A Fare To Remember: Just Whistle\Driven To Distraction\Taken For A Ride (15 page)

She slammed to her feet, her hands slapping decisively against her thighs. “All right, then!” she announced before she rounded the coffee table, looked him straight in the eye and reached out with her hand.

He didn’t touch her, but flicking his gaze between her hand and her eyes did the job of telling her he didn’t know what she intended for him to do with that hand if he took it. Give her a platonic shake, thank her for cooperating with the United States government and then send her on her merry way?

Her hand dropped a little. “Thank you for telling me the whole truth.”

He arched a brow. “You didn’t get the whole truth.”

She stared at him quizzically. “What part did you leave out?”

At this point, he knew what to do with her hand. He grabbed it and used her arm to reel her in as close as two people possibly could be with their clothes still on—a detail he hoped to rectify momentarily. With his chest flush against hers and her suddenly accelerated heartbeat egging him on, he pressed his lips just beside hers and whispered, “The part where I tell you I can’t live without you.”

CHAPTER NINE

H
E KISSED HER WITH SUCH
a rough, desperate intensity that all questions, protests and logical reasons why she should deny herself another taste of him disappeared. He’d confessed all to her, including the fact that although he’d initiated his pursuit of her for his case, he’d actually jeopardized his investigation by staying with her. He’d admitted how he’d been drawn to her with the same force that had kept her enthralled, a man she’d known so little about—and most of what she had known had been a lie.

But clearly, she no longer cared. She wanted him. Here. Now. Because possibly, this was all they’d ever have.

Clothes melted away with the fire burning between them. The dimming sunlight against the sheer curtained window marked the dwindling time that they had to say goodbye, spurring him to lift her fully and completely against him, pressing her skin as tightly against his as he possibly could. She needed his heat to brand her, mark her, imprint her with the indelible passion that belonged to them alone. After tonight, she’d likely never see him again. There would be no more sneaking, no more bucking the rules. His job injected inescapable danger into his life, risk that had spilled into hers that morning on the sidewalk. She knew the thought of her paying the price for his choices sickened him. He was that kind of man.

So he’d say goodbye. But he’d make it count.

Roman lured her to the bedroom, her hand cupped softly in his, and watched her eyes turn glossy with the kind of anticipation and fear and need that he’d never seen in her before. Then again, he’d never much stopped to look, had he? They’d been too enraptured, too enslaved to lust and sexual pleasure to truly know each other.

Of course, there was the matter that if she’d known who he was then, she would have kicked him to the curb. Or at least, out her door.

But now she knew. And she’d stayed.

Roman couldn’t waste another moment. His first taste, taken with his lips across her neck, jacked his adrenaline to dangerous levels. His heart pounded, his blood surged, his muscles tightened, all from a simple kiss. She kissed him back, hard, lacing her tongue with his, spearing her hands into his hair and tugging gently, oh-so-subtly urging him to their usual frenetic and ravenous pace.

He smiled as he trailed his kisses higher—behind her ear, along her chin, to the tip of her nose, his hands solid on the sides of her cheeks.

With a frustrated sigh, she pushed him away, her eyes blazing.

“You act as if we have forever,” she complained.

“No,” he corrected her, “but we do have all night.”

She glanced toward the door, as if someone might rush in at any moment and interrupt. “You don’t know that for sure,” she said, her voice cracking with uncertainty.

There wasn’t a lot Roman seemed to know anymore, but he did know they would not be interrupted. Domino had not only agreed to lend him her suite, but she’d promised to keep an eye out until morning when she had to leave on another assignment. He wasn’t sure he trusted the covert operative, but oddly, his ex-lover hadn’t objected to his proposal that they buck the system and raise a finger at the rules so he could have one more night with Rachel. He’d even caught a glimmer of rebellion in her blue eyes—the source unknown. But he’d had no trouble using her newfound defiance to his advantage. She owed him.

“Trust me, Rachel.”

She licked her lips. Her tiny movement caused a painful tightening in his groin. His sex, thick and straining for her touch, ached as blood rushed downward. Her fingers danced across the bare skin of his hips, taunting him, zapping his brain so that he wondered, momentarily, why he wasn’t inside her yet.

“You’ve never asked me to trust you before, Roman.”

He skimmed his hands across her shoulders and down her back, yearning to clutch her buttocks and press her tight to him, but knowing he had to wait, draw this out, make this last.

“How could I?”

“Because you weren’t who you were pretending to be.”

He succumbed to temptation and laid his hands possessively over her backside. “I was when we made love.”

Her eyes turned pleading. “Prove it.”

He dropped to his knees. She gasped and her balance wavered at his unexpected attack, but he held her steady as he delved between her feminine lips with his tongue, easily finding the tiny tip of her sex. A sweet cream slipped onto his lips, amplifying his hunger, electrifying his need. He tugged her forward and she boldly wrapped one leg over his shoulder, increasing his access, surrendering completely to him in ways he knew she never had before.

A quivering announced how close to the precipice she was, so he eased back, kissing her thighs, her knee, before sweeping her into his arms and onto the bed. With only the tiniest grasp left of his self-control, he grabbed her hands and held them tight above her head while he kissed her until her passion ebbed to a manageable rhythm.

Her eyes flashed open. She’d regained a semblance of control and, in a quick move, flipped him over onto his back. He couldn’t help but laugh in surprise.

“Where did you learn that?”

She grinned down at him, her eyes alight with naughty intentions. He could feel her warm heat hovering just above him and the sensation nearly stole his breath.

“From you,” she admitted. “Don’t you remember?”

She arched a brow, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall ever employing such a move on her. Of course, in the acrobatics of their usual lusty sex, instincts often took over. What he could remember of their lovemaking from before wasn’t details, just general impressions. Immediate, hot, animalistic impressions.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Her grin was pure sin. “Not like I’m going to hurt you. Torture you is more like it. I mean, I suppose I should have tortured you weeks ago in order to make you talk, but now that you’ve spilled all—”

He relaxed completely against the cool cotton sheets, forcing his muscles to surrender to her wicked intentions. “Feel free to have your way with me. I’ll try not to complain.”

The smile that bloomed on Rachel’s face came from deep within in, from a center that had never felt so balanced until tonight. Despite the lies, mistruths and danger, she and Roman still possessed an easy banter and intimate trust she’d never shared with any other man. Nor could she deny the intimate need she had to join with him, be one with him, as many times tonight as they could physically manage. She reached between his legs and, after stroking him with her palm and fingers, guided him inside her—partway. Enough to drive them both mad with wanting, but not far enough to topple them over the edge.

Balanced on her knees, she leaned forward and suckled his taut male nipples. She speared her tongue through the light smattering of hair on his chest, reveling in the flavors of his skin, in the sensations of his heartbeat against his chest. He upped the ante when he cupped her breasts, his thumbs dancing over her nipples until she could barely think or breathe.

She sat up, bringing them together completely. The sensation of his sex sliding deeply into her filled her with a warmth that spread like wildfire, growing hotter and hotter with each second. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she watched sheer wonder play over his features as he plucked and pinched her breasts with the exact amount of pressure that drove her wild, his hips shifting beneath her with subtle, powerful results. She grabbed his hands, desperate to stop his pleasurable assault, but lacing her fingers with his ignited a new kind of heat. The held on to each other with desperate tightness as passion and need commandeered their bodies, pushing them in a menagerie of sensation from which neither could escape.

And why, Rachel wondered just before she collapsed onto his chest, would she want to?

R
ACHEL WAITED, CONCENTRATED
, regulating her breathing to a steady pace. The ability to fake sleep had come in handy many times in her life, from childhood antics to avoiding morning sex with her ex. To him, she’d been the soundest sleeper in the world. Not that she had anything against morning sex, but morning breath was another thing entirely. She’d already gotten up an hour ago, but Roman didn’t know that. While he’d showered, she’d dressed from the waist down, shoes included. She had a strong suspicion he was going to sneak out on her and, well, it simply wasn’t going to happen.

Lie for lie, she was still way behind—and still unsatisfied with letting him go. Now that she knew the depth of what he’d done to stay with her before, she realized that traditional strategies for keeping tabs on him were not going to work. He had her personal safety at the forefront of his mind, not to mention his job, which he clearly loved. When he left the hotel room this time, she’d never see him again. Unless she acted.

The shower had stopped minutes ago and now the bathroom door opened. She heard his light footsteps approaching and braced herself, willing her muscles to remain relaxed, which wasn’t all that hard after a night of delicious, bone-melting sex. He kissed her softly on the forehead, gently combed her hair away from her face, murmured something, and then left the hotel room.

The soft click was like a starter’s pistol. Rachel bolted out of the bed, flipped her arms into her bra and threw on a shirt. She leaned against the door for a moment and, hearing nothing, exited the room.

She didn’t know everything about him, but she did know he hated elevators. Six flights of stairs would take him a few minutes. If she hurried, she could beat him to the lobby.

She dashed down the hall and jabbed the elevator button, squelching a triumphant squeal when the mechanism dinged almost immediately. Luck was on her side this time.

She was going to follow Roman. She didn’t know what she was going to do once he reached his destination, but maybe if she knew more about his life, more about how to contact him if the need arose, she wouldn’t have such a hard time letting go. At least, that was the logic that had driven her this far. She’d always been spontaneous in her travels, so applying that instinct now wasn’t such a stretch.

The elevator swallowed up the space between the sixth floor and the lobby in seconds. Gingerly, Rachel leaned out of the doors, watching for any sign of Roman. Seeing no one except a housekeeper running a vacuum cleaner and a pair of uniformed clerks behind the desk, she walked out briskly, making her way toward the staircase exit. If she could just get behind the potted ficus before Roman emerged, she’d have a clear shot at following him.

She dashed behind the thick, glossy green leaves—right into Roman’s chest.

CHAPTER TEN

“R
OMAN
!”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Rachel.” His tone held a lilt of amusement. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She stamped her foot in frustration. Okay, maybe watching episodes of
Alias
and
Veronica Mars
did not qualify her to be either a spy or a private investigator, but she’d given it the college try. She just hadn’t expected to get caught so easily.

“Duh, I’m following you,” she said.

“Why?”

She skewed her face, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. She hadn’t really had much time to think. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

He slipped his hands around her waist. “I didn’t want to leave.”

“But you did.”

“Rachel, I have a job to do. Maybe once…”

His voice trailed away. Just like him not to make any promises he couldn’t keep. She opened her mouth to assure him that he didn’t have to placate her when he clamped his hand over her lips and pulled her flush against the wall.

Her heart slammed against her chest when she saw fear skitter across his face. Not fear for himself. Fear for her.

Seconds later, a man in dark clothing with the collar of his jacket pulled up high against cold that didn’t exist in New York in June disappeared into the stairwell.

After a long, torturous moment, Roman released her, but he ensured her continued quiet with a barely audible shush.

He pressed her tight against the wall, told her with his intense eyes to stay put, then stepped out from their cover to see if the coast was clear. The move ended up unwise. A shout from the other end of the lobby spurred Roman to grab her by the wrist and yank her out of hiding as they made a mad dash for the back exit.

They stumbled into the alley, dark and rank and glossy with the kind of dew that only steamed up from the dank New York City streets. Rachel felt her boots slip beneath her, but Roman counterbalanced her and kept her from falling.

“Run!”

She complied, wishing as her lungs began to burn that she’d been a little more regular with the workouts. As they approached the end of the alley, a bullet pinged on the building just to their right. Roman gave her another push, propelling her out onto the sidewalk.

Which wasn’t any safer. A dark sedan peeled away from the curb in front of the hotel, revving up to intercept. Roman grabbed Rachel by the elbow, and just as the car cut off their escape, he dragged her behind a parked delivery van. Shots rent the air and Roman pulled his gun.

“We’re sitting ducks here,” he said.

“The park,” Rachel said, panting.

Roman nodded. He headed around the back of the van and upon emerging, picked off the gunman.

Rachel didn’t have time to scream. She ignored the splash and splatter of the gunman’s blood against the white, dirt-encrusted van and instead concentrated on dashing into Central Park, where they would have the thick cover of trees to shield them. They ran past the gilded bronze statue of Sherman on his horse, past the manicured and sculpted shrubbery, into the winding paths that might give them the edge to escape the second gunman and his possible accomplices.

They stopped just inside the darkness so Roman could get his bearings.

“This way,” he directed.

They’d taken a few steps out from their cover when shots pricked at the concrete, sending shards chasing after their ankles. Roman spun and fired, ordering Rachel to dive into the trees. Just as she landed with a thud, she heard the distinctive grunt of a slug to the chest. Behind them.

Roman joined her in the trees.

“Who’s trying to kill you this time?” she asked.

With a grunt, Roman led Rachel to an opening on the other side of the foliage. They rounded a large planter blooming with fragrant flowers and stopped long enough to catch their breaths. There were no footsteps behind them. No shouts in what Rachel suddenly processed had been a foreign language. For now, they were safe.

“Domino warned me that a second sleeper group had been ordered to eliminate me,” he explained.

“To stop you from figuring out how they are getting their messages into my graphics?”

“Yours and that of other artists. I don’t think they believe we’ll ever figure out their pattern, but they want to kill me for trying. Send a message to the Agency not to fuck with them.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like that’s going to deter the U.S. government.”

“Exactly.”

Once they’d regained their ability to breathe, they doubled back. Roman estimated they’d have better luck escaping if they caught a cab near the plaza across from the hotel, since authorities would already have been alerted to the shooting. They approached with caution and stayed in the square. They saw no one lingering, no one in pursuit. Chances were high, Roman explained, that the gunmen had given up quickly rather than risk detection.

But they’d strike again at another time and place.

Remaining cautious, he ducked with her behind a semipermanent structure at the far corner of the plaza. Clearly erected for some upcoming event, the booth looked like it wouldn’t do much to keep bullets from slicing through them, but maybe if they could hold out a few minutes until the police arrived, they’d be free and clear.

“Now what?” Rachel asked.

“I’m getting you out of here.”

“Like I’m going to leave you to fend for yourself?”

Roman stared down at her, his eyebrows nearly touching, thanks to his vexed expression. “What exactly are you going to do to help me, Rachel?”

She smirked. “I don’t know, slowing you down and screaming like a girl every time a bullet whizzes past my ear can be helpful in some situations, right?”

Despite the direness of their situation, Roman chuckled as he checked his weapon. “That’s why I have to let you go, Rachel. I can’t drag you into my lifestyle.”

“More like death-style if you ask me,” she muttered.

“Exactly.”

She glanced over her shoulder and, certain they were still alone, whispered at him harshly. “These guys with the guns, they’ve seen me with you twice now, yes?”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut for a split second.

That’s all he needed to change his mind, apparently. “You win. You’re coming with me to headquarters.”

A
S
R
OMAN PREDICTED
, the attackers had flown the coop soon after Roman and Rachel had disappeared into the park. Sirens wailed shortly after the shooting had begun and roadblocks nearly kept them from making their escape. Luckily, Roman used his cell phone to dial in help from the Agency, and moments before a police dragnet searching the park for the shooter of the man near the delivery van stumbled upon them, a trio of dark-suited agents shuttled them into a waiting car.

Rachel rested her cheek against Roman’s chest during the silent drive. She didn’t bother looking outside or trying to gauge where they were or where they were going. She didn’t care. She was with Roman, safe and warm, and after ten minutes or so, the chill of nearly being killed surrendered to the residual heat of their lovemaking. Roman cared about her. She knew that now. He may have sought her out because of his case, but he’d stayed longer than he should have because they’d connected in ways neither one of them had experienced before—in ways neither of them wanted to give up.

The car pitched downward as the driver pulled into an underground parking garage. Rachel held tight to Roman’s hand as they got out of the backseat and went straight into a dark, mirrored elevator. Sensing a gentle vibration in his touch, she squeezed harder. He didn’t like elevators. She’d known that fact for a while. She’d never thought to ask why, figuring he just preferred the exercise of jaunting up and down the stairs. There was so much about this man she didn’t know—could he tell her? Was his fear born of some innocuous childhood mishap or was this phobia rooted in international secrets?

She had no time to ask since the moment the doors swooshed open, they were led into an office with clear glass walls that darkened to an opaque blue the moment the door closed. Flat plasma screens dominated the room, each playing opening credits from a half-dozen documentaries in a successive loop. Rachel recognized the two that were hers and was drawn to the images. They were so familiar and yet…

Roman cleared his throat, trying to divert Rachel’s attention to the smartly dressed woman at the other end of the conference table.

“Agent Brach, report.”

To an outsider his boss, Amelie Tremayne, likely appeared less than intimidating. Physically, she was average height and weight. Her hair was shock white but softly styled, and he couldn’t remember ever seeing her without dangling pearl earrings. She dressed conservatively, but usually wore a brooch or scarf to lend a dash of color to her somber navy or charcoal-gray suits. He wasn’t good at guessing ages, so he’d never try with Tremayne, who had earned the respect of her minions with a cool, ageless wisdom. She didn’t amuse easily, so Rachel’s curious presence didn’t so much as inspire a crack of a smile.

Roman ran down the facts of what had occurred at the hotel, leaving out the most interesting parts, naturally. Tremayne didn’t need to know—and clearly wasn’t interested—in the sexual and emotional precipices that he and Rachel had climbed tonight. She wanted only the details that mattered regarding the terrorists.

“We identified the man in the street,” Tremayne said. “He’s confirmed as a member of the second cell. We know now that their orders are simply to provide support to the first cell, the one receiving their instruction from the graphics.”

Roman’s eyes widened. He didn’t anticipate his boss speaking so freely in front of Rachel. She was, after all, a civilian. Though in all honesty, she didn’t appear to be listening to a word they said. From the moment they stepped inside the conference room, Rachel hadn’t stopped watching the looping opening images and credits to the documentaries. He knew she’d found the message, because she’d also found the remote control. She’d stopped each screen at the precise moment the message flashed on the screen.

“Find anything interesting, Ms. Marlowe?” Tremayne asked, her tone barely interested. She clearly gave little credence to Rachel’s presence, which made Roman tense with worry. Tremayne had the power to make Rachel disappear. She’d come to no harm, but if Tremayne made a case that Rachel’s presence in New York could jeopardize an ongoing investigation, she could be shipped off and tucked away where even Roman might not ever find her.

Roman stepped forward and, despite Rachel’s narrow, concentrated stare, removed the remote control from her hands.

“She didn’t see anything she hasn’t seen before.”

Rachel started to shake her head, but Roman stopped her by clutching her arm tighter.

She responded by punching him hard in the shoulder. Twice. Three times. She’d keep pounding until he released her, so he did.

“Manhandling me in the park was acceptable since you were trying to save my life. But back off here, Roman. I’m perfectly safe.”

Tremayne sat forward, her manicured nails tapping lightly together.

Not a good sign.

“No,” he said, through tightly clenched teeth, “you’re not.”

“Mr. Brach is quite correct, Ms. Marlowe. Your presence here is ill advised. But since Mr. Brach’s judgment has proved questionable so far where you are concerned, I’m afraid I’ll have to take your future under advisement myself.”

No one but him heard Rachel’s sharp intake of breath, but she quickly covered it with a sly grin. “Then take this under advisement, Ms. Spy Boss. I know who designed those graphics. And with a little negotiation, I may let you in on the secret.”