Everybody Loves Evie (18 page)

Acceptance inspired wonder. More heavenly choirs, but with heralding trumpets and a harp to boot. Big-band angels for a big-time epiphany. Had I ever felt this over the moon for Michael? For any man?

I gripped the doorjamb instead of moving into his arms. The magnetic pull was fierce and exhilarating.

If you feel it, why wouldn't you say it?

Taunted by my own purple-inked scribbles.

Tell him how you feel.

Except blurting my feelings didn't feel natural.

Of course not, you dope, that's because you naturally internalize. Dredge up some moxie. Practice what you journal. Say the words.

They wouldn't come. Too big. Too scary. I frowned, imagining a big, honkin'
L
on my forehead. Strike that. A big-ass
W. Wuss!

“What's wrong?”

“Just tired.” And over the moon, tongue-tied, crazy in love. “So is everyone turning in?”

He braced his hands on the jamb, as well. The action emphasized the muscles in his arms, drew attention to that tribal tattoo.
Yowza.
My stomach quivered in anticipation as he leaned in, expression unreadable. “Gina and Tabasco left for Hammond. They'll be spending tonight at the riverboat casino and an exclusive hotel. Phase one of the gambling sting.”

I swallowed. “Beckett?”

“Still downstairs. He's coordinating phase two with Woody via the Internet. His room's across the hall and two doors down, in case you're wondering.”

“Why would I wonder?”

“Did you pack your dancing shoes?”

I stared because that was too weird. He couldn't possibly know what I'd just written in my journal. Maybe it was a European sexual innuendo?

“I booked a private lesson with that ballroom instructor,” he said.

I blinked. “For both of us?”

“
Cannae
have Beckett showing me up, yeah?”

It took me a minute, but then I realized he was referring to the time I, as my alter ego Sugar, had danced with Beckett—or, rather, Tex Aloha—on the cruise. To my chagrin, I wasn't immune to the man's finesse. Afterward, Arch, as his alter ego Charles, had wowed me with a possessive kiss. At the time I'd wondered if he was jealous of Beckett. I wondered the same thing now.

“Phase one of the Sweetheart sting,” he said as if reading my mind and steering it back to business. “Might as well cut to the chase, investigate your number one suspect. If that instructor's shoveling
shite,
I'll smell it.”

“Pretty sure of yourself.”

“When it comes to grifting, I'm bold-faced arrogant, yeah?”

“You're arrogant, period. Normally an off-putting quality.”

“Abnormally?”

“You wear it well.”

He quirked a grin.

Zing. Zap.
I focused on my mom's shenanigans instead of Arch's sexy mouth. “Although I am stuck on that dance instructor, I've been reading up, and Mom
could
have fallen prey to any number of scams.”

“Or none at all. Maybe she made a sound investment. Maybe she's celebrating her golden years by experimenting. New hairstyle, new hobbies. Maybe she's trying to compete with the tavern for your da's interest.” He dropped a kiss to my forehead. “
Dinnae
let that imagination of yours run amok, love. Sleep well, yeah?”

As always, he'd addressed my worries with sensible alternatives. My heart thumped in gratitude. And admiration. The man was grounded. I, on the other hand, currently floated on a sensual cloud.
I'm in love.
I stood there transfixed and terrified as he moved into his bedroom. Okay. His butt—spectacular even in sweats—captured my attention, but so did the fact that he left his door ajar. I retreated to my room, wondering if we'd be able to resist temptation and, if not, who would crumble first.

M
Y WILL DISINTEGRATED
around 1:55 a.m. It wasn't sex I wanted as much as Arch. In our short time together he'd become a dangerous and delicious habit. Sleeping in his arms felt as natural as breathing. Just now my lungs burned for air.

I could list a dozen reasons explaining the wisdom in riding out this vexing need as opposed to crawling into bed with the man next door. But—darn it all—the man next door struck me stupid.

Fog-brained, I pushed out of bed and tiptoed across the room, praying the floorboards didn't creak. Praying Beckett had conked out. Praying I'd have the nerve to act on my epiphany.
If you feel it, say it.
Response—or lack thereof—be damned.

Dance, woman, dance.

I boogied into the adjoining bedroom, grateful for a pale wash of moonlight. Goody Two-shoes like me usually trip or knock stuff over when trying to sneak about. I made it to his bedside without incident. Now, if I could just find my voice. “Are you asleep?” I finally whispered.

“Not anymore.”

“I'm sorry, I…”

He threw back the quilt and tugged me into bed.

Sighing, I snuggled against six feet of warm sinew. “You're naked.”

“You're not.”

Between the two of us we had my clothes off in three seconds flat.

Arch smoothed his hands over my bare flesh. My lungs blossomed in my chest. Every nerve ending sparked to life. Every brain cell glitched. The kiss, hungry and hot, promised a deep, hard shag. Bending me over the dresser or taking me on the floor wouldn't do—too noisy. By doing it at all we were both breaking our word to Beckett, only I hadn't actually
promised
anything, had I? Hard to think straight with Arch's skilled fingers stroking me to a breathless orgasm.

My taut muscles quivered, the pleasure intense and overwhelming. I struggled to endure rapture in silence. Sensitive to my dilemma, he smothered my throaty release with a lusty kiss.

Slick with want, I trembled as he maneuvered my body, preparing to take me from behind. An exciting position that we'd enjoyed before, an enviable position, as it allowed me to avoid eye contact. Only I no longer wanted that disconnection.

“I don't want sex,” I whispered over my shoulder.

His body tensed, but his tone was unperturbed. “Okay.” He fell back against his pillow, his hand on my hip. “We'll just spoon, yeah?”

I reached over and flicked on a reading lamp.

No more hiding.

I rolled over and squirmed beneath him, finessing our bodies into the missionary position, a banned position, a position I'd formerly declared
too intimate.

“Mixed signals, lass.”

I met his gaze and held it. “I don't want to
boink.
”

After an intense heartbeat, he said, “Ah.” His gaze was unreadable, but then he reached for a condom and kissed me dizzy. Safe to assume I hadn't scared him off, even if I couldn't presume to know his heart.

I locked my arms around his neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss, locked my ankles about his thighs. I silently urged him to take me,
take me now.
Only he took his time, treating me to the longest, sweetest, hottest kiss of my life. It was delicious, confounding…and infuriating. How could a kiss stoke so much desire?

In the hands of a master, even a nervous bird can soar.

Holy crow.

Suddenly I was aware of how tense I'd been. He was easing my fears by holding back yet giving more than he'd ever given. Emotions clogged my throat, damming up the words I wanted to say. I framed his face and broke the kiss. I gave in and let go. I gazed into his eyes and showed him my heart.

The air crackled with intensity. Two live wires connecting and melding.

He plunged deep and seduced my soul.

Together we made earth-quaking, star-shattering love.

Together we soared.

I
WOKE UP TANGLED IN
Arch's arms and legs, marveling that we'd survived what felt like a merging of souls. Being a man, I doubted he'd think of the coupling in those poetic terms, but I know he'd experienced a like rush. I'd sensed it in his touch. Seen it in his eyes. For a brief moment the closed-off con man had been an open book. The
L
word, though unspoken, had circled in our universe.

The weight of his thigh across mine had caused my foot to fall asleep, but I didn't care.
I could stay like this forever,
I thought sleepily. Except if we didn't show for breakfast, Beckett would come looking and, finding us in a naked human knot, would put two and two together.

I didn't know him well enough to anticipate his reaction. And it's not as though I'd been issued a company handbook. Was the penalty for mixing business and pleasure a stern-faced lecture? A warning? Suspension? Was it grounds for termination? I wondered if it would matter if I admitted I was in love.

My luck, it would make things worse. He'd worry that we'd let our personal relationship interfere with the job—not that I'd been approved for fieldwork. As such, was I even technically a team member? Did that policy truly apply?

I mulled over the consequences of the night's actions. Even more than risking my job, I'd risked my heart. Making intimate love had been the ultimate leap of faith. I kept waiting for fear and regret to seep into my bones, but all I felt was joy.

I took that as a sign and refused to second-guess my decision to boogie. If things…fizzled, I'd still have the Corner Tavern.

Thinking about my dad's thoughtfulness made me smile. It also reminded me that I still needed to address my parents' relationship, as well as my relationship with my parents. There was also the senator's case and Beckett's career to consider.

Considering, Arch and I needed to keep our on-again real-life romance a secret. At least for now.

I squinted at the bedside clock. Four in the morning. As much as I didn't want to return to my own bed, it was the smart thing to do. Better now while the house—or, rather, Beckett—slept. I tried to ease out of Arch's arms, but he clung.

“
Dinnae
go.”

His groggy request made my heart dance with glee. “I'm thirsty,” I whispered.

“I'll get you a glass of water.”

“Thank you, but I'll get it myself.” I sat up and pulled on my T-shirt, groped in the dark for my pants.

Arch propped himself up on an elbow. “Are you coming back?”

“I can't.” I tightened the drawstring of my paisley drawers, steeled my spotty will.

“Are we going to pretend this
didnae
happen?”

“I'm not sorry it happened, if that's what you mean.”

He didn't respond.

“It's just that it's against Chameleon policy—”

“Beckett
dinnae
hire you for fieldwork. He hired you to sing.”

“A temporary position until I earn my scales.”

“What?”

“Pay my dues. Anyway, I told him we were kaput romantically, so at the very least I lied.”

“There are all kinds of lies, Sunshine.”

“Maybe, but that doesn't make them right.”

“Depends, yeah?”

Typical response coming from a man who'd lived his life perfecting deception. “Point is,” I said before he talked me in circles, “this isn't the time to make waves. There's the thing with Senator Clark…Beckett's career crisis…”

“Fuck Beckett. Strike that.” He reached out and pulled me down on top of him. “Fuck me.”

I grinned at the playfulness in his tone and touch. “How romantic.”

He rolled over, trapping me between his hard body and the soft mattress. “You want romance, lass?”

“Am I a red-blooded female?”

“You're a bewitching female.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It's interesting.”

“Hmm.” Hard to analyze that observation when he was distracting me with his hands and mouth. “I really should go,” I whispered, my eyes rolling back in my head as he nibbled my earlobe.

He smiled against my neck. “Okay.” Then he kissed his way south.

A
T FIVE O'CLOCK
I slipped away and into the shower, too restless to sleep. The euphoria I'd experienced in Arch's arms swirled down the drain as I stood under the hot, pelting water—thinking, wondering, worrying. We'd taken our relationship to another level, sexually and emotionally. Only Arch didn't do relationships. It's not as if I needed a formal commitment
now.
We'd known each other less than a month. I wasn't dying to cohabit. I wasn't expecting a marriage proposal. But I needed to know that if our feelings continued to evolve there was hope for a you-and-no-other declaration. Otherwise, why was I spinning on the dance floor with my heart on my sleeve? Life is short. Especially when you're over forty.

Okay, that was melodramatic. That was…insecure. I wrapped my wet body in a thick towel and approached the steamy mirror. “You're panicking,” I said to my hazy reflection. Arch knew what making love, intimate love, meant to me. He'd accepted my heart and given something of himself, as well. I've got a wicked imagination, true, but I didn't imagine that meld. Maybe, just maybe, he'd changed his mind about the relationship thing. At some point we'd have to discuss our future. Until then, I'd cling to hope. “Breathe and boogie.”

Right. I didn't know this dance, so I'd just go with it.

And see where Arch led.

At six o'clock, dressed in loose black pants with flared bottoms and a bright pink tailored blouse, I crept downstairs, craving a big breakfast and a cup of coffee. Not necessarily in that order. Skipping supper had earned me a flat but grumbling belly. No way was I waiting for Arch and Beckett to rise before raiding the kitchen. I could eat a horse, but I'd settle for eggs and toast.

I nosed my way through a sitting room, a library and a dining area, admiring the eclectic period furnishings as I searched for the kitchen. Just as I tripped upon my destination, Beckett entered the modernized kitchen via a back door.

My heart thumped, not only because he'd surprised me but because it was the first I'd seem him since Arch had arrived uninvited and revised his original plan. “You startled me,” I squeaked, flashing back to when he'd comforted me in the backseat of the taxi. The unsettling
snap.
Gads.

“Sorry.” He shut the door, pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. “What are you doing up so early?”

Play it cool, Parish. No blushing. No scratching. No tell.
I shrugged. “Went to bed early. Woke up early. Came down for breakfast. You?”

“Went to bed late. Tossed and turned. Went out for an early jog.”

Jogging. Right. Hence the running shoes, gym shorts and T-shirt damp with sweat. Thunk to the forehead. “Not very observant before my first cup of coffee,” I said with a smile.

His own smile was humorless.

I thought about his insomnia, his career crisis. I wondered if he was as lonely as I used to be, and my heart commiserated and warmed. Crap. “Want to talk about it?”

He dragged his forearm across his moist brow. “About what?”

“Whatever's troubling you.”

“No. Thank you.”

“I didn't mean to be nosy. It's just that you flew all the way out here to help me and that was really nice and I thought if I could help you…” If Gina were here, she'd say I was babbling. I couldn't help it. His bold scrutiny made me nervous. As if he knew what Arch and I had been up to this morning. I suppose it was possible. He
did
mention his pesky insomnia and the bedsprings
had
squeaked. Depending on how late he'd gone to bed or how early he'd gone out…definitely possible. I could feel my cheeks heating, so I stuck my head in the fridge. “Did you guys buy coffee?”

I heard a cabinet creak open, turned and saw Beckett taking down a bag of ground java and a box of filters. “Tabasco's thorough. There's a coffeemaker in the pantry,” he said, setting aside the goods. “I'll get it.”

“Thanks.”

“Where's Arch?”

“Sleeping. I guess,” I added. “I mean, it is awfully early.” Back into the fridge I went.
Relax. He can't know anything for sure unless you tell him or he catches you in the act.

Right.

I grabbed a carton of eggs, a roll of sausage and a pop-open can of biscuits. We were in the country. Might as well indulge in a Jimmy Dean breakfast.

“Would you care to join me?” I asked as he plugged in the automatic coffeemaker.

“You go ahead. I need a shower.”

“I can wait.” It was polite to say so, at least. I cursed my growling stomach, searched a drawer for a coffee scoop and settled for a tablespoon. “Besides, I should inhale at least one cup of caffeine before attempting to cook.”

“Didn't get much sleep, huh?”

Avoiding eye contact, I spooned grounds and filled the reservoir with water. “Things on my mind.”

“Arch updated me on the family situation.”

“He updated me on the senator situation.”

“So we're both up to date.”

Could things get any more tense?

“So what did you have in mind?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When you said you could help me. How?”

I pushed the brew button and turned.

Beckett leaned against the wall, muscled arms crossed, sunglasses perched on top of his salt-and-pepper buzz cut. Former military. Former cop. Current secret agent.

Okay. He was attractive. He was…hot. But I was in love with Arch, so I was immune. Sort of. “I know what you're thinking.”

He raised a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“You're wondering what a girl like me could do for a guy like you.”

“You got me there, Twinkie.”

“I'm an expert on career crisis. Been there. Still there.”

He worked his jaw. “Who says I'm having a career crisis?”

“Arch.”

“He spoke out of turn.”

“He spoke out of friendship.”

He grunted, and I had to wonder about the dynamic between Arch Duvall and Milo Beckett. How did they meet? What prompted them to work together? What was the story with the rest of the team? I wanted to ask a dozen questions but didn't. Beckett, unlike Arch, did not mask his feelings 24-7. “Don't get bent,” I said, driven by my new mission to speak my mind. “He's worried about you.”

Silence crackled with tension. Colombian java wasn't the only thing brewing.

He pushed off the wall, moved into my personal space. It took some big honkin' restraint not to back away.

“Here's the thing, Twinkie. Friendship—any relationship, for that matter—is tricky with Arch.”

“Why's that?” I asked even though I dreaded the answer.

“He comes from a family of grifters. Both sides. Did you know that?”

I nodded. He'd told me.

“Spent his entire life operating in the gray. Never been prosecuted. Know why?”

“Because he's good?”

“Because he never attaches himself to anyone he can't walk away from in a split second.”

My stomach flipped. Arch's personal code. He'd told me that, too. I hadn't forgotten. I just kept hoping that one day I'd be the one he'd want to attach to.

The lists I'd jotted in my journal niggled my brain. Arch's cons. Beckett's pros. I cursed the awareness sizzling under my skin when the wiser choice stroked a thumb over my heated cheeks.

“Food for thought,” he said, handing me a spatula and leaving me alone to stew.

E
VEN THOUGH
I'
M A
fairly optimistic person, it doesn't take much to send me into a spiraling dive of self-obsessed worry. Mom used to call me moody. Michael, too. I prefer
sensitive.
Arch would say,
You're making this
aboot
you.
To which I'd have to reply,
Ya think!

Beckett had just warned me not to get too close or expect too much from Arch. He'd said nothing of company policy. There'd been no threat or ultimatum should I mix business and pleasure, just a gentle warning. If the going got tough, Arch would get going.

I'm thinking Beckett knows we're involved and doesn't want me to get hurt. Which is sweet, but I also think he has an ulterior motive. I think he's attracted to me. I'd have to be an idiot not to see the signs. He hadn't spoken to me as boss to employee, or even as friend to friend. Affection had sparked in his gaze and touch—
desire.
Criminy. I pictured myself in a hokey infomercial hawking a collection of Motown's greatest hits.
Seven CDs for just $24.99!
A Marvin Gaye classic grooving in the background…“Let's get it on.”

Oh, man.

Stupid of me to be surprised. I'd caught him checking me out a few times on the cruise. But I'd chalked that up to being in character. Tex Aloha was a womanizer. And, okay, maybe I'd sensed interest here and there from Beckett himself, but I thought he was just curious about Evie the entertainer, not attracted to Evie the woman.

Never in my wildest fantasy…Okay, that's a lie. What woman hasn't fantasized about being the center of two men's adoration? But
come on.
A bad-boy grifter and a good-guy operative? That kind of thing happened to women like Nic or Gina, sultry beauties. Not Ivory-soap girls like me. Something was screwy with this picture. I imagined an overanimated TV personality jumping out of the pantry, shouting,
You're on
Candid Camera! or
You've been Punk'd!

Yeah. That would be my luck.

I peeked over my shoulder. No cameraman. No wacky emcee. Just wacky me.

You're making too much of this,
I could hear Arch say.

Maybe he was right. I wanted him to be right. Beckett's interest was flattering but unwanted. I'm a one-man kind of woman, and Arch was all the man I could handle.

I placed sausage patties in the skillet and focused on cooking up something other than trouble.

Unfortunately I was distracted by the sound of footsteps overhead. Water pipes groaning—or was that me? Beckett in the shower. Or Arch. Or both. Two handsome men. Two hot bodies. Naked. Wet.

Erotic images exploded in my brain along with another Motown classic.
When I get feeling, I want sexual healing.

The doorbell rang, startling me out of a racy fantasy. Cheeks burning, I hurried toward the insistent chimes. UPS delivering a package? Girl Scouts selling cookies? I opened the door.

Nic sporting a frown.

“What gives, Evie? I book a red-eye flight thinking you're in some sort of personal hell. Thinking Michael and Sasha's elopement freaked you out more than you admitted. Or that something horrific happened to someone in your family but you were in denial. Several scenarios played in my mind. Except the one where I pull up to your house and your mother greets me at the door, saying, ‘She's staying at the Appleseed Bed-and-Breakfast with her boyfriend. But of course, you know about Archibald. Can you believe Evelyn's dating a baron?'

“
As in, a person of title?
I wanted to ask, but I couldn't because, as your best friend, I was supposed to know all about
Archibald.
”

First, I marveled that Nic was here. Second, I marveled how she'd nailed my mom's Midwestern twang. Then again, she was a gifted actress. She was also pissed off. I didn't blame her for being upset with me, but I also didn't know how to fix it. “I…I…”

“Save it.” She shouldered her way inside, parked her suitcase by the blue medallion sofa. “So where is he?”

“Who?”

“Your
boyfriend.
”

An obnoxious noise screeched, long and loud.

We both covered our ears. “What the hell?”

“Oh, my God.” My nostrils twitched at an acrid smell. “The sausage!” I sprinted for the kitchen. My pounding heart stopped when I saw the flaming skillet. I bolted for the sink and nabbed an empty glass.

“Not water,” Nic shouted over the wailing alarm. “It's a grease fire. Flour. Or salt,” she said, banging open cabinets.

Meanwhile the alarm screeched, the fire raged and the haze choked. I squinted at the back door, thinking I needed to get the skillet outside before I burned down the house. But just as I reached for the handle, someone yanked me away—Arch. And someone smothered the fire—Beckett.

“You okay?” Arch asked.

I coughed into a pot holder and nodded, cursing myself because I didn't think of dousing the fire with a lid.

Beckett opened the back door.