A Necessary Deception

by Lucy Farago

“You didn’t blow up the cabin. And please come back here.” He held out his hand.

  “The cabin was destroyed and you were injured because of me.” This was all her fault.

  He dropped his hand with a heavy sigh. “I’m not going to get any, am I?”

  She laughed. “What makes you think it would have gone that far?” She wasn’t 100 percent sure she wouldn’t have, but that admission would serve to make her even more vulnerable to his…unique charm.

  “Wishful thinking? Come here.” He patted the bed and sat up.

  When she didn’t budge, he put on such a puppy-dog pout that it’d be hard to deny him anything he wanted. He was hurt after all.

  “I’m not holding you accountable for what’s happened. Look, the government has been trying to take down Krupin and the Russian mob for years. And you didn’t start this, they did. Plus, my boss isn’t going to be happy they flattened his…place.”

  “So, you do work for the government?”

  “Not a chance. My team might drive me batshit crazy and they sure as fuck don’t know when to mind their own business, but I wouldn’t trade them in for red-tape bureaucracy. We get the job done. The government shoves their fingers up their ass, then complains they’re constipated.”

  “Now there’s a caricature for the New Yorker.”

  He took her hand and held it. “What I’m trying to tell you is that this is bigger than you. Bigger than me.”

  Bigger than her for sure, but there was more to it. And now that she thought about it… “Do you mind telling me why there was a panic room? In a cabin? In the Alaskan wild?”

  “Like you said, anything can happen up here.”

  He stroked the delicate skin between her index finger and thumb. A distraction tactic?

  “That’s what they have satellite phones for.” She withdrew her hand, partially because it was distracting…and mostly because she liked it far too much.

  “Are you going to be mean to me if I don’t tell you?”

  She crossed her arms. If they didn’t trust each other, humor wasn’t going to help them survive this.

  “Just say you will, so my boss doesn’t kill me for spilling secrets. I mean, being injured and all.” He leaned back and opened his arms across the pillow. “I’m kind of at your mercy.”

  He’d been honest about one thing: The man didn’t drink, nor could he hold his liquor. “Want me to go get my Walther and point it at your head, too? Or are you just trying to tease me with your naked chest?” Which was pretty spectacular. “Add that to the fact you’re already in a bed and I imagine you’d make every woman on the planet swoon. I myself am locking my knees to prevent falling flat on my face,” she said with enough sarcasm to hopefully cover the truth in her statement.

  “You’re sitting,” he pointed out. “But you’re welcome to fall on top of me. Just watch the knee.”

  “Monty,” she warned, “quit screwing around.” And trying, and succeeding, to make her hot.

  He muttered something under his breath she didn’t catch but was fairly certain was a dirty comeback. “Fine, but if you’re not getting into bed with me, would you mind grabbing me a T-shirt out of the top drawer?” He pointed to the tall chest on the far wall. “It’s kind of cold in here.”

  Earlier, he’d not only reeked of smoke but was covered in tiny burn holes where embers had caught him. After she’d cut off his pants, she’d been the one to suggest he remove everything. There’d been no reason to keep him in wet, dirty clothes just to preserve his modesty, which as it turned out, he didn’t have. She’d been the one blushing, not him.

  She retrieved a gray T-shirt and handed it to him. “Need help?”

  “No, thanks.” He slipped it on. “Maybe later?”

  She didn’t mind his teasing. Her getting him back to the bunker safely hadn’t wiped the slate clean. And if he enjoyed flirting with her, so be it. “Okay,” she tugged the sheet high over his chest, “start talking.”

  He glanced down at himself. “Are you trying to cover me up for a reason?”

  “You said you were cold.” And the more layers between them, the better. “And,” she cut him off, “if you say something as cliché as getting under the covers with you, I’m leaving. You’re better than that.”

  “You mean I can keep trying as long as my lines aren’t cheesy?”

  She shrugged. “If it amuses you,” she said, patting his good leg.

  “Nothing like a patronizing pat on the leg to kill the mood.”

  “There is no mood.” There had been. She couldn’t deny it. But now it was gone. And if they were smart, they’d keep it that way. “Now,” she said, standing to open the pocket door between their rooms, “tell me about the cabin.”

  He sighed, an over-the-top, woeful sigh. “You can’t repeat what I tell you.”

  “Who would I tell?”

  “When we get back, I mean.”

  “If we get back.” Everything was going from bad to worse to God only knew what.

  “We’ll get back,” he assured her, covering his mouth in a yawn, the effects of the whiskey and exhausting night.

  “Tell me about the cabin and then you can get some rest.” While she shouldn’t take advantage of his warm fuzzies, she suspected if they didn’t talk now, he never would.

  “The cabin is used as a safe house.”

  “Is that what this is? A safe house?”

  “No. This is a control base.”

  “Control base? Military?” From what she’d seen, it wasn’t that far of a stretch.

  “No.”

  She was starting to understand. The secrecy. The supplies. The guns. “No, not military. Mercenary. You’re guns for hire.”

  “Not in the way you’re thinking. Let’s just say we’re willing to do things others won’t…or can’t do.”

  “For money.”

  “Our guys risk their lives. It’s a job like anything else. No one is going to turn down being well-compensated for their work. I can’t get into the details of what we do, but I can tell you we save lives and, on an occasion or two, countries.” He winked at her.

  She rolled her eyes. She guessed she should take some comfort in knowing she was in good hands, professional hands. “So, where will your friends pick us up?”

  “Unless the assholes were lying, there’s a clearing about two miles from here.”

  “Lying?”

  “Let’s just say they knew I wouldn’t be keen on being brought here.”

  “They knocked you out? Nice friends.”

  “Aren’t they just?” He slipped down into the bed and yawned again. “They meant well. And that’ll be the only thing stopping me from killing them when I get home.”

  She couldn’t imagine what he’d done to justify being hauled to Alaska without his knowledge. “Where did they nab you from?” She realized she knew very little about Monty. Including where he lived.

  “New York. Ryan asked me to fly out. Never thought they’d pull a stunt like this.”

  “Ryan…?”

  “Ryan Sheppard, my boss.”

  Taylor’s jaw fell open. “You work for Ryan?” She hadn’t seen him in years, not since she’d proved what a screwup she’d been.

  “You know him?” he said, suddenly alert and looking like maybe he’d said too much.

  “Intimately.”

  Chapter12

  Monty had been on the verge of falling asleep. The kiss had been amazing, more amazing than he’d imagined, but the three shots of warm booze had gone straight to his head and into his bloodstream. Then she’d dropped her bombshell.

  “Intimately?” he repeated, making sure he’d heard right. Had he been coming on to one of Ryan’s girlfriends. The thought was…disturbing. Even more so by the fact that he’d just intimated Ryan employed mercenaries. He’d only been trying to evade
her questions.

  “I met him before… Well, you know, when I was rich. I can’t believe he’s your boss. I thought…” She looked like she’d rather be anywhere but here with him. “I’d heard his father had given him control of a PI company. And I knew about the security stuff he did before that, when we were dating, but… Well, that explains a lot. So, ICU isn’t a PI agency?”

  He considered backpedaling. Had he known she knew Ryan… what? What exactly could he have told her to explain this bunker? How much of the truth did he dare tell her now? One thing was certain, he wasn’t going to tell her it was Ryan who had taken the company to a whole new level. “No, I mean, yes. ICU is…paid…to…investigate.” He was fucking this up. Why couldn’t he get his brain to work? Because he’d wimped out and allowed Taylor to pour whiskey down his throat, that’s why. He really needed to man up.

  She nodded. “You guys do more than investigate.”

  “Not always,” he said, wishing he’d bit his tongue. That sounded too much like he was hiding something. Good job.

  “That’s why you know so much about the Russian mob. You’ve had some kind of…run-in? Secret investigation? What?”

  “What,” he said. He wasn’t trying to be cute, nor could he give her the details. Their clients paid for anonymity.

  “I get it.” She nodded in understanding. “Need to know. I’m happy Ryan is one of the good guys.”

  And that seemed to matter to her. Ryan’s dating habits were well-documented. His love life was always up for speculation—and gossip. The women he dated were often rich, but not always. Some had the clout and power of old family, without the coffers to support their expensive tastes. Not that it stopped their spending habit, or their pursuit of a rich husband. None of them had ever impressed Monty. Brains weren’t one of Ryan’s must-haves for his girlfriends. Either they had some or they didn’t, and quite often it was the latter. Ryan was a great philanthropist and a generous boss who not only rewarded loyalty but reciprocated it. His IQ was as impressive as his bank account. But for all that, in the dating department, Ryan was shallow. As were most of the women who wrapped themselves around him. Taylor didn’t fit the image. Then again, maybe he’d pegged her wrong.

  “It’s late,” she said. “You should rest.”

  She started to leave, but he grabbed her wrist. “You can’t just tell me you slept with my boss, then say nighty night.” He didn’t want to come across as a jealous asshole. To begin with, he had no right, and it wasn’t his style. He wasn’t the jealous type, or so he thought. But if she’d slept with Ryan, it kind of changed things between them.

  “I never said I slept with him.”

  “Intimately implies sex.”

  “It was a long time ago. And anyway, why do you care?”

  “I don’t. I’m curious, that’s all. Ryan’s going to find out about this and I want to make sure it’s the cabin he’s pissed about.” The women who worked at ICU speculated that Ryan dated all those different women because he was trying to fill the void left by someone he’d developed feelings for who had broken his heart. The guys believed he was just a horndog. Monty, however, knew enough about failed relationships to side with the women. Could Taylor be that woman?

  “Well you have nothing to worry about. Whatever we had was over a long time ago. I was a different person back then. Now go to sleep.”

  She was a different person, but what, or who, had changed her? As he didn’t believe she was ready to tell him anything about her past, he dropped it. Although now that he thought about it, why had she roomed with a family while attending NYU? She’d have had the money for her own place. He added it to the pile of unanswered questions. “Good night, Taylor. And thanks for patching me up.”

  “It’s a pittance to what I owe you. Keep your fingers crossed I don’t screw up breakfast tomorrow. I’m not a very good cook, but I’ll try my best.”

  “Like you said, it’s kind of hard to screw up boxed pancakes.”

  “We’ll see,” she said, smiling. “I’ll keep the pocket door open. Shout if you need me.”

  He relaxed back against the pillows and regrettably watched her leave. His life was getting weirder and weirder. Take the way she’d taken care of him. And he’d let her. His behavior was bizarre. And then he’d kissed one of Ryan’s women. And liked it. More than liked it. He closed his eyes and tried to let his exhaustion overtake him. He wanted to fall asleep remembering the feel of Taylor’s mouth against to his. Instead, he felt oddly empty. He always liked his solitude but tonight, not so much. He opened his eyes.

  It had only been a couple of kisses. Two stupid kisses and yet, somehow, some way, it was more. It was the whiskey. That had to be it. It had gone to his head and fucked with his mind. He rolled to his good side and punched the pillow. This was stupid. Two kisses. How could two kisses screw with his life?

  This was why he avoided relationships. That wasn’t true. He was smart enough to know why relationships made him itch. And he was ashamed to admit he didn’t know how to fix it. He liked women. Liked spending time with them. But any more than three dates and he’d break out in a rash. The longest he’d dated a woman was seven months, but she’d been halfway around the world most of that time, and there was so much time between dates, it had taken his brain longer to register he was in a real relationship. He’d actually gotten used to telling his friends he had a girlfriend, and for a while there, he thought he was getting over his issues with commitment. But the moment he asked her to consider staying Stateside, she’d told him she was taking another deployment. Sometimes even being around his married friends was hard. But he liked their wives, and as long as he avoided looking at their wedding fingers, it was all good.

  The irony that he was stuck with a matchmaker wasn’t lost on him. He’d simply done his best to avoid thinking about it. Then he’d fucked it up by giving in to his urges and kissing her. He was such a screwup. And not in the way his team thought. He had every right to be protective about his software. They were his babies. His creations. Da Vinci wouldn’t let anyone fuck with his paintings. Why should Monty’s ideas be any different? Okay, that was excessive even for him, but still. Nobody understood his genius. He’d stand to make millions if he sold his software, or any of his gadgets, but he hadn’t done it for the money. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit his motives were pathetic. But then, that would be counterproductive. He had to think like a genius to be a genius. Anything less and that prone-to-panic-attacks kid from the mountains of Kentucky reared his scared little head. And he’d worked too hard for that to happen.

  Thailand was on him. He knew that. He’d not only been burning the candles on both ends, he’d lit the mother of bonfires in the confines of his control room. But he had a chance to redeem himself. He’d get Taylor to safety and, with any luck, put one major monkey wrench in Krupin’s Stateside operations. He had to keep the matchmaker safe. Whatever her relationship with Ryan, it didn’t matter. He forced his eyes closed and focused on the numbing effect of the liquor. He drew a deep breath and allowed exhaustion to weigh him down. He wouldn’t think about the woman in the next room. His dreams, however, had other ideas.

  * * * *

  Monty rolled onto his back. Having forgotten about his leg, his eyes flew open with the tight pain behind his knee. “Shit.” Burns sucked.

  “Everything okay?” Taylor stood in the doorway between their rooms. She was dressed in oversize black sweats, fat woolen socks, and what looked like a warm gray pullover. Her golden hair was messed up and her left cheek sported a crease. She’d never looked more beautiful.

  “Yeah. I just forgot about the knee. How did you sleep?”

  “It took me a few minutes to get warm but, as you can see,” she held up her hands, “I found the right clothes to sleep in. You?”

  Considering the dreams he remembered were about her… “I slept good.”

  “It’s late,
almost noon.”

  He pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Then I guess we’re having brunch. Why don’t you get dressed”—or not, she looked so darn cute—“and I’ll go see how much snow we got?”

  “I can do that. You stay in bed.”

  “I have to get up sooner or later.” And he wasn’t comfortable with her wandering outside. He tried to throw the cover off, but she moved quickly to stop him.

  “Later. Give that injury time to heal.”

  It was sweet of her, but he wasn’t about to sit on his ass for the next couple of days. “The burn pad will help it heal.”

  “Yes, it will, but crawling down that tunnel isn’t going to help it.”

  “Lying around doing nothing will drive me crazy.” He didn’t like feeling useless.

  “Okay, then. Figure out how you’re going to wash without getting your knee wet. You still smell like smoke.”

  “I’ll wash off what I can in the sink, and then maybe go soak in the hot spring.”

  “I admit, I don’t know much about first aid. Isn’t getting the burn wet bad?”

  “Normally. You risk infection. But sulfur spas are supposed to be good for cuts and burns.” At least that’s what the guys kept insisting when they’d first discovered it, but he wasn’t into that holistic stuff. He shooed her from the bed, which, frankly, he’d expected more of a fight from her over, and tossed off the covers.

  Taylor rushed to her room and returned with a baggy pair of sweatpants. “I found these for you.” Dropping the pants on the floor by his feet, she knelt in front of him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you.” With a soft touch, she picked up one foot and pulled the sweats over it.

  She did the same with the other. Her hands brushed his calves as she pulled them up and over his knees. The sudden need to bend down and kiss her nearly outdid him.

  “Can you stand?”

  He could until she’d touched his bare legs. Now, however, it probably wasn’t the best idea. “I can do this,” he said, resting his forearms over his thighs. “How about finding me some socks?” Anything to distract her attention from when he stood and whipped on those pants. “Should be in the drawer where you found this T-shirt.”