Authors: Shelby Reed
“Are you still seeing him?” the editor demanded.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Billie glared at her, restless and incensed. “It’s certainly none of your business.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nora found her chair and sat again, an expression of insult and confusion darkening her hawkish features. “Why is this such a secret, Billie? You obviously love this man. You always tell me about these things. I thought we were friends. So what have I done lately to make you think you can’t talk to me anymore?”
Billie could hardly stand to meet her eyes. “Oh, come on, Nora! Think about it. Why would I talk to you about falling in love with Adrian? I know you paid him for his services, long before I ever met him.”
Nora sat back, slack-jawed. “Where the hell did you come up with that?”
Billie searched her mind and couldn’t pinpoint an exact source. “You alluded to it.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” The editor took another gulp of herbal tea, tossing it back like whiskey, then set the mug on the desk hard enough to slosh the dregs in the bottom. “I visited Avalon twice. Two parties, on someone else’s tailcoats. Window-shopping only. No sex. No fun and games. You think I’d pay Azure’s fees? She gives new meaning to the old term ‘whorehouse prices’.”
“But you said…you told me…”
“I might have name-dropped, but I didn’t say I slept with any of those men. For heaven’s sake, Billie, only the wealthiest women in the world can play that field.
Although I do believe you’ve now single-handedly rendered that law null and void.”
Billie covered her face with her fingers, a sick relief adding to the heat burning her cheeks. “Oh, Nora. I thought…I mean, you talked about Adrian like you and he—”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course. But even if I’d had the money, it was impossible to land an appointment with him. As you now know, he was like a god in that place. When Azure suggested him for the interview, I thought, who better than the very best?” Nora smirked. “I’ll bet she’s kicking herself in her svelte backside right about now for letting him slip through her fingers.”
“He didn’t quit,” Billie said with a tired sigh. “She fired him before he could.”
176
The Fifth Favor
“You should have put that in the article. It ended with too many unanswered questions.”
“Why would it matter?”
“Readers will want to know.”
“That article’s not intended for publication, Nora,” Billie said sternly, her fingers tightening on the disc as though she could squeeze its secrets back into safekeeping.
Nora’s penciled brows arched up. “Too late.”
Even the air molecules seemed to pause. Then Billie remembered to breathe, and her heart remembered to pump, and pump, and pump, until it lurched with sheer, frigid panic, a wild thing behind her breast. She closed her eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t publish that article.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! How could I not? It’s incredible! I can’t wait for the buzz it’ll stir in this town. You’re going to be famous, Billie Cort,” she added with a broad smile.
So her name was on the article, too.
How to Betray the Man You Love, by Billie Cort
.
“But—who edited it for privacy?”
“I removed anything that could expose Adrian’s identity.”
Trembling, Billie clasped a clammy hand to her pounding throat. “You took out all the names?”
“Everybody’s except Luke DeChambeau’s. His suicide is public record, of course, and proof that the piece isn’t some tabloid-quality fairy tale we made up for ratings.
Truth is a hell of a lot more provocative than fiction, isn’t it?”
Billie’s legs wobbled beneath her; even her insides seemed to liquefy and dissolve.
“But you can’t publish Lucien’s name. You can’t—”
“I can. The layout’s already left graphic design.”
Faint rumblings in Billie’s subconscious signified the advent of the world’s collapse around her. “The—printer has it?”
Nora glanced at her watch. “The first pages are coming off the press as we speak.
But why are you so frantic? No one’s going to know who Adrian is. I know how to damage-proof these articles, Billie. I’ve done it for years. Who would possibly draw a correlation between Luke DeChambeau and—”
“The Antolis.” Billie backed toward the door. “They knew him. They know my name. If anyone reads
Illicit
in that family, they’ll know. I have to warn Chris.”
“The Antolis? Who’s Chris?” Nora yelled after her as Billie flung open the door and sprinted into the hall.
But Billie didn’t stay to explain. She didn’t see the startled faces of the office workers she shoved past, or feel the perspiration mist her hairline and trickle between her breasts. The buzzing in her ears had blackened out every sensory detail of the world around her, until the only visible path before her led directly to Christopher Antoli’s door.
177
Shelby Reed
* * * * *
When the apartment door swung open, a jolt of electricity galvanized Billie’s already quivering nerves.
The mere sight of him stole the purpose from the forefront of her resolve and replaced it with hot, shivery delight. She stared—the hungry female in her couldn’t help it.
Gone was the desperate, tousled man from the night before. The one who stood in his place was freshly showered, wet hair combed back from his face, dressed in a crisp white T-shirt and faded jeans. Relaxed. Rested. Welcoming. Even the sight of his bare feet acted like an aphrodisiac on her flustered senses.
A smile had softened Christopher’s features when he opened the door and found her there, an expression of sheer pleasure and something suspiciously close to relief.
Now he stepped back to let her into the foyer, dark eyes sparkling and trained on her face. “Good morning.”
At the same time Billie opened her mouth to reply, the scent of soap and woodsy aftershave slammed into her, and the words died in her throat.
God help her. This was going to be devastating.
“You look beautiful,” he added, when it became apparent she wasn’t going to speak. “I like the dress. Very professional.” He took a single step forward and started to reach for her, but then their eyes locked, and he paused.
“I can’t stay,” she blurted, a surge of self-disgust snapping the tail of her declaration.
Her dismay spiraled deeper as the pleasure fled his features. Christopher might have left Avalon behind, but he still knew how to read a woman, and Billie sensed the slow realization creeping through his mind as his gaze swept an inventory of her face, her posture, her body language—arms clasped tightly across her waist, a barrier against him.
Confusion dimmed the warmth in his eyes. The same vulnerability of last night, the same hurt and bewilderment. Just a glimpse. Then it was gone.
Enthusiasm now coolly under wraps, he moved around her and closed the door. “I wondered about you when I woke up. I looked for a note, but you didn’t leave one.”
“I was late for work. I hadn’t intended to spend the night, but then I fell asleep…”
Billie swallowed and tried not to notice the slightly paler skin of his fresh-shaved jaw.
“How do you feel?”
“Much better, thank you.” The words carried a deeper import than the usual perfunctory response. He nodded toward the kitchen. “Can you stay long enough for a cup of coffee?”
Something to hide behind while she brought the world crashing down on his head.
“Okay.”
178
The Fifth Favor
Neither of them moved right away. Their gazes clung, a silent conversation unfurling between them, comprised of questions too painful to answer.
Unable to bear her guilt another second, Billie swallowed the lump in her throat and grasped his hand. His fingers curled around hers, and after a hesitation, Christopher drew her close to him and leaned to brush a soft, tentative kiss across her lips.
It wasn’t enough. With a hunger born of long-restrained desire, of broken hope and the inevitable grief to come, Billie surged against him, snaked her arms around his ribs to meet at the long sweep of his spine, and let her lips open beneath the warm, sweet pressure of his mouth.
“You came back,” he whispered, and with trembling despair, she realized he’d been waiting, unsure, unsettled by the lingering promises of last night and the uncertainty of today.
They stood in the foyer like that, wrapped around each other, reassuring with tongue, hands, and the urgent sway of man into woman, until a panting Rudy materialized at their feet and wedged his ninety-pound body between them.
Christopher gave a shaky laugh. “Coffee,” he said, as though suddenly remembering. “If you still want it.”
“Yes.” She drew in a deep breath and averted her gaze. “We need to talk, Chris.”
In the kitchen, she seated herself at the tiny café table and watched with a trudging pulse as he retrieved two mugs from a cabinet and poured the hot, fragrant liquid that had been brewing in an espresso machine near the stove.
He was poignantly oblivious to the approaching storm, this man she loved. And though she knew it wasn’t truly her fault Nora had published the exposé, Billie felt as though she alone wielded the weapon that would unravel the finely woven threads of his well-being…fragile threads he’d clung to last night. Strands of his dignity that she’d once sought to help him lace back together.
Setting a steaming mug on the table before her, he paused beside her and laid a gentle palm on the crown of her head. “What’s on your mind?”
Billie swallowed, the truth tap-dancing on her lips. “Last night, to start.”
“Ah, last night.” He seemed to mull over the memory while he seated himself across from her, fingers embracing his coffee cup on the table in front of him. The steam curled a caress beneath his chin as he watched her with speculative concern. “Nothing happened, Billie. I may have been intoxicated, but believe me, I’d remember.”
“But I stayed,” she choked, her fists clenched in her lap. “All night. I slept beside you.”
“Yes.” His gaze drifted to her lips, lashes disguising his sentiments. “Thank you.
Apparently I needed it.”
She bit her bottom lip and stared at her coffee.
“Billie.” He slid aside his mug. “What’s wrong?”
179
Shelby Reed
The realization hit her then: she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t break the news to him now, not while he sat so patient and attentive across from her, his consideration focused on
her
feelings.
And
his
—Billie smothered the desire to weep. His feelings would be pulverized when she was through.
But it could wait, couldn’t it? The October edition of
Illicit
wouldn’t be released for another week. She could tell him about the article in a few days, after she’d scrubbed the scent of him from her skin, the memory of his warmth and tenderness from her mind.
Still, she’d never be able to accept the fact that she, Billie Cort, had somehow managed to transform Adrian of Avalon into Chris Antoli, a beautiful, vulnerable, and—
God
!—maybe even enamored, man. She’d made him feel safe again. Safe enough to care for her. He thought the hurdles were behind them, yet the black mountain looming before them was insurmountable.
Looking at the frown darkening his features, she found herself incapable of divulging the truth.
“Nothing’s wrong, other than I’ve been neglecting my job. I have deadlines, which I actually missed this morning, because I was here, sleeping in your bed. I…” She drew a breath, ever aware that her falsity froze her features and probably screamed its presence to him. “I don’t even know why I’m here, really.” Her gaze skittered away. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m all right,” he said, dark eyes searching her face.
“I’m glad.” Pushing back her chair, Billie stood. “Thanks for the coffee. I have to go.”
Christopher didn’t move. “Please don’t.”
“But I…I have errands. I have to pick up my dry-cleaning.”
“They’ll be open all day,” he said, then added softly, “coward.”
The air around them seemed to pop and sizzle, like the single drop of water that, in the silence, slid from the coffee maker and boiled itself on the still-scorching hotplate.
Restive, Billie hugged herself and unconsciously sought to rub heat into her arms, bared by the chestnut sleeveless dress. She knew how to reject a lover. She’d done it before, swift and merciless to put the guilt behind her. No matter how much it stung, she knew how to cut ties with a man, no hesitation.
Any man except this one.
“Last night was a mistake,” she said in a defeated voice. “Thank God nothing happened between us.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing happened.” His mouth curved up, that old provocative smile, telling Billie she’d already lost control of the situation. “I came to some monumental conclusions somewhere in the night.”
180
The Fifth Favor
She lifted a hand to stop him. “Please—I just—I shouldn’t have stayed. I never intended—”
“So why did you?”
“I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.”
“Liar. You stayed because you couldn’t help yourself. You stayed because you love me.”
“That’s—I—”
“Billie.”
She closed her eyes, broken. Before she could move, think, react to this wild, electrifying moment, he reached out and grasped her wrist, leading her around the table to his side. “Come here.”
Numb, she followed his direction, then dropped to his lap at his urging, eyes wide and fixed on his face.
He fingered a strand of hair that had escaped from the bun at the nape of her neck and tucked it behind her ear, the feathery touch raising chill bumps on her arms. “You stayed because you know, despite the despicable bastard I’ve shown myself to be, that I love you too.”
Billie’s heart stumbled in her chest. The brightly lit kitchen faded around them, the hard heat of his muscular thighs beneath her bottom, the scent of coffee and delectable male—details tunneling to nothing until all that remained were Christopher’s piercing, watchful eyes.
He loved her.
Throat dry, she clenched her jaw and looked away from his painfully beautiful face.