Page 12

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, is kept immaculate by Madeline, who manages to be visible in every corner of my home, yet never in my way.

"Hey," Synthia says, the skin crinkling around her brown eyes.You've been through it.The tightness in my chest loosens. Archie's furry body snuggled in my arms and the empathy in Synthia's gaze soothe me. "You okay?"

"Yeah." We can both hear the tears in my voice.

A gust of wind pushes on my back, bringing the scent of Ash with it. This time it's like a mix of sun-warmed wood and lavender. How can it change and yet be so damn consistent? To have a scent burned into my brain yet always be changing?

Ash didn't follow me right away—he was probably waiting to speak with Chris. Or he understood enough to give me space.

The room seems to shrink when Ash enters. My muscles are buzzing with endorphins, and it feels like there is an electric field crackling between us.

"Good afternoon, Synthia," Ash says. His deep timbre sends sparks skittering along the circuits between us, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

"Ash." Synthia nods a greeting.

His focus shifts behind Synthia to the left, which is when I see the giant Samoan, Alesana, in the shadows of the hall that leads to the living room. "You can go," Ash says. Alesana gives me a brief smile before turning away, disappearing down the hall.

Ash moves to follow him. But I'm in his way. He expected me to step aside, to just let him pass.

I don’t move, and his only option is to turn around and circle the other side of the table. I turn my head to meet his gaze. His intense focus almost startles the breath out of me.

Ash wets his lips as if to speak but then turns away instead. Synthia catches my eye. Then she looks to Ash's broad back before returning her attention to me and raising one brow.What was that?

I grit my teeth.

"Should we have our green meanies on the deck?" Synthia suggests with a smile.You are going to talk.

The ocean windtugs at Synthia's hair, pulling wisps free. They curl around her face as she eyes me over her pint glass of greens, avocado, blueberries and, if you ask me, not nearly enough banana—but apparently sugar isn't good for you no matter what your taste buds claim.

We're sitting on the curved deck outside the living room in two of the chaise lounges that face the view. The cushions are an angry red—the color after you've been struck but before the bruise blooms.

The Pacific roars so loudly that Synthia has to almost yell when she says, "What is going on with you and Ash? A Vitamix couldn't get through the tension a few minutes ago."

My laugh is nervous and slightly hysterical. Archie raises his head from my lap. His expression condemns me. I should know better than to disturb him with my body when he's using it as a bed.

"It's nothing." I shake my head, the last wisps of humor fading.

"Didn't look like nothing to me."

A sigh escapes. "It can just feel a little stifling sometimes—to have this much security." My answer is a cousin to the truth and as much as I can tell Synthia.

Her face softens. I'm not Synthia's only client who needs protection. She understands what it's like to be high profile enough that desperate people latch onto you. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but thank god you had them last night."

The memory of Ash carrying me out of the theater comes back so vividly that my breath chokes off and my senses are filled with his smell—it mixes with the ocean, evolving again yet remaining achingly familiar. Swallowing, I take in a deep breath, forcing myself back to the present. "Yeah, definitely," I say. "It's just a lot."

Synthia leans forward and puts her hand on my knee. "You know you can always talk to me. About anything."

I nod, tears burning my eyes, wishing it was true. How much easier would my life be if I could share more with Synthia, if I had anyone in my life I could confide my full truth to? Synthia waits for me to speak, and I need to tell her something. "I slept with Julian last night."

She barks out a laugh. "Well, that's not what I expected you to say, but I can't blame you. I'm not even sure why you two broke up." Synthia leans back in her seat, propping up long tanned legs. She's wearing a pair of white cotton shorts and a casual gray tank top.

"Too much time apart." I recite the lie with ease, but Synthia shakes her head—not that she doesn't believe me, but that she thinks it's a crap reason. Which it is. But my real reasons are solid, even if I can't share them with anyone but Temperance Johnson or Ash Fraser. Neither of whom are exactly girlfriend material.

"With your life, Angela, you're never going to have a relationship with someone you share a schedule with unless you start fucking one of your security men."

I choke on a sip of green meanie and sit up, sputtering. Archie, incensed, departs from my lap to curl up at the bottom of the chaise with a flick of his short fluff of a tail and a look of disgust.What kind of a human?

"I don't recommend it," Synthia adds, her voice teasing.