? Perhaps he does sense my emotions and this is his way of telling me “no” as gently as possible.

“I think you’ll like Doug,” Lachlan says with a half smile. I can’t quite interpret that expression. It’s the one Lachlan uses when he really doesn’t want to do something.

“It’s okay if you don’t like Lisa,” I say quickly, wondering if I’m being really unfair. I’ve loved him for so long that I can’t even imagine letting him go.

He looks a little surprised, but reassures me that he’ll love Lisa. I really,
really
hope not. Selfish bitch that I am, I’ve set him up with the woman who I believe would least suit him. Lisa is an in-your-face feminist. She’s liable to take offense to his chivalrous manners when he stands to help her into her seat. I’m actually hoping her first reaction will destroy the entire night. Maybe even make dinner an interminable round of lectures obnoxious enough to have any man running. And then I’ll have the perfect excuse for refusing to spend any time with Lachlan’s friend, Doug.

Seriously, I’m going to hell.

But I can’t just hand Lachlan over.

I won’t.

My heart starts to beat really hard when I see Lisa walk in the door. She’s wearing a low-cut dress that very literally points a man’s eyes to her cleavage. No doubt she’ll lambast the first guy to actually look. Hopefully that guy won’t be Lachlan, but even if it is, at least this night will be over.

Lachlan smiles, and then waves in Lisa’s direction. For one horrifying moment I wonder if they actually know each other, but then I realize he’s waving to the guy who came into the restaurant behind Lisa.

Oh wow.

And.

Oh, fuck.

Doug is almost as good looking as Lachlan—tall with the same confident stride, easy smile, and bright eyes that suggest a keen intelligence. When he realizes that the woman in front of him is actually heading to the same table, he introduces himself, keeping his eyes on her face, only once giving in to the inviting temptation to look at her cleavage. He tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow and escorts her to our table. Like a true gentleman, he introduces her to me and Lachlan. Then Doug finally does the one thing I was hoping would end the night quickly—he pulls out Lisa’s chair and waits for her to be seated.

I’m waiting for the explosion, for the feminist ranting lecture on equal rights and equal treatment, but what I get instead is a woman who blushes at the interest she’s getting from two alpha males. God, I want to scream. I actually sat in the break room and listened to this woman’s over-the-top opinions for nearly an entire lunch. Apparently, she’s only a feminist when the wrong man is looking at her cleavage. Sheesh.

“What’s that look for?” Doug asks me as he leans over and gives me a conspiratorial smile.

Hmmm, apparently I’m not as good at hiding my emotions as I thought.

“Um,” I say, trying to delay whatever idiotic thoughts might tumble from my mouth. “I was just…um…trying to decide what to order.” Okay, not exactly a brilliantly original line, but I’m seriously working under pressure here. Lisa is smiling and giggling at whatever charming comment Lachlan just made, and for the second time in less than a minute I absolutely want to scratch her eyes out.

Fabulous.

Lachlan drops his gaze to Lisa’s breasts and asks if she would like to dance. Lisa seems flattered that he looked at her ample, displayed-to-best-advantage bosom, and I’m ready to throw a tantrum like a two-year-old. I realize that my nasty little plan blowing up in my face is probably karma, but at this stage I don’t even want to think about it. And hell, as always, my brain just won’t shut down. I’m all the way up to imagining the part where she traps Lachlan with wild sex, falls pregnant, and then shows her snarky feminist side when Doug leans over and places his hand on top of mine.

I give him a slightly startled smile as he says, “She’s not his type.”

“Oh,” I say inanely, because, well hell, it seems like this guy can see everything going on inside my head, and it’s kind of freaking me out. He sits back, gives me an assessing look, and then changes the subject.

“Lachlan says you’ve known each other forever.”

I nod, trying to take the lifeline he’s offering me. Shit, I really am a freak. I might be in love with my best friend, but it shouldn’t stop me from being friendly to everyone else.

“Our mothers met in the maternity ward. I was born the same day as his younger sister.”

“But you’re not best friends with Gail,” he says, referring to the woman with whom I share a birthday. It doesn’t really sound like a question, but I feel the need to answer him anyway.

“Not really.” Translation:
not at all
, but I’m trying to be nice. “Gail preferred more girl-type activities when we were kids. I preferred sports and dirt bikes.”

“All the stuff that Lachlan loved,” Doug says with a knowing smile. “So you followed him around like a lost little puppy?”

Ouch. Probably accurate, but still,
ouch!

“I…um… No. Well, maybe.” I can feel my cheeks heating in embarrassment. Is that the way Lachlan sees it? Was I that annoying little kid who followed him and his friends around? But we’re still friends twenty-seven years later, aren’t we? Surely he would have walked away by now if he didn’t actually like me. Unless, he feels an obligation, thinks of me as a sister. I can feel that familiar dread balling in my stomach, my breathing suddenly labored. I need more oxygen. I need more space. I discreetly place a hand over my stomach, trying to control the panic rising inside me. Fuck, am I just that little kid Lachlan always looked out for?

“Alicia,” Doug says, but my mind is still whirling from all the things I’d never really thought about that I barely register the word. I’m gasping for breath, trying to hide my reaction, trying to drag back that last shred of dignity. Fuck. “Alicia, look at me.” The voice is stern, almost cross, but it’s the hard flick against the tip of my finger that brings me back to the here and now.

“Ouch?” I say in a sort of questioning way, my swirling worries scattered, at least for the moment.

“How long have you been coping alone?” I give him a confused look, trying to bluff my way through, but he just asks his question again. “How long have you been coping with the panic attacks alone?”

I shake my head to deny having panic attacks.

“Don’t lie to me, Alicia. How long?”

I don’t really want to admit this to a stranger. Hell, I’ve never shared this stupid weakness of mine with anyone. Not even Lachlan knows how overwrought I can sometimes become inside my head. I’ve spent a lifetime hiding the physical effects from everyone. How did this man see me so clearly? As panic attacks went, this one was barely at the beginning. I flex my finger, the remembered sting helping me to stay grounded.

“All my life,” I finally whisper.

I’m a confident, professional, highly experienced accountant. I have clients ranging from comfortable middle class to seriously wealthy. I am damn good at my job. Admitting that sort of weakness goes against everything else I’ve worked to achieve. I blush again in embarrassment as panic sweeps through me once more. Did I really just admit out loud to having panic attacks?

I’m on the verge of another serious meltdown, but Doug squeezes my fingers rather hard and then changes the subject.

“Have you eaten here before?” He waits for me to shake my head slightly, caressing my knuckles in a gentle reminder that I have something else to focus on besides the endless questions and worries swirling inside my head. “They make a really spicy chicken dish that I can never resist. It practically burns off my taste buds every time but I just keep coming back.”

I shake my head and try to smile. “I’m not much into spicy dishes. I prefer to be able to taste my food.”

“Ah,” he says as if that answers some unspoken question.

I want to ask him what he means, but Lisa and Lachlan come back to the table before I can think of a way to phrase what is probably just a paranoid question. Lucky timing for me, I guess. Doug already knows I have panic attacks. I really don’t need to add paranoia to his list of my failings.

Lisa is smiling brightly, obviously besotted by the man she probably would have called a sexist pig if he hadn’t been so good looking. “Phew, that was fun,” she says as she waits for Lachlan to help her with her chair. Ever the gentleman, my best friend obliges.

I want to be sick—stupid pretend militant feminists. Where’s a real one when you need her?

Doug laughs quietly, apparently interpreting my body language correctly.

Dinner ends up going smoothly, even if it’s the exact opposite of what I wanted. We’re almost at the what-do-we-do-now awkwardness when Lisa finally shows her true colors. Okay, maybe it’s more of a flash than a show, but she has the busboy apologizing profusely for glancing at the flesh she has on obvious display. Apparently the young man didn’t pass her good-looking-enough test.

“Good grief,” Lisa says, sounding most aggrieved, “some people are just so rude.”

I want to point out that if she puts her damn jugs on display, people are going to look, but Lachlan beats me to it. “Doug and I have both spent the evening ogling your assets. Why can’t the busboy?”

I’m stunned by his well-worded and somewhat polite attack on his date. Lachlan is usually the type to behave cordially even when dealing with the most obnoxious people. It’s part of what I like most about him. While I’m stewing and second-guessing every word they’ve said, every comment I’ve made, and replaying in my mind every nuance of everyone’s body language, Lachlan usually continues on being polite. He often mentions his annoyance to me afterward, but never shows his irritation in public.

To see him react in such a way to what amounted to very little is quite enlightening.

“Told you she wasn’t his type,” Doug says in my ear as he helps me to stand. He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close to his body, as he adds, “But then you knew that, didn’t you?”

I’m not sure what to say. I’m not used to someone seeing through me so easily. I go to open my mouth, but Doug places a finger on my lips.

“Lie to me and I’ll spank your bottom.”

Okay, so now I know there is definitely something wrong with me. I actually find that threat appealing. And, fuck, judging by his reaction, Doug sees that reaction, too.

“We’re going to take off,” he says, speaking for me even though we’ve discussed no such thing. “I’ll see you next week, Lachlan. It was nice meeting you, Lisa.”

Lisa gives him a hopeful smile, perhaps deciding that even though she’s fucked up her chances with Lachlan that maybe Doug would be interested. It seems that Lisa is the type to flirt with a man even though he has his arm wrapped around me. Great. Next time I go looking for a feminist I’m going to refuse to believe her until I see the hairy legs for myself. Going without a bra does not a feminist make.

I barely wish them both a good-night before Doug practically drags me from the restaurant and into his car. Lachlan doesn’t object, so I know I’m safe with his friend, but I can’t help feeling a little overwhelmed. I have no idea what Doug is planning.