The Mercenary (9 page)

Does something hurt?” When she didn’t respond, he lifted her chin to look into her face.

“Are you sick?

Does your arm hurt? Are you embarrassed that I saw you naked? What?” Her eyes filled with tears.

Great. “Talk to me.” His voice came out a little harsher than it should have.

“Leave me alone.” She glared at him, the tears making her green eyes glitter. “I broke the comb. Okay?

I broke the blasted comb!”

Marc stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You’re crying because you broke a damn comb? Christ,

lady, it’s a fine day when that’s the worst thing that happens to you.” He got to his feet impatiently, paced to the back of the cave and pulled out the sat phone. If she was

going to freak out over something as ridiculous as a broken comb, they were in big trouble.

He’d been delusional to think he could get her to grow some kind of backbone. He couldn’t make her

something that she wasn’t. Not her fault, damn it.

Pushing her hair aside she looked over her shoulder. “What are…are you doing?”

“Calling Angelo. He can come and get you.”

CHAPTER FIVE

MARC WAITEDfor Angelo to pick up the phone. Damn fool woman. He’d schlepped her halfway

around the world because he needed her to find Alex. Fast. Faster than he could do it himself. But she

was proving to be more of a liability than an asset.

“No!” Tory jumped up, tears forgotten. “No, d-don’t do that.” She grabbed the phone and

disconnected. “I’m the only one who can find my brother. You said so.”

“Lady, I must have been out of my ever-loving mind to think you’d be any help.” He took the phone

from her, deliberated for a second, then stuck it in his back pocket. “Look at you. You’re already falling

apart and we haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet.”

“You don’t understand.” She bit her lip. “It’s not…I can’t get the knots out of my hair.

The comb

broke, and I…The comb’s broken.”

He’d known her for little more than a day and in that short time he had her figured. She was a lousy liar,

which he liked. She was too damned sexy without being aware of it, which he didn’t like. Marc

remembered the prissy, navy suit and sensible heels she’d worn when he’d first met her.

He had a

sudden mental image of her straightening her collar and striving to neaten her hair when she’d awakened

in his den the other night.

He might not know her well, but one thing he did know was that she was obsessive about being neat and

right now her bare feet were sandy, the T-shirt she wore was crumpled from being in the pack, and her

hair was wildly tangled. She was a mess.

He liked her this way. Rumpled and untidy. But clearly it wasn’t a look she was comfortable with.

“Come here,” he said gently. With a hand on her shoulder, he pushed her down on the blanket and

settled behind her. “Give me the comb.”

Her slender shoulders were rigid under his hands. “I don’t want you to touch me, thank you very much.”

“I don’t want to be kept up all damn night because you’re sniveling about your frigging hair. Give me the

comb.”

She handed the largest piece of the broken comb to him over her shoulder.

“Relax.” He picked up the towel and rubbed at her hair.

Her voice sounded muffled and sheepish. “My mother used to do this.” He rubbed out as much of the moisture as he could, then picked up the comb. Her hair pooled on the

silver blanket between them, and he picked up the ends and started drawing the teeth through the wet

tangles.

“Tell me about her,” he said softly. Her hair felt like silk in his fingers.

“I don’t have that many memories. I do remember that she and my father were inseparable.” Her voice

caught and she cleared her throat before continuing. “My father was a stuntman, and my mother always

went with him on shoots. Apparently he was in high demand, because they were gone a lot.”

“And where were you when they were ‘gone a lot’?”

“I lived with Grandmother most of the time.”

And were brainwashed by her, too,Marc thought, angry on her behalf. “And where did your brother

live?”

“Boarding school…for a while. When we were eight they didn’t come back.” Marc smoothed her hair across his knee. “What happened?”

“They were killed while Dad was filming in Spain. The small commuter plane crashed on the way to the

shoot. My grandmother kept me. She sent Alex to foster care.” Her shoulders hitched.

“We hated being

separated like that.”

“What the hell?” What kind of person separated siblings, especially twins?

“He went from home to home. He couldn’t be adopted—Grandmother wouldn’t allow it. She adopted

me. But she wouldn’t adopt Alex.”

“Why not?”

“Because of her age the State wouldn’t allow her to keep both of us. At least that’s what she claimed.

That was probably partially the reason, but I think it was also because she felt a little guilty not taking him,

and wanted to keep that tenuous connection.”

What a bitch.“And by doing so prevented him from having any home at all.”

“Yes,” Tory bowed her head as he continued combing. “She disliked men in general.

She’d had an

abusive childhood and hated her own father. She got married because in those days it was the only thing

for a woman to do, but the marriage was short-lived. Her husband passed away before my mother was

born.”

Grandmother sounded like a piece of work. No wonder Tory was so repressed. It also went a long way

in explaining her old-fashioned clothing and attitude, and the strong attachment to her wandering brother.

“Did she kill him?” Marc asked drily.

“I don’t think so, although I think she was certainly capable of doing so.” Marc bet there were any number of skeletons in Granny’s closet. “So why do you have different last

names?”

“She’d reverted back to her maiden name after her husband died. It was easier for us to have the same

name.”

It also explained how Lynx had managed to keep a twin sister under wraps. Marc felt a swell of

compassion for her, which annoyed the hell out of him. He frowned. He didn’t have time for that kind of

emotion on a mission. His senses had to be razor sharp or they were all going to end up dead.

“We could communicate telepathically, but we didn’t see each other again for almost eight years. I hated

it,” she said fiercely.

Marc felt the tension in her back. He kept combing.

“I did everything right so that she would bring Alex home. She wanted a nice, quiet, neat little girl. And

that’s what I was. She was my only security, and I had to do everything perfectly so she wouldn’t s-send

me away, too.” Marc heard the tears in her voice. He could imagine her as a small child.

Neat, quiet and

waiting for her brother to come home. No wonder she was so fanatically neat and tidy.

No wonder she

didn’t like her quiet little world turned upside down. She’d had enough of that as a child.

Her hair was tangle free and almost dry, but Marc kept running the broken comb through it. “When we

were eighteen, Alex disappeared.”

Marc knew where he’d gone. He’d recruited Alex Stone right off the street when the boy had been well

on his way to becoming an accomplished car thief.

“My grandmother got sick. I nursed her till she died. Then I took the money she left me and bought a

condo—” her voice hardened “—with two bedrooms. And I made a home for us…Alex and me.” She

twisted to look at him. “That was my revenge. I could make a home for us using her money.”

But it had been too late for Alex Stone, Marc thought grimly. By then he was “Lynx.” And that had left

his sister out—again. He forced himself to section off three heavy ropes of her hair. She handed him the

tie over her shoulder when he’d finished the braid. “Thank you.” She asked quietly,

“You are going to

find Alexander, aren’t you, Marc?” Her hair had soaked her T-shirt. The thin wet cotton lovingly

accented the sweet full curves of her breasts.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find him. By this time tomorrow the two of you will be living it up in Rome.”

Her eyes glowed. “Really?”

He’d felt the first unwelcome stirring of desire for her on the boat. No big deal. He hadn’t acted on it.

He’d seen her naked. Again, no big deal. He’d certainly seen more than his fair share of naked women.

“Yeah.” At first he’d dismissed the attraction, thinking it was because of her hair. He’d never had a thing

about a woman’s hair before. But images of being tangled in yards of Tory’s dark silky hair had him hot

and bothered. He’d almost managed to convince himself, while soaking in the hot spring, that he was in

full control of his body’s urges.

He’d been dead wrong.

“Thank you.” Her lips were pale, her teeth very white as she gave him a shy smile.

Using both thumbs, Marc brushed away the tears drying on her cheeks, then cupped her face. He

shouldn’t do this, he knew. The op had barely begun. He kissed her damp eyelids, and she made a

murmuring protest as his fingers tangled in her hair, pushing gently so that she fell backward, half on the

blanket and half on the sand.

He just wanted a small taste of her, that was all. One small taste. He settled his mouth over hers. She

tasted of toothpaste, minty and fresh. He slanted his mouth and her lips opened under his. Just a little.

Just enough so he could slide his tongue between her teeth. God, it was sweet heaven.

It shouldn’t have been this good. As she tentatively, shyly, touched her tongue to his, Marc thought he

would jump out of his skin. He forced his hands to stay in her hair. He wanted to strip her naked and

drive into her with a force that rocked him. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he sat up, running his

fingers around the back of his neck until he could control his ragged breathing. She lay there watching him

with those big slumberous green eyes, her lips wet and swollen from his kiss, her breathing as unsteady as

his own.

“This was one bad idea, princess. Roll over and get a little more shut-eye before we go.”

TORY WOKE TO DARKNESSand the single glow of the propane stove. Marc was a shadow in the

shadows in his dark clothes, his expression closed. “You have time to eat before we go.” Tory self-consciously ran her hand over her eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat anyway.” He rose and dished up her meal, bringing it over to her. Tory pulled the thin

blanket to her chest. She wished with all her heart that she was wearing a bra.

“Honey, I’ve already seen everything you’ve got. It’ll take us at least forty minutes to get to Pescarna

and it’s after eleven now.” He pushed a fork into her hand, his eyes deliberately cold. “I hope to God

you aren’t expecting a big declaration. It was only a kiss. I don’t plan on analyzing every damned body

function between now and when we leave.”

She looked up at him. “Thanks for putting that into perspective.” She cocked her head and her braid

slithered over one shoulder. “If I’d known I’d be reduced to a ‘body function’ I wouldn’t have bothered

kissing you back,” she snapped. Setting the full plate aside, she tossed off the blanket and rose. His jaw

tightened as he gritted his teeth. She must have caught the feral gleam in his eyes for she said sweetly, “All

you had to do was say no.”

“Hell, you didn’t even know what you were offering.” Victoria tilted her chin at him. “I don’t remember my offering you anything.”

“How’s it feel to be the last American virgin, honey?” Marc asked sarcastically, wanting her to get angry

and slug him, in which case he’d grab her and—You’ve lost your mind, Phantom. Get a grip on your

damned hormones. This is like a jackal taunting a kitten.

Her nose turned pink. “It feels quite comfortable, thank you.” Marc took the sucker punch like a man. He’d been joking! “I thought the definition of a virgin was an

ugly thirteen-year-old.”

Victoria gave him a dirty look. “I was an ugly thirteen-year-old. I’m also a realistic twenty-six-year-old.

I like my life just the way it is, thank you very much. I didn’t ask you to maul me, and I don’t appreciate

being taunted just because I have principles. My virginity is my business, and I’ll thank you to keep your

sweaty hands off me.”

“Princess, sex is a sweaty business. I bet if you loosened up a little it would grow on you. Close your

eyes and imagine two sweaty bodies rubbing against each other….”

“Why do you insist on talking to me like this?” Tory’s eyes flashed. “I know you don’t like me. Fine, the

feeling is absolutely mutual. You were the one who dragged me here, remember?”

“Wow. You’re really scaring me to death,” he said mockingly, stalking her across the sand.

Tory stood her ground as he came toward her. She pulled the Uzi out of his pack—right side up this

time. It looked ridiculous in her small hands.

He stepped right up to her so that the cool metal poked him in the chest. “Don’t ever point a weapon at

a person unless you mean it,” he rasped. His hand shot out and gripped her wrist like a vise.

She tried to jerk her arm away. “Oh, I mean it.”

Marc took the Uzi away from her and set it on top of the pack. Her face looked pale and vulnerable in

the dim light as she moved away from him. “We’re going to have to cover that cast.

People will be able

to see it a mile away. Here.” He tossed her a long-sleeved black sweatshirt.

A virgin. At twenty-six? In this day and age? Christ, that was one for the Guinness book. Marc tossed

her a pair of black running shoes.