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She wanted to kick him. He used to call her Tai when they were in bed, when they were kissing and touching and making each other deliriously crazy. “Of course I can.”
“What about Danny’s party?”
“What about it?”
“Can you handle that, too?” He reached into the top drawer of his desk and handed her an invitation with a cartoon character on it, announcing his son’s fifth birthday, with directions to his ex-wife’s house. “Or are you going to refuse to go?”
Although Talia didn’t respond, she wondered if Aaron’s family would be there, if he was giving her the opportunity to meet them.
She knew it shouldn’t matter after all this time.
But it did. Somehow it did.
The following morning, Talia stood at the chopping block counter in her kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Except for her shoes, the high heels she favored, she was already dressed for the office.
The doorbell sounded and she took the hot drink with her, expecting to see her mail carrier or someone equally nonintrusive.
But she was wrong.
She opened the door and came face-to-face with Aaron.
He didn’t say a word. He just gave her an eye roaming once-over.
Talia cursed the shoes she wasn’t wearing. At five-one, she was nearly a foot shorter than her former lover. It had never bothered her when they were in bed, when she was sprawled across his lap. But when he stood tall, towering over her with that lord-and-master expression, she fought the intimidation of him being her boss.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Getting a jump on our day.” His lips tilted in a smart-aleck smile. “Would you prefer that I came by to jump your bones?”
Yes, Talia thought. She wanted to have sex. She wanted to make him desperate for her, then kick him to the curb, where his hundred-thousand-dollar Porsche was parked. Between the success of SPEC and the financial strength of the Pechanga Band, Aaron was sitting pretty. He divided his time between a sprawling loft in the city and a costly house on tribal land. Not that she’d been privy to his Indian home. He’d never taken her there.
“I should sue you for sexual harassment,” she said, finally commenting on his jump-her-bones remark.
“And I should sue you for all of my hot-blooded memories.”
“You pursued me, Aaron.”
“And you enjoyed every minute of it.”
Yes, she’d enjoyed being his lover. But she hadn’t enjoyed the longing, the hope, the horrible need to be his wife.
“I could use some coffee,” he said.
“Then get it yourself.”
“Thanks, I will.” He swept past her, making himself comfortable in her cozy kitchen.
Talia followed him. She lived in a two-bedroom house from the 1930s that she’d decorated with retro furniture. She rented it because of its vintage style. The sinks were pedestal, and the doorknobs were crystal.
Chantilly Lace, her favorite Bengal, came into the kitchen and meowed at Aaron.
“Hey, Lacy.” He quit pouring his coffee and picked up the cat.
Lacy rubbed her head against his shirt, and Talia wanted to call her pet a traitor. All of her cats had always adored Aaron. He had a sleek, strong, animalistic charm that drew them near. Them and their babies. Talia bred Bengals, felines that were originally created by crossing a domestic cat with an Asian Leopard Cat, giving the breed a striking resemblance to their wild ancestor.
“Do you have any kittens?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I sold the last litter. Thunder bought one of them.”
“Oh, that’s right. He named the poor thing Spot.” Aaron stroked a hand over Lacy’s leopard-like rosettes. “But what does Thunder know?”
“A lot more than you do.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” She was enamored of the way Thunder was conducting his life. He’d settled down with the woman he loved and was eagerly awaiting the birth of their child.
Aaron placed Lacy on the floor and glanced at Talia’s stocking feet. “Do you have on those thigh-high hose? God, I love those things.”
Suddenly she felt naked. More exposed than just being shoeless. “You’re annoying me.”
“I’m preparing you for the husband-and-wife caper.”
“That’s what you meant by getting a jump on our day?”
“Yep.” He finished pouring his coffee. “We need to get comfortable in a domestic setting again.”
“We’ve never lived together.”
“No, but I’ve spent a lot of time here. That’s close enough.” He sat at the dining room table, an ancient oak piece that she’d refinished herself. “Why don’t you fix me breakfast?”
“Eggs and arsenic?” she offered.
He chuckled. “See? We’re married already.”
She wasn’t about to laugh. “In that case, I want half of everything you own.”
“Spoken like a true wife.” He sipped his coffee. “I was serious about breakfast.”
And she was serious about having sex and kicking him to the curb. Her coffee had already gone cold. As cold as her he-married-another-woman heart. She wondered what he would do if she hiked up her skirt, exposed her thigh-highs and climbed onto his lap.
He would probably love every screw-you stroke. She would do well to keep her urges to herself.
“Come on, Tai, I’m hungry.”
Was that a double entendre? She gauged his expression and got a deliberately bland look in return.
Bastard. He’d probably read her mind.
Giving up on her, he began preparing the breakfast he wanted, raiding her fridge and the copper pots she kept above her stove.
Aaron was an enigma, she thought. A city-slick investigator, a traditional Indian and a former Special Operations soldier.
He fixed enough eggs and bacon for both of them. He managed to stay immaculate, too. He didn’t get a spatter of grease on his white shirt or gunmetal gray tie.
“Did you compile a list of the Gamblers Anonymous locations in Nevada?” he asked.
“Yes.” She considered adding vodka to the orange juice he’d poured. To dull her senses. To keep her from craving him. They used to make love in her cramped kitchen, pressed against the counter, getting hot and wicked.
“You could be a brunette.”
She cleared her mind. “What?”
“While we’re on the case.”
“Why?” she asked, thinking about the dark-haired, dark-skinned woman he’d married.
He moved closer, then lifted a strand of her natural blond hair, letting it trail through his fingers. “Because it would change how you look, and we’re going undercover.”
His touch made her shiver, right down to the bone. She pulled away, refusing to let him make her weak. “Maybe I’ll be a redhead.”
He smothered the eggs, his and hers, with grated cheddar and jalapeno-spiked salsa. Then he sat down to eat his food. “That’d be sexy.”
She sat at the table too, irritated that he hadn’t consulted her about her eggs, even if he knew how she liked them. “A dowdy redhead.”
“Fat chance of that.” He delved into his breakfast, then changed the subject. “You better show up to the party on Saturday.”
“What for?” she challenged, wishing he would let sleeping dogs lie. “We’re not a couple anymore.”
“Sure we are.” He snared her gaze, pinning her in place. “You’re my new wife.”
Her irritation worsened. “Fake wife.”
“I wonder if my family will think you’re fake. Or if you’ll be able to impress them.”
She didn’t respond. She knew he was baiting her to attend his son’s birthday.
A bait she was sure to take.
Two
Saturday came too soon. Talia climbed in her sports car, a less expensive model than Aaron owned, and drove to Temecula, a vineyard-covered region in Southwest California, where the Pechanga Resort and Casino was located, an enterprise that provided revenues for tribal members.
She passed the impressive resort and followed the directions on the invitation to Jeannie’s house, a two-story structure with a white fence and a spray of colorful flowers.
Before Talia removed Danny’s gift from the trunk and ventured to the door, she smoothed her chic yet casual ensemble. She’d paired a trendy blouse with designer jeans and chunky-heeled boots that added four inches to her petite frame. She needed to pack a punch today.
She’d never been so nervous.
When she glanced at the other vehicles parked on the street, she noticed Aaron’s Porsche. It shined like a silver bullet with its custom wheels and convertible top. Talia’s car was black, like the onyx pendant around her neck.
She looked around for Thunder’s Hummer, but she didn’t see it. Apparently he and Carrie, his lovely fiancée, hadn’t arrived yet. The interesting thing about Carrie was that she was also Thunder’s ex-wife. They’d been married when they were teenagers, and after an emotional divorce, they’d reunited twenty years later.
Speaking of ex-wives…
She hoped Aaron had warned Jeannie that she was coming. Not that Jeannie wouldn’t be a gracious hostess. She and Talia had been uncomfortably polite to each other at first, but after Jeannie had given up on her troubled marriage and left Aaron, the women weren’t quite so uncomfortable.
After all, they’d ditched the same man.
Then again, Jeannie had moved on with someone else. Talia rarely dated. Instead she focused on her career. Which could be misinterpreted, she supposed, considering that Aaron was her boss. But she’d stayed at SPEC because remaining there had made her stronger. Seeing Aaron every day, especially while he’d been married to another woman, had shaped Talia into the femme fatale she’d always wanted to be. Of course sometimes she faltered.
Like now, she thought.
Finally, she got her emotions in check and removed Danny’s present from her trunk, hoping he was an artistic child. She’d bought him a slew of crayons, markers and kid-inspired paint sets.
She knocked on the door and a fair-haired man answered. He wore a polo-style shirt and slightly faded Levi’s. Medium built and casually attractive, he smiled at her.
“I’m Jim,” he said. “Jeannie’s husband.”
“I’m Talia.” She smiled, too. He seemed kind and genuine. She’d heard that he was a carpenter. To her, it seemed like an honest profession.
“Aaron told us you were coming.”
Thank goodness, she thought. Jim invited her inside, then escorted her to the backyard, where the party was already underway. She took a quick look around and noticed that she and Jim were the only non-Native people there.
Suddenly she wanted to cling to him, but she realized how stupid that was. He was Jeannie’s spouse and Danny’s stepfather. He wasn’t an outsider.
She caught sight of the birthday boy jumping on a trampoline with his friends. She saw Danny every so often at the office. When Aaron, the weekend dad, was swamped with overtime on Friday nights, he brought his son to work, letting him play P.I. at an empty desk.
Jim accepted Danny’s present and put it with the rest of the festively wrapped gifts. Then he offered Talia a soda and directed her to a group of tables where the adult guests were gathered, snacking on chips and dip and waiting for the main entrees to be served.
Talia tried to relax, but she couldn’t. This party had Indian written all over it. In the center of the grass was a big round object, covered with a blanket. She assumed it was a drum.
Aaron spotted her, and their gazes locked from across the yard. He stood and came toward her with long, deliberate strides. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the casino logo. By the time he reached her, her heart was pounding. He looked deep and dark and ethnic. His raven-colored hair was combed away from his forehead, and his eyes seemed more black than brown.
No wonder his culture was so foreign to her. Until today, she’d never been remotely close, emotionally or physically, to his Apache or Pechanga roots. He’d never offered to bring her into that part of his life.
“You made it,” he said.
“Yes.” She clutched the soda Jim had given her. Was this Aaron’s attempt to make amends for the past? To draw her into his world? Or was he proving, firsthand, that she didn’t belong here? That she would never fit in?
None of the other guests were staring at her, but she could feel their curiosity. An older woman in a brightly colored dress and silver jewelry was scowling. Was she Aaron’s mother?
“I can introduce you to everyone,” he said.
“I already know Jeannie.” She glanced up and saw Aaron’s ex-wife coming out of the house and carrying a casserole dish. Jeannie was graced with a noticeable figure and a braid that flowed to the middle of her back. She wasn’t classically pretty, not by Anglo standards. But Talia thought she was stunning.
“Jeannie isn’t everyone,” he said.
