Seducing the Colonel's Daughter: Seducing the Colonel's DaughterThe Secret Soldier

by Jennifer Morey

  Pursing her lips tightly with the rise of temper, she left her tea on the counter and stomped to the front of the store. She jerked the first blinds open. When she reached for the second one, his fingers slid around her wrist and stopped her. His touch along with his nearness kept her from yanking away.

  “We’ll leave one open,” he compromised.

  She watched his lips form the raspy words, disarming the rest of her temper. Those gray eyes held hers with heat that he tried to subdue with a slow blink, telling her he also felt the chemistry mixing between them. Slipping her wrist free, she went to a box of unpacked books and struggled to regain composure.

  Cullen followed, setting his cup of tea on a table between two Victorian chairs in front of a gas fireplace. She tried to convince herself this was no big deal. So her rescuer was here in her bookstore. Did she have to fall all over him? No. Did she want to? No.

  Yeah, right. She sneaked a look at his tall, cut body.

  “I was surprised when I heard you were opening a bookstore,” he said without looking at her. He was opening another box of books.

  “Why?”

  “You decided to give up your career?”

  She stilled in the act of pulling some biographies from a box. “I didn’t give up.”

  “I meant,” he amended, “not many people could come back from what you went through and start their own business.”

  She straightened from the box and began slipping biographies on a shelf. “You’re in Roaring Creek, Cullen. Don’t act like I’ve invested in a franchise.”

  He moved closer to her and put some books on the shelf. “It doesn’t have to be a franchise.”

  She let go of the last biography and slid her gaze to him. “Doesn’t it?”

  “I only wondered why a bookstore.”

  “I gave up an exciting hydrogeology career to open a boring old bookstore in a little mountain town. Do you think that’s taking a step backward?”

  “No. I think you took that job in Afghanistan to prove something to your father.”

  She flinched at his accurate assessment.

  He half grinned. “It doesn’t take much to see it, Sabine. When he was young, he was never around, used your mother, had a thing for thrills. It made you feel unwanted.”

  Swallowing, she faced the biographies. “That isn’t important to me anymore.”

  “Your father’s changed since then.”

  Grunting her cynicism, Sabine bent to the box of books, a jerky, awkward movement. Why did what he say bother her so much? It wasn’t important to her what her father thought or felt. And she was living for herself now, not anyone else. This bookstore proved it.

  Cullen opened another box. Her first glance turned into another. It was the one that contained some of her Pulitzer prize winners. Her favorites. And his hands were on them. Trying to ignore what that did to her, she put more biographies on the shelf.

  “They go on the shelf by author name,” she said.

  “I’ve been in bookstores before,” he answered.

  She couldn’t resist a sassy remark. “For what? G.I. Joe books?”

  He laughed once and not very loud.

  “Playboy?” She placed another biography on the shelf, sending him a slanted look as he carried a few books to the shelf beside her.

  “The last time I bought one of those I was sixteen years old and nervous about a date with the first girl I ever slept with.” His voice was deadpan, but she knew he was only playing along with her.

  “Did it help?” she teased, even though she was actually curious.

  He put a few books on the top shelf, calm as could be. “You ought to know.”

  She slid another book into place. “You weren’t that good.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  She looked at him and saw his lopsided grin in profile. “I didn’t make any noise.”

  “The fact you don’t remember says it all.”

  What had she done? Moaned? She didn’t think she’d cried out...then she did remember...she had.

  “Don’t make fun of that. It isn’t funny.” She slid the last biography onto the shelf and didn’t move her hand from the spine. Just stared at it while her heart filled with feelings she did not want.

  “I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  He stacked the shelf with a few more books. After a moment, she joined him.

  “You’ve got some good books in here,” he said, holding up a book by John Kennedy Toole between them.

  “How would you know?”

  “I read this one.” He glanced up at the shelf. “I’ve read a lot of these.”

  “You read A Confederacy of Dunces?” She put her hands on the edge of a shelf level with her face and she stared at him.

  “Twice.” He smiled, continuing to stack the shelf.

  She didn’t know what to say around her surprise. And that smile was disarming.

  “I like the author’s view of people and society.”

  “He hated them.”

  “He understood their idiosyncrasies. Too well. It’s a shame he committed suicide,” he said.

  Her curiosity got the better of her. “What other books have you read?”

  Lowering his hands, he shrugged and turned in two little steps to face her. “A little of everything. The classics. Action or adventure. Thrillers. I like nonfiction, too.”

  “For a knuckle dragger you sure are well-read.”

  A chuckle rumbled from him. “I started reading a lot when I was in college.”

  “When did you have time to read?”

  “I made time. I like to read.”

  It seemed so unlike him. “What happened that you ended up working as a mercenary?”

  “I’m not a mercenary.”

  “How do you know my father, then? Why did he hire you?”

  His expression closed and she knew they’d reached an area he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, talk about. Disappointed, angry for being disappointed, because that meant she actually cared, she went to a box and got a few more books, jamming them into place on a shelf.

  “Your father and I are just friends,” he said.

  “All his friends have secret lives. It makes perfect sense.”

  “Would you rather the whole town knew I was here and destroy everything I’ve worked for?”

  Finished with the books, she folded her arms and cocked her head. “If it would help me get rid of you, sure. But somehow I don’t think that’s what would happen.”

  “You probably like it that I’m trapped in this bookstore.”

  “I didn’t invite you here.”

  He stared at her a long time, unable or unwilling to argue. It was enough to tell her what had driven him to come to Roaring Creek. She straightened her head as memory rushed forward, taking her back to the pension, to the way he’d held her while she cried, the way he’d gradually responded to her kisses. His gentleness. His skin against hers.

  As if sharing the memory, his eyes began to smolder with hunger. Undercurrents fired between them. She itched to pull him against her.

  “I didn’t need an invitation,” he said. His raspy voice touched a place in her that hadn’t been touched since Kárpathos.

  She struggled against the temptation to let down her guard. “You make it sound as if that night in Greece meant something.”

  “Didn’t it?”

  Oh, it was getting warm in here. Her hands tightened on her arms where they were folded. “I thought guys like you didn’t get tangled in long relationships.”

  “Is that what you want? A relationship?”

  “Have you ever had a relationship with a woman?”

  He half laughed. “Of course.”

  “What qualif
ies as a relationship to you? A one-night stand?”

  “No. One that lasts at least a few months.”

  That she hadn’t expected. “When’s the last time you had one of those?”

  “In college.”

  “You’re thirty-five. Don’t you ever want to get married?”

  “Maybe. Someday.”

  Maybe. But it wasn’t important enough to make him worry much. Kárpathos hadn’t been important enough. It had been important enough to make him want to protect her, but not enough for a real relationship. That hurt. Annoyed by her reaction, not wanting to start having fantasies of him in a relationship with her, she resumed stacking the shelf.

  “What about you?”

  She didn’t turn to look at him. “We’re finished with this conversation.”

  “It’s only fair that you answer the same questions you asked me...and I answered.”

  The mischievous glint in his eyes said he was enjoying this.

  “All right, what do you want to know?” she asked.

  He braced his hand on the shelf, leaning closer, eyes glowing. “When’s the last time you had a relationship?”

  “Last year.”

  “How long did it last? Who was he?” He didn’t seem so mischievous now. He looked...jealous. No, it couldn’t be that.

  But she smiled and said, “Almost a year. He was another geologist.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “I liked him. A lot.”

  “Why did it end between you?”

  “I realized I didn’t love him.”

  He took his time responding. “Do you ever want to get married?”

  “Of course.”

  “When?”

  “When I fall in love.”

  The bookstore grew uncomfortably quiet. Cullen looked as if she’d said something frightening...and she felt she had.

  A knock interrupted them. Sabine was grateful for it and started to go answer the back door. Cullen stopped her with his hand on her upper arm. She followed to where she could see into the office and watched him ask who it was.

  “Noah,” the voice answered.

  Realizing she wasn’t disappointed to learn he was here, Sabine gritted her teeth.

  * * *

  Cullen let Noah inside with a wary glance at Sabine. She looked like a tightly wound spring, the reaction to seeing her father compounded by her earlier mention of love. The way she’d said it kept ringing through his head. He was still fighting a cold sweat. Love? With Sabine, there’d be nothing comfortable about it. He’d lose himself in her. The very thing that had destroyed his father.

  He caught the way Sabine watched Noah as he came farther into the office. She seemed wary and stiff, but the animosity he’d seen in her before was missing. Maybe she was starting to see that Noah wasn’t the dishonorable man she’d once perceived.

  “Did you find something?” she asked her father.

  He nodded grimly. “More about Isma’il.” He looked at Cullen. “I think his reason for kidnapping Sabine and Samuel had something to do with emeralds.”

  “What makes you think that?” Cullen asked. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

  “When we found some villagers to question, none of them could identify the men in the pictures, but they were able to confirm Isma’il took over an emerald mine by force and was paying someone to fly gems to a dealer in

  Peshawar, Pakistan.”

  “You think Isma’il was smuggling gems into Peshawar? How is that linked to Sabine’s kidnapping?”

  “Someone must have crossed him. I’m guessing that someone is one or both of the men in that photo. And Aden might have known them.” He looked at Sabine. “Did you know about the emerald mines when you were working there?”

  Slowly, as if struggling to absorb it all, she nodded. “Everyone did. But we were there to assess groundwater conditions, not the potential mineral resources of the area.”

  “So no one had any reason to suspect Aden may have been working with Isma’il? Samuel never said anything?”

  At Noah’s question, Sabine’s eyes took on that haunted look. She shook her head. “Nothing significant.”

  “He must have known what Aden was up to. And if he hadn’t been kidnapped, Aden might have tried to kill him anyway.” Noah looked at Cullen. “One of the villagers my men questioned was a friend of Isma’il’s. He said Isma’il met Aden on a regular basis. They were doing business together.”

  Sabine made a choked sound and that haunted look intensified.

  “I’m sorry, Sabine,” Noah said to her. “I know this is hard for you.”

  She shook her head unsteadily. “No...I’m all right.”

  Cullen didn’t believe that. She was terribly upset. While he could understand that, he had a feeling something more bothered her.

  “Did your captors ever say anything about the emerald mines?” Noah asked. “Did they bring up Aden’s name at all?”

  She didn’t seem to hear the question, just stared at some point between him and Noah.

  “Sabine?”

  Her eyes moved to look at Noah.

  He repeated his question, and Cullen wondered what had her so spooked.

  “No,” she finally said.

  Noah’s mouth pressed in a grim line as he looked from Sabine to Cullen. “The only other person who can tell us anything about Aden is missing.”

  “Who?”

  “My secretary. She’s been gone for a few days now. I’m sorry, Cullen. You were right. I had Cindy’s house searched and found copies of handwritten notes about your mission in an envelope addressed to her. If Aden was working with Isma’il, he could have persuaded her to give him the information and then threatened her to keep quiet.”

  Cullen’s jaw tensed and his fists tightened with the thought of the men who’d lost their lives because of Noah’s secretary. “How did you know it was her?”

  “A reporter coerced Sabine to do the Current Events interview by agreeing not to expose her rescuer. Aden must have decided his mole talking to the press was too much of a risk, even with his threats.”

  Cullen didn’t miss the revelation that Sabine had done the interview to protect him. It reached into his heart and warmed him. “So he makes her disappear before anyone can talk to her.”

  “And tries to kill Sabine in case she pieces together something damaging about her kidnapping.”

  “There has to be more,” Sabine said. “Aden is afraid of more than being linked to my kidnapping.”

  “I’d have to agree,” Noah said. “And those men in that photo might tell us what that is.”

  “Odie is working on that,” Cullen said.

  Noah nodded. “I’ll let you know when I find out more.” He started toward the door, stopping when he reached it to look back at Sabine. “Mae is cooking dinner tomorrow night. Will you be there?”

  That snapped Sabine to attention. She straightened. “She didn’t tell me.”

  “She asked me to let you know.” He looked at his daughter with a silent message in his eyes. He was trying to make inroads with her.

  Sabine’s eyes hardened, her defenses building again.

  “What time should we be there?” Cullen asked, earning a narrow-eyed glare from Sabine.

  Noah looked relieved. “Six o’clock.” With one more hopeful glance at Sabine, he left. The office door closed behind him, leaving Cullen alone with her.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, marching back into the bookstore.

  Following, he deliberately ignored her mood. “There’s something you aren’t telling me about Aden.”

  She stopped, folding her arms in a defiant stance. He moved in front of her, unable to help noticing how her arms plumped her breasts.

&nbs
p; “Yeah? Well, how does it feel?” she asked.

  He’d take a little sass from her, considering what she’d learned today. “Do you know something that will help us end this?”

  She put one leg forward, hips cocked. “Tell me your last name.”

  “McQueen.”

  Silence. He knew he’d just surprised her with his quick reply. Actually, he’d surprised himself.

  “Are you lying?” she finally asked.

  Fearing his heart was going to overrule his better judgment this time, he answered anyway. “No. My name is Cullen McQueen. I have a house in Virginia. My uncle lives in Montana. He owns a ranch there. That’s where I was before I came here.”

  Her fingers relaxed where they curved over her arms, and her eyes softened. “Not married. No kids,” she said in an intimate whisper.

  She transported him back to Kárpathos, when they’d said the same words to each other. Except this time the meaning went so much deeper. Last time she’d said it to mock him. Now it told him she felt he was giving her more of him. Not keeping so many secrets. It was a dangerous path for him to follow. In more ways than one.

  “Not married. No kids,” he said in return.

  Her eyes softened further, and he let himself fall into her gaze for a while.

  “I saw Aden meet with a man just before we were kidnapped,” she said, that haunted look returning, growing stronger with each passing second. “I saw only the back of the man’s head.”

  Cullen waited for her to continue.

  “I keep having dreams of a monster who does terrible things. In the dream, I see the back of the monster’s head. When he turns, his face becomes Isma’il’s.”

  It supported what Noah had just told them. “I’m sorry, Sabine.” If there was a way he could take away the pain that must cause her, he would.

  “I didn’t want it to be true,” she said.

  Anguish gave her voice a quiver. But she held herself together. It couldn’t be easy knowing the man she’d watched kill Samuel was friendly with her employer, that her employer had known all along the reason they were kidnapped, that it could have been prevented. Maybe Sabine even thought she could have done something, had she only known whom Aden had met the day she’d seen him.