Page 9 of Love In Translation
“I understand the words, but I’m not sure I get the concept.”
“I’m a translator at the United Nations. I translate and speak in real time, facilitating communication between parties who speak different languages.”
She heard the pride in her words, then felt shame on their heels. She’d jeopardized a job she loved, then made mistake after mistake.
Fletcher looked interested, so she continued. “Interpreters and translators are the lifeblood of the United Nations. Our linguistic skills put everyone on the same page. We facilitate communication and make the world a safer place. World leaders place their words in our hands, trusting we’ll accurately get their messages across. It’s a huge responsibility.”
Heat hit her cheeks, and Rheo silently cursed, wishing she hadn’t climbed onto her soapbox. He’d asked what she did, not for a dissertation about the importance of her job. It was easy to imagine Carrie rolling on the floor, laughing at Rheo’s lack of cool. Rheo waited for Fletcher’s response, her stomach in a knot.
“That’s seriously impressive.”
God, when had someone last looked at her like she was smart, remarkable...extraordinary? When had she last feltseen?
She’d trained herself to believe being alone was fine, desirable even, but his comment pierced her armor of self-sufficiency, a brief reminder of how wonderful it was to be admired, even appreciated.
Paddy, who never needed anyone’s validation, would mock her for being weak enough to care how other people saw her. But Rheo sometimes—most times—did. She’d been forced into being emotionally self-sufficient at a young age, but she still hadn’t gotten the hang of it.
Disconcerted by her attraction to Fletch, physical and now mental, Rheo opened the door to the guest room and walked inside, enjoying the cool, navy-and-white color scheme and the clean lines of the nonfussy furniture. The room suited Fletcher, who seemed like a no-frills type of guy.
He dropped his duffel bag to the floor and placed his laptop case on the surface of the wooden desk sitting under the wide sash windows. He took in the view of the forest and mountains in the distance, but she kept her eyes on him.
Her view was much better.
He was an action man, not handsome enough to be on magazine covers, but his vitality would turn heads. Interesting, attractive, magnetic...all those adjectives applied. As they did to her cousin. He and Carrie were ridiculously alike, both blond, beautiful, and bold.
But Rheo accepted his statement about there being nothing more than friendship between them. A good thing, because she couldn’t think of anything worse than snacking on Carrie’s leftovers.
Nothingwould happen with Fletcher Wright. Life was complicated, and Rheo was too much of an emotional train wreck to think about sleeping with her new housemate.
You met him a short while ago, Whitlock, and you’re already thinking about jumping him?
Whoareyou?
“I think you’ll be comfortable in here,” Rheo said, heading for the door to put some distance between them. The normally spacious room seemed small, and Rheo sensed the walls closing in on her.
“Thanks.”
She couldn’t help it, she just needed to check one more time. “And if Carrie phones or contacts you, you won’t—”
His eyes narrowed and Rheo caught his irritation, a smidgen of anger. Standing in his line of fire wouldn’t be a fun experience.
“I’ve already said that I won’t tell Carrie you’re here,” he stated, his voice colder than before. “But I won’t lie to her if she asks.”
Okay, message received. Loud and clear.“Thank you.”
Rheo lifted her bare foot to rub it against the back of her calf. He’d given her two weeks to sort out her life. Maybe a shorter deadline was exactly what she needed—it allowed her no time to brood or overanalyze. She needed to make a plan and put it into action. She could do it, shewoulddo it...
Mostly because she didn’t have a choicebutto do it.
God, life could be such a temperamental bitch on occasion.
Fletcher turned and slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, pulling his T-shirt tight against his broad chest. His biceps stretched his sleeves. Desire, hot and sparkly, skittered along her skin.
“But I need you to do something for me.” His eyes, now a deeper, bolder green, drilled into hers and pinned her to the spot.
She pulled in some air, and disappointment rippled through her. They’d made a deal and he was backtracking, reopening negotiations. What would he demand to keep her secrets? Man, she prayed he didn’t ask her for something sleazy; she’d hate it if his pretty packaging concealed a jerk.
His eyes lightened and she caught a hint of a dimple in his stubble-covered cheek. His smile combined mischief and sex, and she couldn’t imagine saying no to him—ever. Strange, because she always took her time to figure out her answer. And it was seldom yes.