An Affair of Deceit (23 page)

“I haven’t felt the need to decorate this room.” She crossed her arms haughtily. “This isn’t a public space. It’s not meant for visitors.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed to hear you aren’t welcoming guests here on a regular basis. But how can you stand it? It’s so cold.”

“I never knew a man would care so much for his surroundings.”

He laughed. “I didn’t know I did until I saw this. Doesn’t it depress you?”

“I didn’t ask you to come here. You’re more than welcome to leave if my house doesn’t make you feel warm and snuggly.”

“I once spent a summer living in a mud hut. I can handle simple. It’s just that the rest of your house is so pretty, this room just caught me off guard. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“Gladly.” She walked purposefully toward him, and he realized that he was blocking the door that must lead to her bathroom. He moved aside, but just before she reached the bathroom she stopped, a confused look on her face.

“What did you mean when you said you were glad to hear I wasn’t welcoming guests here on a regular basis?”

Isn’t it obvious?
“Well, I don’t like to think of a bunch of men finding their way into your bedroom.”

She looked disgusted. “A bunch of men? A
bunch
? What an awful thing to think of me.”

He stammered, “No. Damn. I just meant that I was happy to hear that you don’t have a boyfriend. It would complicate your protection detail.”

“Boyfriend? Who has the time for one of those?” she said with a surprising amount of resentment before she sauntered into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

She went to bed, but woke up in fright what must have been hours later. Her room was pitch black, her heart was pounding, and her ears were attuned to the suddenly menacing groaning of her house.

What had awakened her? What had she heard? Whatever it was had terrified her. She wished for the first time that she kept a weapon under her pillow.

Then she remembered that she wasn’t alone, and relief washed over her in a warm wave.

Riley was here, somewhere. She was amazed at how quickly she’d become reliant on his comforting presence, how easily he’d integrated himself into her life. Worse was how much she found herself leaning on him, even though every rational thought demanded that she push him away.

“Riley?” she called, her voice loud in the quiet of night.

There was no answer.

“Riley?” she repeated more softly, and hesitantly stepped out of bed. The utter blackness of her surroundings and the apparent absence of Riley made her fearful again.

What if he had been right? What if someone was coming after her?

She tried to shake her apprehensions aside. She walked across the room to the light switch near the door, thinking that she really ought to buy a bedside table and lamp to avoid this blind midnight march.

Just as she lifted her hand to flip the switch, her bedroom door creaked open.

She jumped aside and flattened her back against the wall.

The door to her left slowly scraped open. A head poked through.

She squinted, held her breath, and tried to assess whether the head belonged to Riley or to a trespasser who deserved a punishing kick. If it was the latter, now was the perfect time to attack. If it was the former, she could apologize later.

She’d try not to do any permanent damage.

The figure took a step forward into her room. He didn’t say a word. If it were Riley, he’d surely have announced his presence by now. She couldn’t wait another second.

She lashed out with a sharp left back-fist to his face. The intruder’s nose squished under her knuckles.

Broken. Satisfying!

The man leaned forward, clutching his face, putting himself into a vulnerable position for a blow to the back. She punched her
fist into the air above him and contracted her muscles, throwing all of her strength into the downward momentum of her elbow.

“Abigail! What the hell?”

Oh
. She halted midstrike, her left elbow inches away from plunging between his shoulder blades.

“Riley?” She flipped on a switch, sending her clinically white bedroom into full light. Her eyes revolted against the brightness, and she lifted a hand to shade them.

“For the love of God,” Riley moaned, and walked to her bed. He sat down, his face hidden by his hands. “I think you broke my nose.”

“What were you doing sneaking into my bedroom?” She followed him to her bed and stood in front of him, her arms crossed. Blood dripped down the front of his button-down shirt.

“First my nuts, now my nose. Damn it, Abigail. Why do you hit first and ask questions later?”

Abigail flushed with guilt, but she raised her voice and didn’t apologize. “I defend myself. You really should know better by now. You’re the one who’s been telling me that I’m a target. You should be happy to know that I attack strangers who walk through my door.”

“I was just coming in to see if you were awake. I thought my phone might have woken you up.”

That must have been the noise that had pulled her awake. “Who was it?”

“It was…Christ,” he swore, and pulled one bloody hand away from his nose. “I need to take care of this.”

“Can I help?”

He stood up and held his head back to prevent the blood from spilling. “No, I’ve done this before.”

“Have a habit of sneaking into women’s bedrooms, do you?”

He managed a chuckle as he walked into her bathroom. “Oh yeah. I do it all the time.”

Disagreeable man. She didn’t care for his jokes. For whatever reason, she didn’t like to think of him in another woman’s
bedroom, although she told herself that of course he had probably been in plenty. He was a charming, attractive man. Surely he had been with many women, most of them probably the sort of high-flying, devil-may-care beauties like that sexy Evangeline Quill they’d met in Arles.

She stood in the doorway to her bathroom as he gingerly splashed water on his face, getting his sandy-brown hair wet in the process. It curled around his ears most becomingly.

“Ever had your nose broken by a girl before?”

“Nope, you’re the first. I’ve never met a woman so inclined to put me in the hospital.”

“Good. I think I’m rather special, too.”

He lifted his head and smiled at her in the mirror.

She was reminded of the last time they’d made eye contact in a mirror, in the dingy little bathroom of that ancient house in Kral’s village.

He might have remembered, too, because he held his eyes steady with hers as water dripped unnoticed from his lightly bearded chin. He needed a shave, and with his nose bleeding and swollen he should have looked awful, but he just looked tougher, more masculine. More like the kind of man who could lift a woman off her feet and make love to her while standing up in a bathroom.

He must have read her mind.

He turned and came to her with the single-minded aggression of a hunter. His lips pressed against hers, and she opened her mouth to him, losing herself in the kiss, forgetting every single thing in the world but how desperately she wanted to feel his naked flesh against hers. She pulled at his shirt, wanting it off but too impatient to bother with buttons. She tugged the crisp white cotton up, and her hands stroked his hard, strong back, pulling him closer as she deepened their kiss, pressing her tongue into his.

She didn’t know a man could feel so good. She ran her hands over his stomach, fascinated by the way the crests of his
muscles felt like live snakes under his skin. She closed her eyes and breathed in his dark scent, the one she’d memorized, the one that recalled desire and comfort and above all, Riley.

Riley, the man with a broken, bleeding nose, was kissing her as though she were the only woman on earth, as though she were the only thing that mattered. The man whose emerging desire against her stomach suddenly reminded her of exactly what she was getting herself into.

But she wanted it—she was shocked to realize how badly she wanted him as she moved her hands to his head and combed her fingers through his damp, curly hair. She wanted him naked; she wanted him sweating. She wanted him like she didn’t know a woman could want a man, and she wanted him now.

He groaned, and she thought he wanted her too.

Then he leaned away, and she could see the agony written on his face.

She’d forgotten all about his broken nose.

“I hate to say it, but I think I need to get some ice.”

He was right—his nose was starting to turn purple, and she realized with a surprising lack of disgust that he was still bleeding. She’d probably gotten some of his blood on herself, too. It really wasn’t so gross, though it seemed like it should be. And the fact that he pulled away right when she’d decided to drag him into her bed didn’t anger her. She thought that there would be another time, and she enjoyed knowing that she would be forced to delay her gratification.

Postponement would only make her pleasure that much sweeter when she finally had him.

Her kitchen was small but comfortable, with warm white cabinets set in a highly functional U-shape that would have been fantastic if she ever had time to cook a meal.

“I’ll get the ice. You sit,” she commanded and walked to her refrigerator.

He obeyed, sitting on a stool at the peninsula bar. The pendant lights above him cast an amber glow that warded off the chill of very early morning and made his skin look even tanner. His green eyes smoldered in the soft light. His lips were faintly swollen from either her punch or their kissing.

Either way, he looked fantastic, and she flexed her thighs to keep her knees from shaking. She willed herself to wait.

His fingers grazed hers when she handed him the ice pack. He winced as he held it to his nose, and she knew it had to hurt.

“So, who was on the phone?” she asked again.

“Greene. He says your father and Kral have been spotted again, this time in Cleveland.”

She exhaled. “How?”

“Same circumstances. Stopping for gas. Your dad apparently needed to use the bathroom and walked inside the station for a key.”

“Why doesn’t Greene send a team to pick them up? This really shouldn’t be so hard.”

“The CIA is fantastic at international operations and occasional off-book domestic surveillance, but it’s very difficult for us to operate in the US. We have to partner with a domestic agency, like the FBI or ATF, and then they have to be willing to give us a few agents to bring in the suspect. There’s very little we can do here but wait.”

“It’s more than ridiculous. It’s dangerous.”

“The problem is there’s no obvious threat to public safety when a weapons dealer without any warrants and a CIA officer take off on a road trip. They don’t have any weapons of mass destruction, though I imagine Kral must have a handgun or something that’s keeping your father from kicking his ass.”

She felt an odd surge of pride at the thought of her father kicking Kral’s ass. Silliness. “Maybe Kral has something else on my father that’s keeping him in line.”

“Or maybe your father is just playing along until he can get help.”

“Isn’t that what he’s trying to do in ensuring that his photograph is taken? Isn’t he trying to alert us to his location so that the CIA can swoop in and rescue him?”

Riley lowered the ice pack so he could give her an amused look. “Your father never asks for help, and he never waits to be rescued. It’s not his style.”

She leaned her elbows on the counter and rested her cheeks in her hands.

“Abigail, your hand is hurt.”

“What?” She stood up straight and looked at the back of her left hand, the one she’d hit Riley with. It was amply swollen. She poked it, and it throbbed with pain.

“Look at what your face did to me!” she joked and turned to make another ice pack.

He started to laugh but stopped, groaning in pain. “You’re finally cracking jokes, and I’m in no shape to laugh!”

She frowned at the ice dispenser. Was she really so serious? “You know, I’m not a stick-in-the-mud. I just have a very serious job, and I work very hard at it.”

“I’m not knocking you. I think you’re plenty funny, but it’s usually accidental.”

“Like how?” She turned, holding the ice to her hand. It hurt at first, but slowly, relief spread through her skin.