Beth didn't eat a bite of her dinner. For the first time in a week, it had nothing to do
with self-control. Her stomach had been churning through the whole meal.
She'd been certain that at any moment the whole ruse would fall apart. Someone
would ask something about her past, about Charlie's past, about anything at all, and
Charlie would freeze. They would be caught in the lie and revealed as frauds.
But it never happened. Everyone was pleasant, and the topics stayed light. Her
pretend Charlie showed off his charming side, laughing at Mr. Masterson's jokes,
complimenting her mother's dress, even talking a little baseball with Jordan. Beth
couldn't have hoped for a better result. There wasn't even a hint of the dangerous man
she'd seen a flash of in her room. By the time the salads had been removed, he had the
whole table eating out of his palm.
There were two exceptions, of course—Spencer, who still regarded Charlie with a
skeptical eye, and Isobel, who only had laughter in hers.
Isobel excused herself from the table as soon as the waiter came around for coffee
orders. Beth took the cue and followed her.
Isobel grabbed onto her arm as they walked to the bathroom.
"So? Who is he?" Isobel asked as soon as the door swung shut.
"What do you mean? He's Charlie."
Isobel balled her fists on her hips and gave her a pointed glare. "You know what I
mean. How the hell did you pull this off?"
"I really don't know. The situation just kind of fell into my lap." She wasn't about to
tell Isobel what kind of man Charlie really was.
"Where did you find him? Is he an actor?"
Beth scrunched up her nose. There wasn't any way to answer. Not a truthful one, at
any rate. "Kind of."
Isobel's eyes widened. "Is he a gigolo?"
"Oh my God, Isobel." Beth put a finger to her lips, in case they could be overheard.
"He is, isn't he?" Isobel went on. "That's why he's so hot. And so good with people."
"Are gigolos known for their social skills?" Beth asked, furrowing her brow.
Isobel shrugged. "I don't know. I've never known one before. But I'd imagine they'd
have to be."
It made sense. And it was sure a hell of a lot easier than having to tell Isobel that she
had dragged a potentially dangerous criminal to her wedding. Sure, it made her seem
desperate, but what the hell?
Isobel's eyes widened as all the pieces fell together in her mind. "And you're sharing
a room with him. Are you—?"
"Dear God, no!" At least that part was true.
"Why not? Just look at him."
Beth's mouth hung open. "Because I'm not so hard up that I have to pay for sex."
Well, that wasn't exactly true. She probably was that hard up. But her pride wouldn't
allow it. At least the pesky emotion was good for something.
"No, you're just hard up enough to pay someone to pretend to be your boyfriend."
Isobel laughed.
Beth rolled her eyes and bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "I couldn't think of any other
way out of it. You don't think anyone suspects, do you?"
Isobel shook her head. "No. Your mother just about ate him up with a spoon. I think
she's already picking out colors for the nursery."
"What about Spencer?"
Isobel's expression turned serious. Nothing sucked the air out of the room like
mentioning Spencer.
"I don't know why you spend so much time worrying about what Spencer thinks. I
sure as hell don't, and he's about to become family."
Beth went to the sink and looked in the mirror. She combed her fingers through her
hair, smoothing out an invisible tangle. "I just do. I just want to have a small moment
where I get the better of him. It doesn't have to be big."
Isobel came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Well, give up on that
dream. It isn't going to happen. It would mean that Spencer would have to see his own
flaws, and men like him just don't do that. It just isn't in him. It's some male defense
mechanism, I guess. You're just going to have to write him down in the mistake column
of your life, and console yourself with the fact that you are a thousand times better than
him, whether he ever sees it or not."
Beth looked up at Isobel's reflection in the mirror. It was a nice speech, one she
would have benefitted from hearing two hours ago, before her life had tipped upside
down.
"But you can do all that after the wedding," Isobel said. "First, hit the hell out of that
Charlie out there all weekend long. Do it for those of us who can't."
"Isobel!"
"What, I'm getting married. I'm not dead."
Isobel turned Beth around and pulled her into a hug. A moment later, the bathroom
door swung open and Isobel's mother walked in.
Mrs. Munoz was every bit as graceful as her daughter. It was easy to see where
Isobel got it from. Beth had spent so much time at the woman's house growing up, she'd
come to think of Mrs. Munoz as a second mother, one who cooked spicier food and didn't
complain about how Beth was wearing her hair.
"Is everything all right?" she asked when she saw the pair hugging and the tears in
Beth's eyes.
"Of course," Beth said, wiping them away.
"Beth starts crying every time I mention the wedding," Isobel said, covering for her.
"She promises that she won't do it during the ceremony, but I wouldn't put money on it."
"Neither would I," Mrs. Munoz said.
***
Charlie wasn't at the table when Beth got back from the ladies room. She looked
around the restaurant, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen. Her heart hitched in her chest.
Maybe he'd run off. Maybe this had all been part of some sick game he was playing,
getting her hopes up and then ditching her.
Or maybe he was breaking into more cars. Or rooms. Maybe she was better off not
knowing what he was doing.
Or maybe, just maybe, he'd gone off to the bathroom.
"Charlie said he had to run an errand," Mr. Munoz said when Beth sat back down in
her seat. His vague answer wasn't terribly reassuring.
One by one, people started leaving. It was starting to get late. But for some reason,
the thought of going up to her room didn't sound appealing. There was too much going on
in her head for her to sit up in bed, waiting for a knock on the door. She didn't even want
to think about how she was going to sleep with a stranger so close. Was he planning on
sleeping on the chair, or did he expect her to give up half the bed?
After her conversation with Isobel in the bathroom, Beth wasn't entirely sure which
one she wanted.
What she needed was a little courage, a little determination. So, she headed toward
the bar instead of the elevator.
Isobel and Jordan passed her on their way out. They looked so sweet together.
Isobel's arm was tucked around Jordan's side. When they stopped, Jordan tilted his head
down on top of hers. Beth couldn't help but smile. They were good together.
"Are you going to be all right on your own?" Isobel asked. There was a world of
meaning behind her concerned look.
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure that I can manage the 10 p.m. lounge crowd by myself," Beth
said.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know. I'm good."
Isobel gave her another intense look. "Are you sure?"
"I promise." Beth shook her head and tried to laugh but it came out a stuttered sigh.
"Take her to bed, Jordan."
"Will do," he said, starting to lead Isobel away. He stopped after a few steps and
turned back. "Oh, Beth."
"Yeah?"
"I really like Charlie. I'm glad he could finally make it to something."
Beth forced the smile to stay on her face until Isobel and Jordan disappeared inside
the elevator. Then her shoulders slumped, and she sighed for real.
She went to the lounge, and found a small table tucked into a corner. It was
swallowed by shadow, the lights from the bar barely reaching it. The darkness suited her
mood perfectly.
It took the waitress a few minutes to notice her.
"I'll have a Cosmopolitan," Beth said, when she finally came to take her order.
"And a soda water," a deep voice said behind the waitress. Charlie stepped into view.
"I hope you don't mind if I join you."
He pulled off his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair before he sat down.
Apparently it wasn't a question.
"Go right ahead," she said. If he noticed the sarcasm in her voice, he didn't show it.
"Did you get your errand done?"
He nodded.
Beth considered probing further, but decided against it. Maybe with something like
this it would be better to have plausible deniability. Wasn't that what they called it in the
movies?
"Good for you," she said.
He looked at her but said nothing. The silence stretched on and on. Beth glanced
down at her hands, then to the other tables in the lounge. Finally, she looked at the bar.
She could feel Charlie's gaze on her, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, he was
making her nervous. It felt as if he was looking inside her, studying her.
"So," he said after an interminable minute had passed. "Talk to me about Charlie."
Beth turned back to him, her eyes wide. "I thought you didn't need to know anything.
You've been playing him all evening."
"Not those details. Tell me how you came up with him."
Beth didn't miss the command in his voice. He was a man used to asking questions
and getting answers. For a second she thought of tossing off some flip remark, but then
thought better of it. This day had drained the fight out of her.
"I first came up with Charlie when I was in the seventh grade."
His brows shot up, and Beth felt a little thrill of accomplishment. She wouldn't have
guessed that there was much in this world that still managed to surprise him.
"Billy Demers asked Hailey Cranston to the spring dance instead of me. I didn't want
anyone to know how upset I was, so I invented Charlie. I told Hailey it didn't matter
because I already had a boyfriend who lived one town over."
"But you can't bring a pretend boyfriend to the spring dance."
"No, you can't. That was why Charlie ended up having a karate competition that
night."
"Karate? I guess I'm pretty hardcore."
"That you are."
The waitress arrived with their drinks. Charlie pressed a bill into her hand and told
her to keep the change before Beth could reach inside her purse. Going by the look on the
woman's face, Charlie was a pretty nice tipper.
"After that I pulled him...I mean you...out of my pocket whenever I needed to save
face. There were a couple of times in high school. One very memorable night in college.
You once even saved me from going on a blind date with a co-worker's cousin."
"I'm glad I could be of service."
Beth raised her drink in mock salute to him. He smiled and took a sip of his own.
"Isobel was the only one who knew the truth. She's the only person I've ever trusted
to see me, warts and all."
He quirked a brow.
"They're metaphorical warts," she said.
"Of course."
Beth downed the rest of her drink. She looked down at the empty glass. "I could
probably use another one of these."
Charlie waved his hand to get the waitress's attention.
He ordered and paid again before she could say anything. She wasn't sure she liked
the idea of being in debt to him. On the other hand, a couple of drinks were the least that
he owed her.
He turned back to focus on her. His blue eyes had darkened in the dim light. The
flicker of the candle on the table shimmered in his irises. Shadows fell across his cheeks,
calling his features into stark relief. Damn, he was hot.
For a second, she didn't care what kind of man he was. She didn't care what he'd
done in the past. All she wanted was to feel those lips again as they moved against hers.
Maybe this time he'd press them against her neck. Or her earlobe. She was a sucker for
earlobe kisses.
Moving lips. Crap. He'd just said something and she'd missed it because she'd been
too busy making out with him in her mind.
"Excuse me?" she said.
He gave the wolfish smile again. Beth had the feeling he knew exactly where her
mind had been.
"I was just wondering what made you bring up Charlie this time," he said.
Beth rolled her eyes dramatically. "That's a story that I usually wouldn't tell until I
was three or four drinks into the evening."
"I have all night."
He leaned back in his chair. His arms hung at his sides, loose and languid, but Beth
could still make out the contour of muscle underneath his white oxford shirt. Those
butterflies started fluttering again. Maybe another drink wasn't such a good idea after all.
"Spencer and I used to date," she said.
"So you've said."
"It didn't end well."
He waited silently, and Beth wondered how much to tell him. He picked up his glass
and took another sip. His eyes never left hers. Damn, there was something about that look
that made her want to tell him everything. All of her secrets.
"It was a big mistake from beginning to end. Isobel warned me against it, but as
usual, I didn't listen."
"There's no shame in making your own mistakes," he said.
"Yeah, well. I guess that makes me pretty shameless then."
He smiled. The butterflies multiplied.
"Anyway, about a week after our breakup I heard that Spencer was dating again,"
she said. "No problem, right? But then he kept dating. And I wasn't. Sometimes I would
run into him and his flavor of the week at Isobel's. Sometimes I'd just see pictures."
"And you got jealous," he said.
Beth's drink arrived, and she thanked the waitress.
"Not of Spencer. I didn't want to get back together with him or anything. The whole
thing wasn't even a problem until Isobel got engaged. Then suddenly people were asking
me who I was going to bring as my date to the wedding. My mother. Spencer.
Everybody. That's when Charlie made his grand return."
"There wasn't anybody, not in all that time?" he asked.
"Nobody that I liked enough to go out with," she said a little too emphatically. She
winced and tried again. "I could have had dozens of guys, I'm sure. But I didn't like any
of them. I'd already made that mistake when I went out with Spencer. I didn't want to
repeat it."
Beth took a sip of her Cosmo. It was good. Really good.
"Besides, Charlie was supposed to get everyone off my back. He always had before.
This time he kind of took on a life of his own. People kept asking questions, and I kept
answering. The lies got bigger and bigger until suddenly I found myself bargaining with a
car thief in a hotel parking lot."
"Blackmailing, not bargaining."
She waved her hand in front of her. "Semantics."
His smile was wide and genuine.
"So there it is—my life story," she said. "I'm guessing that you're not too keen on
telling me yours?"
He slowly shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together.
She took another sip. A part of her wanted to push for more. It was only polite, after
all, to give up a little dirt after someone spilled their guts. But somehow she knew that
even if she begged, he wouldn't answer.
She looked down and saw that her glass was empty. Again. She looked up. His eyes
were on it too.
"I'm not really a lush," she said. "I don't really drink much at all."
Her head was feeling floaty. All of her tension had been replaced by a warm, bubbly
feeling that was far more pleasant.
"I can tell."
Beth didn't hear any sarcasm in his voice. Or maybe she was too buzzed to notice it.
She didn't think so. He didn't seem to judge her. She hadn't once noticed that familiar
look of disappointment in his eyes. Maybe that was why she liked him so much.
And she did. Dear God, she'd finally found a man she liked, and he was probably
wanted in three states. Her mother would be so proud.
If only he was the gigolo that Isobel thought that he was. At least that would be a
step up.
Beth couldn't stop the laugh before it escaped her lips. Charlie's look turned
questioning.
"Nothing. It's nothing."
He didn't have to press, not with words. He just leaned forward in his chair, and
something about his stare made her want to talk more.
"I was just thinking how much Fate likes having fun with me," she said.
"You believe in Fate?" he asked.
"Not really," she said. "But it seems she certainly believes in me."
***
Alex didn't pull away when Beth slipped her hand into his as they waited for the
elevator. She curled her fingers around his, but didn't try to pull him close. She just stood
by his side, her warm palm pressed against his. There was nothing possessive or
demanding in her touch.
How long had it been since he held hands with someone? The simple reassurance of
human contact—that was what she wanted. And that was the least he could give her.
The very least.
His mind had strayed a few times during their conversation to the other kinds of
soothing he could offer her.
She had opened up to him without any urging on his part. Maybe tomorrow she
would blame the martinis, but Alex knew alcohol had nothing to do with the words that
flowed out of her. She wanted to talk. She wanted to talk to him.
And, surprisingly, Alex found that he wanted to listen. He enjoyed sitting across
from her, watching the way her nose crinkled when she talked about a part of her past
that she wasn't proud of.
Alex knew secrets. He knew how people held onto them, usually only parting with
them after it became clear that there was no other option. Sometimes not even then.
But Beth had told him willingly. She'd chosen him to be the one to lift her burden,
and he was happy to do it.
It was cute, in a way. She thought that her secrets were great and terrible. But Alex
knew better. He'd seen the very worst that humanity had to offer. He'd shone light into
the darkest corners of humanity. He knew the horrors that could be found there. Listening
for half an hour to Beth's very human failings seemed charming in comparison.
She was a little wobbly on her feet as they stepped into the elevator. She hadn't eaten
much at dinner. No more than a few bites, and she'd downed those martinis pretty fast.
She wasn't drunk, not exactly. But Alex didn't think she was in all that much pain either.
Alex felt a pull on his arm as the elevator rose past the second floor.
"I'm on two," Beth said.
"Not anymore."
The doors opened, and he walked down the hall. Her hesitation was obvious. She
walked a step behind him, dragging on his arm, but she didn't let go of his hand.
She trusts you. God only knew why, but she did. He rationalized that he wasn't using
her—no more than she was using him. It was a mutually beneficial situation. And she
was smart enough not to ask too many questions.
Hopefully, there wouldn't be any reason for her to.
But he had meant every word of his promise. He wouldn't hurt her. More than that,
he wouldn't allow any harm to come to her. Even the idea made him sick.
Alex didn't dig too deep into the reason behind the emotion. He had taken her on as
his responsibility. And he liked her. That was all.
Her expression was openly skeptical when he stopped at the door in the middle of the
hall. He swiped the key and held the door open.
"What the..." she said, stepping in before him. There was no hesitation in her now.
He let her hand go, and she walked into the suite.
The door closed behind him, and he tossed the key on the table.
She went to the wide window that made up the far wall of the room. She threw open
the drapes, exposing a panorama of the bay. Across the water, the lights of San Francisco
glistened. She stood there for a long time with her back to him. The line of her shoulders
relaxed a little, enough to tell him that she liked the view.
So did he.
"It's gorgeous," she whispered. She turned her face toward him. "This was your
errand."
Alex nodded. That, and other things. He'd also seized the opportunity to take a quick
look around Isobel Munoz's room.
"I had the staff move your things."
"Why?"
"I didn't like the view in your room."
Close enough. He needed a clear view of the parking lots. This room gave him the
widest vantage. He could see both the visitor and housekeeping access roads in to and out
of the hotel. She could stare off into the distance all she liked, but his interests were a
little closer to home.
"No, I mean, why move my things? I can't afford this room. It took me months of
saving to afford the one I'm in right now."
"Don't worry about it. I took care of both rooms."
She turned around. Her mouth hung open wide. She stuttered for a moment before
she found the words.
"You can't do that," she said.
"I just did."
"But you can't," she repeated. "Paying for my drinks is one thing, but if I let you do
this then you're not the gigolo. I am."
"Excuse me?"
She plopped down in one of the chairs, her feet coming off the ground.
"Isobel might think that you're a man whore."
"Really?" He crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall. He'd had many covers
since moving from the Navy to the CIA, but this was a new one.
"She came up with the idea on her own. I just let her believe it. What else could I do?
I couldn't let her know what you really do, you know?"
Yeah, he knew. Only too well.
She looked around the room. "It's certainly bigger than my old room."
He nodded.
"And that sofa over there will make things far less awkward when it comes to
sleeping arrangements."
"That does seem like an important thing to consider when sharing a room with a
gigolo."
She shot him a glare, kicking off her heels. She looked at the wide bed in the room
behind her. Then back at him. The war in her head showed plainly on her face.
"Can I see the bathroom?" she asked, as if her answer hinged on it. As if her answer
mattered at all.
Regardless of what he felt for Beth—and he wasn't sure he knew exactly what those
feelings were himself—she had become an important asset in his mission. He simply
couldn't allow her to leave his side.
"By all means," he said.
She tiptoed to the door in the corner. He stayed a few steps behind.
She let out a long sigh when she looked inside.
"There's a real tub, Charlie. One of those claw-footed ones. I've always wanted to
have a bath in one of those." She gave him a guilty smile, like she didn't like the thought
that she could be bought with the promise of a nice hot soak. "Always."
He leaned on the doorjamb next to her. He had to admit, the thought of her in that
tub stirred him as well.
"Maybe, just one night," she said. "We'll see how it works out."
"Sounds fair."
He wouldn't tell her that he'd already given up her old room, and there was no
chance of getting it back. The Kensington was booked solid this weekend. He'd had to
use every trick he knew to snag this one.
She walked past him to the massive oak armoire that stood in the corner of the
bedroom. She opened the door and made a little sound of pleasure at seeing her clothes
already hung up for her. She pulled out something short and silky. A nightgown. She
stopped and swiveled around.
"I do get the bed, right?" she asked.
"Of course," he said and swallowed hard. He glanced back at the couch about twenty
feet away. The longest twenty feet Alex had ever seen.