Private Lies. Wendy Etherington

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      “He’s too young.”

      “The one next to him.”

      “He’s got a—”

      “Ponytail, I know.”

      “He’s smoking.”

      Roxanne had noticed that, too. Her whole body grew numb. Her heart sank. “I was kind of expecting a svelte blond lover,” Toni said.

      “Let’s hope it’s not the kid sitting next to him.”

      Toni pursed her lips. “No way.”

      “That was a joke.” Roxanne watched Gage drum his fingers on the bar. He scowled and shook his head, his ponytail sliding against the collar of his jacket. The sophisticated surface she saw every day had been wiped away, replaced by a dark seediness she’d never before associated with Gage. As if the charming man she knew, the man she lived with, was an act, and this dangerous stranger had risen to take his place.

      No woman, but a disguise? Tangled emotions assaulted her—relief, confusion, worry, anger. What the hell was going on?

      She’d heard of people having a nervous breakdown. She’d heard from her family many times about crimes of passion, people snapped and hurt the ones closest to them. She’d heard on talk shows about defining moments in a person’s life.

      So in that moment of watching Gage frown at the man next to him, of watching her fiancé act like someone else, appear as someone else…something inside her shifted. Changed.

      Snapped.

      GAGE GLARED at his young, would-be counterfeiter.

      “So where is he, Mettles?”

      Mettles swallowed, his protruding Adam’s apple shaking. “He said he’d be here.” He glanced around. “But he didn’t sound pleased.”

      Gage bit back a nasty remark about waiting for this kid to find his balls. It wouldn’t help to lose his cool. He needed all his nerves to confront Stephano. They’d retired to this more private bar on top of the hotel after a cell phone request by Mettles’s boss, and though the view of the river and city lights was beautiful, the hairs at Gage’s nape twitched.

      He turned, expecting to finally come face-to-face with Mettles’s boss, but he only saw other patrons, sipping drinks and talking quietly.

      Then he saw her.

      At a corner table sat a busty, exotic-looking woman with long, curly dark hair. Gage’s first impulse was hooker. But as he watched her lift her drink to her deep red lips, he saw a gracefulness and sense of style usually not found in ladies of the night.

      A rich tourist trolling for excitement, he amended, though something about the woman and her companion struck him as familiar. Had he seen them before? Maybe they’d been in the lobby bar earlier.

      Her blond-haired friend noticed his appraisal and gestured at him. The dark beauty glanced at him, then averted her face, for which Gage was glad. He couldn’t afford to attract too much attention. Especially from the type of woman who found the danger emanating from Gage Angelini irresistible.

      As nothing seemed to be going right all night, he wasn’t surprised to see, out of the corner of his eye, the two women rising. They laid money on the table, then, after a brief discussion, they parted, the blonde heading out of the bar and the exotic beauty heading straight for him.

      “Hell.” He sipped his drink and waited for her approach. Six months working this stupid case, and it was about to be spoiled by some lonely heart.

      Her perfume reached him first. Spicy and mysterious, it stirred him more than he’d anticipated.

      “Gage?” she said in a smoky voice.

      Startled, Gage’s hand jerked. Ice clanged against the crystal.

      He turned and met her gaze squarely. Her eyes were a bright emerald green, her skin dark gold, her black jumpsuit filled out with generous curves. He didn’t know her, yet something about her was familiar. Was it the shape of her face? Her expression?

      Her mouth pursed in irritation. “What are you doing here?”

      The itch on the back of his neck intensified, but he somehow remembered his role. He smiled. “Havin’ a drink, bella. Join me.”

      Mettles shifted on his stool.

      Gage knew what was going through his mind. My boss isn’t going to like this.

      “Move down for the lady, Mettles.”

      Mettles moved, and Gage took the beauty’s hand and assisted her onto the stool. The view of her well-endowed cleavage was impressive, but Gage’s brain was too busy spinning a way out of the situation to fully appreciate her body.

      “Drink?” he asked her.

      She nodded at his glass. “What are you having?”

      “Black Jack.”

      Her gaze flew to his. “You don’t—” She stopped and smiled seductively. “That’s good for me.”

      What was with people tonight? This stuff ate away your stomach lining.

      He made the order, but continued to stare at the woman. Something doesn’t click. Something’s off here.

      For the first time he wondered if he was being set up. Certainly not by Mettles, but maybe Stephano was testing Gage, looking for a trap himself.

      Gage pulled his cigarette case from his inside pocket and offered a smoke to the lady.

      Her lip curled disdainfully. “No, thanks.”

      He lit the cigarette and expertly pressed a concealed button on the side of the case as he returned it to his pocket. The case doubled as a camera, and he intended to run his lovely lady’s face through the federal criminal database.

      He took a drag of the cigarette, fighting the urge to cough. He leaned toward her, speaking so only she could hear. “So, are you going to tell me where I know you from?”

      Her full red lips flattened. She practically snarled at him, then she whispered in his ear, “Well, the other night the sex was pretty interesting, even if it was a bit rushed.”

      Her voice was different this time, less husky. And he knew it. He knew it very well.

      Oh, hell.

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