by Lauren Bach
He looked...achingly gorgeous. Every bit the suave, handsome secret agent, a seducer of women in a black tux that fit him like a dream. Bond. James Bond. Her heart skipped a beat, then another, as time skidded to an uneven, unstable, stop.
Too late she realized she was gawking and struggled to withdraw her hand from his.
Grey tightened his grip, refusing to free her. Without taking his eyes from hers, he slowly brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her fingers. She looked elegant, ethereal. And more aloof by the moment. Had he imagined the flash of desire in her eyes?
No matter. He’d broken through her defenses before, he’d do it again. But this time he’d do it gently.
He turned to Tess’ dance partner. “May I cut in? We’re old friends.”
Jack looked deferentially at Tess. “You know him?”
She nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Jack. About dinner,” she promised, as Grey tugged her away.
“Dinner?” Grey arched an eyebrow.
She ignored his tone and his question, careful to keep her own voice low, modulated. “What are you doing here? This is a closed function.”
“I needed to see you.”
A lump formed in her throat. God, what she would have given to hear those words weeks ago. On those nights when the grief and loneliness felt unbearable. When doubt threatened to drown her.
She blinked back tears, leaning heavily on her pride. She knew exactly what prompted Grey’s visit. And it hurt.
“Barry sent you, didn’t he?” she asked.
“Does it matter? I should have been here a long time ago.”
The floor was crowded, the music just loud enough to mute their words. Tucking her hand near his heart, he let his thighs brush hers. “You look lovely, Tess.” Too lovely, he thought. There wasn’t a man in the room who hadn’t looked at her without lustful thoughts. Or wishful thoughts.
Grey drew her closer still, a predator openly marking territory. She was his. The soft scent of roses teased his senses, as potent as an ancient aphrodisiac.
A glutton for punishment he pressed his mouth close to her ear. She jumped slightly.
“Relax,” he murmured. “I won’t bite.”
Relax, she thought. Impossible. She felt his breath on her neck, remembered the feel of his lips there. Heat radiated from his body, causing every cell in hers to tremble in response. Her hypersensitive breasts felt even heavier, her nipples tightening almost painfully. Something inside melted, low. Dangerous.
She noticed the looks they were starting to receive, knew Grey held her too tight. She tried to pull back. “This isn’t the place,” she began.
Damn straight, he thought. The only place for her was his bed. A hundred shimmering images of her flashed through his mind, some memory, some illusion. In fantasies he’d explored all the territory they’d yet to chart.
He released a low growl. “We need a private place to talk.”
She misstepped, her hip bumping his as she struggled to keep her voice from fracturing. “I was told not to discuss the case.”
“I don’t mean the case. I mean us.”
Us? Tess’ heart squeezed as she let her guard down. Did he mean it?
Seeing him again, being held in his arms, the solid, easy way he moved, evoked a host of sensual, uneasy, memories. Lust struck like lightning. Brilliant. Hot. Luring her with flashes of selective recall. Grey had been a magnificent lover, seeing to her pleasure before his own. He’d taught her what he liked; had encouraged her boldness in discovering her own preferences.
Her hand drifted across his chest, edging beneath his jacket, her greedy fingers tracing the strong line of muscle, remembering. She wanted to believe...
Then her knuckles brushed his shoulder holster. Bitter reality washed over her, blotting out hope. Reminding her that Grey could wield seduction like a deadly weapon; that she was merely a target being sighted in the crosshairs.
“You’re wearing a gun.” She tried to back away.
His fingers tightened at her waist, keeping her tethered. Captive. “I’m always armed, Tess. It’s part of the job.”
Get used to it, he wanted to say. He glanced around the room, spotted the door leading to the balcony. “Let’s go outside.”
Not wanting to draw more attention to them, Tess nodded.
The balcony was deserted, but Grey sought out the darkest corner anyway. “About us,” he started.
“There is no us.”
He drew close, cupping her face in his hands. She was wrong and he wanted to prove it. To her. To him.
She made a noise, a tiny intake of air as he lowered his mouth to hers. Desire shuddered through him as he held her immobile, his lips dancing lightly across hers, tasting, teasing. This thing that was between them hit a flash point. He could feel it in the uneven tempo of his pulse. In the yearning that raked his skin.
She drew another breath and Grey’s tongue swept hotly into her mouth. She opened fully, her hands encircling his neck, her fingers spearing through his hair. Just like before.
But different. A point he wanted to drive home.
Grey’s mouth left hers, trailing down her neck. “Say my name,” he commanded in a throaty whisper. He wanted no ghosts between them, no memory of another touching her, kissing her...even if that other was him. Dallas.
She whimpered, resisting.
“My name, damn it.” His teeth grazed the sensitive skin at the crook of her neck.
“Grey.” The word was an anguished cry.
He sealed his lips over hers, claiming victory. He had her pinned against the railing, knew she could feel his heavy arousal.
The memory of making love to her made him grow even harder. He wanted to feel her hands grip him tightly before he buried himself deep inside her--
The doors behind them opened.
Grey abruptly stepped away, keeping a hand on her arm to steady her.
“Easy, I got you,” he soothed. “Pretend we’re discussing the auction.”
Tess blinked, reaching for the railing, trying to calm her breathing. The auction?
How could he go from kissing like that to pretending they were discussing art?
The same way he’d chameleoned from Grey to Dallas. He was doing a job. He was still doing a job. Today’s assignment was convincing her to testify.
She was a colossal fool. She’d spent the last weeks trying to bury her memories, forget what passed between them. And in the space of fifteen minutes he’d brought it all back.
Her eyes swept over him. All the things she’d struggled to forget -- that dimple, those quicksilver eyes, the way he kissed -- rushed forward, leaving her aching and unsure. Her pulse thudded low in her abdomen, reminding her of something else.
She was pregnant with this man’s child.
Dizziness assailed her.
She’d been sick enough the past week to recognize the symptoms. She was going to be ill. She panicked, moving away.
“Excuse me,” Tess said. “There’s someone... I need--”
She was shaking. Grey grew concerned. He knew his presence here tonight had surprised her. He also knew the kiss they’d just shared had affected her. But this? She’d lost color, as if she’d seen a ghost.
Or been frightened.
His eyes quickly scanned the ballroom, senses alert, but he spotted nothing unusual. He focused on her again.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
Nodding to the other couple on the balcony, Tess headed toward the relative safety of the ballroom, praying no one approached her, knowing Grey couldn’t stop her once she was lost in the crush of the people.
Grey watched her work her way across the crowded room. Her I’ll be back rang false. He knew why. Christ, he’d practically attacked her out here. Smooth move. He’d give her a few moments to pull herself together, then he’d go after her. Apologize. Again.
But Tess didn’t stop in the ballroom. She made a bee-line for
the door. She was leaving.
Swearing, Grey hurried after her.
* * *
Tess slipped into the private suite that was adjacent to the ballroom.
Feeling too warm, she quickly peeled off her beaded jacket, dropping it on the floor as she rushed toward the wet bar in the center of the room. She turned on the tap, slid her wrists beneath the cold water.
She heard the door open and close. Glancing back, she saw Grey striding toward her. “How did you get in here?”
He picked up her jacket, tossed it aside. “You left the door unlocked. Why didn’t you tell me you felt ill?”
Moving deliberately, he wet some towels, wringing them out before placing them on the back of her neck. She looked ready to faint.
The cold compress felt divine against her flushed skin. “It’s nothing. Please leave.”
“And let you hit the floor?” He watched her intently.
Tess squirmed, feeling more awful by the second. “You don’t need to do this.”
“I want to help.”
Help? Then go away. Let her protect their child. A child he had the right to know about...
The thought made her stomach lurch even worse.
Oh God... She was going to throw up. Right now.
She scrambled to push past him, frantic to make it to the bathroom in time.
“Hold on.” Two steps ahead of her, Grey shoved open the door and helped her inside.
Wrenching free, she shut the door in his face just before growing violently ill. She wept with embarrassment knowing Grey was right outside.
He knocked on the door. “Tess, let me help you.”
“Go away. I don’t need--” Another bout of sickness interrupted her.
Grey pressed against the door, finding it locked. Now she decides to lock doors.
He rapped on the door, harder this time. “You okay in there?”
Tess drew a deep breath, no longer feeling as if she’d vomit from merely breathing. She turned on the water, rinsed her mouth. “Yes, I’m fine.”
A heavy sigh preceded his words. “I’m not leaving, so you might as well come out. Like it or not, you’re going to have to face me.”
She wanted to scream with frustration but didn’t have the energy. Straightening her clothes, she opened the door. But her light-headedness had settled in her knees. When she swooned, Grey caught her, carrying her to the couch.
She was too woozy to protest. And humiliated. Tears prickled the back of her eyes. She blinked rapidly holding them back. She’d gotten sick -- practically right in front of him -- then she’d nearly fainted. The last thing she wanted to do was start crying.
She had her eyes closed when Grey returned with more wet paper towels. Very gently he draped them across her forehead, inspecting her closely. Her pallor concerned him. Pressing two fingers to her wrist, he found her pulse to be practically nonexistent.
He expected her to be stressed and nervous over the upcoming trial. And it was obvious that seeing him again upset her. But to be sick? Faint? Something about this episode didn’t make sense.
“How long have you been feeling like this?”
“Since you showed up.” On a star-studded Montana night.
Because there was no putting off the inevitable, and because it was easier to face Grey then to face the memories of Dallas, she opened her eyes and struggled to sit up.
He caught her by the shoulders keenly aware of her evasiveness. “Stay down. You still look green.”
“Thank you, Dr. Haynes. Or Dr. Thomas.” She scrambled to cover her vulnerability with sarcasm.
Grey knelt directly in front of her, picked up her hands. “I’m not trying to upset you, Tess. I just want to talk. Not about the case,” he clarified. “Though at some time we do need to -- in context to us and what happened in Montana.”
His words tempted, until she remembered he was only here because Barry Neilson had sent him.
“I know what happened in Montana. Stockholm Syndrome. My reaction to you was classic. Hostage grows fond of and sympathizes with her captors. I’m told ours is a textbook example.” She softened her tone. “I’m also aware you were doing a job. Playing a role. You still are.”
Grey pressed a kiss to her hand. What transpired between them was more than hostage/captor syndrome. He knew it. And judging by the torment in her eyes, she knew it, too. The problem was determining what, if anything, they could do about it.
“This hasn’t been easy for either one of us, Tess. Yes, I’m here at Barry’s request, but with a very selfish hidden agenda.” He pressed yet another kiss to her hand.
The feel of his lips on her palm rocked Tess, confirming a truth she’d tried hard to deny. She still wanted this man.
She tried to move away, to get some distance as twin bolts of pain collided in her temple. She pressed two fingers to her forehead and started rubbing. “I’m scared of testifying,” she blurted.
Grey straightened, gently easing her back against the slanted arm of the couch. When she didn’t resist, he slid onto the opposite end of the couch and pulled her feet across his lap. Tugging off her shoes, he started rubbing the ball of her foot.
“Do you realize if you refuse to testify or deny the statements you made under oath in your deposition are true, you can be prosecuted for perjury?” He kept his voice low, his eyes diverted as he stroked the knotted muscles of her foot. He pressed his thumbs expertly along the inside edge of her instep. “Or possibly jailed for contempt of court?”
Tess peered at him in disbelief. She hadn’t considered either possibility. “Isn’t there enough evidence to put them away without me? What about the other women they kidnapped?”
“This is the murder trial. They’re not involved. You’re the only eyewitness who can tie Bogen and Snake to Matt Michaels’ death.”
She knew that. Someone else did, too.
She shivered, recalling the letter she’d received. Testify and you die.
If she told Grey about the note, would he help her? Would he go to the prosecutor and explain, intercede on her behalf?
She hated her own fearfulness in this situation. Especially since her decision not to testify ran contrary to her deepest, inner convictions. Damn it, she did want to see Bogen and Snake punished. But not at the expense of her child’s safety.
She watched Grey from beneath lowered lashes, debating. Did she dare trust this man again?
“I got something in the mail,” she began.
Grey’s hand stopped. “What?”
She told him about the note. “Now do you see why I can’t testify?”
Grey’s blood pressure raised. He had received a similar threat, which wasn’t unusual in his line of work. Tess receiving one was another matter. He knew how to take care of himself. She didn’t. And Bogen had a lot of friends in subterranean places who owed him favors.
“When did the letter arrive? Did you keep the envelope?”
She nodded. Grey caught her chin, held her eyes. “This is serious, Tess. I have to tell Barry.”
“Why? What can he do? It was anonymous.”
“For starters, he’ll arrange protective custody.”
“No!” The last thing she wanted was to have her freedom curtailed again. She looked pleadingly at Grey. “If I agree to testify, will you forget I told you about the letter?”
“I can’t look the other way. The risk these men pose is real. You can’t imagine what they’re capable of, Tess. They’re dangerous and desperate. A lethal combination. And they don’t make idle threats.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Grey sighed. This was exactly why a cop wasn’t supposed to get personally involved with a case. Objectivity.
He looked away, torn between his personal feelings for her and his professional instincts. Why did it seem that all the right choices put him at odds with her?
Like it or not, he had to do what was right, even if it ran counter to her wishes. Damn, he didn’t want to be cast in that position again.
“I’m sorry, Tess...”
* * *
Grey made contact with Barry Neilson, who started the arrangements for Tess to enter protective custody.
Within the hour two more FBI agents arrived at the Marsh Manhattan, and she was taken to another hotel, checked in under an assumed name. A temporary move.
She noticed that Grey hadn’t left her side since calling Barry. Was his increased attentiveness due to guilt? Or a misplaced sense of responsibility?
He struck her as the responsible type, which reinforced her decision to keep the news of her pregnancy secret. She didn’t want to add to his sense of obligation, didn’t want her baby to be a burden to anyone.
He remained close while she gave a statement regarding the threat she’d received. Someone was dispatched to retrieve the actual letter though no one expected it to yield clues.
“What happens now?” she asked when she and Grey were finally alone.
“You’ll be taken to a safe house until the trial.” Maybe longer, Grey thought, knowing they would reassess the threat after she testified. “You’ll be kept under guard twenty-four, seven.”
Tess shut her eyes, thinking back to her plans of that morning, her intention to spend a few days in the city.
The trial wasn’t even scheduled for another couple weeks. She was once more a hostage. Of the system. “It feels like I’m a prisoner. Like I’m being punished when I’ve done nothing wrong.”
He took her hand. It was an awful truth, and platitudes wouldn’t help. But he found himself offering them just the same. “Try not to look at it that way. Granted, you won’t be able to come and go as you please, but you’ll have access to movies, books, TV. Maybe the Internet. And they’ll make arrangements to collect a few of your personal belongings from your house.”
Tess looked around the hotel room. It reminded her that she hadn’t been home -- her home in Boston -- since before her abduction. As much as she’d felt stifled at the Hamptons, at least it had been familiar. The thought of going somewhere unfamiliar and being surrounded by more strangers was unsettling.
She looked at Grey. “Will you be close by?”
The disconsolation in her eyes tore at him. “No. But I’ll keep in touch this time, I promise. Once you’re settled you’ll be able to make and receive certain calls. You’ll be briefed on security protocols.”
