Barbara Dunlop - A Secret Life

He didn’t think so.

“Quit it,” barked Brett.

“Quit what?”

“Quit trying to reason this out logically. Apologize now, apologize often.”

“I’d be lying.”

“You’d be putting your ego on hold.”

“I don’t have an ego.”

Brett tipped back his head and laughed. “Anthony, you are a slave to your ego.”

“Get stuffed.”

“It’s her career.”

“It’s my job to give her advice.”

“How are you going to give her any advice if she’s not speaking to you?”

Brett had unknowingly hit the nail on the head. If Anthony was no longer Joan’s agent, how could he give her any advice at all? Who knew what kind of illogical choices she’d make without him?

Maybe Brett was right. Maybe he needed to give a little to gain more influence in the end?

That would mean apologizing to Joan. That would mean backing off and letting her go underground again. But at least it might not mean losing her. And Anthony was nearly sick at the thought of losing her.

THE SUN had set. The kids had been put to bed. And Oscar had turned on the lanterns around the deck, giving the backyard a festive glow.

Brett appeared and put his arm around Nadine, and Joan felt an arm go across her back. She turned to see Anthony’s smile.

“Hey,” she said and smiled back. She was still enjoying her emotion-denying margarita buzz, and she wasn’t about to let anything bother her right now.

“I’m sorry,” he said into her ear.

“For what?” she asked.

“For everything.”

She saw Brett grin in her peripheral vision. “Everything?” she asked, not quite believing what she was hearing.

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. All of it.”

“Then you’re not fired,” she said magnanimously, seizing the moment.

Brett jumped in. “She fired you?”

Joan put her fingers over her lips and giggled. “You didn’t tell them?”

“I didn’t tell them.”

“Why’d you fire him?” asked Nadine.

Anthony glared at his brother and sister-in-law.

“Our lips are sealed,” Nadine vowed, and Brett nodded to signal his concurrence.

Anthony still looked skeptical.

“Sorry,” Joan stage-whispered, feeling rather giddy, more from having rehired Anthony than from the margaritas, she realized.

“Are you going to remember any of this in the morning?” he asked.

“Of course.” Did she seem that drunk?

Then it occurred to her Anthony didn’t know she’d switched to nonalcoholic margaritas a couple of hours back. She decided it might be fun to mess with his head. She faked a hiccup. “Maybe.”

Anthony heaved a sigh.

Nadine giggled in delight. She knew Joan was barely tipsy.

Getting in on the act, she elbowed Anthony. “Might be a few other things she won’t remember in the morning.”

Brett stared at his wife in shock.

Nadine ignored him. “This could be your big chance,” she said to Anthony.

Joan winked at Nadine. Then she walked her fingers up Anthony’s bare forearm, feeling dangerous and flirty. “Got any ideas, Anthony?”

He brushed her hand away. “Quit fooling around.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

Nadine guffawed.

While Joan gave Anthony an exaggerated pout, Nadine whispered something to Brett. He grinned.

“Last night?” asked Brett with evident interest.

Joan decided to keep the joke going. “Last night, he said-”

Anthony’s hand clapped over her mouth.

She tried to talk, but no words could get through his grip.

“Joan is going to bed now,” he informed them.

She tried to tell him she was just joking around, but he turned her smartly toward the house.

She struggled to get free. She couldn’t disappear without saying good-night to her hosts. It would be unbelievably rude.

“Hmmff,” she said, gesturing toward them.

“Oh no, you don’t,” said Anthony. He waved to his parents. “Thanks, Mom. We’ll see you in the morning. ’Night, Dad.”

Joan renewed her effort to get free. “Hmmffeeff!”

“Just a few more steps,” he said.

Then the kitchen door banged shut behind them, and he took his hand off her mouth.

“Anthony!”

“Careful.” He kept a firm hand on her upper arm, almost lifting her off the floor as they made their way down the hallway.

She redoubled her struggle. “I have to say good-night. I have to thank them.”

“Oh no, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do!”

He glared down at her. “And tell them I think you’re the sexiest woman alive?”

“I was joking.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to tell Brett and Nadine you said that.”

“Sure, you weren’t.”

“I’m not drunk, Anthony.”

He scoffed.

“Seriously.”

He turned suddenly, and she stumbled.

“Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe just a little tipsy.”

“I’ve been watching you slam back margaritas for four hours.”

“You’ve been watching me?” That made her smile. She’d been watching him, too. All evening, she’d been questioning her motives for firing him.

But she’d rehired him. That was smart.

They started up the stairs.

“You said yes, right?” she asked.

“Yes to what?”

“To being my agent again.”

He stopped on the top landing and turned to face her. “Ask me again in the morning.”

“I told you, I’m not drunk.”

“Then you can hold your liquor a lot better than I can.” He pointed to a door. “Mom told me to put you in Brett’s old room.”

“What about Brett and Nadine?”

“They’re in David’s room.”

“And David?”

“In the rec room, where there’s space for their kids. Why are we having this conversation?” He reached past her and pushed open the bedroom door.

Joan walked in, gazing around at football pennants, trophies and rock and roll posters.

“It’s like a shrine,” she breathed. Then she turned to throw a saucy gaze at Anthony. “Can I see your room?”

He sucked in a tight breath. “Tomorrow.”

She glided meaningfully in his direction and pouted. “Not now?”

“Not now.”

She sidled up close, making her voice sultry, thinking how wonderful it would be to kiss him all over again. “You afraid of me?”

“Joan.”

She walked her fingers up his chest this time. “Tell me you’ll be my agent again.”

He grabbed her hand. “Stop.”

“Tell me, or I’ll rescind my offer.”

“You’re not thinking straight.”

She tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “I switched to nonalcoholic margaritas two hours ago.”

Anthony stilled. “So…”

“I’m not drunk, Anthony. Okay, tipsy, maybe. But just enough to keep me relaxed. I will remember every second of this tomorrow.”

“And you’re flirting with me.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re rehiring me.”

“Which one of those makes you happier?”

Instead of answering, he kissed her. There was no preamble this time, no tasting, no testing. The kiss went long and deep from the first second, and every fiber in her body swooned from the exquisite sensation.

His hands roamed their way beneath her blouse, pushing aside her flimsy bra to cup her aching breasts. She pressed her nipple into his palm, desperate to get closer. Nothing was going to tear them apart this time.

Laughter sounded from downstairs.

His family.

Oh, no. His family.

He reached behind him and shut the door.

“But-”

“It locks,” he assured her.

“But, you,” she breathed. “Your room. They’ll know…”

“Come here.” He took her by the hand and led her across Brett’s bedroom. There he opened a door to an ensuite bathroom and guided her inside.

“The bathroom?” she asked in surprise. It wasn’t exactly her fantasy, but if that was-

“Not in the bathroom.”

He whisked her through it to a second door and pushed that one open.

“My room,” he said gruffly.

An equally impressive shrine to Anthony opened up before her. While he locked the door, she gazed around at basketball trophies, boxing gloves and ski racing ribbons.

“You ski?” she asked. It seemed like an odd sport for a Texan.

“Tomorrow,” he said. Then he grasped both sides of her blouse. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

She looked down at his tanned hands against the delicate white fabric.

He pulled. The fabric gave way and the buttons popped, scattering over the wooden floor.

She dropped her head back, and he kissed her neck, drawing the delicate skin into the heat of his mouth, surely leaving marks.

Her hands went to his thick hair, and she moaned his name.

He kissed the mounds of her breasts, dampening her lacy bra while his hands roamed down to her bottom and pulled her tight against him.

She struggled with the buttons of his dress shirt, not feeling any patience at all. They’d been here three times now. Twice they’d stopped.

He grabbed the lapels of his own shirt and ripped it off. Then he pushed her blouse from her shoulders, kissing their curves, tasting the tender skin as he dispensed with her bra.

“Hold me close,” she whispered, and then they were skin against skin.

“I can’t wait,” she told him, wriggling in impatience.

“Neither can I.” He reached under her skirt and tugged off her panties. Then he dispensed with his slacks and backed her up to the bed.

He smiled. “Never pictured you here.” He gently pushed her down on his bedspread, laying her back and flipping up her skirt. “But what a great teenage fantasy.”

She grinned at that one, as he followed her down.

His hands trailed over her breasts, while she explored his firm pecs and delineation of his chest. He kissed her. Gently at first, but then with increasing force and passion.

He cradled her face. “My beautiful Joan.”