I'd Rather Be In Paris (25 page)

Zara stretched her arms over her head, took a couple of cleansing breaths and walked over to the CD player. Lawson had said he wasn't going to quit, but she suspected it was because of her. While she should have been pleased he would risk his career to help her resolve her issues with Dmitri, she didn't like feeling responsible for Lawson cutting his own throat.

She shuffled through several CD stacks and selected Christina Aguilera's. The album was full of no-nonsense, hard-hitting songs Zara liked. Their message was clear—
don't mess with me, I can take care of myself.

She'd lifted the motorcycle key from Lawson's pants before he woke up and debated taking off after Dmitri in the light of day. The idea pumped adrenaline into her veins, but smacked of stupidity. No matter how much she wanted to confront Dmitri head on again and end his criminal career, walking into the lion's den by herself without a real plan was suicide. Instead, she'd spent an hour memorizing the map of Dmitri's hideout she'd downloaded from Lawson's laptop, loaded her gun, charged her cell phone and hardened her heart. When night came, she'd be ready to do surveillance. With Lawson.

And if the opportunity arose to take out Dmitri, she'd do it.

Sliding the CD into the player, she forwarded the disc to the song she wanted and cranked up the volume. Then she walked confidently back to the mirror.

Synchronizing with the music, she threw several jazz steps in the mix of ballet steps Christian had put together the previous day. Her feet seemed to pick up the flow more readily, and she expanded the repertoire of movements, adding modern dance steps. She flubbed a few because her body was so tired, but she shrugged it off and kept moving.

Completing a small jump, she landed in fifth position with a demi-plié and noted both her feet and hand positions were perfect.

"Yes!” she said aloud, making a fist and pulling her arm into her body.

Get ready, Dmitri. Here I come.

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Lawson stood just outside the studio doors transfixed by Zara's grace and determination.

He'd given up on sleep, showered, charged his cell phone and drank half the carafe of coffee Marie had left for him on a tray outside his room. The shower and caffeine should have helped him shed the weariness in his bones and jumpstart his brain for another day of terrorist-hunting, but it hadn't worked. He didn't want to spend the morning doing his job. What he wanted to do was watch Zara dance.

One of the large doors of the studio had been ajar and he'd opened it another couple of inches so he could see in. Music, heavy on the bass, but slower this song, poured out at him.

In the early morning light, Zara stood at one end of the large, open room, facing a wall-length mirror. She'd shed her leg warmers and Lawson could see a V of perspiration darkening the black leotard between her shoulder blades. While she danced through two songs, he enjoyed the way she changed her movements and steps to match the tempo of the music. She shrugged off frustration over missteps and repeated the combinations until she was satisfied. He smiled when she nailed a landing she was trying so hard to get right.

In that brief moment, he could see her as a young girl, her face set like it was now, pushing herself to do better. Loving the work, the music and the costumes. Unwavering in her dedication. A wonderful blend of spunk and spirit.

He sensed Christian sidle up behind him. “Dancers are a special breed of people,” he said, just loud enough for Lawson to hear over the music. “Some of us even admit to being insane."

He glanced over his shoulder at the dance instructor before returning his attention to Zara. She was special, he knew that. “Insane, huh?"

"We need to be in order to get through the training, the rehearsals and the injuries. To be successful, we have to have an iron will."

In the Navy, Lawson had made it through everything they could throw at him. Then he'd gone on to survive specialized schools for underwater and airborne training so he could successfully complete a rescue in deep water or sky-dive out of a plane at a dangerously high altitude and survive the landing.

Combat medic courses and survival training came next, teaching him advanced EMT skills, weapons handling and evasion and escape techniques. There had been many times when he thought he'd wash out, but he hadn't. He'd made it through all the courses with nothing less than ironclad determination.

Christian viewed Zara over Lawson's shoulder. “She is struggling today, because she's upset about something."

"Flynn wants us to call it quits and return to the States."

"Flynn's ultimatum isn't interfering with her concentration. You are."

As Zara worked through another combination of steps, she faltered trying to hold a pose with one leg stretched out in the air. Catching herself, she made a face, rubbed her knee and tried again. “Isn't it your job to be in there helping her?"

Christian sighed audibly. “She doesn't want help right now. Her struggle is with herself. Until she comes to terms with it, and you, my coaching is wasted."

Lawson stayed quiet, frustrated with Christian's observation, but also lost as to what he could do about it.

Backing up a couple of steps, Christian leaned against the wall. “Have you ever heard the term ‘
pas de deux'
?"

Inside, the song ended and Zara grabbed a towel to wipe off her face and neck. Lawson could see how tired she was. “No,” he murmured so she wouldn't hear him.

Christian lowered his voice as well. “It's French for ‘step of two', partnering in ballet. It has advantages for both the man and the woman, you see. By dancing with a partner, the woman can jump higher and perform positions too demanding to do on her own. She can appear to float around the stage as she is carried. The woman in turn allows the man to extend his line and show off his strength. Each of the partners must have a high level of skill on their own, but it is their partnership which creates the most grand and awe-inspiring of dances."

Lawson cut his gaze to Christian. “Your point?"

"Zara is in need of a good partner."

Lawson shook his head. “I can do a lot of things, but I can't dance."

Christian smiled and pushed himself off the wall. “Zara can teach as well as perform. Perhaps if you approached dancing with her with an open mind, you would find it very much worth the effort."

Music again filled the studio, but this time at a lower volume. Christian disappeared down the hall.

Lawson returned to his voyeurism. Zara was back in the spot where she'd been dancing, but now she was sitting on the floor, tugging off her ballet shoes. Her shoulders were slumped over and her fingers worked slowly.

Gathering his courage, he pushed the door open and walked through into the brightly lit room.

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"Tired?"

The sound of Lawson's voice snapped Zara out of her thoughts. He stood near her in his standard jeans and T-shirt, bare feet and scruffy face.

He'd never looked better.

Pulling one of her ballet slippers off, she dropped it on the floor and massaged her foot. “Sleeping Beauty awakens."

He walked past her to the mirror. “How was the workout?"

"Peachy.” She pulled off her other slipper and studied her toes. “I suck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn to look at her. “You do not suck. I saw you. You're damn good."

She jerked her head up. “You were watching me?"

"I was curious."

Raising her arm, she threw her ballet slipper at him. He flinched and knocked it away. “Hey!"

She reached for the other one. “You jerk. I can't believe you were spying on me."

"You're fun to spy on.” He laughed as she threw the other shoe at him.

Her aim was true but he smacked it into the mirror behind him. Plopping down on the floor next to her, he bent his knees and set his elbows on top of them. “Your dancing is incredible."

The hard shell around her heart softened a micron. Hugging her knees to her chest, she wiggled her toes. “You've never seen a ballet performance. How would you know?"

"Because I'm an athlete. I don't know squat about ballet, but I do know what it takes to make your body move and respond the way you want it to. I can appreciate what you're doing with yours even if I don't fully understand the mechanics of it. You're a natural."

Every muscle in Zara's body was warm and tremulous from her workout. Stretched to the max. Knowing Lawson had been watching her impromptu recital made her oddly self-conscious. She wished she didn't care so much that he'd seen her dancing like a crazy woman. She wished her heart would harden up again instead of steadily getting softer.

"Even without my injury, I would never have made it as far as my mother. I'd love to think otherwise"—she dropped her head into her hands—"but it wouldn't have happened in a million years."

"What about choreography like Christian suggested?"

"I don't have the time or the desire. I'm not good enough anyway."

"Sounds self-defeating."

"It's called reality."

A heartbeat of silence passed. “Quitter."

She raised her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not a quitter."

Lawson just smiled at her. A challenge.

She pushed herself off the floor and walked away from him. “How many times do I have to say it? I don't want to be a ballerina."

"A lot of spooks use a regular job as cover."

Regular job? She headed for the back of the studio. “You have no idea the amount of time it takes even to be a choreographer. Besides, top choreography, just like top ballet, demands the ability to dance better than what I did here today."

"You're basing this on one bad practice?"

Zara stopped in front of the barre and placed her hands on her hips. “I'm basing it on knowledge."

Lawson rose off the floor and followed her to the barre. He stopped a foot behind her and met her eyes in the mirror. “What are you scared of, Zara?"

She forced herself to look him in the eye. After a minute, she willed herself to admit the truth. To herself as well as him. “Not being good enough."

"For who? Your mother? Christian?” He shrugged. “Who?"

Everyone
. She pinned her gaze on the floor. “Being a good dancer, being a good spy, it doesn't matter. You have to endure the training, survive the politics and force yourself through all kinds of BS. All kinds of hassles. Your family, your friends, your teachers, they all think you're crazy. Sometimes you even think it yourself. But, in dance, when you stand out there on that stage and perform, hear the audience's applause, it's one of the greatest rushes you ever experience. As a field operative, you get the same rush when you stop a leak or put a criminal behind bars."

"I feel the same way when I rescue someone. I don't get applause, but knowing I did my job and saved someone's life makes all the BS and hassles worth it."

At least he could relate. “I bet you've never quit anything, have you?"

He scratched the top of his nose. Sighed. “Actually, I quit Boy Scouts in seventh grade."

"Because of the ugly uniforms?"

His laughter echoed in the room. “No. Because I failed Tracking. Twice. I was never going to make Eagle Scout without that badge."

"The man who never gets lost failed Boy Scout Tracking?"

He offered a sheepish grin. “Now you know my darkest secret."

She looked at him standing there so close she could lean back into him. “Then we're even since you know mine too."

"You mean about not being good enough?"

She nodded and dropped her gaze to the reflection of her feet in the mirror.

Lawson moved, putting himself a step closer, but he didn't touch her. His warm breath danced on her ear. “You're more than good enough, Z. Everything about you is incredible."

Her leg muscles trembled a warning. “There's that adjective again."

"Yes,” he murmured into her hair. His hands touched her waist. “Incredible, beautiful, sexy as hell. Perfect."

Feeling self-conscious, she stepped forward. “I don't know what planet you grew up on, but where I'm from I am
so
not perfect."

"You're wrong.” His head dipped and he kissed the top of her shoulder.

She kept her gaze down, not wanting to meet his eyes in the mirror. She had to get away from him before he felt her whole body trembling from his touch. His hands, his lips, even the deep sound of his voice, made every cell in her body tingle with want.

As she shifted to the left, she tried to call up her training to help her out. Some philosophy of Flynn's to help her out. Nothing came and Lawson moved, trapping her.

It still irked her he'd wanted her file just so he could find ways to seduce her, but the truth was she'd wanted him since the first time she'd seen him at the Farm. The seductress persona she'd worn at the airport hadn't just been a test to see how he'd react for the mission's sake ... she'd wanted to know how he'd react for her sake. The entire time they'd been together, she'd been flirting, baiting and teasing him for her own selfish, female want.

He lifted a hand and touched her neck. Her gaze locked on his fingers in the mirror as they fell to the top of her shoulder where he'd just kissed her. As he ran his palms down her bare arms and settled them on her waist again, heat spread from his hands, warming her abdomen and fanning outward.

"Your legs are fantastic. Shapely and well-toned and they're topped off with the most incredible as—ahh ... butt I've ever had the privilege to touch. And these,” he said, cupping her breasts gently, almost reverently, through the Lycra of her suit. “These fill up my hands like they were made for them. And my hands aren't small."

The way his hands brought her breasts together created better cleavage than her Chantelle demi push-up bra. He squeezed and her knees went weak. She parted her lips, closed her eyes and leaned into him.
Just once more before this is over...

Her bottom brushed against his jeans, and he sucked in his breath. Opening her eyes, she sought his in the mirror. The sexual hunger in them was as dark as the ivy growing up Poseidon's leg in the garden outside. As he released her breasts, he pulled her bottom against his groin and this time it was Zara who sucked in her breath.

"Jesus,” he said into her hair. “I'm obsessed with you."

She let out a soft laugh. “Obsessed, huh?"

His hands closed over her breasts again, his fingers pinching her taut nipples. “Hell, yes. I can't get enough of you. Your awesome body, your sassy mouth. None of it."

"You should see someone about that. The Agency has plenty of therapists, you know."

"No therapist, just you."

She faced him, planting her hands on his chest to push him away, but he cupped her butt cheeks and kept her lower half pressed against his. “Ever been obsessed before?” she asked.

"No.” His roaming hands froze, as if it were just dawning on him. “Never."

Zara's heart hammered hard. She looked up at him, at his lips poised just above hers. “Never?"

He took her mouth with such possession, her knees buckled. But he held her firmly and she knew he wouldn't let her fall. “Never,” he whispered against her lips.

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