Sweet Southern Betrayal Page 10

  “True.” Teague squirmed at the evidence of how busy the firm’s investigators had been the last twenty-four hours. He would be at a disadvantage until Jack got him the results of his own inquiry. He would have to read carefully.

  “Maybe she could be persuaded to try a new venture. There are many other things with less risk that the firm would be happy to assist with financially.”

  The coded message was loud and clear: you cannot have a wife who peddles vibrators.

  “I’ll discuss it with her. I’m sure she’d be happy to look at all opportunities,” Teague said, smiling at Leland over the rim of his glass. It was an easy promise to make when he knew she would be out of his life soon.

  …

  Risa stood at the mirror in the ladies’ lounge counting down the minutes until Olivia made her entrance and had it out with her as they did in all the movies. She reapplied her lipstick, wishing she’d hurry the hell up.

  The woman didn’t intimidate her with her prep school accent and glittering jewelry hanging off every possible location on her body. The hair was dyed, the eyes Botoxed, and Risa would bet money she’d seen the telltale seam of Spanx under her black cocktail dress. Olivia had chosen the wrong size—one thing showgirls knew how to do was buy the right undergarments.

  She hoped she hadn’t caused any problems for Teague—he didn’t appear mad—but the moment had been awkward and entirely her doing. Not exactly how he’d asked her to help him out. Her phone buzzed in her handbag and she jumped, her hand slipping and smudging the line of her lipstick. Big Tony had started calling more frequently, so much that she dreaded any buzz or beep from her phone. She’d turn it off, but it was the only number the rehab place had in case Pepper needed her.

  “Shit.” Risa placed the tube on the counter and fished the phone out of the bag and tapped the screen. Missed call. The same number Big Tony had used before. No message this time, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Shoving the phone back inside the handbag, she grabbed a tissue and fixed the mess she’d made of her lipstick.

  The door opened and Olivia walked inside, giving the space a quick once-over.

  “We’re the only ones in here,” Risa said, turning back to the mirror for a final adjustment, grateful her voice was steady. She didn’t want Olivia to think she’d spooked her. “Say whatever you want to say so I can get back to my husband.”

  “I can’t believe he married you. Who are you?”

  “I’m Mrs. William Teague Elliott IV. I thought we’d established that already. Or are you having trouble keeping up?”

  “You’re a bitch.” Olivia advanced on her, but Risa was at least an inch taller in her heels so the effort was wasted. This woman had no idea what she was made of, what she’d lived through, and just how strong she was. Risa had stopped apologizing for her background a long time ago.

  She faced Olivia fully, resisting the urge to give her a wink. There was no need to be cruel. “Very true. But I’m the bitch he’s sleeping with now.”

  Olivia stared at her, the expression on her face giving away more than she probably intended. She was hurt—no, confused, perplexed—and Risa understood all too clearly. This woman had been involved with Teague, had fallen in love with him or at least cared for him deeply, and from what Risa knew, he had no idea.

  She reached out a hand to the woman, but Olivia rallied, shaking her head and erasing anything from her face except resignation. She stepped back, casting a derisive glance down at the hand Risa had extended.

  “Good luck with him, honey. If you can live with playing a distant second to his ambition you should be fine.”

  “I’m not worried,” Risa said. She wasn’t going to be around long enough for it to matter.

  “You should be.” Olivia stepped forward, the first sign of actual compassion on her face and it gave Risa pause. “I don’t know what kind of thing is going on between you two, but Teague has a way of getting in without even trying.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You will.” And then she left, leaving Risa with the knowledge she knew exactly what she was talking about.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Can we pull over?” Risa asked.

  Teague glanced over into the passenger seat of his car to observe her. She was leaning toward her window, face practically mashed against the glass to see the sights. When they’d left the dinner, Risa had begged for him to take the slightly longer way home so she could see the monuments and memorials lit up. He’d been too surprised to say anything but yes. He was glad he had. She was enraptured with every location and he loved seeing the way her eyes glowed with her excitement.

  “Sure we can pull over. The monuments are mostly open twenty-four hours a day so just pick the one you want to see tonight.”

  “The Jefferson Memorial,” she said as her finger pointed at the large white marble structure that glowed in the moonlight. “I want to see the reflection in the Tidal Basin.”

  “You got it.” He spent the next couple of minutes negotiating DC traffic and finding a space to park near the memorial. The lot was almost deserted, but some cars remained and he could see a few groups of people taking moonlight strolls along the long path that curved along the Tidal Basin towards the Lincoln Memorial.

  He paused as he killed the engine and pocketed his keys, making sure Risa was okay. When she’d emerged from the ladies’ room she’d played her role to perfection, but there was a hesitation that had not been present before she talked to Olivia. He hoped Risa would fill him in, but he knew better than to push before she was ready.

  They exited the car and he took her hand in his and led Risa over to the huge building and up the steps to the place where the large statute of President Jefferson held court over the city and the river. He let her go then and watched as she took her time, soaking it all in. After a while she walked to the edge and they ended up seated on the steps, looking out at the Potomac River. It was quiet tonight, the current providing just enough movement to distort the image of the moon in its surface.

  “Have you been here before?” he asked, positioning her on the seat below him, so she could lean back between his legs and use him as a backrest. He wrapped her in his arms, giving her some protection from the subtle breeze coming up from the river. She was warm, soft, and scented with her unique combination of citrus and spice.

  “Never.” She kept her eyes trained on the scenery. “You have, I bet.”

  “All the time to run by them, but it has been a decade since I actually came to the monuments.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged, looking toward the Lincoln, and spying it lit up like a white beacon in the distance. “I don’t know. Tourist city syndrome, I guess. I live here so I don’t really see what’s here.”

  “I think they’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. I grew up in Vegas and it’s all lights and flash. But it’s tawdry, overdone. The only goal is to cram as much as you can into the smallest space possible and outdo the neighbors. This—” She gestured to the building around them. “This is simple. This is pure.”

  “I don’t want to burst your bubble, but this is Washington, DC. I wouldn’t exactly call it pure.”

  “I’m not talking about the politics.” She shook her head, her arms stretching out wider to encompass the area around them. “This is what I’m talking about. The celebration of the idea that anyone could be something more if they wanted. No matter where you’re from or what happened to you, this is where you can change it.” She dipped her head and laughed. “I must sound really hokey to you.”

  “Maybe a little.” He kissed her hair, drawing her deeper into his embrace when the wind kicked up a little. He had a million questions and wasn’t sure she’d welcome them or answer them. “So…what you said at dinner…”

  “I’m sorry if I embarrassed your friends and you.”

  “You didn’t embarra
ss me.” He paused, thinking back over the evening. “They aren’t my friends. I work with them. We help each other when it’s convenient, but we’re not friends. There’s a difference. My friends are back in Elliott.”

  “I’m glad. They’re like pod people.”

  He laughed, knowing her description summed it all up.

  “They aren’t anything like your friends back in Elliott. How can you stand the difference? Being surrounded by such fake people when you know what it’s like to have people who really love you?”

  “I’ve gotten used to it.”

  “Is it worth it?”

  “It has to be.” He paused, surprising himself with an admission he’d never made to anyone. “The truth is that people always let you down. Look at my father for a recent example. So if you expect it then you’re never disappointed.”

  “But then you never really get to know anybody. You never let anyone in.”

  He shrugged. She wasn’t wrong.

  “Like I told you…I’m not cut out for personal and messy.”

  “Except for Jack, Lucky, and Beck?”

  “Except for them.”

  “I’d rather be disappointed once in a while and deal with the messy.” She accented her position with a curt nod of her head. “I think messy is where the good stuff lives.”

  Having nothing more to add to that, he held his breath, undecided about whether he should ask the question he really wanted to ask.

  “Will you tell me?”

  “It’s messy.”

  “Tell me.”

  Risa shifted in his arms until she could look him in the eye, her hands resting on his chest, the warmth of her seeping through the fabric of his dress shirt. She took a big breath and then began. “I was in foster care from age five until I was sixteen years old. My mother died of an overdose when I was barely one. My dad stuck around until one day he just didn’t come back from wherever he went to get his drugs. When I didn’t show up at school for three days, they sent the cops to the house where they found me living on Froot Loops and Gatorade.”

  “Jesus.” Teague tightened his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  “Foster care was better than living with my dad, but I got bounced around a lot because people always want babies. Older kids are harder to place.” Risa twisted a little in his arms, her head resting against his chest, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was fine until I hit puberty and the boys and some of the dads in the house started looking at me. No woman wants a teenage girl with a C-cup rack in her house, and one day when I stood up for myself, no one believed me. So I ran away.”

  Teague shut his eyes, not sure he wanted to hear what happened next but knowing he had to see this through. She’d lived it; the least he could do was listen to it.

  “I was on the street for six months and it was…it was awful.” Risa paused, her fingers crushing his shirt and pulling him closer. “I became desperate. The shelters were even more dangerous than the streets, and I decided to try my hand at the one thing where I knew I could earn some money. I went to a bar, picked out a guy, and agreed to go back to a hotel with him.” She stalled at this point, her deep inhale made ragged by her obvious emotion. Teague gathered her closer, his cheek resting against her hair. “I got lucky. They guy I picked up was a cop and he took pity on me and placed me with Gloria. She’d taken in other hard-core underage problems and she straightened my ass out. Got me a job working backstage at the Gold Coast show in the casino.”

  “The casino?”

  “Yeah, she worked there and she could keep an eye on me. It wasn’t typical, but it was more parenting than I’d ever had. I met Pepper, my best friend, there, and the rest is not-so-dramatic history.”

  “Where’s Gloria now?”

  Risa lifted her head and looked over her shoulder at the water. Her voice was much quieter when she answered. “The Big C took her four years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  They spent the next few moments watching the water, both lost in their thoughts. Risa and her resiliency impressed Teague. She was something else.

  “You’re pretty amazing,” he said, her only answer a shake of her shoulders. He reached down and hooked his fingers around a silky red curl.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Teague dragged his eyes back to her face, trying to find the words to let her know how special she really was. For a man who dealt in words, this was uncharted territory.

  “Yes, you are.” He leaned and nuzzled her cheek, kissing just below her ear where he whispered, “I don’t know what fate or fluke brought you into my life, but I’m glad it did.”

  “Even with all the trouble I’ve caused you?”

  “You’re the only woman I want to wake up with in a scary Elvis motel.”

  “You are such a good man. Too good to me,” Risa murmured.

  She leaned back against his chest, looking up at him, her smile sweet and a little sleepy. It had been a long day—a long couple of days—for both of them and it was time to head home. But he couldn’t stop looking at her. He’d always thought she was beautiful, but now he knew the strength inside of her and he knew what had drawn him to her that first night. Risa was the real deal, authentic and genuine, something he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

  “I want to kiss you,” Teague whispered against her skin.

  Moving her face to the side, Risa found his lips with hers and murmured, “I’d like that.”

  The kiss was slow and sweet. The heat from her touch started at his mouth and caught fire as it raged through his system. He pulled back a moment, waiting until her eyes opened and he could see the answering passion there, burning him up.

  He leaned back in and caught her mouth in a deeper kiss. She tasted of mint. His teeth nibbled on her lower lip before soothing the sting with a warm lick of his tongue. She gasped and he took full advantage, invading her mouth with a slow, teasing thrust. The next time they pulled apart he was breathless and insane with want, but he held back. He’d told her this next step was up to her. He didn’t want her thinking she had to sleep with him to get the money, and he’d meant it. So until she gave him the signal, a kiss was all he would take. Because even though he craved her, for the first time ever he suspected he just might want something more.

  Something deeper.

  Something he couldn’t negotiate or bargain into a little box.

  Something messy, personal—and so not part of the plan.

  Teague couldn’t sleep.

  He and Risa had entered his apartment in Northwest DC. The spell of the monuments still lingered in the air and he’d contemplated breaking his promise to her and following through with what had begun with that kiss on the steps. But he couldn’t make his feet take the necessary steps to close the distance.

  He needed to know she was with him in this. They’d begun so strangely and each step of their relationship—friendship?—had progressed in this weird limbo they lived in, suspended between reality and some crazy bubble of fantasy. But just when he’d thought she would ask him to kiss her, she went into her room. He had his answer. And a night of tossing and turning in his king-size bed.

  It was for the best. Risa was a new revelation around every turn but as much as she shared, he knew in his gut that she hid more. She had a secret and he couldn’t forget that she worked for Big Tony. His brain—cynical and suspicious as always—whispered that all of this was too much to be a coincidence but he couldn’t bring himself to cut her loose. He cared about her. Deeply. Too much for such a short time.

  It was as if that embossed sheet of paper from the State of Nevada had latched onto something primal in his psyche when it came to Risa, and while it might only be a temporary arrangement, that claim on her was real and powerful. Nobody fucked with what was his.

  And when the hell had he started thinking of her as “his”?

  Teague got up and poured a shot of whiskey at the kitchen counter in the luxury kit
chen he rarely used except to make coffee or to put takeout containers in the fridge. The air in the apartment was a little chilly on his bare chest, the whiskey warming him from the inside, but the goose bumps were caused entirely by the sound of Risa’s door opening and her feet padding lightly against the hardwood floor. He turned, leaning against the counter, and watching her progress down the dark hallway. His breath caught in his chest with a sharp, almost painful, inhale when she walked into the half-light of the kitchen and he could see her from top to toes. There were no sleep pants and baggy T-shirts for her—Risa was wearing a silky, body-skimming negligee suspended by thin strips of ribbon on her shoulders that extended down until only her hot-pink toenails peeked out from the hem.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  He could almost feel the sweep of her gaze as it traveled over his body, lingering on his chest and groin. His body responded to her, the adrenaline burning off the soothing burn of the whiskey and replacing it with the fire of want.

  “Hi.” Teague swallowed hard, his mouth dry even though he’d just taken a drink. “You couldn’t sleep?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Do you want a shot? It might help.”

  “I doubt it, but I’ll have one anyway.” Risa took the three steps necessary to stand in front of him, the movement enveloping him in her exotic, womanly scent.

  He poured the shot and handed it off to her, watching as she took it down in one quick gulp. He took the glass and placed it on the counter, locking eyes with her in a standoff that got more intense as it extended out into the dark night. He could look at her all night long, so he made no move to change the status quo.

  She broke the silence, her voice deeper than usual. “I heard you out here.”

  “I’m sor—”

  “No, I’m glad. It gave me the sign I was looking for.”

  He shook his head slowly, his heart pounding in his chest with the importance of her words. “No, I’ve been the one waiting for a sign.”

  “Like this one?” Risa stepped even closer, slowly lifting her hands, her fingers lightly coasting over his bare skin, the mere touch pulling him closer to her. His thigh slid between hers as they locked their bodies together.