The Wrong Man (Alpha Men 3)

“The cast is gone,” she pointed out unnecessarily, and he grinned sheepishly, lifting his puny arm like a kid showing off a scrape.

“It looks like shit,” he said, his voice rough, and she laughed.

“Not for long, I’m sure. You’ll have it whipped into shape in no time at all.”

“Lia—”

“Sam—” They spoke simultaneously, but it didn’t escape Sam’s notice that she’d used his name. He liked it. He more than liked it. He wanted her to continue calling him that. He wanted to hear her shout it out when he made her come.

“Me first?” he asked, trying to ignore his reaction to the sound of his name on her lips. She nodded. “Lally and I were never involved. It was something the press fabricated, and neither of us cared enough to correct them. In fact, we figured it might even deter her stalker.” He laughed self-deprecatingly and lifted his arm. “It clearly didn’t.”

“Why did you say you were? I mean, I understand why you didn’t correct the press, but why did you lie to me?” she asked in confusion, and Sam felt a stab of remorse. He felt like a bastard, and he inhaled deeply.

“Okay, this is going to make me sound like a prick, and maybe I am a prick. No, I definitely am . . . but I thought it might help me get you into bed. If you knew we weren’t involved, you would rescind your offer to be my rebound girl. Since I didn’t really need a rebound girl.”

“Okay, the rebound thing may have been one of a few deciding factors,” she admitted uncomfortably. Her honesty winning out again. “I thought it was an adequate excuse to allow myself to enjoy you, in a guilt-free, uncommitted way. But when I thought you were in love with her, I felt terrible about getting in the way of a potential reconciliation.”

“She’s a client. Nothing more.”

“You have a nickname for her.”

“Everybody who knows her personally calls her Lally. How the fuck did you make the leap that I was in love with her?”

“You mean aside from the fact that you deliberately misled me about the nature of your relationship with her?” she asked pointedly, and he felt an uncharacteristic swell of remorse. She continued before he could reply. “Mainly because you always use the F word when you refer to our intimate encounters. I thought maybe you considered your interludes with her in a different, more romantic light.”

“Your thought processes are so bizarre and so fucking fascinating,” he mused, shaking his head. He dropped an arm around her shoulders and dragged her over to drop a kiss on her head.

“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” she said, and his brow lowered.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like that you lied to me,” she explained. “I feel . . . I don’t like it.”

“Lia, it was a lie of omission. If that. You were the one who decided that Lally and I were together. I never said we were. Nothing I said was overtly dishonest.”

“Your very carefully worded responses to any of my questions relating to your relationship with Laura Prentiss were completely dishonest and you know that.”

“God, first you’re pissed off with me for supposedly being in love with Lally and then you’re pissed off with me because I’m not? You’re being irrational, Lia.”

“I’m angry with you for lying,” she corrected. “That’s not a small thing.”

“I didn’t lie!”

“You did.”

“What does it fucking matter?” he finally asked, his voice raised and bordering on a shout. “We were having fun. Enjoying each other. None of it was serious, why are you acting like this is some huge betrayal? I’m not your boyfriend, princess! My relationship, or lack thereof, with Laura Prentiss has no bearing on us. Frankly, it’s none of your goddamned business—yours is a temporary presence in my life and I don’t owe you any explanations.”

His words made her blink, pause, and retreat. He watched it happen—a complete emotional withdrawal—and he couldn’t blame her. He swallowed, almost tasting the words he’d just spewed at her. They were acrid and foul. Completely unpalatable. He opened his mouth to say something else. Something less . . . something more . . .

Just something.

But she’d turned away from him and was heading back to the parking lot, her back ramrod straight while her cute ponytail swayed perkily with each step she took. He stood watching her uncertainly for a moment before following her.

They spent the first half of the twenty-minute drive back in strained silence. Finally deciding that he needed to say something—apologize at least—Sam opened his mouth to talk.

“Lia.” She leaned forward and turned on the radio. An overly cheerful DJ was discussing the weather with his cohost, and they were both way too fucking enthusiastic about it. Sam took the hint and shut his mouth, and the second half of the drive was filled with annoying DJ chatter.