Talkin' the Talk, page 19
She let out a loud shriek, jumping to her knees while trying to focus on where he was so she could know which way to run.
“That’s the second time you’ve reacted like that when startled, and forgive me if I’m wrong, but I don’t recall you behaving like that before.”
It took Sophie a moment to register that the room wasn’t her bedroom, that the shirt she was wearing wasn’t hers, and that Ian Buchanan was standing by the bed with his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth a thin, hard line.
“Ian?” Sophie rubbed her palms against her eyes, trying to get her foggy brain into gear enough to come up with a good reason for her behavior, but all she managed to do was smudge her mascara. “Sorry. I just haven’t been sleeping that well, and you’ve got to admit you’ve scared me both times. I don’t like being scared.”
“Neither do I, but I generally don’t aim to kill the person who’s frightened me.”
“That’s probably a lie, and you have no idea how scary you look.” Sophie pulled off the shirt, quickly folding it and setting it on the pillow. She’d only thought to wrap herself up in Ian’s English countryside smell. It had been comforting, and she must have fallen asleep.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I saw you burnt dinner.”
“I prefer to think of it as a failed practice session before achieving the real thing. Does this have anything to do with the conversation I overheard earlier? You mentioned the police?”
The question was the last thing Sophie expected, and she forced out something close enough to the truth to be convincing. “No, no, that was just my friend Candy. She was worried about Beau not making it home after he’d called her. She had called the police to see if he’d had an accident or something. I’m just on edge because . . . well, you should know why.” The flash of guilt that crossed Ian’s features made her feel bad about the partial lie. “So are you feeding me burnt lamb and charcoal vegetables, or is there something else on the menu?” She already knew there was. The scent wafting through the bedroom door was making her stomach rumble.
Ian winced. “Trial run. The pièce de résistance awaits. Care to join me?”
“Yeah. Although, I have to admit that I can’t wait to see what sort of magic you’ve managed. If you can turn burnt lamb into something edible, the Catholic Church is going to be calling you about miracles.” Sophie climbed off the bed, following behind him, relieved by the banter until she walked through the door.
“Good Lord.” She took in the kitchen table, now relocated to the center of the living room and draped in a long white cloth. The only illumination came from six big, chunky candles from a local aromatherapy company, which flickered in the breeze coming through the open window. The table was impeccably set, with a full accompaniment of silverware, wineglasses and . . . She inhaled, detecting the heady aroma of barbeque chicken. “You’ve been to Delicious.”
She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it herself, but Ian actually blushed. “Your friend, the chef, told me this was your favorite.”
“It is.” Sophie’s smile was a little wobblier than she would have liked. “Thanks.”
Ian walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. “You can thank me when you’ve sat down and eaten something. You look like you are about to fall over.”
Sophie looked from Ian to the table, then tried to get all her words in the right order before speaking. “If I sit down, it doesn’t mean I want to have sex with you tonight. You don’t get that just because you buy me dinner and light some candles.”
Ian’s expression didn’t change. “There is no obligation attached to this meal other than to ask your forgiveness. I mean it. And frankly, with the state you’ve left me in after that kneeing earlier, you’re completely safe.”
“Just so we’re clear—”
“You can trust me.” Ian’s words were firm. “Sit down.” His tone was close enough to the one he’d used the day they’d made love in the kitchen that Sophie felt a small thrill of excitement, followed by a wave of relief that Beau’s attack hadn’t messed up her ability to be turned on. That it was Ian turning her on presented another potential drama, but her hungry stomach overrode that worry for now.
She sat down. “You got the vegetables too?” She looked over the dishes he’d presented in the two white baking dishes she supplied in every cabin.
“I was assured you wouldn’t be happy without them.” Ian took a seat across from her, his bruised and battered features softened by the candlelight as he reached for a set of tongs. “Do you want to serve yourself or shall I?”
Sophie felt a trace of her usual mischievousness return. “I think you should serve me, at least if this is to be a complete dining experience. Is there dessert too?”
“Of course.”
Maybe it was the exhaustion from all that had happened. Maybe it was the candlelight. Maybe it was the way Ian was obviously trying to apologize to her in a big, gruff, bearish kind of way, but she felt herself relax.
“Are you going to tell me how you got that bruise on your cheek and why you were so horrible after that phone call? Are they related?”
Ian paused in scooping up some broccoli. “Somewhat.” He placed the vegetables on Sophie’s plate and then added some chicken. Sophie resisted telling him to add more, knowing she’d be going back for seconds the minute he wasn’t looking.
“Somewhat?” Sophie speared some chicken into her mouth, and her taste buds did a party dance. She hadn’t eaten properly for days, and the chicken tasted like nirvana.
Ian looked thoughtful as he filled his own plate. “I’ll tell you about the bruises if you tell me why you’re suddenly terrified of everything.”
The chicken turned to cotton wool in her mouth. She reached for her glass of wine and gulped a mouthful to wash it down. “It’s nothing. Just . . . just no sleep and my brother playing a couple of tricks on me. It’s left me on edge.”
“Tricks that have you waking up swinging?” Ian’s tone was skeptical.
“Something like that. Most of it’s just stress from planning my dad’s wedding. He’s getting married in three weeks. That’s what he wanted to talk to me about that day when you . . . yeah. Anyway, so are you going to tell me about your face? What happened? Was it something about you losing your job at the newspaper?”
Ian’s smile contained little humor. “Something like that.”
“Can you tell me more?” It dawned on her that she knew nothing about him other than what he’d said about his mom getting pregnant young. She wanted to know more now, if only so she didn’t feel so foolish for not asking before she got emotionally involved. “A newspaper running a smear campaign against its former editor hints at something political in the background. I know you have the capacity to be a total asshole—”
Ian gave her an apologetic grimace before she continued.
“—but you don’t seem to be the kind of guy who would be underhanded. In fact you’re one of the most what-you-see-is-what-you-get people I’ve ever met, at least emotionally—I mean that’s why I like you . . . liked you.”
Ian leaned back in his chair, visibly stunned. “Why?”
She looked down at the plate in front of her, feeling embarrassed now. “Why what? Why did I like you? Great sex is probably the right answer. And you were nice for a while there until you did that crazy act, disappeared, and got your face rearranged. You hurt my feelings. Really hurt my feelings. But when you’re like this, you’re not all bad.”
Ian ran a hand over his head. “Sophie, you’re amazing. Thank you.”
You’re amazing. Sophie felt the glow in her chest grow until it washed away all the fatigue she’d been feeling. Two words. Two words coming from someone who shouldn’t make her feel good at all, but they had the power to light up her entire body. “Thanks. What else haven’t you told me about yourself that I should know?
“I’d rather hear about you first.”
Sophie looked at him skeptically.
“I honestly do. Tell me about your father’s wedding. Please?”
Sophie felt a moment of relief he hadn’t asked about anything more serious. “Alright.”
34
A little while later, Sophie savored the last mouthful of apple pie and put her fork down. “I don’t think there’s much more to tell. It’s your turn.”
Ian leaned back in his chair. He’d sprawled out a while ago, and his feet were on either side of Sophie’s under the table, but she didn’t mind.
It wasn’t rational, and it didn’t make sense, but right now she felt safe around him. Completely safe. She knew Ian wouldn’t do what Beau had done. He’d been rough when they’d had sex before, yes, but she knew he wouldn’t do anything if she said no. Even when he’d been angry, he hadn’t hidden it. He’d been exactly who he was in the moment, and his moods were very transparent. Right now, he looked as relaxed as she felt.
“Have you been married?”
Ian slowly shook his head. “No. Have you?”
“I would have told you already if I had. Kids?”
“No.”
“So what are you thinking of doing now that you’ve left your job? It sounds like you’re pretty connected.”
He looked down at his hand, which was resting idly on the table next to his plate. “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet, to tell you the truth. At present, I’m biding my time, waiting to clear my reputation.”
“How?”
He looked as if he was weighing the pros and cons of something and then gave a short nod, almost as if to himself. “Are you aware of media cycles? How they work?”
Sophie shrugged. “Not unless you’re talking about the way the media has ADD and why I avoid all social media negativity like the plague. How about you sum it all up for me in shorthand?”
“You’re largely correct. It’s like a carousel, and our media in the UK is just as frenetic as yours here in the States. One minute they hate you, one minute they love you. I used to be the carousel operator when I was at The London Voice, and now I’m a passenger. In short, the idea is to wait until any attention attached to that London Voice piece—the “A Wolf in Our Mist” rubbish you would have seen when you searched me online—dies down, and then I’ll launch a counteroffensive to clear my name. A man’s reputation is only as pristine as the last piece written about him.” Ian looked over Sophie’s shoulder, deep in thought. “I once asked you how you’d react if I told you I was involved in something illegal.”
“Yes.”
“Well, something illegal happened at the paper when I was there. I didn’t do it, but as editor-in-chief I should have prevented it. It involved the son of the paper’s owner, and to cover his tracks, he and his father forced my resignation and are attempting to blacken my name to prevent me from going public. The other day, the day I panicked and took it out on you, I thought they’d found a way to completely discredit me, but I managed to put a stop to that.”
“Physically?” Sophie studied the bruises on Ian’s face with renewed interest.
Ian gave her a wry smile. “Care to tell me what prank your brother played on you that scared you so much you took a knee to my privates?”
“It’s complicated. Anyway . . . I want to ask you a favor,” she said before thinking things through. All she knew was that Beau was in her house, and Ian made her feel safe. It was a gut-level impulse, but it felt right.
“Anything”
“Can I sleep here tonight?”
* * *
A raucous chorus of birdsong outside the bedroom window woke Ian from the first decent sleep he’d had in days. Even the birds said it loud in Texas.
He yawned hugely and threw an arm over his eyes, flinching when his watch hit his brow bone. Disoriented, he looked down and saw he was still wearing the shirt from the night before. Come to think of it, he was still wearing the trousers from the night before as well. He sat up and immediately focused on Sophie, who was sleeping beside him with her hands tucked under her cheek, her mouth slightly open, and still fully clothed.
Memories of the night before trickled through his emerging consciousness: Sophie sitting across the table, looking like a shy little girl as she told him about the wedding she was organizing for her father and let him draw out stories of her childhood. Her friend Candy had featured in a great deal of them, getting Sophie in and out of trouble in equal measure. He enjoyed her descriptions of the local people, and was worried about the anxious expression she’d worn when she asked him if she could sleep over. That expression had stuck around the rest of the evening, even after they’d moved to the bedroom and finished the bottle of wine while reclining on the bed, Ian listening to Sophie’s voice in the dark. He’d been so exhausted that he couldn’t completely recall what she’d talked about, but listening to her had given him the greatest sense of peace.
The only dark spot of the evening was when he’d brought up her friend’s husband, Beau, who was obviously not in Sophie’s good books. That made sense given Sophie had mentioned he and his wife were having problems—not surprising considering that Ian had observed Beau hanging around the back door of Delicious last night when he’d picked up the food. The man had been talking to the attractive chef, Caitlin, and it was obvious there was something between the two of them. Ian had debated mentioning it to Sophie, but decided against it, not wanting to ruin the mood.
Sophie shifted onto her back, and Ian’s eyes drifted down to the bare strip of skin exposed by her hiked-up shirt. He wanted to run his finger over it, but after startling her the last two times, he had a feeling he’d be better served by cleaning up the living area and making some coffee.
He returned to find Sophie leaning against the headboard and combing her fingers through her hair. He set her mug of coffee on the bedside table and sat down next to her, his hand resting on the covers and not quite touching her hip. “Spend the day with me? We’ll have the day we should have had before I bolloxed it up.”
She blinked a few times before covering up a yawn. “Just friends?”
Ian nodded. “Just friends.”
She studied him for a while, and he could almost hear the cogs turning. “Alright.” She nodded slowly as if still having an internal conversation with herself. “I’ll have to go home and get some fresh clothes.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Ian asked, not wanting to risk letting her out of his sight and having the mood change. Being able to repay the trust she’d put in him even after he’d been such a prick felt good. Being around her made him feel like he was worthy of her affection. It gave him some hope that the changes he’d made in his life were here to stay, that he didn’t need the Voice to define him, that he was good enough without it.
He’d slain the beast that was his old man’s hold over him, but until last night, it hadn’t dawned on him that he was free. He wasn’t the man his father was. He’d proved it. He was proving it.
She took a sip of her coffee and looked down at the bedspread. “I’d like that, but it’s . . . I’ve just got to collect some clothes and things. It shouldn’t take long. I’ve also got to check in on one of the other cabins, and it would seem weird to my guests if I took you along.”
Ian fought the urge to argue, taking Sean’s advice and attempting pure honesty. “You’ll come back as soon as you can? I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m asking because I’m genuinely enjoying your company, and I don’t want to miss any more time with you.”
His chest filled with warmth when that earned him a shy smile.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll hurry.”
35
Sophie walked into the house, hating her own sick sense of dread. Beau’s car was parked next to the barn, but she had already called Hank to make sure Beau was working on the other side of the ranch. All she had to do was get her clothes together, and—
“Sophie, can I talk to you?”
She froze at the sound of his voice, dropping her purse. When she finally turned, it was to find Beau standing in the kitchen doorway with a friendly smile in place. The same smile she remembered him wearing when they’d shared an English class together in high school.
Her skin felt like it was crawling with ants.
She picked up her purse, watching his every movement, ready to bolt for the front door. “I don’t have anything to say to you unless you delete whatever you have on your phone, quit your job, and tell your wife what you’ve done. I don’t know who you are anymore, Beau. Or, if you’ve been the person you were the other night all these years, you’re one hell of an actor.” She reached into her pocket for her keys. They’d have to do if he came at her, unless she could get past him to the kitchen where the knife block lived. She had never wanted to own a gun before, but right now, the idea was proving more attractive.
Beau shook his head, his jaw firm. “I can’t do that. I can’t risk you messing things up between Candy and me.”
Her knuckles went white around the keys. “From what I hear, you’re doing a good job of that already. You scared the hell out of her when you didn’t come home after you told her you would. She even called the police to see if you’d had an accident!”
“That was your fault.”
It took Sophie a few seconds to register what he’d said. “My fault? HOW?”
“If you’d promised that you wouldn’t say anything to Candy, I wouldn’t have stressed over not being able to act normal if I went home. I’ve got enough to worry about in my life.”
“You tried to rape me!” She’d avoided even thinking of what had happened that way, but looking at Beau now and seeing his complete lack of remorse made things starkly clear. Whatever his reasons, she knew in that moment that he wouldn’t have stopped if she hadn’t kneed him in the balls. He would have raped her.
He looked genuinely offended by her words. “Now you’re making things up again. I’ve been thinking about it, and that’s not what happened. You let me into your room. You put on a show in public with that guy where anyone could see. It was like you wanted me to see it. And don’t even get me started on the way you walk from the bathroom to your bedroom in a towel every time you take a shower, like you want me to look. What the hell was I supposed to think?”
