by Rebecca York
She shrugged. “That makes us even.”
It was midafternoon and they were sitting on either side of a leather-topped library table in the Falcon’s private study.
Gordon had the grace to give a little self-deprecating cough. “That’s all past history. What concerns me now is the state of Colonel Bradley’s mental health.”
“He’s going to be all right. I know it. But he needs time—and therapy”
“Unfortunately, those are luxuries we can’t afford. We still have to plug up the Russian leak in the Orion defense system—quickly. Too much is riding on this.”
Eden’s eyes flashed. She was back in the colonial ambience of the Aviary, yet the situation didn’t seem so very different from that on Pine Island. It was simply a matter of degree. Amherst Gordon could never be as raw edged as Ross Downing, yet they were both determined men who knew what they wanted and went after it with single-mindedness. “Mark’s been through enough. Can’t someone else do your dirty work?”
“No. I’ve had a session with Bradley, too. After he told me where he hid that evidence, I sent another operative to try to get it. But it’s locked up tighter than the crown jewels.”
“Then it will keep,” Eden shot back.
“Negative. It’s going to go up in smoke ten days from now, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it without Bradley.”
“You’d better fill me in on the details.”
“He was able to make two microdots of the evidence he obtained—which, by the way, is a preliminary program specification for Orion. The work was done in ten highly classified compartments. Each group knew only its own part. There was no cross information. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Yes, but someone in the Defense Department had to oversee the project and put it all together.”
“Precisely. Three very senior individuals were working on it. And to put it bluntly, since the preliminary specifications have ended up in Russian hands, we know one of those three is a traitor. I don’t need to tell you, the further the projects progress, the more costly the damage will be.”
“But can’t you bring them all in for interrogation?”
“These are very highly placed people. That would be impossible. Besides, we don’t want to tip off the mole. But when I get my hands on those specs, it’s going to be obvious. Each of them was marked with a secret code to determine whose copy it was.”
“You mean in invisible ink?” Eden’s voice was almost sarcastic.
“Something much more sophisticated than that. But until we’re ready to show our hand, we want the culprit to think he’s still in the clear. Obviously, he’s not working alone. The placement of Wayne Marshall on Pine Island confirms that. There may be dozens of others like him. We need to get them all.”
A chill went down Eden’s spine. She still couldn’t be rational about Wayne Marshall and what he had done to her. It wasn’t just that he had thought nothing of killing to protect his position; it was the way he had enjoyed subjugating and humiliating both her and Mark. Even though she was trained to understand that kind of mind, the experience had left its mark on her.
“Thank God you got him,” she murmured.
“I’m sorry. We haven’t got him.”
Eden’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m afraid my Intelligence reports place Marshall in a very favorable position. He says you and Hubbard were working together to spring Colonel Bradley, and he was trying to foil the escape.”
“And they believe him?”
“Hubbard’s dead, and you’ve flown the coop.”
“Then Mark and I are fugitives.”
“Unfortunately, yes, but that’s not the worst of my problems. I have an agent who is absolutely integral to the success of project Orion, and every time I try to debrief him, he gets something that makes a migraine headache look like fun. How the hell am I supposed to know what those bastards in Leipzig did to him? I’m no psychologist, but I’m willing to bet those headaches are meant to prevent him from examining his memories, and if they did that to him, what other damage did they do?”
Eden took a deep breath, willing herself to sound coolly professional. “I know about the headaches, but I think there’s a way to find out exactly what Erlich did to him.”
He shot her an appraising look. “What?”
“Something risky,” she said. “Something I’m still thinking through, but if Mark trusts me, it will work.”
The Falcon sighed. “There’s an important piece of information you don’t know. Colonel Bradley has asked me to take you off his case.”
“Is that why he’s been avoiding me?” She had been afraid to ask. Now at least it would be out in the open.
“Yes.”
“Will you give me a chance to see if I can get through to him again?”
“Against his wishes?”
Eden felt the knot of tension in her stomach tighten. “Twenty-four hours from now if he still wants me to leave, I’ll call it quits.”
“That’s about all the time I can give you. Pine Island is a top-security installation—so Marshall’s version of what happened down there hasn’t even reached the FBI yet. But when it does, the security net is going to be so tight that Bradley won’t be able to step out of the Aviary without being arrested, much less get out of the country.”
* * *
IT WAS AFTER TEN that evening, and the mansion was quiet. In the upstairs guest quarters, Eden had showered and washed her hair with the same almond and herb shampoo she’d used at Pine Island and then slipped into a soft orchid-colored dressing gown she’d found in the closet in her room. But now, standing before the mirror drying her hair, she couldn’t keep herself from trembling slightly. She had spoken to the Falcon with more assurance than she felt—because she didn’t know if she was capable of battering down the new wall Mark had constructed between them.
She thought she understood his motives, given his doubts about himself. He must be trying to protect her. But that was the last thing she needed. What she hadn’t told the Falcon was that she had to get through to Mark again for herself—as much as for the Peregrine Connection.
They had been through a terrible experience together. She could only speculate on what it had done to him, but she knew it had left her own emotions raw. The sensitive, feminine part of her psyche had been injured in a very fundamental way. Under other circumstances she would have sought out another professional as part of the healing process, but there was no time for that now. The only person at the Aviary who could help her was Mark Bradley. And in asking for his help she hoped she could make him realize that their relationship was a two-way street—that each of them could give as well as receive.
Eden took a deep breath and tried to calm her pounding heart. She had better act quickly, before she lost her nerve.
She knew Mark’s room was across the wide central hall from hers. When she tapped lightly on his door, he didn’t answer at first. She tried again more loudly.
“Who is it?” There was an edge of annoyance in his voice.
“Eden.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No.” Without being invited, she turned the handle and stepped inside, closing the mahogany door behind her.
The only illumination in the opulent room, with its four-poster bed and heavy drapes, was from the lamp on the Queen Anne table. Mark was in bed. The lower half of his body was under the covers, but he was naked from the waist up. He had propped several pillows behind his head and was reading what appeared to be some sort of thick report.
He laid the computer printouts down with an impatient thump. The lines of his face were hard edged as he looked over at her. “Are you in the habit of simply walking into men’s bedrooms?” he asked, knowing that he had to send her away no matter what his real feelings. Back on Pine Island he had warned himself that for her own good there was no way Eden could stay in his life. Now that the emergency was over and she was
safe, he had been preparing himself to stick with that resolve. But that would become twice as difficult if he took her in his arms and made love to her tonight the way he wanted to.
“I have to talk to you.”
“I’m afraid I’m busy.”
She took several more steps into the room. At this hour of the evening the air-conditioning was at its most effective, and the polished oak floorboards were cold against her bare feet. She wished she’d thought to put on slippers.
“Can’t you spare me a few minutes?” She knew there was a tremor in her voice.
“No.”
The single syllable shredded her confidence. Yet she had come too far to turn back now.
“I need some help.” A whisper was all she could manage. Had she misjudged his feelings for her, after all?
“Surely someone else can take care of it.”
Eden swallowed convulsively. The knot in her stomach had become a giant fist. “Mark, I...I tried to talk to Connie. I couldn’t.” That was the truth.
“All right. Tell me what you came to say so I can get back to work on these damn papers.”
She could no longer meet his eyes. She was feeling it all again—the full force of what had happened to her. “Wayne Marshall. I came to talk about how Wayne Marshall made me feel,” she finally managed to say.
She didn’t see the flash of anger in the depths of Mark’s dark eyes.
When she had imagined this conversation with Mark, she had pictured herself in his arms, sheltered and protected. But the comfort of his embrace seemed a lifetime away. Now her only wish was to finish what she had come to say so she could escape. “When Marshall put his hands on me—it made me feel...defiled. The only thing I could do was turn myself to stone, and I don’t know if I can ever...”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. She had thought she could keep this in perspective, but once she’d let the raw emotions out, there was no way to contain them. It simply hurt too much, and she didn’t want him to see what it was doing to her. She swung away blindly, fumbling for the doorknob.
“Oh, God, Eden.” He was across the room in a few quick strides and pulling her into his arms. He was wearing only a pair of low-slung navy briefs. Under other circumstances the heat from his body would have enveloped her. Now she was too chilled inside to feel the warmth.
She could hold the tears back no longer. “Let me go.”
He didn’t answer. Instead his arms tightened around her. He lifted her up and carried her the short distance to his bed.
She was struggling against him now, but he wasn’t going to let her.
Even as his hands restrained her, they stroked and caressed. His lips were against her hair, her face, her neck. “Eden, forgive me. Please. Let me hold you. Don’t push me away. I’m sorry.” The words ran together. What an insensitive bastard he’d been.
But finally his display of concern for her began to penetrate her misery. She struggled to bring herself under control.
Sensing the change, he settled her more comfortably into the warmth of the covers and the protection of his arms.
For a long time after she had stopped crying, neither one of them spoke.
“You needed me, and I was trying my damnedest to send you away,” he finally whispered.
“It was terrible.”
He pulled her closer. “I know that. Eden, when I saw you standing in the doorway, I wanted to take you in my arms and make love to you, and damn the consequences. But I knew that wouldn’t be fair. I’ve been nothing but trouble for you.”
“You mean you were going to take the coward’s way out again—the way you did five years ago.”
“Yes,” he admitted.
She moved slightly away so that she could look into his eyes. “Mark, the worst thing that can happen to two people who care about each other is that they don’t communicate their true feelings. When you were shutting me out, a thousand horrible reasons flashed through my mind. I thought you didn’t care about me. Or maybe you were so repelled by seeing Marshall manhandle me that you had transferred the blame to me.”
“No!”
“But there are men who would react that way.”
“Don’t think that of me.”
His words were reassuring; the pressure of his embrace was soothing. She took a deep breath and went on. “Marshall did something to me...to the way I feel about myself as a woman.” She shuddered. “I’ve helped people who have been in similar situations, but I don’t know how to help myself.” The admission almost cost her self-control again.
“You came to my room because you trusted me to help you.”
She nodded against his chest.
“What is it that you’re most afraid of?”
It was hard to say the words, but she forced herself. “That when someone I care about touches me, I won’t be able to keep from flashing back to that scene with Wayne Marshall.” Someone I care about. You, Mark.
Suddenly he understood how she must feel. He drew in a ragged breath. “I didn’t really understand.”
“Mark, I still have the fears I came in here with.”
“Then we’ll conquer the fears one at a time together—if you can still trust me.”
“I trust you.”
“To make love to you?”
There was a moment of silence. “I don’t know.”
He looked down at her tenderly, his fingers beginning to comb gently through her silky hair. “Can we find out together?”
She nodded, not confident enough to speak.
“And you’ll tell me if anything is frightening you?”
“Yes.”
He wrapped a tendril of hair around his finger and brought it to his lips. “You used the same shampoo.”
“I knew you liked it.”
“I do. But there are other things I like, too. Not the window dressing—just you. Eden, you’re brave, caring—and so beautiful.”
His words and the look in his eyes made her feel as though she were. Yet even though he had already begun to weave his soft web of sensuality around her, she was still afraid.
He sensed the tension coiled inside her. This wasn’t going to be easy, for either of them. He would have to win her back by slow degrees, even if the process drove him crazy. He had known from the moment she stepped inside his room that if he touched her he would have to love her.
Now, with the merest feather stroke his finger traced the line of her eyebrows, the bridge of her nose, the outline of her lips. At the same time, he smiled down at her reassuringly.
“Your beauty is more than skin deep. But I like what I see—what I touch—very, very much,” he murmured, bending to nuzzle his lips against the smooth, white column of her neck.
His soft words and gentle contact sent a ripple along her nerve endings. But when his fingers went to the topmost button of her robe, her body stiffened. “Mark.” There was an edge of panic in her voice.
“It’s all right. I told you, I won’t do anything you’re not ready for.”
Instead he picked up one of her hands. “Your wrists are so tiny—but I know they’re strong,” he murmured. “And your fingers...so long and graceful.”
As he spoke, he began to kiss each fingertip in turn, and then his tongue flicked out to taste the same territory. He couldn’t resist tracing the outline of each ivory finger. And he felt her shiver slightly in reaction.
Was she slowly melting, or was the shiver one of apprehension?
His tongue found her wrist. He could feel her pulse quicken. When he drew back slightly, she pressed forward to increase the contact.
“That’s nice,” she whispered.
His heart leapt at the small victory. “I’d like you to return the favor.”
They both knew that the request was more than casual lover’s talk. She had admitted her fears of initiating anything.
Now, however, she took his hand and raised it to her lips. As he had done, she traced his fingertips with her tongue. His index finger slipped gently
inside her mouth to caress the insides of her lips. He held his breath, but she didn’t reject the entry. Instead, she softly nibbled at the finger with her teeth.
“That’s nice, too,” he encouraged, his breath warm against her ear. A wave of awareness shivered through her.
With his free hand he grazed a butterfly-light caress along the underside of her breasts through the thin fabric of her robe.
Her body tensed again, and she shut her eyes. It was almost as though present pleasure and past pain were fighting a war within her for dominance.
He looked down at her tight, closed expression. “Open your eyes,” he whispered. “I want you to know who’s touching you. I want you to see how it makes me feel.”
She obeyed, and almost drowned in the passion that smoldered in the ebony depths of his eyes. Passion alone might not have swayed her, but in that timeless moment she knew how much he cared. It was written on his soul for her to see.
When his fingers stroked upward to caress the sides of her breasts she found herself responding. He sensed the shattering of another barrier. With light strokes he began to circle inward toward her nipples. When he felt them harden under his fingers, his breath caught in his throat.
“Mark, oh, Mark.”
He murmured little endearments and words of praise in her ear, and this time when his fingers sought the buttons of her robe, she didn’t resist. He didn’t hurry with the fastenings; instead, as he slid each one open, he cherished her with his lips and hands. When he had helped her out of the robe, he continued to stroke and caress her—sliding his fingers along the flat plane of her abdomen, tracing the gentle curve of her hip, the silky flesh of her inner thigh. He sensed her body quickening to his touch.
“Ah, Eden.” The words escaped his lips on a sigh.
“That feels so good.”
They had unlocked another door. She found that she could let him increase the intimacy of the caress. Now she was actually arching into the pleasure of his stroking fingers.
He felt her body’s readiness. He didn’t know what mental impediments might still make the final step impossible for her. “Are you ready to feel me inside you?” he questioned, his voice husky with his own yearning for her.
