In Bed with the Bodyguard (18 page)

His brows raised. “You want me to help you run away? Nice, Ari.” The look on his face reminded her of one of the violent summer storms that came crashing through D.C. on hot afternoons.

The lump in her throat magically changed to angry fighting words that flowed out of her. “Well, what did you think? That'd you'd flash a diamond and I'd forget that you've been lying to me for weeks? How can I ever trust you again?” She yanked at the suitcase and managed to tug it off the bed onto the floor, smashing her shins in the process.

“Ari, do you know why I went to my boss today?” He didn't wait for her answer. “To tell him I was done spying. I told him I wouldn't do it anymore, and I told them you don't know where your dad is.” Since she couldn't hold her gaze on his eyes longer than a second, she kept her attention on his hands, which were curled into fists with white knuckles.

“That's nice, Lance, but it doesn't change the fact that we've been sleeping together, and all the while, you've been under orders to report details back to the feds. It's so sordid.” She couldn't look at him anymore. “I
knew
it would end like this. I knew I couldn't trust any man.”

“You can trust me, Ari. I swear.” His hands changed from fists to open palms, pleading, pointed in her direction.

She shook her head and dragged her suitcase a step to the door. “No. I can't do this right now. Let me go, Lance.” Her skin felt as if it would shatter if he tried to touch her, and her knees threatened to buckle under her.

He'd moved to block the doorway, and she attempted to push past him, but he stood like a wall. “Don't go, Arianna.”

She tried to push past him again, but the suitcase acted like an anchor. “Lance, don't do this. I'm leaving.”

Their eyes met, and finally he stepped aside, grabbing the suitcase to carry it downstairs to her car. It was hard to tell through her own tears, but it looked as if his eyes were glossy with tears also. She walked a few steps behind, biting her lip against saying anything more. In her current state of mind, she couldn't guarantee that she'd reject his apologies, and she needed to.

“This is good-bye, I guess.” She slipped around Lance and entered the car without once looking him in the eye again, scared of what she'd see. He stood by the hood of the car staring down at her as she sat holding back sobs while huddled in the driver's seat. His shadow fell on the car like a menacing dark cloud, which obviously mimicked his mood. Her own body felt weak and insubstantial, as if she couldn't harness the energy to lift her hands onto the steering wheel and control the car.

With great effort, she lifted heavy, shaking hands to turn the key, then drove one block before she pulled over to the side of the road. The dividing white and yellow lines on the street blurred from behind a curtain of tears, making driving hazardous.

She'd let Lance into her heart, knowing how vulnerable she was post-Dad scandal. If she had a psychiatry degree, she'd tell herself that her vulnerability made it easy for Lance to worm his way past her defenses. After all, he was a worm. A few more sobs escaped, then she took a deep breath and merged back into traffic on the road to who knew where.

W
here's Valerie tonight? I thought you always stayed home nights when you didn't have to sleep at the station,” Lance said, toying with his sweating bottle of Newcastle.

“She's busy with Arianna,” Jason said. “Or am I not allowed to say the name?”

Next to him, their friend, Sam Cooper, grinned.

Lance shrugged, although Jason's casual reference to his ex hurt like hell. “We're over. Her name doesn't mean anything.” Maybe if he said it enough times, his heart and brain would believe it.

“But you bought a ring? What the hell happened?” Jason asked.

He scowled at his bottle. “I don't know. I don't want to talk about it.” At least not with someone who knew how great Arianna was. The front legs of the wooden chair rose off the ground as he sat back and splayed his legs in front of him. In this corner of the room, he was mostly buffered from the crowds lining up at the bar. His navy suit fit right in with the crew of twenty-somethings talking animatedly over Coronas after work. None guessed he was a shark among them, the only one packing heat or capable of taking another human down with his bare hands.

Jason had invited him and their mutual friend, Sam, for Thursday happy hour. Actually,
invited
was a stretch. More like
ordered
. Lance had only agreed to come tonight because Jason's watering hole of choice was one where he wouldn't know anyone. Perfect. He'd blown off fellow-agent invitations to other bars closer to Sixteenth and Penn, knowing he was only going to take more ribbing on his brief but failed relationship with Stanley Rose's daughter.

He should've listened to them and his gut from the start. He was the only idiot in the world not to have seen this coming. Him, a law enforcement agent, and
Arianna Rose
. It had disaster written all over it. Everyone knew it. Everyone except him.

He'd been back at work exactly one week, and he was miserable. Everything he'd thought he wanted no longer satisfied. Distraction and irritability ruled the day; not a good thing when his life and the president's life relied on his attention to detail. If he kept it up, he was due for a meet-and-yell with Sullivan.

Missing Arianna was like an itch in the middle of his back he couldn't reach: always with him and irritating as hell. He knew she was okay from speaking with Jason, but he wanted to see her for himself. “Sorry I'm not better company,” he said.

“It's okay. It's kind of fascinating to see you like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“You always have your shit together, especially with women. You don't let any of them affect you, and, boy, do they want to. When we first met, I was jealous of you, figuring you were a much better fit for Valerie, yet you didn't want her. Now I see that it wasn't Valerie you didn't want. You didn't want to get serious with any woman.”

Sam kept silent, but was obviously listening intently to the conversation, turning his head from Lance to Jason as if watching a tennis match. Damn FBI agent. He'd refused to say one word about Arianna, claiming he owed his loyalty to her, as they were old high school friends.

Lance shrugged, uncomfortable with Jason's analysis. He'd been accused of that kind of aloofness before, although mostly from people who knew him as Lance Brown of the MarketFresh Browns. Arianna was the only person who'd managed to get under his skin and ruffle his feathers; yet another reason he was better off without her. He'd been forging reasons, lies, to comfort himself with her absence. Or maybe they weren't lies. Maybe it was evidence of why he needed to let his misery go and move on.

“Maybe you should call her,” Jason said. He tilted his head. “Have you tried before?”

“No. I figured I'd give her a cooling-off period to get over her anger, but now…? I don't know. I think she hates me and certainly doesn't trust me. What can I say to counter that?” He took a long pull of his drink and surveyed the room. “Maybe I need to get back in the game.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asked uneasily. Damn happily married man.

“The dating game. I haven't had—well, you know… since Ari walked out. Maybe I need to get laid.”

His friend eyed him dubiously. “Less than two weeks ago you had a ring, ready to propose, and now you want to go pick up women?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Sam looking uncomfortable at his mention of dating other women. He frowned, knowing he was coming off as an ass, and guessing that anything he did tonight Sam would report back to Ari, even if Jason didn't. Maybe it was the four beers, maybe it was the pain of Arianna's absence, but he couldn't make himself care. He pointed at Sam. “Don't look so smug. Someday, some woman is going to knock you on your ass, and don't come crying to me for sympathy.”

“I've been on my ass since I was fifteen,” Sam muttered. “You haven't seen me crying, right?”

Lance didn't understand Sam's cryptic comment and he shrugged it aside. “I'm going to need to start dating sometime; why not tonight?”

Jason leaned back in his chair and gestured widely to the room. “I'm trying to be your friend here. Not Valerie's husband. Not Arianna's friend.
Your
friend. If you think sleeping with some girl will help you, then have at them. They're all legal, but don't expect me to approve, and I can't promise not to tell Val.”

“Fine.” He polished off the last warm drops of his beer and stood up, swaying slightly. Women of all shapes and sizes clustered the room in groups of two or more. Some nursed longneck beers and others opted for sexier, more colorful drinks in fancy glasses. Ari would be one of those girls. He needed someone different, a beer drinker—maybe the brunette in the boring black suit Arianna wouldn't be caught doing laundry in.

He took a breath and walked up to the brunette and her friend, but vicious guilt stabbed him as if he'd be cheating on Arianna. He turned around and headed back for the table.

Jason nearly knocked his beer bottle over from laughing. “Smooth, Lance. Really smooth.”

“Shut it,” he said, and shot a triumphant look at Jason when the two girls made their way over to the table anyway. Not that he particularly wanted them there, but he still had it.

“Ladies,” he said with a curt nod.

“Grab a chair.” Jason winked at him, stood, and pulled out one of the chairs.

Lance remained seated, but the other girl didn't seem to notice his rudeness and sat down anyway.

“Hi. Do you mind if we join you? I'm Jennifer and this is my friend Harper.” They gazed at him from behind the brown glass bottles of their drinks, coy smiles on their lips.

“Nice to meet you. Do you work around here?”

Harper sighed. “No. We're summer interns on the Hill. We arrived yesterday and we're renting a place here in Virginia.”

“From where?” Jason asked, casually laying his hand with the gleaming gold band on the table.

“North Carolina.” She giggled, as if there was something inherently funny about North Carolina.

Lance tried to smile back, but his facial muscles felt tight, unused. “How do you like Washington?”

“It's great,” Jennifer said. “The city is so impressive and old with all the monuments and stuff.”

“Yeah, it's pretty cool.”

“Not as cool as where you work, right, Lance?” Jason said. “Or even you, Sam.”

Shit, why had Jason said that? Now he'd have to stay and answer a million questions about his job or risk looking like an ass. He nodded.

“Where do you work?” Harper asked.

Jason leaned over the table to smile conspiratorially at the women. “Sam is an FBI agent, and”—he pointed at Lance—“he works at the White House. Or, more accurately, he works wherever the president is. He's a Secret Service agent.” He leaned back and gave a snarky smile at Lance, daring him to up his mojo. Damn it. It was one thing to say you were going to reenter the dating world; it was another to actually flirt with women. Though these two were really more girls.

Lance's fingers crept toward the gun under his suit jacket, then remembered he didn't have it. Alcohol and firearms was a no-no. But if he had had it and laid it on the table, would Jason have shut the hell up? Nah, more likely the girls would shriek loud enough to shatter the beer bottles. He forced his hand back down to massage his thigh, which had been aching nightly following long workdays.

“No way. Have you met the president?” Jennifer asked, wide-eyed.

He nodded, wishing he could claim Jason had lied and that he was a lobbyist or something. “Yes, I'm on his detail.”

“Wow. That's so interesting.” Both girls smiled brightly at him and he realized he felt like a dirty old man sitting with them. Who the hell had he been kidding? He didn't want to sleep with Jennifer or her friend Holly Hobby, or whatever her name was. The only woman spiking his blood to fever pitch these days was Arianna Rose.

Jennifer scooted closer and ran a hand over his forearm. When she reached to toy with his red striped tie, he shoved back in his chair.

“Do you wear bulletproof vests? Are you wearing one now, or are you that muscular?”

Shit, she was flirting with him. He took a deep breath and forced himself to be polite. “If the situation warrants it, yeah, I wear one.”

She gave him a smooth smile that told him she'd be his if he wanted her. He pulled out the bar menu to study it.

His stomach rebelled at the thought of sitting much longer in conversation with these two nice, albeit boring, women. He'd much rather be home mooning over the memory of Ari in his bed than sitting in the hot and crowded bar pretending to care what these women said. Was this what his future held, then? Pining for Ari, while feigning interest in other women? Christ, he might remain celibate for the remainder of his days.

Short, polished fingernails slipped over the top of the menu, pulling it down to the tabletop. “We're thinking of ordering some nachos. Want to share?” Jennifer asked.

“I'll share nachos,” Sam volunteered, but Jason ignored the rest of the exchange because he'd looked up and caught a glimpse above Jennifer's head of one of the three gray, flat television screens hanging on the wall over the bar. Sports games played on all but one, where a familiar sexy redhead sat on a couch talking with a coiffed, polished reporter.
What the hell?

He rose from the table, pushing one of the girls' chairs to the side in his effort to get close enough to hear the television. What was Arianna doing on television? Had her father been caught? Nah, he would've heard about Stanley Rose's capture at work.

The shouts of drink orders and dozens of conversations surrounding the bar made hearing Ari damn near impossible. Again he contemplated pulling out his Secret Service credentials and ordering people to shut the hell up. He had enough sober brain cells left to recognize the stupidity of that plan.

He signaled for the bartender's attention, leaning up on the slightly sticky chest-high wooden counter. “Hey, can you please turn up the volume or put on the closed caption?”

“Sure thing.”

It took only a moment of watching to realize Ari was on live television giving her side of the story and countering every one of Sorenson's lies. Brilliant PR move. It had the mark of Valerie all over it. So that's why Jason had been so coy about Valerie's whereabouts. With Ari's charm and vivid beauty, she'd be America's darling by tomorrow morning.

He stood leaning against the bar transfixed, watching Ari's brave interview. Seeing her was amazing; he only wished he could hear her musical, sweet voice better, but the dull roar of the crowd made it difficult.

When feminine arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, he tried shrugging them off, but Jennifer was persistent. “You abandoned us.”

He put a finger to his lips and gestured at the TV, but she didn't care or didn't get it.

“You can watch TV anytime. Come back to the table with me.”

He took his eyes off the screen for five reluctant seconds. “Look, Jennifer. You seem like a nice girl. I'll tell you the truth. You have zero chance with me tonight.” He pointed up at the on-screen Ari. “That woman up there is the only woman I'm interested in being with. Okay?” Without waiting for her reply, he turned back to focus on Ari.

Relief calmed him as Jennifer walked back to the table, leaving him alone. Who the hell had he been kidding? Dating? Back in the game? Yeah, right. He needed Ari back.

Ari unclipped the mini black microphone off her turquoise blouse with fingers that had finally stopped shaking halfway through the interview. “How do you think it went?” she said. Distantly in the dark shadows behind the camera, she saw Valerie giving her two thumbs up.

“It went beautifully. You're a natural on camera.” Yvonne, a hungry shark of an NBC journalist, gave her a compliment that contrasted sharply with the fifteen minutes of grueling on-screen questions Ari had endured.

“Thank you.” She stumbled off the set into Val's embrace, grateful to be through with the interview. If she never had to say the words
innocent
or
shocked
again, it would be fine with her. She'd stuck to Valerie's key talking points accurately, and the only stumbling block had been when Yvonne asked her to comment on the rumors she was sleeping with one of the members of the FBI investigation team.

It wasn't hard to imagine how that rumor got started, but denying it unleashed a flood of suppressed feelings for Lance right in the middle of the interview. Luckily for her, Yvonne, and hopefully the American viewing audience, would think her tears were the result of getting screwed by Stanley Rose, not from missing her lover.

And miss him she did. She'd hidden it well the last week, since she'd been busy preparing for her show and the TV interview. Who had time for an emotional breakdown? However, when Yvonne had asked about her relationship with a certain government agent, the aching memory of Lance wouldn't dissipate.