Rachel Gibson - Lola Carlyle Reveals All

The Carlyle family reunion hadn’t been the torture he’d envisioned. In fact, they’d all seemed to be real down-to-earth people, and for some reason they’d liked him. He supposed that had a lot to do with Lola herself, and her stretching the truth so far that he’d come off as a hero who’d saved her from all but certain death.

After they’d eaten at the reunion, he and Lola had returned to her condo and sketched out an op plan. Then he’d gone to bed. Alone. And for the second night, he’d gotten very little sleep. He’d left early the next morning for Charlotte and checked into a hotel just so he could catch some z’s before meeting with the Duke people the following day.

He was obsessed with her. When he wasn’t with Lola, she wasn’t far from his thoughts. He’d been in Charlotte for two days, but it had seemed longer. As he’d met with the heads of the Duke Power Company, she’d played hell with his concentration. That had never happened to him before. He’d always been able to focus on the job before him.

But as he’d toured the Duke facilities, pointing out the weak links in their security, images of her popped into his head. The way she’d appeared in her backyard, the moonlight tangled up in her short hair. Simple things, too: the way she smiled when she walked toward him and held out her hands.

After he’d concluded his business in Charlotte, he’d planned a short stop off in Durham. It was on his way home, and he always had the excuse of going over the final details of their plan with Lola. But in the end he’d driven past every exit. He hadn’t given in to his weakness to see her.

Oh, yes, he was definitely obsessed. And there was only one thing to do about it. As soon as he took care of her problem for her, as soon as he handed her those photographs, he had to stay away from her. No more excuses. No more playing hero just to insinuate himself in her life. He had to get out before his thoughts got any crazier, before he was in so deep, there was no way out for him. Before he did something desperate and gave up his life to be with her. Before he changed who he was to fit into her world. Before he changed so completely he didn’t know who he was anymore. Before he was nothing.

Yeah, once he put her on a plane back to Durham, he’d get back to his own life.

The hard beat of rock and roll poured through the Foggy Bottom, thumped against the walls, and pounded like a heartbeat through the soles of Lola’s lavender python sandals. The air inside the Alexandria bar was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer. In the back room, the lamp above the pool table shone down on the green felt like a tent of light as Lola slowly leaned over and hooked a finger over her cue stick. She glanced at the man at the opposite end, awash in smoke and shadow, light bathing the bottom half of him. His arms were folded across the front of his navy polo, muscles bulging. He held his own stick in one hand. The lamp provided just enough light to see that his brows were lowered in a scowl over his blue eyes.

Lola bit the corner of her mouth as butterflies fluttered about in her stomach. She lined up her shot and tried not to think of what she and Max had planned for later that night. Even though she would love to zap Sam with a stun gun, the last thing she needed or wanted was to get caught breaking into his house. Her nerves were frazzled, and Max’s black mood made everything worse.

“Six ball in the corner pocket,” she said, even though she doubted anyone could hear her. The balls smacked together, and the six rolled neatly into the pocket by Max’s right thigh. Lola rose, pursed her lips as if she were striking a pose for a lipstick ad, and blew across the end of her stick. Just as she’d suspected it would, Max’s scowl turned a bit more grim. She picked up her chalk and moved toward him, peanut shells crunching beneath her four-inch heels. “I told you I’m a shark,” she said as she came to stand beside him. “Might as well pay up right now.”

“You need to stop bending over the table like that,” he said just loud enough for her to hear. “Everyone is staring at you.”

“I thought that was our op plan,” she reminded him. “To attract attention. Hide in plain sight. Remember?”

“We never discussed you flashing your breasts and butt.”

Lola glanced down at herself. At her dark purple bandeau top that showed a bit of cleavage and flirted with her navel and the waistband of her python miniskirt. Under her skirt she wore a purple thong so she wouldn’t have a panty line, and beneath the bandeau, her purple bustier kept her breasts in proper order, but the boning dug into her ribs. She’d yet to create a bustier that was completely comfortable. “You said I was supposed to make sure people noticed me. I think they’ve noticed.”

“You were supposed to come in and flip your hair like other fashion models.” He turned to her and let out an exasperated breath. “And that’s another thing. What’s with the hair? It looks like you just got laid.”

She smiled and ran her fingers through the big loose curls she’d separated with pomade. “I thought that was the point, too. To make people believe we’re together. Am I the only one here who remembers the plan?”

“No, I remember. I just had no idea you’d get off the plane wearing nothing but a little snakeskin.”

“It’s Dolce & Gabbana.”

“It looks like a purple python wrapped himself around your ass.” He shook his head. “I never should have let you out of the car dressed like that.”

“Max,” she sighed, now as exasperated as he, “you can’t tell me what to wear. So don’t ever try.”

He glanced behind her toward the bar. “I’m going to have to bust some heads before we get out of here tonight, and I’m really not looking forward to that.”

Lola looked over her shoulder into the dark interior. At the glowing Miller sign and the string of chili pepper lights hung along the huge mirror behind the bar. Yes, people were staring, but no one looked as if he would approach the two of them. Not with Max glaring as if he were spoiling for a fight.

When she and Max had first entered the bar, several men had shouted out greetings, but he’d ignored them. “You told me these people are your friends.”

“They are. I earned my BUD/S with some of these guys. That one sitting on the stool wearing a bad dog T-shirt is Scooter McLafferty. He was my swim buddy, and a big fan of your Sports Illustrated days. I’m sure he’d just love to meet you.”

“Well, are you going to introduce me to him?”

“Hell, no. Music’s too loud.”

Lola rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and turned her attention back to the table. The music wasn’t too loud. Max was just being contrary. “Five ball in the side pocket,” she said, and lined up the shot. She took a deep breath, but it did little to calm her nerves. Being so near to Max, hearing his tenebrous growl, seeing his handsome face and blue eyes scowling at her, plus the contemplation of what they had planned for that evening, made her feel flushed and antsy and uncertain all at same time.

“For the love of Christ,” he swore.

Lola jumped and missed the shot. “You’re not supposed to talk while someone is shooting,” she said as she rose. “This plan isn’t working. People are going to think we hate each other, and when it’s time to go, they’ll never believe that we’re leaving because we can’t keep our hands off each other.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “And it’s all your fault. You jerk!”

Max grabbed her wrist and brought the heel of her hand to his mouth. “You’re so beautiful you make me insane.”

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a jerk. “Now everyone will think you’re schizophrenic.”

He shook his head and his lips brushed across her pulse. “Lovers’ spat.”

Warm little tingles danced up her arm. “We’re not lovers.”

He pulled her forward and wrapped her arm around his neck. “Not yet,” he said through a sudden smile so sensual and carnal and totally masculine, it tweaked her heart and hastened the rhythm. “But we could be if you’re really nice and talk real dirty to me.”

That wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t talk dirty, at least she didn’t think so, and if they were ever going to make love again, which she wasn’t sure would be a good idea, he would have to make the first move. Something he hadn’t bothered to do since they’d left the island. “Max, I don’t talk dirty,” she told him.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I was raised to believe that a lady never uses bad language.”

He laughed and grabbed his pool stick. “Well, honey, I distinctly remember one time you forgot.”

Her hand fell to her side, and she watched him move to the other side of the table and line up his shot. He had to be talking about the one time they’d made love. She didn’t remember using profanity, but she supposed it was entirely possible, since she’d been so frightened and hadn’t been herself. And if she was completely truthful, Max had set her on fire that night. Now just thinking about it made her feel ready to combust all over again.

Max pointed at the pocket next to Lola’s left hip, then took the shot. The eleven ball rolled neatly into the pocket and he looked up at her. As he lined up his next, a smile crooked his mouth and his blue eyes shone in anticipation of beating her.

Lola couldn’t let that happen. If there was one person more competitive than Max, it was Lola. She placed her palms flat on the edge of the table and gazed over at him. Back in her modeling days, when she’d needed to seduce from the flat pages of magazines, she’d used certain tricks. One of them had been to think of the best lover she’d ever had. Now, years later, her old trick came back to her. Just like riding a bike, but she didn’t have to think long or hard to come up with a candidate. He was staring right back at her. She thought of her hands on his bare body, touching him all over, her fingertips feeling the different textures of his flesh. She licked her lips and her mouth parted on a slight inhaled breath. Her lids lowered and Max missed his shot.