by Vonnie Davis
“That must account for your great legs. Which reminds me—” he slid the ottoman back and picked up her foot “—I promised you a foot massage.”
Oh, good Lord. “That’s really not necessary.” His thumb pressed into the ball of her foot, and she wanted to whimper.
“Your feet have taken a beating today. Running in those new high heels couldn’t have been comfortable.”
His magic fingers rubbed and kneaded the muscles of her foot and toes. She sighed in pure pleasure, or purred. God bless magic fingers.
“Yet you never once complained. You’re a strong woman, Aly.” He bent and placed a gentle kiss to her toes and then to the instep of her foot, as his warm hands continued kneading her flesh.
Her nipples perked up in response and she crossed her arms to hide them. “I…I’ve never had my toes kissed before.”
His dark head rose and chocolate eyes stared at her before he tilted his head to the side, as if regarding every nuance of her expression. “I have so much I could teach you, cherie. You deserve to be cherished.” He bent and kissed her ankle as his large hands moved slowly up her leg, rubbing her sore calves. “Your skin is so soft. A man could die happy after touching you and feeling you respond to him. Men dream of such a reaction from a woman.” His fingertips played a sonata on her skin. Featherlight touches hummed promises. Her body sang its own sultry reply.
What did one say to all this intimacy? Frankly all she wanted to do was enjoy the feeling. Talking could come later. She moaned. Much later.
“Your calf muscles are tight. Did you use bath salts when you bathed?” He seemed intent on rubbing her muscles into submission. Her womanly muscles had already succumbed by this point.
Alyson cleared her throat, hoping her voice wouldn’t give her away. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Good.” One warm hand slid behind her knee, slowly raising it. “Are these scrapes from when you fell this afternoon? He kissed first one and then the other, slow, sensual kisses.
Oh, good Lord! How much more can I take before I haul him to me and beg him to end this thing?
His palms slowly rubbed her thighs, then stilled. “What do we have here?” A finger pushed the hem of her sleep shorts higher. “A tat?” His dark gaze swept to hers and his voice dropped to a sensual whisper. “I never imagined you would have a tattoo. You know I never cared much for butterflies—” he placed a kiss on the blue and purple butterfly “—but my opinion of them has suddenly changed. How long have you had it?”
“I…ah…got it shortly before I had surgery. About four or five months ago.”
“Before surgery, not after?” He was assessing her again with those all-seeing eyes.
“Yes. Gwen insisted. She said it would be a symbol.” She didn’t want to continue this vein of conversation. “Which reminds me, I wanted to e-mail Gwen.” She sat up straighter and placed both feet on the floor.
Niko’s head tilted to the side again. She knew what was coming. “A symbol of what?”
“That’s personal and I’d rather not share it.”
He flashed a slow sexy-as-hell smile. “Of course, my uptight American.”
“May I use your laptop to e-mail Gwen?” A change of topic was necessary at this point. How could she share her deepest desire: that of having a child? The doctors said all the endometriosis was preventing her from conceiving. That and her lack of sex with her then husband. The surgery to remove the ever-spreading cells was to end her chronic abdominal pain and increase her chances of conception.
Gwen, devoted mother of five-year-old Rhiannon, jumped on Alyson’s renewed chances of becoming a mother. The butterfly, her sister insisted, would be a symbol of rebirth and perhaps a new birth would ensue. Of course, she needed a man first. A willing man, unlike her ex-husband. Her eyes roamed over the perfect, virile specimen seated at her feet. No, she couldn’t. Not even for the chance of having a child.
“You’re not going to answer my question, are you?”
She shook her head, willing thoughts of a baby from her mind. Tomorrow she’d be forty. Motherhood was not in the cards for her. “I’d really like to e-mail Gwen.”
“Sure. I’ll set my laptop on this ottoman for you. Then I’ll get back to diagnosing your computer. I wish you trusted me enough to share your story about the meaning of the symbol.”
“We’re practically strangers.”
“Did we feel like strangers when we kissed in the cab? Did my hands on your legs right now feel like a stranger’s hands or a lover’s hands?”
The set of his jaw indicated anger or hurt feelings, she didn’t know which. In all honesty, she didn’t know him well enough to read his body language. But then, what woman ever truly knew a man? She hadn’t known Chaz. Twelve years of marriage, and she still hadn’t known him.
Their evening became more relaxed as food was eaten and more champagne consumed. While Niko checked her computer for viruses, she composed an e-mail on his computer to her sister.
Gwen—
You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had or the fact I’m sitting in a French safe house eating caviar and drinking champagne with a handsome government agent. You’ll love it when I tell you he’s wearing nothing but silk pajama bottoms, beat-up moccasins and mega doses of sex appeal. I’m in big trouble, little sister. He’s kissed me several times and given me a foot massage that nearly caused spontaneous combustion. I’m feeling strangely virginal compared to the sexual prowess this thirty-year-old man exudes. He says he won’t touch me, but he already has in so many ways.
When I came to Paris for a bit of adventure, I never imagined this. In just one day, I foiled The Red Hand’s bombing attempt in the Louvre. Then I ran from another terrorist while wearing a new pair of Prada stilettos and your red thong. Later, I karate kicked two men, nearly poking the eye out of one with my high heel. I met an artist from Berlin and a gay poet from Australia. Oh, and the most delightful older French woman, Marie-Clare.
Don’t worry about me. I’m safe…the jury’s still out on Niko, though. The more champagne I drink, the less I feel like the reserved and regimented sister you know and love. Let me tell you, this has been an unforgettable fortieth birthday trip! I’ll remember every sensual moment forever. Kiss Rhiannon for me.
Alyson.
She glanced up from her e-mail. “Niko, you said I could e-mail Gwen some pictures.”
He was tapping keys and scanning programs. “Sure. Got your media card?”
“I’ll be right back. It’s still in my camera.” She rushed back to the bedroom and returned with her camera card and two photos from her wallet. “I want to show you a picture of Gwen and her daughter, Rhiannon.” She held them toward Niko.
He looked at Rhiannon’s first. “She’s going to be a heartbreaker. Look at her sweet, soft smile. She has your smile, you know.” He laid it aside and looked at Gwen’s picture for a few beats. “Very attractive. No picture of her husband?”
“No, he died in Iraq when Rhiannon was two. Gwen grieved terribly for a long time, but slowly her old personality resurfaced. The Gwen we all love.”
“You’re close?” She nodded. He glanced at the photograph again. “War kills more than the soldier. She has the same beautiful blue eyes as you.”
“No, hers are prettier.” She took the picture back when he extended it.
Niko gazed at her. “There’s no way her eyes could be prettier than yours, cherie. Do you need help uploading from the media card?”
She laid the photos and media card on the desk. “You better do it. I might mess something up in your computer. I’m not familiar with it.”
When he stood and moved closer to her, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, her body did that fluttery thing it was prone to do around him. Unfortunately, with four glasses of champagne in her system, she shivered with the fluttering.
“Cold?” He wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him as if it were the most natural thing.
Cold? No, not hardly. Not when she
was pressed against his warm, naked chest with her nose inhaling the marvelous male scent off his neck. “Tell me about the tattoo around your bicep. What are those symbols?”
“Chinese. They’re ancient symbols of strength, honesty, loyalty, virility.”
“Oh, it’s different. I like it.” Her hands slid slowly around his waist and up his hard, muscled back, bringing him even closer. If she stood very still and didn’t rub against him, he’d never know how turned on she was or how badly her nipples peaked.
His hands made a slow journey up her back. “Aly?”
“Hmm?” Could she stay like this forever, held close by this man?
“Your nipples are stabbing me.” Bad nipples, bad nipples!
She burrowed deeper into his neck. “Niko? I’m being stabbed, too.” What a fine weapon he carries. “Maybe I’ve had too much champagne.” How many glasses did she have? Four? Five? “It’s after two in the morning. I’ve lived a lifetime in one very long day and I’m exhausted. Maybe I should go to bed, pull the covers over my head and sleep till noon.”
“I think that might be best. We drank a toast to self-control, after all. Good night, cherie. Sleep well.” He bent his head and kissed her neck, her forehead and then her nose. “Don’t be afraid tonight. I promise to take care of you.”
****
Niko heard the door to Aly’s bedroom quietly click shut. He ran a hand through his hair. Had he ever desired a woman as much as he desired her? She was leaving in three days. Could he take her for a lover for three days and then let her go? Having a casual affair was nothing new for him. He recently ended one with coworker Giselle. Seldom had a woman held his interest for long, but he had his suspicions Aly wasn’t a woman he could easily get over. She was danger in a southern, honey-dripped drawl. Since when had he ever walked away from danger? Fact was he got a huge adrenaline rush from it—and from her, too.
He turned and noticed his computer still on. Had she already sent her e-mail to her sister? No, she wanted to attach some pictures. One glance at the screen told him she hadn’t. Snatching her media card from the desk, he inserted it and uploaded them while he read her e-mail. So, she was struggling with her growing attraction as much as he. He nodded in satisfaction. Good. A man enjoyed pursuing a woman, but not if there was zero interest on her part.
The world was changing. Women now felt it their right to do the pursuing. Perhaps he was too old school, thanks to his father’s attitude regarding women—what his mother referred to as chauvinistic in the midst of their infrequent arguments. Yet hadn’t his mother delighted in being pampered, protected and, yes, propelled by his father’s gentle insistence? He glanced in the direction of the hallway; the hallway that led to Aly and her warm heart, smooth skin and fantastic legs. She was ensnaring him with little effort, and he doubted she even knew it.
“Well, Gwen,” he muttered as he scanned through Aly’s pictures, “which ones should I send you?”
Chapter Ten
Alyson sat up in bed and held her throbbing head. Sunlight streaming in through the slats of the exterior shutters scorched her eyeballs. Some nasty animal had left a foul-tasting mess in her mouth. She sneezed, and the sonic boom nearly blew her ears off. She gingerly laid her head on the pillow and moaned. Great, a hangover.
Thirty minutes, three aspirins and a bath later, she slowly got dressed. Sudden movements only intensified the headache. After several minutes of staring at the meager choice of clothes Niko packed for her, she chose a sleeveless white blouse and dark jeans.
Following the enticing aroma of coffee, she padded barefoot into the kitchen where she came face-to-face with a strange green-eyed woman. “Who are you?”
The woman had long, curly dark hair and wore a snug navy short-sleeved sweater over a pencil-slim navy checked skirt. Gold chains hung around her neck and gold bangles encircled both of her wrists. On her feet were, of course, navy and gold stilettos. “Bonjour, Madame Moore. I am Giselle, Niko’s coworker.”
“Where’s Niko?” So this was the woman Jean-Luc alluded to back at police headquarters.
“He wanted to go over some things at the office. New intel has surfaced regarding The Red Hand. It requires his attention, so he asked me to take over his babysitting job.” Giselle winced—for effect, Alyson suspected. “I’m sorry. That’s a nickname we use when we aren’t happy with a protection detail.”
Not happy? He certainly seemed happy enough with her last night when he had his hands on her legs and held her in his arms.
“There’s coffee and croissants for your le petite dejune. Breakfast, I think you Americans call it.” Giselle waved toward a white bag lying on the counter. “Niko told me to get croissants at our favorite bakery.”
Alyson chose to ignore the way the young slip of a girl purred over the words “our favorite bakery.” She was obviously making a point. Alyson poured coffee into a mug and bent to open the door on the counter-height refrigerator. She pulled out the cream. “How long have you been here? I didn’t hear you come in.” Hadn’t Niko said a buzzer would sound when someone used the fingerprint scanner?
“Two hours ago. Niko met me in the hallway so the buzzer wouldn’t waken you. It gave us a chance for a private greeting.” Her lips curved in a feline smile, and Alyson’s heart sank. So, this wasn’t an office romance gone bad. This was an ongoing relationship. He had a girlfriend. Thank goodness things hadn’t progressed to the next logical step.
Alyson pulled a croissant from the bag and bit into it, fighting back the urge to snarl. What a fool she was.
Then, as if to hammer in the point, Giselle took aim. “You’re very attractive. Not at all the way Niko described you. He said you were old enough to be his mother.” She laughed. “Men, they can be so cruel at times.”
Indeed.
Alyson tossed the remainder of her pastry and stepped into the salon to get her laptop. It was gone. “Giselle, where’s my laptop?”
“Niko took it with him. He found some malware on it. Computer genius that he is, he could easily remove it, but he wanted to diagnose the designer…ah…the code writer of the program. Often they leave little telltale idiosyncrasies in their code.”
“I see.” So she was to stay cooped up in this apartment with Niko’s lover and no computer to occupy her time.
Giselle removed her computer from a black leather bag. “You may use mine if you like.”
“No thanks. I think I’ll lie down for a while. I have a terrible headache.”
“Yes, Niko said you drank like a lush last night.” Giselle sat her computer on the desk and plugged it in.
Rage filled Alyson. She glanced at the shutters covering the windows, wishing they weren’t locked for security reasons, for she would gladly have shoved the girl with the hard green eyes and the skinny ass out the window. What about Niko? Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She’d take that switchblade from him and fix him so he’d never father children. The lying rat. She stormed back to her bedroom and threw her things into her carry-on.
She didn’t have to stay here, not with his lover and her snide remarks. Plus, when he came back, if he came back, she’d have to face him, knowing the truth. He lied to her, and she was foolish enough to believe him.
Giselle was engrossed in playing a computer game when Alyson tiptoed past the doorway, holding her carry-on. Once she stepped out into the hallway, relieved no alarm sounded, she slipped on her flip-flops and stepped onto the elevator.
Her plan was simple. She’d go back to Marie-Clare’s. While she was packing, she remembered the business card the elderly woman gave her yesterday. When she called to ask if Marie-Clare knew of a nice hotel, the sweet woman insisted she come stay with her. This new friend was the only person in Paris she trusted other than Eddie. Since he was living rent-free at Shakespeare and Company, she doubted he’d be any help.
Marie-Clare gave her directions to her shop on Boulevard Saint Michelle and she jotted them on a slip of paper. As she strolled up the street, head hi
gh, concerns for her safety wrapped tightly in her temper and the soles of her feet kissing the rubber bottoms of her flip-flops, she smiled. She could take care of herself anywhere. To hell with Niko Reynard—and his green-eyed bitch.
****
Niko keyed in the security code to the door of the safe house. He hadn’t intended on staying away from Aly all morning, but several things required his attention. The Red Hand bombed a café and a cinema in the city last night, no doubt in retaliation for Aly’s interference. Five Parisians were killed and several injured. He expected more such instances in the next few days, at least until Alyson was caught, which would happen over his dead body.
He stepped onto the elevator, leaning against the wall. The photograph he took off Qimat had been analyzed. Or rather, he did the analyzing. Something sinister niggled in his gut. Suspicions loomed. Doubts clouded his opinions of everyone in his organization. Although he hated it, he learned years ago to trust his instincts. Something was foul in his unit.
Whoever took the picture had to know he would have Aly in the garage at that particular time. That narrowed the photographer to someone in his unit or someone associated with a member of his unit. Why? Why would a photograph be taken of the two of them and then placed in the hands of a terrorist? The answer to the “why” was simple. It was the answer to the “who” that bothered him. Who in his unit was associated with The Red Hand?
He stepped off the elevator and approached the door of the apartment where he left Aly. Deep in thought, he pressed his thumb to the scanner and unlocked the door to the apartment. He’d methodically work through his list of suspects and find the culprit, but would it be in time to save Aly?
When Niko closed the door behind him, Giselle stepped into the hallway. “I was about to call you.”
He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it on the daybed. “Why?” He set his briefcase containing both his and Aly’s computers on the floor. Tugging on his tie, he glanced into the empty salon. “Where’s Aly?”
Although her façade appeared cool, Giselle was cracking her knuckles, a sure sign of stress. “That is why I was going to call. She went into her room to take a nap. When I knocked on the door to see if she wanted any lunch, I got no response. She’s gone.”
