"David?" she whispered.
With an unhurried calm, he locked the door and walked into the sitting room. In the dim shadows, he loomed large and reassuringly solid.
Paige did a quick mental inventory of the possible contingency plans he'd made her memorize. His presence in her suite when the contact arrived wasn't one of them.
"What are you doing here? I thought I was supposed to meet my—" she swallowed "—meet Meredith's client alone."
"You are."
She glanced at the clock on the mantel. "He should be here at any moment."
David shrugged out of his tux jacket and tossed it on one of the chairs. "He's here."
"What?"
"I saw how tired you were, and decided to pull you out of the casino," he told her, tugging at one corner of his white tie.
Stunned, she stared at him. "But... but I..."
"No buts, Paige." He dropped the tie on top of his tux. "The situation is too dangerous for you to muddle through with drooping eyelids and sagging shoulders."
Stung, Paige recalled the knife-edged tension that had racked her during the interminable drive back to the hotel. The buckets of adrenaline that had pumped through her veins. The wild exultation at the thought that she, timid little Paige Lawrence, had actually been mistaken for someone like Meredith Ames.
"I thought I did a little better than muddle," she retorted. "And you might have asked me if I was ready to leave before making a unilateral decision like that."
Curbing both his impatience and his mounting need to crush Paige in his arms, Doc slipped his Smith & Wesson Model 39 out of the holster at the small of his back. Specially bored and made with an alloy frame, the gun was light and flat and incredibly accurate. While Paige watched, wide-eyed, he checked to make sure a round was chambered, then laid the weapon aside.
In the little silence that followed, Doc walked over to the cabinet that housed the suite's bar. From his own years of experience, he knew she needed time to work the tension out of her system. Time to decompress after being plunged into an alien and unfamiliar world.
And he needed a drink, badly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so tense, so wired, during an operation.
After following Paige into the casino, he'd taken a seat at one of the chemin de fer tables, which were set on a raised dais that gave an unobstructed view of the casino floor. Normally, Doc would've been able to engage one part of his mind in the complicated high-stakes card game while another kept track of his target.
Tonight, he'd found it impossible to concentrate on anything but Paige. He'd watched her every move as she wandered hesitantly through the casino. He'd counted every sip of champagne she took. He'd tensed at every male who looked at her with more than passing interest. And he'd just about lost it completely when one of the jet set's better-known perverts sauntered to her side.
She'd handled that little encounter well. Doc had to give her that. Still, the idea of Paige, his Paige, being exposed to a man like that made his gut twist.
Although, he thought savagely as he splashed a generous amount of cognac into a crystal snifter, she sure as hell didn't look much like his Paige tonight. Christ, that pink thing she had on had just about destroyed his ability to function at all. He'd felt himself harden when he first glimpsed her full, rounded breasts plumped up above that heart-shaped bodice and saw the shimmer of light on her pale, golden hair. What was more, he'd stayed hard as a rock most of the night. She'd looked so seductive, yet so fragile, that it took all his control not to sweep her out of the casino and into his bed.
Which was what he intended to do. As soon as they settled a few things.
Turning, he held out the snifter. "Do you want a drink?"
When she shook her head, Doc took a long, satisfying swallow. Liquid heat curled in his stomach, fueling the tiny flames of desire he'd kept banked all afternoon and evening. He waited until the heat had distributed itself more evenly throughout his body, then dealt with Paige's indignation at his decision to pull her out of the casino.
"Let's review the bidding one more time," he said evenly. "This isn't a committee. You don't get a vote on each course of action."
She stiffened. "Is that so?"
"Yes, it is. You're in over your head here. Way over your head. I allowed you to continue the charade against my better judgment, but I'm not going to let you take any unnecessary risks."
"You know, David, I'm discovering that you have a rather nasty autocratic streak under that protective layer of yours."
"I do, where you're concerned."
"I'm beginning to wonder just what other traits you've hidden from me these past months."
Doc cradled the brandy snifter in one palm. This discussion had to come. He knew that. They hadn't been alone for more than a few moments since she'd stumbled into the suite this afternoon, half-naked and wholly wet. He hadn't had a chance to work through the desperate fear that had gripped him when he learned she'd been taken. Or the surging relief at her safe return. Or her sudden doubts over their marriage.
They'd work them through now, he decided with grim determination. The way they'd worked through their minor differences in the past. With a calm meeting of their minds and a slow, sweet joining of their bodies. Anticipation curled low in his groin as he took another swallow, then set the snifter aside.
Without taking his eyes off Paige, he lifted his chin and spoke over his shoulder. "You can switch off the cameras and the microphone, Chameleon. I'll send you an emergency signal if I need you." "You sure, Doc?"
Paige gave a little start as Maggie's voice floated out of the bronze bust of some long-dead Roman emperor that sat on a pedestal by the foyer.
"I'm sure." Doc's shadowed gaze drifted over the woman facing him. "I'll provide Jezebel cover for the rest of the night."
After a slight pause, Maggie murmured, "Right."
Doc signed off, watching with silent amusement the bright wash of color that flooded Paige's delicate face.
"If that means what I think you meant it to mean," she said, wrapping both arms around her waist, "you're getting way ahead of yourself, David. We need to talk."
Doc's brief amusement disappeared as her movement caused her creamy breasts to swell above that damned pink-and-black thing. He'd never considered himself a particularly possessive or primitive type, but Paige's repeated appearances in Meredith's working clothes were stirring some deep, surprisingly atavistic urges. This was the twentieth century A.D., not B.C., he reminded himself savagely. He couldn't just sling her over his shoulder and carry her off to his cave. Not until they'd had their talk, anyway.
Paige drew in a slow breath, unaware that the simple act ripped away one more layer of Doc's civilized veneer. Swearing under his breath, he reached up to loosen the top stud on his dress shirt.
"I'm not going to sleep with you, David," she announced, in a small, determined voice. "Not until I know who you are."
"You know who I am."
"No, I don't! Until a few hours ago, I thought you were an engineer."
"I am an engineer. I've never lied to you, Paige. Except by omission."
"Well, you omitted a few rather significant details. A whole secret identity, in fact. A life completely apart from me. How could you do that, David? How could you deliberately exclude me from this part of yourself?"
She searched his face, her green eyes cloudy with the need to understand. "Didn't you trust me?"
"It's not a matter of trust."
"Then what? Have I been indiscreet? Am I too stupid? Were you afraid I might give you away?" "No, of course not." "Then what?"
Doc raked a hand through his hair, knowing that he owed her an explanation. "I wanted to keep you separate from this side of my life. It's too dark. Too dangerous."
She hugged herself more tightly.
Doc gritted his teeth as the creamy flesh swelled higher.
"I... I see," she said. "So you divided your life into nice
neat compartments labeled Engineering, Undercover Work, and, oh, yes, Paige."
"That's one way of putting it."
"I see," she repeated in a small voice.
He waited while she struggled with the hard, undeniable truth. There was a part of him he'd withheld from her. A part he would always withhold.
Even if he'd wanted to, Doc wasn't cleared to tell her about his work with OMEGA. About the dark, twisted people he dealt with. The lonely days and weeks in the field, when an agent lived on the knife edge of danger, with only his wits and his skills to keep him alive. He couldn't even tell her about the debt he owed Adam Ridgeway, who had personally recruited him for OMEGA.
That debt originated far back in their navy days, when Doc had commanded an underwater demolition team and Adam had flown carrier-based jets. Most of the world assumed the wealthy Bostonian had simply been pulling a well-publicized stint in the military before dabbling in politics. Yet Doc could recall in vivid, minute detail the day his team had come under hostile fire while clearing a mine field in the Persian Gulf. Although low on fuel, Adam had coolly disregarded orders to return to his ship. Single-handedly he'd held the attacking small boats at bay until reinforcements arrived and a rescue halo was able to pluck the demolition team out of danger.
Since the attackers were at that time supposedly U.S. allies, frantic diplomatic efforts had hushed up the incident. All participants were sworn to secrecy. But Doc would never forget those moments when bullets had sliced through the waters all around him and a lone navy jet had repeatedly dived out of the skies overhead.
He couldn't speak of that day to Paige, any more than he could tell her about the missions he'd undertaken since joining OMEGA. Not just because she wasn't cleared for such information. Because he didn't want her to know.
Maybe he'd been wrong to try to shield her, he acknowledged silently, studying her pale, set face. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to protect her. But she symbolized all that was good and pure and innocent in his life. He hadn't wanted to contaminate that purity with what he did for OMEGA.
Not that she looked particularly innocent at this moment, he thought wryly. Not in that blasted pink contraption.
As she stared at his shadowed face, Paige tried desperately to contain her hurt. Even now, even after her brief foray into his world, David wanted to shut her out. To shield her from the man he really was.
Maybe she should let him, she thought with a touch of despair. Maybe she wouldn't even like the unknown David once the layers of his varied identities were peeled back to reveal the man beneath.
No! No! She couldn't spend the rest of her life wondering, unsure of him or herself.
As she grappled with her hurt and confusion, Paige tried to find a way to bridge the gap between the David she knew and the stranger he seemed to be. Maybe, she thought hesitantly, she had to show David a side of herself he'd never seen before he would risk opening those closed, secret compartments of his. Maybe he needed to discover she wasn't all sweetness and light. Maybe she needed to discover it herself.
"Look at me, David," she whispered.
A faint half smile curved his lips. "I'm looking."
She wet her lips.' 'What do you see? Who do you see? Paige? Or Meredith?"
The smile faded.
"Maybe I'm not quite the woman you thought you knew, either." She was. And she wasn't.
Until this moment, Doc had believed he could identify Paige in a crowded room by her scent alone. That he'd explored every nuance of her personality. That he'd discovered all her strengths. Accounted for all her weaknesses.
Yet now, as his gaze slid down her throat to the narrow velvet ribbon that banded it, he saw a tiny vein throbbing just beneath the circlet of black. He'd never noticed that vein before, and he'd sure as hell never felt anything as potent as the raw need that slammed into him as he watched that fluttering pulse.
"Do you want me, David?" Her whisper held a nervous, totally erotic huskiness. "You can have me.. .if you can afford me.''
"What are you talking about?"
"Are you willing to pay for your pleasures?"
Afraid she was going to lose her nerve, Paige turned away. Her eyes sought his rigid figure, reflected in the huge Italian giltwood mirror that hung above the table directly in front of her.
"You can have the woman you see in this mirror," she told his shadowy image. "For a fee."
She stated the staggering figure Henri had suggested just moments ago. At least she hoped it was the figure. The swift narrowing of David's eyes made her fear she might have mixed the numbers up.
For long moments, he didn't move. Didn't speak. Then he moved slightly, and the light from the single lamp illuminated his face.
At the expression in his eyes, Paige felt a sudden tiny dart of sensation. Not fear, exactly. Not apprehension. Just a shivery, nerve-tingling ripple of something similar to it.
He slid one hand into his pants pocket. Without speaking, he tossed a neat fold of notes onto the table. "That should cover it."
Henri would be proud of her, Paige thought wildly. She'd negotiated her contact and even been paid in advance. Or was about to be.
Moving slowly, David came to stand behind her. Her pale hair and bare shoulders gleamed in soft contrast to the stark whiteness of his shirt. The only color in the shadowed scene portrayed in the huge mirror was the deep rose of her bodice. Paige stared at his image in the silvered glass, sure he would say something. Anything.
Instead, he placed his hands on the curve of her waist.
It was such a simple gesture. Such a small touch. But so warm, even through the layers of satin and stiff boning. So firm. So familiar.
This was David, her heart cried. Her David, at least as much of him as he allowed her to possess. She stared at the big, blunt-tipped fingers that shaped her waist, then lifted her eyes to his.
The man who stared back at her wasn't her David, she realized with a shock. His face was taut with a need she'd never seen before. His eyes glittered with an intensity he'd never shown her before. His hands, those strong, safe hands that had caressed her so tenderly in the past, now tightened around her waist like an iron band.
Paige had wanted to discover what lay beneath the assured, loving exterior David had always shown her. She saw it now in the mirror. And her pulse leapt in wild, unfettered response to this stranger's blatant desire.
His fingers splayed downward, following the V-shaped bottom edge of her corset. The taffeta skirt whispered a protest as he spread his hands over her stomach and pressed her back against the rock-hardness of his body.
Then his hands, those sure, strong hands, moved to the bottom hook on the stiff-boned bustier. The hook gave with a soft snicker of sound.
"You're every man's secret fantasy in this thing," he growled, his warm breath stirring the fine hairs at her temple.
The second hook separated, and his hands slid up to the third. "Your waist is so small.''
Unconsciously Paige sucked in her breath to make it even smaller. The third hook gave.
"That pulse in your throat is driving me crazy." He bent and brushed her neck with a kiss. Another hook came open.
"And your breasts, my sweet, seductive Jezebel, your breasts have made me ache with wanting you all night."
The last hook came undone, baring her from the waist up. She kept her arms stiff, her fists buried in her skirt as he eased the stiff corset from between their bodies. It dropped to the carpet, unheeded.
Her breath suspended, Paige watched him watching her. Their images seemed to blur. To merge in the dimness.
Her nipples peaked, either from the cool air or from the fierce masculine hunger in his eyes.
She thought he'd touch her then. She wanted him to touch her. She arched her back a little, offering herself.
Yet when his hands reached for her, they flattened against her midriff. With slow, sure strokes, he soothed the red marks left by the bodice's stiff ribs. His touch
was gentle, so gentle, and erotically possessive.
Then his fingers brushed the underside of one breast, and she shivered.
"David..."
His name on her lips was a sigh. A plea. A promise.
"No, little Jezebel," he told her, bending down to nuzzle her neck once again. "Not yet."
His mouth and teeth and tongue played with the soft skin of her throat. His breath was warm and moist in her ear, his lips were firm. Fires curled in her belly. When she thought she would go wild from wanting more than just his lips, he kissed the spot at the base of her hairline where the tiny chip had been inserted, then moved back half a step.
Paige felt his fingers at the small of her back. The skirt's buttons slipped free, and then the taffeta slithered to a black pool at her feet.
Embarrassed and more than a little shocked by the image in the silvered glass, Paige fought the urge to close her eyes. Never, not even in her most secret fantasies, had she imagined herself standing before David clothed only in sheer black bikini panties, a black lace garter belt, thigh-high stockings and a velvet ribbon around her throat.
His palms planed her hips, her bottom, then slid around to her stomach. One moved up to cup her breast and played with the stiff, throbbing nipple. The other moved down to shape her mound. Paige felt the heat of his hand through her sheer panties.
"Open for me," he ordered softly.
Laying her head back against his shoulder, she eased her legs apart. He tugged the nylon aside, exploring her, preparing her. The pressure of his fingers against her core sent hot, liquid desire spiraling through her loins. She gasped and pressed her bottom back against his rampant arousal.
Was this really her? she wondered wildly. Was she really standing here like a... like a high-class call girl, in diamonds and velvet and black lace, while this shadowy stranger played with her body?
"I told you we might not recognize ourselves when this is all over," David murmured, as if reading her mind.
His fingers probed deeper, and suddenly the thought that a stranger was touching her so intimately frightened her. Suddenly she didn't want to uncover any more of the man in the mirror. She wanted David. Her David.
Undercover Man Page 9
