by Mary Buckham
"You wouldn't have to protect me if I wasn't here in the first place." The words welled up and erupted before she could control them. But they felt better than the dazed helplessness of earlier.
"The point is you are here." She thought she heard him sigh before he shifted the car down to take a series of tight corners. "I'm dealing with reality. The reality here is you put yourself and my men in jeopardy by not staying where I told you to stay."
He must have taken guilt lessons from a Grand Master. Either that or he understood her well enough to know she would argue with him until the day after forever if it impacted her alone. But the fact she might have harmed others, even unintentionally, she couldn't accept.
"I didn't do it to hurt anyone. I was trying to protect people. You of all people should understand that." When he said nothing she added, "But you said everything was okay. That it wasn't anything to do with Elena."
"I said what you needed to hear. It could have been a feint to divide and confuse my team."
"Oh."
This then was his world. One where he couldn't accept a peasant woman's gift at face value, couldn't trust anything, or anyone. Where he must always be on guard.
"It was a girl."
"Excuse me?"
"I said it was a girl." He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "The man who had a child. It was a little girl, eight pounds, five ounces. He's naming it Elena in your honor. I suggested Jane as a middle name."
Now the tears refused to be held back. She turned her head, hoping he wouldn't see, or if he did he would blame the wind rushing through the open windows. How dare he rant and rave one minute and then be kind, take the time and trouble to find out about the man and his new child for her sake?
"What now? I thought you would be pleased."
Didn't anything escape the man's attention?
"I am pleased." She swallowed the rest of her pesky emotions and gave what she hoped was a final sniff. It was then that the scenery around her registered. "Just exactly where are we going?"
He cast her another of his enigmatic looks. One he must have perfected in the cradle, before shrugging. "You'll see in a few minutes."
Did the man ever give a straight answer? She glanced around the interior of the sports car. "Why aren't we in the limo?"
"It attracts too much attention."
And a fire-engine red, low-slung sports car whizzing through the countryside didn't? But before she could point out the error in his thinking the vehicle crested the hill and the brilliant blue of a tiny, moon-shaped lake lay spread before her.
"Oh." It was so inadequate a word, but anything else would have been, too. The lush green of the hill sloped steeply down to a ribbon of sand, white against its darkness. Soft, lapping waves washed against its flat line, a brilliant landscape of contrasting blues, sky and water.
It took only minutes before McConneghy steered the car down a zigzag road and pulled it alongside a flat verge of vinelike bushes leading toward the lake.
He cut the engine, the sound of birds filling in the void.
"What are we doing?"
"I thought you'd like a break."
He was out of the car and reaching into the back seat before she could ask another question.
"Come on." He opened her car door, extending one hand, the other clenched around a woven basket.
"I don't understand." Understatement. Yet she took his hand, feeling its solidness beneath her own. "Where are we going?"
"We're here." He actually smiled, his teeth looking white against the tan of his face, his eyes appearing more blue than gray with the lake as a backdrop. "I thought you needed to get away."
He was going too fast for her, as usual. Not letting her catch her breath before he shifted her world end to end. How could she keep any sense of equilibrium when he kept muddling everything?
Sand slipped through her open-toed shoes, feeling warm and soft as he guided her across the empty beach, his hand tucked securely around hers as if she'd escape if he released it. They might have been the only two people in the universe for all she could see when they finally stopped. On the other hand this could be like the pool. Another beautiful spot hiding danger around every corner.
She watched as he unfurled a large square of cloth from the basket before pulling her down onto its surface. She tucked her knees beneath her, ignoring the sting of her scratches.
"I don't understand any of this."
"It's a picnic." He gave her what might have been a teasing look. Except he didn't tease. He dictated, ordered, arranged, but he never teased. Or at least not with her. "It's nothing fancy, but it'll keep you from starving."
"But when? Why? How?"
He stopped unpacking long enough to look at her, his eyes as unfathomable as the distant water. "You needed to get away for a bit. This was the quickest way to give you a break. One of my men grabbed food while I arranged for the car."
Of course, she thought, hurt already overshadowing her earlier pleasure. He wasn't doing this for her. He was doing this as the quickest, easiest solution to a glitch in his mission. This was not an intimate getaway to what had to be one of the most beautiful spots she'd ever seen in her entire life. This was the most expedient way to soothe the bait's frazzled nerves. When would she stop thinking like a naive ninny and grow up?
His gaze remained steady on hers for a few more seconds before he finished his unpacking and settled beside her.
"You went quiet on me."
She had no answer to that. Not when it was the truth. Not when he sat so close his arm brushed against hers every time he leaned across the cloth.
"You all right?" He actually sounded concerned, she thought, finding the lump back in her throat.
"Yes. Of course I am."
It was a lie, but he didn't have to know everything.
"You sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
He must have heard what he needed to hear, because he smiled then. Right before he leaned forward and covered her lips with his.
Chapter 8
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She told herself it was because he took her by surprise, because it had been a wild day, because it was senseless to fight. Whatever the reason, after a second or two she did not pull back but leaned in, ignored common sense telling her to be wary and gave herself up to the sensations bombarding her.
He tasted as she'd known he would. Dark, dangerous, exotic. His lips were firm beneath hers, coaxing, but only a little, as she needed no slow seduction. Instead her hands slipped up the smooth cotton of his shirt and tangled into the thickness of his hair before she knew she'd moved.
His tongue touched her lips and she parted them. Wanting to taste more, needing to taste more. His left hand cupped her head, fingers splayed through her hair, tilting the angle of her head to devour more. It was as if he possessed and begged at the same time.
She wanted to feel him touch her, feel the strength of his fingers across her skin, know the surety of his holding her close—embracing, protecting, giving as well as demanding.
She'd been kissed before but never like this. Oh, no, never like this. It was an awakening: hard, fast and desperate. There was no gentleness, though she could have sworn that's what she wanted. There was no tenderness though she knew he was capable of it. This was raw, barely leashed need and she couldn't get enough.
Her. Plain, ordinary, everyday Jane was being claimed, branded and devoured, and he was doing nothing more than kissing her. But maybe she could change that.
She heard a deep moan, his, she thought, and leaned deeper into the kiss. It was heady. Exhilarating. Frightening. And she wanted it to continue forever.
Lucius knew he'd crossed the line in that split second of time between thought and desire. But never in his wildest dreams had he expected what he found. When had sin tasted so sweet? He felt her tremble, savored the stroke of her hands along his scalp, the play of her tongue meeting and matching the quest of his. And he was lost.
He co
uldn't get enough of her, didn't want to stop the spontaneous combustion shredding his control second by second. His fingers danced in the silk of her hair and he knew the movement was branded onto his soul. She uttered a small, exquisite sigh as he deepened the kiss and he felt emotions churning within him he'd never known he possessed.
This was a woman who could make him forget. A dangerous woman. This was madness. It was career suicide. It was nirvana.
The strident cry of a wild hawk broke through to him, its predator's call like a jagged edge of lightning against his senses. He pulled back, aware of the flushed face of the woman before him, the kiss-swollen lips tempting, the dazed expression in her eyes, fluttering open, telling him loud and clear there'd be no resistance to finishing what they'd started. And that alone kept him from taking what his system demanded.
She was vulnerable, today more than ever, and there was no way he'd betray that. No matter what the cost to him.
"What?" She posed it as a question though he knew she was as stunned by what just happened as he was.
He pulled back, physically placing some distance between then as if that was going to help douse the fire still roaring through his veins.
"It's time to eat something." He was pleased his voice sounded calm, nothing like the tempest keeping his pulse high, his heartbeat matching it. "You skipped breakfast so you'd better get something in your stomach."
He turned away from the stunned hurt in her gaze, knowing he should apologize even while he battled with the urge to repeat the last moments all over again, and take them further. How in the hell did he get himself into this mess? What had happened to his legendary control? His priorities?
He felt the seconds ticking past, long, slow, agonizing whacks of time, the only thing he could give her right then to gather herself together. It wasn't much, but then he hadn't given her anything else except fear, confusion and terror thus far.
"Is this another part of your plan to soothe the bait?" He heard the bitter-edged anger in her voice. Better that than unrealistic expectations, he told himself. Much better.
"Eat." He tore off a chunk of bread, handing it to her without looking.
"So you're not going to answer?"
"If you want me to tell you I'm sorry, I will." He bit his own bread, wondering if he'd choke on it.
"You've been relatively honest so far. No need to start lying now."
She nailed that one, he thought, not pleased with the realization.
"Tarkioff mentioned you were not above using seduction as a tool, but I thought he was exaggerating."
He glanced at her then, glad to see color in her cheeks that was not arousal. It meant she was fighting back. She had to fight back to survive the next two weeks, but it didn't mean he liked being the target.
"I wouldn't trust everything Tarkioff says."
"You don't care for him, do you?"
He wondered if she meant it as a statement or a question. "Most people hear the word royal and assume the pomp, the pageantry, means greater than real-life people."
"And you don't."
"I know being born to a title doesn't mean you deserve that title."
She flinched at the hardness of his tone. A hardness he hadn't realized escaped until it was too late.
"You don't like Tarkioff?"
"No." The least he could give her was honesty. "He's the man I must work with in this country, nothing more. After the wedding my duties to Tarkioff will end. Which is none too soon for me."
"Why?"
"There's a phrase about absolute power corrupting absolutely. It's founded in truth."
"Does that apply to the king's brother too? And Elena?"
Loaded questions. If only she knew how loaded. He hedged his answer. "I have found it a challenge to find simple men in places of power."
"Do you enjoy living in a world where you trust no one?"
No one had ever asked him that particular question before. No one would have dared. One more sign that he'd allowed this woman to get too close.
"I didn't make this world." He swallowed some bloodred wine. "But I can't afford to hide my head in the sand and get the job done."
"Ah, the all-famous mission."
When had she gotten so quick with her tongue? What had happened to the woman on the plane, intelligent but reserved? Another few comments and she'd be drawing blood. Not that he didn't deserve it.
"I do what I have to do." He paused, then continued. "I won't pretend not to have enjoyed what we just did, but it was a mistake. It won't happen again."
When she didn't reply, he glanced at her, at the crumbs of bread shredded in her lap, uneaten, at the curl of her lips, ones he could still taste, but holding no passion now. He expected scorn, and told himself he could live with it, but what he saw instead startled him. There was no bitterness in her gaze, no look of a woman used and turned aside. Instead there was empathy. A compassion so deep he thought he'd drown in it, so compelling it shook him to the core of his being.
He was a soldier, used to meeting steel with steel, but in Jane Richards's eyes he found what he'd been searching for his whole life without knowing it existed. Not for him. Never for him. Here was a haven, a respite from the battles he fought year after year, here was acceptance that what he did and what he might be were two separate things, at least some of the time. And if someone had placed a pistol to his head with the trigger cocked, he couldn't have been more terrified.
"It's time to go." The words came out abrupt and husky and the smile playing about her lips told him he'd just given himself away.
But she didn't taunt him. Instead she brushed the crumbs from her lap, rose slowly and stood, gazing toward the lake. The image of her there, the breeze tousling the hair he knew smelled of citrus and honey, caressing the fine line of her profile, would remain with him forever. A reminder of what might have been if he were another man and she another woman, in another place and time. But it could never be now, because he wouldn't allow it. He couldn't allow it. Not while her life remained in the balance. Her life and the mission.
Jane accepted the silence as they drove back to the palace. She would never have considered herself an experienced woman of the world and yet she knew something had changed between her and McConneghy at the lake. And it wasn't because of that kiss, the one she could still taste if she ever so gently ran her tongue along her lips.
No, something else had happened between them and she relished the timeless quality of the drive to figure out just when and how things had shifted between her and the man sitting tight-lipped and silent beside her, his competent hands caressing the wheel with the same strength and control that he'd caressed her.
Maybe that was it. McConneghy hadn't been controlled when he kissed her. His hands hadn't remained passive and sure, but had roamed across her face, her skin, her hair, like a crazed man memorizing something he'd never possess. And later, when he pulled away from her, erected that shield between them that felt layers thick and impenetrable, she thought she'd glimpsed something in his gray-eyed gaze. A hunger replaced by a bleakness that broke her heart.
She never thought to see such loneliness in another's eyes. An emotion that touched her own core. Touched and tore. She expected to be alone, having been raised with elderly parents, no siblings to share her life, no connection to anyone except her co-workers, tenuous relationships at best.
But why did McConneghy look like he'd breached an invisible barrier only to withdraw behind his shell of control and aloofness? Surely a man who advised rulers of small, strategic countries could not be lonely. A man who looked like he did, who moved like he did, who possessed grace and leashed power, tenderness and strength, intelligence and responsibility, surely a man like him could not be so alone that he'd need, or want, even for a short space of time, a woman like her?
Could he?
The walls of the palace rose before them. Too soon, she thought, way too soon. But there was no denying the armed sentries saluting their vehicle as it roared
beneath the arched gates and over the cobbled courtyard.
"I'll have Dr. Illiyich come up to your room to look at your scrapes."
Jane glanced at her knees, where dried blood adhered shredded nylons to her skin.
"There's no need." Was that her voice that sounded so calm and serene? After the day she'd had? "I'll just wash up with soap and water."
"I'll have the doctor come, anyway."
So they were back to dictator and peon. She sighed as she opened her car door, not waiting for either McConneghy or one of the security men to come running.
"Fine." She smoothed the front of her skirt, knowing it was a hopeless cause. She felt stiff and sore, souvenirs from being scraped across the pavement, her hair must be a mess from the wind and someone's hands, and her swollen, well-kissed lips told their own tale. No doubt the real Elena was going to have to live down this arrival for the next few months.
Suddenly McConneghy was at her side, his hand beneath her elbow, guiding or maneuvering, she didn't know. Her legs felt rubbery and it seemed like a long way across the courtyard and up that waterfall of steps.
"I'll send up a tray of food for you."
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to eat. It's not going to do anyone any good if you collapse from starvation."
"But I'm not—"
"Do what I tell you."
The man was getting on her nerves. One minute kissing her senseless, the next acting as if nothing had happened; dictating with one breath and being overly solicitous and concerned with the next. Did they teach confusion as a psychological weapon? If they did this guy was good. He was better than that, he was the best.
"I'll try." There, that should keep him happy and off her case. At least for a little while.
"Don't try—do." They'd drawn even with the double-wide palace doors. "I won't be joining you for dinner."
Of course it wasn't disappointment she was feeling. It was relief. Wasn't it?
"Will the king visit me?"
