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“You wouldn’t want for anything.”
He continued, oh, that confidence—proving he didn’t know her at all. And never had.
“You’d have the work that fulfills you, a home of your choosing. There’s a charming property on Q Street I know you’d love. I think we should take a short holiday before you resume your position so we can get reacquainted, so to speak.” He leaned toward her, intimately. “It’s been a long year, Hope, for both of us. I’ll take you anywhere you like. How about a week in Paris?”
“A week in Paris, a home in Georgetown. I’m assuming some spending money to furnish it, and to outfit myself, of course, for my return to the Wickham—and you.”
He lifted her hand to his lips—a habit she’d once loved—smiled at her over it. “As I said, I’ll take care of you.”
“And what does your wife think about your generous offer?”
“Don’t worry about Sheridan. We’ll be discreet, and she’ll adjust.” She watched him shrug marriage, vows, fidelity away in a smooth and careless gesture. “You can’t be happy here, Hope. I’ll make sure you’re happy.”
She took a moment, almost surprised she had room for the enormity of the insult. Then equally surprised her voice stayed calm and level when the insult clawed at her to shriek.
“Let me explain something to you. I’m responsible for my own happiness. I don’t need you, or your incredibly insulting—to me and your wife—offer. I don’t need your father or the Wickham. I have a life. Do you think I put that life on hold because you used me and discarded me?”
“I think you’re settling for less than you can have, less than you deserve. I apologize, sincerely, for hurting you, but—”
“Hurting me? You freed me.” She shoved to her feet. Calm and level were done. “You gave me a hell of a rude shove, you bastard, but you pushed me hard enough to make me reevaluate. I was settling, for you. Now this is my home.” She threw a hand up toward the porches—thought for a moment she saw a shadow of a woman. “A home I love, can be proud of. I have a community I enjoy, friends I treasure. Come back to you? To you when I have—”
She couldn’t say what made her do it. Impulse, unspeakable fury, pride. But she saw Ryder crossing the lot, and went with it.
“Him. Ryder!” She dashed through the arch of wisteria when he stopped, frowned at her. She imagined the smile on her face showed edges of insanity. She didn’t care.
“Go with me on this,” she muttered as she rushed to him, “and I’ll owe you big.”
“What—”
She threw her arms around him, pressed her lips to his as D.A. wagged and tried to nose between them to get in on the action. “Go with me,” she said against him mouth. “Please!”
She didn’t leave him a lot of room for otherwise as she was plastered against him like a second skin. So he went with her. He fisted his hand in her hair, and went.
She lost track of the point for a moment. He smelled of sawdust, tasted like candy. Hot, melted candy. A little unsteady on her feet, she pulled back.
“Just follow my lead.”
“Wasn’t I?”
“Ryder.” She took his hand in hers, squeezed it as she turned. “Ryder Montgomery, I’d like you to meet Jonathan Wickham. Jonathan’s family owns the hotel in Georgetown where I used to work.”
“Oh, yeah.” Okay, now he got it. Sure, he could play the part, no problem. He slid an arm around Hope’s waist, felt her tremble. “How’s it going?”
“Well, thank you.” Jonathan gave the dog a single cautious glance. “Hope was showing me around your inn.”
“It’s as much hers as ours. Your loss, right? Our gain.”
“Apparently.” His gaze skimmed over Ryder’s work clothes. “I take it you do the construction work yourself.”
“That’s right. We’re hands-on.” He grinned when he said it, tugged Hope a little closer. “Looking for a room?”
“No.” Annoyance sparked in Jonathan’s eyes even as he smiled—tightly. “Just visiting an old friend. It’s good to see you again, Hope. If you change your mind about the offer, you know how to reach me.”
“I won’t. My best to your parents, and your wife.”
“Montgomery,” he said with a nod, and walked to his Mercedes.
Hope kept the smile on her face until he’d pulled out, driven away.
“Oh God. Oh God.” She broke away, strode back into The Courtyard, circled around it. “Oh my God.”
Ryder thought of Vesta—homey smells, happy kids, no problems, no drama. He cast his eyes at the sky and followed her into The Courtyard.
CHAPTER FIVE
HE KNEW BETTER THAN TO TELL HER TO SIT DOWN OR calm down. No man really understood women, but he thought he had a reasonable handle on the species.
So he sat, figuring it might take a while while she circled the pavers. Since she wore one of those thin summer dresses, he couldn’t fault the view.
And he sat while his dog crawled under the table as if seeking cover from the fallout. But it was freaking hot, and added to it she had enough steam pumping off her to boil a bucket of lobsters.
Might as well get her started on it, Ryder decided.
“Okay, what’s the deal?”
“The deal?”
When she swung around, the skirt of the dress floated up and around long, bare legs.
No, he couldn’t fault the view.
“The deal?” she repeated, with those dark chocolate eyes of hers shooting out bullets of fury. “Oh, he wanted to make me a deal all right, the slimy bastard.”
Ryder eyed the glasses of iced tea. He wouldn’t mind some, but he wasn’t sure whose glass was whose, and didn’t particularly want to drink after a slimy bastard.
“That”—she waved a hand toward the parking lot—“was Jonathan.”
“Yeah, we met.”
“We used to be—” What? she wondered. Just what did it used to be?
“I got that. You were hooked up, and he flipped on you for somebody else.” He shrugged when she stopped walking off the mad long enough to look at him. “Word gets around.”
“The word’s inadequate. I was the other woman. I didn’t know I was the other woman until he told me he was engaged—a bomb he dropped shortly after we had sex. I thought we were in a relationship, an exclusive relationship, but he was juggling me. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
She had smoky looks, a smoky voice—and when she was seriously pissed, he thought, you caught the fire under the smoke.
“Okay, he’s a slimy bastard and you were stupid. You got smart and kicked him to the curb. Is this glass yours?”
“Yes, and of course I ended it. And I gave my notice. He actually assumed everything would go on the way it was. Me working for his family while he had me on the side.”
“Then he was stupid.”
“You’re damn right!” Fully appreci
ating the comment, Hope slapped Ryder’s shoulder as she started pacing and circling again. “He got married in May—a lavish event, naturally, at the Wickham with a three-week honeymoon in Europe.”
“Keeping tabs?”
She stopped. Her chin jutted out. “I read the Style section of the Post. And, all right, yes, I wanted to see—it’s human nature. You’d have done the same.”
He considered, then shook his head. “Not so much. When something’s done, it’s done. What was he doing here, because visiting an old friend was bullshit.”
“What was he doing here? I’ll tell you what he was doing here. He said he wanted to tell me he felt partially responsible for my relocation and so on—partially. He said he wanted to see the inn, and take me to lunch. He said I was missed, and his father designated him to make me a generous offer. Generous offer, my ass!”
He’d never seen her seriously worked up, he realized. Irked, annoyed, somewhat pissed, but not full-throttle. It was probably wrong to sit there thinking it looked good on her.
“Trying to poach our innkeeper.” He kept his voice mild in contrast to hers. “Not cool.”
“Oh, that wasn’t all. Oh no, obviously I’m not suited for this job. According to him I can’t be happy and fulfilled unless I’m back in Georgetown, and managing the Wickham—and sleeping with him.”
“Huh. You look happy enough to me. Usually.”
“Oh, but how could I be, here in this little country town, managing this little country inn. And not being at his fucking beck?”
At a loss, Ryder scratched the back of his neck. “Well …”
“So, he made me a secondary generous offer. I’d be the other woman, with full knowledge this time around, and he’d take very good care of me. A little trip to Paris to renew our acquaintance, a home of my choosing—apparently he already has the property in mind—and a generous stipend to be determined. Does he really think I’d be a part of his cheating on his wife? That I’d be his whore? I’d just jump right back for a job, for money, and a goddamn spree on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré?”
Ryder didn’t know what the hell rue whatever was, but he considered the whole. “He said if you came back, were his side piece, he’d set you up?”
“In a nutshell.”
If he’d known the whole before the slimy bastard had driven off, the asshole would currently be bleeding and unconscious in the parking lot.
“And you didn’t punch him in the face?”
“Oh, oh, I thought about it.” A violence Ryder admired and respected flashed in those deep, dark eyes. “I imagined it. Vividly. Except I was just going to throw my iced tea in his face and ruin his goddamn Versace suit. Then I saw you, and I just went with instinct. He thinks I’m sitting around waiting for him? Arrogant, conceited, immoral bastard. He thinks I can be had for money, for a house, for a trip to goddamn Paris?”
“Hope.” It might’ve been the first time he’d said her name, certainly in just that way—with patience—but neither of them noticed. “He’s a fucking entitled, bat-blind idiot. And he doesn’t get you.”
“Oh he is, and no, he doesn’t. So I humiliated him by kissing you in front of him, letting him think we were involved.”
