'Don't even try to deny it. I've never known anyone as frightened of other people's opinions as you.'
'That's not true. I'm my own person. And I won't tolerate being manipulated.'
'Yeah. Not being in control scares the hell out of you.' He ran his thumb down her cheek. 'Sometimes I think you're the most frightened person I've ever known. You're so afraid you'll come up short that you're making yourself sick.'
She shoved his hand away, so furious she could barely speak. 'I'm the strongest woman you've ever known.'
'You spend so much time trying to prove how superior you are that you've forgotten how to live. You obsess over all the wrong things, refuse to let anybody see inside you, and then you can't figure out why you're not happy.'
'If I wanted a shrink, I'd hire one.'
'You should have done that a long time ago. I've lived in the shadows, too, babe, and I don't recommend staying there.' He hesitated, and she thought he'd finished, but he went on. 'After I had to quit football, I had a big problem with drugs. You name it; I tried it. My family convinced me to go into rehab, but I told everybody the counselors were assholes and left after two days. Six months later Heath found me passed out in a bar. He banged my head into the wall a couple of times, told me he used to admire me but that I'd turned into the sorriest son of a bitch he'd ever seen. Then he offered me a job. He didn't give me any lectures about staying clean, but I knew that was part of the deal, so I asked him to give me six weeks. I put myself in rehab, and this time I paid attention. Those counselors saved my life.'
'I'm hardly a drug addict.'
'Fear can be an addiction.'
Even as his poisoned dart hit home, she refused to blink. 'If you have so little respect for me, why are you still around?'
He slipped a gentle hand into her hair and pushed a curl behind her ear. 'Because I'm a sucker for beautiful, wounded creatures.'
Something broke apart inside her.
'And because,' he want on, 'when you let down your guard, I see someone who's brilliant and passionate.' He brushed her cheekbone with his thumb. 'But you're so afraid to lead with your heart that you're dying inside.'
She felt herself coming apart, and she punished him in the only way she knew how. 'What a bunch of crap. You're still around because you like to fuck me.'
'That, too.' He kissed her forehead. 'There's a hell of a woman hidden away behind all that fear. Why don't you let her come out and play?'
Because she didn't know how.
The tightness in her chest made it hard to breathe. 'Go to hell.' Pushing past him, she took off down the street, half walking, half running. But he'd already seen her tears, and for that, she would never forgive him.
Bodie heard the sound of a baseball game coming from his television as he let himself into his Wrigleyville condo. 'Make yourself right at home,' he muttered, tossing his keys on the mission-style table that sat in the foyer.
'Thanks,' Heath said from the big sectional sofa in Bodie's living room. 'Sox just gave up a run in the seventh.'
Bodie sank into the armchair across from him. Unlike Heath's house, Bodie's was furnished. Bodie liked the clean design of the Arts and Crafts period, and over the years he'd bought some good Stickley pieces and added Craftsman-style built-ins. He kicked off his shoes. 'You should either sell your fucking house or live in it.'
'I know.' Heath set down his beer. 'You look like shit.'
'A thousand beautiful women in this town, and I've got to fall for Portia Powers.'
'You set yourself up for grief that first night when you blackmailed her with that bodyguard bullshit.'
Bodie rubbed his hand over his head. 'Tell me something I don't know.'
'If that woman ever realizes how scared you are of her, you'll really be screwed.'
'She's such a pain in the ass. I keep telling myself to walk away, but… Hell, I don't know… It's like I've got X- ray vision, and I can see who she really is underneath all the bullshit.' He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with saying so much, even to his best friend.
Heath understood. 'Tell me we're not sharing our feelings, Mary Lou.'
'Fuck you.'
'Shut up and watch the game.'
Bodie relaxed into the chair. Initially he'd been attracted by Portia's beauty, then by her sheer gall. She had as much grit and determination as any teammate he'd ever played with, and those were qualities he respected. But when they made love, he saw another woman, one who was insecure, generous, and full of heart, and he couldn't get past thinking that this softer, unguarded woman was the real Portia Powers. Still, what kind of idiot fell for someone who needed so badly to be fixed?
As a kid, he used to bring home injured animals and try to nurse them back to health. Apparently he was still doing it.
Chapter Nineteen
Annabelle had trouble finding a parking spot for Sherman, but she was only two minutes late for the meeting Heath had scheduled, which hardly justified the censorious look from his Evil Receptionist. ESPN played on the television screen in the lobby, phones rang in the background, and one of Heath's interns struggled to change a printer cartridge in the equipment closet. The office door on her left had been closed the first time she was here, but now it stood open, and she saw Bodie with his feet propped on a desk and a telephone pressed to his ear. He waved as she passed. She opened the door to Heath's office and heard a throaty female voice.
'… and I'm very optimistic about her. She's incredibly beautiful.' Portia Powers sat in one of two chairs positioned in front of Heath's desk. His voice mail message hadn't mentioned this would be a threesome.
Just looking at the Dragon Lady made Annabelle feel dowdy. Summer fashion was supposed to be all about color, but maybe Annabelle had gotten a little carried away with her melon-colored blouse, lemon yellow skirt, and the drop earrings set with tiny lime green stones she'd found at TJ Maxx. At least her hair looked decent. Now that it was longer, she'd been able to use a big barrel curling iron, then finger-comb the results into a casual tousle.
Portia was all cool elegance in pewter silk. Against her dusky hair, the effect was dazzling. Small, petal pink earrings provided a subtle touch of color against her porcelain skin, and a Kate Spade handbag in the same pink shade sat on the floor at her side. She hadn't made the mistake of going into pink overkill with her shoes, which were stylish black mules.
Or one of them was.
Annabelle stared at her competitor's feet. At first glance, the shoes looked the same. They both had open toes and low heels, but one was a black mule and the other a navy sling-back. What was that about?
Annabelle drew her eyes away and slipped her sunglasses in her purse. 'Sorry I'm late. Sherman didn't like any of the parking spots I showed him.'
'Sherman is Annabelle's car,' Heath explained as he rose from behind the desk and gestured to the chair next to Portia's. 'Have a seat. I don't believe you and Portia have met in person.'
'As a matter of fact we have,' Portia replied smoothly.
Through the long wall of windows behind his desk, Annabelle spotted a sailboat skimming over Lake Michigan in the distance. She wished she were on it.
'We've been at this since spring,' Heath said, 'and now football season is starting. I think both of you know that I'd hoped to be further along.'
'I understand.' Portia's smooth confidence belied her mismatched shoes. 'We all hoped this would be easier. But you're an extremely discriminating man, and you deserve an extraordinary woman.'
