He didn’t have to wonder what might please her, or whether he was pleasing her. He knew his simply being pleased her, knew it because she told him with every breath she took. She told him with her shining, tear-filled eyes and kiss-swollen lips. Told him with the way her skin grew moist and dusky and her body trembled and writhed closer to him when his fingers gently stroked its tender places. Told him with the way she hesitated, at first, when he kissed her thighs and belly, asking her with his touch to let his mouth caress those tender places…then yielded to him with complete and total trust.
That trust and the way she opened her body to him touched him deeply. He felt it more intensely than any pain, as if she’d opened his heart and physically touched him there. Penetrating that most intimate part of her body with his tongue seemed to him a sort of parallel to what she was doing to the most intimate part of his being. And when, as he kissed her deeply, then more deeply still, he heard her sharp cry, and while he held her close with his mouth and hands through her body’s shuddering, throbbing release, he felt the echoes of those same responses swell through him like a tsunami after an earthquake.
In its aftermath he held her in his arms and comforted her while she sobbed, and she held him tightly, too. And he wondered who needed the comforting more.
He’d gladly have held her like that until she fell asleep, but she wouldn’t hear of that, especially when her wandering hands found him hard and hot and in some discomfort still. She wouldn’t let him take it slowly for her sake, either, but quickly, firmly guided him, kneeling, between her thighs. As she opened her body to him, her eyes and lips smiled up at him, lush reminders of the welcome waiting for him there.
And so, whispering her name in awe and love, he pushed himself between her still moist, still swollen folds and felt her softness give way to him and her warmth envelop him. Felt her hands stroking him…belly, buttocks, thighs. Felt them press the aching place in the small of his back, press it hard there, urging him deeper, deeper…then releasing the pressure as her body moved in perfect sync with his.
All too soon, he felt her hands grasp and hold him tightly as the spasms caught him and his muscles clenched so fiercely they seemed to be trying to turn him inside out. And in the midst of that cataclysm he heard her whispering over and over the words he’d said so often to her:
“Édesem…édesem…”
It was sometime deep in the night, after he’d kissed his restless love and told her again to sleep, that it came to him, the reason why he couldn’t seem to follow his own advice, and instead lay wide-awake with a sense of dread lying cold and heavy on his heart.
He’d made a terrible mistake.
Lucia loved him. Loved him the way she did everything, wholeheartedly, completely, passionately. And, dammit, the devil take her promises-she was never going to let him go alone to face Cassandra! He knew her too well. Lioness that she was, and having already convinced herself-admittedly with some good reason-that she’d saved his life once, she would find a way to be at his side, or at least his back, during the next confrontation. That clever and agile mind of hers had probably already figured out a dozen ways to thwart whatever plan he might come up with to prevent her from following him back to Paris.
In the bleakest, coldest hours of the night it came to him. He knew there was one way, and probably only one way, to undo his mistake. One way he might convince her to stay here, where she’d be safe. And that was to break her heart.
Corbett was gone when Lucia woke up. She knew before she opened her eyes that there was only emptiness where his warm body had been, silence instead of the deep, masculine breathing that had found its way into the rhythm of her sleep. Only his scent remained, and she gathered the pillow that held it into her arms and pressed her face to it and tried to make the pain inside her stop.
He’s gone.
She curled herself into a ball around Corbett’s pillow while the battle between anger and misery raged within her, tearing her throat with dry, tearless sobs and tying her stomach in knots.
She’d known he’d try to slip away without disturbing her, and she’d tried so hard to stay awake. Several times she’d jerked herself out of a doze to find his arms still around her and heard him whisper, “Shh, édesem, go back to sleep.”
And so she had, and he’d left her without saying goodbye.
As she lay wrapped in her ball of misery, she heard a clatter from the kitchen-most uncharacteristic of Kati, who somehow managed her culinary miracles with a minimum of disturbance, save for her singing. Lucia sat bolt upright in bed, adrenaline shivering through her body, heartbeat thumping. Maybe he hasn’t gone yet. He must still be here, in the kitchen, having his breakfast, his coffee. I can still catch him!
She scrambled out of bed and tore through her suitcase, snatching up items of clothing without regard to type or style. Somehow, jangled and shaking, desperate to think Corbett would finish his coffee and leave and she’d have missed him by only seconds, she managed to throw on a pair of jeans and a soft-knit pullover-sans underwear. Barefooted and breathless, she threw open the kitchen door.
He was there, not relaxing at the table with his coffee, as she’d imagined, but rinsing his plate and cup at the sink-the source of the clattering crockery that had alerted her. He turned at the sound of the opening door to look at her.
And several realizations hit her in the blink of an eye.
His face had registered no surprise or chagrin at seeing her there.
Of course! He can move like a cat when he wants to. He made that noise on purpose, to wake me.
But there was no leap of joy in her heart. She’d already seen his eyes.
Something’s wrong. Something’s very, very wrong.
Fear with neither name nor shape crawled coldly along the back of her neck.
Corbett watched her face, saw her skin go from sleep-flushed to gray, noted the way her taut nipples pushed against the soft material of her shirt and the way she folded her arms protectively across them. She was sensitive, as well as brilliant. Of course she already knew something was wrong. She’d sensed it the way a doe senses danger.
“Sorry I woke you,” he said with a small, tight smile, steeling himself for what had to be. “I meant-”
“-to steal away like a thief in the night-I know.” She came to him and lifted her face for his kiss. “Why is that, I wonder?”
“Why, indeed,” he said dryly. He kissed her with lips that didn’t soften-however much they wanted to-then gripped her arms and put her firmly from him. “Perhaps because I knew you’d try to persuade me to let you come along. You are going to try, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, but Corbett-”
“Lucia.” He closed his eyes and ran a weary hand over them. “We’ve been through all this. I don’t want you-”
“Corbett, I won’t be a liability. I think I’ve proven that I can handle myself in a crisis situation. I know you think-”
“Good God, Lucia, you have no idea what I think!” He spun away from her, in part because he couldn’t bear to see the flush of earnestness on her cheeks, the fire in her eyes, in part because he couldn’t let her see the anguish in his.
When he had himself in hand again, he said coldly, “The fact is, I don’t want you in this fight with me. Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t.” But she said it faintly, and he could see she was beginning to.
He swore under his breath. Raked a hand through his hair. “Look-Lucia. I don’t want to hurt you. I really don’t.” He paused, then let it go in an angry rush. “You really are going to make me say this, aren’t you? Dammit, I can’t let you back me up in this fight, because…hell, the truth is, I don’t know if I can trust you.”
She stood absolutely still, head slightly tilted, as if straining to hear some faraway sound. The silence between them rang in Corbett’s ears like a clamoring of bells.
After what seemed like whole minutes had passed, she whispered, “You think I’m the mole?”
&nbs
p; He had to grip the back of a chair and pray for the strength to finish, looking her straight in her hurt-filled eyes. “My dear, you are one of three people in the world it could possibly be.”
She gave her head a disbelieving shake. “But…last night-”
“Ah-yes. Last night.” He smiled crookedly. “Last night I may not have been thinking clearly-certainly not with my brain, at any rate. In the clear light of day it’s simply not possible to ignore the fact that there are only three people with means, opportunity and know-how to feed information to Cassandra. And of those three, I’ve known both Edward and Adam a whole lot longer than I have you.” He shrugged and wondered whether his expression looked as sick as he felt. “Sorry, love. But until I know for certain, I’d rather not have you along when push comes to shove. Do you understand?”
She opened her mouth, cleared her throat and, finally, incapable of speech, simply nodded.
“Good. All right then. I’ll be off.” He pushed himself away from the chair that had been his anchor and support and moved jerkily to the door. He didn’t kiss her…couldn’t bear to touch her. He took his coat and hat from their hooks near the door and half turned, not quite looking at her. “You won’t be able to contact me, so just sit tight until you hear from me-understand?” He didn’t wait to hear her reply.
In the passageway he paused to take deep breaths and swear softly and vehemently at the ceiling in two languages. For a few insane moments he was bitterly angry, not with himself, as would have been well-deserved and reasonable, but with her. With Lucia. Damned quick, she’d been, to swallow the whole load of lies. Had she so little belief in him? Did his words of love mean nothing to her, that she could think him capable of being such an unmitigated cad?
But then…he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Of course. It was too new, this thing between them. Too fragile and untried. She’d be full of wonder and uncertainty, as he was.
And it hit him then-the worst thing about the terrible lies he’d spoken to her was that maybe they weren’t lies at all. That maybe, just maybe, deep down inside, he did have his doubts about Lucia even now.
They hadn’t yet learned to trust each other. He wondered whether…he hoped and prayed…they still could.
Lucia’s knees buckled and she sank heavily into a fortuitously placed chair. For a long time she felt nothing. Not sorrow, grief or even outrage. Just…nothing.
Then gradually, like a rumbling beginning far away and moving steadily closer, closer, she could hear words, words that grew louder and louder until they were a thunder inside her head she could no longer ignore.
Find me a mole.
It isn’t me. It isn’t me. It isn’t me.
That was the only thing that was real to her now. She knew she was not the person betraying Corbett and the Lazlo Group. Gradually, with that thought as her anchor and her starting point, her mind began to function again.
And with its function came emotions. Anger. Pain. Anger again-yes, that was better. She could work with anger.
Okay, if Corbett wanted a mole, by God, she’d find it for him. And hand it to him on a silver plate. Personally. Even if the truth broke his heart. Or hers.
Adam or Edward? She knew it wasn’t her, and it wasn’t Corbett, so it had to be one of those two.
She couldn’t believe it of Adam. He’d been Corbett’s best friend since their days in British intelligence, and it had been Adam who’d worked so hard and sacrificed his own career to clear Corbett when he’d been framed for treason. He’d helped to found the Lazlo Group. It seemed inconceivable that he’d now want to destroy it along with the man who’d been like a brother to him.
But then…how well did she really know Adam Sinclair? A person’s circumstances could change. Maybe he had reasons she didn’t know about.
Then there was Edward Lazlo, Corbett’s own brother. A bit of a bounder, it was true, but still loved and in a strange way looked up to by his younger and much more worthy brother. In an even stranger way, she realized Corbett felt responsible for his brother, which was why he’d made him controller for the Lazlo Group. It would devastate Corbett to learn his own brother had conspired with his worst enemy to destroy him.
Edward or Adam?
Either way, it wouldn’t be good news for Corbett.
Lucia sat quietly, her mind working feverishly to map out her plan of attack. One phrase kept creeping into her thoughts, one she’d heard many times before-admittedly, mostly in movies and television dramas, but it did seem to make a certain amount of sense. Follow the money.
Yes, she thought, that might just be the fastest way to the truth.
She was still sitting there an unknown amount of time later when Kati came in, muttering sorrowfully over Corbett’s absence, to prepare her breakfast.
Corbett found it fitting that, as he drove down from the mountains of northern Hungary to the Danube River valley, he should leave behind clear skies and a brilliant moon casting its winter enchantment over a landscape lying peacefully under a fresh dusting of snow, only to have the coming of daylight reveal a dismal gray-and-brown world and a sun reluctant to emerge from behind a pall of dirty fog. He felt every bit as gray and dismal and was no more eager than that surly red sun for the task that lay ahead of him.
He had plenty of time during the drive to Salzburg to contemplate what that change of heart meant to his life and his future. He’d expected his feelings for Lucia to have changed him, of course, but he hadn’t expected to discover he’d completely lost his taste for his chosen profession.
Although, when he thought about it more, it wasn’t really his work with the Lazlo Group he dreaded. That work had given him considerable satisfaction-not to mention financial reward-over the years, and he’d made a good many lasting friendships because of it, both among the agents he’d employed and worked with, and the clients he’d served so well. He’d have been more than happy if that was what he had to look forward to today.
However, the Lazlo Group was currently in a shambles, and most of his best people in hiding-too many others dead or missing in action. Add to that the fact that he was about to face down the woman responsible, who also happened to be the woman he’d once treated abominably, plus the son who hated him so much he’d tried three times to kill him.
Then there was the other person he had to face-the one who’d stabbed him in the back. He had plenty of time on that long drive to think about that, as well, and doing so left him with no conclusions and a gnawing ache in his belly.
Not Lucia. She’s too open, too honest. I’ve worked side by side with her, taught her everything I know, and I’ve always known she had feelings for me, I just didn’t want to let myself believe they were real. Maybe didn’t believe I had a right to her love…who knows? But I know she’s not capable of betraying me. And certainly not without my knowing. It’s not Lucia.
Not Edward. He’s my brother. More to the point, he’d have way too much to lose by destroying the Lazlo Group-it’s the only thing keeping him financially afloat, most of the time. Although, I suppose…if someone made him a better offer… No, he’s my brother, dammit! It’s not Edward.
Not Adam. He’s been my best friend for more than half my life, the one person I could count on to watch my back when it counted. He’s saved my life a dozen times. Why would he betray me now? For the sake of a woman? Is it possible that because of Lucia…No, dammit, I know him! It’s not Adam.
But it had to be one of the three, didn’t it? He’d been over it a thousand times, looking for a loophole in that conclusion. And there wasn’t one.
The gnawing pain in his belly was joined by a pounding one in his head.
He thought again of Lucia and the dawning realization that his life was half over and there was a whole part of it he’d missed out on. The part that included a home filled with warmth and children and love. And not having to go through life all alone.
He thought of Edward. Even as greedy and vain as he could be, he had a family, nice wife, kids,
though he probably didn’t know the real value of them. Edward’s son, Josh, for instance. A great kid, who’d grown into a fine man and one of Corbett’s best agents. And now about to marry the prime minister’s daughter. From all accounts Prudence Hill could be a bit of a handful, but Corbett knew if anybody could deal with a bright and feisty woman, it was his nephew.
Thinking of that made Corbett smile. It had been one of the bright spots in an otherwise trying time.
Although, when he thought about it, there had been others, these past six months, Lazlo Group agents past, present and future, who’d somehow managed to find new love-or rediscover an old one-in the midst of the chaos and mayhem all around them. Mitch and Dani, back from the dead. Witt and British SIS agent, Marina Bond. The return of Sean McGregor to the fold, and his reunion with his former wife, Natalie-another British intelligence agent. And just last month, perhaps most surprising of all, Mark Alexander and that American undercover agent, Renee Sabine…
Food for thought, certainly. Corbett hadn’t quite got to the point where he was picturing himself puttering around in a rose garden or building model trains in the basement, but he was beginning to wonder whether it might be possible after all to have all those things he’d been missing-wife, kids, family-and still run the most respected private-security agency in the world. It would depend, he supposed, on the outcome of his current mission.
And whether Lucia would ever forgive him.
It turned out to be even easier than Lucia had thought it would be, finding the proof. Of course, it wasn’t the first time she’d been called upon to access confidential financial records, but in this case there’d been a determined effort to hide the ill-gotten gains, and she was quite proud of the way she’d managed to untangle the web of deception and follow it to its sad conclusion.
It wasn’t going to be easy for Corbett to hear this. Nor was it going to be easy for her to tell him, even if it did mean her own vindication.
After she’d transferred the incriminating records to a flash drive, she sat for a long time gazing at the monitor, chewing on her lip and wrestling with her choices. Corbett had made it abundantly clear he didn’t trust her. If she disobeyed his orders-and broke her own promise, even if it was one she’d had every intention at the time of breaking-wouldn’t she simply be proving him right? What if he decided he could never trust her again? What if-the very thought made her feel cold and sick-she lost him forever?
Lazlo’s Last Stand Page 16
