In Bed with the Bodyguard (14 page)

Lance took a breath and stayed focused on her, even though the light had turned and cars behind them honked. “You're not ready to hear this yet, but I'll say it anyway. Having fallback money was nice, but you're better off without it. Now you can be on your own, counting on yourself without anyone looking over your shoulder or questioning your decisions.”

She leaned over to touch the steering wheel and pointed at the green light. Lance may have meant well, but he was right, she wasn't ready to hear it now. “You're only saying that because the money came from my father.”

He frowned and started to drive. “That's not why I said it, but yeah, living on stolen money is not a good thing.”

“Pull over.” Without looking to the next lane, she tugged on the steering wheel to move the car to the curb.

Lance yanked in the opposite direction, saving them from sideswiping a minivan. “Don't overreact, Ari.”

“Don't be such a government suit, Lance.” She turned her back to him best as she could in her tiny car. What had possessed her to buy such a tiny thing? With a bigger car she could've climbed into the backseat even in moving traffic to avoid Lance's commentary. She knew she was behaving badly, but was it wrong to want silence or a simple listening ear?

“Stop taking your frustration with your mother out on me. You're acting like a spoiled child.” He calmly continued driving.

She turned back to him in a fury and let her angry words flow, ignoring the warning bell in her brain that told her Lance was dead-on accurate. “So now the truth comes out.”

“What truth?”

“You think I'm a spoiled brat, no better than my thieving, conniving father.” Her voice was so shrill and harsh, she half expected the front windshield to shatter from the sound. “Why did you even sleep with me? Did the government put you up to it? Are they hoping I get chatty during pillow talk and spill my father's whereabouts?”

At last her angry words cracked Lance's calm façade. He jerked the steering wheel over to the right, cutting off a car, and stopped with a heart-pounding lurch at the curb. She braced herself for the tongue lashing she was sure Lance would deliver, but he sat silently holding the steering wheel and staring straight ahead out the glass. He managed to hold on to his temper when she would've snapped. Had, in fact, snapped.

A swirling mix of emotion filled her: annoyance and frustration at her mother, fury at her father, and concern for Lance. She sat in silence waiting for Lance to yell, to speak, to do anything other than stare out the window and hold the steering wheel so tightly, she feared it would break. Finally, he turned to face her.

“Don't sell yourself short, Ari. Do I hate that your trust fund came from your father's crimes? Hell, yes, but that's not why I think you're better off without it.” He paused as though having an internal struggle over what to say next. “I was trying to tell you that if you go for it on your own, make your own money, then you have only yourself to answer to. It's a great feeling.”

Ari studied him curiously. She guessed the blanks in his explanation were closely tied to his own experience of shedding his parents' money and expectations and forging his own path in the Secret Service, but since he'd never admitted to being from a wealthy family, she couldn't admit she knew.

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging. She wasn't ready to apologize yet, but he'd given her something to mull over. Perhaps her mother's idea wasn't such a bad one. She could make a lot of useful contacts at the charity benefit tonight. All she needed was a dress and a date. “You can drive again. I promise I'll stop ranting.”

He didn't restart the car, but instead sat stiffly in the driver's seat staring out the windshield. “Lance? You okay?” she asked.

It took another minute before he spoke. “Ari, there's something I haven't told you.”

“What's that?” There was one big thing he hadn't told her yet, and it was all about his wealthy family. She assumed that was what he was about to say, but she held her tongue, letting him guide the big reveal.

Lance swiveled in the driver's seat, and her stomach did a happy flip-flop as she was struck again by his handsome face. He didn't have a Hollywood prettiness. He was all male and compelling. “Ari, when I said you'll be happier when you make your own money, I wasn't hypothesizing. I was speaking from experience.”

“Oh?” Burgeoning excitement built in her. This was it. His big confession. He looked so agonized, she needed to comfort him, and stroked a palm down his right arm.

“My family has money,” he blurted. “A lot.”

She kept silent, waiting for him to share more. And really, what was there to say to his statement? His familial wealth really didn't matter to her all that much. It was simply one more facet to Lance.

“I didn't tell you before because people change when they know who my family is. They treat me differently.”

“I know what that's like,” Ari muttered.

He smiled faintly. “I bet you do.”

“It's been eye-opening,” she said, “interacting with people who fawned over me when I was wealthy investment guru Stanley Rose's daughter. And when the shit hit the fan, I learned who my true friends are.”

He nodded. “That's why I tend to wait before telling people. But I also have two strikes against me. If the wealthy thing doesn't affect people's opinion, the Secret Service thing makes an impression. It's like I'm the head narc.”

“Is that why you broke off your engagement?” she asked.

“No. I wasn't an agent at the time.”

“No, I meant because of your wealth.”

“Yeah. I overheard her talking to a friend about landing the richest guy in school. Like she'd gone fishing and caught the big one.” He made a wry face. “Irony is, she probably would've dumped me after I refused to go into the family business and applied to be an agent. It wouldn't have fit her dream life.”

“Well, then, I have a confession.”

He raised a questioning brow at her. “I'm almost scared to find out.”

She laughed, surprised she was able to find humor at all this afternoon. One would've thought her mother had bled anything funny out of her. “I knew,” she said simply.

“Knew what?”

“I already knew that your family owns MarketFresh. You probably have more money than my father stole.”

“When did you find out?” He suddenly looked guarded, and it wasn't a look she liked on him. She hadn't seen it since the night they'd met.

“I wheedled it out of Valerie the other day.” She saw him doing the mental calculations and adding up the fact they'd already slept together before she knew he had money. He visibly relaxed. “Who started the business? Your father?” she asked, curious about his family history.

“No. It was my grandfather who turned a local neighborhood market into a regional grocery chain, my father took it to the entire nation, and my sister took it even bigger.”

He met Arianna's questioning gaze fearlessly.

“Where do you fit in that picture?” she asked.

“My father groomed me to take over the company, but I fought him every step of the way.”

“You wanted to be a Secret Service agent.”

He nodded. “I spent a few weeks with Nana in eighth grade, visited the White House, found my calling, and never looked back.” He gave her a wry look. “I can't believe you knew about my family already. Why didn't you say something?”

She shrugged. “There was nothing to say. Your family's wealth doesn't affect my feelings for you.”

He didn't say anything, but she could tell she'd have to prove her claim. He'd been burned one too many times. Boy, they were a pair. He thought most women were after his family's money and she didn't know if she could ever fully trust a man after the number her father did on her psyche. If her own father could steal her money and throw her to the wolves of the media, it meant any man could do the same. They sat in silence, because words weren't enough to build trust. It took time. It took action.

Speaking of action…

She turned to Lance again. “Do you have a tuxedo?”

“What?” A tuxedo? Why was she asking that? He was still reeling from the fact that Ari had known about his family and said nothing. Now she wanted to know if he owned a tuxedo. He did, in fact, have a custom Armani tuxedo. It was practically a required uniform for the son of the MarketFresh Browns.

He pulled back into traffic and concentrated on weaving his way around a stopped delivery van that was blocking a lane.

Ari's comments had rattled him badly. Might she be one of the few women in the world who didn't give a shit about his family's wealth? He'd spilled the secret, fully expecting the result would be a request for money. He'd both dreaded and wished for it, because the minute Ari asked to borrow money, he'd assuage the guilt he felt over spying on her for the feds. Yep, call him king of the self-defeating behaviors. He knew it, but hadn't figured out a way to change. Old habits die hard.

“
Do
you have a tuxedo?” Ari repeated, gazing at him curiously from the passenger seat.

His fingers flexed involuntarily on the leather wheel, and he glanced away from traffic for a second to toss her a wry look. “Of course I have a tuxedo. Why do I need one?”

“We're going out tonight.”

His gut cramped. Any place that required a tuxedo was guaranteed to get him recognized as a MarketFresh Brown. It'd be the first time in public with Arianna in which he was Lance Brown, not Secret Service agent Lance. “I don't think so. We don't have any leads on your little stalker problem. What if he follows you tonight? You ready to potentially get shit thrown on you again, only this time in public?”

She snorted. “Lance, we're talking about a charity benefit with the who's who of Washington. There'll be more security there than at the local precinct.” She smiled. “Hey, maybe you'll know someone.”

“Maybe.” Of course he'd know people there. “Are you talking about the security people or the attendees? Because I'll probably know both.”

She smiled. “That's right. You really straddle a lot of worlds, don't you?”

“I do, and it's not always fun when the worlds collide. I don't really want to go to any charity benefit. I go to a lot of those for my job, but I get paid to attend. Scanning the crowd for threats is a hell of a lot more fun than schmoozing.”

Her fingertips trailed softly down his forearm. “Please come. I'll feel much braver if you're there. Pretty please,” she wheedled.

He couldn't really say no when she touched him and begged. “Fine.” He was starting to think there was nothing he'd say no to if she was doing the asking.

Sure, he'd told Sullivan he'd keep an eye on Arianna to shorten his medical leave time, but now he was with her for entirely different reasons. He stayed because he was starting to like Arianna Rose; like her much more than any Secret Service agent had the right to like the daughter of a wanted fugitive. Jesus, he had to keep his head in the game and stay focused if he wanted to get back to work in the next few weeks, but it was difficult. She'd kind of rocked his world when she'd confessed to knowing about his wealth, and claimed it didn't affect her feelings for him. He'd had other women claim the same, but he hadn't believed them the way he believed Arianna.

“Will your dad be at the benefit?” she asked unexpectedly.

His foot hit the brake overly enthusiastically and they lurched forward. “My dad? What makes you ask that?”

“I just remembered you had dinner with him last night and brunch this morning. I assumed he might be in town for tonight's gala.”

“I have no idea.” He kept driving, staring straight ahead.

“He didn't tell you why he was in town? Where did you go for dinner?”

He gritted his teeth and said nothing.

“Lance, are you okay? Why'd you get so tense all of a sudden?”

“I'm fine.”

“Uh-huh. If you're so fine, tell me about dinner last night with your father, or is that some sort of state secret?”

“What about it?” Maybe he should confess the truth about his role spying on her. It would be an easier conversation than talking about his parents, and then he could stop feeling guilty.

“Um, I don't know. Tell me anything. Throw me a bone; I'm trying to take my mind off my own financial woes.” Arianna's impatience with his closed-off attitude bled through her tone. “Can you at least tell me where you ate?”

“The Palm.”

“And?”

“And what?” What else could he tell her? That they'd each had a steak while sitting in his father's favorite booth under a signed caricature of Ronald Reagan?

“What did you eat? What did you talk about?”

“Jesus, you're such a girl. What do you think happened? We shared a side salad and a small steak, drank apple martinis and braided each other's hair.”

“Really?”

“No. We each had a sixteen-ounce strip steak, a baked potato, and said nothing more than ‘pass the salt.' That's what men do.”

“But he's your dad.”

He speared her with a long, piercing look. “And when's the last time you and
your
father had a heart-to-heart?”

“Point taken.” Ari slid lower in her seat. “I had a visual of you and your dad talking politics, sports, women…like on a sitcom or something.”

“Well, you of all people know that's purely Hollywood bullshit. The only thing we talked about was my job. As usual.” Lance clamped his lips shut; he'd already said too much. Ari didn't need to know that his father saw his temporary leave of absence from work as a great thing and an opportunity to part ways with the Service and go into the private sector.

She brightened. “Oh, he must be proud of you for saving the president's life.”