Authors: Ann Christopher
On the one hand, the workout was an excruciating punishment, bordering on torture. On the other hand, this was the perfect exercise to keep the rising frustration at bay.
It was either run or throw back his head and roar until his head cleared.
Since he didn’t fancy an involuntary trip to Bellevue for overnight evaluation, he ran.
They were only letters, Tony. I’d’ve done the same for any soldier.
That’s what Talia had told him. Translation? He wasn’t special, and the shared connection forged through those letters had been a beautiful mirage carved out of his overactive imagination, nothing more.
So that was it, then.
That was the end of his crazy fantasies about Talia falling into his arms and then…
What, Tony?
asked a mocking little voice inside his head.
What, exactly, did you see happening then?
He squinted and strained, trying to get his mind’s eye to focus a little, maybe tell him what it’d had in mind for him and Talia, but he couldn’t see it, and it didn’t matter anyway. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t happen. Ever.
His feet pounding, he dodged and wove, avoiding strollers, walkers and other joggers, all of whom were moving too slow and needed to get the hell out of his way.
He’d wanted to know whether he and Talia had a chance. Now he knew, and, though the knowledge was painful, it was better than not knowing.
Well, no. He’d already known, hadn’t he?
What else could that refused letter have meant, dumbshit? I’m waiting for you with open arms?
Yeah, right. He should’ve saved himself the train fare for the humiliating trip into the city, but, oh well. Lesson learned, and better late than never. The end.
That’s what he told himself, anyway.
Deep inside, though, he couldn’t force himself to accept it.
Which was why he kept running.
He was rounding the curve nearest the Metropolitan Museum of Art when his cell phone vibrated inside his shorts pocket. Thinking—desperately hoping—it might be Talia, he snatched it, punched the button and had it up to his ear before he remembered:
she doesn’t have your cell number.
Dumbshit.
“Yeah,” he snarled, still running.
“This is your sister,” answered Arianna’s dry voice.
While this was better than a call from, say, the IRS with concerns about his most recent tax return, he still wasn’t in a mood for talking. “Hey.”
“Have I offended you somehow?”
Right now, the whole stinking world offended him.
“Nope,” he said, swerving around a dog that was sniffing at his legs, wanting to say hi as he passed.
“Because you don’t sound too happy to hear my lovely voice.”
“Sorry,” he puffed. “Bad morning.”
“What’re you doing? Hauling logs?”
“Jogging. In Central Park.”
“Um…okay. I feel like I should hang up and get 9-1-1 on the line…”
“I’ll be okay. What’s up?”
There was a long pause. “I was just checking in. I don’t want to take the baby on any airplanes just yet with all those rampant germs, so I think it’ll be another week or so before we’re ready to come visit, sunshine. At which point I hope you have a better attitude than the one you have now.”
That did it. Few things had ever brought him to heel like a guilt trip from Arianna, with whom he’d always been close. They’d had a joyous reunion a few weeks ago, right after his return from overseas, when he’d flown to Columbus to see her after the birth of her first child, a daughter. Arianna didn’t deserve his gruffness. God knew she wasn’t the one who’d smashed his hopes to bits.
“Sorry.” He slowed down and dropped onto the nearest empty bench, where he doubled up and tried to get his breath. “It’s not your fault I’m being a, ah—”
“Grouchy SOB?” she supplied helpfully. “What’s got you all bent out of shape?”
He opened his mouth and out popped the automatic denial. “It’s nothing.”
“Hmm.” Arianna, as usual, read between the lines and came up with the right answer. If he believed in reincarnation, he’d put his money on her having been a bloodhound in a past life. “Or should I say, who’s got you all bent out of shape?”
He sat back, hung his arm across the back of the bench and drummed his fingers, thinking about this for a minute. He wasn’t in the habit of discussing his personal life with his sister, but his personal life had previously consisted of brief sexual relationships with women who didn’t expect anything from him other than a nice dinner and a few orgasms.
In short, he’d never had an issue like Talia before.
But he had to face it—Arianna was a smart woman who had the additional qualification of being happily married. Tony still had a reservation or two about the neck-tattoo-sporting dude she’d chosen (Tony had a couple tats himself, but, come on, on the
neck?
), but that was an issue for another day.
For now, maybe she could help his ass out.
“So there’s this, ah, woman.”
“Yay!” Hearing the distinct sound of hand clapping, Tony rolled his eyes and waited for her to get a grip. “Where do you know her from?”
“We met before my last tour, and we exchanged a few letters.”
“And…?”
“And I thought we were, ah, making a connection or something, but when I, ah, made a, ah… When I mentioned my feelings, she, ah—”
“Wow. And here I thought English was your first language. So she’s not that into you, right?”
Tony swiped his dripping face with the bottom of his T-shirt and struggled to put his thoughts into words. “That’s just it. I thought she was into me.”
“What made you think that?”
“I don’t have objective proof. That’s the problem. I just have my gut feelings, which don’t count for anything. But this morning, when I went to see her, there was a second when I thought—”
“How did she look when she saw you? Don’t think about it—just blurt it out.”
“Overjoyed,” he said. “She looked as thrilled as I was.”
“Hmm.” Arianna lapsed into a thoughtful silence that made his nerves stretch with impatience. “Is she involved with someone else?”
“She says she’s not. She claims she’s too busy with her career and stuff. She’s an artist.”
“Hmm.” More silence. “Is she a lesbian?”
“No.” He dismissed this possibility out of hand. He could compete with another man if he had to, but if what Talia really needed from a romantic partner was a vagina, then he was out of luck. “She’s not gay.”
“You sure?”
“Positive,” he lied.
“Okay, well, then the answer’s simple. She’s scared.”
“
Scared?
Of what?”
“You. The way you make her feel. The way she feels about you.”
“Bullshit,” he said, but already the wheels were turning in his mind, and he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something to it. “Why would she be scared of me?”
Arianna heaved a long and exasperated sigh. “Oh, come on. Who wouldn’t want a hot guy like you showing up on their doorstep? You’re incredibly sexy—”
Astonished to hear his sister talking like this, Tony jerked the phone away from his ear and stared at it.
“—and she probably figures you can have any woman you want. I’m betting she’s afraid of getting hurt. Plus, maybe she’s already been hurt by someone—”
His mind darted to the faceless Paul, whom he’d never liked.
“—and she doesn’t want to go down that road again. It’s your job to figure out what’s scaring her. If you care enough, that is.”
Oh, he cared.
He struggled with this hypothesis. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that she was secretly wild about him.
“Well, that’s a brilliant theory, Sherlock,” he said, “but maybe you had it right the first time. Maybe she’s just not that into me.”
“I see. So during your time in Afghanistan, you lost all your abilities to read a woman’s signals. Is that it?”
“I’m just saying that it’s possible that—”
“Oh, please.”
“I’m not a stalker, Ari. She’s said no, and I—”
“You give up? Really? Starting when?”
That hit a nerve, especially after his experiences as a POW.
Something inside him hardened with determination. “I don’t quit.”
“Good. I’m not suggesting you drag her off against her will, by the way.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m just saying that for once in your life, you might have to work a little harder to get the woman you want. That’s all.”
“But—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Tony!” she snapped. “Does the woman want you or not? Yes or no?”
“Yes,” came the honest and immediate answer. “She wants me. I can feel it.”
“Then figure it out.”
“Oh, figure it out. Brilliant. And how am I supposed to do that, O wise one? My suggestion box is open.”
“No idea. But you’ll think of something. Mama, God rest her soul, and I didn’t raise you to be a fool when it comes to women.”
That ringing endorsement made Tony laugh for the first time in hours.
Chapter 3
T
alia was already at the studio the next morning, looking at the brochures her travel agent had given her, when Gloria arrived, half an hour early. Although she was wearing a familiar expression of grim concern, she had armed herself with coffee and for Talia, her favorite daily treat: a jumbo cappuccino with extra foam and extra cinnamon. Without a word, she handed it to Talia, who flashed her a grateful smile. These days, Talia was happy for any fortification she could get, and it didn’t matter if it was emotional or caloric.
They leaned against the nearest worktable and sipped for a few minutes. Then Gloria, who’d miraculously managed to delay the questioning till this moment, launched into the inevitable interrogation.
“What gives?”
Shrugging, Talia tried to keep it light and airy, which would have been an easier proposition if her sister hadn’t known her so well. “Tony’s a friend. I met him when he picked up his nephew from one of my classes. He was about to return overseas. I wrote to him.”
Gloria waited for the rest, brows raised.
“He was presumed dead for a while,” Talia added.
“He ain’t dead.”
“Nope.”
More silent sipping ensued. Gloria stared at her.
“What?”
Talia demanded, her nerves fraying at the edges. “That’s it.”
No one did skeptical like Gloria. She had a way of giving her lips a derisive twist that said it all. “That’s it?” she said dubiously.
“That’s. It.”
“Bullshit,” Gloria pronounced.
“Okay.” Talia slammed her cup down, shoved away from the table and, flustered, looked around for the catalogue on African safaris. “You know what? This conversation is over.
O-V-E-R.
In other news, I’m thinking about Kenya—”
“Here’s what I don’t get,” said Gloria, who had never yet allowed a discussion to end before she had the last word. “Why are you so upset? You’ve barely said two words since Tony left. If it’s so cut-and-dried, and there’s nothing to you seeing your pen pal—” she made quotation marks with her fingers “—again, what’s the big deal?”
“There’s no big deal,” Talia lied.
Once again, Gloria waited.
Once again, the pressure-filled silence caused Talia to blather when she should have kept her big fat mouth shut. “Well, okay, he wants to be more than friends, but that’s not a good idea. For obvious reasons.”
“Right. Because he’s obviously a troll.”
Well, there it was. Tony’s physical appearance had made an impression on Gloria.
It’d made quite the impression on Talia, too.
Tall and dark-skinned, with the clean-shaven, hard-jawed, square-shouldered look of a man’s man—a military man—Tony was leaner than he’d been the only other time she’d seen him, but was still blessed with the perfect amount of toned muscle and butt power. He’d worn crisp khakis and a blinding white tunic, a summery combination that brought to mind ocean breezes, rum drinks and slow-swinging hammocks. He was vital and intense, strung tight with an energy that emanated from his brown eyes and filled the air around him.
Captain Antonios Davies was, in short, a walking, talking, breathing jolt of electricity to the female body.
That didn’t mean that Talia wanted to get involved with him.
Well, she wanted to, of course, but she
wouldn’t.
“Talia.” Gloria waved a hand in front of her face and clicked her fingers a couple of times. “Focus, girl. Snap out of it.”
“Okay, look,” Talia said, seriously annoyed now. Why did she have to explain herself to the person who should understand her reasons better than anyone else on the planet? “There’s an attraction there. I admit it. But I think I have enough going on in my life without—”
Gloria gave her a wide-eyed look of incomprehension. “What’s going on in your life, exactly?”
Talia lost it, which was probably the whole point. “I’ve got things to accomplish! You know this! I’m taking time off to travel, and I—”
“Is this about Paul?” Gloria interrupted quietly, ignoring the tirade.
“What? No! Of course not!”
“He broke your heart.”
Talia tried that on for size and decided it didn’t fit. “No. I was hurt, but he didn’t break my heart. Actually, he did me a favor by bailing on me before things went any further, right? So let’s just call it a lesson learned.”
“What was the lesson?”
Talia thought about Paul, and this, naturally, bled into thoughts of her father. He was a prominent surgeon who’d walked out on their mother for the greener pastures of his twenty-two-year-old medical transcriptionist. These experiences had led Talia to one inescapable lesson: “Men can’t be counted on when the going gets tough.”
“I knew it!” Gloria’s eyes gleamed bright with triumph. “Don’t lump all men together with Paul—”
“And Dad,” Talia reminded her.
“Right, right—forget Dad. My point is that Tony seemed like a good guy. And he seemed like he was really interested in you. So give him a chance. Go out for drinks. See what happens. Have some fun. I’m telling you, I’ve got a good feeling about him.”
Talia couldn’t believe her ears. “A
good feeling?
Is this the same kind of
good feeling
that led you into your ongoing two-year affair with a married man?”
Talia regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, especially as Gloria winced and turned the vivid purple of a beet. Talia tried to backtrack.
“I didn’t mean—”
A ghostly smile flickered across Gloria’s face. “You meant it.”
Talia put a hand on Gloria’s arm and gave her a sympathetic squeeze. “Look. I guess the bottom line is that we both want the best for each other. I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on what
the best
is.”
Gloria never went down without a fight. “Tony might be the best for you. I know Aaron is the best for me.”
Oh, for God’s sake. Talia smacked her own forehead in frustration, wondering why Gloria needed the same blast of brutal truth over and over again.
“If Aaron wanted the best for you, he wouldn’t be smuggling you to Brooklyn hotels every time he wanted to see you, and I’m guessing he
probably
wouldn’t have kept you dangling for two good childbearing years with promises to leave his wife.”
This clear-eyed analysis, predictably, made Gloria furious. “He’s leaving her over Memorial Day weekend,” she shouted. “You know he is! Why do you keep—”
Talia held up her hands and surrendered to the queen of denial. “Fine. You win. You win! Subject dropped.”
Gloria, who wasn’t quite ready to forgive and forget, got up in Talia’s face. “You’ll be eating those words soon, and I’ll be expecting an apology.”
“I’ll be happy to apologize,” Talia reassured her. “What I can’t do is stay with you and hold your hand through another night of crying over that bastard.”
Wrong choice of words. Again. Gloria’s eyes welled up and overflowed, and she swiped angrily at the tears. “I don’t need you to—”
“Sorry. One of the other tenants let me in, so I came on up.”
The male voice made them both jump, and they whirled around to discover Tony peering around the ajar door. His concerned gaze went directly to Talia and latched on, and his cheeks flushed with what looked like the kind of heightened awareness that she was feeling. If he knew Gloria was also in the room, he gave no sign of it.
“You okay?” he asked.
Flustered more by his unexpected arrival than by her argument with Gloria, Talia shrugged and tried to look okay. “Of course.”
They stared at each other for a lengthy beat, during which all of Talia’s nerve endings sparked to attention and her lungs emptied of air. She waited, reminding herself that this unholy reaction to Tony’s presence was the number one reason why she needed to stay the hell away from him. Despite what Gloria had said, this wasn’t a man with whom one had fun. This was a man a woman could fall for and love until her dying day.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Unsmiling, he came inside the studio, bringing all of his laser-sharp intensity with him. “But I need to talk to you for a minute, Talia.”
Oh, no.
“Talk?” Talia echoed stupidly.
“It’s important,” Tony added.
Talia stared at him, all her mental wheels spinning at top speed. Any more talking was out of the question, clearly. What good could possibly come of it? They’d talked already, and her heart was still achy from the experience. Plus, every time she saw him, it got that much harder to focus on why starting a relationship with him would inevitably lead to disaster. So the answer was clear: no more talking. Talking was bad.
She opened her mouth to tell him he needed to leave.
“Talk? Sure,” she said.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Gloria stifle a triumphant grin behind a tiny cough, which only added to Talia’s discomfort. She so did not need comments from the peanut gallery right now. Trying to be subtle about it, Talia shot Gloria a sidelong glare. Gloria, thankfully, took the hint and bustled around with a couple of boxes, trying to look busy.
Talia noticed she kept her ear cocked, though.
Filled with grim dread and making a mental note to clean Gloria’s clock at the first opportunity, Talia faced Tony again and discovered him studying the top of her head.
“What’re you looking at?”
Caught, he didn’t deny staring. “Your hair’s, ah, purple.”
His unabashed interest made Talia feel self-conscious, and that, in turn, made her defiant. Glowering, she smoothed the nape of her pageboy bob, which had flat bangs and sharp angles that framed her cheeks.
“You don’t like purple?”
His mouth eased into a smile that was both crooked and appreciative, and his teasing murmur was for her alone. “I love purple, but the blue worked for me, too. I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.”
Yeah, okay, she thought, flushing until she felt her skin sizzle.
That was not the kind of thing she needed to hear if she wanted to keep her wits about her and her feet on the ground. That was the kind of dizzying compliment guaranteed to make her foolish heart flutter, and her willpower was at an ebb so low she couldn’t do much to protect herself.
Still, she tried.
“Thanks.” Squaring her shoulders, she strove for a tone that was crisp and direct. This was her territory, right? Which meant that she was in control here, even though her innards had turned to lukewarm Jell-O. “What brings you back so soon?”
He wasn’t listening.
With growing dismay, she watched as he turned back to the door and waved two men into the studio from the hallway. Being in the army had given him a decisive air she couldn’t hope to match, or maybe he’d been born that way. Whatever the reason, none of them seemed to have any doubt about who was in charge.
So much for her being in control of this little visit, she thought sourly.
“Talia Adams,” Tony said, “I’d like you to meet my cousins, Marcus Davies and his brother, Cooper. They’re my partners in the auction house.”
Two of the biggest names in the New York art world? Here? In her unworthy little studio? No. Freaking. Way. This could not be happening.
Scraping her jaw up off the floor, she arranged her lips into what she hoped was a casual smile, as if this sort of thing happened to her so often it was yawn worthy.
She knew who they were, of course, although they’d never met. As a working artist, it was her business to study the local players, and she’d seen countless photos of them in local magazines over the years. They wined, dined and traded in the art world the way Martha Stewart made her way around a kitchen, and here Talia was, trying to cobble together a cupcake or two. She was up and coming, yeah, but she’d figured she had to work, at the very least, several more years before these two would know she existed.
What the heck was going on? Had Christmas come early this year?
It didn’t help that they were, next to Tony, two of the hottest men she’d ever seen in person. Marcus had a deep olive complexion, short, sandy hair sun-streaked with gold, amber eyes and swooping brows. He had the kind of sexy mustache and stubble that suggested he only shaved when the mood struck, which wasn’t very often. His smile was easy and he was dressed in the black-on-black outfit—dress shirt with expensive jeans—that a lot of New Yorkers favored.
Cooper, Marcus’s adopted brother, on the other hand, wore frayed camouflage cargo pants, a plain white T-shirt, and had an explosion of silky blond curls ringing his head like a halo. His hard jaw and thinned lips gave him the look of a man you didn’t want to piss off, and his glittering blue eyes were rock hard, as though they’d been chiseled straight from sapphires.
They looked, in short, like models escaped from the pages of
GQ
and
Soldier of Fortune
magazines, respectively.
Marcus stuck out a hand and shook Talia’s in his firm grip. “Talia. I’m familiar with your work. We thought it was time to take a closer look.”