Innocent in Death (In Death #24)(54)

“Shit.”

As Eve headed reluctantly for Channel 75’s studio, Roarke was clearing his desk so he could do the same. He hoped his being there would make it better for Eve, not worse.

He didn’t know, couldn’t tell how it would be, and that stymied him. She wasn’t a predictable woman, he thought, but he knew her. Her moods, the rhythm of them, her gestures, her tones.

Now she’d blurred on him.

He wanted it all back in focus. Needed it to be. But he’d be damned if he’d blur his own image to pacify some absurd and imaginary offense she was clinging to.

She’d warned him, questioned him—interrogated more like, he thought with a spurt of heat. Doubted him and made him feel guilty when he’d done nothing to feel guilty about.

He thought of Magdelana’s hand on his leg, and the invitation she’d offered. Well, he’d shut that straight down, hadn’t he? Straight down and straight off.

Under any other circumstances, he might have told Eve about that sort of move, so they could joke about it. But it was perfectly obvious that this was the sort of information he’d best keep to himself.

And bloody hell if that didn’t make him feel guilty.

Bugger it. He was going to demand trust, he thought as he rose to stand at his wide window. That was nonnegotiable. Almost everything else was, he admitted, and slid a hand into his pocket to finger the gray button he carried with him.

Hers. As she’d been his, somehow, from the first time he’d seen her. Nothing and no one had ever struck him as she had, standing in that truly deplorable gray suit with her cop’s eyes on him. Nothing and no one had ever held him as she did, and always would.

So anything else was negotiable. He could give and give more, and always find he had just another well to dip from. Because she continued to fill him, over and over again.

He could bear the anger between them, he realized. Tempers were part of what they were. But he wasn’t entirely sure he could bear this rift. So they’d have to find a way to span it.

As he turned, his desk ’link beeped. Interoffice, he noted.

“Yes, Caro.”

“I’m sorry, I know you’re due to leave in a few moments. But there’s a Ms. Percell here to see you. She says it’s personal. I’m sorry, but she talked her way up through security. I have her in the waiting area.”

He considered having Caro dismiss her. If anyone could shake Magdelana off, it would be Caro. And that seemed unfair to all involved. Using one woman to shield him from another woman because of yetanother woman’s ridiculously suspicious mind.

Damned if he was going to be led around by the nose that way, even by the woman he loved.

“It’s all right. You can send her in. I’ll need my transpo in ten minutes.”

“All right then. Oh, tell your wife we’ll be watching her.”

“I think I’ll wait until it’s done to mention it. She’s annoyed by the whole business. Thank you, Caro.”

He scooped a hand through his hair, glanced around his office. A long way from what once had been, he thought. In every possible way.

Time to find a way, he supposed, to make it crystal clear to the women currently squeezing him from both sides that there was no going back to what had been and no desire at all to take the trip.

She came in, a golden fur tossed over her arm, her hair sexy and tumbled, her face glowing with energy. And yes, she reminded him of what once had been. There was no way to avoid it.

“Look at you! Look at this!” After tossing her coat over a chair, Magdelana turned a circle.

Roarke met Caro’s eyes, nodded, and she backed quietly out of the room. Closed the doors.

“The den of the global mogul, both sleek and plush, tasteful and absolutely male. Well, it’s all you, isn’t it?” She moved toward him, both hands extended.

He took them, briefly. There was no way to avoid that either, without making them both look like idiots. “How are you, Maggie?”

“Right now? How I am is incredibly impressed.” She glanced at the desk. “What exactly do you do here?”

“Quite a bit of what needs to be done, with a healthy portion of what I choose. What can I do for you?”

“Offer me a drink.” She sat on the arm of one of his chairs, crossed her long legs. Tossed her long hair. “I’ve been shopping, and I’m worn to the bone.”

“Sorry. You caught me on my way out.”

“Oh.” Her lips pouted. “Business, I suppose. You always were one for business. I could never understand that you actually liked to work. Still…” She uncrossed her legs to rise, then wandered toward his window where New York spread and speared. “Lovely benefits.” She looked back at him, over her shoulder. “I suppose I always pictured you in Europe, though, carving your way through the Old World.”

“New York suits me.”

“Apparently, it does. I wanted to thank you. I’ve had some meetings already with the money people you suggested. It’s early to say, but I think this is going to work out very nicely. I’d never have known where to start without your help.”

“I think you’d have found your way well enough. You’ve been busy,” he added. “Shopping, taking meetings, visiting my wife at Central.”

Wincing, Magdelana turned around, stood framed by the energy and towers of the city. “She told you. I was afraid of that. I don’t know what I was thinking—well, yes, I do. I was just so curious about her, and wanted to get to know her a little. It didn’t go well.”