The Cinderella Mission (4 page)

So Kelly wasn’t hurt.

He ignored the nagging voice that insisted he was already hurting her by not being honest. But he’d abandoned scruples long ago in favor of winning, and he wanted that thirty-year-old file on his parents.

Kelly threw her door open. “Then let’s get started.”

Ethan led her up the stairs, punching in the alarm code onto the pad outside his door before pushing inside. As always, he made a quick sweep through his barnlike studio apartment. He held up a hand for Kelly to stop while he took the six steps in three strides up to his loft bedroom. Closing the door behind him, he jogged up another half set of stairs to the open gallery computer area. Loping back down, he nodded. “All clear.”

“Do you always check your own house this thoroughly?”

She thought that was thorough?

“Yes.” He tucked his hands in his back pockets and cruised to a stop in the seldom-used kitchen area.

Kelly trailed a hand along the back of a gray leather sofa, her gaze sweeping the sparse furnishings. “So you brought me to your bachelor pad, after all.”

“I’ve never brought anyone outside of family here.”

Her gaze snapped up to meet his. Solemn brown eyes
studied him with confusion and an odd sort of expectation he knew he couldn’t fulfill.

Ethan turned his back on eyes that threatened to become as tempting as her voice. “If we’re going to work together, this is the only truly secure place.” He swept an empty pizza box off the kitchenette table. “You can set up your laptop here today. I’ll arrange something better by tomorrow.”

Shrugging out of her coat, she strolled through the cavernous room. Her tennis shoes squeaked on the bright tiles his Aunt Eugenie had ordered from Italy. She’d insisted he needed something lively in his dark world.

“There’s certainly plenty of space. My apartment would fit in here twice.”

“I like how open it is.” Easier to watch. Even at home, he never relaxed his guard, probably hadn’t slept through the night since he was five.

Ethan pitched his jacket over a kitchen chair. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of orange juice for himself. “Want one? Or something more substantial—like a two-day-old burrito?”

He earned her genuine smile for the first time in twenty-four hours, a heady victory.

“No, thanks. I had breakfast already.”

Ethan elbowed the refrigerator closed and planned his next move for relaxing her. His computer system upstairs might not make a bad start.

Footsteps sounded in the stairwell. Ethan tensed a second before—

“Yoo-hoo, Ethan?” His aunt’s voice floated up the hall. Eugenie Williams charged through the door and across the room. The sleeves of her mummy-covered caftan, a souvenir of her latest trip to Egypt, fluttered from her open arms. “You’re early! Why didn’t you come into the house?”

“Because we’re early.”

“Like manners have ever mattered to you.” She folded him in a hug.

He dropped a kiss on her head. “You tried your best.”

A soft smile creased her round face. “I certainly did.”

Ethan couldn’t stop his smile in return as she stepped back. He loved his aunt, eccentricities and all. She’d been the only constant during his childhood after he lost his parents. He would never forget how she’d put her own jet-setting life on hold for him.

Well, not exactly on hold, but she’d carted him along on one extended field trip after another, giving him purpose, just as ARIES had done after Celia. “Aunt Eugenie, this is Kelly Taylor.”

She spun to face Kelly, stirring a drift of flowers and some kind of spice. No doubt his aunt had been knee-deep in aromatherapy this morning. Every time Ethan turned around, she sported a new mood-enhancing scent concocted by her masseur.

Eugenie studied Kelly with keen eyes, before nodding. “Ethan, go put her things in the Jefferson suite. And don’t blow out the candles the way you always do. I ordered a special blend of sweet marjoram, lavender and ylang ylang for serenity.” She flapped her hands to shoo him away. “Now scoot, so we can talk.”

The tension Ethan hadn’t even realized gripped him eased. There might be something to all Eugenie’s mood oils and fragrances after all.

He should have trusted his instincts, which had told him he’d made the right decision in handing Kelly over to Aunt Eugenie’s tutelage. The woman was a miracle worker. She’d actually made something halfway productive out of a screw-up rebel like himself.

This would come together. Aunt Eugenie would not only transform Kelly, but she would also be the perfect buffer for any awkwardness.

And while they worked on hairstyles, he could figure out who the hell had been following them.

K
elly trailed Ethan’s aunt to the sofa. Not that she had much choice unless she wanted to stand in the middle of the room pinned by the woman’s curious eyes and the gaze of all those gold mummies on her muumuu.

Why didn’t Ethan hurry? She wanted to work, not chit-chat with his eccentric aunt. She would prove herself a worthy partner, not a woman who had to practice something as simple as pretending to be a girlfriend.

At least she wouldn’t have to pretend when she was alone with Eugenie Williams, since Eugenie knew Ethan and Kelly were working together. Kelly relaxed onto the sofa, grateful she didn’t have to hide her lack of polish for the next few minutes.

Her crush on Ethan, however, Kelly intended to keep well hidden around his aunt.

Eugenie swept across the room toward the gray leather couch, her steely bun twined on top of her head adding two inches of height. As she drew closer, the older woman’s
vitality radiated through despite the tiny lines around her eyes.

Eugenie Williams sat.

Well, sort of. Just
sitting
seemed too ordinary a word to describe any motion from this woman. Her imposing presence made a simple stroll across the rug seem as if it deserved a diva spotlight.

Apparently Ethan had learned to command a room from a master.

Her caftan settled to rest around her, revealing strappy yellow sandals. Those snow-encrusted spike heels would have sent Kelly sprawling. “Tell me about yourself, dear.”

“Well…” Kelly couldn’t imagine anything about her upbringing on a Nebraska wheat farm that would be of interest to this woman. “I work with Ethan.”

“So I hear.”

Kelly searched for a safer topic. The woman might be a fountain of information for the quest to learn more about Ethan, but those shrewd eyes would be onto her in a heartbeat. Kelly tapped an edge of the woman’s caftan. “This is lovely.”

The pattern of Egyptian sarcophagi on silk stared back with eerie voids for eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“Pardon me?”

Eugenie fluffed her silver hair with her fingernails. “It’s a godawful eyesore I bought with the sole intention of shocking the Chanel right off those pastel suits worn by the country-club set.”

“Oh.”

“But it’s comfortable.”

Kelly snuck a quick glance at the door. Still no Ethan. “That’s important.”

“Essential. Life should be lived. Enjoyed.” She whipped the air with her bejeweled fingers. “Savored.”

Kelly agreed a hundred percent. She inched back farther on the sofa. “How wonderfully liberating not to worry what others think.”

“Oh, I do care. Very much.” Eugenie’s hands fell to rest on her lap. “I absolutely cannot tolerate the thought that someone might think I’m bowing to the god of status quo.”

Not much chance of that. “Where did you find this, uh, comfortable eyesore?”

“In Egypt, of course.”

Kelly’s soul soaked up the thoughts of travel. “Did you buy it at one of the street markets?”

“Oh, I like to tell most people I haggled with a vendor in the old Turkish bazaar.
Ba Kum?
”

Kelly searched her memory for the translation— “How much?”

“Excellent. Ethan always struggled with languages, no matter how many informal field trips I took him on abroad. Of course he did get an A on his volcano science project after our weekend jaunt to view one in Italy.”

Kelly smiled at the image. What had it been like for Ethan being brought up by this unconventional woman?

The answer came to her in a flash.

Fun.

No doubt spelling drills for Ethan hadn’t consisted of sitting in a straight-backed chair until his legs fell asleep. “So you got your deal on the caftan at the market?”

“Actually I bought this in the airport on my way home. I just said I like to
tell
people it came from a vendor. Without the story, my caftan has no allure for them.”

“Of course,” Kelly agreed, rather than admit she’d lost the thread of Eugenie’s reasoning back at the bazaar.

Where was she going with this rambling? Or was Eugenie Williams one of those people who just liked to talk? Either way, Kelly knew she didn’t stand a chance of stepping off the roller coaster. Not that she wanted off just yet. “What a, uh, fascinating concept.”

The older woman waggled a bejeweled finger. “Ethan didn’t tell me what a diplomat you are. Not one of his strong points, I might add. Diplomacy. I missed the mark in teach
ing him that one. But I did a fair job in showing him how to savor life.”

Kelly decided she would pass on hearing about Ethan’s exploits.

Eugenie twisted rings around her fingers with her thumb, one sapphire set in platinum, a double ruby and an emerald-cut diamond. “In the interest of savoring life, I want you to come with me to my spa.”

It sounded heavenly, but she didn’t have the time. The story of her life, but a price worth paying to rise to the top. “I’m here to work.”

“You can’t work for every waking minute. We’ll go after hours.”

“Thank you, but I really can’t—”

“We’ll have mud wraps and a massage. My masseur does the most wonderful relaxation therapy with river stones along the back to ground and center you.” Her eyes drifted closed, her fingers wavering down in front of her face as she exhaled deeply.

Kelly twitched her foot. How long should she wait for Ethan’s aunt to come to?

Eugenie’s eyes snapped open. “After that, we can indulge in a pedicure, and maybe even work in a hair trim.”

“A hair trim.” Realization trickled over her like the stinging bite and stench of the home perm solution her mother had squeezed onto her head in the eighth grade.

Kelly stared at the woman with a new understanding. She’d dodged her mother’s mall salon gift certificates often enough to recognize a makeover offer when she heard one.

Ethan had set her up again.

And that royally pissed her off.

Why hadn’t he just told her? She could have handled hearing she needed a new wardrobe to make this work. She wasn’t so socially inept that she expected to wear tennis shoes to an embassy ball.

But he’d obviously worried about hurting her feelings, and that reeked of a pathetic air she could not stomach. “So
that’s why I’m here. For you to concoct a cover story. Like with your caftan, you’ll set up an allure to your social set so they’ll accept me.”

A part of her wanted Eugenie to deny it, but she knew better. Those extra IQ points carried the burden of being right quite often.

Eugenie’s bittersweet smile confirmed the scenario before her words. “Sadly, my dear, I’m afraid there are people in this world who don’t trust what their own eyes tell them. They can’t believe something has beauty or worth unless it conforms to their standards. I’m sorry about that. But most of all, I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Ethan should have told you.”

“Yes, he should have.” She couldn’t stem the anger in her voice.

“Remember, he is a man. And when it comes to second-guessing what women want, men can be the most clueless creatures since the Komodo dragon.”

Kelly couldn’t help but be affected by the woman’s whimsy. A snort of laughter slipped past her anger. “He should put you on the payroll for damage control, as well as makeovers.”

“My nephew can be an insensitive ass.”

“It’s not your fault. He’s just doing his job.” Her frustration redirected itself all onto one, all-too-deserving target. Ethan.

“Consider it a cover, like Ethan’s ever-changing hair length. We’ll drape you in Versace and diamonds. Then we’ll tell people your parents are Nebraska land barons.”

“They’re wheat farmers.”

“No, no.” Eugenie batted the air as if whipping up her story. “They launched an exclusive brand of hybrid organic wheat germ that’s all the rage in Paris.”

“Wheat germ? My father is somewhere right now cringing over his cholesterol-laden breakfast and doesn’t know why.” No doubt this woman would have her way. Kelly
surrendered to the inevitable. “I guess I can live with Versace and the wheat germ. But no feathers.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

The wicked glint in cerulean eyes so like Ethan’s made Kelly doubt the woman’s word. She picked at the hem of Eugenie’s caftan. “And no sarcophagi.”

“Brat.”

Kelly relaxed into the sofa with an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, then, maybe one chiffon diamond-studded turban.”

Eugenie’s face smoothed, no laughter in sight. She lifted a lock of Kelly’s hair from the sofa back. “Oh no, my dear. I wouldn’t cover this glorious mane for anything.”

Her hair?

She’d never thought of her hair as anything other than an obnoxious tangle. Kelly looked for signs that Eugenie might be flattering her just to win her point and found nothing of the sort. The woman meant it.

Not that it should matter in the least.

But it did. After years of waiting for even one affirmation from her mother, Kelly soaked up that single comment. If this woman ordered a torturous combo of a seaweed wrap and bikini wax, Kelly would be first in line.

Ethan, on the other hand, would pay big-time for his latest deception.

“It’s all about deception, Kelly. Make your attacker believe you can’t defend yourself.” Ethan stood across from Kelly on the exercise mat in his private gym. He hoped like hell this hand-to-hand combat lesson would end soon. He’d had enough of flipping, tripping and
touching
to last him two lifetimes. “Use your smaller size to your advantage by lulling him into a false sense of security. Then blast him with an explosive surprise shot.”

Security? He wanted the security of a mission in, say, Taiwan. Yeah, Taiwan, where he could kick butt against a pack of bad guys.

Instead, he was stuck in the mansion gym serving as Kelly’s personal trainer.

Much more body tangling and he would lose his mind. Please, Lord, he hoped she’d absorbed today’s self-defense lesson and they could move on to weaponry. He could use some time with his 9mm to blast holes in a target, a safe outlet for his frustration.

“Remember, Kelly, it’s all in the hips.” He did not want to think about her hips. “Lower your center of gravity so the power of your punch comes from your body and not just the body part.”

“Right.” She nodded, her ponytail bobbing. “Sling hips into the punch and follow through.”

“Good. Now roll out the moves we reviewed. Got it?”

“Got it.” A stray lock of hair whispered across her damp brow. Kelly braced her feet apart, her sweat pants pulling taut across her hips.

Ah, hell. Not her hips again.

He forced his eyes up to her face. Not that it offered his libido any relief. Her swept-back hair revealed high cheekbones models paid big bucks to create with implants.

The Nebraska State T-shirt showed a lot more than her bulky sweaters. Even a sweaty mess, she looked damned good inside that T-shirt—and felt good underneath it.

He wanted to crawl into a cold shower.

Not wise when he still didn’t know who’d followed them or why. His review of the security camera footage from when they’d arrived had revealed zip, nada, zilch. The tail could have been a fluke—except he didn’t believe in coincidence.

“Ethan?”

Kelly’s voice kicked through his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Are you ready?”

“Of course.” He advanced a step and ignored the perfume of Kelly’s shampoo mingling with perspiration, so
close to the scent of sex. “Just waiting for your go-ahead. Let’s try it again.”

Friendship was more important, he reminded himself.

Says who?
his libido asked.

“Shut up.”

Kelly looked up. “What?”

“Nothing.” Too much of nothing at the moment.

Friendship did count, especially for a man who didn’t allow many into the inner circle of his life. The fewer people he let in, the less chance he had of losing them.

And no way in hell did he intend to lose Kelly on this mission. He would train her until she dropped. “Envision someone you want to hurt.”

She blinked once and nailed him with her gaze. “Done.”

“No time for sympathy.”

“Got it.”

“Focus. Pull your mind in tight. You have to quit thinking about all those pretty kicks you see on TV or in whatever class you took. This is about street fighting, blending techniques that work for your body.” He’d spent the whole night before putting together a Kelly plan, a mix of women’s defense courses and Krav Maga used by elite forces around the world.

Ethan stepped closer, crowded her space to emphasize the differences in their size. Recognizing limitations was the first step to overcoming them. “No rules. Fight dirty. Fight to win because losing means you’re dead. List target zones.”

“Vulnerable tissue areas—throat, eyes, inner arm, inner thigh. And of course the cro—”

“Yeah, I’ll let you slide by without practicing that one.” Technically, it didn’t qualify as a soft tissue area at the moment, anyway. “Run the strikes.”

“The palm strike, eagle claw, bear strike,” she paused, flexing her hand into the proper form for each, “and my favorite, the double dragon.” She swung her hand forward as if tossing something, two fingers jabbing toward his eye.

He blocked her wrist. “Well done.”

His fingers curved around her and held a second beyond necessary before he dropped her hand.

“I have to admit,” her voice whispered through the air, husky bedroom tones gliding over him as she circled to his back, “the tiger claw seems so violent.”

Her breath stroked across his skin. Ethan swallowed. “That’s the idea.”

“How can I know I’ll be bloodthirsty enough to go for the throat like that?”

The husky catch in her question caressed the skin on the back of his neck. “Instinct to live.”

“But to pinch through the Adam’s apple…” She crossed to his other side, a full-out attack on his senses. Her hand fell onto his shoulder, curved around. “I think I prefer to just—”

His world rocked.

Whoosh.
Air abandoned his lungs.

The ceiling stared back down at him as he lay flat on his back.

Kelly leaned over him. “—do something like that?”

Damn. She’d lured him with a pretended weakness and then flipped him. Tripped him, actually, but a minor technicality since either way, he’d met the mat.