Vivian Arend - High Passion

Lana slipped out of the way as they joined the group in the staff area. Alisha wasn’t sure why the woman tossed her such a concentrated glance, but that wasn’t important now. Now was the time to wait with her teammates and pay close attention as Marcus explained the activities for the day. Devon stood at her side, but she pushed that away to focus her attention on the here and now.

They had skills to sharpen so they could save lives, and no matter what challenges she was facing in her own life at the moment, that was the more important goal—to stay strong. To be there for others.

And as she glanced around the room at Tripp, at Erin, she noted that maybe she needed to spend more time appreciating the good people she had in her life. Acknowledge that they were there for her, and she didn’t have to do it alone.

Devon had the locks out of the door before she’d finished telling him about discovering Vincent in her bedroom. “We’ll get these rekeyed today. Do you want me to stay here with you, or do you want to spend the night at my house?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your life, Devon.”

He fought to keep his frustration from showing because she didn’t need more to deal with at the moment. Still, his sense of worth had gotten a major bucketload of crap dumped on it after hearing she’d gone from his bed, to being frightened, to asking Tripp for help. “Oh, it might sound as if you get to decide which, but those are your two options. I won’t accept anything else.”

He turned in time to catch her rubbing her brow. She met his gaze, more than a little guilt in her expression. “I didn’t leave you out on purpose. I was frustrated and scared and just reacted.”

“I get it. But now you’ve got time to think, and you can make a choice. Which do you prefer? If you want to stay here, good, but I need to know so I can pack a few things.”

She shook her head. “There’s no room here us both. I’d be grateful to bunk with you for a while. I don’t understand what’s come over Vincent. I mean, he’s always been intense, but he’s never been difficult like this before.”

She collapsed onto the couch, worn and frustrated as she gazed out the window.

Devon gave himself a mental slap. She hadn’t done anything to deserve this, either. “Pack. We’ll talk about Vincent and his being difficult once we get to my house. We’re still changing the locks, even if there’s less than a month left on your lease. That’s crazy, by the way. I thought you had an ongoing contract?”

Alisha rose and headed to her bedroom, pausing to drag a suitcase from the hall closet. “I did, only it’s a yearlong one and it was up soon. They’d told me verbally it would be renewed, but we hadn’t signed anything. They’re not doing anything illegal.”

“Just nasty.”

“Yeah.”

She vanished from sight. He popped the lock into his pocket and grabbed a box to load fridge supplies into. He was determined she’d stay with him until Vincent left town—there was no need for her to be afraid, or have to scoop science experiments from the fridge in a few days’ time.

Once he got over his initial mad, he had to look on the brighter side. Having her in his house wasn’t a hardship at all. It was a small place, but big enough that they had room to get away from each other if needed. And they didn’t even have to share a bed, although he hoped that option fell by the wayside damn fast.

The reasons to have her join him sucked, but having an excuse for her to stay?

He ignored the pleasure that brought him as best he could, but the voices calling him a hypocrite were damn loud. He didn’t let women stay the night. He didn’t want to get attached.

He was screwed, because he was attached, and that was the plain and simple truth.

Settling in took far less time than he’d expected. He cleaned out a drawer in the bathroom, showed her where the extra towels were. They got a load of laundry going from the morning’s training.

When he went to rearrange the tiny room that held the Murphy wall bed, Alisha caught his arm. “I could sleep on the couch.”

“I want you in my bed,” he admitted, pulling the mattress to horizontal. “But I want you to have your own space if you need it.”

She nodded, snatching up the blankets he’d put to the side and helping him make the bed. “I can use it to lay out my gear, then.”

Her wink wasn’t enough to distract him from the conversation they needed to finish. “You can’t make me forget I’m grilling you for details.”

Her sparkle vanished. “Meanie.”

“Detail-loving meanie.” He straightened the pillow, then held out his hand. “Come on.”

She followed him, dragging her feet as he took her to the living room and clicked the gas fireplace on. “There’s not much to tell. Vincent is being . . . demanding. He wants me to marry him.”

Words froze on his tongue. His face must have been a sight to see because she burst out laughing. Which was enough to snap him out of shock. “Shit, what kind of insanity is that? I mean, not that wanting to marry you would be a fate worse than death, but it sounds as if he’s a touch demented.”

Alisha wrapped her arms around her legs as she curled up in front of the fireplace. “He’s always been like that. Talked about what he wanted, and boom, it happened. Usually it didn’t matter much to me because he was this older person who hung out with my parents. I had to say hello and good-bye, and do all the polite society things . . .”

She raised her eyes to his as she trickled to a stop.

He nodded. “I figured out who you are, if that’s your hang-up. I spotted the high-society roll call with your name, and the shining tiara hovering over your head.”

“I’m Alisha Bailey, member of Lifeline and a top-ranked SAR member. That’s who I’m proud of, and that’s who I want to be.” The words came out firm and strong.

He clapped, and the tension on her face lightened. “Good for you. And you’re right. If you don’t want to do the family thing, then you shouldn’t feel obligated. Especially if they’re not firing on all pistons.”

She nodded slowly. “I feel bad about my mom at times, because I think if it were up to her, she’d give me more leeway.”

“Dad’s in charge, is he?” Devon knew the answer before he saw her nod. “Figured.”

“And Vincent is worse than my father, if you can believe that. He’s definitely not going for Mr. Congeniality.”

Devon picked up her foot and lowered it into his lap, rubbing his thumbs along her insole as he pondered. “If he goes home and leaves you alone, that would solve all your problems. You hoping that’s what will happen?”

“Not much else I can do. He hasn’t directly threatened me, and . . .” Alisha hesitated. “Okay, the reality is right now if I go to the RCMP, I’m not sure what good it would do. The ways he could use the media to twist things in his favour are scary to think about. Police reports notwithstanding, it’s my word against his, and I’m a lot lower on the political totem pole. The people who would use a police report against him aren’t necessarily my friends, either.”

“So you’re trapped into not going to the media because you’d lose.” He shook his head. “You live in a damn weird world.”

“Lived,” she snapped. “Which is why I wanted out so bad. That, and because I really do love what we do.” She groaned happily, wiggling down farther. “I’m going to melt into the floor if you keep rubbing my feet. Can we not talk about Vincent anymore?”

“Last question. Would calling your father and letting him know any of this help?”

She considered for a moment, but the misery on her face only grew stronger. “If I mention anything about Vincent wanting my shares that’s going to open up the whole marriage issue. My dad would more likely ignore the suggestion it’s about taking control, and insist Vincent’s goal is to make a strong, political marriage—like the family suggested years ago. He’d join in to convince me Vincent was the catch of the century. He might even start his own media blitz to push us together. Those are the positive possibilities.”