After Hours

“Does that bother you?” she asked in surprise.

“Only when I think about it.”

“It doesn’t matter, Rhys. We have a lot in common, despite the age difference. We both like music.”

“Mmm.”

“I’m sure we could find lots of songs we both like,” she replied to his skeptical murmur. “You have several albums I like. We both enjoy adventure movies—and we’re both terrible workaholics,” she added with a slight smile.

Beginning to look a bit more cheerful, he conceded that one.

“And then there’s this,” Angie murmured, her hand slipping to the back of his head as she pulled his mouth to hers once more.

The kiss was long, deep, powerful.

“Yes,” Rhys muttered roughly when it finally ended. “There is that.” And then he kissed her again, bearing downward until they were both lying on the couch, his hand already working at the buttons of her striped cotton blouse.

THEY DID NOT TALK of their relationship during those two pleasant weeks, nor did they mention the future. Angie wasn’t exactly sure whether that was her choice, his or mutual cowardice. She only knew they both seemed very careful to avoid any such serious discussions.

They began to plan their trip to visit Aunt Iris. Angie was looking forward to it, though she expected a certain amount of awkwardness if the woman pressed for the exact nature of the relationship between her former foster son and his assistant. Still, she wanted to meet the woman who’d been so good to Rhys, who’d made such a difference in his life. Who’d given him the potential to learn how to love. Having talked to Aunt Iris several times during those two weeks, Rhys assured her that his foster mother was as excited about the upcoming meeting as Angie.

Only once during those almost idyllic days did any tension arise between Angie and Rhys. Dragging himself out of her bed early one morning so that he could go home to change clothes before reporting to the office, he grumbled, “This is getting old. It would be a hell of a lot easier if you’d just move in with me.”

The words stunned her. Move in with him? she thought in what almost felt like sheer panic. Leave her grandmother’s house? No! She couldn’t. “I don’t think we’re quite ready for that step,” she managed evenly enough.

Rhys didn’t particularly like her answer—or the near-terror in her eyes at the mere suggestion. He sensed her reluctance to leave her cozy sanctuary and found himself resenting it. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her to sell the old place, he thought. It was just that he wanted her with him, day and night, and his house was larger, nicer and in much better shape. It made sense to him that they could live there together. He didn’t press, however. Something told him it wouldn’t be wise, that their relationship was still too tentative, too fragile.

But there would come a time, he told himself in determination, when he’d make the suggestion again. And he intended to make sure that time came soon. He was tired of waking up alone, even on the few mornings when he and Angie had not spent the night together. She was his. It was time she began to realize it.

JUNE ENTERED the meeting room so unobtrusively that only Angie noticed her at first. She frowned in question at the secretary’s action, her hand stilling on her notepad as Rhys continued to speak to the associates gathered around the huge conference table. It must be awfully important for June to interrupt this crucial meeting, she thought with a sudden, indefinable sense of foreboding.

Her expression deeply troubled, June slipped Angie a note, then turned away and hurried out of the room. Her anxiety increasing, Angie steeled herself and opened the folded sheet of paper. What could have put that look onto June’s usually smiling face?

Her eyes closed a moment later on a wave of grief. Grief for a woman she’d never met—and for Rhys, who would be devastated.

Rhys surprised everyone by suddenly stopping in midsentence and staring at Angie. “Angelique?” he demanded, forgetting for the first time to call her the more formal Ms. St. Clair in front of their associates. “What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath and stood, the note clutched in her hands, wondering how to get him in private to break the news. He settled that by taking the paper out of her nerveless fingers and opening it.

Angie was all the more distressed by the fact that Rhys’s expression didn’t change at all as he scanned the few words. The only sign of emotion she could detect was a sudden tightening around his mouth. Her heart ached for him, knowing how much suffering was locked behind that implacable mask of his.

Neatly folding the paper along its original lines, Rhys nodded to her and slipped it into his pocket. “Now, about the new conveyor system…” he began, ignoring the questioning silence in the room.

Too shocked to remember discretion, Angie exclaimed, “Rhys! You surely don’t intend to go on with this meeting now.”

He gave her a quick frown, more conscious than she of the stunned looks she was getting. “Yes, Ms. St. Clair, I do. There’s no reason to postpone it.”

As far as she was concerned, she and Rhys were the only ones in the room. “No reason?” she repeated, stepping so close to him that they stood toe to toe. “How can you say that?”

“There’s nothing I can do now,’he said gently. “Nothing anyone can do.”

“You can grieve for her,” Angie whispered, lifting a hand to his hard cheek. “Or if not for her, for yourself.”

“Angelique—”

She turned her head abruptly, glancing around at the avidly curious faces surrounding them. “Mr. Wakefield has had a death in his family. I’m sure you’ll understand that he needs time alone. We’ll reconvene the meeting in a couple of days.”

Shifting in their seats, the uncertain employees looked to Rhys for confirmation. He hesitated, then nodded curtly. “June will let you know the new time. That will be all for today.”