With Every Breath (4 page)

She jabbed her finger just above his overlapped arms so that it met the solid wall of his chest, accentuating every word with another jab.

“I.”
Poke
. “Don't.”
Poke
. “Ever.”
Jab
. “Want.”
Jab
. “To.”
Poke
. “See.”
Poke
. “You ever, ever,
ever
again!” She balled her fist and punched him as she said the last.

He threw back his head and laughed. It took every bit of her discipline not to let her mouth drop open and stare shamelessly at the sight. Because Sterling actually smiling, as in a real honest-to-God smile, was a sight enough in itself, but him laughing? Holy hell but him smiling
and
laughing was a very beautiful thing indeed.
He
was beautiful.

“Keep telling yourself that, Eliza,” he said, his eyes still sparking with laughter. “If you tell yourself often enough you might even start believing your lies.”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” she muttered, turning on her heel to stalk past him so she could be rid of him.

But once again he caught her arm, though his grasp was gentle. Gentle, but no less confining. His thumb stroked gently over her upper arm, softly caressing the bare skin under the short sleeve of her T-shirt, and it did funny, ridiculous things to her pulse. She tried to yank away, but his grip only tightened, again, not a bruising manhandling-type grip, but one that prevented her from freeing herself, nonetheless.

She glared at him in silence and then looked pointedly down at her arm. He either didn't get that particular message or refused to acknowledge it.

“Gracie's opening is tonight. I trust you'll be there.”

It wasn't a question. In no way was it a question or even a polite
request
. It was an order and Eliza did not take orders very well at all. Even Dane didn't order her around and he was her partner and boss of sorts.

“As a matter of fact, I have other plans,” she said sweetly. “Important plans that I can't cancel. Job related. I'm sure Gracie will understand.”

Sterling's presence would be enough to make her cry off the exhibit but throw in the fact that Gracie could read her mind? No way in hell she'd be caught dead in attendance.

Sterling's face suddenly became rock hard, his eyes turning glacial, all hint of amusement and laughter gone, as was his smile. “Let there be no mistake, Eliza. You
will
be there tonight even if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you cursing and making threats against humanity the entire way. This means everything to Gracie and all she wants is the support of the people she cares about and
thinks
care about her. Whatever your issue with Gracie is I suggest you do your best to ensure she knows nothing about it. It will hurt her if you refuse to come and I won't allow Gracie to ever be hurt by anyone again. Are we understood?”

Eliza looked at him in shock. “I don't have anything against Gracie! I love her dearly. Where on earth would you get the idea that I have a problem with her? Just because I can't make it to her opening doesn't mean I don't like her. I'm not going because I can't. I have something important to do tonight. Something I can't postpone.”

Sterling shrugged. “I suggest you find a way to do just that. You can't hide from me, Eliza. And if you think I was making an idle threat, one I have no intention of following through on, you should know me better than that by now. I
will
find you and I
will
bring you to the exhibit no matter how you're dressed. My advice? Dress appropriately and be there promptly when it begins and paste a smile on that pretty face of yours and at least act like you're enjoying yourself and that you're supporting the woman who calls you her friend.”

“What gives you the right to rearrange my life to suit your wants?” she snapped. “I'm not one of your little bimbos who flutters her eyelashes and gives in to your every whim and allows you all the control.”

He barked out a laugh. “As if. A man would be a fool to ever think you'd be a simpering, timid, submissive woman without a mind and will of her own. But, Eliza, do not test me on this,” he said, his voice growing somber and gravely serious. His eyes bore intently into hers and the unsettled feeling in her stomach grew until all her insides were knotted with panic.

“Good God, you mean it,” she whispered, horrified.

“Bet your pretty little ass I do,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Have I ever bluffed, Eliza? Have I ever stood down from any promise I've made? Veered from the course I've sworn to follow? Not followed through on any action I've decided on?”

“No,” she said faintly, a sinking feeling of doom clenching her stomach.

She just wanted to run and hide in her apartment, and she was not someone who ever hid from anything. She confronted her problems, her fears, and she never backed down. But Wade Sterling was a problem unlike any she'd ever encountered and if she knew one thing at all about this infuriating, pain-in-the-ass man, was that he wouldn't simply go away. No wasn't an answer he was accustomed to nor was it a word in his vocabulary unless he was the one using it.

Which meant that if she didn't want a very ugly, very embarrassing, humiliating scene tonight, she was going to have to find a dress and appropriate shoes, neither of which she owned. Fast.

Further proof that the man was a mind reader in his own right, either that or extremely intuitive, he suddenly did that half smirk, half grin thing she was far more accustomed to than the full on, teeth-baring smile she'd witnessed earlier.

“I took the liberty of having an appropriate dress, shoes and all of the accessories delivered to your apartment. Expect them within the hour. And may I say, Eliza, you are going to look stunning in what I picked out.”

FOUR

ONLY
because she didn't want
more
speculation among her coworkers that something was definitely up with her, something she wasn't sharing—and planned to keep it that way—did Eliza grudgingly put on the dress, shoes and accessories Sterling had delivered to her apartment as she got ready for what she already considered a night in hell. Or so she told herself, knowing that her feminine ego had been just a little stroked by the fact Sterling had told her with none of his typical, arrogant smugness that she would look fantastic in what he'd picked out for her. No, his gaze had smoldered, and he'd been completely serious and worse, he'd also looked as though he was
interested
in and couldn't
wait
to see the results of his handiwork. And so, like a damn girl, even though she despised the man, she'd seen definite male appreciation in his sexy gaze, and it appealed to her feminine ego to further tempt the beast with what he'd never have a shot at, so she'd not only worn the gorgeous, ridiculously expensive dress—sans bra because she was in a particularly wicked mood—but she'd also taken extra effort with her hair and makeup, which disgusted her because she didn't want it to be blatantly obvious she wanted to look good. For
him
. Because she did not give one fuck when it came to her looks nor did she have a clue what looked good on her, something apparently Sterling felt
he
knew. And since he'd taken the liberty of choosing her wardrobe, he would hardly be able to find fault with her appearance tonight. She just hoped to hell she could avoid him
and
Gracie, make an appearance and then exit as gracefully and as unnoticed as possible.

Jesus, but she was the worst sort of idiot for even contemplating knocking Wade Sterling down a few notches and making him swallow his sharp tongue. She didn't have time for making cute, being a tease with no intention of following through on the promise this damn dress offered not only to Sterling, but to any man. Gah! She hadn't even considered the “other men” in the equation. Not that she had to worry about the guys she worked for. To them, she was one of them. But whoever else was in attendance wouldn't be able to look at her sexy vamp look and remotely think,
oh yeah, she's one of the guys
.

A prickle irritated her nape and she frowned at the sudden, unwelcome thought that for once, just one night, she didn't want to be one of the guys. She was a woman even if she'd refused to give in to most parts of her femininity after the disaster that was Thomas. And now, when he was about to become a free man, unleashed on hapless women he would victimize, she suddenly wanted to reclaim everything he'd stolen from her? She had to be out of her goddamn mind.

She should have gotten laid a long time ago and gotten it done with. But Thomas Harrington controlled her from behind bars every bit as much as he had when he was a free man, and that fact disgusted her most of all.

Eliza pulled up to Joie de Vivre in the “swanky” part of Westheimer, as she termed it. Everything about the businesses, and even buildings, looked so new and shiny to practically scream wealth, power, influence. In other words,
swank
. And it was definitely a place she didn't belong.

Reluctantly, she got out of her car, opting to have parked a block away rather than use the valet service Sterling had installed for the occasion. When it was time for her to ditch the event and get the hell out before drawing undue notice, the last thing she wanted was to have to wait in line for her car. Kind of defeated the purpose of fleeing in the first place.

She glanced critically down her body, biting her lips in vexation. Oh the dress fit. Even her heels fit, and they were the likes of which she'd never be caught dead in, but she'd fallen in love with them the moment she'd pulled them reverently from the elegant box they'd arrived in. Apparently it was get-in-touch-with-Eliza's-feminine-side night.

She shimmered in silver from head to toe. Even her shoes sparkled and twinkled when they caught the light just so. The dressed was extremely formfitting, and yet somehow seemed to give the illusion of flowing motion when she moved, sending a glittery flash that enchanted her.

The thin material cupped her breasts lovingly in a seeming caress. Much like a man's palms gently cupping and molding her breasts.

Now where the hell had that thought come from? And why the fuck had the hands in question belonged to Sterling?

Her cheeks were blazing and she subconsciously ducked her head in case she ran in to anyone she knew on the walk to the studio.

The dress was modest—again, when it wasn't on her! By most standards. Anyone looking at only the dress on a hanger would likely think the dress plain, dull even, that it covered far too much. Not sexy enough. Too simple.

Eliza had thought the same and had been oddly grateful to Sterling for not having her outfitted like a tramp. That thought quickly evaporated when she'd put on the dress to get ready tonight. On the right person, the dress turned into a study in seduction. It outlined in stunning clarity just how large her breasts were, their shape, size. She prayed it wouldn't be cold inside the gallery because if her nipples puckered, she was walking out and when she got home she'd burn the damn dress. Hell, she was burning it after tonight anyway.

In another time, under different circumstances, if she'd had such an opportunity to wear such a beautiful, provocative dress, she would have embraced and gloried in it. She would have had fun with it and enjoyed herself. Maybe even done a little flirting. But then, she thought she would forever be free of Thomas, free of her humiliating past, and she'd been more than ready to finally embrace her present, was even looking forward to a future, something she would have never contemplated having. Firmly ensconced in her new life with a wealth of good friends and coworkers—the very best kind of people—she'd relaxed, become complacent and allowed herself the luxury of thinking that maybe, just
maybe
, she could leave Thomas and everything associated with him in the past, get the fuck over it, move forward and finally step into the sun.

How stupid and naïve she continued to be when those were the very things she'd sworn never to be a victim of again. What was the saying? You could never outrun your past because it inevitably caught up to you when you least expected it. And there was no such thing as absolution. Not for the wrongs
she'd
committed, had been complicit in. There was always a price to pay for the mistakes you made. She could delay them but never escape them.

Oh well, one more night to get through and then tomorrow . . . A wave of grief consumed her. Tomorrow was the big staff meeting at DSS. Her plans were completed. Arrangements made. Everything she needed, weapons and intel she'd meticulously gathered, careful to ensure no one,
especially
Dane, ever discovered all the things she'd so carefully collected starting the morning she'd received the call from the DA.

At least she'd get to see Ari, Ramie and Tori—provided Tori hadn't opted out of the evening—say goodbye, even if she didn't voice that farewell. She'd see them, commit their faces, their love, loyalty and friendship to memory. Pain surged as she crossed the street, drawing closer to the gallery. Except Gracie. She had to avoid Gracie at all costs. Simply seeing her from afar would have to suffice. Later. When she had made her escape, she would send Gracie a letter and say goodbye.

Then tomorrow morning, she'd see everyone she'd worked with the past several years, including being introduced to the new recruits, proof of DSS's—and Caleb, Beau and Dane's—commitment to hiring only the best and as many of the best as they could pull into the expanding security system.

She paused at the gallery door, noticing that it was already a packed house. Deciding to be “fashionably late” had been a good idea after all. Less chance of being cornered by too many friends all giving her the stare down she'd grown accustomed to over the past week. Her nerves were so frayed that there was no way she'd be able to withstand a full-scale assault from all the people who mattered to her. Just like she mattered to them.