Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Veronica Forand

  “Henry,” she cried out.

  He lifted his hips and pressed deeper. Her fears disappeared, and a dizzy, euphoric feeling brought her higher and higher.

  “Come closer, Sunshine.” He pulled her toward him and kissed her so deeply, a conquering and melding of souls. She rode him until blissful waves shook her entire body. The feelings intensified as he grasped her hips and rocked her further until everything burst open in color and light and intensity. And then he shuddered and trembled beneath her. Lips still connected, they slowed to a stillness except for the sound of heavy breathing and contented sighs. She rested her head on his shoulder, exhausted.

  “Good night, Gabe,” he murmured.

  I’m not Gabe.

  “Alex,” she mumbled in reply and slid into a contented sleep.

  …

  Alex? Who the hell was Alex?

  Henry spent a night that should have been heaven with the most amazing woman he’d ever met in a cold panic. Did he just learn the name of the love of her life as she’d described her former boyfriend? If this guy had been her former lover, his technique with her had been despicable. It had been impossible to anticipate what would please her, because so many things had made her skittish. What sort of man would break a woman down and almost destroy her ability to make love? She couldn’t love him still. How could a woman love an abusive man? The answer kicked him in the gut. His mother and Simon’s mother both had loved their abuser.

  She stirred in his arms. Half her body rested on top of him with one leg curved across his thigh. Blond hair covered most of her face. He smoothed it behind her ear and tucked her head under his chin. Her breathing created a soothing, rhythmic meditation to ease his frayed nerves.

  She’d panicked as he was prepared to enter her. Her body had noticeably stiffened and her eyes had flinched. Henry had almost stopped everything in order to hold her and relax her nerves, but his mind told him Gabe would recoil at the idea of him comforting her. So he’d rotated her on top and allowed her to control everything. If she’d wished to stop, she’d be in a position to do so. Thank God, she hadn’t, because being with her had been heaven. What they shared wasn’t sex; it was better, more satisfying.

  Which is why her saying this guy’s name as she drifted off to sleep didn’t make sense. Not only had it seemed like the guy had abused her sexually, but he’d also taken out his aggression on the rest of her body as well. She wore the scars to prove it. Reminded of his father’s rages, Henry’s stomach clenched like a fist. He wanted a few minutes alone with this idiot to explain the basic principles of chivalry.

  He fell asleep hours later, waking when Gabe’s hands began a detailed exploration of his body. She spent the next hour caressing every minute section of him. The attention drove him crazy, but he gave her the control. When it was his turn, she seemed a thousand times more relaxed than the night before. She allowed Henry to take the lead. Her body welcomed him without the slightest pause or hesitation. He savored the emotion rocketing through her eyes as she came apart under him.

  “Good morning.” She let her hand drift across his cheek and down his neck, her contented smile shining in his direction.

  “Great morning.” He kissed her, and then rested his head back on the pillow to look at her.

  She wanted to be with him. No artifice, no duplicity. Nothing had ever felt so perfect, so right. He wanted her to stay in his bed forever, despite her unknowns.

  As soon as they returned from Atlanta, he would request an end to all of her secrets. But for now, until he’d gained her trust completely, he’d be patient.

  At breakfast, she placed a passport next to his plate. A French passport. Henry peered at the woman in the photo. Danielle Perrault. She was twenty-four with short brown hair and hazel eyes. She had a heart-shaped face similar to Gabe’s, but her cheekbones didn’t sit as high and her eyes seemed too close together. She was not blessed with Gabe’s symmetry.

  The adorable tilted position of Gabe’s head and the annoyed twitch of the left side of her mouth made the differences between the two women even more noticeable. “As you can tell, it’s not me.”

  It appeared authentic right down to the stamps on many of the pages. “Did you steal it?”

  “The previous owner won’t miss it.” She shrugged and feigned a relaxed smile that didn’t begin to express happiness. She grabbed the streaky bacon with her fingers and took a bite. Her eyes dropped to focus on her coffee cup. Her bad manners almost shifted the attention away from her apprehension. Henry could see through the facade. She was nervous, as she should be.

  If caught with a fake passport, she could end up in jail. And what about the monster chasing her? He rubbed his temples to massage away some of the tension building inside him. “I know you want to help me, and I’m eternally grateful, but nothing, not even the Ripon Women’s Group, is worth you being placed in danger.”

  She rested her hand over his. “It’ll be fine. Please don’t stop me. I need to focus on something other than my pathetic life. And if we succeed, think of the families we’ll help.”

  Using his own words against him. He glanced down at the passport.

  “She’s younger than you.” He tested a theory. “That could be a problem.”

  “Only by a couple of years.” She pulled back her hand and huffed out a breath. “I’m twenty-six.”

  “Not twenty-four?”

  She glared at him, but remained silent. One more crack in the facade she’d created around herself.

  “I hate to say this, but Miss Perrault has brown hair and greenish eyes.” Henry glanced between the picture and Gabe. It was close, but not perfect.

  Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “Your choice. Either we forget chasing down your painting, or I need some hair color, makeup, and colored contacts. It may cost up to a hundred pounds.”

  He rubbed his temples again. “My hundred pounds?”

  “Henry, whose painting are we searching for?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Simon hated the idea of French cafés. A quiet English pub had more privacy and better beer. He tucked himself into the farthest corner of the place and ordered a Coke. Only two other tables had patrons at them, located on the other side of the room. Simon kept his distance. He didn’t trust anyone, the waitstaff included. He caught up on emails for almost an hour, then the energy around him shifted. She made it. Nicola strutted between the empty tables and chairs wearing a tight black skirt cut to reveal the maximum amount of leg and a loose white blouse without a bra. She radiated sexual satisfaction. Someone was getting some, and it wasn’t him.

  Glances of lust followed her from a table of men by the door. They’d better put their eyes back in their heads and focus on their own pathetic lives, because Simon required privacy for this conversation. The information Henry had given him about Gabe’s fake passport linked her to Luc Perrault. That placed his brother in the middle of something deadly.

  “Darling, nice to see you.” Nicola kissed him on each cheek when he stood to greet her. Her face held zero emotion.

  “Sit.” He pulled out the chair next to him. “How’s your holiday?”

  They sat close enough to carry on a conversation safely. After Nicola ordered a café au lait, she leaned back in her seat away from Simon. They couldn’t jeopardize her cover by appearing to like each other. Her new French lover had a jealous streak the width of the Pacific Ocean.

  She rolled her eyes and appeared bored. “Luc told me that Danielle, his sister, is traveling around Thailand and won’t be returning for several months. Seems odd when her passport is traveling to the States this afternoon.”

  Simon took a sip of his drink, slammed the glass down, and then clenched his fists. “I’ve contacted Interpol. They’ll be monitoring Gabe’s movements with Danielle’s passport in and out of the US. I’ll have them contact the Thai government to track down Ms. Perrault and her companion Travis Poole, some Yank from San Francisco.”

  “You’re on the ball, as u
sual. As to the other name, Luc never mentioned an Alex, and I’m hesitant to ask. I did overhear him speaking about an ex-girlfriend who disappeared about two months ago. She’s some sort of linguistic genius, knows around twenty languages.” She shook her head and stood.

  Simon grabbed her arm and pulled her closer. His eyes flashed to emulate the anger of an ex-suitor. “This girlfriend could be Gabe. We need more information. If he’s the one she’s running from, and he finds her, she doesn’t stand much of a chance. Luc doesn’t mess around when he wants someone dead. Three of his associates have ended up in the morgue so far this year.”

  “You’re not even positive she’s the girlfriend,” she purred in his ear.

  “I’m not positive about anything with Gabe. Although she did mumble in French when she first appeared in Henry’s house, I’ve never seen her act as though she understood anyone speaking a foreign language. She does, however, have Luc’s sister’s passport. To be safe, we should keep them apart. Stay close to Luc for the time being. If you sense things going south, get the hell out of there.” He released her, and she stepped back.

  “I know how to do my job. I’ll stick to him like glue once he returns.” She strode across the cafe.

  Simon threw down a few euros and followed. “Returns?”

  “He’ll be back in two days. Don’t worry.” She sauntered toward the door, but he caught her arm again.

  When they stepped outside, Nicola pulled away. She had to appear as though he wanted her back, but she preferred staying with Luc. Simon braced himself. She’d always staged these scenes with more emotion than necessary.

  “Go to hell.” She slapped his face hard. Pain shot through his jaw, and his eyes watered. She’d held nothing back, the pain in the ass. By the time he blinked away the stinging, she’d fled across the street.

  “Already there.” He turned and walked in the opposite direction.

  …

  Alex didn’t feel safe in the United States until she and Henry were sitting in the rented red Mustang convertible and driving away from the airport. During the entire journey, she’d spoken fluent French and broken English. Aside from an uncomfortable double take by a Homeland Security agent, she breezed through airport security using Danielle’s identity. Sneaking into her home country while posing as a foreign national caused conflicted feelings. She hadn’t been home in eight years. If Luc wasn’t pursuing her, she’d consider winding her way up the East Coast to her home in Concord. A year ago, she would have returned a success in her field. Her father would have been proud. Not so much now. Now she was a fugitive with no job and no future.

  Henry pulled up to the valet at the W hotel in the middle of Atlanta and handed over the luggage, except for a computer bag containing the cash to purchase the portrait. A tour bus load of people crowded around the sleek registration desk. Harried employees dressed in black tried to ease everyone’s nerves by offering free drinks in the bar. Alex took a coupon and kissed Henry on the cheek.

  “I’ll hang out in the bar while you check us in.”

  A moment’s hesitation told her he didn’t want her to leave. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He clasped her hand as though she’d run if he let her out of his sight.

  “I’m thirsty. I’ll be right back. I made a promise to help you, and unless the dreaded zombie apocalypse occurs, I’ll be by your side until you have the painting back in your possession. I have a gut feeling we’ll be celebrating tomorrow night.”

  He kissed her, and an honest-to-God warm fuzzy feeling filled her insides. She’d never been cherished, not by her parents, her friends, or Luc. With Henry, however, she could imagine someone wanting a happily ever after with her, even if the “ever after” lasted for only three weeks.

  “I’ll meet you in a few minutes. Don’t get into trouble.”

  “Moi? I’m the queen of coolheaded and rational decision making.”

  He frowned. “I’ll try to speed things up.”

  Alex found her way to the crowded bar. No one had turned down the free drink, especially the people on the bus tour. She located a table in a quiet corner and ordered a Diet Coke.

  A manicured guy in a well-made business suit came up to her table. His grin made him appear like a politician scoping out a new personal assistant. A very personal assistant. “Hey, beautiful. Mind if I sit down?”

  She shook her head. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend.”

  He frowned, and moved to another single woman sitting at the bar. Alex watched him in action. Within three minutes, he had his hand on the woman’s knee. And she wasn’t complaining. An older, heavier-set guy at the far end of the bar glanced over at Alex. He rose and stepped toward her. Great.

  This was not the easy free drink she’d anticipated. She rose to leave before he could annoy her and noticed a badass stud in faded jeans and a brown leather jacket at the entrance. A scowling badass. There wasn’t an ounce of English anthropology professor in that guy. And as much as Alex adored the Earl of Ripon, she totally crushed on his alter ego.

  He nodded his head toward the door, and Alex followed him out. How could she resist when he was acting all possessive and protective? It was a major turn-on. He led her out of the room and up the elevator. At the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her, her heart steadied from a heavy staccato rhythm to something pretty damn close to love.

  Henry leaned against the wall of the elevator. The muscles in his shoulders lowered from pissed to more relaxed. “You were the center of attention.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at her adorable champion. “I think they wanted to buy me a drink with their free drink coupon.”

  “This hotel is the closest one to the gallery. Did you notice anyone who will be at the gallery tomorrow?” He lifted his eyebrows and waited for her answer.

  “They don’t exactly announce their intentions to random strangers.”

  His took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Exactly. And yet you placed yourself in a situation where someone might recognize you. Since I don’t know who’s after you, I have to assume everyone wants you.”

  His worry now made sense.

  When they closed the door of their hotel room, Henry turned toward her. “I don’t know whether you attract trouble or trouble attracts you. How long did I leave you alone? Five minutes?”

  “Trouble tends to locate me wherever I am.” She snuggled into the smell of Henry and new leather. “Why would I look for trouble? I landed a bona fide earl, complete with a castle, and a reproduction of a portrait of a woman I’ve never heard of. Do you take me for a fool, Colin?”

  “I’m Henry tonight. I wish I knew your real name. I don’t tend to sleep with women until after I have their names.”

  “You can call me Gabe, Belinda, Danielle, or even Sunshine. I’ll even let you call me Baby for this night only.”

  “Come closer, Baby.” His devilish smirk told her where they were headed for the next few hours. When she shimmied up next to him, he kissed her.

  She pushed his jacket off and removed his shirt. A dramatic swing of her arm sent the clothes soaring to a nearby chair. A sexy, bare-chested Henry reached behind her and unzipped her orange dress. He peeled the dress from her shoulders and pulled it down her body to the floor. Alex stood before Henry in a hot-pink bra, matching thong, and uncomfortable strappy sandals.

  “Nice.” He tugged her closer and removed the top half of her lingerie.

  A knock on the door interrupted his hand’s journey across her bare stomach.

  “Ignore it. They’ll go away,” Alex said, licking his lips. He tasted of the peppermint he’d had in the car. She pressed her lips into his until he kissed back with a carnal intensity that urged her into actions she’d never craved before.

  Another knock. He retreated and left her panting and frustrated.

  “Hold that thought.” He threw her his shirt to cover up. She slipped it on and scooted behind the door an instant before he opened it.

  “A package for you
, sir.”

  “A package?”

  “It says it’s from your brother, no name is given.”

  Henry took the box from the bellhop and handed him a decent tip. Alex could hear the kid mumbling a thank-you as Henry shut the door behind him.

  “A present from Simon?” she asked.

  “Apparently.” He ripped off the tape and opened the package. Inside, a handgun, complete with a box of ammunition, rested between large pieces of Styrofoam.

  He pulled out the gun, checked the chambers, and sighted it toward the window. Wearing the same smile as a little boy on Christmas morning, he tilted it back and forth, feeling the weight of it in his hand, and then opened the smaller box, took out several rounds, and loaded his new weapon. Guns and Henry didn’t seem a likely partnership, except for the shotguns displayed at the manor for killing innocent ducks and pheasants. Yet he handled his present as though he and handguns were old friends.

  Something seemed strange about the entire package. “How did Simon ship a weapon and bullets from the UK to the US?”

  “I assume he used a source in the States. Quite thoughtful.” He placed the gun in the bag with the money and unpacked his tuxedo for the auction.

  She watched him move around the room. Those muscles should not be gracing the torso of a dorky anthropology professor, but she appreciated them all the same.

  “Henry, what is that tattoo on your shoulder?” A two-inch high sword with two wavy lines behind it decorated his right shoulder. She didn’t recognize the symbols.

  “From my days in the service.”

  “The mess hall or the medic division?”

  “Special Boat Service.” He continued unpacking and never looked toward her.