by Addison Fox
He shifted in his seat, the discomfort of his arm only adding to the ire pulsing under his skin. Keene had scared her and that was unacceptable. Until the moment Keene caught him and Kensington kissing in the ambassador’s office, he’d ignored Pryce’s chief of staff. The man blended seamlessly into the background, his dossier in the file on Pryce minimal and functional. He hadn’t looked closely enough at the man.
Holden Keene was a threat and Jack knew his ire at the situation was mostly directed at himself. It was his job to account for every threat and he’d not taken this one seriously.
Worse, he’d nearly missed it.
“He didn’t threaten me, which I’ve explained to you for the past two hours despite the fact that you heard him as clearly as I did. It was just something I felt in his demeanor and attitude.”
She could downplay it all she wanted, but it didn’t change the outcome. Or his anger. “The bastard invaded your space and whispered in your ear. I’d call that a threat.”
“You get in my space and whisper in my ear.”
“Not funny.”
“Well, lambasting me for two hours hasn’t been a picnic.”
That’s how she saw it? “You’re not the one I’m mad at.”
“I told you. Once we get to the hotel I’ll start digging into Keene. I don’t know why I didn’t think to run him earlier, but we’ll fix that. I already sent Campbell a note to run whatever he could find and I’ll follow up in some of the standard databases I use. We’ll figure out who he is and then we can decide what to do about him.”
“This isn’t about Keene.”
Traffic had come to a standstill and she used the lull to turn fully toward him. “It’s as much about him as anyone. And it explains why we keep coming up empty-handed when we look into Pryce.”
“Damn it, Kensington, I’m mad at myself!”
The words rushed out, loud enough that a few people on the nearby sidewalks turned to stare.
“Jack?”
He slammed a hand on the dash and attempted to organize his thoughts. “I left you to go in there and face Keene alone.”
“It was a house full of people.”
“And he had you alone. Down the hall and out of sight from all of us.”
Images had filled his thoughts on an erratic loop. Her descriptions of the encounter. Keene’s thinly veiled skepticism that she’d left anything behind. The words he’d whispered to her before she left.
I look forward to seeing you then, Miss Steele.
He just bet Holden Keene did.
And he was the bastard who had left her to face it alone.
“You’re overreacting to this. Nothing happened to me, and he seemed to buy the earring bit. The fact I left the door open had to work in my favor. Keene can act as suspicious as he likes, but I was out in the open for anyone to see. That hardly screams stealth and secrecy.”
“Yet you still got the feeling he was skeptical.” She nodded slightly before turning back to maneuver through the now-empty intersection. “And the drawer was empty when you picked the lock.”
“Nothing so much as a paper clip inside.”
“Who locks a drawer they’re not using?” Jack mentally flipped through all the unlocked drawers they’d discovered on Friday night.
He didn’t buy the coincidence that all of Pryce’s key folders, full of his business concerns and political discussions, were wide-open, yet a small innocuous drawer was locked?
No way.
“Keene could have removed any files in there between catching us in the office and catching me this morning.”
“A definite possibility.”
“Or we have to accept that it’s just an empty drawer.”
“Not likely.” He didn’t buy that for a minute, but he had to include it in whatever conclusions he attempted to take away from the weekend. He’d already missed one obvious clue—he needed to stay on his game and evaluate all the possibilities.
Her voice was quiet as she shifted the purring car, maneuvering them effortlessly through Rome’s narrow streets. Was there anything the woman couldn’t do? “I don’t know why you keep focusing on the negative when all I see is a huge positive.”
“Forgive me if I fail to see any upside.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Up until this morning we had no leads and no freaking clue what direction to turn. And now we have Keene.”
The situation was somewhat fantastical all on its own—a well-respected ambassador suspected of abusing his political power to run drugs and smuggle diamonds. But what if the problem really did lie deeper inside Pryce’s staff? “He’s flown under everyone’s radar. Neither Dante nor Marco have mentioned him.”
“Which means he’s likely playing us all, including the ambassador.”
Kensington slowed once again for a group of tourists and he didn’t miss the worshipful looks several teenage boys shot the car as they crossed in front of them. “I’m not ready to let Pryce off the hook. Are you?”
“No.” She eased across the street, the city traffic forcing them into a slow crawl. “But it does make a bit more sense since we can’t seem to get a feel for any wrongdoing on Pryce’s part.”
“The man hasn’t gotten his position because he’s been a choir boy. If anything, the fact that we have questions about Holden only makes the ambassador look more suspicious. You’re the one who’s suddenly developed a soft spot for the man.”
“Not a soft spot. Just a sense, really.”
“Because he knew your father?”
“No!” She turned onto the Via Veneto. “No. Of course not.”
He trusted her implicitly, but he’d also sensed a widening sense of acceptance toward Pryce. “Your mind and your objectivity are the two best tools someone in our business can possess. Until we fully rule him out, Pryce is still a suspect.”
“I know we haven’t worked together that long, but I think I’m above a lecture.”
“I’m looking out for my partner.”
“Yet I’m forced to point out that you’ve got the gunshot wound.”
He couldn’t hold back the smile at the quick riposte. “Touché.”
Traffic continued to crawl and he weighed the pros and cons of his next comment before simply diving in. “That’s the first time you’ve mentioned last night.”
“I mentioned last night when I told you I’d drive this monster to give you some relief from your wound.”
“Don’t talk about The Contessa that way.”
“You named the car?”
“Of course. She’s beautiful.”
If Kensington’s jokes had fallen flat earlier, he was pleased to see his got a small rise out of her. “If she’s so beautiful, why’d you name her after that old lady at Pryce’s house?”
“Recent company excused, The Contessa sounds like a hot car’s name.”
“Whatever. But for the record, I’d have gone with Scarlet or Katerina or Sophia Loren.”
“I suppose Sophia Loren is somewhat appropriate since we’re in Italy.” He hesitated another moment before pressing on. “I was actually talking about the fact you slept through the night last night.”
Her face remained curiously blank, without a clue to what she truly thought about spending the night wrapped up in each other.
* * *
Kensington fought the urge to gulp in great breaths of air as Jack’s words hovered between them in the narrow interior of the car.
How did she explain last night? And what did she even think about it? Although the evening before had been heavy in her thoughts as she dressed that morning, some of its impact had faded in light of the exchange with Keene. Yet here Jack was, bringing it all back up again.
“I suppose it’s simply proof that I finally found a job th
at actually tired me out. I don’t want this to ruin my street cred, but although I’ve been in tough situations before, I haven’t actually ever been shot at.”
“Let’s hope last night was the first and last.” His words held dark overtones and his face remained limned in hard lines. Clearly her third attempt of the afternoon to ease the situation with a spot of humor missed its mark.
Three strikes and you’re out, Steele.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Getting shot at?”
“Sleeping through the night.”
Jack Andrews wasn’t the only one who could do implacable and unmoving. She had no interest in digging deep into her psyche and figuring out what had changed.
None whatsoever.
“What is it about the freedom of a foreign country? Seems like we’re both unloading a lot of baggage on this trip,” Kensington said.
“Don’t brush this off. Last night was a big deal. On a lot of levels.”
“It was for me, too, but let’s not make it more than it needs to be. We were both exhausted when we dropped into bed. It obviously caught up to us.”
“You’ve never been tired before?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m tired of this conversation.” The words lashed out, whip quick, and she didn’t wait to see if they’d hit their mark.
“Talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say? That last night was a revelation? That I’m suddenly free of the demons of my past? It was one night, Jack. That’s all.”
“You’re the one who hasn’t slept through the night in over fifteen years.”
“And you’re the one who keeps preaching I need to keep my head in the game.”
As excuses went, it was lame but effective. He had lectured her more than once, the admonishment not to let her guard down around Pryce as recent as the past few minutes. But even as the self-righteous anger seethed through her, she knew it was something more.
The night before had made her vulnerable in a way she’d never expected. Funny that she’d been prepared to have sex with him, but sleeping in his arms had actually been even more intimate.
She’d let her guard down and she still hadn’t figured out how to get it back in place. Especially because Jack had several no trespassing signs of his own.
“What are you getting so prickly about?”
“This from a man who got upset because I told him he was too neat.”
“That’s different.”
“How?” She turned into the long, curving driveway of their hotel, the activity under the porte cochere like a hive of bees, all busy with their work.
“It just is.”
She slammed the car into Neutral and pulled the parking brake. “So my life’s an open book and yours is a well-guarded secret? I don’t think so.”
Jack was prevented from saying anything by the arrival of their bellman, and he jumped out to direct the man with their bags. She dealt with the valet and it was several minutes later before they were walking back toward the hotel’s elevators.
“We’re not done discussing this.”
“We are for now. I want to unpack and do a bit of research.”
He nodded and gestured her toward an open elevator car. “Then don’t let me keep you waiting.”
* * *
The unpacking took all of five minutes and a shower to freshen up another ten. Which meant she had nothing but an empty hotel room and a computer to keep her and her unruly thoughts occupied.
Who did he think he was? And when had she ever let someone get to her so badly?
Those probing questions and “talk to me” tone of voice. Like he had any business asking those questions, especially when he was locked up tight as a drum about his own issues.
Kensington stopped midstalk across the room and set her brush on the small desk that sat on a far wall. Since when did she get mad about other people’s personal business? She and her family carried more than enough of their own baggage—both by circumstance and by the fact that they kept the day to day of their lives private.
She had no right to expect anything less from Jack.
With a hard plop on the bed, she forced herself to calm down. Whatever else she was mad about—and she had a right to plenty—expecting a quid pro quo over personal demons and secrets wasn’t who she was. Jack had a right to his past and his privacy, just as she did. Getting mad because he was uncomfortable discussing it was hypocritical and petty.
Even if you are thinking of sleeping with the man?
The low knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. “Kensington, it’s me. Open up.”
A quick glance down at her robe showed the sash firmly tied and the terry cloth wrapped up to her neck. With a check mark in the decent column, she tightened the belt once more, then reached for the door. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He leaned against the doorjamb, that large frame seemingly eating up all the space.
And taking up all the air.
The breathy quality of her voice—when she finally found it—only supported the notion. “Hi.”
“Can I come in?”
She stood back and gestured him in. “Sure.”
Jack opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it once more before he paced the small expanse of the room. If he didn’t look so uncomfortable she might have smiled at how sweet he looked, fumbling over whatever it was he wanted to say.
“You’re entitled to your privacy.” He stopped in front of her, close enough to touch even though he kept his hands at his sides. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you that.”
The urge to touch him—to close that distance—had her fisting her own hands at her sides. “That’s funny, because I was just thinking the same thing about you and how incredibly curious I’ve been about your background. You’ve a right to your privacy, too.”
“We make a pair. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as prickly as me.” His dark hair stood up at the ends—must’ve been running his fingers through it again—and those lightly edged silver tips drew her attention.
Were they caused by stress? Or by the simple fact he’d seen far too much of life at far too young an age.
“Then clearly you need to spend more time with the Steele siblings. We’ve all got a pretty good grip on stick-up-the-bum syndrome.”
“Sounds painful.”
She laughed at that, the lift of his eyebrows going a long way toward easing the tension of their mutual apology. “At times.”
They stood there for the briefest moment, his head bent toward hers, her lack of heels causing a noticeable difference in their height. Her breath caught once more in her throat as their gazes met and everything they’d faced the past week simply faded away.
Both of them kept their hands at their sides, but the air between them began to vibrate with need. Heat arced off his broad shoulders and she had the damnedest urge to reach up and touch him. To trace those hard, capable lines and slowly strip his shirt off to get to skin. To wrap her arms around him and let the moment take them wherever they were meant to go.
Deep down inside, she knew what was to come. It was inevitable.
And so very right.
The heat from his body was no match for the inferno that blazed in the depths of his dark brown eyes, turning them nearly black in the light. But it was the gentleness she also saw reflected there that took this attraction between them from simple need to a complex vortex of emotion that demanded from both of them.
If the emotional intimacy in the car was painful in its intensity, this was its antithesis.
With nothing but impulse and the deepest sense that the moment was right, she lifted her hands, tracing a path over his shoulders. Lifting up onto her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his, soft and seeking, the moment full of only
one question. His arms came around her and as he crushed his mouth to hers, Kensington got her answer.
Against the press of his lips, she whispered hers in return. “Yes.”
* * *
A million thoughts filled his mind as her arms wrapped around his neck.
Kensington.
She was the breath that filled his lungs and after waiting longer than he thought himself capable, she’d come to him. That simple fact meant more to him than he ever thought possible.
Abstractly he felt the tight tugging in his arm where he’d just placed a fresh bandage over his wound, but the pain was nothing compared to the demands of his body. Nothing compared to the need that drove him to make this woman his own.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
There it was again. That one simple word, so full of acceptance and promise.
The tie on her robe slid through his fingers and within moments he had his hands over the warmth of her flesh. A light moisture from the shower still sheened her skin and the scent of her rose up to greet him. The subtle suggestion of orange blossoms from her shampoo battled with something darker and more seductive. Something uniquely Kensington.
He traced a finger down her neck, over the top of her chest, stopping when he reached the curve of her breast. The bright light of afternoon filled her hotel room and the look on her face was unmistakable as it tilted up toward him. Voice husky with need, she whispered his name as his hand closed over her flesh, his thumb and forefinger coaxing the nipple into a tight point. He captured her other breast, satisfied beyond imagining when she leaned into him.
A subtle sigh drifted from her lips as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back. He leaned forward and pressed a line of kisses along the slender column of her throat. The lightest tang of salt tinged his tongue and he lapped like a cat licking cream at a small bead of water that drifted from her still-damp skin.
Shifting, he dropped his hands to her waist and moved her toward the bed, following her down onto the mattress as she pulled him on top of her. The slender lines of her body cushioned him until he turned them so they were face-to-face. Warm and responsive, she moved in his arms, her soft sighs and light moans urging him on as he explored her.
