After Hours

He grinned and kissed her. “Okay,” he repeated when he lifted his head. “When?”

“There’s no real hurry, is there?” she hedged, unwilling to get into that specific planning just yet.

His grin changed rapidly into a frown. “Angelique,” he said warningly.

She sighed. “Rhys, I’m not backing out and I’m not leading you on. I simply don’t want to rush something so important. I want to take our time and do it right. There are a few things I need to do first, all right?”

He nodded, though still not looking completely satisfied. “I guess I can understand that. What are you going to do about this house?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted.

“There’s no rush,” he said in unconscious imitation of her. “We’ll come up with a workable solution. In the meantime, there are a few repairs I’d like to make. I worry about you living here with some of the things that are wrong with this house. I’d like the wiring checked and the plumbing and—”

She put her hand over his mouth. “You think I’m going to suddenly agree to let you pay for all this now that we’re unofficially engaged?” she demanded.

He pulled her hand firmly away. “The engagement is very much official,” he informed her flatly. “And, yes, I expect you to let me foot some of the bills. I’ve got the money and, as my wife, half that money will be yours. Hell, you could have all of it if you wanted it. And don’t get defensive,” he added with indulgent resignation, “I know you’re not marrying me for my money.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You let me help you with a few repairs around here and I’ll let you take your time about setting a wedding date,” he promised wickedly. “Within reason, of course.”

“You are a shameless hustler,” she informed him sternly, loving the laughter in his usually hard eyes. Hard for everyone else. So very warm and gentle for her.

“Not thinking of changing your mind already, are you?” he murmured, lowering his head to nibble at the upper curve of her left breast.

“No. But I may start trying to reform you,” she replied, fingers already slipping into his thick silver hair.

“Be my guest,” he invited, then took the tip of her breast into his mouth.

Angie inhaled sharply and closed her eyes. “Later,” she murmured distracted. “I’ll start… later.”

11

RHYS WANTED to buy her an engagement ring during lunch the next day. Angie convinced him to wait until the weekend, when they’d have more time to shop. It wasn’t as easy to convince him to allow her a couple of nights alone during the remainder of the week. He saw no reason for them to continue to maintain separate residences now that she’d agreed to marry him. She knew both that and his impatience to get a ring on her finger were signs that he was still insecure in their relationship, still concerned that something would go wrong. With his past, she understood his reservations.

Emotional baggage, she’d heard it called. Fears and insecurities left over from past failures, past mistakes. Rhys had them. So did she. Having lost everything once before, she’d had a sample of the pain that would result from losing everything again—especially if everything included losing Rhys. She wanted so desperately to marry him, to make a future with him. And yet, what if she were being granted a glimpse of heaven only to have it snatched away from her? Was she strong enough, had she developed enough character during the past year to rebuild her life again if that happened?

Or would it destroy her this time?

“Listen, Angie, I hope you don’t mind my asking,” Gay began hesitantly during afternoon break on Friday. Most of the others had already returned to work, leaving only Gay Darla, Angie and the shy Priscilla sitting around the formerly crowded table. “There’s this rumor going around and, well, we can’t stand not knowing if it’s true. I’ve been elected to go to the source.”

“What rumor?” Angie asked calmly, though she suspected she already knew, especially since she was so familiar with the formidable WakeTech grapevine.

Gay glanced at Darla, then almost shyly back at Angie. “Are you and Mr. Wakefield…” She hesitated as if concerned that the question were too absurd to even put into words. “Well, we heard the two of you had gotten engaged,” she finished in a bold rush.

Cheeks warming a bit, Angie smiled weakly. “Where did you hear that?”

“From June,” Gay admitted. “She says Mr. Wakefield told her. I’ve never known June to lie, but we thought maybe she was teasing us.”

Angie took a deep breath. “She wasn’t teasing. It’s true.”

“It’s true?” Darla asked with a gasp. “You’re going to marry Mr. Wakefield?”

Her smile deepening ruefully at the identical expressions of stunned disbelief surrounding her, Angie nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?” Priscilla, the timid clerk-typist who’d more than once expressed nervous awe of her stern employer, clapped her hands over her mouth as soon as the word escaped her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, flushing scarlet. “I—uh—just—er—”

“It’s okay,” Angie reassured the younger girl, rather amused. “I know Rhys seems a bit intimidating at times….”