The door clicked. Then clicked twice more as Troy secured all of the locks, sealing her inside with him.
Hillary shot to her feet and charged over to the panoramic window, suddenly claustrophobic and needing to embrace the open space of the outside. “I can’t believe I was such an idiot.”
Troy walked up beside her, hands stuffed in his tuxedo pockets. He didn’t look surprised. And why not? He’d been playing her from the start.
“Damn you, Troy Donavon.” She smacked her palm on the glass. “I was kicking myself for falling for your act on the plane. I knew better than to trust you, and still I bought into your line of bull only a few hours later. You must have been laughing the whole time at how gullible I was.”
“Hey, I’m the good guy. There’s nothing wrong with your instincts.” Broken stirrer in hand, he tapped the glass right by her hand. “And I can promise I was never laughing at you. I just wanted to keep you safe.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “How are you a good guy? I’m working with the colonel to get myself out of trouble because of a stupid choice I made in who I trusted. If the colonel’s coercing you to be here as well, that isn’t exactly a vote of confidence for the man to keep me safe.”
“Let’s just say he’s a friend and he needed my help—all of which I’m sure he will confirm.” Troy leaned closer, the heat of him reaching out to her in the air-conditioned suite. “When I saw you and realized what you were walking into, I thought you could use some… reinforcements.”
“But you lied to me. Again, after the auction.” And that hurt, too much for someone she’d just met. “On the dance floor, and every second on the balcony when you didn’t tell me you knew why I’m here. When you kissed me. You lied by not explaining you’re here for the same reason. You played me for a fool.”
His deep green gaze glinted with so much sincerity it hurt. “I wasn’t playing you, and I never, never thought you were foolish. My only concern from the second I saw you on the plane has been protecting you from any fallout.”
“And seducing me? Is that part of protecting me?” The memory of his kiss steamed through her so tangibly she could swear it might fog the window.
He stepped closer. “Protecting you and being attracted to you don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
She pressed a hand to his chest to stop him, that damn silk scarf of his teasing her fingers, making her burn to tug him even nearer. “Doesn’t that break some kind of code of ethics?”
“I’m not a cop or detective or military guy or even a James Bond spy.” He tossed aside the broken drink stick he’d been holding and pressed his hand over hers. “So, no. Seducing you doesn’t interfere with my ethics.”
“You’re just…what? Please do explain.” She stared into his eyes, hoping to find some window into his soul, some way to understand what was real about this whole crazy evening with him.
“I’m a concerned citizen with the power to help out, as you are.” His voice rang true, but there was a cadence to his answer that sounded too practiced. There had to be something more to his story, to why he was here. But from the set of his jaw, clearly he didn’t intend to tell her.
“Then why did you kiss me?” To have that toe-curling moment tainted was just the final slap.
“Because I wanted to. I still do.” He didn’t lean in, but his fingers curved around hers until their hands were linked. The connection between them crackled all over again, even without the kiss.
God, what was wrong with her?
She snatched her hand away. “Well, that’s damn well never going to happen again.” She backed away from him and his too-tempting smile. “Would you please set up your computer while I change? We have work to do. I would like to finish as fast as possible so we can say goodbye to each other and to this whole horrible mess.”
* * *
Hillary locked herself in the spare bedroom and sagged back against the six-paneled door. Crystal knob in hand, she propped herself up. But just barely.
As if the day hadn’t promised to be stressful enough, she’d been blindsided by Troy again and again.
She scanned the room, her temporary sanctuary with flock fleur-de-lis wallpaper and a dark mahogany bed. Whereas the sitting area had been wide-open with a wall of windows, this room was heavily curtained, perfect for sleeping or curling up in a French, art deco chaise by the fireplace.
For now, she needed to focus on her suitcase, which rested on an antique luggage rack at the end of the carved four-poster bed. She pitched her clutch bag on the duvet and sifted through what she’d packed for something appropriate to wear. What did a person choose for an evening with a guy she wanted, but needed to hold at arm’s length? Confidently casual, with a hint of sparkle for her bruised pride—
Her phone vibrated inside her clutch, sending the purse bouncing along the mattress. She raced to grab the cell—and saw her sister Claudia’s phone number.
Claudia had stayed in Vermont with her husband and her three kids, where she taught school and watched out for their mother. Her older sister was the “perfect” person, the strong one who met life on her own terms. She never hid from anything or anyone. She admired her sister and her ability to let go of the past enough to move smoothly into her own future.
Claudia would have never been fooled by someone like Barry.
Hillary thumbed the on button. “Hello, Claudia.”
“Is that all you have to say? Hello, Claudia?” her sister said with more humor than worry. “Hillary Elizabeth Wright, why haven’t you returned all seven of my calls?”
She tucked the phone under her chin and unzipped the side of her evening gown. “I’ve only been gone a day. There’s no need to freak out.”
“And what a day you’ve had, sister,” Claudia said, pausing for what sounded like a sip of her ever-present Diet Coke. “You should have told me.”
“Told you what?” She shimmied down her dress and kicked it to the side in a pool of black satin.
“That you know Troy Donavan—the Troy Donavan, Robin Hood Hacker, billionaire bad boy.”
Hillary stopped halfway stepping into her jeans. “What are you talking about? I don’t know him.”
Now who was quibbling with the truth? But she needed to stall and gather her thoughts.
“Then you have a doppelganger, because there are photos of you with him all over the media. Your Google numbers are through the roof.”
Oh great.
Of course they were. She should have known. She yanked her pants on the rest of the way. “I just met him earlier today.”
Was it only one day?
“Nuh-uh, sister dear. That story’s not flying. He bid a hundred thousand dollars for a weekend with you?”
“Eighty-nine-thousand dollars, if you want to be technical.” She tugged on a flowy pink poet’s shirt. “The reporters must have rounded up.”
“Eighty. Nine. Thousand. Dollars. Ho-lee crap. I can’t get my husband to foot the bill for a waffle cone at the ice-cream shop.”
“Billy’s a great guy and you’ve been head over heels for him since you sat beside him in sophomore geometry class.”
“I know, and I adore every penny-pinching part of him since he’s so generous in other ways.” Claudia purred over the phone not too subtly. “I’m just living vicariously through you for a minute. It’s nice to fantasize about no mortgage and no diapers. So, spill it. I want deets. Now.”
“It’s crazy.” Hillary fingered her silver chain belt link by link. “I’m sure he’s just bored and I said no, which he took as a challenge.”
“Then keep right on challenging him until you get some jewelry.”
“That’s an awful thing to say.” She hooked the belt around her waist loosely.
“Ahh,” her sister said knowingly. “You like this guy.”
“No. I don’t. I can’t.” She flopped back on the four-poster bed, staring up at the intricately carved molding around the tray ceiling. “I haven’t known him long enough to
draw that kind of conclusion.”
“That hot, is he?”
“Hotter.”
“You lucky, lucky lady.” Claudia paused for a long gulp of her drink. “Did you have a crazy one-night stand with him?”
“God, no.” Hillary sat upright. “Since he bought this weekend with me, sleeping with him would feel…cheap.”
Still, her mind filled with images of lying back with him on this broad bed until her fingers twisted in the lacy spread.
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but eighty-nine-thousand dollars isn’t cheap, sister.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. I’m just teasing.” The phone crackled with the sound of her shuffling the phone from one ear to the other. “Would you have slept with him if there hadn’t been the infamous auction?”
“No. Definitely not.” She hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
“Wow.” Her sister’s teasing tone faded. “He really has gotten to you.”
“He’s—” a knock sounded on her door “—here. I need to go.”
“Call me. Just check in to let me know you’re okay.” Claudia’s voice dripped with big-sister concern. “It’s been a tough year for you.”
“For all of us.” Their father had died of a heart attack in his sleep. Their mother was in rehab—again. And then in her grief, Hillary had lost herself in a relationship with Barry. It was time for luck to swing over to the positive side. “Love you tons, but I gotta run.”
She disconnected and reached for the door. Now, she just had to make it through the whole night without thinking about how Troy’s kiss brought her body to life in a way Barry’s never had.
* * *
Love you tons.
Hillary’s voice whispered in Troy’s head as he watched her walk deeper into the suite’s living room. Who had she been talking to on the phone while she changed clothes?
She’d been buttoned-up sexy in her power suit on the plane. She’d been gorgeously hot in her strapless black gown.
And now she was totally, approachably hot in tight jeans and a long pink poet’s shirt with a slim silver chain belt resting low on her hips. She made comfy look damn good.
He pivoted away hard and fast, shoving up the sleeves on his button-down—he’d changed into jeans, too. On the coffee table, he’d fired up his laptop. Now he just needed to log on to the secure network to retrieve the colonel’s video feed.
How like the old guy to make sure Hillary was royally pissed off before leaving her here for the rest of the night. Colonel Salvatore had definitely gotten his revenge over the auction stunt.
They’d played back-and-forth games like this since school. Troy would reprogram the class period alarms. The colonel extended evening study period by an hour, which pissed off Troy’s classmates, who rained hell down on him in other ways.
Usually the mind games and power plays with Salvatore were fun. But not tonight. At least having Hillary here in his suite made it easier to keep an eye on her.
Troy called to Hillary without looking up from the keyboard, “I ordered coffee and some food in case it turns into a long night.”
“I’ll take the coffee but pass on the food. Let’s not waste time.” Her bare feet sounded softly along the Persian rugs. “We have a job to do.”
“I’ve wired my laptop into the wide-screen TV so we don’t have to hunch over a computer. The images will be larger, nuances easier to catch.” He’d also run the pixilation through a new converter he’d been developing for use with military satellites.
“That looks high-tech, but it makes sense you would have the best toys.”
Toys? He wasn’t dealing in Little Tikes, but then he wasn’t into bragging, either. He didn’t need to.
His “toys” spoke for themselves. “You might want to reconsider the food. This will take a while. It’s not like watching footage of the night once and we’re done. There are different camera angles, inside and outside. We’ll be reliving the night five or six times from different bird’s-eye views.”
“Are we on there?” She gripped the back of the chaise.
“We will be. Yes.” Would she see how damn much she affected him? Good thing he was in control of what played across that screen.
“What about out on the balcony? The kiss? Is that one on camera for anyone to see?”
“I’m also fairly good at dodging security cameras when I choose.” He glanced at her, took in every sleek line of her long legs as she walked to the room-service cart. “I can assure you. That moment was private.”
Her footsteps faltered for a heartbeat. “Thank you for that much, at least.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned and couldn’t resist adding, “Although, there’s still the film of us dancing so close it’s almost like we’re—”
“I get the picture. Turn on the TV.” She poured a cup of coffee from the silver carafe, cradled the china in her hands and curled up on a vintage chaise.
He sat on the sofa, in front of his laptop. He split the TV screen into four views. “We can save time using the multiple views on some of the sparser scenes, then go back to single screen for the more populated cuts.”
“Why is it that so few people have seen this guy?” She blew into her coffee.
“It’s not that so few have seen him. It’s that they’re all afraid to talk.” He fast-forwarded through four squares of empty halls, empty rooms. “You should be afraid, as well.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid for you. Does that count?”
He slowed the feed of cleaning and waitstaff setting up. Caterers. Florists. Just because their informant said the guy would be at the party didn’t mean he couldn’t be using a cover of his own. Troy clicked to zoom in on a face with the enhanced pixilation software that could even read the bar code still stuck to the bottom of a box of candles.
Glancing left, he checked for a reaction from Hillary, but nothing showed in her expression except pleasure over the sip of coffee. He took in the bliss in her eyes over a simple taste of java. What he wouldn’t give to bring that look to her face. He turned back to the TV mounted over the fireplace.
Even keeping his attention on the screen and computer, he was still hyperaware of Hillary sitting an arm’s reach away. Every shift on the chaise, every time she lifted the mug of coffee to her lips, he was in tune to it all.
The air conditioners kicked on silently, swirling the air around, mixing the smell of java with her fresh mint scent. Was it her shampoo or some kind of perfume? He could picture her in a bubbling bath with mint leaves floating around her….
“Troy?”
Her husky voice broke into his thoughts.
He froze the image on the screen. “Do you see something?”
“No, nothing. Keep running the feed.” She set aside her china cup and saucer with a clink. “I’m just wondering… How did you meet up with Colonel Salvatore? And please, for once, be honest the first time I ask a question.”
She wanted to talk while they watched and worked? He was cool with that. He could share things that were public knowledge. “The colonel was the headmaster at the military boarding school I was sent to as a teenager. He’s since retired to…other work.”
“You still stay in touch with him?”
“I do.” As did a few other select alumni. “Let’s just say I’m obligated to him for the life I lead now, and he’s calling in a favor.”
She slid from the chaise and walked to the room-service cart. She rolled it closer to him and poured two cups.
A peace offering?
She set down a cup and saucer beside his computer. “What was your high school like?”
“Imprisoning.” He didn’t bother telling her about his no-liquids-around-computers rule, especially when the computer was equipped with experimental software worth a disgustingly large amount of money. Instead, he lifted the cup and drained half in one too-hot gulp.
“I meant, what was school like, what was your l
ife like before you were sent to reform school?”
“Boring.” He drank the rest of the coffee and set aside the empty china.
“Is that why you broke into the DOD’s computer system?” She sat beside him, her drink on her knee. “Because you were bored?”
“That would make me a rather shallow person.”
“Are you?”
“What do you think?”
On the screen, the auction area began to fill. He manipulated the focus to capture images of people with their backs to the cameras, reflections in mirrors, glass and even a crystal punch bowl.
She leaned forward, her slim leg alongside his. “I believe you’re probably a genius and a regular academic environment may not have been the right place for you.”
“My parents sent me to the best private schools—” again and again, to get kicked out over and over “—before I went to the military academy.”
“You were bored there, too.”
Did she know she’d inclined closer to him?
“Teachers did try,” he said, working the keyboard with one hand, draping his other arm over the back of the sofa. “But they had a class full of students to teach. So I was given lots of independent studies.”
“Computer work.” She set her cup on the far end of the coffee table. “Alone?”
Hell, yes, alone. All damn day long. “The choice was that or be a social outcast in a class with people five or more years older.”
She tapped the pause key on his laptop and turned toward him. “Sounds very lonely for a child.”
“My social skills weren’t the best. I was happier alone.”
“How could the teachers and your parents expect your social skills to improve if they isolated you?” Her eyes went deep blue with compassion.
He didn’t want her pity. Frustration roiled over how she’d managed to slip past his defenses, to pry things out of him that he usually didn’t share. He snapped, “Would you like to tutor me?”
She flinched. “You seemed to have mastered the art of communication just fine.”
An Inconvenient Affair Page 6
