“And it’s not an easy flight to make on the way to Washington, either.” He stood up and paced back a few steps. “Which brings us to option three. A variation on the truth.”
Had he stepped back so she wouldn’t freeze him with her chilly response? Because no. No, no, no. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“It wasn’t mine,” he said, his brows knitting together. “But Zander made some convincing arguments. And I’m not sure he’s wrong. Obviously, you don’t name Track as the source of your anxiety. Shift it to paparazzi, performance anxiety, a minor medical diagnosis, something else. Anything else, really. Something benign enough to not be a real threat, but understandable to the average person as anxiety-inducing for someone under a lot of stress.”
“To the average person, maybe.” She stood up, too, even though it didn’t give her any advantage for going toe-to-toe with Dean. Not that he was pushing her into a fight, but her skin prickled defensively anyway. “But Track will see right through that, because heknows. And I’ve got an album waiting for his approval.”
“Then maybe he’s going to see through whatever we do anyway. And this way, you’re not lying to him. The truth is always a good place to be.”
“I might be declaring war.”
“I know a thing or two about winning wars, too.” What was with this guy’s eyes? Once he locked his gaze on hers, he had her trapped in a sea of promised understanding.
But what if he couldn’t deliver?
What if this blew up in her face?
“I need to think about it,” she whispered.
He nodded, and his eyes got even softer. “I know. We can move on.”
— —
They worked straight through lunch, Liana entertaining him with thorough, maybe even exaggerated biographies of her band and the tour crew. They covered drugs, alcohol, and all other vices she thought he ought to know about. The list was surprisingly short.
He asked if she wanted him to be aware of all her comings and goings.
“Is that really necessary?”
“That would depend on the cover story.”
Which brought them full circle back to the explanation for Dean’s appearance on the tour. After discussing the pros and cons of each option, she reluctantly agreed that the third one made the most sense, although the light in her eyes dimmed as she gave in, and he hated that it was necessary.
By the time Ryan and Hope returned with the kids, Dean was feeling good about all the ground they’d covered, and he wanted to leave her with a little emotional reserve left in the tank. He’d booked flights for the next day that required leaving in the middle of the night, and he wanted her to have some down time, too. Bonding with Hope.
But when that bonding turned out to be a run, he changed his mind. “Can I join you?”
“Do you…” She looked him up and down. “We’re pretty fast.”
He laughed. They were both fit women, but Foster men chewed miles for fun. “Yeah. I run. I’ve got stuff in my truck.”
Forty-five minutes later, he was eating that laugh—right along with Liana’s dust.
It wasn’t that she was faster than him, exactly. It was that she was relentless. The woman didn’t flag, at all. Dean would pick up the speed and get alongside her, but there was an ebb and flow to his comfort with running, even after twenty-five years of racing his brothers. He would have sworn everyone had that point in a run that bugged them. Early on, while everything was getting warmed up. Or later, maybe a stitch in the side or a twinge in the shin. Even needing a bit of water because it was suddenly hot as balls.
Nope, not Liana. Her tight little body just bounced ahead of him, steady as a metronome. Tick, tick, tick, tick. Step, step, step, step. Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce.
When he stumbled because his eyes had gotten tangled up in the general vicinity of her ass, he thought about crying uncle, but he gritted his teeth and stuck it out. If for no other reason than he’d needed this private warning about how good she looked in Lycra, he was glad he’d come out with them.
Now he needed them to turn around and head back to the house.
Any second, ladies.
Tick, tick, tick.
As if they weren’t completely drenched in sweat, Hope casually glanced at her watch. “Turn around?” she asked Liana.
“Sure,” his client said, hardly out of breath at all. “Keep it nice and quick today.”
