The Lies That Bind by Kate Carlisle Page B

so wrong to spend one night together, even if we never saw each other again?
    And now, here he was in San Francisco, without any advanced warning. He couldn’t call? He couldn’t write? His e-mail wasn’t working? Not that he owed me anything, but I thought we’d become . . . close. Close what? I couldn’t say. Friends? Buddies? Lovers? No, unfortunately, not lovers. Not yet anyway. And seeing him snuggled up next to Layla just now, I was pretty darned sure we never would be.
    I buried my head in my hands. I refused to cry, but I was sad, really sad. And I could feel another headache blooming.
    What was he doing here? Besides being fondled and rubbed and drooled over by Layla Fontaine, of course?
    Derek Stone and Layla Fontaine?
    “Oh, God, no.” My insides did a loop de loop and I groaned out loud. Just saying their names together made me want to hurl my lunch. They obviously knew each other. So what was my favorite British security agent doing with someone like Layla? She was poison; couldn’t he see it?
    I didn’t want to think about it. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t get the picture out of my head, of her pressing up against him.
    Now I knew how Alice felt with her sensitive nerves. I wasn’t sure if my own would survive the night. And my heart wasn’t doing so well, either.
    I stood and paced. I knew I’d have to confront Derek eventually. I mean, he was here. At BABA. And the thought of him being here with Layla was more than I could bear. I would have to quit my class. It was completely depressing. And confusing. And infuriating.
    “Damn it.” I slammed my fist against the counter. Yes, I was furious. I was also in pain. It hurt to slam body parts against hard surfaces. But I was so angry. Angry at Derek, who hadn’t had the decency to call me, not once, since I had left Edinburgh. And angry at Layla, who even on a good day was not exactly on my list of favorite people.
    I let out a little shriek and perused the room. This was an impossible situation. My students would be here shortly. I had to get ready for class.
    I gripped the edge of the worktable and tried to steady myself. I refused to panic, but it had been a long time since I’d felt this edgy and desperate.
    No, I had to take that back. I’d felt almost exactly this way a few brief weeks ago, when I was accused of murder. For the second time.
    Frankly, this felt worse. Last time, I knew I hadn’t murdered anyone, so I was confident the truth would be revealed eventually. This was different. This was hideous. This was jealousy. And it sucked. It hurt. It made me feel stupid. It made me want to find that hole in the ozone and crawl through it and disappear. Or better yet, I could shove Derek through it and solve all my problems.
    The door opened and I whipped around, half expecting Derek to walk in. But thank God, it was only Cynthia, Gina, and Whitney. I was ridiculously disappointed. Idiot.
    “Hi, Brooklyn,” Gina said merrily. “Cool party, isn’t it?”
    “I thought I saw you come in,” Cynthia said, dropping her bag and jacket on her seat. Her hair was askew and her sweater and shirt were pulled up in back. I wondered if she’d gone a few rounds with her husband in the other classroom.
    “I was going to run out and grab a glass of wine,” Whitney said. “But if you’re ready to start class, we’re ready, too.”
    As Cynthia rearranged her clothing, she took a good look at me and frowned. “Are you okay?”
    “Oh, sure,” I said lightly. “I felt a little sick to my stomach but I’m fine. Probably something I ate.”
    “Wow,” Gina said, taking notice for the first time. “You really don’t look good.”
    “What every woman longs to hear,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. I should go wash my hands.”
    “Do you want me to go with you?”
    “No. I’ll go in a minute. I just want to make sure everyone gets here.”
    “Honey, we’re all big kids,” Cynthia said. “We’ll be fine on our own for a