The knocking on her door had stopped about the time Ben had arrived. She wondered now if her bodyguards were responsible for that. The man she’d noticed coming up behind the paparazzo at her bedroom window must have been one of them.
“How long do you think it will be before I can leave without being followed?”
Rising, he gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. “Weeks. Months, possibly. It depends on how interested the public becomes in you.”
“I have to live with this for months?”
“Or longer.”
It seemed as clear as the distress in her eyes that his conclusion wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. Equally clear was that the slightly chaotic circumstances provided the perfect opportunity for him to accomplish one of the judiciously unmentioned goals on his agenda. He’d known yesterday that he hadn’t had a snowball’s chance in the Sahara of talking her into a meeting with William. Not only had she barely tolerated the sound of the man’s name, she’d been dead certain she could handle the press on her own. With that naive assumption put to rest, he could use her concern for her neighbors and her clear desire for privacy to his advantage.
“They can’t follow you if they don’t know where you are,” he pointed out. “Once they figure out that you’re not here, your street will get a whole lot quieter, too.
“If you’ll go pack a bag, I can have you away from all this in no time. There’s a room reserved for you at the Four Seasons in Washington,” he continued, fairly certain she’d see the wisdom in leaving. “William would very much like to talk to you.
“We thought you would be more comfortable in neutral territory,” he explained when she visibly stiffened. “He didn’t want to impose himself on you by showing up unannounced at your door, and we were both certain you wouldn’t want to meet on his turf. Washington is about halfway for both of you. We can be there in a little over an hour.”
Jillian said nothing. She didn’t even ask how he planned to cut the drive time to D.C. in half. Despite his and William’s apparent consideration for her comfort, she didn’t care at all for being manipulated and maneuvered. As her defenses toward William rose even higher, she had every intention of letting his very practiced and professional cohort know that, too.
“I’m not talking with William.” Ever again, she thought. “Feel free to pass that on, too. And I’m not leaving Hayden,” she informed him, her agitation rising. “I have school tomorrow and a principal who will not be happy with me if I’m not where I’m supposed to be. Even if I didn’t love my job, I have an obligation to it, the other teachers and to my students. That job is all that kept me sane after my engagement got canceled and my mom died and I’m not about to blow off my responsibilities to it.”
Ben’s eyebrows bolted into a single slash.
“Your engagement?” The information was news to Ben. It also raised a definite sense of caution and about a dozen red flags. “Who called it off?”
Totally confused by his concern, she said, “I did.”
“Was the breakup amicable or ugly?”
“What possible difference does that make?”
“I need to know if there’s anything potentially embarrassing your ex-fiancé might say. Or show,” he emphasized as she frowned at him. “The press is sure to track him down once they learn about him. And they will,” he assured her. “If he doesn’t come forward himself, someone you know will mention him.”
Uncertainty clouded her face as Jillian cocked her head. “Show?”
Ben didn’t even blink. “Nude photographs or videos. Letters or e-mails that detail anything erotic or kinky. Is he in possession of anything you wouldn’t want anyone else to see?”
“Of course not!” Jillian was dumbfounded. “The split hurt, but I can’t imagine that Eric would say anything to embarrass either one of us. And recording our lovemaking was definitely not something we were into. As for kinky, I don’t even like to make love with the light on.” Coloring to the roots of her hair, she took a step back, threw up her hands. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”
Wishing to end it, she turned away.
“Did you know this Eric well enough to be sure he hadn’t taken pictures of you without you being aware of it?”
The question stopped her cold. Turning back, she faced the man who seemed to have no qualm at all invading the very depths of her privacy. The paparazzi had nothing on him.
“Incriminating photos of unsuspecting partners wind up on the Internet all the time, Jillian. Especially when revenge is involved. Most especially,” he emphasized, “when a person is the item de jour for the press because the tabloids pay so well for anything remotely sensational.”
His eyes remained hard on hers. From the way he refused to look from her face, it seemed almost as if he was forcing himself not to let his glance move down her body.
He lasted about six seconds before his eyes drifted downward anyway.
Not caring to imagine what he might be considering about her just then, she tried to ignore the knot his presence put in her stomach and turned to pick up the books she’d dumped on the sofa. She had always liked order. In her surroundings. Especially in her life. She didn’t always get it. There had been times when she hadn’t even came close. But she could at least control the state of her possessions.
Gathering the books in her arms, she set them in two neat stacks on her coffee table.
“Eric would never do such a thing,” she insisted, straightening the already perfectly aligned trio of citrus-green candles. She added the faucet knob to the top of one stack. “He’s not a criminal sort of louse like Tess Kendrick’s ex-husband. He’s just the run-of-the-mill sort. Asking me to marry him had just been a way to keep me around.
“He kept balking at setting a wedding date,” she explained, if for no other reason than to divert him from her so not adventurous sex life. “So I finally asked if he ever intended to marry me. He said he didn’t know. What he did know was that he didn’t want the kids that were so important to me. That’s when I broke up with him. He strung me along, but I can’t see him trying to hurt me in any other way. There’s nothing for him to seek revenge for.”
“You’re certain.”
She reached to straighten one of the half-dozen throw pillows on the sofa. His skepticism stopped her short.
The man didn’t seem to be hearing her at all.
“I’m quite certain.” He wasn’t just not listening to what she said, he wasn’t accepting it. She doubted he had any idea how much he’d just revealed about himself. “But if that’s the sort of faith you have in people, then I really feel sorry for the woman in your life.”
“I’m divorced. That gives me a certain insight into just how little a person can truly know about someone else’s character.”
There was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone. That quiet hostility fairly coated his words, tightening them right along with the lean, chiseled line of his jaw.
It seemed she wasn’t the only one who’d come away scarred from a relationship. But she felt ready to move on, to leave the past and its hurts behind. Ben, apparently, did not. She’d glimpsed more than his bitterness. She’d seen pain. And loss.
Wondering if he simply hadn’t had time to heal, if maybe his hurts had been more recent, she watched him deliberately look away. It seemed he knew what he’d so inadvertently exposed and wasn’t about to reveal anything more.
Yet he already had. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that all the subterfuge and maneuvering he must encounter in his work played pure havoc with his faith in people, too.
“I’m