She has no idea. Still, Carla’s words stung.
“You have the handsome Hawaiian-looking guy,” Carla continued. “Can’t you just let Lace have Ty to herself? Let her sink or swim on her own without competing with you?”
As if she were a femme fatale, a siren who could turn men on or off with a glance! Carla’s faith in her should have been flattering, but uncontrollable jealousy aside, Treflee faced a dilemma. Wanting to oblige and stay as far away from Ty as possible on the one hand, and forced to stick to a cover story that Ty might decide to renege on again at any second on the other. All weighed against her own safety. Face it, she needed his protection. Which meant staying close to him no matter what.
Treflee bit her lip. “I wish it was that simple.” Too true. “But I can’t give him up just now.”
* * *
At dinner served family-style in the plantation dining room, Ty was absent. Greg presided and happily announced, “Get to bed early tonight. The van rolls out of here for the volcano at four A.M. sharp! We don’t want to miss the sunrise at the House of the Sun.”
“Four A.M.!” Treflee stared at him. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Sunrise is at six-fifteen. Two-hour trip. Do the math.” He grinned. “Dress in layers for cool-weather bike riding. It’ll be thirty degrees colder at the crater than down here. Bring your overnight bag, rain gear, and camping clothes. We’ll be tent camping near Hana tomorrow night. Weather looks great. Nothing but sunshine in the forecast, but things can change quickly up on the mountain and on the windward, tropical side of the island.”
“Bike riding! Camping!” Treflee turned to glare at her conniving cousin. “You never said anything about bike riding and tent camping.”
“Last-minute change of schedule just before we left. It looked like fun.” Carrie shrugged. “Be glad we’re driving to the top of Haleakala and riding down, not the other way around.”
“I didn’t bring bike-riding gear.”
“Don’t worry.” Carrie winked. “They provide mountain bikes, helmets, pads, and rain gear.” Her smile widened. “I brought an extra pair of bike shorts you can borrow.”
Yeah, great consolation. Carrie was two sizes larger than Treflee. A new suspicion dawned. “Just how long is this bike ride?”
“Twenty-eight miles.” Laci spoke from across the table to her for the first time all meal, radiating enjoyment over Treflee’s dismay. “What’s the matter? Not in shape for a downhill cruise?”
Treflee wanted to smack her, or even merely tap her lightly on those red, burned shoulders of hers.
Carrie interceded. “Anyone under ninety who’s ridden a bike in the last twenty years can make this trip.” She smiled at Treflee. “You’ll do fine.”
Maybe. But not at four A.M.! That was strictly Carrie’s territory.
And how in the world was Ty planning to protect her in a tent?
She had visions of sharing a sleeping bag. Oh, boy! Best not to think about that.
* * *
At ten P.M., Treflee lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling fan lazily turning. She’d showered and set the alarm for three-thirty. Five and a half hours—way too little sleep for an eight-hour girl like her.
Dead tired, bruised, and sore, she couldn’t sleep. Living a spy’s life was too complicated. She’d bungled everything, including her relationship with Laci. The last thing she needed was Laci as her enemy. She had enough of those already.
And more than her share of bruises. The ones on her neck had gone from red to deep purple. And now she had bruises on her head, arms, hips, thighs, even her butt, from her surfing adventure.
Her skin was dry from the salt water. She’d slathered herself in the coconut oil from Mrs. Ho. And put the guava lip balm on her lips to avoid sun chapping. She wore her cami and shorts. Trying to feel somewhat sexy and less like a disaster site, she’d spritzed on her favorite perfume, with the result that she smelled like a well-perfumed and somewhat exotic fruit salad. Try as she might, she wouldn’t be able to sleep until Ty rattled the door and tried to break into her room.
Oh, yes, she knew he’d give it the old spy try. He’d promised and he always kept his promises.
She looked through the dark toward the door and the dresser she’d slid up against it. She wasn’t exactly trying to thwart Ty. She was trying to put aside temptation. Hers.
After this afternoon, she didn’t trust herself to resist him. Her heart raced just at the thought of him in her bed. Which was very bad indeed. If she slept with him, she’d lose her resolve and her heart. She’d take him back and be right back living the lonely, frightening life of a spy’s wife. Always worried he wouldn’t come home. Always yearning to make a family with him.
She sighed, wishing she had those divorce papers so she could get him to sign them before she changed her mind. What, exactly, was she supposed to do about them? How could she possibly recover them? And why, oh why, would anyone besides her or Ty want them?
She thought about telling Ty. She had no doubt he could deal with whoever took them much better than she could. But she hated the thought of his reaction. No, it was probably better to conceal their very existence from him. It was just one more secret to keep.
Thinking of Ty—where was he? He’d disappeared after the exterminator left, not to be seen again, the coward.
Why hadn’t he tried to break into her room yet? Sorry, but old wifely habits die hard. She wouldn’t be able to sleep until she knew he was back safely and completely unable to penetrate her room.
* * *
All quiet on the western front, Ty thought as he crept down the hall from his room to Treflee’s just before eleven. He’d heard there’d been a little catfight between Laci and Tref over him earlier. Whoa, he was flattered. And wished he had been there to see it.
Laci, yeah, he could see her taking a swing at someone over a guy. Now Tref was another matter. He hadn’t known the wife had it in her to come to blows over anything, especially him.
He grinned. She still loves me. Every sign pointed to it. Winning her back didn’t look so hopeless, after all.
Earlier, Tita had caught him on her way to deliver a basket of apology to Mrs. Ho for inconveniencing her guests. Mrs. Ho would expect it, she’d said. Only she was going to deliver hers in person, with a personal apology.
He warned Tita. “Hold on there. Think this over a minute, will you, wahine? Give her that basket and you’ll be starting a gift war.”
Tita frowned at him. “It’s the right thing to do.”
He shook his head. “Mrs. Ho will feel obligated to give a gift for a gift.” Ty didn’t relish the expense and hassle of having to call the exterminator again and again with every gift delivery. “Then you’ll grumble and have to outdo Mrs. Ho by giving another, nicer gift. This war could bankrupt you. For the good of Big Auau, reconsider?”
In Ty’s experience, once a gift war started, it wouldn’t end until the non-Chinese person gave up and suffered the dishonor of not giving the last gift.
Tita shrugged and ignored his warning. “I’ll take the chance.”
As he watched her stroll away, he decided he’d have to use the coming war to his benefit. Poor Tita. She had no idea what she was in the middle of, or that he and Greg were secret agents.
He watched her go and then went into town. He spent the afternoon and evening doing his real job—keeping tabs on Hal and Zulu, setting up the details for the drop on the volcano in the morning. So much less personal drama in town than at Auau, it was almost relaxing. Give him political intrigue and murder any day over women’s bickering and fighting with the wife.
He’d taken Tita’s cue and was bringing Tref a little reconciliation gift—the pearls. He usually gave her a charm for her bracelet when he came home from a mission. He’d bought her the string of pearls months ago, way before she’d shown up in Hawaii, the highest grade and quality he could afford. Because he missed her and couldn’t stop thinking about her. Because he wanted something bigger and bet
ter to prove it.
She always laughed when he told her she was constantly on his mind when he was away. She could never believe that she was anywhere near his thoughts while he was off chasing adventure. She didn’t get how much he loved her. Every mission was for her, so her world would be safe.
A dozen, hell, a hundred times over the last six months, he’d been tempted to break his silence and post a comment on the weather blog apologizing, saying he’d consider having a baby if it was what she wanted. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have a child with her, or didn’t want to be a father. It was more his concern about his future child’s safety that had made him hesitate in the first place. As he knew better than anyone, the world was a dangerous place in which to live.
But he knew Tref. It was better to try to win her back in person. And even then, he wasn’t sure she’d believe he was sincere. He wanted to prove now that kissing her earlier wasn’t just part of his cover.
He smiled, picturing the way Tref would respond when he came in late and slid into bed ready for sex.
Strip naked. Crawl in behind her. Get hard as she sleepily curled her bottom into him. Press against her.
Then he’d slide his hands under her cami. Stroke her breasts until they budded up and listen to her breathing quicken to a soft, sexy, dreamy sigh. He got hard just thinking about those sighs, how happy the pearls would make her, and how terrific they’d look above her naked breasts.
He put the key in the lock. It unlocked easily enough. But when he pushed the door to open it, it wouldn’t budge. Something blocked his entrance.
Frustrated, he rested his head against the door and took a deep breath. He resisted the urge to pound on the wall and yell at her to let him in. The pearls would have to wait for another day.
Damn that woman! She’d barricaded the door. If she thought she could keep him out …
* * *
Treflee smiled as she heard the door rattle.
Ah, there he is! Nice try, Ty!
No way he could break through. The door to her balcony was equally secure. She only wished the room had been less sparsely furnished. More barricading furniture could only have been a good thing.
Now that he was home safely and she was securely blockaded in her room, she could rest easy. She snuggled into her pillow and turned over to sleep.
* * *
Ty studied the situation from the lawn below Treflee’s room. He’d bet she’d barricaded the balcony door, too. And booby-trapped the window? Probably.
He frowned and made a mental calculation. No way she had enough furniture or strength to go floor to ceiling with her barrier to entry. Looked like he needed his glass-cutting tools and rappelling gear for this mission. Man, she was testing his determination to win her back. Good thing he never gave up.
* * *
The bed sagged next to her and she felt a cool breeze ripple over her. Treflee woke with a start. As she opened her mouth to scream, a hand clamped over it.
“Shhh. It’s just me.”
Ty!
“Nice try, baby.”
He sat next to her, radiating heat and power. She should have known.
“Next time use more furniture.”
She wrenched his hand free as he laughed softly. “Is that supposed to be helpful? I didn’t have more furniture.”
She felt the bed move as he shrugged. “Too bad. Did you really think you could keep me out?”
He slid down next to her and rested his head on his elbow as he studied her. She couldn’t see his eyes, just his stationary silhouette. “If I can get in, the bad guys can, believe me. Breaking and entering isn’t my strong suit. Mmmm … is that coconut oil and Dolce and Gabbana perfume I smell?”
“How did you get in here?” She squinted toward the source of the breeze, the window, as her eyes adjusted to the dark. “You broke a window?”
“Cut. I cut a window. Less messy that way,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ll replace it in the morning.”
She shook her head, not sure how to proceed with him. Part of her wished she could have gotten him to play handyman around the house so easily. “And what if the bad guys want in tonight?”
“Ah, it just saves them one step. They’d break it anyway.” He ran his hand over her bare arm. “You’re beautiful in the moonlight.”
He sounded so sincere, her heart caught, for the instant before she remembered he was a professional liar. At least the bruises she was so self-conscious about blended right in with the dark. “How about you fix the window and leave now?”
“Oh, come on, babe. Let’s drop the BS about you wanting me to go.” He ran his hand over her hips and squeezed her thigh. “I heard you defended my honor today and got thrown into a wall for your trouble.”
“Laci started it.” Treflee flopped over on her back and fanned her hair out on her pillow. “And I wasn’t defending your honor. I was peeved at being called an adulterous slut for kissing my husband. I hate all this lying and subterfuge. I don’t know how you do it.”
He pulled his shirt off and slid between the sheets next to her. “You get used to it.”
Wrong answer. She gave him a little shove.
“Wow, let a woman get a taste of violence and she goes wild.” His tone was jovial.
“Shut up. I don’t like this … this charade.”
“I know, babe. Just give up and admit you love me and can’t live without me.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Drop the divorce bullshit. Have a fling with me here.”
He lowered his voice into the dangerous sexy range. “Have a fling with your tour guide. Me under cover, under your covers.” He kicked off the sheet, flipped over, and balanced on his arms above her.
Her body reacted to the sight of him perched over her, silhouetted by moonlight, muscles bulging, heart on his sleeve, by tingling all the way to her toes. She bit her lip.
“Help me on my mission, babe. Work with me. Don’t make me have to trick you into it.”
At last, an admission of guilt.
He leaned down and kissed her neck. “Be my own little Bond girl.”
“Bond girls don’t always make it to the end of the movie alive.” She tried hard to suppress the sigh that rose naturally at the feel of his warm, probing lips on her skin. “Sometimes they drown in vats of oil or are found dead covered in gold paint.”
“The main girl always lives to make Bond a very happy man at the end of the show.” His kisses moved upward until he was gently biting her jawline, and finally, upward until his lips met hers. “You have always been my main girl.”
She’d been right to barricade him out. She couldn’t resist him. She opened her mouth to him, and her legs. As he slid his tongue in her mouth and settled his body between her legs, she wrapped her arms around him and ran her fingertips over it until he shuddered.
He’s aroused and ready. Just the way I like him.
She shouldn’t be doing this, but she couldn’t stop herself. She curled her legs around his back and rocked into him as she kissed him back with a hunger she couldn’t restrain. They both still wore their shorts—hers, thin, soft, barely perceptible Egyptian cotton, his, cargo shorts with stiff pockets.
Oh, she loved the hard feel of him against her.
She rocked and rocked against him as he pounded back. Clothed from the waist down, she felt giddy, like a teenager again, enjoying the build, sensations, and teasing.
“Tref,” he whispered as he slid his hands beneath her cami and whisked it off.
Such a simple action. Such a rush as her bare breasts met his chest. She closed her eyes and sighed. I’ve missed him. Missed the feel of him, the smell, the closeness when they made love. Maybe one little last good-bye roll in the hay wouldn’t hurt …
He kissed her breast and slid his hand over her stomach and to the waistband of her shorts, pulling at the string to untie them.
She rocked against him again, unable to get enough of the hard feel of him, feeling on the very edge. W
illing him to get her pants off and get inside where he belonged.
And then his pants buzzed. Her eyes flew open.
His pants vibrated again. Considering the heightened state she was in, it wasn’t as if she didn’t like the sensation, but …
Someone is calling him? Now?
He ignored it. But it buzzed again and again, to the point of distraction.
“Is that a phone buzzing in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” she whispered in his ear. “I don’t think this is what the phone company meant when they said to reach out and touch someone.”
He nuzzled her neck. “It’s these damn, new experimental vibrator shorts Q’s developed,” he whispered back. “The ladies are supposed to love them.”
“Get rid of them,” she whispered back. “You don’t need them.”
As he pulled his shorts off, the phone slid out of his pocket onto the bed next to her, the screen glowing brightly.
“Damn!” he said.
She recognized that tone. “What? Who is it?”
“Babe.” The inflection of that one word could convey so many meanings. This one was apologetic and meant, “A mission calls. I have to run.”
“No!” she said. “You can’t go now!”
He was already sitting up on the edge of the bed, leaning over to search the floor for the shirt he’d tossed away. He found it and pulled it on.
“I’m sorry. It’s urgent.”
And my need isn’t?
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, but she couldn’t see his face. He sat with his back to her.
“You can’t spare two more minutes?” she asked, not meaning to sound so sexually frustrated.
He turned and stroked her cheek. “Two minutes? Give me some credit. I plan on taking way longer than two.” He shook his phone. “This can’t wait.” He leaned over and bent to kiss her.
The Spy Who Left Me: An Agent Ex Novel Page 12
