Ice water filled his veins. “How the fuck do you know my type?”
Brennen held up his hands in mock surrender. “Dude, I don’t care what you like. It’s what the lovely Ms. Ambrose likes. I heard she’s got a thing for tall, blonde and English.”
“But you’re Irish and blue,” Christian said.
“It’s all the same and gets them hot all the same. Besides, I can dye my hair back.” Brennen grabbed a beer from the outdoor bar’s fridge. He sat down in a chair, propping his feet up on the balcony’s railing. “I’m just fucking with you.”
“You don’t have a date with Zoe?” Christian could barely contain his relief at the news.
Brennen took an unnecessarily long pull of beer. “I wouldn’t call it a date-date. I’m her personal tour guide when she goes sightseeing.”
“When does this joyous event take place?” Christian snatched the beer from Brennen and threw it away, then took another drag of his Dunhill.
“Day after tomorrow. Hoover Dam, helicopter tour and maybe a sunset picnic at the reservoir.” Brennen laced his hands behind his head. “I’m just glad that it’s not on Monday. She’s got some kind of book signing and I’ve got a flash mob to rock out to that night.”
Christian rolled his shoulders. “You’re still tracking those down?”
Brennen’s head swayed from side to side, as if he were dancing to a beat only he could hear. “Maybe I’ll take Zoe. Women love that kind of thing. Her book signing’s at two and they’re not performing until eight thirty.”
“Did she ask you out?” Blowing out a thin stream of smoke, Christian ground out his cigarette in an ashtray sitting on the outdoor bar.
“Nah, I’m doing this as a favor to Martha. It’s in the fine print of my contract,” Brennen grumbled. “Hell, it’s probably in Zoe’s.”
“You should look at mine,” Christian said, feeling his friend’s pain. If Martha hadn’t been the best at the game, Christian would have been gone a long time ago. “Think Martha would mind if I took your place?”
“Have at it, mate. I hate helicopter rides.”
“Since when?”
“Since I found out I suffer from arachnophobia.”
“Fear of spiders?” Christian asked, completely bewildered.
Brennen nodded, his face solemn. “Got that, too. Or at least that’s what my therapist told me last week after finding one in bed.”
“You have therapy sessions in your bed?”
“God, no. I screw my therapist in her bed.”
Opening the fridge, Christian grabbed two bottles of beer and tossed one to his friend. “Cheers.”
“Guess this mean you’re not interested in going to Ethan’s house tomorrow night?”
Ethan Rivers threw the wildest, most debauched parties Christian had ever had the pleasure to attend. Anything and everything was available: women, men, drugs…the only legalities Ethan observed were no one under eighteen allowed and all transactions, as he liked to call them, had to be explicitly consensual.
It was a temptation Christian normally succumbed to every year. He had a million reasons why he should go and only two why he shouldn’t—B.T.S. and Zoe. In the past any reason or rule given to prohibit him from doing whatever the hell he wanted would have had him helping Ethan think of new and improved ways to find oblivion in seconds. But now…
Leaning back in his chair, he took a long pull of his beer. There were other things he wanted to do, like read the rest of Zoe’s series to get into the head of her villain and run about a million miles on the treadmill in the gym.
He reasoned that he could give Zoe tomorrow to cool off so that when he showed up instead of Brennen, she wouldn’t throw something at him. Like ninja stars.
“Sorry, I’ve already made plans.”
Chapter Twelve
Zoe threw her shopping bags on the bed and plopped down beside them. Retail therapy and a trip to the spa should’ve helped more than just her back. However, it had only buoyed her spirits temporarily. Not even finding a store filled with hippie chic clothing had kept her shopping high going.
Now that she was alone, she crashed—figuratively and literally—as she fell back on the mattress. Her cell phone buzzed again, alerting her to yet another text. She grabbed it, reading the five texts she’d previously ignored and her stomach churned. Her phone rang before she could hit send on the third one. Pressing talk, she braced for her brother’s lecture.
“Are you out of your damn mind?”
“You really know how to start a conversation, Luke,” Zoe said.
“What I know is how not to beat around the bush. Every time I get online, there you are with Romanov.”
“Maybe you should stay off the Internet.” She winced. Antagonizing Luke was akin to waving a red flag in a bull’s face.
He made an indescribable noise. “So it’s true.”
She sat up and looked around the room, searching for inspiration on how to get her brother out of her now public personal life. A copy of today’s paper lay in the closest chair. She focused on the front page picture of a Wall Street executive pictured with a blue collar worker. “It’s truly a publicity stunt. I’m hanging out with him as a favor to Aunt M.” Okay, so part of that was true.
“You expect me to believe that?” he asked, his tone incredulous.
The phone beeped. She glanced at it and let out a sigh of relief. “Gotta go. Melanie’s calling.”
“Hold—”
She pressed talk again. “Oh, thank God, it’s you.”
“Still me,” her brother said.
“Holy crap!" She ended the call and scrolled through her contact list to find Melanie’s number. She touched the screen as soon as her best friend’s picture showed up.
“Oh my God, that man is hot,” Melanie said when she answered. “I must have details. Is he a good kisser? Who am I kidding? Of course he’s a good kisser. How’s he in bed? You don’t have to tell me. Just press one if he rocked your world.”
“Sorry to burst your erotic bubble, but it’s only a publicity stunt,” Zoe repeated the words, but hearing herself saying them again actually hurt this time.
“Damn. I had hoped—”
“What? Someone like Ian Romanov would date me? Please,” Zoe said, ending with a little laugh. It was either that or cry a river of tears.
The line was silent for a moment. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”
Zoe smiled. “I know, but I’m okay. Seriously.” She traced a pattern on the comforter, then hiked her knees to her chest. “Do me a favor. Tell everyone I’m fine and to not believe anything they read or see.”
“Whatever you need, Z.”
After a few more stilted lines of conversation, she finally ended the call and dropped her phone. She wrapped her arms around her legs and placed her chin on her kneecaps.
Tomorrow she would have fun. Brennen seemed like the kind of guy who knew how to do that. And she wouldn’t think of Christian at all, she swore silently. Not one bit.
Never again.
She froze, unable to believe her eyes.
Christian lounged against a silver sports car that somehow he’d gotten permission to park on the tarmac.
The man looked like sex on a stick. All broad shouldered and lean hipped. His retro aviators and tailored clothes did nothing to help her focus. Why did the man have to look good in everything? And don’t get her started on his hair. Or cheekbones. Or lips. The list could go on and on.
“I thought Brennen was supposed to be here.” The wind whipped at her pony tail, smacking her in the mouth and sticking to her lip gloss. Great.
“He’s got arachnophobia,” Christian said, his lips twitching.
“Does he know something I don’t?” She felt the blood drain from her face. They were in the desert and spiders could be the size of dinner plates. Or at least in her mind they could be.
He tore away his sunglasses and took a step toward her. “I didn’t mean to get you all worked up. There aren’t any spiders where we’re going. Promise.”
Before she could breathe easier, the pilot spoke up. “The tarantulas that like to hide under the seats in the ‘copter just hiss at you when they get angry. I haven’t had one bite a customer yet.”
Her eyes rounded and she looked for Christian for support. “I-I,” she stammered.
“Need saving?” Christian whispered as the pilot went over his checklist.
The clipboard in his hand clattered to the ground. “I picked a bad day to stop drinking.”
Zoe’s heart stuttered in response. “Please, my ride’s gone back to the hotel,” she whispered back, not caring her rescuer was also her tormentor.
Christian flashed a smile, his teeth white and even in the bright sun. “We’ll have to get a rain check, Charlie. The lady’s not feeling so well.”
“Thank you, Jesus.” Charlie gave them a small salute and pulled out a silver flask, drank deeply and weaved away.
Christian made it to the car before her, opening the passenger side door and waiting for her to slide in before he shut the door. He joined her a few seconds later, buckling his seatbelt and starting the engine.
“Like my car?”
“It’s nice.” And probably cost more than the renovations had on her house.
“It’s a rental.”
“Of course it is.”
Glancing at her, he grinned. “Admit it: you thought it was mine.” He drove the car between non-existent gates, turning onto Airport Road.
She bit the side of her lip. “Okay, so I thought it was yours.”
“I have a nearly identical one in L.A.”
“You better be glad I don’t have a pillow handy.”
He laughed and shifted gears.
As the sports car purred down the winding road, she looked at Christian from out of the corner of her eye. He kept his hands at ten and two, only moving them to shift or find a playlist on his iPod.
“You can take me back to the hotel.” She tapped her fingers against her thigh. “I have work to do anyway.”
“Not happening. I’ve got you all to myself and I plan to take advantage of it,” he said, “Besides, you owe me.”
Panic assailed her, turning her body hot then cold. Had he found out? “For what?”
“Saving your ass from Charlie, the almost sober pilot.” Tension left her in one big breath of air.
“I say it makes us even.”
He glanced at her, then back at the road. “How’s your sunburn?”
“Much better. I spent the better part of yesterday at the spa.” She ran her hands up and down her arms as goose bumps appeared. “Those ladies are miracle workers.”
“Would you like me to turn off the a/c?”
She looked out of the window, not actually seeing anything. “Thanks, I get cold easily.”
“Zoe, love?”
The car slowed to a stop and she turned to face him. “What?”
His eyes met hers. He leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to hers. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Am not,” she protested, dragging in copious amounts of air in order not to pass out from his nearness. The soft brush of his lips had her gripping the leather seat to keep from touching him.
“Right or left?” His lips brushed hers again and he had to repeat the question before she could respond.
“Um… left.” Her eyes closed but nothing happened. She cracked open a lid to find him staring at her.
“I can’t drive with you blocking my view of the road.”
“Sorry.” She threw herself back so hard that the side of her head hit the door. “Ow!” Rubbing the sore spot, she refused to look at him as the car picked up speed.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She grabbed her purse, digging through it find her cell. “Crap.”
“Something wrong?”
“I left my phone in my room at the hotel.”
“Guess you’re entirely at my mercy.”
She groaned. Why did he have to make it sound so appealing?
Chapter Thirteen
The day was perfect for driving: Sunny, warm and not a cloud in sight.
As for his road trip companion, she looked less than thrilled at the thought of being with him. Lips shiny from gloss tempted him to stop the car and spend the next few hours kissing her, but he was going to do the right thing this time.
No matter how much it killed him.
He drove the car off onto the curb, put it park and turned to face her. “I would like to apologize for my behavior on the plane. Not for what happened between us in bed, but the aftermath. I had no right to pry into your past relationships,” Christian began, smiling slightly when she hmphed. “From now on we’ll do things on your terms. Whatever you want out of this relationship, you’ll get.” She gave him a skeptical look. “Please, Zoe. Let’s keep getting to know one another. Ask me anything you want, and I’ll answer you truthfully.”
“What’s in those pictures?”
He should have known she’d ask something like this, but in all honesty it would be a relief to get it off his chest and for some reason he thought he could trust her. However, this wasn’t something he could sit there and tell her. He put the car in gear and eased back on the road.
“Me committing about a dozen crimes, but the time/date stamp has been photoshopped.”
“So they’re fakes?”
