Anger was his fatal flaw. Always had been. He leveled his breathing. “I have the brotherhood to thank for the social skills.”
And the anger management.
“The brotherhood?”
He reached for the keyboard again, setting the screen back into motion, losing himself in the technology of manipulating the image. “Military reform school was a sentence, sure, but I found my first friends there. They were people like me in a lot of ways. I learned how to be part of a pack.”
“Military reform school—so they had issues, too?”
“You mean criminal records.”
“I’m not judging.” She leaned back until her hair slithered along his arm. “Just asking.”
Was she flirting? What was her angle? Why was she asking more about him? Regardless, he wouldn’t miss out on the chance to reel her in, and perhaps win back her trust.
“A lot of the guys in the school were there because they wanted a military education prior to going into the service.” He wrapped a lock around his finger, unseen behind her back. “Some of us were sent there to learn to be more self-disciplined.”
Touching her hair, just her hair and nothing more, required all the self-control he’d ever gained. But nothing could will away the blood surging south, the hot pounding urge to undress her.
“And you formed a brotherhood with those people, rebels like yourself?”
“I did.” That much he could say honestly, and without mentioning the whole Salvatore/Interpol connection. “Together, we learned how to play within the rules.”
She nodded toward the image of him on the runway at the bachelor auction, taking the mic and crowing to the audience about how he’d played them. “You don’t look particularly conformist to me.”
“You should have seen me back in the day.” Hair always too long for regs and an attitude he’d worn like his own personal uniform.
“Do you have pictures of yourself from that time stored somewhere on this computer?” She leaned forward and he let go of her hair quickly.
“Sealed under lock and key. Trust me, you’ll never find any old yearbook photos of me.”
“Hmm…”
She went silent again, and he wondered what she was thinking. He clicked the computer keys to freeze on the frame of the ballroom filling the screen. She leaned her head on his shoulder.
His body went harder, if that was even possible. He almost reached to pull her over, kiss her again, tuck her underneath him and—
“Troy, there’s a photo of me sitting on the Easter Bunny’s lap.”
What? She was giving him conversational whiplash. “What’s so bad about that?”
“I was thirteen.”
“Aww…” Now he understood. She’d been trying to make him feel better by sharing her own secret embarrassment. So sweet, he didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d left those concerns behind him a long time ago. “Your mom made you.”
“Hell, no.” She froze the image again and angled sideways to face him full-on. “I was there because I wanted to believe. In the Easter Bunny. In Santa. In the Tooth Fairy. I was teased in school until I learned it was best to keep some things to myself. There wasn’t a Sisterhood of the Tooth Fairy at my junior high.”
God, she was freaking amazing. After all the ways he’d lied to her, quibbled, maneuvered, whatever, she was still worried about him being hurt by some slights back when he was a kid.
He gathered up a fistful of her hair. “You really are too awesome for your own good.”
“Compliments will not get me into your bed,” she said, her lips moving so close to his they were almost touching.
His fingers tangled in her hair, he stared into her blue eyes, which were deepening with awareness. “What if I came to yours?”
Five
The feel of his hand in her hair, his fingers rubbing firm circles against her scalp, offered a sensual mixture of setting her nerves on fire and melting her all at once. Right now, she wanted to be the type of person who could just lean into him for more than a kiss and damn the consequences. She wanted to do something she’d never done before—have a one-night stand with a virtual stranger. He was so close their breath mingled until she couldn’t tell if the coffee scent came from him or from her.
“I told you we were never going to kiss again.”
“I heard you. I was there, remember? While I enjoy the hell out of kissing you, it’s not mandatory for going to bed together. Admit it,” he growled softly, “you’re tempted.”
“I’m tempted to eat all the marshmallows out of a box of Lucky Charms, but that doesn’t mean I intend to do it.”
“Never?” he challenged.
“Okay,” she conceded. “Maybe I did it once. Doesn’t mean that was a smart thing to do.”
“Then how about a kiss just for a kiss’s sake, so you can prove to me whatever we felt downstairs was a fluke.”
A fluke? Oh, she already knew what she’d felt, and it was real. That didn’t mean she intended to jump into bed with a guy just because the kiss rocked her socks. Perhaps that was the lesson Mr. Have It All needed to learn. She could turn the tables, knock him off balance with a mind-numbing kiss and show him she could—and would—still walk away. Excitement pooled low in her belly at the thought. She trailed her fingers along his forehead, over the eyebrow with a slash of a scar through it, then cupped his jaw in her hands.
With slow deliberation, she took his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging before teasing her tongue along his mouth. His eyes glinted emerald sparks of desire, and then she didn’t see anything. Her eyes closed, she sealed herself to him, her mouth, her chest, her hungry hands and hungrier body.
This kiss was different than the reserved connection on the balcony where there’d been the threat of interruption. Here, they were alone. She was free to explore the breadth of his shoulders, the flexing muscles in his arms as he hauled her close.
Her breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest. Her nipples tightened to needy buds against him, hot and achy, yearning for the soothing stroke of his tongue. A tingling spread inside her, so intense it almost hurt. She wriggled to get even closer, shifting to sit on his lap, straddling him. And…
Oh. My. She arched into him, against the rigid length of his arousal pressing so perfectly against her.
A purr of pleasure clawed up her throat, echoed by his growl of approval. Apparently this was a language optional make-out session.
His hands slid from her hair, roved down her back and slid under her bottom. In a fluid move, he flipped her onto her back and stretched over her on the sofa. The weight of him felt good, so very good, intensifying every pulsing sensation. The fabric of the sofa rubbed a sweet abrasion against her tingling nerves.
She hooked a leg over his, throwing back her head as he kissed along her jaw and over to her ear. His hot breath caressed her skin with the promise of how good that mouth would feel all over her body. She tipped her face, shaking her hair back and giving him fuller access as he tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. In an out-of-control moment, she flung out an arm to steady herself. Her fingers clenched the coffee table—
Sending her full china cup clattering to the ground.
Troy froze, then looked to the side sharply before sweeping his computer away from the spilled coffee. The rush of air along her overheated body brought a splash of much-needed reason. What the hell was she doing? She’d only just met the guy and already she’d kissed him twice. She’d wanted to show him how she could kiss and walk away, and she’d ended up beneath him.
Gasping, she swung her feet back to the ground, her toes digging into the plush Persian cotton. The rush back to earth was slower than she expected; her senses were still on tingling alert. Giving in to the temptation to kiss him hadn’t been her best idea. She should be focused on the video feed, on finding Mr. Mystery Cohort as soon as—
Squinting, she studied a far corner of the screen, just a hint of a flashy gold ring that looked familiar, with som
e kind of coin embedded on the top. The fog of passion parted enough for her to process what was right in front of her eyes.
“Troy, hold on a second.” She grabbed his shoulder. Her fingers curled instinctively around him for a second before she pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” He looked over his shoulder.
“On the TV, can you play with the image for me? There…” She pointed to the top left corner as he righted his computer and sat again. “Can you find a reflection of the face of that guy wearing the ugly gold ring?”
“Of course I can.” He dropped back onto the sofa with his laptop, his hair still askew from her frenzied fingers. She seriously needed to rein in her out-of-control emotions.
She clenched her fists against the temptation to finger comb his hair back into place and focused her attention forward. In a flash, the picture zoomed in, with a clarity that boggled her mind. Whatever software he had beat the hell out of anything she’d seen on Law & Order reruns. The picture moved and inverted as he shuffled the views, pulling up reflections off a number of sources until…
Bingo.
“That’s him,” Hillary said, standing and walking closer even though she didn’t need any further confirmation. “That’s Barry’s business partner.”
* * *
Two hours later, Troy leaned in the open doorway to Hillary’s room as she packed her small suitcase.
After she had ID’d the face in the video feed, they’d contacted Salvatore. Troy had only caught one glimpse of Barry Curtis’s cohort at a regatta race in Miami, but he agreed the face fit what he remembered. Now Salvatore was off making his calls to contacts. Since they had a face to run through international visual recognition systems, hopefully soon they would have a name. An honest to God lead, a trail to follow. They would have the guy in custody soon.
But in the interim, Troy needed to make sure no backlash came Hillary’s way for bringing down a multibillion-dollar international money laundering operation. He needed to keep her in his sights. And lucky for him, thanks to the bachelor auction, going their separate ways wasn’t going to be that easy to accomplish. Aside from the fact that everyone in that ballroom had seen them together, the tabloids had snapped photos that were already circulating around the blogosphere. Follow-ups would come their way, questions on how they’d spent their weekend together. She couldn’t just duck out of sight, and he couldn’t let her stand alone and vulnerable in the spotlight.
He had to admit, time with Hillary would not be a hardship in the least.
Thanks to a pair of killer high heels, her already-amazing legs looked even more train-stopping. Her black tank top and wide belt drew his eyes to every curve he’d felt pressed against him earlier. Curves he was determined to explore at length someday in the not-too-distant future.
He might be completely the wrong man for a rose-colored glasses chick, but that last kiss from Hillary made it impossible for him to turn away. She would be his. The only question was when.
Now that their first goal of the weekend had been accomplished, he would have time with her to figure that out. She might think she was going home to D.C., but he had other plans. He just needed to persuade her.
Hillary flicked her damp ponytail over her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Troy? Aren’t you happy? We helped them identify the guy.” She zipped her roll bag closed. “He won’t be able to rip people off anymore. You delivered justice today.”
“He’s not in custody, and he’s smart.” Troy shoved away from the door, taking her question as an invitation to enter her bedroom in the shared suite. “If he realizes you’re the one who identified him… No, I’m not ready to celebrate yet.”
“I’ll be fine.” Her confidence was hot.
Too bad it was also misguided.
“You’re too damn naive about this. You’re going to take time off from work and come with me. I know a great, low-profile place where you can put your feet up and relax until this all blows over.”
“That he-man act may work with some women, but not with me. I’m going home. The whole reason I came to Chicago was to ID this guy so I could go back to the job I love.” She hefted up her suitcase.
He thought about taking the bag from her, but a tug-of-war would likely make her pull back all the more. He sat on the end of the chaise by the window. “You can’t return to D.C. Not yet. You need to lie low until the authorities bring him in.”
“That’s a rather open-ended timeline.” She dropped the bag to the ground and sat on it. “I can’t just duck out of my life indefinitely.”
Good. At least she wasn’t walking out the door. “The colonel assures me it will be a week, two weeks tops. Take emergency leave—say you’ve got a sick mother.”
“Sick mom? Really?” She crossed her feet at the ankles. “You think up lies easily.”
“Say whatever the hell you want.” He tapped the toe of her high heels with his Ferragamo-clad foot. “But let me help.”
“No, thanks.” She tapped him right back. “I can take my own vacation without you.”
His foot worked up to her ankle. “Can you just walk away from this?”
Her lashes fluttered for an instant before she said, “It’s just physical reaction.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“It can be.” She pulled her foot back and crossed her legs.
Gorgeous legs. Miles long. The sort made for wrapping around a man’s waist.
“Then come away with me for a week, err on the side of caution.” He winked. “I promise to come through for you.”
“Argh!” She stomped both heels on the carpet. “Can’t you just talk to me? Drop the charming, polished act and just speak.”
His grin spread. “You think I’m charming?”
She shot to her feet and grabbed her bag by the handle. “Forget it—”
He stepped in front of her. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want you to leave. What the hell do you want from me?”
“Honesty. Why are you pushing so hard when this is already settled? Our work here is done, and I’m not a defenseless kid.”
“Hillary, damn it…” He struggled for the words to convince her when she’d hamstrung him by telling him not to use any charm. Kissing her again wouldn’t gain him any traction right now, either. “You confuse the hell out of me. I’m worried about you, and hell, yes, I want to make love to you on the beach in every continent. But I also want time with you.”
“Honestly?”
“As truthful as I know how to be. Spend a week with me. Be safe. Get me out of your system so you can return to your regular life without regrets.”
“What makes you think you’re in my system?”
“Really? Are you going to look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel the attraction, too? And before you answer, remember I was there when we kissed.”
“Okay, I’ll admit there’s…chemistry.”
“Explosive chemistry, but it’s clear neither one of us is ready for something long-term. So let’s let whatever this is between us play out before we return to our regular lives.”
She studied his face, and he could have sworn she swayed toward him. But it was just her head moving back and forth.
“I can’t, Troy. I’m sorry.” She backed away, pulling her roller bag with her. “I’m going home to Washington, to my normal, wonderfully boring life.”
Ouch.
There wasn’t a comeback for that.
Stunned, he watched her walk away. She was actually leaving, opting for her everyday job in D.C. rather than signing on for the adventure of following their attraction wherever it led. Some might call it ego for him to be so stunned, but honest to God, he was floored by the power of their attraction. He knew it wasn’t one-sided. That she would turn her back on the promise of something so unique, so fantastic—so very much not boring— blew him away.
He wasn’t sure exactly why it was so important to him that he follow her. The attraction. Keeping her safe. The challenge of her saying n
o. Maybe all three reasons.
Regardless, she’d vastly underestimated him if she thought they were through. If she wouldn’t come with him then he would simply have to make do with helping her hide out in the nation’s capital.
* * *
She’d actually done it. She’d walked away from Troy Donavan.
That made her either the strongest woman in the world—or the most afraid. Because the thought of spending the next week or two with Troy was the scariest and most tempting offer she’d ever received. Walking away hadn’t been easy, and she still didn’t know if that made her decision to do so right or wrong.
Her roller bag jammed in the revolving door.
Figured.
She yanked and yanked until finally the door bounced back and released her suitcase. Freed, she stepped outside the hotel, scanning for a cab. She would worry about the expense of changing her ticket return date later.
Of course it was raining, turning an already-muggy early morning all the more humid and dank and overcast. Four more aggressive commuters snagged cabs before her. Exhausted, frustrated and close to tears, she sat on her suitcase again.
“Need a ride?”
Hillary almost fell off the bag.
“Colonel Salvatore?” She steadied herself—darn heels she’d vainly chosen because of Troy. “I’m just trying to catch a cab to the airport.”
Her eccentric contact again wore a gray suit and red tie, his buzz-cut hair exposed to the elements. She couldn’t help but think about Troy’s linen fedora and all the thin-brimmed hats he wore in the photos of him that filled the press.
“Then let me take you. I owe you that, as well as arranging for your change in flight plans.”
Resisting would be foolish, and she really did need to leave before she raced back up to Troy’s suite—which she couldn’t even do since she didn’t have a penthouse key card. “Thank you. I gratefully accept.”
A driver was already opening the doors to a dark SUV with tinted windows. She slid inside for what had to be the most awkward car ride of her life. Colonel Salvatore didn’t speak for their whole drive through the city to Chicago’s O’Hare International. He simply typed away on his tablet computer. After five minutes of silence, she focused her attention on final views of the city slicked with rain. Who knew when or if she would return?
An Inconvenient Affair Page 7
