Escorted (27 page)

“I know.” She
felt shy and a kind of squirmy for some reason. “I’m not saying it’s something
I believe. I just
feel
that way sometimes. And sometimes I wish...I wish
you didn't always have to be the teacher. I wish there was something I could
teach
you
.”

Her voice faded
off on the last words, as she was mostly speaking to herself. She stared at the
concrete and processed what she’d just said.

But Ander
suddenly grew tense and he moved a hand to her face, lifting it so she was
looking into his eyes. “Lori,” he said, his voice unexpectedly thick. “Do you
have any idea what you’ve taught me?”

Lori’s mouth
fell open again. “What?” she breathed, her pulse starting to pound frantically.

For just a
moment, she thought she would drown in his eyes. They looked more gray than
blue in the lowering light and they held such depth she couldn’t begin to
understand them.

Then his mouth
quirked up with a dry humor she recognized. She usually loved his sense of
humor but the sight of it now made her want to scream—since it meant his mood
had shifted from the delicious tension of a moment ago.

Ander murmured
something that might have been the truth, but was obviously not what he’d
originally intended. “You’ve taught me how to research Asian fans.”

*
* *

As they walked the last two
blocks to the restaurant, Lori’s high spirits returned with the quicksilver
variability that seemed to define her time spent with Ander over the last few
weeks.

She was
actually giggling as they walked into the small, candle-lit restaurant. The air
smelled like garlic and delightful music played in the background. A genial
Mediterranean-looking man greeted Ander by name and turned to Lori with a
blinking smile that looked vaguely surprised.

Lori loved the
place immediately.

There weren’t
very many tables and evidently all of them were taken. The host was extremely
apologetic and offered them a complimentary drink while they waited a few
minutes for one of the tables to vacate.

Not used to
such treatment by a restaurant host unless she tossed around the name Claire Kent,
Lori leaned toward Ander as they stood near the wall in the pleasant entryway.
“What have you done to earn such treatment?” she murmured, foolishly enjoying
the sense of having him so close to her in such a public place.

Ander smiled,
his eyes lingering on her face in a way that made her shiver in delight. “I
come here a lot.”

When the host
brushed by her on his way to scout out table availability, Lori swayed even
closer to Ander, instinctively putting one hand out to curve gently around his
side, just under his ribs. “Do you live around here?”

She had no idea
where he lived and she was dying to know what his home was like. But she asked
the question absently, without any underhanded motive to pry.

“Not far.” Ander
didn’t look particularly closed off, although his answer wasn’t at all
forthcoming. He didn’t pull away from her. In fact, he shifted a little,
leaning against the wall and somehow moving even closer to her.

Their hips,
chests, and arms brushed against each other, and Lori still hadn’t removed her
hand from his side.

She liked the
way he was looking at her. She liked the way his body felt beneath her palm—the
warm, firm flesh she felt beneath his shirt not sexual as much as intimate.

And she
realized that this was something she was missing—the feel of being with a man
in public, having everyone around them know they were together. She was paying Ander
for his time and attention this evening, but everyone who saw them must assume
they were a couple.

It
felt
like they were together. And that tiny, nagging, inner voice that always
insisted on spoiling Lori’s simple fun kept telling her she was treading very dangerous
water here.

She wasn’t
entirely a fool. And she was very afraid she was becoming one of those silly,
desperate women who started to believe in a fantasy. Who convinced themselves
that what they had with Ander was real.

She was
relieved when the host came back over and brought them their drinks. Lori
sipped her red wine and watched, strangely fascinated, as Ander took a swallow
of his scotch.

“Sorry about
the wait,” Ander murmured, adjusting so his arm was around her and she was
leaning against the wall with him. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

“This is
great,” she said, telling herself she would enjoy this evening and tomorrow
would sort through a few unsettling recognitions that she just couldn’t shake.

She leaned her
head against Ander’s shoulder and took another sip of her wine. She saw the
host talking to a waitress. They were obviously preparing a table for them.
When the host glanced over toward Ander and Lori, he smiled with an unexpected
fondness in his gaze.

He looked
almost like a proud papa, and Lori vaguely wondered what had prompted the look.

She slanted her
eyes up to Ander and surprised another unsettling expression on his face. He
gazed down at her with soft eyes, and for a moment she lost her breath.

Then she
remembered the way he’d looked at Sarah Jacoby. The way he probably looked at
all of his clients.

That was his
job. Make them feel special. Act like a besotted, romantic escort.

She ducked her
head abruptly and told herself not to picture him with anyone else. But she
kept seeing Ander with Sarah. Flirting with her. Seducing her. Kissing her.
Having sex with her. Fucking her with pulsing intensity and hot, hungry eyes.

Exactly like he
did with Lori.

“What’s the
matter?” Ander asked, tilting her head up so he could scan her face.

She shook her
head and let out a breath of rueful laughter, since the only other choice was
to cry.

“Lori?” he
prompted, leaning his head down and frowning. She couldn’t tell if he was
concerned or annoyed, and she wasn’t sure which she’d prefer.

Lori took a
slow sip of wine and tried to hide her face with the rim of the glass. Then she
smiled at him, just a little shaky. “Looks like they’ve got our table ready.”

To Lori’s
relief, they did. The host hurried back, gestured them over to a cozy table in the
far corner of the restaurant, and took their drinks to carry over himself.

Ander put his
hand on the small of Lori’s back as they walked, and the gesture felt
supportive and protective.

She liked it.
Way too much.

They were
halfway through the restaurant when she felt Ander stiffen dramatically beside
her. He didn’t really move, didn’t make a sound. But she felt it—as sure as if
she’d tensed up herself.

Looking over at
him quickly, she felt her heart drop when she saw a frozen expression on his
face. His features were stoic. Completely blank. And so immovable they
terrified her.

She followed
his fixed gaze over to the other side of the restaurant, where a couple was
seated over half-finished pasta and a nearly empty bottle of wine. The woman
was beautiful—slender, elegant, red-haired, and probably in her mid-thirties.

The man was
much older, with long limbs and a contained appearance that spoke of a lifetime
of power and strategy. He had a craggy face that was oddly mesmerizing. And a
distinctive mane of thick, longish, graying hair.

Lori knew who
it was, and she knew why Ander had become a stony statue beside her.

Peter Milton’s
knowing eyes scanned the restaurant casually. He couldn’t have failed to see
his son standing half a room away. From his vantage point, he may have even
seen Ander and Lori as soon as they’d entered. Certainly when they’d been
standing in intimate proximity and waiting for their table.

But Peter’s
eyes passed over Ander, as if his son didn’t exist in the world.

Lori gasped
from a sharp wrench of pain at the obvious slight. Ander hadn’t moved, and his
complete lack of reaction was perhaps the scariest thing of all.

She grabbed his
arm, pressing up against his side with a protective instinct she couldn’t
possibly control. As she moved, Ander’s hand dropped from the small of her back
to hang limply at his side.

“Let’s go
somewhere else,” Lori said, trying to keep her voice natural and utterly
failing. “I’m not sure I feel like Italian after all.”

It was an
implausible excuse, but it was all that she could think of. And she couldn’t
help thinking the most important thing in the universe was getting Ander out of
this restaurant.

Ander’s eyes
turned to stare at her blankly, but she was sure he couldn’t really see her.
“What do you mean?” He was better than she was at composing his voice, but his
eyes were so empty they broke her heart.

Lori shot a
nervous glance back over to Peter, who was looking once more at his companion
but smiling smugly in a way that she knew was meant for Ander.

“Let’s go
somewhere else,” she said again, her voice gentle and her hands clinging to Ander’s
sides as if she could somehow hold him together.

Ander swallowed
and his face cleared, all of the leashed angst falling smoothly behind the
polished surface she now knew he used to hide himself from the world. “I don’t
want to go somewhere else. We’re going to eat here.”

Leaving would
be a defeat. Would be a surrender. And that was something Ander would never do
when confronted with his father.

Lori was awed
by the strength of his will that had allowed him to overcome his shock so quickly,
but she also wanted to cry for him. And she knew the longer Ander was in his
father’s presence, the more painful it would be for him.

She had no
choice, though. Ander wasn’t about to back down. So she walked with him over to
their table, keeping her hand on his arm.

Just before
they sat down, something finally must have processed in Ander’s brain. With a
sharp breath, he turned on his heel and grabbed her shoulders with strong,
unyielding hands.

Lori was
slammed with a wave of terror as she stared up into his angry face.

Ander tightened
his fingers on her shoulders and gritted out in a voice she’d never heard from
him before, “
You know
.”

Lori gulped. Ander’s
hands on her shoulders were painful and her breath came out in frantic, little
pants. But she managed to pull herself together enough to respond. “Yes. I know
who you are. I’m sorry.”

Something raw
twisted on his face. She’d never seen him angry before, but he clearly was now.
“You’ve known all along?”

“No!” Her voice
was shriller than she’d expected, so she tempered it as she continued in an
earnest rush, “I only just found out. I had no idea before. I promise. A couple
of weeks ago, I got curious and wanted to know more about you. So I dug back
through some old newspapers and figured it out. I wasn’t sure how to tell you.
I know you didn’t want me to pry into your personal life. I can understand why
you're mad. I’m sorry. I really am.”

She didn’t want
Ander to be mad at her. But that wasn’t the reason for her sudden surge of
desperation. For a moment, he looked almost betrayed. Like she’d betrayed him.
And she couldn’t bear for that to be true.

Some of the
tension eased on Ander’s face, although his eyes were hard and wary. “And what
were you going to do with this information?”

“Nothing!”
Instinctively, Lori reached out to grab onto Ander’s shirt and cling. “I would
never do anything to hurt you. How can you even think that?”

Ander let out a
breath, the anger fading on his face and leaving nothing but bitter exhaustion.
Then, as if he were suddenly aware of how fiercely he was gripping her, he
released her shoulders abruptly and dropped his hands. “It’s not a big deal.”

She’d almost
started to relax but then her breath caught sharply at his resigned words. “It
is
a big deal. I mean, you deserve an apology from me. And we can talk about it
more. But I don’t think this is the best time or place for the discussion.” She
darted a look over at Peter Milton, whose eyes had glanced idly past where Lori
and Ander were standing in front of their table, having a private conversation
in public.

“You’re right,”
Ander murmured, pulling out Lori’s seat for her. “Let’s sit down and move on.”

Neither one of
them would really move on. Lori was relieved that Ander had, at least for the
moment, let go of his anger and resentment toward her. But she was afraid about
how this turn of events would affect their relationship in the future.

It might change
everything.

Everything
might already have changed.

And Ander’s
father—a man who, by all accounts, lacked the sense of humanity that tempered
most other people’s behavior—was still seated on the other side of the
restaurant, chatting smoothly with his red-haired companion.

Ander, of
course, had taken the seat where he would be in direct view of his father. He
wouldn’t even retreat a small step for self-preservation and sit with his back
to his father’s table. His features were composed now, and his hands and
shoulders relaxed as he dropped his napkin on his lap and sipped his scotch.

But Lori wasn’t
fooled for an instant. Ander was practically shuddering with an angst that was
brutally leashed. She could see it in the slight sheen on his forehead. In the
tightening of his lips. In the stony blankness of his eyes.

They faked
their way through casual conversation, gave their orders, and accepted a second
drink from their obviously concerned host. And Lori grew more and more stressed
as dinner progressed. Ander’s hidden tension grew increasingly urgent—she
sensed it even without visible signs—and soon she was afraid he would simply
implode as he sat across from her at the table.

Peter and his
companion ordered and then finished dessert. But they still wouldn’t get up and
leave. Lori didn’t have to look behind her to be aware of Peter’s continued,
silently taunting presence in the room. All she had to do was look at Ander’s
empty face.