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Authors: Hope Tarr

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BOOK: It's A Wonderfully Sexy Life
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Joshua Sedgewick Thornton the Third to Wed Miss Tiffany Ann Clarence. Thornton serves as president of the Boston office of Thornton Enterprises, a national telecommunications corporation that last year announced plans to go global, opening offices in London and Tokyo. Thornton holds bachelor’s degrees in Computer Science and Finance from Harvard University and a MBA degree from the Harvard Business School.

Miss Clarence, who earned a bachelor of fine arts from Vassar College in 2003, is also employed at Thornton Enterprises as an analyst. The couple plans a September wedding with private reception to be held at The Plaza Hotel in New York. A Paris honeymoon will follow
.

Feeling sick inside, Mandy turned away from the screen. As if being born blond, beautiful and thin wasn’t enough, Tiffany also boasted an Ivy League education, white-collar career, and engagement to a fabulous man. The woman seemed to have it all going on. In comparison, Mandy felt like a slacker—make that a loser.

As for Josh, while she’d known he wasn’t a bartender, reading the litany of degrees and corporate credentials in bold, black newsprint was pretty damned daunting. Even without the petite and perfect Tiffany in the picture, Mandy could see she’d never had a hope of holding his interest beyond a few days.

But the hardest part of all was facing up to the fact that Josh had been lying to her all along. Okay, maybe not exactly lying but not exactly being truthful, either. She’d given him any number of opportunities and not once had he mentioned having a fiancée waiting for him back home. She’d almost started believing he thought of her as The One, too. And yet she couldn’t ignore the facts, not now when the evidence in the form of a model-thin blonde had stared her straight in the face. All along, he’d been planning to go back to his life in Boston, his life with Tiffany. He’d been stringing Mandy along, using her for sex on the side. She supposed it served her right for settling for crumbs instead of cake, as her pop would say, and yet she still couldn’t shake the sense that underlying all that fabulous sex had been some genuine feelings.

To be fair, she reminded herself she hadn’t asked for any promises. And yet, though she considered herself to be a modern woman in many ways, there were some traditional values worth keeping—and sleeping with an almost-married man violated every one of them.

Settling on the side of the floral-patterned bedspread, she dragged a hand through her damp hair and took a good look around. Whether the walls were green or pink didn’t really matter because they weren’t her walls, not really. No matter how she dressed it up, this would always be her childhood bedroom in her parents’ house—and contrary to Virginia Woolf, a room of one’s own wasn’t nearly enough. What she needed was a true haven, a place that was all hers where she could pick out colors and fabrics and furnishings, leave dishes in the sink overnight if she felt like it, keep a cat or maybe two.

By moving back with her folks and filling up their empty nest with the clutter of her problems, she hadn’t done anyone any favors, including herself. With or without a man in her life, it was high time she stepped out on her own again. Sure, paying monthly rent would set her back buying a place, but then again home ownership no longer seemed the magic-bullet solution it had just the week before. Like losing weight, buying a house would be something nice to do for herself, an investment in her future, but it wasn’t a panacea for happiness.

Oh, Josh, I guess I’ve known all along that what we had was for now, not forever. I just wished it had lasted a little longer, a lot longer.

I wish it had lasted forever.

15
Thursday, December 28 (again!)
Quasi-adulterous affairs broken off: one but went south in manner of film, Escape from New York—frantic exodus with no time to lose. Times mother looked up at velvet painting of Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus and asked when will marry and have babies like a good Catholic girl: don’t know and don’t plan on finding out as am officially swearing off men. If must face future of enforced celibacy, might as well get credit for God-like life and join convent as self-styled Pistol Packing Nun, morphing edgy, crusader-for-justice vibe of Clint Eastwood’s
Dirty Harry
with dimple-faced perkiness of Sally Field’s
Flying Nun
surfer girl turned novice. Who am I kidding? No order will take Mary Magdalene-like fallen woman into its fold, especially if find out Sodom and Gomorrah-esque destination headed later in week. Too bad, really, as basic black and navy always so classically chic and slimming…
E
VER SINCE
M
ANDY

S FLIGHT
from the bar, Josh had felt like the lone tiger he’d seen at the Boston Zoo as a kid and never forgotten. All the other animals had been exhibited in pairs or packs except for the tiger whose mate had been transferred to another facility. Even as a kid, he’d thought that was all wrong, had sensed the animal’s sadness in his restless pacing and searching eyes. Trapped in a life that no longer made any sense, more than ever he understood how the animal had felt—caged, desperate, and very much alone.
Only he wasn’t alone, because Tiffany was still there. Thanks to the Men in Black, it looked as though they’d be roommates for the rest of the week. He’d just finished up his argument with her when Walker called on the cell.

“Look, we know about your fiancée showing up and well, it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”

Josh thought again of the wounded look on Mandy’s face and fought back a groan. “Tell me about it.”

“She’s seen you. She’s identified you. That means you’ll both have to stay inside and out of sight until we pick you up for transport back to Boston on the first.”

“Are you telling me I have to put her up here, in my apartment, for the rest of the week?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Turn her loose, and you’ll be jeopardizing not only your life but hers. If she wouldn’t talk, they’d find ways to make her, and then as soon as they got your location, they’d get rid of her.”

Oh, Tiffany would talk all right, no doubt about that. Any illusions he’d harbored about her loyalty had washed away in the landslide of shock he’d felt when he’d walked in on her humping the landscaper. Now that he looked back on their two years together, though, he realized he shouldn’t have been so shocked. There’d been signs aplenty along the way that they were a less than perfect match—her insistence he buy her the biggest, flashiest diamond for sale at her retail namesake’s, Tiffany & Co., her complaints about the attention he’d lavished on his ailing golden retriever, Samson, just before the poor old guy had to be put down, her habit of treating his administrative assistant, Jennifer, as though she was her personal gopher.

Still, as much as he despised spending his remaining few days in Baltimore living cheek-to-jowl with the woman who’d betrayed him in the most flagrant and hurtful of ways, he couldn’t exactly throw her out on the killing streets.

But worse than the repercussions to his personal life was the prospect that the Mafia men who’d tried to kill him must also know about Mandy. He didn’t need Grady’s ghost to tell him what happened to informants left unprotected. The incident on the water had shown him how brave she was, but sometimes bravery wasn’t enough. The thought of what the mob might do to her to get at him made him crazy with fear. The safest place for her at this point was right beside him—only he’d let her get away.

His latest circuit about the room brought him back over to the bed where Tiffany lay sleeping, a baby-doll-pink eyeshade covering the top portion of her face. In typical Tiffany fashion, she’d taken over his bed and dresser drawers as though she owned the place. Though she’d offered him a seductive smile and the mattress space beside her, he’d opted for lower-rent real estate without strings. Grabbing a blanket, he’d camped out on the kitchen floor. With the hard surface beneath his back and his own racing thoughts to keep him awake, he’d found plenty of time for analyzing the situation.

He realized with a sort of relief that the strongest emotion Tiffany aroused in him now was annoyance. The memory of finding her in bed with someone else no longer brought about the sharp stab of pain it once had. The hurt had faded to a barely noticeable twinge. If anything, on looking back, he considered that in a strange way by cheating on him she’d done him a favor.

Knowing Mandy had caused his perspective on his past relationship to shift. The short but entirely wonderful time he’d spent with her so far showed just how lacking his and Tiffany’s relationship had been in all areas, including the bedroom.

But the great sex he and Mandy shared was only a part of the equation. Mandy was everything Tiffany wasn’t—and so very much more. Along with being intuitive and funny, kind and smart, she listened, really
listened
to people, including him. He loved the wind-chime sound of her laughter, and the way she looked when she first woke up in the morning, all doe-eyed and warm and sexily rumpled. He even loved that she ate oranges in bed, peeling off sections and popping them into her luscious mouth, then licking the juice from her fingers.

The thing was, he loved her. Not just liked, not just lusted after, but loved. Big screen Hollywood love, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die kind of love.

If only he could find a way to get her to give up the self-deprecating comments she made with the same ease he’d gotten her to give up her initial sexual inhibitions, their relationship, as he was coming to think of it, would be ideal. How to get her to see that as long as she was healthy, he didn’t care if she shed a single pound? That he adored every soft, curvy inch of her just the way she was?

He spotted a scrap of black peeking out from beneath the pillow next to Tiffany and realized it must belong to Mandy. Carefully peeling it out so as not to awaken Tiffany, he saw it was Mandy’s teddy, the one he’d bought her as a belated Christmas gift from Victoria’s Secret. The lacy black lingerie had showcased her gorgeous breasts and generous curves to perfection, but it was the image of her first stepping out of the bathroom to model it, shy-eyed and hesitant, that stuck with him like a splinter in his heart.

Balling the lingerie into a fist, he told himself it was high time he stopped running, stopped blindly following orders, and reclaimed his life, for his sake as well as Mandy’s. As long as the FBI was invested in keeping him alive, they would just have to keep her safe, too. Decided, he dug his cell out of his jeans pocket, walked into the bathroom, and punched in the FBI’s local number on speed dial.

McKinney answered on the third ring. Rather than waste time on pleasantries, Josh came straight to the point. “I know you told me to stay put, but I need to go out. I am going out.”

“No way, Thornton. Your going out in public is no longer feasible.”

Sick of being told what he could and couldn’t do, Josh snapped back, “Feasible or not, I’m leaving this goddamned apartment. You can cover me or not, the choice is yours.”

McKinney’s exhaled breath echoed in the phone’s receiver. “All right, all right, don’t get your boxers in a twist. Give me five minutes, and we’ll be right over. Where do you want to go?”

“Highland Town.”

“Highland Town? What the hell’s in Highland Town other than some Formstone row houses and a handful of German bakeries?”

The woman of my dreams. The love of my life
. Rather than answer, Josh said, “I’ll wait exactly five minutes, but if you don’t show, I’m still out of here.”

Without hanging on for the agent’s reply, he clicked off the call. He tucked the phone back into his pocket and walked over to his closet. Casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Tiffany still slept, he pulled off his T-shirt and buttoned on a fresh shirt. Tamping down his impatience, he tried to look on the bright side of the situation. If he made it through this little adventure, it would be something to tell his grandchildren. Certainly it wasn’t every guy who got a FBI escort to see his girlfriend.

His girlfriend. At what point had he started thinking of Mandy in that way? From the moment they’d locked eyes at the museum gala or during their coffee date when they’d all but finished one another’s sentences? Either way, girlfriend, he liked the sound of it, he liked it a lot. Hopefully, after he explained things to Mandy, she’d like it, too.

I
N ALL THE EXCITEMENT
, Mandy had almost forgotten about her lunch with Mikey. The fact that Josh had if not lied to her outright, omitted some pretty important details of his personal life, namely his engagement status, didn’t change that she was still a law enforcement officer with a sacred duty to defend and protect. Even with the fiancée in the picture, she was still one hundred percent committed to pursuing her plan to smoke out the hit man, make that, hit
men,
before they could strike again. Though running on too little sleep and too many tears, she pulled herself together and headed down to Fells Point for the meeting with her cousin.
Duda’s Tavern was on the corner of Thames and Bond Streets, a pocket-sized pub-style restaurant that served some of the most bodacious crab cakes of any establishment in the area. Entering the narrow, dark-paneled room, Mandy spotted Mikey sitting at the sidebar munching on the free hard pretzels and mustard. Tall and lanky, her cousin had inherited the Delinski appetite without the accompanying metabolism.

He beckoned her over to the empty brass-backed stool beside him. “Hey, Mands, have a seat. Pretzel?” He pushed the glass canister toward her.

Taking a seat on the brass-backed stool beside him, she shook her head. “No thanks, I’m good.” Since meeting Josh, food definitely had taken a back seat on her list of priorities.

Squeezing a ribbon of French’s Mustard on a pretzel, he said. “How ’bout what went down on the water taxi last night? That was some weird shit, huh? Fucking city’s chockfull of nuts these days.”

Mandy wasn’t surprised Mikey knew all about the water taxi incident. The supposedly whacko sniper duo had made front-page headlines in all the local newspapers, including
The Baltimore Sun
. “I was there, a passenger actually, and the snipers were no random crazies. It was a botched hit.”

He paused from sucking mustard from his thumb to stare over at her. “No shit? But Jesus, Mands, you could have been killed.”

“Tell me about it.” She glanced over to the bartender. Busy drawing drafts for a group congregating at the far end of the bar, he hadn’t yet registered her presence. Still, you could never be too careful. Lowering her voice, she asked, “So what do you have for me?”

Expression thoughtful, he took a swig of his beer. “Okay, so late the other night this suit by the name of Tommy walks in and reserves a private room. I figure he wants a lap dance or…somethin’, but it turns out he wants it for a meeting. Seems like a real class act, and definitely from out of town, so I say, ‘Sure thing, I just need the money up front.’”

“Out of town? You sure about that?”

He nodded and reached for another pretzel. “With that accent, he sounded like a fucking Kennedy.” Crunching, he went on, “I put my best waitress, Janice, on the table. ’Bout ten minutes later, two other guys show up, both locals.”

“You get a good look at them?”

“Yeah, I did. The one was a big guy—dark hair, dark eyes, really in shape. Maybe I seen him once or twice before, but he’s not a regular. The other guy comes in every now and again, usually on a weekend.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Scrawny rat-faced little weasel. Always gives the waitresses a hard time and then tips like shit.”

“Speaking of waitresses, did Janice catch any of their conversation?”

He shrugged. “Bits and pieces here and there. Somethin’ about a ‘big job’ that would be going down between now and January second and how any ‘local support’ would be appreciated—and rewarded.”

Excitement mounting, Mandy asked, “You get any names? Anybody use a credit card we could trace?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, Mands, you know how it is. Those types, they always pay in cash.”

She’d thought as much, but it never hurt to hope. Contrary to television portrayals, not all criminals were brilliant masterminds. Face it, if you had half a brain, wouldn’t you figure out a way to make a lucrative living without risking prison?

“Any chance you’ll be seeing them again soon?”

He broke into a broad grin. “That’s the best part. They’ve booked the room for tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night, huh?”

Feeling hopeful for the first time since before Josh’s blond bombshell of a fiancée had exploded into her life, she reached for a pretzel. Biting off a piece, she chewed, the wheels of her mind turning over a possible plan. It was far-fetched if not downright crazy but then again who knew, it just might be crazy enough to work.

Dusting salt crystals from her fingers, she said, “In that case, Mikey, I need another favor and brace yourself, because this one’s a whopper.”

BOOK: It's A Wonderfully Sexy Life
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