The Fifth Favor (23 page)

When she didn’t respond, he withdrew and angled his head to meet her eyes more directly. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Her voice lost its sexy rasp. She stood, lean and lithe and golden. She wasn’t pretty, but there was something strong and handsome about her features, though not enough to stir Adrian. He felt dead inside.

“Do you ever smile anymore, Adrian?”

Mild surprise stole his smooth reply. Rising to his feet, he affected a hint of curious humor. “Why? Do I not smile enough for your taste?”

“Not nearly enough.” Dry amusement tilted her lips. “Remember, darling, I came all the way from London for these precious four hours. I expect perfection.”

His brows crept up as his memory skimmed the handful of visits she’d made prior to this one. Nina never complained. He’d never given her a reason before now. “You don’t think I can please you tonight?”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. But let’s just say…” Her fingers drifted down his stomach to play at the buckle on his woven belt, then lower, lingered and found no response before drifting away. “Your heart won’t be in it.”

Agitated, he moved away from her and toward the bar to pour a drink as his troubled thoughts returned with breathtaking vehemence. “And how do you know where my heart will be?”

“I don’t. But I can guess it’s not with me. In fact,” she said tartly, “it may be with someone else entirely. Look at me. I’m standing here naked in the middle of the room, having undressed
myself
, when always before you took my clothing off, piece by painstaking piece, and kissed every inch you uncovered.”

He swallowed a bitter mouthful of whiskey and set aside the glass, then started toward her, but she put out a hand. “Something tells me that no matter what kind of consummate actor you are, you won’t enjoy having sex with me tonight.”

He stopped, kept his expression emotionless. “Whether that’s true or not, technically it’s not supposed to matter.”

“But it does to me.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, as though suddenly discomfited by her nudity. “I always enjoy my time with you, Adrian, but you’re 126

The Fifth Favor

different tonight. You seem distant, pensive. I feel as though I paid four thousand dollars to be with a man who doesn’t know I exist.”

He searched his mind for a non-provocative reply, and only felt desperation burn in his throat along with the traces of whiskey. If she hadn’t called his bluff he would have rallied, would have taken her to bed and done his best to drive Billie Cort out of his system. He could easily perform, as long as he didn’t think.

A rueful grin twisted his mouth. Ironic that he could control his body to the bitter end, but his mind stampeded of its own accord, entertaining flickering films of one woman, and one only, like an all-night movie marathon.

Forcing his body to relax, he moved closer and caught Nina around the waist. “I’m sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”

She regarded him, pale eyes sleepy and shadowed.
Christ
, he thought. She’d come so far, and all for nothing.

“You could take your pleasure with me, right now. Act like a man instead of a highly skilled machine.”

He shook his head. “You know I don’t—”

“But you could. I remember once, Adrian,” her arms draped around his neck, the flowery scent of some expensive perfume filling his senses, “a most incredible mutual orgasm we shared. Last time I was in the States, as a matter of fact. The catalyst for this current jaunt across the pond. I thought if it happened once…”

He tried to respond with something even and glib, but no words would come. God, he couldn’t do this. Not tonight. Not with Billie stalking his every move, every breath—

He pulled away, scrubbed his hands over his face and searched for words. The rescue boat was passing him by while he opted to drown in silence, when it would have been so easy just to speak to his client, to say,
Come here, let me touch you, let me show you
how good I am
…

“I’m getting dressed,” Nina said quietly.

He glanced back at her and watched her retreat into the bathroom, a ridiculous thought yammering in his mind. Nina’s neck wasn’t as graceful as Billie’s. Her shoulders weren’t as sculpted, nor her skin as silky. He’d never had Nina’s mouth on his cock, had never buried his fingers in her hair and lost himself in sweet, hot abandon between her lips.

Billie was a weakness. And now he had a dissatisfied client because of it. His whole world was endangered by what had started out as a mindless distraction, a mild amusement. He had only himself to blame.

A few minutes later his customer reappeared, fully clothed, her expression one of muted disillusionment.

Adrian forced himself to focus. “I’m sorry you came so far only to be disappointed, Nina. I’ll have a word with Maria, let her know your evening wasn’t what you—”

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Shelby Reed

“Your company alone gave me enormous pleasure, Adrian.” She took a few tentative steps toward him and reached out to touch his cheek, gently beseeching. “I’ll at least pay for that. But I also want an answer. Between us. Something is wrong, isn’t it? In your personal life?”

He closed his eyes and wished away her discerning touch, her probing questions, condemning his own marauding thoughts and emotions. “Yes. A private matter that has nothing to do with Avalon. Completely inappropriate behavior on my part.”

She offered him a regretful smile. “I hoped you might be human. I wasn’t certain until now.”

The words hung in the air and mocked him. She was wrong. Somewhere along the way, his humanity had slipped from him. And awakening to it again was like struggling to the surface in an ocean of black, viscous matter.

He looked at her, his pulse thudding—echoing—his misery in his veins. “I’m sorry,” he said, his first truthful moment in days. “I didn’t realize until now—it’s bigger than I know what to do with.”

* * * * *

Downstairs, Adrian spoke quietly with Maria about reimbursing his client, then he said goodbye to Nina Weston, a loyal and longtime customer, for the last time. He knew it as he brushed his lips against her cheek and closed the door behind her. The sick sense of failure he experienced was one small indication of what lay in store for him if he didn’t purge his mind of turmoil, if he didn’t squelch the wild dissatisfaction that seemed to be overtaking his life.

He started back toward the staircase and found Azure waiting like a translucent sylph in the shadows. “Adrian.”

He paused, then continued toward her, every muscle in his body instantly strung with tension.

“Your client left early,” she said.

Adrian waited, knowing what came next.

“Why did she leave early, Adrian?”

“I couldn’t perform,” he said. It would end the discussion before it could flame into something disagreeable.

“Why not?” She moved toward him, footsteps silent on the tile. “You’re taking care of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Preoccupied, then?”

He conceded with a tilt of his head.

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“I told you to take all the time you needed after Lucien died.”

“I wanted to work. I needed to work. And this isn’t about Lucien.”

Before he could say more, another companion and his customer started down the stairs, and Azure motioned to Adrian to follow her to her office.

Once inside, she shut the door, her exotic perfume emanating spice and flowers through the room. “Sit down, darling.”

He merely crossed his arms and waited while she rounded the desk and seated herself.

“You won’t sit and talk?”

“I’ve been here since early this afternoon.” He meted out the words with utter care.

His emotions were so close to the surface. Azure could easily sense the unraveling of his defense and snag it, claw at it. “Is this a formal meeting?”

“Informal.” Her brow rose just enough to imply danger. “Call it one of friendly concern.”

“Azure—”

“Who was the woman you took to the concert at Rock Creek Park last week?”

Adrian stared at her. While he searched for a response, anything but open-mouthed dismay, she went on.

“Is she responsible for your failure to perform? Are you spending yourself on her, Adrian?”

“No.” He sucked in a breath and met her gaze with narrowed eyes. “I’m not spending myself on anyone.”

“Not yet, maybe. Is this a fledgling romance? Are you courting? Playing a field you haven’t stepped foot on in years for a change of scenery?”

“No.” He forced his expression to remain impassive and stony.

“Hmm.” She drummed her fingernails on the smooth Chippendale desk, studying his face like a chess player determining her next move. “Well, whoever she is, get rid of her. You’re obviously distracted by her, and it’s affecting your work.”

He didn’t argue, just stood in silent consternation, head throbbing. His silence shouted his guilt more vehemently than hasty words of denial ever could have.

“My God…” She rose and braced her hands on the desk, all pretense fleeing as she took a closer look at him. “You’re haunted! Who is she?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does.” Anxiety and anger marred the smooth countenance of her trademark expression. “It’s stealing you from me—from Avalon. And she won’t be worth it, Ad. I can promise you that.”

He looked away, too tired to fight. “How, Azure? How can you promise me that?

How can you possibly know what she’s worth to me?”

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Shelby Reed

“You have everything you need here.” Her tone dropped, limned with outrage.

“Don’t you dare endanger it with some menial dalliance that in time will wear off and leave you with nothing! You’ll regret it terribly, and once a companion leaves, that’s it.

You understand this.”

“I understand.” He clenched his jaw and forced himself to meet her eyes again.

Cold eyes. Unyielding and reptilian. How could he ever have fooled himself into thinking she held his best interest at heart? “Anything else, Azure?”

Soft pleading dropped over her features, a skillfully donned mask. “I beg of you, break it off with her, whoever she is. And if I hear again that you’ve been seen with her in the city, your employment here will be terminated. No matter how much it grieves me to do so.”

Adrian didn’t trust himself to speak. He started for the door.

“Adrian.”

“What?” he gritted without turning around.

“Is it the reporter?” The question was desperate, quavering with equal amounts of disbelief and dismay.

His hand tightened on the knob. Christ, how could she possibly know?

In that instant, he felt as if he’d sold his soul, his identity, his every virtue to the devil, and she stood behind him, burning a twin set of holes in his back with her knowing cobalt gaze.

He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing his face. Without reply, he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him, his pulse trudging a sick beat of exhilaration and dread.

* * * * *

“How’s the romance survey coming?” Nora poked her head in the office door, a half-eaten soft pretzel in her hand.

“Slow but sure.” Billie sat back and casually minimized her computer screen in case the editor decided to glance over her shoulder. She was supposed to be outlining her next assignment, an article about the dating world of thirty-somethings in Washington, a subject of which she was sorely ignorant. Instead she’d been scrolling through the piece about Adrian, too restless to type a single word.

Nora didn’t know she hadn’t abandoned the article about him, but Billie wasn’t ready to share it and have her deepest truths exposed…and some of Adrian’s too.

She pushed back from the desk and eyed the tall woman in the doorway. “I still have questions that need answering.”

“About what?”

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The Fifth Favor

“About…about first date experiences.” Adrian was right. She was a terrible liar, and immediately Nora looked suspicious.

The editor chewed and swallowed, then gestured with the pretzel. “Billie, you already took the survey. You interviewed thirty women. How many more questions do you have about first-date experiences? Most of them aren’t that exciting.”

Billie smiled benignly.

“By the way, this came for you.” Nora moved into the office and produced a cream-colored envelope addressed with sweeping, calligraphic handwriting. “A linen envelope. Who do we know that would write a letter on linen stationery?”

“There’s no return address,” Billie said after she’d studied it. It was postmarked from the District. A faint chime sounded in her head and her pulse picked up speed.

“Open it,” Nora said as she finished off the rest of her pretzel.

“I will. Later.” She casually set it aside and returned her attention to her monitor.

“Go away and let me work.”

Nora scowled. “Why can’t you open it now?”

“Because I’m in the middle of something else.”

“As your editor I could order you to open it.”

“As a decent person you wouldn’t be that nosy.”

They exchanged sneers and Nora dropped her pretzel wrapper in the Bugs Bunny trashcan beside the desk. “Fine. But maybe you’ll tell me later. It could be hate mail.”

“When have I written an article with enough juice to merit hate mail?” Billie said.

“You took the Adrian article away from me.”

“And tried to give it back.”

“No—you tried to sic me on Avalon during the investigation. But the article belonged to Adrian. It was about
Adrian
, not Avalon. I won’t write an exposé for you. I don’t have it in me.”

The ferocity of the declaration sent Nora scurrying out the door. “Finish that survey,” she barked as she disappeared.

Rising from her desk on shaky legs, Billie crossed to the door, checked the hallway to make sure Nora was truly gone, then shut herself in and locked the knob.

She perched on the edge of her desk and picked up the envelope, studying the Edwardian script. A week had passed since she’d heard from Adrian, and Nora hadn’t seen Rich, the unsavory detective. It seemed as if, without a suicide note, without any evidence to further torture Adrian, the investigation was dead in the water.