“Easy for you to say, but I don’t remember much.” The admission cost her a chunk of pride. “And it’s not like you’d tell me the truth if I asked.”
She didn’t remember telling him she wanted to lick him up one side and down the other, no strings attached? Shit. Wrong thing to think about right now if he didn’t want to limp back to the cabin.
She was showing him a vulnerability he could use to manipulate her, which was what he’d been trained to do.
What he did naturally.
But could he play with those emotions and hint that they’d been intimate, knowing another man had used intimacy to break her heart? He needed information fast—sixty-two minutes left on Joe’s deadline—but using her that way would be cruel.
His job required being cruel, dangerous, manipulative… whatever it took to succeed regardless of the toll his soul paid.
The breeze picked up, spiraling loose curls around her forehead and face.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them to inches. He ran a finger along the side of her cheek and under her chin, tilting it up until their eyes met. He gave her the only answer he could. The truth.
“You showed up at the bar without a car, clearly planning on drinking and not driving. By the time I realized you were too drunk to make it home on your own I tried to send you home in a cab, but you wouldn’t give me your address and you were determined to have someone in that bar take you home. That’s when you asked me, firmly, to take you home with me.”
Embarrassment tinted her cheeks pink over the careless image that painted. Her eyes locked on something beyond his shoulder. “I stand corrected. That sounds about right.”
He could see the play of thoughts on her face. How after she’d thrown herself at a stranger she believed he probably judged her as a tramp, jumping from bed to bed.
But any man with experience would have seen through her façade that night.
“And then?” she asked in a whisper, as though afraid to hear what they’d done.
Yes, he could use this to his advantage, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her. He’d find another way to get what he needed. “I didn’t touch you, because you were too intoxicated to meet my criteria for consensual sex.”
Instead, he’d held her all night until he felt her start to wake the next morning. He hadn’t held a woman all night before that. Or ever again.
She opened her eyes. An ocean of worry and mortification washed through them before she pulled her defenses back into place. Her words came out stinging with self-recrimination. “A truly unmemorable night, huh?”
Not memorable?
He couldn’t count how many times he’d wake in a strange bed in some godforsaken location, alone and thinking of that night with her. She’d smelled of bath powder and sweet wine. Her laughter had eased his dark soul for a few hours. He’d climbed into bed next to her, intending to ignore the warm body in spite of how much he wanted her.
She’d rolled over and curled up against him tight as a kitten looking for heat. He’d cursed her sweetness, the blatant lack of experience that prevented him from stroking her into a night of rousing sex he knew she’d regret in the morning.
That hadn’t meant he’d intended to let her off without something in trade, so he’d wrapped her up in his arms and stolen a night with an angel.
“You’re a very memorable woman,” he whispered, his hand cupping her face. One kiss would soothe the insecurity that had crept into her voice. But if he kissed her like he had last night, he’d have her flat against the boulder behind her in seconds. He was supposed to be earning her trust. Stripping her nak*d on the side of a mountain wouldn’t aid his cause. Instead, he pointed out, “Don’t you think not touching you that night proves I’m trustworthy?”
“It proves you didn’t want to make love to me any more than my ex-fiancé did.” She frowned at herself, clearly not happy about that admission either.
“The hell I didn’t.” He still wanted her. So badly he was starting to ache.
She glanced up at him with surprise, studied his face, then gave a little shake of her head as though refusing to let herself accept some thought. Skepticism flashed in those turquoise beauties. Strong eyes that had suffered but survived. “You expect me to believe that? You forgot me the minute I walked out the door.”
Forget her?
He remembered how the moonlight had fingered through the window to dance across her pale skin when she slept.
He remembered how her walking out of the hotel room had left him in an unusual state of mind. Lonely.
She might look different now with the spiraling hair and a lusher body, but she’d been memorable six years ago.
His fingers twitched with indecision. Pull her into his arms and show her just how much she had affected him—and still did—or turn away and keep a distance between them for the sake of the mission?
“Abbie, I—”
“Give it up, Hunter.” She offered him a tough look, but he still saw the shimmer of hurt hanging deep in her eyes. “I saw the women at the Wentworths’ that night. I’m not a sex kitten guys like you go for. I know I’m not Lydia—”
That did it. He pulled her into his arms and lowered his mouth, covering her upturned lips.
She gasped, a soft sound of surprise.
He cupped her head, kissing her deeper, savoring the taste and feel. Just enough of a kiss to let her know she was not Lydia. She was so much more.
Her arms hooked around his back. She opened her mouth, slipping her tongue in to dance with his. Not a sex kitten?
He’d argue that point.
What man—with a normal life—had been stupid enough to walk away from someone this soft and inviting?
A fool.
When she moaned, he decided to let the kiss go on a minute longer to send her a message. Last night’s kiss had been a dare to make her think twice about challenging him or trusting him.
This kiss was an apology for letting her leave his hotel room six years ago thinking so little of herself.
He slowed the kiss, preparing to end it.
She must have felt the change. All hesitation gone. Her fingers dug into his back. She kissed deeper and deeper, her mouth burned with pure sex.
Desire flared across his skin. He wanted to feel her nak*d and damp. She went up on her toes, the motion rubbing her against his ready and willing erection. His body tightened at her response. Heat coiled inside him fast as a snake ready to attack. He held the target. His heartbeat tripled with craving her touch on his skin.
He fingered the jacket zipper and ripped downward, slipping his hand inside and under the pile of shirts. He unclipped the front of her bra.
Zeroing in on her sweet breast.
“Ohhh,” she groaned in pleasure. She turned to her right, giving him better access he made good use of by cupping the soft mound. He brushed his thumb across her beaded nipple.
She made a high sound of want that pressed him for more.
He leaned her back across his free arm, exposing the curve of her beautiful neck. Burrowing his face between the jacket and her neck, he kissed his way down the curve.
Her breathing hitched. She rubbed her h*ps against his stretched-so-full-he-ached erection. He sucked in hard, wanting to free the surge of heat dammed up inside, waiting to explode.
He wanted all of her. Naked and ready.
Not out here on dirt and rocks.
Back at the cabin… where something waited on him. Something important. He lifted his head from kissing her, forcing his mind back on task with brutal strength.
Joe’s decision. Probably less than an hour to go.
Shit. How had he let this happen? He had better control than this.
Operative word there appeared to be “had.”
He eased his hand away from Abbie’s breast and pulled her shirts down to cover her br**sts as he lifted her up until she stood on her feet.
She stared at him through glazed eyes as though she still spun with the world and he lagged behind, falling out of orbit.
“We’ve got to get back to the cabin.” Where he still had to convince her to tell him everything she knew.
She blinked, glanced down between them to where his hands no longer held her. When she looked back up, the fire in her eyes had nothing to do with lust. “What was that all about?”
Stupid decision-making, thanks to letting the wrong head take over. “Just a kiss, Abbie.”
“Why did you kiss me?” Frustration burred her voice.
Toying with her hadn’t been his intention, any more than torturing himself in the process. “We’ve got more important things to talk about than kissing. I need you to tell me about your conversation with Gwen.”
“You kiss me like that and act like it was just another kiss?” She could freeze a hot coal with the look she was giving him now that said he was every bit the bastard she’d thought. “I am sick to death of you jerking me around, doing whatever you want—”
He cupped her face between his hands, kissing her silent again. She clutched his shirt in two fists, pushing… then pulling. Her lips melted against his.
Damn, she was something, but if he kept this up he’d get them both killed. He lifted his head away.
“Why’d you do that again?” she sputtered, mad as a dunked cat. She shoved away from him.
“Listen to me.” He latched on to each side of her jacket and pulled her back to him, close enough to see each fine hair in her eyebrows when he leaned his head down. “I kissed you because I wanted to, just like I wanted to six years ago and didn’t get to do enough of. But if I did everything I wanted, you’d be nak*d right now and we’d be out here for hours.”
That quieted her to the point where she was listening.
“I checked on your mother early this morning while you slept and left word at the nurse’s desk that you were out of town, working on locating additional medical care so your sisters wouldn’t worry. Your mother’s condition is stable. Her doctor hasn’t checked in, but doctors tend to work on their own schedule. Okay?” When she nodded, he continued. “I can’t help your mother unless you help me, and that means trusting me. If I don’t make a phone call in the next—” He glanced over at his watch. “—forty-three minutes I’ll have to find a safe place for you. I don’t want to do that. I’d rather keep you where I can protect you myself.”
She listened intently, processing what he said, then pushed her hands up to each side of his face. Her touch was like sunshine on his cheeks after a long cold night. “Why? What happens in forty-three minutes?”
When he hesitated to answer she said, “If you want trust, you’re going to have to give it in return.”
Hunter had heard those same words from Eliot the first time they’d climbed together. Abbie deserved to know something.
“I should have turned you over to my people last night instead of bringing you to my safe house,” he explained. “They’re looking for you. I don’t think they’ve figured out that you’re with me and they don’t know where this is, but that won’t stop them from finding this house or us. If I don’t call in time with a plan for me to enter Kore to retrieve data files, they’ll send a team after me.”
“A team? To like… bring you in?”
He didn’t care for worrying her this way, but she had to know what was at stake since her life was at risk, too. “Not alive.”
The rosy shade in her cheeks faded. “Oh, God. Okay, I can tell you how to access the data, but I want your promise I can get the information on what they did to my mother.”
She only wanted information. Done. “Fair enough. I have a plan for getting inside, but I have to find out how to access the data files. Once I break into the files, I’ll get you all the information I can find on your mother.”
Abbie’s eyes sparked, anxious. “Deal. It’s a complicated system that requires something important to unlock the system.”
“What’s that?”
“Me.”
Chapter Twenty-one
As promotions went, this one had all the potential of being a life-or-death decision. Literally.
Linette stood at attention, next to the brass Remington sculpture on a marble pedestal in Fra Vestavia’s Miami office that looked out over Brickell Avenue. The meeting would start as soon as the two male Fratelli lieutenants arrived in a few minutes at 11:00 A.M. Not 11:01.
Vestavia sat behind his polished desk toiling over a document lying on the immaculate surface. A slim computer monitor that had risen from the surface of the desk in a space-age design faced his left side.
Silence clung with an unnatural patience, more at home in this room than the sound of voices.
Her arms hung loose at her sides, rigid fingers pointing down at the deep-green carpet that contrasted with her rose-colored pumps and matching pantsuit. Navy blue or black would have been a more suitable color for the crisp linen outfit, but Vestavia had dictated office attire guidelines when he’d brought her into his personal detail nine months ago. He expected the women in his offices to dress in professional designs but with a South Florida look, thus the cheerful suit color.
She’d followed his instructions to the letter and shown the appropriate humble appreciation when he allowed her to include some pants in her new wardrobe.
The sixty-eight-year-old Fra she’d been handed to twelve years ago on her birthday had given her a closet full of clothes. He’d smiled magnanimously and told her it wasn’t every day a girl turned sweet sixteen.
After that, he ordered her to wear only dresses… whenever he allowed her to wear anything.
Her chest hitched with a quick intake of air at the chilling memory. The stiff pants material crackled when her fingers shook against her leg.
He’d been dead almost two years and she still clawed her sheets when she slept, trying to get away from his ghost.
Vestavia glanced up from the document. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes questioned the rustling noise she’d made.