Secrets of You (6 page)

Eve kissed his neck and murmured, “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got a few ideas to help them along.”

***

“Did you really ride your motorcycle to California?”

Ash smiled at Quinn’s sister, Annie, and said, “Actually, it was New Mexico.” She was still the same energetic dynamo he remembered. Attractive. Compassionate. Ready to save the world, one disaster at a time.

“I think that’s incredible.” She laughed and forked a piece of pork tenderloin. “I’d have to know my destination so I could ship my clothes and hair products ahead of time.”

Ash laughed. “There usually isn’t a destination. It’s kind of a ‘see where the road takes you.’”

Annie’s husband, Michael, shook his head and settled his gaze in the vicinity of Ash’s neck.
“Yeah. Like in a ditch or splattered on asphalt.”

“Michael!” Annie turned to her husband and shot him a “how dare you” look. “What a horrible thing to say.”

Michael Sorbonne, doctor, husband, resident jerk, shrugged. “When you see what comes in the emergency room as a result of people trying to be free, you don’t think it’s so incredible.”

“I don’t think that’s the point, is it?” Quinn
Burnes cut a look at his brother-in-law that turned the man’s face purple.

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle,” Eve
Burnes added, throwing a smile Ash’s way. “But I have to agree with Annie, I’d make a poor traveler. Too much baggage, I guess.”

“Most people have too much baggage, dear,” Quinn said in an even tone. “But it doesn’t stop them from making the trip.”

Good old Quinn and his sharp tongue. Ash bet he’d been great in a courtroom—before he gave it up and became what some might consider a human being with feelings. His wife had brought about the transformation. Ash would like a word or two with her, find out how she achieved it. Burnes must really love her to give up the other lifestyle—the women, the cars, the chase. Ash could relate. He’d give just about anything for a chance to marry the woman beside him, even though at the moment she was silent, still, and pretending he were invisible.

“Speaking of trips,”—Eve
Burnes slid her gaze over Ash before landing on his ex-fiancée—“could you fit everything you needed in a saddlebag?”

Arianna shifted in her chair and fingered her wine glass. She didn’t quite meet Eve’s gaze, which was interesting since he’d thought they were friends. “I’ve never thought about it.”

An intriguing response and sadly, untrue. They’d discussed travel with limited space on numerous occasions, beginning and ending with Ash’s recommendations that less clothes were better, night clothes were unnecessary, and bras were optional. She’d feigned shock and tossed clothing at him with rapid fire—shirt, jeans, bra, panties. All the more enjoyable since they’d been on her person. Yet now she denied the mere thought of traveling with limited storage? Perhaps he should remind her, in detail, of what they’d done the last time the subject had come up. He remembered. All of it. The blonde hair partially covering her naked breasts, the narrow hips, the long legs. Ash cleared his throat. “Really? You never thought about it?” The pink creeping up Arianna’s neck told him she remembered everything.

“No. I’m really not interested in baggage.”

“Hmm.”
Are you interested in the sex that went into discussing the baggage?
He wanted to ask that question so damn bad his tongue burned. Let her pretend. Let her dismiss what they’d shared, or attempt to, because it wasn’t going away; he could tell from the spread of pink turned red along her neck and cheeks.

“I think the whole idea is romantic.” Annie clutched her husband’s hand and kissed him on the cheek. “No agendas, no deadlines.
No ‘on calls.’ Can you imagine that, Michael? It would be like living in another world.”

Her husband grunted and drained his wine glass. “I haven’t had the capacity for that kind of imagination since I was in grade school.”

“Then maybe that’s the problem.” Annie rubbed her jaw. “You’re so busy working on the next goal, you miss what’s in front of you.”

“Not everything, my sweet.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her temple. “I see the important things.”

“Just make sure my sister stays one of the important things”—Quinn Burnes worked his lips into an almost smile—“or use your imagination to figure out what happens if you don’t.”

Eve smothered her husband’s pseudo threat with a laugh.
“Quinn, really? Ash is going to think you’re serious.” She glanced at Ash and smiled. “Don’t mind my husband. He feels honor-bound to protect us all, even when we don’t need protecting.”

Ash’s lips twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

***

“The domestic life suits him.” Ash followed Arianna down the stone path of Quinn and Eve
Burnes’s home. Roses colored both sides of the walkway—red, pink, salmon, yellow, white, growing in clusters or solitary magnificence, climbing metal archways or tied to white lattice. Had Eve Burnes created this garden, or had Quinn done it? Not long ago, Ash would have laid a lot of money on Eve, but now he wasn’t so sure. If Ash were lucky enough to have another shot with Arianna, is this what would happen to him? Did he care? He stopped to touch the velvet petals of a white rose. There were worse things than growing flowers. “Who would have thought?”

Arianna paused and called over her shoulder, “A man who sings ‘
Hush Little Baby’
and paints his wife’s fingernails is well and truly domesticated.”

She was in front of him, making it hard to discern her words, or the meaning behind them. Had she just snickered? More importantly, had he heard her right? Of course not, but even as he doubted his hearing, he repeated what he knew could not be true.
“Painting fingernails?”

Another sound, lighter and higher than the last.
A definite snicker. “Eve says Quinn’s better than any manicurist she’s ever had.”

“I’m positive he would not want that secret repeated.” Their hushed voices reminded him of the intimate conversations they’d once shared—in and out of bed. He missed that.
A lot. And he planned to do his damnedest to get that back. If she’d give him a chance, he’d paint her fingernails
and
her toenails. Every week. For the next sixty years.

Arianna opened the wrought-iron gate and waited for him to pass through. “My car’s over there.” She pointed to
a silver Audi twenty feet away and pulled out her keys. “So”—her gaze landed on his chin—“have a good night.”

She turned and walked away, head high, shoulders back. Could she really just get in her car and drive away as though she didn’t care? As though they’d never meant anything to each other?
“Arianna?”

She paused, hand on the car door. When she looked up, he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes “Yes?”

So sad. So lonely. He reached her in four steps, lifted his hand to touch her, stopped. “Will you come with me tomorrow to meet Ian Debenidos?”

Those eyes flashed with confusion and something that looked an awful lot like panic. She inched back a step and shook her head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“You’re probably right. If you come, I’m going to remember the time we went to three different galleries to hunt down that designer who painted cigar boxes. And when we finally found his work, do you remember what happened next?”

She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth and fixed her gaze on him “You bought me one of his pieces.
Red with white and black swirls. I have it on my coffee table.”

“And after that?”
He needn’t pull from the dregs of his memory because the events lived in the center of his brain—vivid, real, pulsing.

Her voice fell to a whisper. “We bought croissants and a bottle of wine.”

Oh, yes, she remembered. “The croissants were stuffed with ham and cheese.”

“Horseradish cheese.”
Those full lips twitched. “And we had strawberries with cream.”

…which he fed to her, one delicious bite at a
time. When he kissed her, she tasted of strawberries and passion. When she sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, he made love to her, toppling the berries onto the white sheets… “I can never get enough of them.”
Or enough of you.

“I haven’t eaten them in over two years.”

Because of him, he guessed. Because they would remind her of
them.
“Bad reaction?”

The muscle in her jaw twitched. “You could say that.”

“Maybe they just need a little sugar.” Drizzled along her belly…

“Or maybe I need to avoid something that makes me sick.”

They both knew they were not talking about strawberries—they were talking about their relationship or rather, what had been their relationship before he disappeared. Ash dug his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t touch her and moved closer.

“Are you ever going to forgive me? Because if you could give me a little hope, no matter how small, that maybe someday you’d find a way to let me in your life again, I’d really appreciate it.” That sounded like begging. Damn, it
was
begging, but he didn’t care. He’d do anything for another shot.

Night sounds stretched around them as he stood before her with his heart at her feet. She stared at him, eyes bright, then cleared her throat and turned away. She was going to say
no
. It didn’t matter that he would never be able to forget her or that he’d broken the engagement to protect her. Even if he divulged the real reason for his leaving, what good would that do? Arianna was a private person and throwing her past life in front of her, one that included theft and a pregnancy, was not going to earn him any points and certainly not an opportunity for a second chance.

“Meet me at Ian’s tomorrow morning, 10:00
a.m
.” She opened her car door, slid inside, and drove away before Ash had a chance to respond.

Arianna grabbed her coffee and headed toward Ian’s gallery. The Frame was located ten minutes from the city in an upscale shopping plaza. Quinn said Ian Debenidos could spot talent and bullshit in less than five seconds, in people and their work, which made him one of Quinn’s favorite people. Ian liked Arianna’s work, called it “riveting and compelling,” and wanted to showcase her jade collection this fall. His findings appeared regularly in the Arts section of the Sunday paper, along with his bi-weekly commentary on man and art and the interrelationship between the two.

Why did Eve have to offer Arianna’s services to Ash? Couldn’t she tell from last night’s dinner that Arianna had no desire to be around him? Of course she could. Eve was very intuitive, especially about people and relationships. Hadn’t she been the one to see the real Quinn
Burnes behind the arrogance and bluster? And hadn’t she been the only woman to draw out the sensitive side of the man, make him admit he needed her, loved her even? Eve had been watching Ash and Arianna most carefully last night as though she were writing a thesis paper on rebuilding relationships gone bad.

Why hadn’t Quinn told Ash to go to hell and never come near Arianna again? She’d wanted him to do exactly that, wouldn’t have minded if he’d given the man a black eye. But he’d done neither. He’d actually asked in a roundabout way to consider giving Ash another chance.
Interesting, since Quinn usually attacked a situation head on, no dancing around or feigning. So why the unspoken suggestion to forgive and try again? Was he serious? It would be a disaster. She ignored the thumping in her chest. She had to keep her emotions vacuum-packed because if she didn’t, Ash would swoop in like a gush of air and invade her senses, smother her doubt, and capture her heart. Again.

She could not let him do that.

Could she?

Sleep hadn’t come last night, not when all she could think of was his plea for another chance, spoken in such earnest tones, those dark eyes filled with regret and a smattering of hope. He wanted to start again with the truth, not lies. He admitted he wasn’t who he said he was, but what he didn’t know was, neither was she.

And how exactly would she throw the truth at him? A truth he might think he wanted to know but wouldn’t, not the real story, unadorned, naked, covered in so many lies as to appear unrecognizable. If he knew who she’d been, what she’d done, would he still want a life with her? Marriage? Children? Or would he shun her as “trash” and accuse her of being the one who had betrayed
him
.

And if he did those things, would he be wrong?

The quest for self-respect never ended and no matter the awards, the write-ups in newspapers and magazines, the requests to design a new line for celebrities, she could not move past what she’d done. She’d betrayed her family, stolen from them and discarded them, all before she’d reached eighteen. It didn’t matter that she’d tried to repair the damage; her father would hear none of it. The money she sent was returned, though it was five times what she’d taken from them. There’d not even been a note with the return, just a simple
Void
slashed across the center.

She’d thought she could start anew and open up her heart to someone, and she’d thought Ash
Revelin would be that someone. But he’d left her, which deep down made her believe she wasn’t deserving of anyone’s love. When he walked back into her life a few days ago, she’d forgotten the pain of loving and losing him, forgotten who she really was, where she’d come from, and for the briefest moment, she’d let her heart embrace him…let a spark burst in her soul…and that was dangerous, because despite what she told him, despite the lies she told herself, she
could
love Ash again. Worse, maybe she’d never
stopped
loving him…