No Regrets

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He shook his head. “No way. I don’t want her to get suspicious.”

“She won’t be suspicious.” She leaned toward him. “You said yourself she spends a lot of time alone. So she’s probably lonely. And lonely women like to talk. I’ll simply arrange to run into her somewhere and strike up a conversation.”

“Right. And she’s going to tell you—a stranger—all about her boyfriend?”

“I won’t be a stranger by the time we’ve talked a few minutes.” Her smile would have looked smug on anyone else. On her it was flat-out sexy. Confident. The smile of a woman who’d seen you naked and knew exactly what to do to make you beg.

Not that she’d made him beg, but it was a tempting fantasy….

He pulled his mind out of that trap and focused on business. The truth was, he wasn’t getting anywhere with this case on his own. And Lexie’s idea made a certain amount of sense. “All right. You can give it a try. But be careful. Don’t give anything away.”

“I won’t. Now didn’t you say you had her schedule?”

He opened a drawer and took out the case file. In it were the copies of Ellen’s date book that Wittier had given Nick. He handed the sheets to Lexie.

She scanned the pages, then tapped a pink-painted nail against one. “This is great. She has an appointment for a manicure at a nail salon in LoDo. I’ll make an appointment for the same time and it’ll be easy to strike up a conversation.”

He nodded and replaced the sheets in the file. “Let’s hope you find something.”

“Or maybe I’ll find out she really isn’t cheating. Our client ought to be happy with that.”

So it was “our” client now? He really couldn’t object to that. If she wanted to help out with a few investigations, he’d let her. But he’d make the rules about when and where. As long as he remained in charge, everything would be okay.

She stood and smoothed her skirt. “I’ll call and make an appointment at the nail salon right away.”

She turned to leave but he cleared his throat, stopping her. “Was there something else?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah.” His chest was tight. He hated this kind of thing but he wasn’t going to be a jerk about this. “About Friday night…”

He’d half hoped she’d jump in with another comment about how “fantastic” it had been, saving him from having to grovel, but no such luck. She fixed him with a level gaze and waited.

“Sorry I ran out like that,” he said. “Without a note. I—” He shrugged. “I’m not much for notes.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “About the note. Not that you left.”

Right. So she did think he was a jerk. He waited for her to let him have it, but she surprised him by sitting down again and pulling her chair closer. “It would have been okay if you had stayed,” she said. “I mean, I wouldn’t have read more into it than you wanted.” She smiled. “I just want us to have a good time. To enjoy each other for the next few months.”

Something like relief rushed over him, coupled with innate caution. “I did have a good time.” A great time.

“Me, too.” She stood again, still smiling. “Now that we understand each other, I’ll go make that appointment.”

He watched her go, then collapsed back against his chair, stunned. If he were one of those hard-boiled types popular in forties’ movies, he’d have a bottle of whiskey stashed in his desk for moments like this one.

Unfortunately, the only pain relievers in his desk drawer were half a bottle of aspirin and a roll of antacid. Not enough to sharpen his thinking where Lexie was concerned. She might think they understood each other but as far as he was concerned, there was no understanding women. Especially one like Lexie who was in turns tough and tender, who made love as if she’d never have the chance again and who hid secrets behind silk scarves.

But then, they all had secrets to hide, didn’t they? Private wounds they kept hidden from the world. Maybe that was what had unnerved him most about those intimate hours at the hotel: some part of him had recognized that Lexie might be the one to uncover those wounds, the one to learn his secrets. And maybe that scared him more than anything.

5

LEXIE WAITED IN HER CAR until she saw Ellen Wittier go into the nail salon. A few moments later, she followed. A string of bells attached to the door announced her entrance. The young Vietnamese woman who was working on Ellen’s nails looked up. “May I help you?” she asked.

“I have an appointment for a manicure.”

The woman looked toward the back of the shop and said something in Vietnamese. Another young woman emerged from behind a beaded curtain. “You pick color,” she instructed, gesturing toward a turntable filled with bottles of polish.

Lexie took her time perusing the polish, studying Ellen’s reflection in the mirror behind the manicure table. She was an attractive woman, perhaps in her mid-to late-thirties, dressed in an expensive-looking silk tank dress and Jimmy Choo sandals Lexie immediately coveted. Her hair and makeup were done just so. Either Ellen was very particular about her appearance or she had nothing better to occupy her time.

“I ready for you now.” The manicurist waved Lexie over to her table, next to the one where Ellen sat.

“Great.” She reached for her usual pink polish, then hesitated and impulsively grabbed a bottle of bright red dubbed Hot Tomato. The new, bolder version of Lexie was definitely a hot tomato kind of gal.

“How are you today?” the manicurist asked, her words a pleasant singsong.

“Bored.” She gave an exaggerated sigh and glanced toward Ellen. “I’m new in town and my husband’s away so much with his business. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Her attempt to draw Ellen into conversation worked. “What does your husband do?” she asked.

“He works for a software developer.” A safe enough choice, since Denver was riddled with high-tech firms, despite the tech bust a few years ago. “We haven’t been married all that long,” she continued. “We met at a fund-raiser in Houston a few years back and were immediately attracted to each other.” She shook her head. “I used to laugh at women my age who dated men old enough to be their fathers, and then it happened to me.”

“I know just what you mean.” Ellen managed a small smile. “My husband is fifteen years older than I am.”

“Mine is almost twenty years older, but you’d never know it to look at him. I think that’s what attracted me to him. He was so dynamic and sure of himself.” Amazing how glibly the lies rolled off Lexie’s tongue. Within a matter of seconds she’d created an elaborate fantasy for herself and her mythical spouse.

“Other hand, please.”

“Oh, sure.” She gave her other hand into the manicurist’s care. “Of course my family thought I was crazy to marry him and move to Colorado. Some days I wonder if they weren’t right. I mean, not that I don’t love him—I really do. But he’s gone so much and here I am.” She shrugged.

“Yes, that can be difficult.” Ellen turned her attention back to her manicurist. “A little rounder shape, please.”

Lexie’s smile faltered. So much for becoming best buddies with Ellen Wittier. She’d been polite, but no more. Lexie would have to think of another approach.

“How short you want?” The nail tech’s question distracted her.

“Oh, that’s fine right there. Thank you.”

“You say your husband is older than you?” the tech asked.

“Yes.”

“Mine is older, too.” The tech nodded, then rubbed the third finger of Lexie’s left hand. “You no wear ring?”

Lexie felt heat rise to her face. Damn! She’d forgotten all about a ring. “Uh, I never wear it when I have a manicure,” she said. “I’m too afraid I’ll take it off and then leave it behind.” She chuckled, and didn’t have to fake nervousness. “I’m still so new at this marriage thing.” She glanced toward Ellen, who was gazing out the front window of the shop, her expression blank. “I just wish my husband could be home more.”

“It is difficult when the two of you have to be apart so much.” Ellen turned toward her again. “It gets a little easier after a while.”

Does it? Lexie remembered the lonely woman who’d wandered the empty loft and then lain across the bed, crying on Friday night. “You sound like you might have a little experience,” she said. “Does your husband travel in his work, too?”

Ellen nodded. “Yes. It gets lonely sometimes, but it’s made me really appreciate the time we have together.”

“I wish my husband stay away more.” Lexie’s nail tech rubbed the buffing block vigorously over Lexie’s nails. “He under foot all the time.”