Dark Cover (The DARK Files #2) (15 page)

His chest hurt from wanting this whole sordid mess over and done with. Not finding Alexei’s blood money twisted knots in his gut. Vanessa’s being in danger yanked them tighter.

He’d rather have her safe than all the honor in the world.

The terrorists had tried to kill her this time. Snow reported that the green sedan with its stolen license plate vanished into traffic. The two bullets dug out of the grass landed too damned close to where they went down.

Had Husam Al-Din given up on the kidnapping scenario? Changed plans because he suspected a trap?

Vanessa’s life and safety meant far more than any cost to him. He could handle a case of the shakes if New Dawn tried again. He’d do his best to defend her, but DARK needed to stick closer. They’d be stupid to trust him to spot ambushes.

That thought tied another kink in the knots.

A GOOD WORKOUT was what she needed. Nobody should be in the gym at eleven at night. She’d have the place to herself. A run on the treadmill, some weights and exhaustion would be her lullaby.

The entire mission was not going well. The finished inventory had uncovered no treasures, no ten-million-dollar
objet d’art
. DARK found no links between any of Nick’s business contacts and the New Dawn Warriors.

She found more on Somalia, but needed facts before she broached that topic with him again. Since their “discussion,” the tension between them, thick and gummy as a model’s hair spray, recast their engagement charade as engagement farce.

Dressed in leggings and an old tank top — hers, not something frou frou chosen by Danielle — she jogged into the downstairs gym.

And stopped dead.

Nick stood at the far end of the room. In black gym shorts and sneakers. That was all. No shirt. He was doing curls with free weights — what looked like a thirty-pounder in each hand. Gleaming with sweat, his impressive biceps heaved, his neck tendons bulged and his shoulder sinews bunched. No gloves. Now she knew where the calluses came from.

Her pulse stuttered, and heat licked up her spine. Run on a treadmill? She could barely catch her breath at the sight of him. Concentrate? She’d trip over her own feet.

She started to back out the way she’d come.

“Don’t go.” Nick deposited the barbells on their rack.

She took a tentative step into the room. Maybe he was finished. He’d leave, and she’d be able to breathe after all. “Um, you don’t mind?”

“I’m not Alexei.” His dark brows dived into a scowl.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I apologize. Of course you didn’t. It’s me. I was just making myself angry all over again. I fume about his lavish lifestyle, yet I make free use of his extravagances.” He spread his arms to indicate the gym. “You might as well.”

“No need to martyr yourself because you disapprove.” She strolled over to the treadmill and stretched back one leg and then the other, readying the muscles.

“I’ll work my anger out with the bag.” He jammed red leather boxing gloves on his hands and yanked the laces tight with his teeth.

She pushed buttons on the treadmill and began a slow jog. “Pretend it’s Husam Al-Din.”

With his first swing at the leather bag, he barked a laugh, the first from him since Monday. He hit slowly at first, then worked into a rhythm of left-right, left-right that set a demanding pace for her run.

She increased her speed. Looking away, she forced her focus on the wall ahead and on her balance. No luck. She kept veering back to the man pummeling the terrorist’s stand-in. Fit male bodies were no novelty to her, for goodness’ sake. She had two jock brothers, after all. And she’d done physical training with the best, both in the FBI and in DARK.

Who was she kidding? This was Nick. He was more than a fit male body. Powerful, protective and tormented, he had more layers than the padded gloves he wore. Desire and fascination, not curiosity, glued her attention to the slide of sinew on bone, to the taut grid of abs dusted with ebony hairs, to the arrogant nose and fierce, uncompromising line of his jaw.

Her foot caught on the rubber tread.

She dropped on her side like a felled tree. The impact blew her breath out in a whoosh. In the next instant, the conveyor belt dumped her on the floor in a heap.

“My God,
latrea mou
, are you hurt?” Nick knelt beside her, a worried expression darkening his face.

She couldn’t answer. A steel belt cinched her chest, squeezing her lungs flat. No sharp pains stabbed her, just an overall ache that radiated through her body. Breath by halting breath, her lungs re-inflated.

“I … I’m okay.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on inhaling.

“Don’t move yet. Let’s make sure.” Firm but soft pats traveled up her legs and back and down her arms. “Nothing broken, I think. Can you sit up?”

“I think so.” Opening her eyes, she twisted upright. Then she laughed. “I’ve heard of handling someone with kid gloves, but I don’t think they meant this style.”

Humor glinting in the blue depths of his eyes, he held out his boxing gloves for her to unlace. “Would you have let me inspect your … attributes without them?”

The earlier strain between them morphed into a different tension. His stare held enough sizzle to melt her running shoes. Her heart gave a kangaroo kick. Flustered, she fumbled with the gloves until finally the laces gave.

“I think I can get up now. I’m all right. Just had the breath knocked out of me.” Everything worked, but her shoulder protested.

He dropped the gloves and held her hand. “Give it another minute. Just to be sure.” When she started to object, he said, “Humor me,” and sat back on his heels.

They were close enough that she could’ve reached out to trace the salt trails down his chest. His heat and hardness and sweat might have repelled, but instead they mesmerized.
What was it about this man that sent her hormones into cartwheels? Her body thrummed with awareness as she sat beside him on the hard floor. She couldn’t just sit here staring at him. Talk. That was it. Talk about…

“Yes?” He bent closer and peered at her. “You started to say something?”

Ye gods, she was an idiot with men. It was a wonder they even wanted to be her pal. “The videos. Um, the analysts finished with the videos.”

“Ah, and what evildoers lurked on them?” The merest hint of sarcasm colored his words.

His deep voice resonated within her. She suppressed a shiver. “As I think you already suspect, none. The faces on them match the guest and employee list.”

“Even all the Yamaris? No New Dawn moles?”

“All accounted for and identified.” Remembering something else, she pursed her lips. “That reminds me. Grant Snow tells me you took a phone call from Prince Amir. For me.” She cocked an eyebrow and waited.

He released her hand. “The bastard changed his tune when I answered. Probably wanted to arrange a private rendezvous.”

She smiled at the fury in his tone, the fire in his eyes. “What did he arrange?”

“Asked me to be sure to bring you to our luncheon tomorrow. Said he had a gift for you from his country.” He picked up one of the leather gloves and slung it across the room. “How dare the bastard come on to my fiancée like that!”

Was he beginning to believe their act? Foolish hope fluttered her pulse. “Your show of jealousy is flattering. You don’t need to bellow like a wounded buffalo. May I remind you that your fiancée is in London?”

He blew out air like a deflating dirigible. “Ah, but she isn’t.”

Vanessa straightened. She winced at the twinge in her shoulder and rubbed where she’d landed on it. “What do you mean?”

“My fiancée isn’t in London. She isn’t anywhere. I don’t have a fiancée.” His head drooped like a chastised puppy. “I should’ve told you this in the beginning, but I thought it might affect the op.”

“Tell me what?” Although her instincts already knew.

“Danielle broke up with me after the attempted kidnapping. Said she wanted no man who trafficked with thieves and murderers. She was afraid of scandal more than the terrorists. At any rate, I’m no longer engaged.”

Vanessa stared at him with suspicion. “Not engaged. Why didn’t Danielle tell me?”

He clasped her hands in his. “I persuaded her that silence was safer. But if I know her, she’s keeping her options open until she sees how this plays out.”

“Is that what you were doing? Keeping your options open?”

“With DARK? Or with you?”

Once again a man had deceived her, used her. His pretense couldn’t compare to men reaching Diana through her, but she didn’t want to examine that. She needed to hold on to her ire, clutch it to her as a shield. Getting involved with her assignment had once again come back to bite her.

Righteous indignation burned her cheeks. She firmed her mouth. “Take your pick.”

He shook his head. “I was afraid the trap might not work if the truth leaked out. I didn’t plan on being attracted to you. I think you feel the attraction too. Awkward, but there it is. I’m sorry for the mixed messages. I should’ve told you long ago.”

“And that whole thing about a sterile marriage — that was a lie too?” She struggled to her knees.

He clamped his big hands on her shoulders to prevent her from rising farther. “No. Everything I said was true. But arguing about it with you prodded me to analyze my goals and motives.”

“Bully for me.” She shoved at his chest. He released her and sat back as she scrambled to her feet. “I don’t believe you. You’ve lied to me from the beginning. You lied to DARK.”

Her chest burned at his deception. She’d been right not to trust him. If he lied to her about the broken engagement, couldn’t he be lying about his reasons for cooperating with DARK? Or about his feelings for her? She knew him well enough by now to know the answer to the first. And she was afraid to examine the second. Not daring to look at him, she stomped to the doorway.

But his voice, or her ambivalence, stopped her there.

“The attraction between us, coming to care for you — it was unexpected. I confess to using the engagement as a defense tactic.” The magnetic power of his liquid velvet words curled around the muscles of her chest, easing her tension.

“Camouflage, not defense.” But hadn’t she done the same thing? She wielded her duty to spy on him as a defense against her feelings. The tactic didn’t work for either of them. And even if he’d revealed the broken engagement to DARK, the outcome would probably be the same — hiding the truth and installing her undercover to draw out the terrorists. If he didn’t see that, she sure wasn’t going to tell him now. Her only defense for the moment was keeping her back to him.

“You were right about the arrangement being more of a merger than a marriage. I can see now it wouldn’t have worked out.” He paused, and his voice lowered to a husky rumble when he continued. “For lots of reasons.”

Am I one of those reasons?
She clamped her lips so the words wouldn’t slip from her brain to her mouth. He wasn’t engaged. He’d lied, hadn’t he?

But … he’s not engaged
.
Danielle was history. He was free.

Anger floated away and disintegrated like soap bubbles on a summer breeze. In spite of her reservations, her heart skipped happy dance steps.

But… Oh, no, he’s not engaged.

He was free. One less barrier to keeping her detached. Uninvolved. Who was she kidding? Only herself. She might as well admit that she’d left uninvolved in the distant dust.

She turned around.

He rose on his knees. The sincerity in his eyes held her. “I didn’t lie about my attraction to you. I think you know that. Come here.”

As if drawn by an invisible force, she found herself kneeling on the mat with him.

Surrounding her with his heat and scent, he pulled her close. His thumbs traced circles on the bare skin of her shoulders, and heat spiraled from the pit of her stomach to seep through her body.
The moment spun out on a fine strand of sensuality.

The need for her fisted into Nick, delivered a punch to the groin. The scent of her floated to him. The leggings defined her toned yet lush body. The tank top stretched over her full breasts. When she’d appeared in the doorway, he nearly dropped the weights on his feet.

She was different from the society women he knew — dedicated, competent and caring. But trusting her beyond sex and the moment was impossible. Deception was her profession.

At the moment he didn’t care. He had her in his arms.

Her fall had knocked the French braid askew. Strands corkscrewed wildly around her face. He tugged the rest loose and buried his hands in the soft mass.

She was warm and passionate. That was real. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He saw it in her eyes, in the tilt of her head, in the softness of her lips.

He lowered his head and took her mouth. Her sweetness flowed into him, deep and drugging and addictive. The touch of her fingertips on his chest hardened him to steel. He palmed one breast, cupped its lush weight, teased the nipple into attention.

She melted against him, and he nudged her shirt and bra out of the way. He took her turgid nipple in his mouth to absorb more of her essence. When she sighed, he began to sink to the floor with her in his arms.

She stiffened. “Wait, Nick. Oh, stop.”

Light-headed with desire, he forced himself to pull away. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Adjusting her earpiece, she scooted into a sitting position. “Two men have just broken through the back fence.”

She leaped to her feet and dashed out the door.

Nick reeled from the about-face. What was she doing? He had to stop her before she ran out into danger in her tights. Still groggy, he staggered to his feet.

He caught up with her in the darkened sunroom.

She stood at the terrace door, her fingers wrapped around the handle.

“Don’t,” he said, crossing the room to join her. “Your cover could be compromised. It’s a good bet they’re armed.”

She turned from staring out the glass-paneled door. She folded her arms. The movement tightened the sexy tank top across her breasts and made it harder for him to emerge from his sensual fog.
Harder, yes. The nylon shorts hid nothing. Thank you for a dark room.