Be Your Everything [All for Love] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (9 page)

Stepping off to the side, he wrote Heather another text. She hadn’t replied to the one he’d covertly sent from her boss’s car, a brief request that she call him in ten minutes. This time he told her he’d changed his flight and was coming to talk to her. If she wasn’t in her office when he got there, then he’d know she was running. Running from him or from the investigation? Was she involved? Shit. Too many questions. Manny chose not to send it and didn’t examine his motives. Instead, he called Bryce and explained what happened.

“Do you think Grayson’s in the wind?”

“I don’t know. I think he’s spooked, but hopefully he’ll still want to wait until Monday. So even if he changed his mind, it’ll be tomorrow at the earliest. But you’d better move up the time, get in earlier tomorrow, be waiting for the staff to arrive. Put your own guard on the security station downstairs to keep a lid on it.”

“You coming here?”

“No. I need to go back and see Heather. I want to talk to her before it comes down.”

“You can’t give her a heads up,” Bryce warned.

“I know that. I do this for a living, remember? I need to tell her where I stand with her, today, and give her a heads up about how I feel about her. Because she won’t talk to me again otherwise, after tomorrow.”
And she might not talk to me again regardless.
Something had changed between them and he had no freaking idea what it was.

“Oh, man. I knew you’d fallen deep.” Manny didn’t say anything and Bryce sighed audibly. “Shit, Manny. This is so off. Did you get with her? More than the dating deal?”

“I did. And I’m not giving her up.” He didn’t want to tell Bryce about the conversation that morning. It would put Heather in the line of fire. “If she’ll forgive me after the raid, I’m pursuing this, Bryce.”

His partner was silent for a long moment then chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day, buddy. You’ve always been about loving and leaving them. Heavy on the leaving. I’ll interview her and keep a lid on McAllister, but you’d better stay clear tomorrow. Deal?”

“Deal. And thanks, Bryce.”

“No prob. Remember my struggles with Amanda? You had my back on that.”

Manny remembered. They talked strategy for another few minutes and Manny went to get a cab. At least he’d been able to cool down. Found someone else, had she? Had a great time, had she? Heather needed her sweet little ass paddled for those blatant lies, although the sex
had
been stellar. He only hoped she was pushing him away for an insane, female reason, and not because he’d misread her and she was somehow involved with Grayson. Nope. Heather was clean. He’d make book on it. Manny hailed a cab and gave the address for Jameson and Company.

* * * *

She was typing at her keyboard, graceful hands flying over the keys, a heavy sheaf of that dark-blonde hair swinging forward to veil her profile. Manny was incredibly relieved she was there. The room smelled like her, light, lavender, and female. Her shoulders lifted and fell in a deep sigh. He dropped his carry-on. It thumped to the floor and Heather looked up at him, a hand to her throat, eyes wide with shock and something else. Manny shut the door behind him and locked it. Heather’s lips parted but nothing came out.

“You didn’t tell me who this new guy is, sweetheart.” Damn, his carefully prepared speech had flown out the window, circumvented by jealousy.

“I thought you’d left, gone back east.” Her tone was a bit high. She was anxious. Manny would take that and push the advantage. Lie if necessary.

“Changed my flight. I wanted to see you.” No lie. “Who’s the guy, Heather?”

It was the wrong tactic. His emotions were messing with his technique. This was why Bryce was going to interview her tomorrow. Heather narrowed her eyes at him and picked up the phone, pressing three buttons. “Security? It’s Heather Graham in fourteen eleven. Mr. Grayson’s secretary. Can you send someone up, please?”

Manny gently eased the receiver from her unresisting hand and placed it back in the base. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But I don’t think you’re seeing someone else.”

Heather didn’t look at him, turning to stare out the window, probably looking for his figurative speech. She spoke to the room at large. “I didn’t lie, Matthew, Mr. Bourke. I thought I did find someone else. Although he isn’t someone I want after all. But I’m not going to dinner with you, either. I’m no longer interested.”

Manny found himself in front of Heather with no memory of moving past the desk. He grasped her shoulders and yanked her slight form up to stand in front of him, ignoring her gasp. “Bullshit, Heather. Look at me. Look at me and say that. Don’t you hide from me. Don’t you talk in riddles.”

Heather’s stormy blue eyes connected with his and filled with tears. He instantly felt like a piece of shit.

“Heather, I’m sorry. What’s going on?”

“You’re hurting me.”

Manny knew his grip on Heather hadn’t caused her enough pain to make her cry but he didn’t doubt he’d hurt her. Was this a double entendre? Maybe more than one. He sifted through her comments for any hint but the sharp rap on the door distracted him.

“I’ll pick you up at seven, Heather. Don’t do this. We need to talk.”

“No.” A breathed negative, trembling, faint, and it stabbed him in the heart. He fisted one hand in her hair and brought his mouth down on hers, his tongue demanding entrance, insisting, and for a moment she surrendered, melting against him, opening to him. He groaned at the response and pulled Heather close, but her hands fisted between their bodies. She pushed at him, fighting his hold.

“Miss Graham? Are you all right?” The jingle of keys could be heard and it fuelled Heather’s resistance.

Manny stepped away, releasing her, and she edged backward toward the door, never taking her eyes off him. Her sweet face was twisted in pain and he reached out for her.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Heather fumbled at the door knob and it unlatched. The push the security guard gave shoved her sideways but she recovered and pasted on a smile. Manny wondered how she expected to fool anyone with that patently false grimace.

“Thank you, Gordon! The lock jammed, and Mr. Bourke is going to be late for his flight. He forgot his glasses case.” Heather’s shrill voice was even less convincing.

Manny conceded this particular battle. He patted his breast pocket and nodded at Gordon who was looking between them with suspicion. “My thanks, too.”

Sketching a wave at Heather, he also forced a smile. “Remember to tell Mr. Grayson I appreciated all his help over this past month. Good-bye, Miss Graham.”

The guard relaxed at Manny’s reference to Heather’s boss and stepped back to let Manny pass. He was careful not to touch Heather, who looked as though she might shatter, body taut, face pale, remarkable eyes staring. Gordon the guard followed him and made idle chitchat on the trip to the lobby. Manny responded in kind but counted the minutes to street level. He sketched a farewell and hailed a cab. Shit. His carry-on. Now he did have something to return for, besides Heather. She was hiding something and he needed to sit in on the interview tomorrow.

He had been foolish to think he could circumvent procedure, and just got his knuckles rapped. Hard. No matter his intense desire to go to Heather’s home tonight, Manny would let the plan play out. He only hoped he hadn’t made things worse. 

“He what?” Moesha’s shrieked question fell right into one of those gaps in conversation filling the lounge. Heads turned and people stared their way. Heather wanted the ground to open up and swallow her immediately. Moesha glared at them and interest waned, or became covert.

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer. I couldn’t make him understand and he kissed me.”

“He kissed you. In the office where old man Grayson could see. Wow.”

“No, Mr. Grayson was gone for the day. They left together earlier. Matthew came back, saying he’d changed his flight. He didn’t believe me when I told him I wasn’t interested.”

“So then he kissed you to convince you. Was that before or after you called security?”

“After.”

“Oh, honey. He’s got it bad. You’re lucky you two haven’t been doing the nasty, because he might have tried to convince you in other ways. In fact, I’m surprised he didn’t anyhow.”

Heather felt the scarlet flush creep inexorably up and over her throat and face. Her cheeks must be aflame, beacons in the dim lighting.

“Well, I guess you’ve been holding back.” Moesha’s tone was huffy, but her eyes were kind and understanding. “I won’t press for details, Heather. I see you’re hurting.”

She shrugged. “I’d rather we hadn’t, er, done the nasty, Eesh. It just makes it harder. You know me and my expectations before sex. And Matthew doesn’t have it bad. He has it arrogant. He likely isn’t used to being dumped.”

“I guess I can see that. Hot guys like him tend to do the pursuing and the ending. But you could be wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter. Matthew Bourke, or whoever he is, got close to me and
fucked
me, to use the popular vernacular, under false pretence. I guess it’s no different than most guys who say what they think you want to hear, but…”

“It sure as shit is different, Heather. He isn’t the guy he said he was, clear across the board. Don’t go soft on him now unless you think he’s what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” Her voice cracked and Moesha pushed over a glass of red wine.

“Drink up, honey. Plenty more where that came from. We’ll have a nice meal soon and I’ll regale you with stories of
my
failed romances. I can laugh now! You will, too, in time.”

Heather didn’t think so, but took a dutiful sip. She had to work tomorrow. She was glad it was the end of the week and could eat junk all weekend and drink her face off. She’d purge her apartment, too, plan to redecorate. That always made her feel better. Monday would be a fresh start. Her breath hiccupped in her throat and Moesha gave her an assessing glance. Then the server came to tell them their table was ready and they went in to eat. Heather put her happy face on and decided not to mention his name or think about Matthew the rest of the evening. There’d be plenty of time for that when she was lying, alone, in her bed, if she could bear to sleep in it again. The bed she’d dressed in caramel-chocolate-brown satin sheets. Happy face. Onward.

* * * *

Heather awoke with another headache the following morning and a hollow feeling in her belly. Memories of her sad life rushed to fill the emptiness and she struggled with the memories before sliding to the floor. Literally sliding. Her pillows were nowhere to be seen. Satin on satin didn’t work well. Maybe she needed some Velcro. Even the silky stuff of her nightgown gave her the precarious sense of instability when paired with the sheets.

She’d slipped and slid much of the night in her tossing and turning, and clutching her pillow obviously hadn’t worked a damn. Naked worked far better, and sharing the sheets with an equally naked form circumvented all those problems. But that wasn’t to be, and she was determined to sleep in her bed despite the memories, and avoid sleeping on the couch. Matthew, whoever he was, simply wasn’t going to have that kind of influence over her. Heather stripped the bed and wadded the bedding up, stuffing it into the hamper where it rustled and sighed, mocking her. Jeez. She stalked her pillows and yanked off the cases, tossing them on top of the sheets.

The shower pounded on her sore head and scalp but she stood and took the slight punishment, the soothing heat making up for the discomfort, the familiar scent of her lavender body wash surrounding her. She wasn’t going to remember how Matthew had taken her in the shower, from behind, her hands pushing against the tile to support herself as he worked hard against her back. He had seen to her pleasure first, using the same body wash as…enough already. Maybe in time she could think of those moments, taking them out like old photos from an album of her youth, but right now it felt too raw. She’d buy some different kind of scent too.

After quickly washing and conditioning her hair, Heather stepped out of the tub and wrapped up in a big towel, using a smaller one to bind her wet head. Grabbing the body wash and the lone bar of soap impregnated with crushed lavender flowers, she dropped them in the waste basket. She had over an hour to get ready, but felt a sense of urgency. Something pushing her to get to the office earlier than usual. Well, she hadn’t accomplished much yesterday, what with the constant distractions. It wouldn’t hurt to get a head start.

Setting the coffee to brewing, Heather decided on a piece of rye toast and peanut butter to accompany it. She’d pushed the excellent vegetarian dinner around her plate last night, pretending to eat, and her stomach was now begging for food. She hoped she could provide for it, but her throat seemed to close up whenever she tried to swallow solids. Matthew had cooked them breakfast on Sunday, an amazing omelette. He’d used nearly every plate and utensil in her kitchen, and stacked the dirty dishes in the sink for her to take care of later, but she’d forgiven him when she tasted his cooking. He said he had a limited menu, but Heather didn’t care. He’d cooked for her. And the dirty dishes weren’t really a big deal because he’d rinsed them before bringing her another cup of coffee. In bed.

Swiping at the tears meandering down her cheeks, she found her biggest coffee cup, adding cream and sugar, forgoing the toast. She’d bought a big container of cream because Matthew liked it for his coffee. Pulling the towel from her head, she made her way back to the bathroom to dry and style her hair before doing her face. She was going to look her best today—the first day of the rest of her miserable life. And if that wasn’t high drama, what the hell was?

A pretty bra and panty set, all ecru lace with a hint of pink ribbon, were an uplifting choice. She tossed the ones from the big night of seduction and betrayal into the wastebasket to join the soap and body wash. Deciding on thigh highs with a matching band of lace to complete her underwear choice, Heather stared into her long mirror mounted on the wall near the closet. The reflection wasn’t half bad. She wasn’t voluptuous, like Moesha, nor thin like some of the other girls at work. She was in the middle, with smallish round breasts, a slender waist, and narrow hips. Her booty still sat up there, although not in a really eye-catching way, but it filled her clothes out just fine. From her monochromatic wardrobe she chose a black pencil skirt, a tight, ruched tank in white with a modest neckline and a jacket finely patterned in a black-and-charcoal check. Professional yet feminine. Like the rest of her miserable life.
Ho ho. Get over it.
Good advice.