Deep Breath (14 page)

8:15
P.M.

While Georgia was in the ladies’ room messing with her hair, and after he had ordered margaritas, Harry put in a call to the private line at the SG-5 ops center belonging to Kelly John Beach.

If K.J. was in the field, the call would be routed to the main Smithson line. If he was simply out of the office, it would forward to his cell.

K.J. picked up on the second ring. “Beach.”

“It’s Rabbit. You busy?”

“You mean do I have time to talk to you before taking my wife to bed?” he asked, obviously at home on his cell.

Harry couldn’t help but grin. Kelly John had married Emma Webster, Hank Smithson’s executive assistant, in an intimate Christmas ceremony at Hank’s Saratoga farm.

K.J. was the first SG-5 operative to tie the knot. The members of the Smithson Group and their significant others—for those who had them—had been the only attendees.

It was tough making friends—and keeping friends—when one spied for a living.

His grin fading at the dismal thought, Harry asked, “How about you bring yourself and Mrs. Beach down to Dallas in the morning?”

“A Sunday in April in Dallas. Nope.” Harry could almost see K.J. shaking his head. “Can’t think of a compelling reason.”

Harry played his trump card. “Does Ezra Moore compel?”

“Fuck, yeah. You got the bastard nailed down?”

“Not yet. But I’m getting there.”

“What’s up?”

Harry explained the parts he and Georgia had played earlier and their need to get their hands on the lockbox without further exposure. “If you can’t make it, I’ll try Christian and Natasha.”

“No can do. The boy just left for Alaska. And before you ask, Eli is in Turkey and Julian in Japan.”

That would leave Tripp manning the ops center since Mick Savin had pretty much taken himself off the active roster while he worked in West Texas with his woman.

And with Simon already on surveillance at the diner, Tripp would have no backup at the ops center but for K.J. and Gideon Martel.

Harry frowned. “Wonder if Hank would want to make the trip?”

“Give me the specs,” K.J. said. “Someone will be there.”

Harry did, and had just rung off when Georgia walked up to the table, her shaggy brown waves again framing her amazingly beautiful face.

She dropped her bag onto the seat of the chair between them and pulled it close before she sat. “That’s so much better. I was starting to get a headache,
and
feel like a repressed
au pair
or something.”

“Something like the executive assistant you were supposed to be?” She might feel repressed, but uninhibited better described the way she looked, not to mention her actions. As harmless as it had been, he was still working to get that kiss out of his mind.

“If I’d had more shopping time and more shopping choices, not to mention more shopping money of my own, your executive assistant would have definitely been wearing something else,” she said, holding the unbuttoned edges of her sweater much the same way she’d held his lapels.

He watched her eyes light up as she reached for the drink he’d ordered for her. One forearm braced on the table, he sipped at his own. “Yeah? What?”

She frowned, shaking her head as she swallowed. “Something that didn’t scream church lady.”

The way she fit that sweater did not make him think of church at all. “The pearls were too much?”

“Actually, I like the pearls,” she said, fingering them as she spoke. He liked them, too. He wanted to see her wearing them and nothing else in his bed. “And the sweater’s nice. It’s just not me. I’m more into—”

“Camo?”

“I was going to say pin stripes. But really, anything would work as long as it’s not bubblegum or fluffy. I’m not exactly the fluffy type.”

He thought of the hellcat who’d tried to strangle Charlie Castro. She didn’t fit into pin stripes or oxfords any more than she did into bubblegum or fluff. “I would never have thought that you were.”

“I’m not exactly into pin stripes either,” she admitted, echoing his thoughts. She dipped a tortilla chip into the bowl of warm salsa. “It’s more a lesser of two evils since I don’t know of any exec who would go for T-shirts and jeans.”

“You know a lot of execs?” he asked, opening his menu.

“I used to be married to one.”

That was interesting. “How did you fit in at the company Christmas parties?”

“The truth?” She pulled up a memory and smiled. “I was a hit. What woman doesn’t want to find out the best antiques for investment?”

He laughed. “For some reason, I see you sharing that investment information with the husbands instead of the wives.”

She ate a couple of chips, sipped at her drink, licked the salt from her lips. When their server arrived, she ordered a la carte, tamales and
borracho
beans.

And then she gave him her attention. “Answer me this, Mr. Engineering Firm, how you would like it if your coworkers got too friendly with your wife? Would you dump the job? Or dump the spouse?”

Harry couldn’t imagine a single one of his coworkers hitting on a woman belonging to a member of the team. But he also knew that outside of the SG-5 ranks, it happened way too often.

He hated that it had happened to her. “I guess that would depend on which came with the better benefits.”

She stared at him blankly for several seconds. Then she threw a chip at his chest. “You are a horrible man.”

“I am,” he agreed, then sobered. “And I’m also very sorry you went through that.”

She shrugged. “We all have stuff in our past. I’ll bet you could even think of something if you tried.”

“I’d rather not. I kinda like my present.” He wondered what she would think if she knew how many men he’d killed in his life.

“I don’t know. Your present is pretty much a tangled mess right now. Are you going to have problems if you don’t show up at work on Monday? I mean, that car you have, Morganna? I’m guessing you drove down for the auction?”

What was another lie piled on top of the rest? “I had a couple of weeks coming. Seemed like a relaxing way to spend the time.”

She finished off her drink. “A man and his car and the open road. It doesn’t fit any better than the engineering thing does.”

“Why not?”

“You’re much too…help me out here.” She waved a hand. “I can see you parasailing or base jumping. Not driving cross-country in a fifty-year-old car.”

He wanted to laugh; was that really how she saw him? And here he had thought he was doing such a good job projecting a respectable image. “Base jumping? Why? Just because I took a dive across the counter in the diner? I’m not a daredevil as a rule, you know.”

She was silent while their server set their food on the table, only speaking once he’d left. “Do you think Charlie is letting Finn and the others eat?”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t.” He cut into his
chile rellenos
, realized her hands were still in her lap, gestured with his knife. “You. Eat. We have a busy day tomorrow, and you passing out from hunger or dehydration would put a big kink in our plans.”

He shoveled his food into his mouth and watched her struggle with unimaginable emotions. More than anything, he wished he could tell her how well in hand things were.

But he couldn’t give her the reassuring details. All he could give her was a nice evening out with the promise that he would not abandon her tomorrow.

So he did, and they spent the rest of the meal talking about the treasures she hunted, the treasures she’d found, the treasure hunters who hunted her.

Her knowledge impressed him, her enthusiasm, too. He wasn’t sure he knew anyone outside of SG-5 who loved their work the way she did.

It made it easy to understand why she lived as she did, a vagabond with no ties, free to pick up and go, no obligations but those she chose to take on, and what she owed to herself.

The hours moved quickly, as did her margaritas. He was driving. He’d stopped at one.

But seeing Georgia relaxed for the first time since yesterday lifted some of the tension he was feeling. He hadn’t yet come up with a plan of action should the lockbox not contain the dossier. And that was weighing heavy on his mind.

He hated having to wait and pick either Hank’s or K.J.’s brain, but if he didn’t have some sort of Thomas Edison genius moment soon, he’d have no other choice.

And it wasn’t so much the Ezra connection, the possible loss of the very thing he’d been assigned to discover that was giving Harry hell.

It was that he needed to get Finn McLain out of harm’s way because of how much he was coming to care for Georgia.

His feelings were so strong, in fact, that he’d come close a couple of times to giving up caring for the outcome of his mission.

And if he didn’t shape up, there was a damn good chance he’d be looking at a missionless future. Hank Smithson did not take kindly to being screwed.

“I swear, another bite and I’m going to pop like a big fat pimple.”

Harry looked up from his near-empty plate and his musings. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You may dress like a church lady and look like a church lady, but no one will ever accuse you of talking like one.”

She groaned. “It’s the pearls. I swear. I’m taking them off.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, his words stilling her hands at her nape.

She lowered them slowly, held onto the edge of the table, her gaze locked with his. “Harry van Zandt. That sounded like a threat.”

“It was,” he admitted, in for a penny, in for a pound. “You can take off anything and everything else, but the pearls stay.”

She continued to hold his gaze as a sweep of color rose in her face. “You know. I’m just buzzed enough to do it. You damn well better be careful what you say.”

He raised a finger and said the only thing that mattered. “Check, please.”

And at that, Georgia laughed.

9:50
P.M.

Georgia hadn’t been half as buzzed as she’d led Harry to believe. The margaritas weren’t strong, and she was no lightweight. She was, however, still reeling from the find she’d made earlier in the day.

The booze was the most viable excuse for the smile she could not wipe from her face.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet. The trip was short, and she had a lot on her mind. Obviously, Harry did, too. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, but didn’t. She was afraid to find out he wasn’t looking ahead to tomorrow at all, but that he only had thoughts for her pearls.

And the reason she was afraid was because she hadn’t been able to think of anything else since he’d walked her from the restaurant to the car.

She’d toyed with the strand through the whole of the drive. The damn things weren’t even real. They were costume, fake. So much…paste and glass.

Yet even now they laid against her skin like balls of fire, burning her, branding her. She wanted to rip them away, to toss them out the window and into the street. But she wanted even more than that to rip away her clothes, crawl across the seat, and climb into his lap.

And that just wouldn’t do.

This was a business relationship. One into which they’d both been coerced, but one now solidly forged. They had a goal; once it was met, they would have no need or occasion to ever see one another again. She could not allow herself to act on her personal feelings for Harry. Not again.

Easier said than done.

During the ride up in the elevator to their room, satchel held tight, Harry standing two feet away, she was still trying to convince herself to take off the pearls the minute they reached the room.

To store them in her duffel. To flush them down the commode. As long as she did that, temptation would not be sitting on the edge of the bed, patting the mattress, waiting for her to yield.

And oh, but she wanted to yield.

Once Harry unlocked the door and she walked into the room, she kicked her shoes off and into the closet, then headed for the chair holding her bags.

She placed her brand-new executive assistant’s satchel on top, pulled out her brush and her makeup bag, dropped both into her backpack.

She then zipped the satchel tight, tucked it into the depths of the duffel, and grabbed her shorty camo pj’s before securing the big bag’s snaps and straps like she hadn’t done since they’d checked into the room.

And it wasn’t until she turned and saw the frown on Harry’s face that she realized how strange—even suspicious—her actions appeared. But instead of fumbling for any explanation, she went to the bathroom to change.

The minute the door closed behind her, she collapsed, clutching her pj’s close and sliding the length of the door to sit. She rested her head against the surface, closed her eyes, and soaked up the cold from the floor with her soles, fearing spontaneous combustion.

If not the fear of her deception’s discovery, then it had to be the alcohol heating her blood. Or the peppers in the salsa and the beans. Then again, it was very likely a cruel combination of the three causing sweat to bead between her breasts and in the small of her back as one single question swirled in her mind.

Why in the world had she kissed him?

What a silly thing to have done with last night still so fresh in her mind. They’d shared a bed and body heat, but he’d also made her come. Even now she could remember the feel of his fingers inside her.

He was out there now getting ready for bed. And the longer she kept the locked door between them, the thicker the tension would grow. She would wonder what he was doing, he would no doubt wonder about her.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She was barely surviving now. If this thing between them built up much more, she was going to blow it. She’d give in, lose her focus, forget the reason she’d come here.

Except when she got to her feet and met her own mirrored gaze, when she saw the woman in pearls staring back, she knew that would never happen. She would not forget. Her focus was clear. She knew exactly why she was here.

But right now? At this moment? Giving in was a big part of taking care of herself—the one thing she most needed to do. If she didn’t, she would never be of use to anyone. Not to her father, not to Finn. Not even to Harry.

She pulled off the cashmere twinset and hung it on the hook on the door. She did the same with the skirt. Her panty hose and bra she tossed on the marble vanity. That left her with her hair down wearing white cotton panties and pearls.

She liked the way she looked. She was thirty-four, but she’d been active all her life. Gravity could have been kinder, but that was an observation not a complaint. She wondered if Harry would have any, if he would think her thighs too heavy, her hips too wide, her breasts too…un-perky.

And then she thought about opening the door and asking, but that seemed like such a desperate move. Instead, she pulled on her pajamas, brushed her teeth, turned out the lights, and headed to bed.

She found Harry already there, lying on his back, propped up on both pillows, the bedside light still on, waiting. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t make a move. She wasn’t sure what to do, which way to turn.

She reached for the spread on the second bed. Harry reached for her wrist. He wrapped her smaller bones in the larger ring of his fingers. She lifted her gaze from that point of contact to meet his eyes, her pulse jumping in his hand and in her head.

“You didn’t take off the pearls.”

“You told me not to.”

“I didn’t expect you to pay attention.”

She ignored the massage of his thumb on the inside of her wrist. “I’ve been known to have a compliant nature.”

“That falls under the category of needing to see to believe.”

“I’m still wearing the necklace, aren’t I?” What further proof did he want? And why was she even pretending not to know?

“Then how about you come over here and let me take it off?”

She looked down, the clock ticking, her heart pounding, taking in the shadow along his jaw, his dimples, the eyes that begged.

She thought of all the reasons she should say no. She thought of his marble body beneath the sheet he’d pulled to his chest. She thought of the kiss in the alcove, of how no other man had ever taken her so thoroughly apart.

And then she stopped thinking and moved toward all the things she wanted to feel. The comfort and release and security she knew she’d find in Harry’s arms.

She hadn’t even taken a step when he tugged. She’d done no more than shift her weight, but that was enough. The sheet fell to his lap as he sat up, pulled, and tumbled her to the far side of the bed.

He leaned over her, loomed above her, pushed her hair from her face. And then he smiled his beautiful killer smile. “I like you compliant.”

She searched for her voice, her hands curling into the sheet. He made her nervous in ways she couldn’t even describe. She swallowed hard, hoping to dispel some of the flutter. “Does that mean you just want me to lie here?”

He chuckled. “Compliant. Not complacent.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you were the type to enjoy a bump on a log.” She tossed out the bait, wanting him to know what she was used to.

His only response was to shake his head. “A log, not so much. But I do like the bumps on your chest.”

“You’ve only seen them at their best.”

His fingers teased her skin along the edge of her top. “They have a worst?”

“They do. Its name is gravity,” she said, and shuddered from his touch.

He stroked the swell of one breast, moved to the other. “But with gravity comes experience. It makes for the perfect trade-off.”

“I don’t have that much. Experience.” She didn’t want to tell him, but he needed to know.

“You were married.”

“I don’t have that much,” she repeated, feeling her nipples peak, and closing her eyes to feel more.

Harry’s fingers moved lower, circled the hard tips through the cotton of her top. “What was wrong with your husband?”

How was she supposed to answer when she wasn’t sure what she’d done with her voice? “You’re the man. You tell me.”

“He was impotent, gay, or a fool.”

She had an opinion or two, but none were anything she wanted to talk about here. Not when Harry pinched and tweaked and brought her up off the bed. “And all this time I thought it was me.”

“You shouldn’t have. Not if his coworkers showed interest.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“No one interested since?” He found the hem of her tank, slid his fingers beneath.

His hand was heavy, warm. She almost couldn’t breathe for waiting, for wanting. “I don’t know. I’ve been busy. I haven’t met anyone. Or taken time to find out.”

“Why not?” He cupped her breast. Just held her gently, skin-to-skin. “Don’t you miss sex?”

“It’s hard to miss what you haven’t had. Or haven’t had done well.” And oh, but she’d never had this.

“Can you get pregnant?”

She nodded. She had assumed all men came with condoms these days. Her mistake. “I should have thought. I’m sorry.”

“Georgia?”

“Harry?”

“Look at me.”

She opened her eyes.

His were close. Dark. Dangerously aroused. It was hard to hold his gaze. “Do you realize that every time we get physically close, you say you’re sorry?”

“That’s what happens after years of being told you do everything wrong.”

“I don’t see that you’ve done anything wrong.” He rubbed his palm over her nipple in tiny circles. Over and over and over again.

The contact was so sweet and exquisite. So intense. So hot. “Could be because I haven’t done anything.”

“You kissed me in the restaurant earlier.”

“I know.” She ached. God, she ached. Her sex was so hot and so full.

“You kissed me last night at the gallery.”

“I know.” She wanted to come, wanted his fingers inside.

“You came all over my hand.”

“That was you doing everything right. I didn’t do anything at all.”

“You let me.”

“That’s because I’m a complacent bump.” She clenched her sex, swore she was going to come.

“Georgia?”

“Harry?”

“I have condoms.”

“Thank God.”

“Take off your shirt. But leave the pearls.”

She swallowed hard as she reached for her hem, hesitating only briefly—a last, panicked no-turning-back admission—before raising up and pulling the tank over her head.

She waited, so afraid Harry would turn away. But he didn’t. He didn’t move at all. He didn’t speak. She could barely hear him breathe. All he did was stare. Not at her breasts. At her face.

His lids lowered, his lips parted, his nostrils flared. “You’re beautiful.”

She tried to blow off the compliment, to hide behind humor, but the look in his eyes changed her mind. He was all business, totally serious. She couldn’t make light. “I’ll give you not too shabby. I don’t know if I’d go as far as beautiful.”

“I’d go as far as betting that you feel as good as you look. And that you taste even better.”

If he didn’t feel her and taste her pretty damn soon, she was going to scream. “I’m half naked, and you’re not doing either.”

His smile said a thousand words about what he wanted to do. “I’m waiting for you to get all the way naked.”

“You didn’t tell me to.”

“I was hoping you might take the initiative.”

She shimmied out of her panties and pj bottoms. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you wearing any clothes?”

“Crawl under the sheet and find out.”

This had been so easy at the gallery. All she’d had to do was close her eyes and let go. The alcove had been cast in shadows. Harry’s body had blocked the rest of the light. It wasn’t like that now. Now she could see everything.

And he could see all of her. Not only her body, but her quirks and her fears, her obsessive, self-absorbed personality, every one of them a reason for him to run. Definitely reasons for her to hide.

But she couldn’t hide. And he wasn’t running. He was staring down at her like he truly believed she was as beautiful as he’d said. And she really couldn’t take it anymore.

She reached up a hand to the pearls around her neck. “I should probably take these off. They seem to be blinding you.”

He covered her hand with his. “I’m not blinded. And I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay.”

“I was just telling you so you won’t bolt.”

“I’m not going to bolt.”

“You sure? You seem awfully skittish.”

“That’s just me wondering when you’ll figure out I’m not such a good time.”

“The best sex is had between the ears, Georgia. And I’ve been getting off on you since we met.”

He made her feel like everything about her mattered. Her hopes, her dreams, her obsessions, her fears. She felt as if this was a new beginning. That she was bursting free from a suffocating cocoon.

She pulled back the bedcovers and slid beneath, taking that one step before she took the next and scooted her body underneath Harry’s where he still loomed above.

She tangled her feet with his feet, brushed his knees with hers, pushed her hip into his groin where it was quite obvious that he was as naked as he’d wanted her to be.

Her movement elicited a groan, and she pressed a hand to his chest and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His voice rumbled beneath her hand. “That sound you heard was not a complaint.”

She flicked her thumb over his nipple, threaded her fingers through the soft hair in the center of his chest, and scooted even closer, until her shoulder nudged up against him.

“Okay. I’m here. Now prove to me that this is just like riding a bike.”

He laughed, and as his head came down, he murmured, “My pleasure.”

She thought he was going to kiss her, and she waited for his lips to meet hers. He surprised her by opening his mouth at the base of her throat and drawing on her skin, bathing the tiny bruises he made with his tongue, turning her on.

Her eyes rolled back, and he moved over her body, shifting so that his erection prodded her hip, before he slid one knee between hers. She felt the warmth and the hardness, the sticky wetness at the tip. And then he nudged her thighs apart, pressed his thigh against her sex.