Wanted, Page 4

  "Thank you," I said, managing to keep my smile bright though it had become significantly harder. "It's been almost eight," I added, unable to help myself. I'd seen Mulberry last at my sister's funeral, and the memory of that day bumped up against the one I was currently living in a way that made me feel cold and hollow.

  I hugged myself tight, trying to remember all my various bits of social training, but now feeling too lost to make small talk. "Well," I said, and then just let the word hang there, suddenly unable to come up with a single thing to say.

  It was Evan who rescued me.

  "Congressman Mulberry?" The older man turned to Evan, who stood in the doorway looking as dark and mysterious as still water at midnight. "There's a young woman out there looking for you. She seems very anxious to speak to you."

  "Is there?" The congressman perked up, his hand rising to straighten his tie as I bit back a grin.

  "Long blond hair, short black dress." He moved into the kitchen to stand near us. "She was heading into the library as I left her."

  "Well," Mulberry said. He turned to me. "My dear, it's been a pleasure, but if this young woman is a constituent, I should go see what she has on her mind."

  "Of course," I said. "It was lovely seeing you again. Thank you for coming."

  As soon as he was out the door, I turned to Evan. "You are a very smooth liar."

  "Apparently not as smooth as I thought if you found me out so easily."

  "Maybe I just know you too well," I quipped.

  He looked at me for a moment, then took a single step closer. My breath hitched and my pulse began to pick up tempo, and when he reached out an arm toward me I stood perfectly still, anticipating a touch that never came--it wasn't me he was reaching for, but a bottle of wine.

  Idiot, idiot, idiot. But at least I could breathe easy again.

  "Too well?" he said, as he poured a glass of pinot noir and passed it to me. "Does that mean you've figured out all my secrets?"

  Our fingers brushed as I took the wine from him, and I shivered from the spark of connection that seemed to shoot through me, all the way from my fingers to the very tips of my toes.

  I saw the quick flash of awareness in his eyes and wanted to kick myself. Because it wasn't me that knew his secrets--it was the other way around. And damned if I didn't feel confused and exposed and vulnerable.

  "Secrets?" I repeated. I stood up straighter, determined to snatch back some measure of control. "Like the mystery behind why you've barely said two words to me all night? Why you've looked everywhere but me?"

  He tilted his head as if considering my words, then he poured his own glass of wine and took a long, slow sip. "I'm looking at you now."

  I swallowed. He damn sure was. His cloudy gray eyes were fixed on my face, and I saw the tension in his body, as if he was fighting the coming violence of a storm.

  Against my better judgment, I took a drink of my own wine. Yes, I needed a clear head for tonight, but right then I needed courage more. "You are," I agreed. "What do you see?"

  "A beautiful woman," he said, his tone making my heart flutter as much as his words. "A beautiful woman," he continued, "who needs to take a step back and think about what the hell she's doing and why she's doing it."

  "Excuse me?" His tone had shifted only slightly, but it was enough to totally erase that flutter. "Excuse me?" I repeated, because he had so completely flummoxed me that I couldn't seem to conjure any other words.

  "You've had a hard time of it, Angie," he said. "You deserve to be happy."

  I twirled the stem of my wineglass between my fingers as I tried to figure out his angle. Was he about to tell me that he could make me happy? The thought sent a small tingle of anticipation running through me, but I didn't believe it. He was too hot and cold, too confusing. And I wasn't going to figure out what the hell he was thinking unless I flat-out asked.

  "What makes you think I'm not happy?"

  He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "I get why you're dating Warner," he said. "Political father. FBI agent boyfriend. It all fits. It all makes sense. The perfect daughter piece in the picture perfect puzzle that makes up your life."

  I'd gone completely tense, my throat tight, my chest heavy. I felt like a walking target that he'd just skewered with a dead-on bull's-eye.

  "Not that it's any of your business, but Kevin's wonderful," I said tightly, determined not to let him see that his barb had hit home.

  "No," Evan said. We were still standing next to the counter in the kitchen, completely alone except for the few waiters who wandered in to refill their trays. Now he moved a step closer, and I swore I could feel the thrum of the air molecules buzzing between us. "For someone, maybe. But he's not for you."

  "What would you know about it?" I'd intended to sound indignant. I didn't even come close.

  "I know enough," he said, closing the distance between us even more. "I know you need a man who's strong enough to anchor you. A man who understands what you need, in bed and out of it." A deliciously sexy smile eased across his mouth. "You need a man who can just look at you and get you hot. And, Angie," he said, "I also know that Kevin Warner isn't that man."

  Oh, my. Perspiration beaded on the back of my neck. My breathing was shallow, my pulse fast. I felt hyperaware of my body. Of the tiny hairs standing up on my arms. Of the needful, demanding feeling in my legs. I was wet--I was certain of it. And all I wanted right then was Evan's hands upon me.

  It took a massive force of will to manage words, and even more strength to look him in the eyes. "If not Kevin, then who?" I asked, but the question that remained unspoken was, "You?"

  He reached out and tucked a loose lock of hair behind my ear, the soft brush of his finger against my skin just about melting me. "I guess that's something you'll have to figure out."

  four

  I spent the next hour circulating through the condo, chatting with the guests, and reminiscing about Jahn. I caught sight of Cole twice and Tyler once. I didn't see Evan at all, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, I'd liked the way he'd looked at me. I'd liked the frisson of awareness that tingled through me simply from his proximity.

  On the other hand, our conversation in the kitchen had been so surreal that I wanted to avoid him until I could wrap my head around what had happened. And I sure as hell didn't want another lecture about Kevin. Especially since everything Evan had said was so damn right.

  As for Kevin, he'd been my almost constant companion since the moment I'd left the kitchen. He played the role of the supportive boyfriend with such gusto that I barely had a moment to myself. I finally escaped, claiming that I was going to the bathroom when all I really wanted was a moment when I could stand by myself and simply breathe.

  Rather than slip away to one of the restrooms, I hurried up to Jahn's rooftop patio. It's my favorite place in the condo, accessed by a stunning spiral staircase on the north side of the living room. Jahn decorated it with as much detail as the interior of the condo, so the covered and uncovered areas were full of comfortable chairs and lounges, conversation areas, and beautiful plants that made this oasis in the sky feel like a park. Or at the very least, like the best rooftop lounge of a five-star European hotel.

  While most of the guests were lounging on the couches and sipping drinks by the outdoor kitchen, I moved away from the crowd. I stood alone between the tiny potted firs that lined the perimeter, my hands pressed to the glass that provided that extra bit of protection against the urge to spread your arms and leap, proving once and for all that though you might appear human, you really weren't. You were just air and breath and the thrill of motion, and nothing bad could happen to you in the night sky because the wind would always catch you.

  "I hope you're not thinking about jumping."

  Ironically, I did exactly that, practically leaping out of my skin as my hand rose to my throat. My heart beat double-time, but whether that was because of the surprise or because of the man who'd so stealthily approa
ched, I didn't know.

  I drew in what I hoped was a calming breath, gathered myself, and then turned to face Evan.

  "I was," I admitted. "But don't worry. I'm not suicidal."

  "No," he said simply, his eyes flat as they assessed me. "You're too strong for that."

  "That is such bullshit." I bit out the retort automatically, irritated that he'd so easily pushed my buttons. People had said the same thing after Gracie died, every word like fingernails on a chalkboard. You're so strong, you're handling it all so well. And it was all crap, because I wasn't handling it at all.

  I'd moved like a zombie through the days, barely managing to function. The days were bad enough. The nights pretty much fucking killed me.

  I sucked in a shaky breath. "There's nothing strong about surviving," I said. "All it means is that one more time, death passed you up."

  I winced, because the second the words were out of my mouth, I knew I'd said too much. Shit.

  I turned back to the glass and looked out over the world. I didn't turn when I heard him move up beside me, taking his own position at the barrier. For the first time I could remember, in fact, I wanted Evan Black to just go away.

  "I'm sorry," he said. His voice was low and level, and I liked the way it felt inside my head. I didn't turn, though. I wasn't sure if he was sorry for my loss or apologizing for his words, and if it was the former, I really didn't want to know.

  "So why are you here?" I finally asked, my back still toward him. "Did you track me down to give me more grief about the guy I'm dating?"

  "Believe it or not, I don't spend that much time thinking about Kevin Warner."

  I turned, my brow raised in question. "No? Because in the kitchen earlier he sure seemed to be on your mind."

  "Not Kevin," he said simply. "You."

  "Oh." I swallowed, liking the sound of that word on his lips. You.

  For a moment, silence hung between us. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what he wanted. I didn't know what he was doing there or what was going on between us, or if anything even was going on between us. I waited for him to speak, but he seemed content to let the silence continue. He was doing nothing more than standing there, and yet I felt suddenly trapped, as if he'd captured me in that firm and unwavering gaze.

  In desperation, I finally managed to form a sentence. "You're wrong," I finally said, looking down at my fingernails so that I wouldn't have to see his face. "I'm not strong at all." I thought of how much I wanted to escape this day. Of how much I wanted my uncle back. Of how desperately I wanted to cry, and of how hard I was having to work to keep all that grief bottled up inside.

  Mostly, I thought of how certain I was that I wouldn't make it through the night. That no matter how hard I tried, in the end the explosion would come and somehow, someway, everything I'd wrapped up tight would come completely unraveled.

  "You are. I've watched you," he said firmly. "Over the years, I mean. You keep yourself under tight control, Angie. That takes a lot of strength."

  I fervently wished that what he saw was true. It wasn't, of course. I'd been trying for years to keep myself under control, but the tighter I grasped, the more pieces of me seem to break free.

  Stifling a sigh, I turned away again to look out at Lake Michigan and the boats that were now nothing more than tiny points of lights in the distance. "You must not have been watching too closely," I said.

  "On the contrary," he said, his voice low and even and so intense it seemed to erase all my protests even before I could voice them. "I paid a great deal of attention. I always do when something matters to me."

  "Oh." My voice felt small and breathy.

  From his position beside me, he hooked a finger under my chin and turned my head to meet his eyes. Heat from the contact shot through me, and I half-wondered if I'd see a burn mark there the next time I looked in the mirror.

  He moved his hand away, and I wanted to cry out in protest. "Trust me on this, Lina. I know all about control."

  I swallowed. I wasn't entirely sure I knew what we were talking about. And I sure as hell didn't know why he called me by my old nickname, but to my surprise, I found myself liking it. I liked even more the way that he was looking at me. I think I could have stood there forever, the city and lake below and the night sky above and this enigmatic man only inches from me.

  His lips began to move, and I thought that he had a beautiful mouth. "It's not a weakness to want to let go," he said. "To want the thrill of taking a risk. The pleasure of feeling the rush."

  I blinked. "How did you--"

  "Shhhh." His smile was slow and easy, revealing a rarely seen dimple in his cheek. "You need it. You've been pent up all night, going crazy. Locked inside your grief. Go ahead, now. Close your eyes and turn around."

  "But, I--"

  That finger rose and pressed gently to my lips. "Don't argue. Just do."

  Unquestioning obedience isn't usually my modus operandi, but to my surprise, I complied. I closed my eyes, letting the dark take me, and then I shifted, so that I was facing the glass again. If I had opened my eyes, I would have seen the night sky spread wide in front of me. Instead I saw only Evan, larger than life inside my head.

  "That's a good girl."

  I'd worn my shoulder-length hair loose, and I held my breath as he gently pushed the thick waves aside, then pressed his hand to the back of my neck. I shivered from the contact, then cringed with embarrassment because I know he must have noticed. His thumb moved ever so slightly, lightly stroking my skin. I had no way of telling if he was doing it on purpose or if it was simply a reflex. Either way, it was driving me crazy, and I bit my lower lip, thankful that he was behind me and couldn't see that additional break in my composure.

  When he spoke again, his voice was husky. "Now put your hands on the glass."

  I was confused and nervous. But, damn me, I was also turned on, and I hoped he couldn't tell that my nipples had peaked beneath my bra, and that he couldn't see the flush of my skin in the dark.

  Before I could do what he asked, he moved behind me, taking my hands in his and guiding them to the pane. The connection was shocking, powerful, and a raging heat stormed through me as I let myself go, reveling in the incredible sensation of submitting to this man.

  "Do you feel it, Angie? The pressure of the glass? It's pushing back on you. It's holding you up. It's keeping you here, safe beside me."

  His words barely registered. All I knew was the way his voice caressed me, like a trail of kisses down my body. All I could feel was the pressure of his hands over mine, and the whisper of his breath on my skin, as tantalizing as a ray of summer sun.

  "What if the glass were to tumble away?" His voice was soft and gentle, as if that was the most natural thing in the world to think about. "You wouldn't fall, Angie. You'd soar."

  I squeezed my eyes tighter. He'd already captured the attention of my body, but now he'd captured my imagination, too.

  "Maybe you wouldn't purposefully push the glass out of the way, but if that barrier disappeared, you'd experience it to the fullest. You'd spread your arms, you'd embrace the tumble. You'd breathe in the air and feel the wind rushing around you, gathering you up. Lifting you up. Because that's what you were thinking about, wasn't it? Not jumping. Not falling--"

  I drew in a breath, gasping as I leaned back against him, my ass against his crotch. He was hard, and so help me, I was wet.

  "You want to fly, Angie," he whispered, and then brushed his lips over the top of my ear. I trembled, and oh, dear god, if he touched me again I knew I'd come, my body exploding out to greet the stars.

  And all I could do was stand there, the heat of our connection burning through me, and silently beg for him to never leave. For this moment to never end.

  He moved his hands to my shoulders, then eased them around to place his palms against my ribs. His thumbs rested on my back and his fingertips brushed the swell of my breasts. I bit my lower lip, determined not to cry out, not to move. Not to do anything that
might make him stop. That might end this wondrous fantasy.

  His hands eased lower, encircling my waist. I'm not particularly small, but I felt petite and fragile right then, because I knew in that moment that he had the power to break me. To utterly and sweetly destroy me.

  "Angie," he said and began to turn me in his arms. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. But before I could shift--before I could even absorb the possibility that he was going to kiss me--the moment shattered, torn apart by the high-pitched chirp of my cell phone.

  He drew his hands away, and as he did, I heard another sound. A whimper.

  I'm pretty sure it came from me.

  I opened my eyes just in time to see Evan's face shift into a stony, unreadable expression. I didn't know what it looked like before, but I imagined there'd been lust in his eyes.

  I felt something tight squeeze at my heart, because we'd just lost this moment. And I knew damn well that we could never, ever get it back.

  "You should answer it," he said.

  "What?"

  He glanced down to the tiny purse that I'd decided to carry tonight only because I had no pocket for my phone.

  "Oh." I'd already forgotten. "It's a text." I fumbled to retrieve it, then glanced at the display.

  "Kevin?"

  "Flynn," I said quickly, not wanting to bring Kevin anywhere near this conversation. "Remember? The boy who lived down the street from Uncle Jahn in Kenilworth."

  "Probably not so much a boy anymore," Evan said, in a tone that made the gooey feminine side of me shimmy with joy.

  "No," I said casually. "Not so much."

  I kept my focus on his face, and for a moment I thought that he was going to reach out for me. That he was going to pull me to him and press his lips to mine, and send us both soaring past that damn glass partition.

  But the moment passed, and he turned away to look out over the darkened lake.

  For a moment, we stood in silence. Then he spoke, low and steady. "I think about jumping, too."

  "Suicidal?" I quipped.

  "No." He turned back to me, and what I saw on his face wasn't heat or lust but bald determination. "Arrogant."

  My brows puckered with confusion.

  "I'm arrogant enough to think I can control my own fall," he clarified.