Deep Breath (6 page)

7:55
P.M.

Earlier this afternoon, when Georgia had walked out of the dressing room and made her way to where Harry had been sitting, showing off the first dress the boutique’s personal shopper had selected for her to try on, he’d come damn close to swallowing his tongue.

The two hours he’d spent in the salon flipping through the magazine had been bad enough. He was as clueless now as he had been then to the content of the pages he’d turned. All he knew was that he’d done a piss-poor job of focusing on the night ahead and working out a game plan.

Instead, he’d been consumed with the transformation of Georgia McLain.

He hadn’t paid her a whole lot of attention in the diner, but then all of them had been pretty busy back there. Based on the pictures he’d seen of her during his mission prep work, he’d known she was a looker. What he hadn’t known was that she was a
looker.

She’d walked from the dressing room into the sitting area where he’d been waiting, and all he’d done was stare. He hadn’t known what to say; the woman in front of him was not the woman he’d expected to see. She had legs, bare legs, legs made even longer by the height of her heels and the thigh-high hem of the dress she’d chosen.

She’d turned in a circle, arms out to her sides, a smirk on her gorgeously made-up face. She’d enjoyed seeing him pinned to the cushy chair as if he’d been run through with a spike—an apropos comparison because he had not been able to move.

The neckline of the little black dress was scooped low, the back scooped even lower, leaving no doubt that she was wearing very little beneath. What sleeves there were fell off her shoulders, tiny caps of fabric barely hanging on and leaving her arms bare.

Sitting beside him now in the back of the cab for the ride to the gallery, she shifted forward and hiked up the lace wrap the boutique’s shopper had insisted on adding to the package of dress, shoes, and diamond drop pendant.

Hank Smithson was going to throw a cow when Harry turned in the receipts in his expense report, but if Hank could see Georgia…

“You never did tell me why we’re taking a taxi,” she said, cutting into his reverie.

He’d planned to, but somewhere between leaving the boutique and having the doorman call the cab, he’d lost his tongue—not to mention his entire command of the English language.

Glancing over at her now, seeing the way the streetlamps caught the colors in her hair as the car passed beneath, he wasn’t sure he’d found enough of either to reply.

He cleared his throat anyway. “The Buick isn’t exactly a car to lose on a crowded street. Just in case we need to hit the road in a hurry.”

She bobbed her head a couple of times. “Funny. Finn said something this morning about me needing a getaway car.”

“Yeah?” He heard the catch in her voice when she’d mentioned her brother’s name.

She looked his way briefly before dropping her gaze to her lap and twisting her fingers in the fringe of the wrap. “All I could think was that I was a Bonnie without a Clyde.”

He wondered if she was referring to her love life or her life of crime. He knew she’d once been married, that she wasn’t in a relationship now. He also knew calling her a criminal based on her history was a stretch. After tonight, well, things in this spy business changed in a hurry.

Leaning toward her, he rested an arm along the seat back. “You can call me Clyde. If it makes you feel better.”

“That’s okay,” she said with a laugh. “I kinda like calling you Harry.”

“Want to know what my nickname is?” he asked, toying with the hem of her tiny nothing of a sleeve.

She hesitated, shivered, answered shyly, “I don’t know. Do I?”

“It’s Rabbit.”

Lips pressed together, she shook her head. “I’m not even going to ask.”

This time he was the one who laughed. “It’s about tricks. Pulling things out of a hat. Trust me. It has nothing to do with, uh, taking my time,” he said, feeling the beginnings of an uncomfortable heat sliding down the length of his spine. “That I know how to do.”

“That’s good to know.” A blush crept up the back of her neck. “Not that I was asking or anything.”

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, laughing again because otherwise he was going to do something really dumb. Like drag her across the seat and into his lap.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice having dropped to a near whisper. “As thorough as you’ve been getting things ready for tonight, it wouldn’t occur to me to think anything else.”

The car hit a bump in the road, jarring her shoulder into his hand. Her whisper had led him to believe she was testing the sexual waters between them. The icy skin of her shoulder changed his mind.

He opened his fingers over the slope of her neck. Damn. “You’re freezing. Here. Take my coat.”

She stopped him before he’d done more than start to shrug one shoulder. “No, really. I’m fine. I’m not cold.”

“Right,” he said, sounding more harsh than he’d intended. “Tell that to your skin.”

“It’s nerves,” she said, her teeth chattering. “I don’t do well with anticipation. Or dreading everything that might go wrong. I’ll be fine once we’re there.”

He wanted to pull her close, rub his hands up and down her arms to warm her. Instead, he sat where he was and watched her huddle in on herself, wondering if she was going to be able to pull it together and
hold
it together once she had.

They had a hell of a long night to look forward to, and he didn’t know enough of the details of the dossier they were both after to play her part in addition to his.

But then the cab began to slow, pulling in between the line of parked limos and the personal cars waiting to be valeted, and what he did or didn’t know no longer mattered. He had a job to do, and it was time.

A gallery doorman slipped through to open Harry’s door. He climbed out, reached back to give Georgia his hand. And when she stepped out, her back straight, her head high, he knew from her show of strength that the only thing he had to worry about tonight was keeping his hands to himself.

Still, with the evening’s air being nippy and Georgia hardly dressed, he draped his arm around her shoulders as they made their way beneath the gallery’s portico and down the pebbled walkway to the double glass doors.

At the entrance, the hostess pointed them to a short line at a table in the dimly lit and richly carpeted lobby where a cashier waited to take their donation and provide them with a receipt and the reception brochure.

At the mention of the brochure, Georgia’s case of the shakes returned. He wasn’t even touching her, was simply standing at her shoulder. The hem of his suit coat brushed the hanging ends of her wrap, but that was the extent of their contact. And still he felt her tremble. Whether a chill or nerves, her reaction set him on edge; a surge of heat rose along with his blood pressure.

This wasn’t going to work. They needed to settle this now. Once inside the exhibit room, it was game on. No going back. He wasn’t going to let her walk through those doors until he knew she was ready.

Casting a glance the length of the darkened lobby, he took hold of her upper arm, leaned close to her ear, and whispered, “C’mon.”

She came willingly, seemingly relieved as he propelled her toward the private phone bays separated from one another and tucked behind thick decorative columns. She slipped inside the first empty alcove.

He followed, taking up the rest of the room and blocking the lobby’s light. Chin down, she leaned against the high-backed chair pushed up beneath the bay’s built-in table and shook her head.

“I’m sorry.” She brought up both hands to cover her face, shuddered. “I thought this was going to be easy. A walk in the park. That we’d go in, the dossier would be right there for our taking, we’d grab it and leave. End of story.”

Her honesty—and her naiveté—sent an unexpected rush of softness flowing into his heart. He didn’t doubt that she was tough. That she was strong. That she was not a cream puff who burst into tears at the slightest provocation.

But he was used to working with operatives who looked at a mission objectively, dispassionately. Not with a woman this personally involved in the outcome.

Georgia McLain was dealing with stakes even higher than he’d realized.

He weighed the odds of running this on his own, factored in the hellcat he’d seen in the diner this morning, came away confident that she had it in her to do this, to do anything. All she needed was a reminder.

“Look, Georgia—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

He grabbed her fluttering fingers. “No, you’re not. And I can’t let you go in there until you are.”

Her chin came up. “You can’t let me? What the hell kind of chauvinistic crap is that?”

The kind that got her attention. He moved closer. Brought her hand to his chest where his heart was beating harder than he liked. “Feel that? That’s me worried you’re going to flake, and I’m going to fuck up because you haven’t told me enough about what we’re doing here for me to handle it alone.”

She stilled, waited, did nothing but breathe.

Harry pressed. “It’s your ball game, sweetheart. I’m just a rabid fan.”

She’d stopped shaking. That much he was glad to see. What he wasn’t sure about was how to react when she flexed her fingers against his shirt, testing the muscle beneath.

And he was really lost when she stepped closer and leaned her forehead against him. Especially since he could smell the wild rain scent of her hair.

He stood there unmoving, his heart pounding even harder now when the whole reason for bringing her here was about staying calm. Calm was the last thing he was feeling. And the way she pressed against him, nuzzled him, bringing up both of her hands to do whatever it was she was doing…He shuddered, reached up to grip her shoulders and set her away.

Instead, he took a deep, deep breath. “Georgia?”

“Shh,” she whispered, laying two fingers against his lips. “I know. I’m sorry. I know.”

He had no idea what she was saying. All he knew was that her fingers were soft, that she smelled like heaven, and that the tingling heat at the base of his spine was about to make itself known in a very large way.

His hands on her shoulders tightened, sliding down her bare arms to her elbows at the same time she slipped her hands from his chest up to his neck. He closed his eyes and groaned.

This wasn’t happening. Any other time, any other place, sure. Not here. Not now. But it was too late. She’d cupped the base of his skull with one hand and was pulling him down. The air she blew out brushed his cheek, and she touched her mouth to the edge of his in the barest hint of a kiss.

She moved closer, catching the corner of his top lip between hers, whispering, “I’m sorry,” as she nibbled and tugged, as her tongue followed to wet him, to tease him, to make him horny as hell.

A growl rolled up from his throat. His hands found her waist. He backed her up into the table and opened his mouth fully over hers. He held her there, held her still, but she wouldn’t have it.

She wanted the movement, the motion. Her hands found their way beneath his suit coat to his chest, his ribs, around to his back. She massaged tiny circles between his shoulder blades, all the while kissing him, her tongue tangling with his.

Her response wasn’t about him. It wasn’t even about sex or attraction. It was about fear and panic, about worry and stress. About her brother’s life. About reaching the end of a search, about possibly reaching the end of her rope.

Knowing all of that didn’t mean he stopped her. He did the opposite, in fact. He gave her every bit of the movement and motion she was looking to find.

He planted his palm in the small of her back and pressed her into his body, grinding down with his mouth while she pushed against him with hers. He played with her tongue, with her lips. He caught her with his teeth just hard enough to cause her to growl and bite back, to gouge her short nails into the muscles on either side of his spine.

He laughed, and she swallowed the sound, snarling when he palmed the round of her ass and squeezed. He wanted to take her, to lift her up and drive his cock home, to spread open her pussy, to rub all her hot spots, to make her come.

It wasn’t going to happen. He knew that. But knowing it didn’t keep him from bunching the fabric of her dress in one hand until he found skin. A lot of skin. Her bottom was completely bare.

He stopped. She stopped, pulling back to look him in the eyes. As dark as it was, he couldn’t see much, but he definitely saw them glitter. “What? You thought I was wearing something under this dress, the way it fits? There’s only one sure way to avoid panty lines.”

“That so?” he asked, thinking how much he’d like to take her shopping again. Thinking how much he liked her bare backside. He slid his hand lower and palmed the swell of her cheek. “And here I was thinking you made it a habit to go commando.”

“Well, there is that,” she said, breathless, lifting her leg and hooking her knee around his thigh before she got back to killing him with her kiss.

Her nimble tongue mated with his, swirled through his mouth. He could hardly keep up because his attention had gone south the moment she’d raised her leg. She was wet and she was warm and she was naked and open.

All he had to do was slide his hand lower, his fingers deeper, to find the source of her heat. And so he did, slicking her moisture over her skin, teasing the downy lips protecting her slit until she whimpered.

“Please,” she murmured against him. “Please. I’m sorry. Please.”

He’d never had a woman beg him so sweetly, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she kept apologizing for. He’d figure it out later, if later he still cared. Right now, he had his hands full, and too much else on his mind.

He let her go, reached for the chair and pulled it from under the table. Slipping his hand beneath her knee, he moved her foot to the seat of the chair. The position left her vulnerable. His position kept her hidden.

He tickled the skin of her thigh until she shivered, then slid his hand higher. She pulled her mouth from his, buried her face between his lapels where she’d crushed them in her fists. The sounds she made were low and throaty vibrations, all about what she was feeling, none of it faked.