Undercover Lover (34 page)

Günter’s fingers brushed the hair at her temple.

“Don’t,” she whispered, and turned her head to the side.

A lump dissolved painfully in her throat and she blinked against the stinging in her nostrils—tried to breathe normally.

“Impossible woman,” he whispered, and she knew he felt her pulling away from him, out of his orbit. “Why can’t you be content with what we have?”

A long time later, when she found the courage to look back again, the room was empty and she was alone.

The whine of the jet engine underscored the state of Jenny’s nerves. Inertia pushed her back against the seat as the airplane raced down the runway and nosed into the air. Higher and higher they climbed. Houses grew smaller, and the landscape turned to dull patches of green and brown that matched her somber mood.

Nose buried in a book on the historical significance of Henry the Eighth’s sexual prowess, Simon sat next to her on the commercial flight—his presence her one nod to David’s worry over her well-being. She’d made a deal with her brother. Keep Günter on and she’d occasionally consent to having one of his team look after her.

Glad to have someone to help her with the cabs and luggage, she ignored the waves of silence rolling off Simon. His reticence over the past few days set her teeth on edge with waiting. She knew he couldn’t keep quiet for much longer. He slid his gaze sideways and caught her staring at him.

“Care to read it?” he asked, closing the book but holding his place with his index finger.

Jenny shook her head and he put the book in his lap to wait her out. He’d be waiting a long time. She closed her eyes and tilted her seat back.

“I’d smack you, but Gun would kill me,” he muttered.

She whipped around to face him. “And where is he if he cares so much?”

“I gave you credit for being slightly less dense than him.” Simon quirked one side of his mouth in disappointment. “Guess I was wrong.”

“You d—”

“No no.” He held up his hand. “Don’t bother to defend me. These calculations are notoriously slippery. Especially when the opponents are so closely matched.”

She ignored his not-so-subtle dig and pointed out, “He’s the one who didn’t even have the decency to stop by.”

Lowering his glasses, Simon peered at her over the rims.

True, she was pouting, but she couldn’t help it. When they’d released her from the hospital, she’d been certain he’d show. That he hadn’t said their rift was more serious on his side than she’d feared—and likely to be permanent. The constriction in her chest tightened, threatening to snap the golden thread connecting Günter’s heart to hers.

Giving in to impulse, Jenny asked the question she’d wanted Simon to answer all along. “Have you seen him?”

He studied her face much in the same manner he’d peruse a text in a language he struggled to decipher, then lifted his book again and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

“Simon…” she pled.

“You could call him,” he said, indicating the airplane telephone embedded in the seatback in front of her.

Casually, he flipped to the more sordid medieval drawings in the middle of the book.

“I’ve tried,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

While she didn’t know how to bridge the gap between Günter and her damaged sense of self-worth, she did know she loved him. Almost dying tended to give a person perspective—at least once the morphine cleared from the system. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life chasing after
what if
when she’d already held something so wonderful in the palm of her hand.

“Oh, sunshine.” He breathed sympathy into his words.

The endearment acted as a punch.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Sorry.” He shoved his book into the space between his hip and the seat arm. “Hadn’t realized I’d said it. I guess it just suits you.”

“I never meant to chase him away,” she said. “But I understand why he went.”

“He’s been busy,” Simon said.

“So busy doing what that he couldn’t pick up his phone?”

“Repairing his client base…making arrangements for Alona’s burial.”

Jenny’s stomach dropped. “My God. I’d forgotten. I hadn’t thought—”

She covered her face in shame as she imagined what that must have be like for Günter—burying his wife and collecting her effects alone. Naturally he’d want to be by himself—have time to come to terms with everything he’d learned over the past several weeks. Her emotional hell had been nothing to his.

“What do I do?” she asked, lowering her hands. “It’s like I’ve got him in one hand and myself in the other. I know if push comes to shove I’ll choose him over a career, but I can’t help being terrified if I let go of myself, eventually I lose both of us.”

Simon took off his glasses and rubbed them with the bottom corner of his button-down shirt while he considered her question.

“The way I see it, you have three choices.”

The flight attendant approached their first-class seat with the beverage cart, and he delayed the rest of his answer to order himself a beer.

“You’re on the clock, you know,” Jenny teased when he took a long gulp.

“I think Tallis will forgive me considering the job I’m handling for him,” he said, green eyes twinkling.

Her face fell and Simon winced.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Jenny.”

“S’ok.” She sipped at her water, speaking into her glass. “I wish I’d known how much trouble I was before.”

“Four choices,” he amended, ignoring her self-pity and lowering his tray table. “First, lose the
poor me
attitude. It’s not attractive.”

“Ouch.” Cheeks heating, she put down her cup. “Fair enough. What else?”

He stared past her out the window and considered his words.

“Second, you could decide to find another avenue for your newfound sense of adventure—” His eyes met hers. “I think Günter and the public might not balk at NASCAR. At least not once they saw you in a leather jumpsuit behind the wheel of a Maserati.”

Laughter stretched her healing lungs, and she shook her head to calm a coughing fit.

“NASCAR fans would kill you for putting me in an Italian car,” she said when she could breathe.

“I’m not a sports fan. So sue me,” Simon said, pulling a face as he gently patted her back. “Better?”

“Yes.” Sobering, she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “So what’s the third?”

He quirked one eyebrow and bestowed her with a
hey baby
grin. “Fall in love with me instead.”

“Cute.” She nudged him with her elbow. “But somehow I think you’re attached to those balls of yours.”

A mock frown twisted his mouth. “Yeah. Let’s move on to number four.”

“Good choice. Which is?”

“Compromise.” He pursed his lips in mock resolution.

“Compromise?”

“Yes. Surely you recognize the brand?
New?
Improved?
Four out of five couples agree it’s the only way to save a relationship.”

While she appreciated his humor, Jenny couldn’t fathom how Simon expected her to find a way to meet a man halfway who still thought of her as the kid sister and college student he’d watched over. Günter wouldn’t know compromise if it bit him in his delectable ass.

“What could I possibly offer him that he’d accept?” she asked. “Besides his way or the highway?”

Simon popped his glasses back on.

“Funny thing, compromise. Only comes custom-made. Which means…” he said, settling back with his beer and open book. “You’ll just have to spec out the requirements yourself.”

* * * * *

Günter leaned against the scaffolding backstage and watched David Tallis run through a sound check for the evening’s performance at Madison Square Garden. The periods of feedback, conflicting instrument noise, and the echo of Tallis’ voice projected into the empty stadium set his teeth on edge.

Some artists never bothered to show for these things, letting road crew and other stand-ins do it for them. Not Tallis. Being on the road with the man was—what had Jenny called life with her brother?—a three-ring circus. He kept an inhuman schedule and expected everyone around him to do the same. At least they were in New York for the next week and he’d be able to sleep in his own bed.

“I got Vic on Tallis for the afternoon.” Simon’s voice came over Günter’s earpiece. “We can go over the revised threat assessment when you’re ready.”

Usually Günter didn’t babysit the talent at these shows—as the security lead his responsibilities lay in securing the venue and coordinating personal protection for the artist. David again was a special case, particularly at more vulnerable locations, because of his personal history.

Günter opened his mic. “Tallis is just finishing up his check. I’ll be there after I talk to him.”

Pushing away from the scaffolding, Günter stepped out onto the stage and walked among the musicians. Cables snaked around the floor. An event photographer hovered around Tallis. Dressed in a tour tee and jeans, the musician continued to carry out the sound check as he posed for promo shots.

Taking in the site lines from the stage to the different seating sections, Günter automatically gauged the trouble spots—places they’d have difficulty reaching if something went down—and made a mental note to make sure Simon had scheduled a heavier security presence for them.

Three musicians. Six roadies—all of whom he recognized. Everyone’s passes on lanyards. The lighting crew in the catwalk above—one dangling cables and the other two affixing lights. The sound engineer at the console some distance from the stage. A couple making out in the sky box.

He let his gaze roam over the crowd at the foot of the stage. Kyra… Record execs… Tallis’ manager… Jenny…

Jenny!

Adrenaline pushed his heart into a wonky rhythm. How could he have almost missed her? Given her present effect on him, shouldn’t he have felt her the moment she walked into the building?

Dressed all in black she looked like the quintessential New Yorker—sleek, chic and very pale. She seemed tired, and small, and…sad. As if she were physically part of the group in which she stood, yet emotionally very much outside of it.

Then she looked up. Spotted him. When their gazes locked, her lips parted and her eyes darkened. Even from twenty feet he could feel her body’s response to him and the answering tug low in his belly.

“We good?” Tallis asked over his mic to his manager, and Günter tore his attention away from Jenny.

The man gave him the thumbs-up and Tallis put his guitar in its stand. Günter followed him offstage—three steps behind until they reached his dressing room.

“We need to talk,” Günter said, frantic now to have some time to work things out with Jenny.

Now that he’d seen her he couldn’t go on this way—living day to day pretending what they’d had wasn’t the most real thing he’d ever known.

“Let it alone, Gun,” Tallis answered, hand stilling on the knob.

“If you want me to stay, we’ll talk.”

The musician’s shoulders stiffened, but he jerked his head once and left the door open so Günter could follow him. Two couches, sponsor products and Tallis’ costume changes were the only softer items in the otherwise austere room.

“Have a seat.” Tallis took the sofa opposite to the one he indicated and leaned forward to grab a thermos from a bag on the floor. He poured a cup of coffee into the top and sat back to regard Günter. “Can I get you anything?”

“How’s Jenny?” Günter asked without preamble, breaking his month-long truce with the man.

Tallis’ jaw hardened, his blue eyes turning to ice. “She’s fine.”

“I want to see her.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Günter quirked an eyebrow at the man who’d been keeping him so busy since he’d been back in New York, he barely had time to breathe let alone make a date.

“Aren’t you?”

Sipping his coffee, Tallis looked over the rim of the cup and gave a cool shake of his head.

“What then?” Günter asked. “Why this sudden need to have me personally see to every detail of your life if you’re not trying to make sure I can’t spare time to check on Jenny?”

“We’ve worked this closely before,” Tallis pointed out. “But if you have other clients—other things you need to do? By all means. There’s the door.”

They both knew Günter couldn’t afford to tell the man to go fuck himself—which was what he sorely wanted to do right now. Instead, he could only gaze, unblinking and dispassionate, back at him.

“I love her, David,” he said.

It was the first time he’d ever called the man by his given name. From the shocked expression on the musician’s face, the moment wasn’t lost on him. Either that or he really hadn’t seen Günter’s statement coming…

Günter ran a hand down his face. “You really didn’t know?”

“I’m not sure it makes a difference, but no,” Tallis said, propping his ankle on his opposite knee. “I really just wanted you around more because of what happened in London—in case there was any backlash.”