Unguarded

“Same thing—beer, chips, football. It’s all good.”

“Well, if that’s really the case, why are we throwing such a fancy party? Why don’t we throw one you might actually enjoy?”

He laughed. “It’s March—no football.”

“That’s not what I meant. What if you throw a really relaxed party—jeans, casual food, games. It would be totally different than they’re used to, and it could be a lot of fun.”

“What, you mean, like a barbecue?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t gotten that far yet. But a barbecue could work.”

“I know it’s a sin to live in the South and say this, but I’m not a big fan of charred meat and potato salad. The whole barbecue culture gene kind of passed me by.”

“You know, barbecue doesn’t have to mean beans and brisket next to an open fire. A good steak could be classified as barbecue.”

He shook his head. “That’s not really my point. Changing the type of meat served doesn’t change the barbecue culture. I’m not into it.”

“All right then. I get it. No barbecue.” She went back to the computer, clicked a few times. “So are you opposed to the idea of a casual party altogether, or just one that involves ‘charred meat and potato salad’?”

He was about to shoot her idea down in its entirety, though it pained him to do so—in his experience, women weren’t at their friendliest after a man told them he thought their plans were less than impressive. And there was little he wanted more than to have Rhiannon in a friendly mood.

But her idea was so far from what he’d been thinking—and from what Anthony expected—that he didn’t feel like he had a choice. But then she turned the computer around and pointed to a couple of menus that were as far from a typical Texas barbecue as you could get, but that were a lot more interesting than the fancy hors d’oeuvres he was used to getting at parties like the one his agent expected him to throw.

“You can do gourmet pizzas on the grill?” he asked skeptically.

“Caterers can do just about anything on a grill these days—including dessert. Don’t you ever watch the Food channel?”

“I don’t, no. I’m more partial to movies myself. Give me a good horror movie and I’m happy.”

Her smile was slow coming, but when it finally arrived, he’d felt as if he’d scaled Mount Everest. It was a real smile, one that warmed her eyes and brought her dimple out in full force, and it made him happy just to watch how it lit up her face. He had a feeling Rhiannon didn’t smile much—at least not out of genuine amusement. It felt good to be the one to put a smile on her face.

“I’m partial to slasher films myself.”

“Oh, yeah? Which ones?” He felt his curiosity pique. It was the first personal bit of information Rhiannon had revealed about herself.

She named a couple of movies he’d enjoyed enough to buy on DVD, and they spent the next few minutes talking about them—debating level of gruesomeness and special effects and story line. Rhiannon was surprisingly knowledgeable about the genre, which made him wonder if he’d misread her reaction to his novels. Any woman who liked the films she did also had to be partial to a good superhero story. That same suspension of disbelief was a requirement for any true action movie fan.

He was about to invite her to a movie that was opening on Friday night when she once again steered the conversation back to business. “So, if I come up with a casual menu that is also impressive, will you consider having a less formal event?”

“Sure. If you can come up with a really great idea, one that’s fun and casual and impressive all at the same time, we’ll try your route.”

“Fun, casual and impressive all at the same time, hmm? You don’t ask for much.”

“Oh, Rhiannon.” He shook his head, shooting her a wicked grin. “I’ve barely gotten started on the list of demands I have for you.”

SHE NEARLY CHOKED on her water. As it was, the slightly tangy liquid went down the wrong pipe, burning from the back of her throat all the way to her lungs. Her eyes watered and her chest ached, but she did everything she could not to cough—it so wouldn’t do to let Shawn know how blatantly he affected her. He was already cocky and charming and full of mischief—the last thing she wanted was to encourage him.

Liar, a little voice inside of her said. There was a small part of her that wanted to do exactly that, that wanted to say to hell with logic and responsibility and fear. God knew, he’d been flirting with her since she’d sat down. Would it be so terrible if she responded in kind? It’s not like the world would end if she showed some interest.

The very thought robbed Rhiannon of her recently recovered breath, had her heart beating in a stressed-out syncopation. Who was she kidding? She could barely handle meeting new clients in the middle of a bustling party—how did she think she’d manage flirting with a gorgeous, younger man when the two of them were on their own?

It was too absurd to even contemplate.

And if her baggage wasn’t bad enough, trying to step out of her self-imposed cocoon with a man whose event could spark a rush of business for Parties by L.K. was just asking for trouble. When it went bad, when she quickly made a total and complete fool of herself because she couldn’t handle the pressure—and there was little doubt in her mind that she would freak out eventually—how humiliating would it be to still have to see him? To still have to work with him and pretend that she was anything but the basket case she was? Or worse, to run into him at other parties. The upper-crust Austin social scene was a relatively small one, and she really didn’t want to spend the next few months worrying about whether or not Shawn was going to be at one of the events she was planning.

She drew a couple discreet breaths in through her nose, praying he wouldn’t notice her distress—or the pain that was ripping through her upper torso because she was too stubborn to cough. He didn’t say a word as she struggled, and she began to hope he hadn’t noticed how he’d affected her. But when she finally made it on the road to recovery, it was to find Shawn watching her with amusement. “You okay there?”

So much for discretion. Was it too much to ask to sink through the floor before she died of total and complete humiliation?

“Fine, thanks.” Her eyes were still watering and her voice was hoarse, but at least she’d gotten the words out.

“Good. I’d really hate for something to happen to you before the big night.” He winked, and as she stared into his wicked blue eyes, she suddenly wasn’t at all sure he was still talking about the party.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I never meant to imply that you couldn’t.”

“So, Shawn.” Rhiannon took a deep breath and contemplated the best way to steer the conversation back toward the party. “Have you thought about what venue you want to use? Austin has a number of great places—”

“I just figured we’d use my house. It’s plenty big.”

“For a hundred people to mingle comfortably?” Where did the man live? The only houses in Austin big enough for that were on the Lake, and surely his graphic novels didn’t pay enough to make that a reality—

“I’ve got two acres on Lake Travis. I bought it a couple years ago as an investment, but it’s a perfect place to entertain. The house is huge and there’s a gigantic yard that overlooks the lake.”

Two acres? On Lake Travis? Obviously the graphic novel business was a much better proposition than she had ever imagined—even before the film rights. She thought of her own fifteen-hundred-square-foot condo, of how she’d struggled to pay for it after the divorce a couple of years before. Amazing to think that a man who was so much younger than she was had already achieved so much. Amazing and disheartening. But then, starting over at close to forty often was.

Richard had offered to help her, but by the time the divorce had been finalized, she’d wanted nothing from him. Nothing from any man. It still amazed her that he’d been able to just walk away from their fifteen-year marriage, as if everything they’d built together—everything they’d meant to each other—had never existed. Sometimes when she was lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling and praying for the insomnia to go away, she wondered if he’d left—if he hadn’t been able to deal—because she’d gotten too good at playing the victim. But with family and friends crowding in from every side, it had been hard to be anything else.

“So, do you want to see it?”

Shawn’s words interrupted her self-castigation and she looked at him blankly as the words sunk in.

“See it?”

“My house? Maybe it could help you get a feel for the best way to do this party.”

“I thought you said on the phone you didn’t have time to run back home today. If you want to take me back to your house, why did we bother meeting here to begin with?”

“So I could buy you lunch.” He reached over and nicked the check the waitress had dropped onto the edge of the table as she passed by.

“You don’t have to do that. You’re the client.” She held her hand out for the bill. “It’s my responsibility to—”

“Do you always play by the rules?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, that for long years she’d barely paid attention to the fact that there were rules, but instead, said, “Yes. It’s safer that way.”

“Safer.” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Better,” she amended hastily. “It’s better that way.” She tugged self-consciously at the long sleeve of her shirt.

He threw a couple of twenties down on the table, then stood. He held out a hand to her. “Come on, let’s go to my place. I’ll show you my gazebo.”

“Is that an updated version of the old etchings line?” she asked as they walked toward the front door.

The look he shot her was brimming with laughter. “You caught me.”

“Yes, well, I’m throwing you back. I’ve got another appointment in less than an hour, so I can’t run all the way out to the lake right now.”

“Another appointment? Are you cheating on me already?”

“Yes, with a tall, blond lawyer who has a corporate expense account.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. There was no use encouraging him and his flirtatious behavior. Not when it couldn’t go anywhere.

“Beaten out by a lawyer? I’m not sure how I’ll survive that indignity.”

“I’m sure you’ll muddle through somehow.”

“Can I see you again?”

Her heart skipped a beat, then crashed against her ribs. She ignored it—and the terror racing through her. “Of course. We’re working on this party together, aren’t we?”

“That’s not what I meant.” He took a step closer, until his body was only a few inches from hers. She didn’t move away. “But you already knew that.”

“I did.” What am I doing? she wondered, shocked at her odd behavior. What the hell am I doing?

“Come to my house on Friday. I’ll show you around, take you down to the lake.”

“I have appointments all day—and a party at night.”

“Saturday, then.” His eyes were darker than they’d been earlier, a deep sapphire-blue that seemed to see into the very heart of her. But that was impossible. No one had gotten in her head for longer than she could remember. It was absurd to think that this man, this boy—with his ready smile and silly banter—had been able to do so after one lunch.

“Saturday is our busy day. I’ve got a morning brunch and than an afternoon garden party.”

“Come later then.”

“I probably won’t get out of the last event until after seven.”

“How will I manage to stay awake that late?” he teased. “Come on, Rhiannon. The sooner you see the house, the sooner you can decide what kind of party to have. Come see me Saturday night.”

“It’ll be too dark to see the grounds.”

“There’s this great, newfangled invention called electricity. Surely you’ve heard of it? My backyard is wired better than the landing strips at the airport.” His smile was bigger now, as if he was just waiting for her next objection so he could shoot it down, too.

Charmed despite herself, Rhiannon smiled. “Okay, fine. You’ve convinced me. Saturday night at seven-thirty.”

“Excellent. Our second date—I can’t wait.”

“Second date?”

He took another step toward her and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

“This was business.” She forced the words out through a throat so tight she had to fight for air. “And so is our appointment on Saturday.”

“We had food, flirtatious banter, fun. Feels like a date to me.”

“I drove myself, researched the film festival on my computer, and any flirtatious banter was completely one-sided. Feels more like a business meeting to me.”

He reached out, stroked his hand softly down her cheek. As he did, she could feel the calluses on his fingers from years of drawing. “And this?” he asked as his thumb smoothed over her lips. “What does this feel like?”

She was still struggling for an answer when he leaned in and his lips brushed, but just barely, against her own.

CHAPTER THREE

“HEY, BEAUTIFUL. How’d the consult go?” Rhiannon looked up from her computer in time to see Logan Kelly breeze into her office with a cup of coffee in each hand and curiosity rife in his gaze. “Did you nail it?”

“I think so. He wants to meet Saturday after the Henderson event so that I can see his house. He thinks it will make the perfect venue for the party. Which he wants to have during the big film festival.”

“That’s only six weeks away—how big of a party are we talking about?”

“A hundred people, with full-scale entertainment and food.”

“That’s a pretty big order, Rhiannon. You sure you can handle it on your own?”

No, she wasn’t even close to being sure she could handle it. But she was determined to anyway. She owed it to Logan to step up to the plate—after all, he was one of the few people who’d been willing to take a risk on her when she’d wanted to change careers after almost fifteen years as a journalist.

Since she’d joined his firm nearly two years before, he’d been giving her the simple jobs, letting her ease back into the world at the speed she was comfortable with. But she was getting pretty good at the whole event-planning thing and she wanted to try her hand at something bigger—something like Shawn’s party. Besides, she couldn’t hide behind what had happened to her forever. The rape had taken almost everything from her—her husband, her career, her sense of self. She wasn’t going to let it take her professional pride, too. It was the only thing she had left.

She forced a smile. “I can do it. After all, I’ve been watching you make the impossible happen for a year now.”

“And flattery will get you everywhere.” He settled into the chair across from hers and took a long sip from his coffee. “So, where’s his house?”

“On Lake Travis. He says he’s got two acres up there.”

“Seriously?” Logan let out a long whistle. “Who is this guy? Some rich Austinite looking to break into Hollywood?”

“Not quite. Actually, he already got that break. He just sold film rights to his novels or something.”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“Shawn Emerson. I’ve never heard of him, but obviously someone in Hollywood has—”

“No way! Shawn Emerson? Of Shadeslayer fame?”

Rhiannon stared at him, shocked. “Yeah. He mentioned Shadeslayer while we were at lunch today. Have you read any of the books?”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve read them all. Shadeslayer’s one of the greatest superheroes ever written. Surely you’ve seen him somewhere. He’s a really dark hero, dresses all in gray and black, including his mask. Walks a thin line between right and wrong.”

“Yeah, no, pretty sure I’d never heard of him before today.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the books Shawn had given her. “You’re talking about these comic books, right?”

“They’re graphic novels, not comic books. There’s a big difference.”

“So I keep hearing.” She watched in amusement as Logan picked up the top book with uncharacteristic awe. “Is this what I think it is?” he asked reverently.

“I don’t know. What do you think it is?”

“A first edition of Shadeslayer’s Revenge.” He opened the cover. “Signed! Do you have any idea how much this is worth?”

“Not a clue.”

“A lot—I bet you could get a few thousand for it easy on eBay.”

“Seriously? For a comic book? I mean, I understand Spiderman or Batman, but this is some new hero no one’s ever heard of.”

“A lot of people have heard of him. And I told you, it’s not a comic book. Graphic novels are kind of a cross between regular novels and comic books. Shadeslayer has been around for five or six years now, with two books coming out each year. There’s a huge Slayer counterculture that gets really excited every time a new book is set to come out.”

“And you’re not part of that counterculture?” she asked archly.

“No. I mean, yeah, I buy his books as soon as they hit the shelves, but I don’t dress up like characters from the books or anything.”

“And for that, I’m sure we’re all grateful.”

Logan ignored her. “So, when is the movie coming out? Will there be a sequel? Which book are they scripting? How many—”

“Whoa!” Rhiannon felt like she’d fallen into an alternate universe. “Does your wife know about this little obsession of yours?”

“Sandy likes the books, too. So does Mike.”

“Well, I can understand how Mike would. Your kid’s twelve years old. But you’re nearly forty.”

“Hey, I’m the same age as you.”

“Exactly my point. You don’t see me going gaga over some comic-book character.”

“Graphic novel character, thank you very much.” He grinned.

“Oh, excuse me.”

“I don’t know if you should be excused. You managed to land this guy when I’d give my left arm to work with him.” Logan flipped open the second book, then the third, pausing when he got to the dedication Shawn had written for Rhiannon.

He stopped flipping pages and pinned her with a look that made her flush immediately. Gone was the aging fan boy and in his place was her too-shrewd best friend. “What’s going on, Rhiannon?”

“Nothing.”

“This doesn’t sound like nothing. ‘The party’s just the beginning?’ Is he bothering you?”

“No. It’s nothing like that.”

“Nothing like what?” Logan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Has he come on to you?”

“Of course not.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“Because you’re the most suspicious man I’ve ever met?”

“No, that’s not it. Maybe it’s because you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. You keep twirling your pencil in your hair—that’s a dead giveaway. You do it only when you’re nervous. Or lying.”

She slammed the pencil she was holding onto the desk, nearly yanking a chunk of her hair out in the process. “I am not lying. He didn’t do anything overt. I just got the impression that he was…interested. But I don’t know. My radar’s all screwed up when it comes to men. You know that—”

“Your radar is just fine,” Logan said firmly. “One minor mistake doesn’t mean you can’t trust your instincts.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it minor.”

“You know what I mean. None of that was your fault, Rhiannon.”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. This whole conversation is ridiculous. I mean, he’s obviously famous, and probably rich—”

“Definitely rich.”

She ignored him. “Plus he’s younger than I am, by at least five years.”

“More like ten or twelve—”

“You’re not helping.”

“Sorry.” He held up his hands, as if in surrender.

“Well, actually, maybe you are. Why would some twenty-some-year-old guy be interested in me?” Rhiannon breathed a sigh of relief, her stomach muscles un-knotting as she allowed herself to be convinced by her own words, despite the kiss. “He wouldn’t. So it’s no big deal, then. I was just reading the signals wrong.”

“Not to ruin the peace you seem to have found, but have you looked in a mirror lately?”

She stiffened, tried not to react to his words. She reminded herself that Logan meant them in a good way, but that didn’t seem to matter. Not when the answer was no—she hadn’t looked in a mirror. Not for years, or at least not for any longer than it took to apply a quick coat of lipstick and mascara before a party.

She was too afraid of what she might see.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Rhiannon.”

“Does your wife know you go around saying things like that to other women?” she asked, trying to divert his attention.

“Sandy agrees with me. She tells me regularly we should try to find someone to fix you up with.”

“Logan, no!”

“Relax, I’m not trying to get you to go out on a blind date. I wouldn’t do that. I just brought it up so you’d know that it’s not far-fetched that this guy could be interested in you.”

“I don’t want him to be interested in me.”

“Well, then, don’t worry about it.” Logan drained the last of his coffee, setting the cup on her desk like he always did. For two years now, he’d been making coffee and bringing her a cup, with the tacit understanding that she was in charge of cleanup. Since she made terrible coffee the situation worked perfectly for both of them. “If he makes a move on you, shoot him down. That should be enough to send him packing. And if it doesn’t, I’ll take over the account. It’d be no hardship for me to work with the genius who created Shadeslayer. As it is, I’m more than a little jealous that you get to.”

“Yeah, well, feel free to take over anytime.”

“Believe me, I would.” He headed for the door. “But somehow, I think Emerson would notice the last-minute substitution. My legs just aren’t nearly as good as yours.” He ducked out of the door just as the stress balls she kept on her desk went sailing across the room, smacking the door frame exactly where his head had been only moments before.

CHAPTER FOUR

FOR WHAT HAD TO BE the fifth time in as many minutes, Shawn stirred the pasta sauce he’d spent the better half of his afternoon making. Rhiannon was late. Not stand-him-up-late, or even kind-of-rude late—at least, not yet. But still, the seconds were crawling by, probably because he’d spent all day counting down to seven-thirty, only to have it come and go with no fanfare whatsoever.

Lifting the wooden spoon to his lips, Shawn tasted his maternal grandmother’s pasta sauce with a grin. Like always, it was delicious. He’d have to tell her so the next time they spoke.

He glanced at the clock. Seven forty-five. She’d probably just gotten hung up at the party—it was her job to take care of things, after all. Besides, normally he wouldn’t even notice if his date was late—he’d be too engrossed in working on the latest adventures of Shadeslayer. But he hadn’t been able to write a word or draw a picture all day—he’d been too busy thinking about Rhiannon.

It was ridiculous, really, how excited he was about this date. He’d dated a lot of women through the years—since Cynthia had died, he’d made it a point not to get serious about any of them—so he couldn’t figure out why he was getting so worked up this time. Over this woman.

Sure, she was beautiful, but he’d learned long ago that beauty was often only skin deep. Cynthia had been absolutely gorgeous, yet when they’d been engaged, she’d made his life a living hell for longer than he cared to remember.

No, it wasn’t Rhiannon’s looks he was responding to so strongly. Maybe it was her cautious sense of humor, the one she kept hidden but that came out at the best moments? Or the fact that she was extremely cautious, yet had chosen to come here anyway. She might look fragile, she might even be fragile, but she was braver than he’d first given her credit for. And that he admired the hell out of her for.

The ringing of his doorbell had him all but leaping over the counter. Telling himself to chill—or he really would scare her away—Shawn headed through the entryway to the front door. He pulled it open, and couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his face.