Scorching Desire (10 page)

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Marco said. “I like it. Those glasses…” He looked at Damon. “It’s not just me, is it?”

Damon was examining her with a look of longing that was painful to see. Marco nudged him and Damon snapped out of it, opening the fridge door. “It’s not just you.”

“I hate to disappoint you.” Tasha pouted and fluttered her lashes. “Actually, I don’t care. I need glasses for computer work. And you didn’t think I dressed like a call girl all the time, did you?”

“Marco, there is nothing to make breakfast with.” Damon closed the fridge. “I’m ordering groceries.”

“There’s cereal.”

Damon just groaned and grabbed the grocery delivery menu.

“You two have been friends a long time, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Is it that obvious?” Content to make Damon deal with breakfast, Marco took his espresso over to the table.

“It’s nice.” She shrugged and went back to her computer.

“So what are you doing?” Marco asked.

Damon finished placing an order and came over to the table, cups in hand. “I made you some herbal tea. If it’s disgusting, blame Marco. I have no idea how old the tea is.”

Tasha accepted the cup with a little smile. “Thank you. I didn’t think either of you would be up so soon. Especially you.” She pointed at Marco.

“I can’t sleep.” Marco finished his coffee. “I need to play.”

“It’s too early for the piano,” Damon said.

“I wasn’t going to play piano.”

****

Tasha watched Marco, who wore PJ pants and nothing more, walk away.

“So what are you doing?” Damon asked again.

Tasha focused on her screen, careful not to look at him. She was still raw from their kiss, and she shouldn’t have been. The feelings he’d stirred should’ve been locked away deep inside, where they couldn’t influence her, but right now she couldn’t do it.

It had been a deliberate move to wear her lounging clothes. When Tasha was by herself comfort was king, and she didn’t care how she looked. She’d brought these things to wear in the hotel, but right now she was using them like armor, distancing herself from the sexy persona she’d been using around them.

“I’m putting up nets for the video and the photos from Marco’s phone.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“How much do you know about how the internet works?”

“I know a bit.”

“DNS servers, IP calls?”

“Uh…”

Tasha nodded. “There are lots of things that happen when you do anything online—lots of places the information has to go. There’s no way for us to erase the video or photos from existence. Even if I eliminated all online copies, there may be one on a hard drive or other offline location.”

Damon sighed. “That’s what I’ve been afraid of.”

“We can’t delete them, but we can try to stop it from being sent to anyone.”

“Using a net?”

“Yes. Every file has some identifying information, some metadata. What I’m doing is setting up alerts so that when a file with that metadata tries to go through any server, it will be flagged. If its point of origin is outside the US the file will have a virus added to it, which will cause most recipients’ servers to reject it. If it originates in the US, I can not only attach a virus but also add a back trace.”

“That’s…wow. You’re a very skilled hacker.”

“You may not believe it, based on what I’ve been doing the past few days, but most situations can’t be solved with bare skin and sex appeal.”

Damon’s lips twitched. “Don’t tell Marco. He thinks you were a spy. He’ll be disappointed when he finds out I was right.”

“You were right?”

“You’re a corporate securities specialist.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but actually Marco was right. I was a spy.”

Damon blinked. “You worked for the CIA?”

“Not exactly.
I was a CIA asset.” Tasha wasn’t sure why she was telling him this. Her background was hardly a secret—she’d been something of a legend within the intelligence community—but she rarely divulged personal information. “My biological parents were Russian agents. I was conceived and raised to be a spy for Russia.”

Damon sat back.
“Holy shit.”

Tasha shrugged.

“What happened?”

“My parents were agents who did not love either each other or me. Even as a child I knew it, and therefore I didn’t connect with them. I liked reading.” Her lips twitched in a smile.
“Especially spy novels. When I was twelve I figured out who my parents were. I turned myself in to the CIA.”

“When you were twelve?”

“Yes.”

“What did they do? What did you do?”

“I was a double agent—informing on my parents to my CIA handler. When I started high school I had trouble keeping the secret, and the CIA had them arrested. They were traded back to Moscow.”

“All this while you were a teenager?”

“Yes. The CIA pulled me out of school and trained me as an agent, though my background meant I couldn’t be formally hired.”

Marco, now wearing jeans and a ratty old T-shirt, emerged from the hall, rolling his hard-sided cello case.

Damon was shaking his head. “Let me get this straight. When you were a kid you went to the government and told them you thought your parents were Russian spies. You were right, and they asked you to turn on them, and then when it got too hard they essentially orphaned you by arresting your parents.”

“And then they trained me.”

Damon’s jaw clenched. “That is so deeply fucked up. I’m sorry, Tasha.”

She shrugged. “It’s done.”

The first strains of cello music drew Tasha’s attention to the living room. Marco sat with his back to them, facing the wall of windows. His cello cradled in his legs. Tasha bit her lip, thrilled. Abandoning her computer, she padded over and hovered just out of Marco’s line of sight so she wouldn’t disturb him.

Damon came up behind her. “Have you heard him play before?”

“Once, in London.”

“You’re a fan.”

Tasha felt herself blush and was glad for the thick makeup she was wearing. “I enjoy classical music.”

“But Marco doesn’t just play music.”

“No,” she breathed. “He makes it live.”

“Come on.” Damon grabbed pillows off the couch and drew her to the windows. He tossed the pillows down, sat on the floor facing Marco with his back against the glass and drew Tasha to sit beside him.

She curled up on the pillow. When Damon put his arm around her she leaned into him without thinking about it, her focus wholly on Marco.

He played with his eyes closed and his whole body communicated the emotion he drew from the notes. The low registers were haunting, almost eerie, rising in long, slow swoops to quick, light sounds. Marco tipped his head back as the
piece crescendoed, dipped his head and grimaced as his bow powered through the aggressive codas.

When he dropped his arm, the last note lingering in the air, Tasha jumped onto her knees and started clapping.

“Bravo!” she shouted.

Marco looked up. A grin slowly transformed his face. “You enjoyed that?”

“So much.” Tasha knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Propping his elbow on his cello, Marco cocked his head.
“Any requests?”

“
Springtime,” she said.

“From my last album?”
Marco looked shocked. “That’s an original piece of mine and didn’t get great reviews.”

“I love it. I love that whole album.”

“Come here.” Marco rose and pushed the chair he’d been sitting on away. Holding the cello with one hand, he dragged the piano bench over and turned it so the short end was against the cello.

He straddled the bench, leaving room between him and the instrument. “Sit here.”

Tasha licked her lips. “I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Giving in, she sat on the end of the bench, her back against Marco’s chest, her legs inside the cradle of his.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered, scooting them closer to the end.

Arousal washed over her, so sudden and sharp that Tasha was trembling. She cradled the cello between her knees. Marco’s arms caged her in and she could feel his breath on her neck.

“Feel the music,” he whispered, setting bow to string.

As he began to play, Tasha closed her eyes. Her body swayed with his, and she could feel the faint vibrations of the cello through her knees. He whispered to her as he played, asking her if she could feel the sadness, the joy, the power, putting words to the emotions she’d found in his music.

She was vaguely aware of Damon leaving, but she didn’t open her eyes until the last note sounded.

Her breathing was labored as if she’d just gone running, but it wasn’t exercise that had caused it—it was desire.

“Tasha.” Marco stroked her jaw until she turned her face to his. “I’ve never seen someone listen to music with their whole mind and heart the way you do.”

She was so lost in the moment that she didn’t have any words.

Marco kissed her.

For the second time in as many days, she gave in to her desires. Marco’s kiss was firmer than Damon’s, his lips more demanding. As she shifted, she could feel his cock against her ass. His hand cupped her cheek, holding her still as he went to deepen the kiss.

The pressure against her bruised face shocked her. Tasha pulled back, her gaze meeting Marco’s.

“Tasha?”

Shaking her head, she ducked away from him. She wanted to run, but she already looked foolish enough. Forcing herself to walk, she went to the hall. Once there, she bolted for the guest bedroom door and threw it open.

Damon was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands, as he had been last night.

Tasha took a step back only to smack into Marco. Damon rose to his feet, looking between them.

“I kissed her,” Marco said.

“I kissed her last night,” Damon added.

The men looked at each other and then at her.

“If you’re playing a game,” Damon growled, “if you’re playing us…”

Tasha opened her mouth to deny it, to tell them that she was terrified because they made her feel things and want things she’d given up on. But they were looking at her with suspicion. How could they do anything else? She was a spy, a liar. They’d seen what she could do, what she would do.

Wishing she were in a little black dress and heels, she folded her arms. “Damon, you need to email the blackmailer back, tell him that you won’t pay.”

She walked toward the door, praying Marco would move. If he touched her she might start crying.

“And then what?” Damon asked from behind her. There were traces of anger in his voice.

Tasha paused. “There are pieces on the board, and we can see most of them. All we need is for him to make a move.”

At the last second, Marco stepped aside. “And you?”

“I will keep working on your problem.” Tasha made her way to the living room and packed up her things in record time. Uncaring of who could see, she stripped and put on a designer sheath dress and gold jewelry, transforming herself into a wealthy young society wife.

She knew they’d followed her and could feel their accusing glares on her back as she zipped her bag. Without looking at them, she let herself out of the condo. She didn’t start crying until she got to the hotel. Sinking onto the bathroom floor, she pressed a washcloth over her face to muffle the sound of her sobs.

*****

“Looks like you’ll have to change your flight again,” Marco called out to Damon as he closed the front door.

“Why, who was that?” Damon looked up from his computer. He’d said he was working, but Marco could see that he’d been obsessively refreshing his email to see if the blackmailer had responded.

Marco handed him an envelope. “These just came by messenger.”

Damon looked at the creamy envelope and cursed. “We’re getting summoned by the Grand Master.”

“And it’s a formal summons,” Marco said. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out the card. It had a date and time embossed in gold.
Nothing else. “It’s for tomorrow morning.”

Damon looked over his shoulder at the late afternoon light. “I’ll book us flights and a hotel room for tonight.”

Marco nodded and went back to the piano where he started playing a dirge. Damon didn’t object, and Marco was sure it was because the funerary music fit the mood in his home. After Tasha had left this morning, he’d been angry—at her, at Damon and at the situation.

But the more time that passed, the more his anger was turning inward. He’d kissed her, not the other way around. Either he’d forced himself on her when her interest was in Damon—
which made him insanely jealous of his best friend—or she was interested in both of them, in which case they’d been jerks.

Or the third possibility, the one that haunted him, was that she didn’t want anything to do with either of them. That the intimacy Marco felt between them was a product of the situation, and Tasha knew it but was too kind to say anything to them.