by Leslie Jones
Lark’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Hooked up, then. What were you working on, hotshot?”
The terrorist incident had been widely publicized, but neither his nor Jace Reed’s involvement had even been hinted at, for good reason. The SpecOps community was a closed one. “I just helped on some minor stuff. Shelby did all the work.”
Lark snorted. “Classified, then. So if we can’t talk about that, tell me of your homeworld, Usul.”
“Pardon?” Trevor’s brow wrinkled. What the hell was she talking about?
Lark laughed. “Dune? Frank Herbert? Ah, never mind. Where were you born. Let’s start there.”
“I was born and raised in Banbury.”
“Keep going.” Lark snapped her fingers several times.
Trevor sighed. “Very well. I’m the oldest of five, with three brothers and two sisters. I come from old money, but without any titles to go along with it like my aunt’s family. Not that I cared, then or now, about such things, but it rankled my father. He tried for years to be knighted, at the very least. As all children of privilege do, I was educated at Eton.”
“Did you like school? Parts of it are boring as hell. Things are just now getting interesting.”
“Some things never change,” he said. “What about you? What are you studying?” Maybe he could turn this around, and get Lark to talk about herself instead.
“Cybersecurity and digital forensics. I did my undergrad in computer science. I could have taught half those classes. This study-abroad thing I’m doing is cool. After I finish the classes, I can do an internship at GCHQ, if I want. But it’s pro forma. Kinda hard for a non-British national to intern and do anything meaningful. Clearances and all.”
“GCHQ?” Shelby asked.
“Government Communications Headquarters,” Trevor said. “The sister organization to your NSA.”
“I figure I’ll go to work for the NSA or FBI when I graduate, as a forensic examiner or something. That sounded interesting.”
“There are jobs in this day and age for ethical hackers,” Trevor said.
Shelby cocked her head. “What happened to wanting to be a reporter?”
“Kinda getting bored with that. Now, quit stalling. You went to Eton. Dropped out of law school.”
So much for that. “Like you, I was bored. And contemptuous of the power-mad group of entitled brats with whom I would work as a barrister.”
Shelby was listening, he saw. It was good that she was curious about him.
“No offense, but you seem pretty straightlaced to me. Except for your tattoo.”
Shelby smiled very slightly. Was it wishful thinking to hope she was remembering tracing the same tattoo with her tongue all those months ago?
Trevor lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “The tattoo was the result of a drunken evening after I . . . was accepted into the job I now hold.”
Lark blew a raspberry. “Which you won’t tell me about.”
“No.”
Lark sat back and picked up her fork. “But I still want to know what a rich boy does to piss off his parents.”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” But Trevor kept talking, aiming his words at Shelby instead of Lark. “I racked up eight speeding tickets on my Ducati and three more in my Jaguar. I got into drunken brawls more often than I’m comfortable admitting to. Although, in my defense, it was several times to defend a woman’s honor.”
Shelby smiled at that. Whew.
“You’re lucky you survived,” she murmured.
She had no idea. Rising, he took their dirty plates to the sink.
“Felons wash all dishes,” Lark said, scraping back her chair. “I’m going to do my freaking homework.”
Shelby followed him into the kitchen.
“Do you still have the number to the hospital? I’d like to check on Floyd.”
Her brows lifted in surprise, but she didn’t say anything as she dialed. A few minutes later, she had an answer. “Floyd is off the critical care ward and expected to make a full recovery. I’m glad he’s not dead, but he’s still a louse.”
“Yes. But he’s a louse we need to talk to.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake? We know what happened. We know what the Bedlamites look like. We even know who’s funneling them money.”
“But we don’t know why. Eric told me he’d fill me in after the job. Then everything went pear-shaped.” He ran water into the sink and added dishwashing soap.
Shelby straightened abruptly. “I’d forgotten till just now. Eric said, ‘Crawley, do it.’ And Crawley asked which one. Eric looked in a notebook and then pointed out the two Shamblet works, and told Crawley to cut them. They specifically targeted the Shamblet paintings.”
Trevor cocked his head. “I know nothing about art. Who is he?”
“He was a prominent artist in pre-war London. One of the great unrecognized surrealists, because he started to smuggle his art out of Great Britain when the Germans started their blitz attacks in 1940. Most of his works have since been recovered, though not necessarily returned to their owners. A number of pieces are in the hands of private collectors, and others have never been found at all.”
“How do you know all this?”
She grabbed a tea towel and started drying the plates Trevor handed her. “I minored in art history in college. I’m not a particular fan of surrealism, but the history of that period is fascinating.”
“Brilliant. So where did he smuggle them to?”
“He was afraid that Germany was going to invade England. He was trying to protect his legacy, but it backfired, because he was killed in an IRA bombing just before the war ended. Art historians spent decades hunting down stolen artworks after World War Two, most of which were stolen by Germans and Austrians. Shamblet sent his works to Switzerland, to a cousin, for safekeeping. The cousin realized how valuable the paintings were, and sold a number of them to museums.”
Trevor grimaced. “Okay, so Shamblet’s paintings ended up all over the world. Can I borrow your laptop? I want to see if his paintings in other countries have been defaced as well.”
“I can do it more easily,” Shelby said. “I was a docent at the Huntsville Museum of Art in college. I still have subscriptions to a number of art-related sites. Plus, I have contacts.”
“I didn’t know that about you.”
She smiled. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Yet.”
She seemed to stop breathing. “It’s late. If we’re going to go talk to Floyd in the morning, we should get some sleep.”
He nodded, disappointed. They returned to the living room. Lark looked up, yawning, and closed her laptop with a snap.
“I beat the midnight deadline by almost forty-five minutes. Go, me.”
“Well done.”
“Yah, it’s easy stuff. I have class in the morning. The prof insists I actually be in the classroom, like I can’t understand the reading without him having to explain it all. I’ll be back by eleven, though.”
“Good. I’d like to visit Floyd Panderson in the hospital after, if you’re up for it.”
“Hells, yeah!”
“Thank you,” Trevor said.
“Hey, partners, remember? Anyway, this is the most fun I’ve had since I found out that footballer was doping.”
He didn’t remember a story breaking on the subject, but he didn’t press. He had no use for so-called athletes who wouldn’t last a day in Army training.
“I’m beat. I’ll see you two in the morning.” Lark gave them a two-fingered salute and disappeared down the hall.
While Shelby used the bathroom, Trevor stripped off his suit and hung it up. He was down to his skivvies, unless he wanted to sleep in his jeans again. He took the pile of linens, folded and set into a corner, and laid them out.
Shelby came back in wearing the same sleep shirt from the night before. Her eyes widened when she saw him. “We should have stopped on the way home to get you some pajamas.”
Her voice sounded husky as she stared at him. He liked her eyes on him.
“I’m good. I’ll just duck into the loo.”
Shelby had wrapped a blanket around herself by the time he returned. He flipped off the lights and padded to his makeshift bed, wishing he could join her on the sofa instead.
“I’m sorry you have to sleep on the floor,” she murmured, stretching out along the cushions.
He chuckled. “Believe me, I’ve slept on worse. It’s carpeted and I have a blanket. Both pluses in my world.”
“You love it, don’t you. What you do. The SAS.”
“Yes.” He’d found a true brotherhood within the SpecOps community. “I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”
She twisted her head around to peer at him. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, arms loosely clasping them, head resting on the side of the sofa. Her eyes traced along his nearly naked body, her mouth parting on a sigh.
“Nothing else?”
“You keep looking at me like that, I’m going to have to do something about it.”
She jerked her gaze away. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. Look as much as you like.”
She didn’t speak for a long moment. “I’m afraid to.”
What could he say to reassure her? For him, it was about so much more than sex. Sex with Shelby had been beyond amazing, but he wanted more. Nothing about their relationship had been easy. And they did have a relationship. As fractured as it had been, they’d managed in the past few days to find a tenuous thread. Even if it took him another ten months, he intended to build on that.
“Look, Shel—” he started.
“Are you going to sit up all night?”
“I’ll catch a nap later.” He wouldn’t be able to sleep with her so near. All he wanted to do was drag her off the couch and kiss her senseless. “Listen, Shel—”
“Then come sit by me,” she whispered.
What? What was going through that head of hers? He shifted around so he could see her more clearly. Did she even realize the invitation her body language was throwing off? “As much as I’d love that, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
Her voice barely carried to him. “Why not?”
How could he explain it? Things had ended so poorly the last time they’d been intimate. He didn’t want her to have regrets again. Run from him again.
“Because if I do, I’ll want to touch you. Kiss you. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
She drew in a deep breath and sat up. “What if I am?”
“Are you?” he asked baldly.
She fell silent. Well, that answered that. He tried to ignore the disappointment clenching in his gut.
“I’m sorry I said what I did, about doing something if you kept looking at me. I won’t.”
She laughed, a surprised burst of sound. “No?”
He imagined her smooth thighs under the T-shirt she wore. “Not unless you’re very sure it’s what you want. And you’re not. See, here’s the thing.”
He stopped. The silence grew thicker as he waged war with himself.
What the hell. If she shot him down again, he’d bleed. But he’d survived it before; he could again, no matter how excruciating the wound.
“I think you’re used to men letting you down. And I can’t promise I’ll never let you down, because I’m human and fallible. But I need you to understand that I’m not just after a shag with you. I want us to really, truly, get to know one another.”
She let the blanket drop as she scooted to the edge of the cushions. “Do you really think I don’t know that? Why do you think I’m scared? If it was just a . . . a shag, that would be easy.”
He blinked in surprise.
“Don’t forget, I read people for a living.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet.
She rested her forearms on her knees as she leaned forward. “I don’t know about men letting me down, but they’ve never done much for me, either.”
“The ex-fiancé. Bruce.”
“For one, yes. He could be demanding, but I thought . . . I thought he was a decent man. Then I found out he wasn’t. And I walked away.”
Should he ask? His gut said to leave it for now. Any moment, she was going to withdraw inside herself and shut him out.
Fuck his gut. “He was more concerned with himself than you, clearly.”
As he had feared, she fell silent.
“Come here,” he said.
Despite the words, it was an invitation, not an order. His heart leapt as Shelby slid from the sofa and crept over to him. He lifted the blanket. She settled her head on his bare chest and soughed out a sigh.
His arm tightened around her waist, snugging her in closer, feeling at peace for the first time in months.
“This is the first time I’ve felt whole since Azakistan.”
It so closely mirrored what he’d been thinking that he lifted his head in surprise. “Me too.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“It’s the truth.” Her scent enveloped him. He dropped his nose to her neck and inhaled deeply. To distract himself, he said, “You were telling me about Bruce.”
She sighed heavily. “Way to kill the mood. I guess I just didn’t know any better with him. The way I was raised . . . you have to understand where I came from. I was a true-blue redneck from Coon Bluff, Alabama. Population sixteen thousand and change.”
He cocked a curious head at her. “Never heard of it.”
“No one has.”
“Do you still have family there?”
“Yeah. My sister and brother.”
“Are you close with them?” Then, “Are your parents still living?”
Shelby shook her head. “My mother died in childbirth when I was very young. My father raised the three of us on his own. But he passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “We weren’t close. Do you know how I got my name?”
“How?”
“He named me after his 1968 Shelby Mustang GT. My older sister is Carol, after Carroll Shelby.”
He smothered a laugh. “And your brother?”
“Named after my father. Roy Macon Gibson Junior.”
“I agree, that sounds very red neck.”
She laughed at his precise diction.
“It sounds as though you didn’t particularly enjoy your childhood.” It was more of a statement than question, but she answered anyway.
“I was a smart-mouthed brunette in a town that worshipped dumb blondes. What does that tell you?”
“That you had a difficult time.” His voice dropped, became soothing.
“Boys dated me just to get close to my best friend, Raeanne Swinney, the head cheerleader. She could twist men around her little finger.”
Trevor said promptly, “You can do that, too.”
She looked surprised. “I can?”
“Didn’t I tell you so in Ma’ar ye zhad?”
“I thought you were just trying to get into my pants.”
“That, too.” He grinned at her. Then he sobered. “Have you . . . ?”
“No,” she said softly. “There’s been no one between you and you.”
“Good,” he said, pleased.
A THRILL SWEPT down her spine. His hand stroked along her hip, but she could feel his restraint. He meant it when he said he wanted more than sex from her.
“It took me a few years to put Coon Bluff behind me,” she admitted. “But I did.”
“That took courage. A lot of people never rise past
their origins.”
“Yeah, well, there wasn’t much for me there. Anything was better, really.”
She didn’t wait to hear what he would say. She was done talking about her family, her childhood. It no longer mattered to her. She brushed her lips along his neck where her face nestled. His hand stilled on her hip.
“Shel—”
“Shh.” She brought her hand up to cup his cheek, turning his head toward her. His lips found her unerringly in the dark, whispering across her mouth until she opened for him, joy rushing through her. She hadn’t ruined things by talking about Bruce. He still wanted her. And she wanted him.
He licked into her mouth, angling his head to deepen the kiss. Both hands speared into her hair, fingers delving into the thick strands. It felt wonderful. She stroked the nape of his neck. He made an approving noise.
“So much better than talking,” she whispered.
“Fuck, yeah.”
His needy tone made her laugh. “I agree. Fuck, yeah.”
She caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged gently. He immediately captured her lips again, mouth open and hot as his tongue tangled with hers. His breathing grew ragged.
“I love your mouth. You have one hell of a sexy mouth.”
Before she could formulate a response, he licked over her jaw to the shell of her ear. She shuddered at the explosion of sensation. Who knew ears could be such an erogenous zone? She ran her fingers lightly across his collarbone, reveling in the silky skin over hard muscle. He radiated heat. She pushed herself closer to his warmth.
“I guess we could both sleep on the floor,” she said. “We won’t both fit on the sofa. If it’s okay, that is. Would you mind holding me tonight?”
“Well, it’s quite the imposition,” he murmured. “But I suppose I could force myself to endure it.”
She laughed. “Thank you. I appreciate your sacrifice.”
“Any time.”
She cuddled back into his chest, throwing an arm across his body. Purely by accident, her hand slid down his ribs to rest on his hipbone, her wrist brushing against the erection straining against his shorts. It had been an accident, right?
“Ungh,” he said. In an instant, he had her flat on her back beneath him, leg thrown across hers. She felt him, hard and heavy, against her hip.
