Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense) (13 page)

Her eyes focused on him, her look intense. Would she come? No. He saw the moment he lost her; she dropped her gaze to her dish, and her shoulders drooped down in defeat. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t. Not yet.”

He kissed her on the cheek, and then strode off to find some scotch to prevent him from sneaking into her bedroom later to comfort her.

Chapter Seventeen

Alex’s gut assured her that Henry would never hurt her. His actions told her the same thing. He’d helped her hide from Luc in Oxford and helped her to escape from Brian in Edinburgh. He’d slept in her bed and never crossed the line. He’d never lied to her. Alex paused to allow the last piece of ice chilling her heart to melt away. She trusted him. Yes, she really trusted him. And she’d let him walk away.

She lifted the plates and shuttled them into the kitchen, leaving the bottle of wine in the dining room. The old Alex would have finished off the bottle of merlot and the open bottle of chardonnay she’d found in the refrigerator. That wouldn’t solve her dilemma.

Not wanting to leave the dishes for Martha on her night off, Alex washed a dish, rinsed a dish, and then placed it on the drying rack. The warm, soapy water and the sound of the water flowing into the sink and the feel of the heat between her fingers soothed her. By the time everything was neatly stacked on the counter, she’d decided to embrace life, not hide away from it, even if she risked being hurt again.

She climbed to her bedroom, brushed her teeth, and undressed. Button by button, she removed her blouse and then shimmied out of her pants. When she had stripped down to only a black bra and matching silk thong, she glanced around the room at the dime-store art. Regrettably, Henry’s reproduction would have a similar value. How awful to lose not only a valuable piece of art, but a precious family heirloom.

Poor Henry. He was trying to do the right thing by protecting battered women and their children. He was a good man. It had been a long time since she’d met one of those. She should have gone with him when he’d asked. Not because she owed him, but because she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Perhaps it wasn’t too late.

Still dressed only in her underwear, she wandered down one hall and then another to find him. Opening a few doors in search of his room, she located her destination behind the fifth or sixth door. A large cave of a bedroom. With only the hall lights illuminating the interior, Alex crept into the room with caution. She bumped into a large dresser. Her hands rubbed over the intricate carvings and smooth marble top. The shadows in the room came into focus as her eyes adapted to the light. She looked down at the dresser she’d caressed only a moment before. This baby was a Louis XVI–style gilt-bronze-mounted marquetry inlaid piece. She wanted to examine it in the daylight. Her mind flashed to Jean-Henri Riesener, the probable designer. A giggle burst out of her. She’d come here to seduce the most magnificent man she’d ever met and had been seduced by a dresser instead.

She stepped with careful footing to the outline of the bed and the lump under the covers.

“Henry?” She shook the mattress.

No answer.

“Henry?” Was he mad at her? Her heart tumbled a bit.

She could wake him, but that seemed rude and inhospitable. Perhaps this wasn’t such a spectacular idea. She sat on the edge of his bed. He wouldn’t care if she slept next to him. He’d invited her to sleep with him, sort of. After sliding under the covers, she tried to sleep, but her side of the bed was too chilly. She moved closer to Henry and his body heat. The indent his weight created in the mattress helped her roll toward him. A large arm reached out and pulled her in further. Realizing that his arm brushed across her skimpy bra, she felt her cheeks heat into a blush. The rest of her burned with a strong sexual hunger that had been stored away behind icy walls. The ice, left over from Luc’s physical and emotional assaults, had melted and now boiled.

His arm tugged her closer until they lay face-to-face. She inhaled the scent of his breath, a sexy Henry smell laced with scotch. He must have gone off for a drink after dinner, after her rejection. The faint glow from the hall provided enough light for her to see two sleepy eyes staring at her. His expression revealed both a desire for her in his bed and a hope that she leave. The ambivalence entranced her.

“Henry?”

“Hmmm?” His voice was low and reassuring.

“I want to thank you for helping me out last night. Not only did you sneak me out of the castle, but you remained a perfect gentleman all evening. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he whispered. He continued to stare at her.

He moved closer until their mouths touched. She reveled in the taste of him. His hand caressed her face, slanting her chin closer to him. Their kiss deepened until she was trembling in anticipation. She shifted her entire body toward his and froze.

“You have no clothes on,” she whispered.

He kissed her again, traveling from her mouth to her neck to behind her ear. “I rarely do at night. Except that strange evening when you took off all of your clothes and my trousers remained firmly zipped. And the hotel room.”

“I appreciated that.”

He tightened his grip. “I appreciate this visit more.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so unpleasant toward you.”

“Already forgiven.” He lifted his hand and caressed the side of her face. “Are you sharing my bed tonight to torture me or seduce me? If you want my opinion, I prefer the latter.”

She did, too. “I don’t know how to seduce you, but if you help me, I’m willing to try.”

Her lips touched his. She felt awkward, but brave.

Henry moaned and pulled back. “Are you sure?”

She kissed him again. “Absolutely sure. But I can’t promise I won’t freak out.”

“We can go as far as you’re comfortable.”

She was starved for this type of intimacy with the well-built guy who had earned her trust and stole her heart. “I feel very comfortable with you tonight.”

Her words seemed to energize him. His mouth covered hers. Connecting to him became her sole goal. She pressed closer. His hand roamed behind her and unclasped her bra. Alex moaned into his mouth. One tug and the bra was history. His head dropped to one of her breasts, the one Luc had branded. His hand continued its travels down her back, across her thigh, and reached between her legs. She froze as a split second of panic caused her to shudder. He started to retreat, but she clasped his hand to hold it in place. If he pulled away, she’d regret it forever. He took the hint and continued. Damn, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“As much as I love your choice of knickers, they’re in the way.” He pulled them down an inch, paused, and then continued until she felt the flimsy fabric drag across her legs and over her feet.

He returned his focus to her breasts, his scruff adding a unique sensation to the experience.

“That tickles,” she cried out, and then dissolved into laughter.

He continued to overwhelm her nipple until she squealed. He lifted his head with a bemused grin. “Should I stop?”

When she didn’t answer, he slipped a finger into the wetness between her thighs. Anxiety hovered in the background while her body appreciated the decadence of a man’s attention on her most sensitive areas. Not for his benefit, but for hers. She thrust her hips toward him, trying to control the location of his fingers.

His long, powerful legs with the most amazing muscle definition stretched out next to her. The pressure of such a solid man resting so close to her liquefied her insides, yet scared her as well. He continued to pleasure her breasts with his tongue and teeth.

He paused for a moment and reached over to his bedside table. Hearing the tear, she watched him sheath himself in latex. She stiffened briefly to prepare for Henry to thrust into her. The idea that he would dominate her body in the same way Luc had shot a tremor of panic through her. Her face grimaced in preparation for the pain.

Luc had preferred her under him, spreading her legs and lying still, but Henry surprised her by rolling to his back and lifting her to the top position. The shift took away some of the fear. He’d left her in control. Empowered, she slid her body down his and angled him inside her. Each shimmy of her hips and drive forward was hers to decide, but she wanted even more. Pressure grew, and feelings of intense need overwhelmed her.

“Henry,” she cried out.

He lifted his hips and pressed deeper. Her fears disappeared, and a dizzy, euphoric feeling brought her higher and higher.

“Come closer, Sunshine.” He pulled her toward him and kissed her so deeply, a conquering and melding of souls. She rode him until blissful waves shook her entire body. The feelings intensified as he grasped her hips and rocked her further until everything burst open in color and light and intensity. And then he shuddered and trembled beneath her. Lips still connected, they slowed to a stillness except for the sound of heavy breathing and contented sighs. She rested her head on his shoulder, exhausted.

“Good night, Gabe,” he murmured.

I’m not Gabe.

“Alex,” she mumbled in reply and slid into a contented sleep.

…

Alex? Who the hell was Alex?

Henry spent a night that should have been heaven with the most amazing woman he’d ever met in a cold panic. Did he just learn the name of
the love of her life
as she’d described her former boyfriend? If this guy had been her former lover, his technique with her had been despicable. It had been impossible to anticipate what would please her, because so many things had made her skittish. What sort of man would break a woman down and almost destroy her ability to make love? She couldn’t love him still. How could a woman love an abusive man? The answer kicked him in the gut. His mother and Simon’s mother both had loved their abuser.

She stirred in his arms. Half her body rested on top of him with one leg curved across his thigh. Blond hair covered most of her face. He smoothed it behind her ear and tucked her head under his chin. Her breathing created a soothing, rhythmic meditation to ease his frayed nerves.

She’d panicked as he was prepared to enter her. Her body had noticeably stiffened and her eyes had flinched. Henry had almost stopped everything in order to hold her and relax her nerves, but his mind told him Gabe would recoil at the idea of him comforting her. So he’d rotated her on top and allowed her to control everything. If she’d wished to stop, she’d be in a position to do so. Thank God, she hadn’t, because being with her had been heaven. What they shared wasn’t sex; it was better, more satisfying.

Which is why her saying this guy’s name as she drifted off to sleep didn’t make sense. Not only had it seemed like the guy had abused her sexually, but he’d also taken out his aggression on the rest of her body as well. She wore the scars to prove it. Reminded of his father’s rages, Henry’s stomach clenched like a fist. He wanted a few minutes alone with this idiot to explain the basic principles of chivalry.

He fell asleep hours later, waking when Gabe’s hands began a detailed exploration of his body. She spent the next hour caressing every minute section of him. The attention drove him crazy, but he gave her the control. When it was his turn, she seemed a thousand times more relaxed than the night before. She allowed Henry to take the lead. Her body welcomed him without the slightest pause or hesitation. He savored the emotion rocketing through her eyes as she came apart under him.

“Good morning.” She let her hand drift across his cheek and down his neck, her contented smile shining in his direction.

“Great morning.” He kissed her, and then rested his head back on the pillow to look at her.

She wanted to be with him. No artifice, no duplicity. Nothing had ever felt so perfect, so right. He wanted her to stay in his bed forever, despite her unknowns.

As soon as they returned from Atlanta, he would request an end to all of her secrets. But for now, until he’d gained her trust completely, he’d be patient.

At breakfast, she placed a passport next to his plate. A French passport. Henry peered at the woman in the photo.
Danielle Perrault
. She was twenty-four with short brown hair and hazel eyes. She had a heart-shaped face similar to Gabe’s, but her cheekbones didn’t sit as high and her eyes seemed too close together. She was not blessed with Gabe’s symmetry.

The adorable tilted position of Gabe’s head and the annoyed twitch of the left side of her mouth made the differences between the two women even more noticeable. “As you can tell, it’s not me.”

It appeared authentic right down to the stamps on many of the pages. “Did you steal it?”

“The previous owner won’t miss it.” She shrugged and feigned a relaxed smile that didn’t begin to express happiness. She grabbed the streaky bacon with her fingers and took a bite. Her eyes dropped to focus on her coffee cup. Her bad manners almost shifted the attention away from her apprehension. Henry could see through the facade. She was nervous, as she should be.

If caught with a fake passport, she could end up in jail. And what about the monster chasing her? He rubbed his temples to massage away some of the tension building inside him. “I know you want to help me, and I’m eternally grateful, but nothing, not even the Ripon Women’s Group, is worth you being placed in danger.”

She rested her hand over his. “It’ll be fine. Please don’t stop me. I need to focus on something other than my pathetic life. And if we succeed, think of the families we’ll help.”

Using his own words against him. He glanced down at the passport.

“She’s younger than you.” He tested a theory. “That could be a problem.”

“Only by a couple of years.” She pulled back her hand and huffed out a breath. “I’m twenty-six.”

“Not twenty-four?”

She glared at him, but remained silent. One more crack in the facade she’d created around herself.

“I hate to say this, but Miss Perrault has brown hair and greenish eyes.” Henry glanced between the picture and Gabe. It was close, but not perfect.

Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “Your choice. Either we forget chasing down your painting, or I need some hair color, makeup, and colored contacts. It may cost up to a hundred pounds.”

He rubbed his temples again. “My hundred pounds?”

“Henry, whose painting are we searching for?”