The Makeover Mission (16 page)

"So you see, Miss Richards, it is important you realize the
dangerous game you've been involved in. And who can truly help you."

"I thank you for your advice, Your Highness."

Too little, too late, she wanted to add, but was interrupted by
another voice.

"It sounds as if I have missed a very illuminating
conversation."

The words came from the doorway, hard and razor-sharp. Jane wanted
to pull her hand from the king's grasp, to turn toward where she knew
McConneghy stood, looking no doubt lethal and in control at the same time.

But she felt too raw, too wounded to expose her expression to him.
A man she'd come to trust too quickly, to depend upon too easily.

What a fool she'd been.

But not anymore.

Lucius relaxed his shoulders, muscle by muscle. A trait he'd found
useful on long stakeouts and in tight situations, but it did nothing for the
churning in his gut. Jealousy, green-tinged and soul deep. He wanted to tear
Tarkioff limb from limb and the longer he held Jane Richards's hand the greater
the need grew.

Not that she minded it in the least. She hadn't even turned to
glance at him since he'd interrupted their little tête-à-tête. And here he had
rushed through the debriefing of his team to get back to her, worried that she
might be at a loss, might be bothered by being alone too long.

He was thinking like a fool. A damn fool.

"I'm not interrupting anything?" He knew his words
sounded hoarse and jagged and still she didn't turn to look at him. But she
didn't have to, not in this room, with its walls of mirrors, each one of them
searing her image on his soul, as if it wasn't already there.

She looked pale, too pale, but then she'd looked that way often
over the last days, as if the strain was catching up with her. But now there
was a bleakness about her eyes, the ones she kept downcast, hidden from him.
Even as Tarkioff hovered over her like a hawk scenting prey. The man had a smug
expression on his face, a calculating look that told Lucius he should have
arrived earlier.

"You are finished with your meeting, Major." It sounded
casual enough, but Lucius hadn't been born yesterday. "You've completed
all the important things advisors must complete."

"It appears that this meeting was more important." He
crossed into the room, noting Jane's imperceptible flinch. One that rocked him
deeper than he'd ever thought possible.

The king relinquished Jane's hand, which she quickly slid to her
lap. A sure sign of agitation. "We were just discussing you. You and the
dangerous games a man in your position plays."

Games within games, he thought as he stepped closer to where Jane
sat, keeping her gaze averted, as if she were memorizing the thread count in
the tablecloth.

"By all means feel free to continue your conversation."
He spoke to both of them but kept his gaze locked on only one. "It sounded
very educational."

She looked at him then, not directly but through the mirror across
from them, the one that threw two images back; him like a dark shadow over her
shoulder and her—like a child deceived. The realization dazed him: him of the
nerves of steel, the cold control necessary to do his job, no matter what the
cost. And yet with one indirect look she shook him, made him hesitate, unsure of
just what had put that look there.

"Elena," he said the name automatically and saw her
recoil from it, from him. Without thought he extended his hand, meaning to
reassure with a touch when he didn't seem able to with words, but she rose to
her feet, so fast she knocked the chair over with the movement.

"I … I … good night."

She sounded desperate, frantic to leave. What in the heck had
happened while he'd been away?

"I'll escort you to your room."

"No." She looked at him then, her expression warding him
off as much as the near panic in her tone. "I can find my own way. I don't
need your help."

I don't need you.

"I think it'd be best if I—"

"Good night." She was gone before he could stop her.

He waited until he heard the sound of her shoes clicking across
the marble floors die away before he rounded on Tarkioff.

"I don't know what you said here tonight, but I warned you
once that she will not be hurt."

"My dear Major—"

"I won't warn you again." He turned on his heel, knowing
he'd learn nothing from Tarkioff, not trusting himself to be in the same room
with the man much longer.

He caught up with Jane before she'd reached the far wing of the
palace.

"Wait up."

Either she didn't hear him or chose to ignore him.

"Damn it, I said wait." This was not the place to talk,
not when there were servants nearby who could hear them.

He laid a hand upon her arm to slow her down, pleased he managed
restraint, angered when she shrugged it off.

"I know the way." Her words sounded as brittle as his.

He held the oath threatening to escape. Aware it was another
measure of how this woman had burrowed beneath his defenses. His control had
been razor-thin ever since the event at the pool, when, distracted by her, he'd
allowed himself to be caught off guard. A mistake he wouldn't let happen again.
But one look at her tonight and he knew his tenuous grasp on his emotions was
slipping. Again.

When they reached her room he'd find out exactly what was going
on.

But she had her own agenda once they arrived at her closed door.
One that had him wondering how he could want to shake a woman at the same time
as admire her.

"Good night, Major." She used her prissy librarian tone.
A defense mechanism as good as any he'd ever witnessed.

"We're going to talk."

"No." Her look had him wanting to wrap her in his arms
and tell her it'd be okay. As soon as he figured out why it was there. He had
no doubt who had put it there—Tarkioff. But knowing the king, it could be for a
dozen different reasons. Trying to detect the right one was like looking for a
bomb in the dark.

"Listen, I know it's been a long day. Having dinner alone
with Tarkioff probably didn't make it any easier." Her expression remained
a mixture of condemnation and hurt. But damn if he knew how to take away
either. "If it's any consolation I'll make sure eating with Tarkioff alone
won't happen again."

"It's not."

"What's that mean?"

"As you said, it was a very illuminating dinner." He
thought he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She was killing him by the
minute. "Now it's late and I'm tired. Good night."

She turned from him and it took all his years of training to let
her close the door in his face.

He'd promised to protect her and so he would. Tomorrow they would
talk. Tonight he'd find out just what Tarkioff had said to her. Tonight he'd
walk away.

But not tomorrow.

Chapter 7

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^
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I
t took every ounce of willpower Jane
possessed to dress herself in Elena's clothes the next day. Where before they
gave her a sense of strength and power, now they mocked her. How could she ever
have thought of herself as strong enough to deal with men like McConneghy and
Tarkioff? She was so far out of her league it was pathetic.

And that hurt. Humiliation upon humiliation, a little like dousing
an open wound in vinegar. How could she have blindly trusted a man, believed he
was helping and protecting her when all the signs said just the opposite?

Well maybe not
all
the signs, she had to admit, brushing
her hair with absentminded strokes. He had been truthful with her in telling
her she was at risk from the first. But he'd neglected to tell her the whole
truth and from whom she was at risk. And when he'd warned her against trusting
him, he'd neglected to mention that he'd be doing everything within his power
to make her trust him.

And that's what really hurt. That she had fallen for the

small gestures of kindness; the way he would offer his arm for
support before she had to face strangers, the way he made sure she could meet
the little people instead of remain isolated, even the way he would nag at her
to eat more, as if he cared that she kept up her strength. When all along he
was using her, playing her for a fool and setting her up to be a target. Could
she be any more naive?

Walking down to the breakfast room like a condemned prisoner
taking her last trip, she debated options, discarding one after another. There
was no way she could continue to act like the fool she'd been. Nor did it make
sense to confront him with what she'd learned. He'd only twist it around, try
and soothe when there was no balm for betrayal.

The only thing that made sense was to truly become a stronger,
less dependent woman, who, though she might not have a lot of experience in the
world in which she now was, still could protect herself. She could be cool.
Aloof. Trusting neither McConneghy nor Tarkioff. It made sense, as much as
anything had since she'd woken up in that small cramped room.

With a silent prayer for strength she stepped into the dining
room, not surprised to see McConneghy already there, not surprised to feel the
intensity of his gaze on her. He looked as he always looked: calm, cool and in
control.

She cleared her throat and steeled herself. If she could get
through the next minutes she could get through anything.

Slipping into a chair, she reached for a cup of fresh-squeezed
orange juice, sure it was going to taste like grains of sand sliding down her
dry throat.

"Would you like a croissant?" His question sounded calm
enough, but she could hear the strain beneath every syllable.

"No, thank you."

"Some eggs and bacon?"

"No."

"Some toast?"

"No."

"You've—"

She speared him with a glance. One she knew could scorch.
"I'm not hungry."

"You've got to eat."

"I'm a grown woman. I'll eat when I'm hungry and I'll make
that decision. Is that clear?"

He considered her words and her, his gaze steady and penetrating.
She told herself not to waver or shatter beneath its force, no matter how hard
it was to hold out against it.

"All right," he said at last, though she doubted they
were through the worst of it. Yet. His next words proved her right. "Then
if you won't eat we'll talk."

Instead of responding directly she stood, folding her cloth napkin
and laying it upon the table with cool restraint. "If I recall correctly
today's schedule is fairly full. I think it's better if we get on our
way."

She watched his brows arch, the lines around his mouth deepen. His
voice, though, was calm. Almost too calm. "We'll leave
after
we
talk."

"Why the sudden urge to chat, Major?" If she didn't know
better she'd say she was getting into the swing of being sharp and snippy.
"You've been downright sullen for days and now you want to talk?"

"Sullen?"

"Sullen. And rude."

She was beginning to feel like a child trading barbs over the back
fence. Until he changed tactics on her.

"What did he say to you last night?"

She could have sworn she heard frustration, or maybe regret, then
dismissed it. Any compassion on her part was pure foolishness. Hadn't she
learned that this man would only use it against her? "Are you talking
about the king?"

"You know darn good and well I am." Emotion undercoated
each word.

She glanced at her watch, sure her legs would buckle at any
minute. Confrontation was not in her vocabulary and here she was, sparring with
a man who made life-and-death decisions all the time. A man with years of
experience of heading straight into confrontations, eyes open. He probably even
liked doing it.

She held her ground. "Let's say my conversation last night
was on a need-to-know basis."

If the man's gaze became any more glacial she'd be suffering from
frostbite.

"Need-to-know basis?"

"Yes, need to know. You understand that concept." She
splayed her lingers on the table for support more than drama, surprised he
couldn't see clear through her bluff. "You've called the shots thus far,
Major, and I tagged along. I had little choice. But things have changed."

Lucius slowly and deliberately placed his own napkin on the table,
pleased he had not shredded it before he rose to his feet. He watched Jane's
eyes widen, but remain steady on his. Whatever had gone on last night, it had
had at least one effect; the woman he'd thought of as vulnerable, needy and
unaware of her own power was metamorphosing before his eyes. He wasn't sure if
he wanted to shout hallelujah or lower the boom.

"You think things have changed." He kept each word
evenly spaced as he leaned forward to meet her belligerent stance. A move that
placed him in a position to smell the warmth of her skin, count the scattered
freckles across her nose, and notice the intensity of arousal in her eyes.
Damn, if that image wouldn't keep him awake through another long night.