Private Lies. Wendy Etherington
a small table next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, affording them an incredible view of the Mississippi River. Nauseous, Roxanne couldn’t appreciate the sight.
A waiter in black pants, white tuxedo shirt and black vest took their orders—Diet Coke for Roxanne and another Long Island iced tea for Toni—and Roxanne decided she would definitely drive home. She fiddled with the drink-special menu, then the gold-rimmed, crystal ashtray, while taking surreptitious glances around the room. It wasn’t until the smiling young waiter set her Coke in front of her, then met her gaze directly, frank male appreciation reflected in his eyes, that she remembered her disguise. She was Marina—exotic Mediterranean beauty. The description was so far from the usual her—quiet, ordinary Roxanne—she nearly giggled.
Good grief, she was getting hysterical.
The waiter left, and Roxanne concentrated on scanning the room—the dark, elegant attire of the customers, the quiet conversations, the muted lighting, the quiet strains of the piano.
“He’d like this.”
“A bit stuffy for me,” Toni said, wrinkling her nose.
Roxanne cast a sideways glance at her friend, wondering, incredulously, when this had become a girls’ night out.
“Uh, right.” Toni cleared her throat. “Gage.”
“He’s the reason we’re here.”
“Of course.” Craning her neck, Toni deduced, “He’s not here.”
“I’m beginning to agree.”
Roxanne studied each customer in turn. Though the bar boasted several dark-haired men in conservative suits, none of them were Gage. None had his stark masculinity, his controlled coolness, his sexy—
Whoa. What’s this?
A man at one end of the bar had turned. He lifted a dark amber drink to his lips. Sparkles of gold and diamonds winked at his wrist. Broad shoulders filled a black suit jacket. His manner was smooth, confident. Unsmiling, he nodded at his young male companion.
Gage.
Her heart hammered; her mouth went dry. Her gaze locked on his sculpted cheekbones and strong jaw. “He’s there,” Roxanne said to Toni, even more certain as she said the words aloud.
Toni’s head bobbed. “Where?”
“The left side of the bar.”
“He’s too young.”
“The one next to him.”
“He’s got a—”
“Ponytail, I know.”
“He’s smoking.”
Roxanne had noticed that, too. Her whole body grew numb. Her heart sank. “I was kind of expecting a svelte blond lover,” Toni said.
“Let’s hope it’s not the kid sitting next to him.”
Toni pursed her lips. “No way.”
“That was a joke.” Roxanne watched Gage drum his fingers on the bar. He scowled and shook his head, his ponytail sliding against the collar of his jacket. The sophisticated surface she saw every day had been wiped away, replaced by a dark seediness she’d never before associated with Gage. As if the charming man she knew, the man she lived with, was an act, and this dangerous stranger had risen to take his place.
No woman, but a disguise? Tangled emotions assaulted her—relief, confusion, worry, anger. What the hell was going on?
She’d heard of people having a nervous breakdown. She’d heard from her family many times about crimes of passion, people snapped and hurt the ones closest to them. She’d heard on talk shows about defining moments in a person’s life.
So in that moment of watching Gage frown at the man next to him, of watching her fiancé act like someone else, appear as someone else…something inside her shifted. Changed.
Snapped.
GAGE GLARED at his young, would-be counterfeiter.
“So where is he, Mettles?”
Mettles swallowed, his protruding Adam’s apple shaking. “He said he’d be here.” He glanced around. “But he didn’t sound pleased.”
Gage bit back a nasty remark about waiting for this kid to find his balls. It wouldn’t help to lose his cool. He needed all his nerves to confront Stephano. They’d retired to this more private bar on top of the hotel after a cell phone request by Mettles’s boss, and though the view of the river and city lights was beautiful, the hairs at Gage’s nape twitched.
He turned, expecting to finally come face-to-face with Mettles’s boss, but he only saw other patrons, sipping drinks and talking quietly.
Then he saw her.
At a corner table sat a busty, exotic-looking woman with long, curly dark hair. Gage’s first impulse was hooker. But as he watched her lift her drink to her deep red lips, he saw a gracefulness and sense of style usually not found in ladies of the night.
A rich tourist trolling for excitement, he amended, though something about the woman and her companion struck him as familiar. Had he seen them before? Maybe they’d been in the lobby bar earlier.
Her blond-haired friend noticed his appraisal and gestured at him. The dark beauty glanced at him, then averted her face, for which Gage was glad. He couldn’t afford to attract too much attention. Especially from the type of woman who found the danger emanating from Gage Angelini irresistible.
As nothing seemed to be going right all night, he wasn’t surprised to see, out of the corner of his eye, the two women rising. They laid money on the table, then, after a brief discussion, they parted, the blonde heading out of the bar and the exotic beauty heading straight for him.
“Hell.” He sipped his drink and waited for her approach. Six months working this stupid case, and it was about to be spoiled by some lonely heart.
Her perfume reached him first. Spicy and mysterious, it stirred him more than he’d anticipated.
“Gage?” she said in a smoky voice.
Startled, Gage’s hand jerked. Ice clanged against the crystal.
He turned and met her gaze squarely. Her eyes were a bright emerald green, her skin dark gold, her black jumpsuit filled out with generous curves. He didn’t know her, yet something about her was familiar. Was it the shape of her face? Her expression?
Her mouth pursed in irritation. “What are you doing here?”
The itch on the back of his neck intensified, but he somehow remembered his role. He smiled. “Havin’ a drink, bella. Join me.”
Mettles shifted on his stool.
Gage knew what was going through his mind. My boss isn’t going to like this.
“Move down for the lady, Mettles.”
Mettles moved, and Gage took the beauty’s hand and assisted her onto the stool. The view of her well-endowed cleavage was impressive, but Gage’s brain was too busy spinning a way out of the situation to fully appreciate her body.
“Drink?” he asked her.
She nodded at his glass. “What are you having?”
“Black Jack.”
Her gaze flew to his. “You don’t—” She stopped and smiled seductively. “That’s good for me.”
What was with people tonight? This stuff ate away your stomach lining.
He made the order, but continued to stare at the woman. Something doesn’t click. Something’s off here.
For the first time he wondered if he was being set up. Certainly not by Mettles, but maybe Stephano was testing Gage, looking for a trap himself.
Gage