looking over her shoulder, Bailey saw Sullivan’s indispensable secretary, Moira, standing there surveying them quizzically. The slim, dark-haired woman sounded hesitant.
“Jackson hasn’t been in to work for the past three days, and Shirley in personnel says she hasn’t been able to contact him at home. It seems that his line’s out of order.” Moira’s expression clouded. “You’d better send someone over to his house to see what’s wrong, Sully. I—I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Chapter Two
One way or another, Bailey Flowers had been the biggest mistake of his life, Terrence Sullivan told himself, pressing the button for the elevator and slanting a sideways glance at the straight-backed figure beside him. He just wasn’t sure what part had been a mistake—acting so out of character as to let himself get involved with her in the first place, or reverting at the last possible moment back to type and letting her walk away for good.
The former, of course, he thought with a familiar twinge of self-disgust. He’d known from the moment he’d laid eyes on her that she was capable of blowing the precariously fragile existence he’d carved out for himself all the way to hell and gone. He’d known she wasn’t the type that he’d been so careful to restrict himself to up until then. A few laughs, a couple of heated encounters between the sheets, and the women he usually dated would be casting their big blue eyes around as restlessly as he was, looking for someone new.
Bailey’s eyes were the color of water running over stones in a stream. They hadn’t glanced around restlessly; they’d been direct and clear, looking at him and only him. Sometimes he’d even had the unsettling feeling that her hazel eyes could look right through him and see everything he’d always kept so well hidden.
The rest of her was a combination of ordinary attributes that somehow added up to beauty. Her hair was a rich, peaty brown, with glints of honey and amber in it. She’d pinned it up on top of her head once, and the exposed nape of her neck had excited him as no blatant display of any other woman’s cleavage ever had. Her mouth was wide, and a dead giveaway to whatever she was feeling. She was slim, her muscles had definition, and all in all she was as unlike the kittenish blondes he was used to as possible.
He’d fallen for her like a ton of bricks.
Things had ended badly between them, and it had been his fault entirely. But as brief as their affair had been, there had been moments about it that he’d clung to since she’d walked out on him. One wet afternoon they’d gone to a horrendously bad kickboxing double feature, and Bailey had laughed so hard she’d spilled a jumbo carton of popcorn all over him. Once they’d gone on a picnic, and she’d fallen asleep in his lap under a big shade tree, with the sunlight dappling her features, the breeze stirring those honey-amber strands of hair, and him just watching her, drinking in all the delicate details of her face and stamping them on his memory. He could remember every single time they’d made love—her hands on him, his on her, the scent of her skin and the taste of her mouth and the small shallow sigh she gave just before the two of them reached the limits of their control and soared over the far edge of desire together.
But from her attitude toward him since she’d walked into his office, it was all too obvious she’d kept none of those memories. And if they didn’t exist for her, then maybe one day he would lose them, too. Fear shafted through him, bright and painful.
“My sister and now your best operative. Are you starting to see a pattern here?”
Wrenching his thoughts back to the present, Sullivan frowned as the elevator doors opened and Bailey stepped in. He followed her and the doors slid closed behind him.
“Not yet. But there’s something taking shape I don’t like.” He reached over and grasped her shoulder lightly. Immediately she stiffened.
“Hands off, Sully. Like I told you, this is strictly work.”
“I know.” He pivoted her around to face him. “And like you also said, my firm screwed up. Why don’t you go back to Triple-A and I’ll call you after I talk to Hank? There’s no need for you to be involved in this.”
She gave him a blankly incredulous look. “Come again?”
He sighed. “Let’s face it, the past half hour just proved we can’t even keep up a civilized facade when we’re together.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit. “Hell, we’ve got a history, and my part in it isn’t anything I feel too proud about. Let me find Hank, locate Angelica, and send you a report when I’m through.”
“You’re giving me the brush-off.” Her voice was dis-believing. “Again.”
“For crying out loud, Bailey, it’s not like that at—” he began, but she cut him off.
“It’s exactly like that.” Her glance flicked to somewhere a little lower than his midsection, and then back again to his face. “Tell me, Sully, are they made of brass? Is that your secret? Because you’ve got a nerve like I just don’t freakin’ believe!”
Her eyes glinted ominously. “Your conscience is bugging you. Tough. Learn to live with it, because this time I’m not going to quietly disappear just to make things easier on you. I’m coming with you to talk to Jackson. You owe me that much, at least.”
The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and the guard behind the desk looked over at them. He gave the man a brief nod and switched his attention back to Bailey.
“It won’t work, you and me together, and you know it, lady.” He shrugged. “Within twenty-four hours you’ll be at my throat or I’ll have you in my bed—and neither of those scenarios can have a happy ending.”
“You never know.” Her tone was ice. “Why don’t we give that first one a shot and see how it plays out?”
He wasn’t going to win this one, Sullivan told himself in defeat. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. He took a deep breath.
“Move that sweet butt and let’s get going, honey.”
For a moment—just for a moment—the woman he’d once known looked up at him through those clear, brilliant eyes. Then she was gone again.
“Don’t push me, Sullivan.” Her lips tightened. “I’m in no mood, believe me.”
No matter what she’d said to him, it looked like Bailey Flowers was back in his life again, he told himself as he exited the building behind the slim, straight figure striding ahead of him to the parking lot. And no matter what he’d said to her, he was glad she was.
Except that in a day or so he was going to have to arrange things so that she walked away from him again. But this time he’d have to make her hate him enough to stay away, Sullivan thought wearily.
And this time it would have to be for good.
IT SEEMED AS THOUGH they’d hit upon a way of being together that didn’t lead to a confrontation, Bailey thought—total silence. So far on the drive to Jackson’s house neither one of them had said a word. Sullivan had concentrated on avoiding the worst of the traffic snarl-ups, she had stared out of her window, and an edgy peace was prevailing.
She closed her eyes, acutely aware of his presence beside her, and tried to make some sense of the way she’d acted back in his office. She’d walked in there planning to keep her emotions
