Over the Line (15 page)

Her eyes fluttered, heavy. “We’re practically the same,” were the last words she remembered saying before she fell asleep.

When Beth woke, she was alone. She wrapped a sheet around her, looked out at the kitchen clock, and saw that it was nearly one in the afternoon. Shit. She’d slept nearly three hours. What was up with that?

James was sitting at a table near the pool. She went out into the main room and was about to make her way outside when she realized he was talking to someone. A woman. She hated herself, but she couldn’t not listen. She recognized the voice. It was Harry. What was she doing here?

“Please don’t go,” James said to her. “You’re killing me.”

Beth inched closer. Was he talking about their fake engagement?

“You think too much. You should be more like me,” Harry replied in a soft voice.

“If I were more like you, I probably would be dead by now. So don’t wish that on me.” He sounded annoyed.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t look at me like that. You know I’m fine.”

“I love you. Remember that, whatever you do, okay?” James said.

Her answer was muffled, as if they were hugging… or something.

Beth’s breath stuck. The top of her head felt as though it was melting through her skull, dripping napalm through the rest of her body. He still loved Harry? She blinked back moisture in her eyes. No way. No way was she going to cry over a one-weekend stand. No man was worth that. Not ever.

Her eyes didn’t listen. She backed away from the window and shut herself in the bathroom. She needed time to think. Why did she need time to think? She knew this wasn’t real, knew she was going to walk away from him on Sunday. Why was she so upset?

She threw off the sheet and paced up and down the length of the room, giving herself a good talking to. Shutting down those pathetic thoughts of a happy ever after that had obviously penetrated her subconscious. This was a toxic family, and this was merely a three-day relationship. They would go their separate ways after the wedding. Simple.

The CIA’s recruitment process usually lasted nearly two years. By that time, James’s father would have forgotten about her. And—added bonus—he didn’t know her real name.

Ha! She really hoped Director Walker did a background search on Beth Cojones. Or even better, asked someone else to do it.

But James… How could she have been so stupid? She’d been so wrapped up in his spectacular body and the spectacular sex, she’d forgotten everything else. Her rules. She was
not
involved here. James was a diversion. An itch-scratcher.

Damn it.

She was madder than hell at herself.

She turned on the shower and concentrated on home. On Tammer, on Jubilee. The view from her bedroom, the smell of the pines in her yard. Making popcorn before a TV marathon with her sister. Her Mini Cooper. Taking Jubilee for a walk on the trails around her house.

This weekend was make-believe. She was here as a favor, repaying a debt. Wearing Jimmy Choos? When would she ever wear them in her real life? She almost laughed to herself at her stupidity.
Embrace this for what it is.
No more sex, though. If James was in love with Harry, he shouldn’t be doing anything with anyone else. She didn’t know him that well, now that she came to think about it; could she have been that wrong about him? That he could love one woman, and make love to another?

Inexplicably her heart clenched, and a soft pain radiated through her. For one idiotic moment, deep in her subconscious, she’d picked up the idea this had all meant something. But now she knew.

Now she was here just for the open bar, just as she’d joked in the car on the way here. And that felt like months ago, already. That was yesterday. Her spine straightened, and her resolve came flooding back. She was not going to lose her mind, or heart, over a guy she’d only really known for a couple of days. Even putting aside the months they’d spent together in Afghanistan. She was better than this. Stronger.

Just because he’d saved her life didn’t make him the right man in her life.

She turned off the shower and wrapped her hair and her body in warm fluffy towels and left the bathroom. James was inside the house.

“I was going to join you, but you locked the door,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

“Sure,” she smiled. “Must have just been automatic to lock it. What time do we need to head off for cocktails?”

“Soon. I asked Maisie for her hairdryer when I heard the shower turn on.” He brandished it like a trophy.

More like he got rid of Harry when the shower came on. “Thank you. That’s sweet of you to think about my unruly hair.” She took it into the bedroom with her, plugged it in and switched it on, basically putting a stop to their conversation.

* * *

Beth was acting strangely and James wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was trying to freeze him out so she could pocket however much his father had offered her to leave him. Was she really like that?

He quickly rinsed off and got dressed for cocktails. Man, he needed a drink. Beth was blowing hot and cold, and whereas he’d thought he’d had a firm handle on her character, she seemed to continually change. First after sex, then after taking the check from his father, and then again after her shower. Was it her, or were all women like this? It had been so long since he’d been with someone, he’d all but forgotten. Or maybe he just hadn’t been interested enough to notice.

He wished that she’d let him in again. Being closed out, watching her smile very definitely not make it to her eyes, filled him with dread. It felt as if she was a bad actress playing a role, except that’s exactly what he’d asked of her: a telenovela role. Shit. Basically this clusterfuck was all his fault. Everything. They should be climbing, not here. Damn. He needed a drink, and it was still early.

Who the hell cared?

He poured some wine and sat on the daybed where Beth had seduced him that very morning. What had changed? He wanted the giving, open Beth back. He closed his eyes and listened to her move around the house. The hair dryer stopped, she padded into the closet, then into the bathroom, and eventually came back down to the kitchen.

“Are you ready?” he asked, still with his eyes closed. His image of her was much nicer than he feared her real face would be.

“As I’ll ever be. You said open bar, right?” she said.

He opened his eyes. She was wearing a light blue slim skirt suit, with the material just hitting her knees, and spiked heels. Her hair was up in an elegant do, decorated with small pearl clips along the seam of the twist.

He almost hated her.

She was perfect in every way. Literally every way. Perfect for him, at least. He wished she would come to him. Wished she would be honest about what was going on in her head. Wished he could be honest, too. This whole thing was such a mess, he wished they could just go home and spend the rest of the weekend at her house, making love and watching cheesy movies.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s go get drunk.”

* * *

By the time they reached the house, the majority of guests were already milling around, champagne in hand. James impatiently shook a few hands and introduced Beth to people, and kept moving, propelling her to the source of the alcohol.

It took fifteen minutes before they got their cocktails and took their first gulps. This was what they had in common right now. Demons needing to be quashed by booze. There seemed to be so much between them now that they could no longer talk about anything. Alcohol seemed like a plausible short-term solution.

“Listen. About when we get home…” James started.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay. I totally agree. We’ll pretend this didn’t happen. It’s definitely for the best, right? What happens in D.C. stays in D.C.” She laughed and took another gulp, finishing her mimosa and grabbing another from a passing waiter.

Is that what she wanted? Shit, maybe he’d read all this wrong. It wasn’t like he could blame her. This was probably so far out of her scope of “usual” it was no wonder she wanted to forget it all.

Fuck. Just fuck all around. He’d totally ballsed this up. He’d had the brief idea in the car that he could triple prong this: see Sadie get married, make sure everyone stayed safe, and spend some quality time with Beth when they weren’t getting shot at. That was all, really. The complete and utter animal attraction between them had been a bonus. Hoped for but not expected.

But now she just wanted to forget it all. Well, he wasn’t about to beg.

“Sure, if that’s what you want. I promise we’ll forget this and the drive back to North Carolina will be like we’re on a patrol.” He smiled as best he could. “Jokes and farting. Nothing more.”

She took a sip this time. “Great. Although please no with the farting. I had enough of that with Bastidas… remember that? Never ever would I have imagined that a diet of ramen would have produced that toxic smell. I swear if I could have patrolled with a hazmat suit on, I would have. Sweet Jesus, that was bad.”

James laughed out loud. “How could I forget? But you never said anything to him. Never ragged on him, never ordered him out of the vehicle. I thought you were immune to it. We all did, actually.” He shook his head at the memory. In truth he’d wondered if they’d been a couple, as unlikely as it had seemed, and not to mention illegal. That was why he hadn’t really bought that. She had never once put a step out of line, said or done anything even marginal in the few months he’d been riding with her patrol.

He watched her looking around the room, sipping her drink, and his heart just crushed in on itself. His memories of her in Afghanistan. His crazy daydreams about her, and other dreams. And now she was in front of him, blowing him off like he was a guy at a bar.

“It wasn’t his fault. It’s not like anyone would choose to smell that bad. Though, I won’t lie, I wasn’t crying when he sprained his ankle and had to ride a desk for a while.” She pulled an adorable “what can you do” face and… Fuck, he had to get away from her. And punch something.

“I see… someone. I’ll be back in a minute.” He strode off purposefully toward someone he didn’t know and opened up with the traditional wedding gambit of, “Who do you know, the bride or the groom?” The man looked surprised, but seemed happy to talk to him.

As the man answered, James’s eyes were drawn to Beth again. She stood looking as if she owned the world. Christ, he wanted to penetrate that inscrutable exterior of hers. But he was prepared to let her go to save his sanity, because being around her and not being with her was going to be a level of torture they definitely hadn’t prepared him for at SERE school.

* * *

Beth looked around the room at all the happy people bubbling with excitement for the wedding. Yesterday she’d been right there with them, but today—after the talk with Director Walker, then with James being cold and his declaration to Harry—everything had changed again. And this—exactly this—was why she didn’t do this shit. No involvement, no dating.

For a second—okay, a few hours—she’d felt something. Felt everything, actually. Damn him all to hell. Who was he that he could make her feel that way and then tell his ex that he loved her? She did well to jump in before she had to hear the “it’s not you, it’s me,” speech.

Thank God she had gotten there first.

The people around her all looked happy, excited, maybe thrilled to be on the inside of the director’s house. She spent a little time examining faces for unease, guilt. Maybe the phantom e-mailer/abductor was here, making nice along with the other guests. She watched their behavior, trying to note anything that would give her a clue—and anything that would take her mind off James, frankly. She looked at her glass and wondered if she could have another one without making a fool of herself. She voted yes. Except she knew it was the mimosa voting yes.

Don’t care.

Suddenly the double doors opened and Mrs. Walker made a grand entrance. Several people applauded. Sweet hell, were these people for real? Beth didn’t clap. James’s mom air-kissed the people nearest to her, and then waved her arms as if to encourage everyone to carry on.

Beth eased herself slowly through the throng and into the relative peace of the hallway. She eyed the bathroom longingly, wondering if she could hide there, and if so, for how long. She stopped a waiter exiting the kitchen with a tray of ice water, and grabbed one to sip on after she’d finished her ill-advised cocktail.

She just had to wait this one out. She’d be home on Sunday, no harm, no foul.

James came out of the reception room just as she was chugging the last of her cocktail. She put the empty glass on a side table and he immediately picked it up. “Sorry. Chippendale. My mom will have a heart attack.”

“Of course she will. I’ll take it to the kitchen,” she said, happy for an escape. But damned if a waiter didn’t come out at that exact moment.

James slipped the glass on the tray and cocked an eyebrow. “You can’t get away from me that easily.” He smiled.

“Want to bet? I can get away from you so fast you won’t even know I’ve gone,” she said, only half joking.

James looked worried. “Don’t do that. Don’t leave me here with the crazies. And I know I’m talking about my own family, but still.”

“I’m here until Sunday, don’t worry,” she replied, trying to figure out why she wasn’t just running for the hills, or at least Fort Bragg. Every cell in her body was vibrating at his proximity. Damn it. Where were the mimosas again?

Just when she was about to make another break for it, Harry left the main salon and waved.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Beth said, dodging under the arm that he’d just slipped around her.

“Why?” he asked. But she didn’t stay to answer.

* * *

“Goddamn it,” James said as Harry approached.

“Something I said?” she asked, slipping her hand through his arm. “You want to walk me out to the marquee?”

“I really, really don’t. But I will.” He sighed and navigated the reception room, which was slow going as everyone was being ushered outside.

“Something rotten in the state of Denmark?” she asked.

“Stop quoting Shakespeare, for Christ’s sake. And yes,” he ground out, knowing she wouldn’t take offense.

“What happened? Did you let your grumpiness show too much? Because you can overdo that, you know. What gives?” she asked, concern showing on her face.