After Hours

No one wasted time leaving the room. Less than five minutes later, Angie and Rhys were alone. “You’re the only person alive I’d let get away with a stunt like that,” he told her flatly, hands on his hips as he loomed over her, visibly tense. “Talk about usurping my authority! Why did you—”

Ignoring the perfunctory lecture, she slid her arms around his waist and held him tightly. “I’m sorry, Rhys. So very sorry.”

“Ah, hell.” The unnatural stiffness left him along with his deep exhale. His arms went around her, his cheek resting against her hair. “I talked to her the day before yesterday. She sounded all right. If I’d known she was worse, I’d have gone to her.”

“I know. But the note said she died in her sleep last night. Maybe no one knew the end was so close.”

“I suppose not.” He stood quietly for a long moment, holding her, before saying softly, “I was going to take you to her next week. You would have liked her, Angelique.”

Tears streaming unheeded down her cheek, Angie nodded against his chest. “I’m sure I would have loved her,” she murmured.

“Damn, I’m going to miss her.”

Angie caught her breath on a sob. “I know. You must feel the same way I did when I lost my grandmother.”

“As if you’d lost a part of yourself?” he asked huskily.

She turned her face upward, making no effort to hide the tears. “Yes. A very special part.”

He lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers. “You’re crying for me again.”

“I can’t help it,” she admitted, knowing he wasn’t a man who could cry for himself, wishing her tears could ease his pain. “I can’t stand it that you’re hurting. I wish I could help you.”

“You are,” he whispered huskily, brushing his lips very gently across hers. “Thank you.”

Pressing her damp cheek to his throat, she stood on tiptoes to hug as much of him as she could reach, knowing that the most valuable thing she could do for him was simply to hold him. There hadn’t been enough hugs in this man’s life, no one to hold him when he’d hurt. Perhaps part of the reason had been that he hadn’t encouraged such intimacy. Angie knew him well enough by now to understand that one couldn’t wait for such encouragement from Rhys. She gave without asking—and he accepted with touching gratitude. For now, they both received what they needed from the relationship. She refused to think about what might lie ahead in their future.

AT IRIS’S REQUEST, there would be no funeral, so there was no reason for Rhys to leave town. They spent a quiet evening, sharing a dinner they’d prepared together, then sitting in his den and listen

ing to music, arms entwined as they savored the time together. And when Rhys turned to her with pain in his eyes and a deep, aching need for her, Angie opened her arms to him, offering her body and her passion as comfort. He accepted both, making love to her with a special tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. And then they slept, wrapped together in his big bed. Angie woke only once during the night to find herself held tightly against Rhys’s heart. Smiling in drowsy contentment at the position, she snuggled closer and went back to sleep.

10

RHYS WOULD HAVE BEEN the first to admit that he wasn’t in the greatest mood. He couldn’t say what was wrong, exactly—well, yes, he could, he thought with a scowl, his foot growing heavier on the accelerator. Angelique was driving him crazy with her stubborn refusal to move in with him. It was late, he was tired and he should be going home to spend a restful, pleasant evening with his woman. Instead, he was about to pass her house on the way to his own empty, lonely place several hours after ordering her to call it a day.

Some guys worried about other men as rivals for their lovers’ affections. Rhys was grimly aware that his only competition was a house full of rose-colored, risk-free memories.

Even after all they’d shared in the month since Aunt Iris had died, even with the passion that grew stronger every time they were together, Angie still couldn’t trust him—or herself—enough to abandon her sanctuary and risk building a future with him. What would it take, he wondered, turning the car onto her street, to make her feel as secure with him as she did with her precious mementos?

Dusk was settling over the neighborhood, casting long purple shadows across the neatly groomed lawns. Lights flickered to life—on street poles, yard and porch lamps, behind the curtains of the homes he passed. A denim-clad mother stepped onto a porch to call her children inside for the night. Skateboards under their arms, two boys bade good-night to their friends and sprinted in her direction. It was a traditional suburban, middle-class neighborhood—the kind of place Rhys had once fantasized of living in, complete with a mother in an apron and pearls, a father always available for a game of catch or a long talk, one-point-three siblings, a dog and a station wagon.

He could see why Angelique would feel secure here.

Was that what she needed? he asked himself suddenly, hands tightening on the steering wheel. Marriage? Children? The permanence implied by a legal license and a gold band?

His eyes on her house just ahead, he chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. The idea of her as his partner in life as well as at the office was very tempting. He rather fancied the idea of introducing her as “my wife, Angelique.” He couldn’t help wondering if his background had left him with any chance of being successful at marriage and—he gulped—parenthood.

He’d never even considered marriage before, figuring he’d be predestined for failure. Only now could he see how much he’d been consumed by his work, how little time he’d given to anything else. He’d made that business his wife, his family. But, now with Angelique, maybe…

Impulsively he spun the wheel, guiding the car into her driveway. He hadn’t intended to stop—hadn’t even been invited to do so, actually—but here he was. All she could do was shut the door in his face, and she’d damned well better not.

“Rhys! I wasn’t expecting you.” Angie stood in the doorway, her freshly scrubbed face questioning, hair still damp from a shower, petite body wrapped into a soft robe. Her cat peeped out from behind the floor-length garment to greet him with a soft meow.

This is the way it should be, Rhys realized abruptly. When work was done, he and Angelique should be together, relaxed, comfortable, at home. If only he could convince her that her home was with him. “Are you going to let me in?”

She stood back, allowing him to enter, closing the door slowly behind him when he’d stepped past her. “You look tired,” she said, evidently deciding to accept his presence without further comment. “Would you like a drink? How about something to eat?”

“Have you eaten?”