by Addison Fox
Many used the moniker as an insult, but he took no offense. The garage wines—small boutique-sized vintages that commanded a premium—that had evolved in Bordeaux in the past two decades were some of the most sought throughout the world. He was determined to do the same for Italy.
Only he’d do it better.
A light rustling caught his attention and he nearly stumbled over his chief of staff, crouched at the end of one of the rows. “Holden?”
The slender man unfurled himself with quick movements before coming to his full height. “Ambassador. I’m sorry if I startled you.”
“I’ve told you that you don’t need to call me ambassador.”
“It’s your title.”
Hubert narrowly avoided the sigh at the young man’s rigid formality. “Of course. What are you doing out here? You’ve made it abundantly clear on several occasions that you’re not a wine fan.”
“I’m confirming the preparations.”
Hubert gestured toward the vines. “In the dirt?”
“I dropped my glasses.”
Hubert resisted the urge to laugh. Holden was clumsy, but he managed Hubert’s schedule with finesse and an iron fist. “Come. Let’s get in out of the cold. The days have been lovely but the evenings grow cool quickly and I’d like to review the remaining arrangements for tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
Holden kept pace as they walked to the house, his long strides always balanced just shy of Hubert’s own. He marveled at the skill—that such a long-limbed, often-clumsy man could control his gait so easily—before abandoning the thought in favor of another glass of wine as they entered the house.
“The special forces team assigned to your detail called. They’ll be sending in two new agents.”
“Oh?” He stopped himself midselection of several pieces of cheese before focusing on Holden. “What’s wrong with the team I have?”
“Nothing, but they’re not taking any chances. They also feel the two individuals they’ve assigned to you have a slightly higher qualification than those who usually manage your security.”
“What sort of qualifications?”
“Are you familiar with Jack Andrews or Kensington Steele? Their dossiers were provided late last month.”
A vision of lush dark hair and a stunning slash of cheekbone lit up his memories. “I remember Ms. Steele.”
“Both have been vetted for their dual ability to blend into the background yet stand out as trusted advisers and respected guests. The police believe you need that additional layer to prevent any unfortunate incidents.”
“I’m hosting a dinner party, not playing a game of cat and mouse.” Hubert forced a light laugh into his words, even if something simmered like a fire on low in his gut.
Protection? Additional security detail?
“Is there any reason to worry?”
“Nothing specific, but no one wishes to take chances with your safety. There was an incident at the Cantina DeAngelo winery earlier this week.”
Hubert pictured the withered old winemaker who he saw often on his visits to town on the rare weekends he could stay. “I’ve heard of no incidents. What happened?”
“You didn’t know? Signor Giuseppe was murdered.”
The simple answer, delivered without any inflection, pulled Hubert up short. “Murdered? What? When?”
“The other morning. They’ve only released that it was an intruder on his property. I’ve tried to stress your interests are not the same as the general public, but the police remain stubbornly unwilling to share any further details. They claim it was an unfortunate incident, but no one wishes to take any chances, Ambassador.”
“Of course.”
It was a long while later, long after Holden had departed back to his room, that Hubert still walked the floors. He’d done a quick computer search on Giuseppe’s death and wondered at the limited details. Something like a murder was big news in this quiet part of Italy, yet there had been limited discussion of the matter.
Hell, there’d been no discussion of it. For two days, he’d been oblivious that a man who lived three kilometers away had been murdered on his own property.
Of course, he knew his perception was skewed. He’d lived in the rarified air of international relations for so long, his life was far from normal. Yet it still bothered him that he knew nothing of his neighbor’s violent passing.
Had Holden kept it from him? Holden was excellent at his job, but Hubert knew full well the man managed him. Most of the time he accepted it because Holden Keene got things done.
But now?
Now perhaps it was time to do some digging of his own.
Chapter 7
Rowan’s words ran through her head on a loop. A maniacal loop that whispered over and over that she needed to take the leap.
Onto Jack Andrews.
It didn’t help the man had sexy forearms, just visible beneath the rolled sleeves of his dress shirt. And masculine hands. And firm, capable fingers that flexed on the steering wheel as he navigated them through the Italian countryside.
The fact she was getting flutters in her belly over the man’s hands meant this had gone way too far.
Desperate for something to say to keep her mind on business, she glommed onto the first thing that popped to mind when she saw the car’s brand icon stamped in the center of the steering wheel. “This is quite the rental car.”
“I’d say we look the part.”
“In a two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollar sports car?”
Jack’s grin flashed in the darkened interior. “But don’t ya love how she purrs?”
“You do realize this will draw significant attention to both of us.”
“That’s the whole point.”
Although they’d talked about their strategy in broad terms, the opportunity to dive a bit deeper into their approach was a welcome respite from the thick strands of attraction wrapping her skin in tight bands. “The attention’s supposed to be on the ambassador.”
“No. Our attention’s supposed to be on the ambassador. Drawing everyone else’s away is to our advantage.”
“You’re not afraid of standing out.”
“Darling, it’s a fait accompli. You’d stand out if you were wearing a paper bag.”
Just like that, those strands of desire wrapped even more tightly around her, nearly choking in their intensity.
Was this what attraction was supposed to feel like? As if all breath were being leached from your body? If anyone had asked, she’d have quickly said she knew what sexual attraction was. She’d had comfortable, enjoyable sexual relationships in her past, and just because she’d been in a dry spell of late didn’t mean she didn’t like sex.
But nothing in all her thirty years had prepared her for this wild, uncontrollable need that hummed—no, demanded—beneath her skin.
She needed to get her mind back on work, so she said, “It hardly matters what either of us looks like. What matters is that we get this job done with a minimum of fuss. Marco’s convinced Pryce is our guy and Dante agrees. But what if they’re wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“Of course. The worst thing we could do is walk into this job and assume they’re right.”
“Even if that’s why they hired us.”
“Come on, Jack. You know as well as I do the buyer’s not always right, no matter what they seem to think.”
“No, but the evidence against Pryce is pretty damning.”
Kensington mentally called up the files she’d reviewed in her hotel room after her call with Rowan. “His vineyard has been the source of suspicious activity. Nothing more.”
“Dante said they know there’s a drug cartel operating out of the region. Add on Pryce’s diamond access in his home country a
nd we’ve got a winning combination.”
“But Pryce hasn’t been named with the lot of local thugs. That’s the problem. It’s suspicious, but it’s not proven and that has concerned me about this job from the start. Especially since we become a handy excuse for Dante’s team in the event they’re wrong.”
He lifted his gaze from the road. “You think they’re wrong?”
“I’m not convinced they’re entirely right.”
“You find something on the computer search?”
She thought back over the endless screens of data she’d searched through, including Pryce’s college transcripts, a copy of his marriage certificate to his first wife and a copy of his immunization records. The man had high-up connections and several offshore investments, and the lack of anything incriminating had her concerned.
“I didn’t find anything. Or let me say I didn’t find anything that connects him to something terribly shady. He’s paid a bit too much to people in high places and contributed to more than a few widow and orphan funds, but nothing screams drug dealer and diamond smuggler.”
“The man’s the ambassador from Tierra Kimber. You have to go there. Have to walk into this with the understanding it’s not only a very real possibility, but also a sound line of questioning.”
She did have to go there but hadn’t gotten that far in the limited time she’d had between her call with Rowan and the prep for the trip. “Nothing popped on this review but I’ll look harder for that next.”
His hands flexed on the steering wheel as he took a turn off the main highway into the town they’d be staying for the night. With almost a will of its own, her gaze riveted itself once more on his body and Rowan’s teasing words from earlier came back in full force.
What would be the harm in giving in to their attraction?
She was young, healthy and unattached. And from his work schedule it was evident the man didn’t sit in one place for all that long, so there was no reason to think anything would drag out longer than their time in Italy. A quick affair would suit them both.
“You weren’t at the hotel all that long. I’m surprised you found as much as you did.”
“I was distracted by a call from my sister.”
“More discussion of the dress?”
“Among other things.”
“Oh?”
She didn’t miss the note of interest that sparked in his word and swiftly pushed past it. “She’s not sure why I’m not enjoying more of Italy, despite my repeated explanation that I’m working on a job.”
“Ah, so that’s where the Steele love of fun went. To the baby of the family.”
“I’m fun. A lot of fun.”
“You sure about that? Because your need to reassure me smacks decidedly not of fun.”
The light tease was more than evident—in fact, she wasn’t sure why she wasn’t letting it roll off her back the same way a similar taunt from her brothers would—but something about the joke stung. Way down deep, where it mattered.
And just like their morning visit to Marco, when her tears had welled up without warning, that same hard prickle of emotion spiked the backs of her eyes.
When had she become so serious?
She wasn’t lying—she did have fun. Had occasions where she let go and let loose. But how long had it been?
And why did the sudden realization she couldn’t remember only make those tears stick stubbornly to her eyelashes before a few spilled over to her cheeks.
“Kensington?”
“Hmm?” She was grateful for the darkness outside the car, but scattered lights throughout the small town ensured she wasn’t completely invisible where she sat next to Jack.
And his next words confirmed he hadn’t missed the waterworks. “Are you crying?”
“No.”
“Kensington.” He slowed the car, but there was no place to pull over, which she was incredibly grateful for.
What had come over her? And why was the damn urge to break down and sob so close to the surface? “It’s fine, Jack. Just keep driving.”
“Did I say something? I’m sure you’re a lot of fun.”
A small laugh bubbled up over the tears at the immediate concern. She’d seen it often enough with her brothers—men simply did not know what to do with a crying female. “It’s not that.”
“Something else?”
“It’s everything. Marco. The city. Memories. I’m not sure why they’ve hit me so hard, but there you have it.”
As excuses went, it was lame but not entirely untrue. The trip and Marco’s loss had churned up uncomfortable thoughts.
“Memories of your parents?”
“For what we lost. For what they lost. I know what Marco is going to go through. And although I’m sure his grandfather had a long life, the fact that Marco brought the threat to his door is going to leave a mark. A deep one that won’t ever go away.”
* * *
The raw notes of her sorrow tugged at Jack, tearing at him in small, painful gashes. He’d intended the joke about her having fun to poke at her a bit and lighten the mood, but his words had done the opposite.
Although he knew Kensington’s tough exterior likely had its roots in the childhood pain of losing her mother and father, he had also suspected she had a steely core that had nothing to do with loss and everything to do with who she was.
Which made it that much harder to watch her suffer.
“Tell me about them. You talked about your mother this morning. Tell me something else. Something about your dad.”
Silence stretched out between them and he feared another well of tears, but when she finally spoke her voice was strong and clear. “My father was scared spitless over horror movies.”
“Really?”
“And, of course, all four of his children have a deep and abiding love for them.”
“Slasher movies?”
She nodded and he saw the edges of a smile before he heard its match in her voice. “The gorier the better. And if the story’s inspired by a spooky legend, we will hunt down every book or website that backs it up.”
“Creepy.”
“Absolutely.”
“So why not just leave you to watch them alone?”
“Because we had Steele movie night every Saturday night, and each person got to take a turn choosing the movie.”
Jack saw where this was going as he did the quick mental math. “So four out of every six weeks saw horrifying buckets of blood, guts and serial killers in the Steele family room.”
“Yep.”
“What did he like?”
“Oh, he regularly made us suffer through foreign films and art house movies. A really lucky weekend was a Hitchcock flick.”
“Payback’s a bitch.”
“But they make for really lovely memories.”
The sign for their B and B lit up in the glare of the car’s headlights, and her light giggle floated up as he took the turn onto the small street. They’d booked rooms in the same town as Pryce’s vineyard. “I still remember the night he had his head buried for two hours in my mother’s shoulder.”
“If she looks anything like you, I’d say he was a wise man.” The small O of her mouth had his own laugh welling up. “Just because I made you cry doesn’t mean I have any intention of holding back my interest in you.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Say things that make it very hard to remember why I’m not going to sleep with you.”
Need, hot and heavy, drilled itself into his body in time with her words.
“Wasn’t expecting that one, were you?”
“Do I lose guy points if I say no?”
“I’d say you just added a few with that response.”
“Good. When I have full control over my tongue again, I’ll come up with some pithy retort.”
He pulled into a small dirt parking lot off the side of the hotel. The moment he cut the ignition, she reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For making me remember something good when all I had in my thoughts was the bad.”
He nodded, suddenly unable to speak.
And for a man who made a good portion of his living by knowing what to say, that was an unnerving thought.
* * *
Holden waited until the château quieted for the night before he headed back downstairs for a glass of bourbon. He had free run of the place, but after his discovery in the vineyard earlier, he wasn’t anxious to incite any additional questions. He did have a chance to plant an extra pair of glasses in the dirt in the event he needed a convenient excuse, but it still wasn’t worth taking any additional risks at this stage.
Pryce was fairly easy to manipulate, but there’d be several extra pairs of eyes this weekend and he couldn’t afford any slipups. The cocked-up shooting at the DeAngelo vineyard had been trouble enough for the week.
Damn Carlo and his hot head.
The thug had shared his concerns about Marco DeAngelo a few weeks ago, and Holden had given specific instructions to wait and play a bit of cat and mouse with the detective. But did Carlo listen?
About as well as Pryce, which was no, not ever.
So he now had Carlo in hiding, the man’s reckless attack on Marco—who had the damn nerve to survive—putting them all in jeopardy. And to make it worse, now he’d have to go and take care of Carlo in the middle of the plans for the ambassador’s house party.
Damn amateurs.
He’d spent his life hiding his true self behind a veneer of competence and, when necessary, subservience. Unlike most others of his acquaintance, he watched and listened and he knew how to patiently wait for the right moment when everything came together.
Like this weekend.
The house party was important, and the individuals invited had been handpicked for their global influence and highly regarded reputations. Although he had his own plans, the chief of staff for the ambassador had opened doors of his own. Tierra Kimber had come up in the world. Once considered a country of little consequence, the rich veins of diamond deposits and the increasing focus on becoming a major player in world politics had caught the notice of people who mattered.
