Chapter 5
C ome on, just do it.
He’d been ready for half an hour, dressed in dark jeans, a leather jacket over a polo shirt and boots—with the special thick, flexible insert that, he had to admit, made walking a hell of a lot easier on his thigh. This was the first official day of their courtship, and Gary Brooks was waiting at Centennial Park, where he’d “find” them sitting by the lake, kissing. They were due there in fifteen minutes.
And he still couldn’t make himself dip his fingers—or the special little thing that looked like a mini-shovel—back into the goop sitting on the bathroom vanity in front of him.
He’d already botched it twice, slathering it on because he couldn’t stand watching himself in the mirror, putting on makeup. Mary-Anne had put it on for him yesterday to meet Brooks at the Grand Hotel, but he was a man, damn it, a Nighthawk operative, and he had to do this himself.
“Tal?” A gentle knock on his bathroom door, in the bedroom beside hers in her lovely Sydney waterfront mansion. “Do you need any help?”
He gritted his teeth. “No. Thanks.” Be a man. Do it! He dragged in a breath, used a towel to blot out the trickling sweat on his cheek, and grabbed the little shovel.
“Protect Mary-Anne. Protect Mary-Anne,” he chanted grimly under his breath. That thought alone got him through. He watched every damned movement, as every molecule of the bloody goop landed on his skin like an alien invasion. He forced his fingers to smooth the stuff over the scars, using the special blending sponge to soften the effect, and the ultra-thin layer of artificial skin to cover any lumps, smoothing the edges into his real skin to make him look normal. Protect Mary-Anne. Protect Mary-Anne…
He had to blot more sweat off by the time he finally finished—but even under the strong artificial light of the bathroom, he could barely tell that his face had ever been torn to shreds. The evidence of four rounds of plastic surgery was gone. He’d pass muster in the most searching photos…and with his parents.
And yeah, he still felt like a bloody cross-dresser. Normality had too high a price: he was gonna toss that goop in the trash the second this mission was over.
“If Brooks yells ‘Miss West’ once more, I’m gonna deck him.”
From where she moved in Tal’s arms, Verity slanted a glance at him. He meant it, all right. Acting wasn’t his forte. He’d been stalking around the glitziest locales within the city of Sydney the past three days like a modern-day Heathcliff—tense, brooding, seeming far above all he had to do. In his tux, wearing makeup and the shoe insert, he was every woman’s dream man once again, but with a darker, dangerous edge—the true, dark-hearted alpha male.
And he was a Navy doctor again, to boot. In a deal made by Anson he’d re-signed with the Navy before they’d started their campaign, as he called it. They had been more than happy to provide him with a cover, with the added publicity the marriage gave them. “I need to match the woman of my dreams in my career as well as my face,” he’d murmured as Gary snapped off shot after ecstatic shot of him in his uniform, holding her in his arms. “Not that I could fulfill the demands of either job for long, but the real objective has been attained.”
Yes, he was the perfect romantic match for the international darling of the music world…
And she was going silently crazy.
Nick’s plan was working without a hitch. Sharing ice cream in the park. Picnics on open boats. They’d been found sharing candle-lit dinners for two, dancing in each other’s arms on snug, crowded dance floors and on beautiful, tiled garden balconies under the stars. Impromptu kisses orchestrated by the moment that seemed appropriate for them.
Making her body hunger…but not for the plates of fruit and salad she ordered. She ached with a need so strong she couldn’t think, could barely breathe. He slept in the room next to hers in her Sydney Harbourside mansion, and while it strengthened the speculation on their being lovers, it left her tossing and turning, waking over and over after gorgeous, unfulfilled dreams.
And always the flash of cameras accompanied their every move, as well as fans asking her for her autograph, clever journos who found them constantly asking intrusive questions.
Their families were on the way down for the wedding set up for the day after tomorrow. They couldn’t keep going like this. They might fool the world that they were happy lovers, but their parents would know straightaway their love affair was false.
She closed her eyes, knowing from long experience what would happen. Mum and Aunt Sheila would start crying. Dad and Uncle Dal would either retreat to the pub or exchange blows. Sensing his little sister’s unhappiness, Greg would deck Tal like he had after Tal got Ginny pregnant—and the family free-for-all that followed would shoot the mission to pieces, if Gary Brooks was there to document and photograph it. Falcone and Burstall, on the hunt for Nighthawks to show up in Amalza, would sniff trouble straightaway, and Burstall would kill them before they even reached the Embassy’s gates.
She had to do something to pull Tal out of his inner darkness—or the blackness of everlasting night could fall on them both.
“Miss West! Miss West!”
Tal swore, harsh and guttural. “That’s it. He’s outta here—right on his arse.” He released her and turned to Gary Brooks, murder in his eyes.
“No!” She twisted him back to her and pulled his mouth down on hers, hard and fast, holding him with all her strength until he moved against her, his mouth opening to hers…
Then she forgot everything but the feel of his mouth on her, the taste of him—her aching, pounding need, and the pool of heat gathering inside her.
He apparently felt the same. With a lightning movement he had her outside on the balcony. He jammed the doors locked with a chair and moved until they were out of sight of the crowd. “It’s time we tried this privately. We’ve got about two minutes before they find a way out here,” he whispered.
She swayed back into his arms. “Tal…”
He cupped her face, looking down into it with an expression she couldn’t interpret. His thumbs moved, touching her jaw—and she moaned in anguished ecstasy. His eyes darkened. “Now we’re going to do this right.” Slowly, so slowly she shook with excited anticipation, he lowered his head to hers.
The simulated kisses were gone: a slow-burning sensuality took their place. And she didn’t care if it was deliberate, if he had an agenda or not right now. His kisses had always taken her breath away: now they left her in a little puddle at his feet. “Tal…” Her voice throbbed with aching, pounding need. She arched against him, wrapping her arms hard around his neck. “Oh, Tal, it’s been so long since I felt like this,” she whispered.
In the moment he resisted her pull, she looked up and saw she’d confused the hell out of him. Is she acting, or not? She smiled and closed her eyes, ready for more—
And then the first flash of the camera came again.
“Good work,” he whispered against her mouth. Lost in a daze of fiery sensuality, she opened her eyes. His face was a bare half inch from hers, but his eyes glittered in ironic approval. “I could’ve blown the mission just then. That was a top-class deflection, Songbird. Following my lead looked really natural. Good girl. You work well with your partners, don’t you?”
She forced herself to smile up at him, cool and challenging—the exact opposite of how she felt inside. “Well, I must admit that none of my assignments has included this kind of requirement—but did you expect less? I particularly appreciated the way you took it up a notch, bringing us out here. Well done.”
He shrugged, kissed her lightly again for the cameras. “I don’t like being left behind. You never forget the mission, do you? A top-class operative, Miss West—a real pro.”
That broke her. Feeling hot tears sting her eyes behind her contacts, she lowered her gaze a little. “Like you said the other day—I might not look much like I used to, but I’m still a woman,” she whispered against his mouth, smiling for the sake of the people inside the restaurant and out he
re in the garden, watching them with avid interest. “I might be famous, Tal, but I can still hurt. So don’t punish me for the things we both have to do for the mission. I didn’t ask for this any more than you did.”
His eyes glinted as he watched her, holding her with deceptive closeness. “You’re right. But I’m not punishing you, sweetness—I just don’t know you.” He shrugged as she flinched. “I could never understand it when the press nicknamed you the Iceberg. But your acting is so perfect it fools even me.”
She pressed her lips together. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Her voice came out with a distressing little wobble, an obvious huskiness.
He smiled down at her, but there was a strange, arrested look in his eyes. “I guess it depends on whether we’re talking professionally or personally—and whether my opinion matters.”
A tiny sigh escaped her lips. The hot burn of tears unshed, and the constant flash of the cameras, was giving her a headache. “Of course it matters, Tal. I don’t do this job for the kicks.” Not caring how it looked anymore, she let her head droop to his shoulder. “I care that so many people depend on us. I care that you hate wearing the makeup, feeling as inferior as I used to. And I care that the person who used to be my best friend in the world is treating me like he can’t stand me.” She shuddered against him, hating that she had to bare her soul under the gaze of a dozen intensely interested strangers. “And more than anything else, I care that you can’t look past the pretense I have to put on for the mission to see who I really am…”
Oh, no, she’d let out that stupid little hiccup again.
The silence that hung in the air was grim and tense, shimmering with emotions unspoken. “Let’s get out of here.”
She turned to Gary with her hand upraised as he began reeling off shots. “Please, we need space. I have a headache. You have a story for tomorrow’s edition. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
The contract was crystal clear: Miss West had control of how many shots he took and where, or she could break the agreement, and the wedding shots would be open to any member of the press. The journo nodded and reluctantly took off.
They grabbed their stuff and headed for the limo, broken only by a couple of fans wanting her autograph. Verity’s autograph.
Finally, in the shadowed privacy of the car, he spoke what was on his mind. “If I don’t know how to act around you, it’s because you confuse me,” he murmured. “Who are you—Mary-Anne, Songbird or Verity West? Does anyone know what’s really inside? I think you’ve been living a triple life so long, even you don’t know anymore.”
Tears stung and burned behind her eyes. “Spoken like a doctor. You dissected me with all your usual surgical precision.” She sighed. “Gil made up the name Verity for me. I told him I couldn’t go up on stage, so he said Mary-Anne didn’t have to. I could send Verity up there, be someone else. And it works. As Verity West, I can do things Mary-Anne couldn’t face. The Iceberg is a creation of the press and fans, but I use that reputation on missions to make men keep their distance from me. Songbird is an exotic cat burglar who goes to the parties of the rich and infamous, using Verity West’s name to gather information like no other Nighthawk can.”
She turned on him, her eyes pleading. “Don’t you understand? Gil made Verity West. The press created the Iceberg. Ghost invented Songbird. And though each of them has its purpose, none of them is me any more than you are Irish or a beach bum pilot.” She shrugged helplessly. “We all wear masks, Tal—and I don’t just mean the Nighthawks.”
“I know.” He spoke in a slow, thoughtful tone, and a tide of hope washed through her. “Why do you care what I think? You’re Verity West. You don’t need me now. And given our history…”
Crunch time—she could either keep her pride or she could save the mission and the lives that went with it.
There really wasn’t any choice. She closed her eyes, dragged in a breath and said it. “Verity West, Songbird and the Iceberg are what I do. I’m Mary-Anne—and you know what else I am? I’m alone, all the time, because nobody sees me—me—not even you, and I’m so tired of it, Tal. I’ve been all alone since Gil died…” Her voice cracked and broke. “I just wanted a f-friend—” darn it, there went that pathetic, needy hiccup again “…someone to talk to, you know?”
The protective warmth of his arms came around her. “Come here.” A tender hand smoothed the loosened curls of her chignon. “The song from the Blue Straits album. ‘Tearing It Up’ is about you.”
She nodded against his chest, feeling at peace. “And ‘Whenever I’m Alone,’” she whispered.
He held her with gentle protectiveness. “I like Blue Straits and After the Dove, but Nobody’s Lolita is my favorite album you put out. The feelings are so raw.” She felt the hesitation before he spoke. “I’ve always wanted to know… ‘Farewell Innocence’—”
“You shouldn’t have to ask.” She smiled up at him. “And for your information, I didn’t ‘put out.’ I released the albums.”
“Oops.” He chuckled. “Yeah, well, words were always your thing, Ms. Songwriter, not mine.”
“Your bedside manner must be appalling.” Her smile widened tremulously. She felt timid, almost shy, in this tentative new atmosphere of friendship hovering in the air.
“Gruesome.” He kissed her forehead, still laughing. “‘Farewell Innocence’ has followed me around since it came out.”
“I never meant for it to haunt you,” she murmured, feeling distressed by his confession. “I wrote it to free us both, to say goodbye. I knew you felt bad about what happened.” She laid her head on his chest. “I wrote it before I met Gil, but I only ever sang my songs for him until he entered me in the contest I won.”
“Do you ever wish he hadn’t?” he asked softly.
A tiny sigh escaped her. “Oh, only about once or twice a day, whenever this crazy life overwhelms me again.”
“Mary-Anne.”
“Hmm?”
He tipped up her face, looking into her eyes. “Nothing. Just—Mary-Anne.”
For the first time the silence was sweet, tender with the unspoken caring of old friendship…and, while she knew she wanted so much more, this moment was enough for now. For the first time since she’d seen him again, the promise of tomorrow wasn’t dark. “Yeah,” she agreed with another smile. “Just Mary-Anne.”
Even when Anson opened the door of her Harbourside mansion for them, in the guise of her butler, Tal didn’t lose the mood. He grinned and said cheerfully, “Good evening, Jeeves. And a lovely night was had by all. We’d like hot chocolate, thanks.”
Anson frowned as he closed the door. “Did I miss something?”
Tal smiled at Mary-Anne, sharing a memory. “You had to be there, I guess. In Cowinda, that is.”
“I’m glad you’re in such a good mood, Irish. I have some instructions relating to the arrivals tomorrow—”
“We’ll have hot chocolate, thanks,” Tal interrupted him without anger or even interest. “Miss West and I want to continue our conversation in private.”
“Knock it off, Irish,” Anson snapped. “I’m not in the mood for your antics tonight. The families come tomorrow and we need to coordinate our stories on your meeting again.”
Tal’s brows lifted. “Um, Boss? You don’t have a story to tell them, unless they’re interested in the butler’s point of view. And if you seriously think you can give us instruction on our own families, you’ve been on the job too long.” He didn’t face their secret chief down or stand up to him. He simply grinned at Anson’s blank look. “Come on, Boss. You can’t believe we need your help with our own parents. Now if you want to be of any use in our plans, please ask the cook for two mugs of hot chocolate. They’re necessary,” he added with a perfectly straight face.
Mary-Anne giggled at Anson’s narrow-eyed gaze. He wasn’t used to being put in his place or to admitting that anyone could know more than he did about any aspect of a mission. “He means it, Nick. We always used to sneak into each o
ther’s kitchens at night for hot chocolates when we were kids.” She smiled to conciliate him. “Our parents will drive here overnight, taking shifts, and be here in the morning. Unwashed cups from our hot chocolates will do more to reassure them that everything’s fine with us than if we’re sleeping in the same bed.”
“I see.” Anson’s brow shot up. He glanced at Mary-Anne, whose hand still lay in Tal’s. “As you wish,” was all he said. He bowed to them both with an ironic inflection and left the room.
“Man, that felt good,” Tal murmured in her ear as they moved to the informal living room at the back of the house, overlooking the pretty rose garden leading to the Sydney Harbour waterfront.
“Yes, it did,” she confessed. They sat on the thick comfy sofa, only inches apart. Could he feel her hunger, the physical ache to touch him? “Much as I admire Nick, sometimes he needs his microchip reprogrammed to remind him that he’s human.”
Tal chuckled. “He is like a robot, isn’t he? I’ve often wondered if he ever lets loose, screams, goes to the movies or the pub, plays football or does some one-on-one on the court…or finds a woman to forget saving the world, if only for an hour.”
She slanted a half-mischievous glance at him, covering her intense curiosity. “Is this personal experience speaking? Did you need to forget for an hour, Tal?”
He shrugged. “I’m only human. Sometimes, when it all got to be too much…” He shrugged again when he saw the look on her face. “You don’t know what it’s like out there. You do the glitz rounds. The things I’ve seen on SAR, what I’ve had to do—sometimes a man will do almost anything to be able to leave the memories behind.”
“Okay.” She bit her lip, trying desperately to hold it in, but the words tumbled out. “Look, I know I have no right to ask, but—promise me you won’t do that while we’re married? I know we won’t be really married, but I…” She dipped her head, ashamed of the hot jealousy spearing her heart, stabbing her soul…but oh, the thought of him touching, kissing, another woman, moving inside her, bringing a stranger to fulfillment while she ached for him—
Can You Forget? Page 7
