The Rome Affair

by Addison Fox

And wished he’d just accepted the barrage of text messages instead.

  “Her name’s Kensington Steele. She’s working with me on my latest job.”

  “You’ve never worked with anyone before. And since when do you hire anyone beyond mercenary thugs to help you out?”

  “This job required special assistance.”

  “How special?”

  “She manages a firm like mine. They specialize in high-end security and deals. I needed a woman on this to look convincing.”

  “You’ve needed a woman for some time and for reasons a hell of a lot better than appearances.” Kathy’s words were far too knowing, but the sentiment underneath was all big-sisterly concern. “Sounds like Ms. Steele fits the bill.”

  “Kath.” He hesitated for the briefest moment before plowing ahead. “How do you know she’s different?”

  “There’s something special in your voice, Jackie. I can hear it when you say her name.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Happiness.”

  Jack ignored the uneasy sentiment that arose but before he could say anything, Kathy pressed him further. “You deserve to be happy. And you deserve something more than that job of yours.”

  “I like my job.”

  “I’m not suggesting otherwise, but it can’t be everything.”

  Although he generally avoided even thinking about his feelings let alone discussing them out loud, Kathy had caught him at a weak moment. At least that was what he told himself. “What makes you think I’m unhappy?”

  “Oh, babe, no matter how big you get, you’re still my baby brother. You think I don’t know or understand the hell you live with? The hell you’ve had to live with?”

  “It’s fine. Mom was a long time ago.”

  “Yet she’s like a ghost you can’t shake loose. You’re entitled to happiness. To sharing your life with someone. And there’s someone out there who will be committed to doing their part to share it with you.”

  “Kensington isn’t about Mom.”

  “I never said she was. You did, little brother.”

  Clever.

  He ran his hands through his hair, tugging tightly on the ends. He’d come to hate his mother for leaving them, but he still struggled to talk about her.

  Whereas their oldest sister, Susan, had struggled for years with the effects of their mother leaving, Kathy had been more pragmatic. After her initial grief of their mother abandoning them, Kathy had moved on, refusing to mince words about Beatrice Andrews.

  So why couldn’t he figure out a way to do the same?

  His mother had nothing to do with his relationship with Kensington. Frankly, his mother had nothing to do with nothing.

  Not any longer.

  So why couldn’t he bury the ghost?

  “Listen. Much as I’d love to hear more about this amazing woman, I know when to cut bait. And I’m being summoned from the living room to help decorate the tree.”

  “Really?”

  “Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten it’s December.”

  Maybe he had. Or if he hadn’t forgotten the month, he had skipped over the major holiday part of it. Just as he’d missed Thanksgiving with his family because he was pulling back-to-back jobs that didn’t allow for any time off. “I know what month it is.”

  “Did you book your tickets here for the holidays?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then I’ll leave you with one last thought—consider bringing a guest.”

  Jack hung up the phone and wondered why it felt as if he’d been put through the ringer, even though he’d never moved off the small love seat in his suite.

  * * *

  Kensington reviewed the notes she’d made on the small tablet next to her computer. Holden Keene, born one Holden Pryce Abernathy. Birth certificate for said child originally listed no father but was later amended to reflect Hubert Pryce.

  She kept scanning, reviewing the information she’d already committed to memory. Education at the best schools, all paid for by Pryce. Genius-level IQ, testing off the charts relative to his classmates and the general population of Tierra Kimber. Natural aptitudes for geology and politics and an active refusal to be photographed.

  Although he’d not fully escaped photographic capture, she’d run the images she did have back through the same imaging program Campbell used and was surprised to find subtle differences that would have made any standard database kick out errors.

  Sculpted changes to his ears and subtle alterations to his teeth and chin were prevalent in a majority of the photos.

  “Don’t like getting your picture taken, do you, Holden?”

  When her computer beeped it had completed the last task she’d put to it, she shifted gears and ran through the remaining information on-screen. No known siblings from his mother’s side, despite her remarriage to Theodore Keene, but Holden had three half siblings through Pryce’s parentage.

  Because she’d already run Pryce’s children, she didn’t pay them much mind, but she couldn’t deny the direction her thoughts turned as she opened up a new search query.

  Jack had excused himself earlier to talk to his sister, and the sibling connection reinforced a thought she’d had earlier.

  She was curious about Jack’s mother.

  She’d long ago stopped feeling guilty for digging into the people who were part of the jobs she managed, but she had made it a personal policy to avoid looking up those she knew. People didn’t live perfect lives, a truth her access to information indicated with shocking regularity.

  So why did she feel the urge to go against her instincts on this one?

  She loved Jack.

  Funny how after fighting it for so long, the reality was so easy to embrace.

  For so long she’d lived with the fear that she wasn’t capable of sharing her life with someone. That a husband and family simply weren’t meant to be hers. And that the damage inflicted by such deep, expansive loss at a young age left a hole that couldn’t be filled.

  How wrong she’d been.

  She loved Jack.

  And because she loved him, she was deeply curious about the events that had shaped who he was. He wanted her to meet his family, yet he refused to say anything about his mother beyond the basics he’d shared. He’d not even risen to the bait when she asked about his father and could only suspect the man had never been a part of his life. Factor in that he lived his life with a vague sort of recklessness, the evidence of that behavior currently sitting on his biceps in a healing gunshot wound, and she was desperate to know what made him tick.

  Maybe if she understood what shaped him, she’d understand how to love him.

  And maybe you need to back away from the computer, too.

  That small voice that whispered that she needed to leave well enough alone and let Jack share when he was ready was loud, but the blinking cursor and ready curiosity that was a hallmark of her personality steamrolled over the privacy barrier.

  Before she could second-guess herself further, she tapped in Beatrice Andrews’s name and known family members and waited for what was to come. And was beyond shocked when the results streamed across the screen.

  A well of tears lodged in a tight ball in her throat as she read the reports of his mother’s death, bludgeoned in her bed by the man believed to be her second husband.

  Jack had found that. Discovered this horrible news as a child, hacking away into a computer database seeking information.

  This was what had shaped him. Not only had Beatrice left him and his older sisters behind, but she’d lost her life so violently. A senseless act that tossed away any ability for her to right her wrongs against her family.

  “Kensington? Are you all right?”

  She hadn’t even heard the door unlock and th
en Jack was at her side, kneeling down before her. With her one hand she closed the lid of her laptop while dashing away tears with the other. “I’m fine. Fine.”

  “What happened?”

  Tell him!

  Her conscious shouted the words, but try as she might, they wouldn’t come.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  “It’s senseless. So senseless.”

  He pulled her to her feet and wrapped her up in his arms. The steady thud of his heart against her chest reassured, even as it seemed to issue an accusation.

  You had.

  No right.

  To spy.

  Shaking off the strange thoughts, she pressed her lips against that sure, solid beat and prayed she could love him enough.

  * * *

  Jack couldn’t understand what had Kensington so upset, her murmured words making little sense as she clung to him. She’d seemed fine when he’d left her to take the call from Kathy, so returning to find her crying—especially because he’d spent the past fifteen minutes working through the emotions churned up by his sister’s questions—was unnerving.

  He tilted her chin up with the tip of his finger. The tears had stopped but her eyes still held a watery glaze that turned those blazing blue irises the color of the Mediterranean. “Shh. It’s going to be fine.”

  “I know.” She nodded.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  The question had an odd expression flitting across her face—was that guilt?—before she tamped it down. “Keene is Hubert’s son. I found the information to prove it.”

  “Yet they don’t acknowledge each other.”

  “Nope.”

  “Is there the chance, even if it’s remote, that one of them doesn’t know?”

  “I’d say yes but the birth certificate was amended when Holden was about five. Pryce signed notarized papers ensuring he was added to a formerly blank reference to birth father.”

  “There goes that theory.”

  “Jack.”

  He pulled his mind from the situation of Pryce and Keene and shifted his gaze back toward hers.

  “Make love to me. I don’t care about anything outside these four walls right now. Not Pryce or Keene. Not our job. Just you.”

  The change was such a shift from their dinner, he couldn’t resist poking her ever so slightly. “What happened to the all-business-all-the-time speech I got at dinner?”

  “Can’t a girl change her mind?” One lone index finger trailed over his jaw before running down to settle on his chest.

  “Just so long as you let me keep up.”

  Without waiting for further instruction, he scooped her up and crossed to the bed, laying her down on the center of the blankets. The world outside could wait. For now, he had a warm, willing woman in his arms and he refused to let the opportunity pass him by.

  He covered her body with his, stripping her pajamas with quick, efficient movements. He shucked his own T-shirt and jeans, then returned to her warm form, her arms open and ready for him.

  No matter how heated his fantasies had been since meeting her, nothing could replace the reality of making love to Kensington. She was an eager lover, as willing to give pleasure as to receive it.

  The minutes spun out around them like a tapestry, woven together with soft sighs and heated glances, slow caresses and carnal exploration of each other. Over and over, they plied each other with an aching tenderness that demanded all.

  The gentle lovemaking he imagined in his mind was quickly overruled by the intense needs of his body, only driven more so when she rose up over him after sheathing him in a condom. He gripped her hips to help her set the rhythm, her soft curves rising above him in an erotic display of physical beauty.

  He reached for her breasts, caressing her hardened nipples as she pressed herself into his palms. The tight fit of her body dragged him through his paces, the look and feel of her in his hands the sweetest aphrodisiac.

  She screamed his name on a hard cry as her pleasure crested and he reached once more for her hips, driving upward into the tight sheath of her body before he gave in to his own release.

  Pleasure radiated through his body in heavy, greedy waves and he buried his face in her neck as he rode the last, all-consuming need for possession.

  “Kensington.”

  He whispered her name, unable to put to words what she did to him.

  Or how badly he needed her.

  So instead, he simply held on and hoped what he held in his heart was enough.

  * * *

  Kensington slowly came back to consciousness as if surfacing from a deep sleep. She reached out a hand for Jack’s warmth, then woke up faster when she realized he wasn’t in bed with her.

  She sat up and a quick glance at the clock showed she hadn’t slept that long, only a few minutes at most. Her body still tingled from the aftereffects of making love to Jack and a subtle stiffness had settled in her muscles. She lifted her arms for a stretch as Jack came out of the bathroom, that gorgeous form now clad once again in his jeans.

  “Now who’s all-business-all-the-time?” She couldn’t quite hold back the complaint at the evidence he’d at least partially dressed.

  “Hey now. I had an idea and I can’t very well sit around naked.”

  “Suit yourself.” She reached for her pajama top where it had settled on the end of the bed and dragged it on. “What was your idea?”

  “I want to do a search on what countries Pryce sells his wines. That should be readily available on his site. I also want to check a few distribution contacts our jeweler readily provided.”

  “Our jeweler? The guy we acted for in New York?”

  A large grin spread across his face. “Was it all an act?”

  “You know what I meant. When did you talk to him?”

  “I forgot he’d called me the other day. I buttered him up with some nice words about Pryce and how delighted he was to share the quality of his country’s diamonds with the world. Then I promised I’d connect them.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I can’t.” He shrugged. “So I made another purchase that assuaged my conscience and made the entire ruse worth his while.”

  “You bought something else?” She knew she should really do better than letting her jaw drop like a country bumpkin, but he’d already spent a considerable sum on their first visit.

  “Well, I was buying practically wholesale.”

  “Jack!”

  “What’s your password?”

  “Sherlock.” Whether it was the distraction of his imagined purchase or the sight of his bare chest peeking over her laptop, Kensington didn’t know. She only knew the answer was out of her mouth before she remembered what she’d left posted on the screen.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Chapter 18

  “Jack. I can explain.”

  “This is what you were crying about before?” He pointed a finger at the computer as he stood and slammed the chair backward with his foot. The chair rolled on its wheels before crashing against the wall behind him. “You spied on me?”

  “No!”

  The lighthearted banter between them had fled, along with any sense of lingering warmth from their lovemaking. “So you just happened to put my mother’s name into a computer program, uncovering the results of how she met her untimely demise.”

  “Would you listen to me?”

  “Why? Because you were so honest with me? Spying on me like I was one of the common criminals you investigate?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Then what was it like?”

  “It was a query into your background. Something you did on me be
fore this job even started.”

  “It’s not the same and you know it. I looked into your business and you know damn well you did the same. I looked into the basics of your background. I did not go digging to find your parents’ death certificates.”

  The barb lodged just under her heart and no matter how she spun it, nothing changed her actions. Knowing that, she fell back on the only thing she had left.

  The truth.

  “I wanted to know more about you. With all those little details you keep locked up so tightly it’s a wonder there’s any air in there.”

  “So you ask, Kensington. You don’t spy on me to get information.”

  She whirled away from him, grabbing her pajama bottoms from the foot of the bed and dragging them on. When she turned back around, her ice-queen shield was firmly in place. “Since you won’t let me explain I’d like you to leave.”

  “Right. Sure. Slap up that brick wall when something gets hard and uncomfortable.”

  “It’s not like that!”

  “Then what is it like?” The anger of betrayal shifted to something else entirely. Like several coals burning inside a furnace, he dropped the one labeled duplicity and snatched up the one labeled confusion right along with its counterpart, misdirection.

  “You won’t talk about it. About the shadows in your eyes and the betrayal that lives under your skin like a brand. I wanted to know and I had the means to find out.”

  “Instead of asking me.”

  “Would you have told me what really happened?”

  Although it didn’t lessen the choice she’d made, he had to admit—even if only to himself—that he’d have played it off. Would have made some excuse to keep from telling her about his mother’s sordid end.

  An end he discovered while sitting in a school computer lab, desperate for information when he should have been studying for a history exam.

  So instead, he clung to his small moral victory. “None of it matters because you had no right to go there.”

  * * *

  Kensington snagged the largest to-go cup of coffee she could find in the lobby of their hotel, preferring to drink her caffeine straight instead of doctored with milk and sugar.