An Inconvenient Affair

by Catherine Mann

  Her eyes drifted over to study the colonel, the former headmaster of Troy’s military high school. Troy had said he “helped out” but how deeply did that connection go? She’d been working with local authorities when she met the colonel…. None of it mattered. Time to put the past—Barry— behind her and start fresh.

  Right?

  But once they reached the airport, the SUV didn’t stop at the terminal. “Colonel?”

  Holding up a hand, he focused on whatever he was working on at the moment.

  “Sir,” she pressed as the muffled sound of jet engines grew louder, closer, “where are we going?”

  He clapped the cover closed on his tablet. “To the private planes. I’m taking a personal jet.”

  “But I’m going to D.C. Regular coach status is okay with me.”

  “You have options.”

  “I’ve done what you asked me. It’s time for me to go home.”

  “Troy will follow you because he’s convinced you need watching until we have everything neatly tied up.”

  A thrill shot through her before she could steel herself, an unstoppable excitement over the thought of seeing him again after all. “He’s free to go where he chooses.”

  “Or you could go with him to someplace…different.”

  Confusion cleared, like the mist rolling away to reveal the line of private jets beyond the colonel’s. “He’s in one of those planes, isn’t he? Is it his personal aircraft or is he waiting inside yours?”

  “You’re a quick one. Good. Troy needs someone sharp to keep up with him.” He nodded toward the row of silver planes nestled in the morning mist. “Mine’s next in line, and yes, the one closest is Troy’s private aircraft.”

  “You expect me to just hitch a ride with him? Don’t I need to check in or something?”

  “I’ve okayed everything with the pilot. You have your luggage with you.” He smiled for the first time. “Admit it. You’re tempted to spend time with him. So why not go away with him for a week?”

  She bristled at his confidence. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

  “Just hedging my bets,” he said so matter-of-factly that they could have been discussing breakfast—not the idea of her hopping on a near stranger’s plane to go God only knew where.

  “You have an answer for everything.”

  “I study people and make calculated decisions based on how I believe they will react.” He straightened his already-impeccable red tie.

  “And you’re calling me predictable.” How could he when she didn’t even have a clue what to do next?

  “I just bargained on you doing the right thing for Troy.”

  “The right thing for Troy?” That brought her up short. “What are you talking about?”

  “I gave you credit for being smarter than this.”

  She leveled a steady gaze at him and wished she could wield something a little harsher. She was at the end of her patience here, exhaustion and emotional turmoil having worn her out. “You’re not a very nice man.”

  “But I’m effective.”

  “Please, get to your point,” she snapped. “Or I am leaving.”

  “I have to agree with Troy that life would be easier and less complicated for all of us if the two of you took a remote vacation. Running around D.C. is too obvious a place for you to be when there is a rich and powerful individual still at large who has reason to be quite unhappy with you and Troy. And if Troy follows you straight to your home, anyone who might be upset over this sting will be able to find Troy, too…. Do I need to keep spelling out all the extremely uncomfortable scenarios for you?”

  Her skin went cold. She’d been worried about her future—as in her freedom—but she’d never considered that white-collar criminals might resort to force. “You’re not playing fair. And what did you plan to do with me once I ID’d the guy? Did you have a plan to keep me safe?”

  “I had hoped we would have the man in custody, and when he got away, I assumed you would be leaving with Troy, based on seeing the two of you together.”

  The attraction was that obvious to others? “Well, you guessed wrong, and now you’re telling me I’m responsible for Troy’s safety? That’s your job, isn’t it?”

  “I’m doing my job right now. I’m saying what has to be said, for both of your sakes. Get on his plane. By letting him think he’s protecting you, you’ll be protecting him.”

  She hesitated.

  His eyes flickered with the first signs of something other than calculation or cool disdain. He looked like he actually…cared. “Ms. Wright, please, be the first person in Troy’s life to put his interests ahead of your own.”

  His words sucker punched the air right out of her.

  Whether or not his words were genuine or calculated, he’d found a means of coercion so much stronger than force. For whatever reason, she had a connection to Troy, a man she’d only known for a day. He had an influence over her emotions that she couldn’t explain.

  Maybe it was because she understood what it was like not to have anyone put her first in their lives. Or maybe it was the memory of all he’d told her about his time in school. Or maybe it was that she wanted more kisses.

  Whatever the reason, she was climbing on board that airplane.

  * * *

  Dropping his hat on his head, Troy slid from the limo outside his aircraft just as the colonel boarded his Learjet. Ironic. Apparently everyone was getting the hell out of Dodge.

  He tugged out his briefcase and jogged through the light rain to the stairs. Once he made it inside, he would need to confer with the pilot about changing their flight plan, rerouting for D.C.

  Even with the delay, at least he could work since his plane was a fully outfitted office and completely familiar. He’d built a pod he could move from the hold of any aircraft to another, with an office, a small kitchenette and sleeping quarters. Some seemed surprised at the lack of luxury, but he didn’t need the trappings. He had what was important to him: his own portable technological nirvana.

  He ducked through the hatch inside and stopped short.

  Hillary. Here. On his private jet.

  She lounged at his desk, her iPad open in front of her. Early-morning sunrise streamed through a window and outlined her in an amber glow.

  Amber glow?

  Good God, this woman was turning him into some kind of a poet.

  She spun the chair to face him. “I assume that was an open invitation to go with you, but don’t gloat. It’s not an attractive trait.”

  He placed his briefcase on the white leather sofa and pulled his hat off. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to do anything that would make me unappealing to you.”

  “Good. We’re on the same page then.” She returned to her iPad and started typing.

  “Everything okay?” He resisted the urge to offer her one of the tablets he had on board, prototypes beyond anything the public had seen yet.

  “I’m sending a couple of emails to rearrange things at work so I can take an emergency vacation for personal reasons.” She looked up. “I’m not comfortable with a convenient ‘my mom is sick’ lie.”

  “Fair enough.” He placed his hat on his desk in front of her.

  She closed her iPad. “Just so we’re clear, I’m here for safety’s sake. Not for sex.”

  God, the spark in her eyes made him hot. Although now might not be the best time to point that out.

  “Can’t be much clearer than that.”

  “Good. Now where are we going?”

  “Monte Carlo.”

  “Monte Carlo?” she squeaked, her composure slipping. “What about passports?”

  “Taken care of. If you recall, when the CIA first questioned you, they required you to turn over your passport to ensure you wouldn’t flee the country. Now that you’re in the clear, you can have it back. We’ll make a brief refueling stop in D.C.—your passport is already there waiting to be picked up.” While Hillary talked, he pulled out his phone and typed instructions to
his assistant and Salvatore to make sure her passport would be there.

  “And what about clothes for me to be gone that long? Appropriate for that locale and weather?”

  “Got it covered.” He dashed off another text to his assistant before tucking his phone back inside his suit.

  “You were that confident I would join you? I’m not sure I like being that predictable.”

  “Hillary, you are anything but predictable.” He scooped up his hat and dropped it on her head, sliding his fingers along the brim.

  “Why Monte Carlo?”

  “Why not?” He tugged her by the hand to sit on the sofa beside him. He flicked the seat belt toward her and they both buckled in for takeoff.

  “Do you live your life that way?” She touched his hat self-consciously. “With a perpetual why not?”

  “Works for me.” Right now, he was living for the day he saw her wearing that hat and nothing else.

  “Why Monte Carlo?” she repeated.

  Because he had backup there, and he needed help from someone he could trust. Sometimes, the brotherhood reached out to each other, without Salvatore in the mix. This would be one of those times.

  Of all his military school friends, Conrad Hughes, the very first person he’d met on the first day of school, would understand how a woman messed with a man’s head. Conrad wouldn’t judge. “I’m touching base with a friend who can help cover our tracks. Ever been to Monte Carlo?”

  She took off his hat and dropped it on his lap. “I went to Atlantic City once.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Then you’re in for a treat beyond anything the Tooth Fairy would shove under your pillow.” He put his hat on, tugged it over his eyes and stretched out to nap.

  Six

  Monte Carlo was everything she’d imagined—and more.

  They’d landed at an oceanside private airstrip near the Ports de Monaco, where a limo awaited them. A thrilling ride later, along the Mediterranean coastline, they’d arrived at a casino that overlooked a rocky cove and packed marina. The beige stucco resort, while clearly pristinely new, had a historical design with Roman columns and arches, statues and sculptures spotlighted in the moonless dark.

  Deep inside, there were no windows, but plenty of lights so bright it was impossible to tell day from night. Troy walked through without stopping at the check-in desk. She didn’t bother asking questions. She’d already seen how regular rules didn’t seem to apply to him.

  The air was filled with the cacophony of machines, bells, whistles and gambling calls, but more than that, she heard music, laughter and the splash of a mammoth fountain. Her high heels clicked along the marble mosaic tiles as she and Troy weaved through the crush of vacationers. A mix of languages came at her from all directions, a little like mingling in some of the D.C. parties she’d planned.

  Except eyes followed them here. People whispered and pointed, recognizing Troy Donavan.

  He pulled off his signature hat. “Let’s try our luck once before we head up. Your choice. Cards? Roulette? Slots?”

  Exhaustion took a backseat to excitement. Monte Carlo had been in her top ten fantasy places to visit as a kid. She’d researched it, dreaming of James Bond and Grace Kelly. But photos and movies and tabloids just didn’t capture the vivid colors, clashing sounds, exotic scents. She’d even fantasized about a fascinating man on her arm, and the reality on that count far surpassed any dreams.

  “I’m a little underdressed for cards or roulette.” She swept her hands down her jeans.

  “You’re welcome anywhere I say you are.”

  Ooooh-kay. “I’m good with a slot machine.”

  “Fair enough.” He guided her to a line of looming machines with high leather bar stools in front.

  He offered his hand as she settled in place. Tokens? She’d totally forgotten about getting—

  A woman in uniform stopped beside them, smiling at Troy. “Bonjour, Mr. Donavan,” she said in heavily accented English. She passed him a leather pouch. “Compliments of the house. Mr. Hughes sends his regards.”

  “Merci, mademoiselle.” He opened the pouch and Hillary caught a glimpse of tokens, chips, key cards and cash. He pulled out a fistful of tokens and extended his open palm to Hillary.

  “Only one token, thanks. For luck before we go to our rooms to freshen up.”

  Hillary plucked a single coin from his hand and hitched up into the chair. Ching, she set the lights flashing and waited for the results…. Troy stood behind her, leaning in ever so slightly until his bay rum scent mixed with the perfume of live flowers.

  She’d given up trying to understand how she could still be so drawn to, so aware of, a man she knew led a secret life and wouldn’t hesitate to stretch the truth if he thought it was “for her own good.” Here she was in Monte Carlo and all she could think about was how glad she was to be here with Troy. For the moment, at least, she would embrace the adventure. She would revel in the sensations and refuse to let herself get too attached.

  The slot machine ended on a losing note, and she didn’t even care. She was here, and her nerves all tingled as if she’d hit a jackpot.

  Chemistry. What a crazy thing.

  She smiled over her shoulder at him, which brought their mouths so close. She could see the widening of his pupils, see every detail of the scar through his eyebrow. Her breathing grew heavier but she couldn’t seem to control the betraying reaction that gave away just how much she wanted his mouth on hers again. She froze, waiting for him to make a move….

  He simply smiled and stepped back, offering his hand for her to slide from the high bar stool.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

  Her breath gushed out in a rush. Disappointment over that lost chance for a quick kiss taunted her. She put her hand in his. “Thanks. Or should I say merci?”

  His hand warmed her the whole way to the elevator, which was made mostly of glass, for riders to watch the whole casino on the way up. Her stomach dropped as the lift rose. She’d always prided herself on being so practical in her plans for her life, but the way she wanted to be with Troy was completely illogical. And now they were as far away from Salvatore, chaperones and intrusions as possible.

  What did she want from this time with him while they waited for the all clear from Salvatore?

  The answer came to her, as clear as the elevator glass—so smudge-free she almost felt like she could walk right through and into the open air. She wanted to learn more about Troy—and yes, she wanted to sleep with him. She needed to sort through his charm to find out what was real about him, then figure out how to walk away without regrets and restless dreams once she returned home.

  The elevator doors slid open as she once again headed to a hotel suite. With Troy.

  He palmed her back and guided her into the luxurious, apartment-sized space with a balcony view of the marina. High ceilings and white furniture with powder-blue accents gave the Parisian-style room an airy feel after the heavier Gatsby tapestries of their Chicago penthouse. She stared out at the glistening waters as the bellhop unloaded their bags and slipped away quietly.

  Troy walked through her peripheral vision. “Something to drink before we head down for dinner?”

  “I didn’t sleep at all last night and while you may have had an amazing nap on the plane—” damn his nonchalant soul “—I did not. I just want room service and a good night’s rest. Can we ‘do’ Monte Carlo tomorrow when I’ll be awake enough to enjoy it?”

  “Absolutely.” He tossed his hat on the sleek sofa before walking to the wet bar. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Club soda, please,” she answered automatically. “Thank you.”

  He poured the carbonated water into a cut crystal tumbler, clinking two cubes of ice inside. “That’s not the first time you’ve turned down alcohol.”

  “I told you before.” She took the glass from him, fingers brushing with an increasing familiarity. “I don’t drink.
Ever.”

  “Have I been around long enough to hear the story yet?” He rattled the ice in his own soda water.

  Why not? It wasn’t a secret. “My mother was an alcoholic who hit rock bottom so many times she should have had a quarry named after her.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  He brushed her shoulder, skimming back her ponytail. “I’m still sorry you had to go through that.”

  “I learned a lot about keeping up appearances.” She sipped her drink and watched boats come in for the day and others head out with lights already blazing for night travel. “It’s served me well in my current profession.”

  “That’s an interesting way of making lemonade out of lemons.”

  Enough about her and her old wounds. The point of this time in Monte Carlo, for her, was to learn more about him.

  She pivoted to face him, leaning against the warm windowpane. “What about you?”

  “What do you mean?” he answered evasively.

  “Your childhood? Tell me more about it.”

  “I had two parents supremely interested in appearances—which meant I never had to learn how to play nice. They were always ready to cover up any mistakes we made.” His eyes glinted wickedly as he stared at her over his glass.

  “Us?”

  “My older brother and I.”

  “You have a brother? I don’t recall—”

  “Ahh…” He tapped her nose. “So you did read my Wikipedia page.”

  “Of course I did.” She’d been trying to find some leverage, since this man tipped her world about seventeen times a minute. “It doesn’t mention your brother.”

  “Those pages can be tweaked you know. The internet is fluid, rewritable.”

  She shivered from more than the air conditioner. “You erased your brother from your history?”

  “It’s for his own safety.” He stared into his drink moodily before downing it.