Читать книгу Bodyguard Rescue - Donna Young - Страница 12

The shriek of rage came from inside. Its intensity rocked the porch rafters, causing Roman to flinch. It had taken her less time than he thought to work through the events from the previous night. His lips twitched with amusement. He should’ve known.

He field-stripped the cigarette, then stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in his neck just as another scream, this one sounding more like a screech, rent the air. He stepped inside.

She stormed down the stairs barefoot and wearing only a jersey. A Scottish warrior princess. Regal. Graceful.

Lethal.

“Hungry, Doc?” he asked smoothly, suffering her glare with equanimity before entering the kitchen.

A search of the cupboards the night before had revealed filter packets containing coffee and some canned corned-beef hash. He started the coffee first, knowing it would be his greatest ally.

“You drugged me.” The accusation jabbed at him from the doorway behind.

“Yes, I did,” he answered, deliberately keeping his voice calm. “Want some breakfast?” Opening the can of hash, he dumped the contents into the sizzling frying pan.

He heard the sharp intake, felt the pause as she absorbed the shock of his admission.

“You, you—”

The anger was back. Good. Roman shut off the burner and counted to two before turning around to face her.

She clenched her fists to her sides, but he knew it was only because he wasn’t close enough for her to take a swing.

“You deceitful, two-faced…” Her eyes blinked with unshed tears. “Jerk.”

Christ, he hated tears. He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms. “Tell me, is that a scientific fact or just your everyday off-the-cuff hypothesis?”

“Oh, it’s fact, all right.” Her gray eyes turned into finely etched diamonds of white fire at his tone, evaporating the tears. “You actually thought I wouldn’t figure it out?” She spat out the words before her gaze skimmed the counters.

“I wouldn’t have cleared the kitchen of all possible projectiles last night if I’d thought that. So you might as well stop looking.”

She glared at him, her hostility palpable.

Kate hadn’t realized she’d been searching for something to throw until he’d pointed it out, but the idea held tremendous appeal. If she had a knife right now, she would gladly aim for his heart.

She’d been on overdrive since she’d awakened with the strange feeling of being watched nagging at her subconscious. She’d lain there for a while, letting an unfamiliar dullness clear from her mind. Almost immediately the events of the past twenty-four hours came rushing back. The frantic call from Marcus. The destruction of her work and her desperate flight to the safest place she knew. The difficult hike to the cabin after ditching her car.

The fear. The fatigue.

Roman’s unexpected arrival.

Quickly, the facts formed into a well-developed theory. The slurred speech. The dizziness. The bitter-tasting soup. Stunned, all she could do was lie there. Roman was a lowlife, but he would never sink that far into the bowels of deceit.

But he had. He’d just admitted it, and the hurt made her strike back.

“Don’t tell me you have to drug your women now.” Giving up on the weapon search, she propped one shoulder against the doorjamb, her body stiff, her voice dripping with acid.

The muscle in his jaw flickered, telling her she’d scored a hit. But he didn’t respond to the barb. Too bad.

“Was it good for you?” she taunted, not willing to let it go. She watched with satisfaction as his eyes burned amber and his body grew tense. “I mean, it was basically the same for me,” she continued, ignoring the warning signals. “Forgettable.”

He gave her a long look that showed how close he was to unleashing his anger, but his voice remained silky smooth, the sound chilling her to her marrow. “Do you want me to prove you’re lying?”

She managed to keep the fury and humiliation out of her voice, just. “What I want is for you to tell me why you found it necessary to drug me.” Her balled fist hit the counter.

He shrugged with indifference, somehow leaving Kate with a vague feeling it was partially feigned. “You needed it. I told you last night you looked like hell.”

“Your concern for me is touching, but it’s coming just a tad too late for me to believe it’s sincere.”

“It’s sincere,” he said, the words low and even.

For a moment she almost believed him. Then suddenly he relaxed with an easy smile and turned his attention back to cooking the food.

Kate let the air out of her lungs with a huff. “The last time I checked my driver’s license, I was a grown woman, D’Amato. I can take care of myself.”

He laughed. “Why don’t you pour us some brew?”

“Why don’t you go straight to—”

The sputtering of the coffee machine cut off her retort. For the first time she smelled the tantalizing aroma coming from the far corner. Her throat constricted.

And he knew it. Without looking up from the stove, he said, “Go on. Your brother stocked the kind you both like. Brazilian.”

Addiction won over indignation. Grudgingly, Kate reached into the cupboard above the coffeemaker for a mug, and then poured coffee to the rim.

He could damn well get his own.

Taking a sip, she released a sigh of unadulterated pleasure.

Perfect.

“I’m surprised you didn’t make me drink first.” Startled, she glanced up to find him watching her, his eyebrows raised in a mockingly polite question.

She’d always hated it when he gave her that superior, all-knowing look. “The thought crossed my mind,” she bluffed, irritated because the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. “But even you wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“So you’re beginning to believe that I did it for your own good?” He reached around her to grab another mug from the cupboard, brushing against her shoulder and effectively locking her between his arms. Kate, startled by the contact, turned, inadvertently placing her face inches away from his granitelike chest. She could smell his scent, feel the warmth of his body.

There was a jagged, raised scar just under his right shoulder. She focused on that, trying to clear her head. From a rock-climbing accident, he’d told her once. The whiteness of the scar stood out against the otherwise tanned skin of his chest. A chest covered with a thick pelt of crisp, sable hair. Hair tapered into a thin line, down his flat, muscled stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.

She couldn’t stop herself from inhaling deeply.

“Drop something, babe?”

Jolted out of her trance, she jerked her head up in confusion, catching his chin.

His grunt of pain had her scooting around him and resuming her place in the doorway, somehow feeling safer with the exit at her back.

“Am I supposed to believe that you carry sedatives around with you now?” She sipped her coffee in an effort to stabilize her system with caffeine. “I seem to remember the only substances you allowed in your body, Roman, were some of my dad’s good scotch and the occasional nicotine fix.” She quirked her eyebrow. “It’s hard to accept that you’ve graduated to taking narcotics.” Kate flashed back to the time he’d been overseas on business and suffered a couple of cracked ribs in a traffic accident. He’d endured days of the excruciating pain rather than take a drug for relief.

“I still don’t. Doctor gave me a prescription since I’ve been having some trouble sleeping. I filled it in a moment of weakness, thinking I might need them. When I saw the shape you were in, I snagged them from my sport bag in the car where I’d tossed them.”

She didn’t believe him. To her knowledge he never allowed himself a moment of weakness. From the time Cain had introduced them, Roman had been suave, intelligent, funny and arrogantly attractive but never, ever weak.

His gaze clinically skimmed the length of her body. “They seemed to have done the trick.”

She bristled over the perusal, before the rest of his previous comment caught her attention. Roman had always moved like a cat, swiftly and silently. A trait that had intrigued her when they’d first met and unsettled her as time went on. Still, it was hard to believe he’d walked out the door and returned unnoticed. “I didn’t see you go outside last night.”

He swallowed some coffee, disregarding the handle and grasping the ceramic in his fist. “Doc, the state you were in last night, a nuclear explosion would’ve gotten past you,” he said with surprising gentleness.

So much gentleness that his next question almost caught her unaware.

“How often are you having panic attacks?”

Every time I’m more than ten feet above the ground and looking straight down. “That was my first one.” She placed her mug on the counter and crossed behind him to stir the breakfast. The first one she’d ever experienced not related to her acrophobia.

Again he sent her a disbelieving look. She pretended not to see it and nodded toward the food. “It’s done if you want to grab some plates.”

Instead Roman grabbed her hand and gently twisted her around. He watched in fascination while Kate studied their hands twined together, a silk curtain of hair covered her face, making it impossible for him to read her expression. He found himself studying their hands, also—his firm and brown, hers softer and pale with their strength masked by the slight bone structure.

As if sensing his thoughts, she looked up at him. He caught the full force of her inner turmoil. Something in her eyes softened, then deepened, revealing a flicker of her vulnerability hidden beneath.

A sharp stab of guilt made him drop her hand as if it held a grenade. She stiffened briefly over the abruptness of the move but recovered swiftly and swung back to the stove.

Roman swore.

“It’s obvious you didn’t bargain on me when you decided to use Cain’s cabin.” Her tone brought him up short. “I can’t help that, it’s important I stay here for a while.” Kate snagged the plates and served up breakfast, quietly, efficiently. “I have to go to town. Since I’ll be gone for a few hours, it should give you time to relax a little before leaving.” She handed him his plate.

Grimly, Roman accepted the food. “Even if I wanted to go, I wouldn’t leave you up here stranded.” Not bothering to explain how he knew, he pointed out her biggest problem. “How do you expect to get into town when you don’t have a car?”

She flushed, obviously ill at ease. “I have a car.” Her voice faltered. “I… I had a little trouble on the way up from New Mexico and left it at a garage in town to be checked.” She took a swallow of food. “I’ll walk into town.”

Another lie. While she’d been sleeping the night before, he’d followed her tracks until he’d found the ditched black sports car, surprised that she’d done a reasonably good job at camouflaging the trail and the car.

He’d improved it.

“It’s at least a three-mile hike.” The statement was hard and brooked no argument. “I’ll drive you.”

He was right, of course. It would be ridiculous for her to hike all that way. Damn it. If she had a choice, she wouldn’t be making the trip, but the cabin didn’t have a telephone and her cell phone was useless in the mountains. There was no way to contact Cain without going to town.

Frustration fueled her anger. If only Roman had made his offer a suggestion and not an order, she might not have lost her temper. But he hadn’t.

Kate slammed the plate onto the counter. “I got here by walking,” she snapped. “I can damned well get myself down again the same way.”

“You walked…” His eyes narrowed. Her attitude about hiking a second time set him off. “How long did it take you—two, three hours?” In his rage, he switched to Italian. “Do you realize how dangerous that was? How utterly stupid it was? What would you have done if you’d been injured or attacked?”

Kate advanced, met him toe-to-toe. “Since you arrived, you’ve been insulting my intelligence by pretending you care.” Her eyes became shards of ice. “Or just simply insulting my intelligence.” Brandishing the fork like a weapon, she waved it in front of his face. “And I’ve had it. I want you to leave. You did it once before without a backward glance. I’ll bet your technique isn’t so rusty that you couldn’t do it again.” She raised herself up on her toes, almost putting them nose-to-nose. “And I promise not to look.”

“You’ve got a smart mouth, Doc,” he snarled thickly, this time in English. Tossing his plate next to hers, he caught her wrist, took the utensil and threw it against the wall. He captured her flying fist with ease, before he pinned both arms behind her, pulling her body against him, hip to chest. “Let’s find another use for it.”

His mouth, hard and hot, consumed hers, causing her to gasp in surprise or anger. Roman didn’t care which. It was too late to stop, he’d tasted the spicy sweetness of her and his craving erupted into a rampage of hunger. He swallowed the gasp, slanting his mouth over hers, his tongue rough and insistent as he plundered the forbidden.

She quivered, flexed and then caved under the onslaught, her body going pliant while her teeth parted, allowing the unrelenting probing of his tongue. He growled and dove into the recesses of her mouth, stroking, petting—taking.

“Roman.” Kate tore her mouth away, her breath coming in pants. He slid his hands up under the loose sleeves to her shoulders, using the callused pads of his thumbs to soothe her.

“I’m here,” he murmured against the swollen curve of her lips. Then he skimmed his mouth down her jaw and explored the soft skin below her ear, savoring its sweetness. “And here.” Following the arch of her neck, he opened his mouth, tasting, suckling until he reached the base of her throat where he nibbled gently at its delicate hollow. “And here.”

She moaned, sending a vibration humming against his tongue before it shot down his body and exploded in his groin. “Feel for yourself,” he demanded, pleaded.

Obeying, she put her palms against his chest, flexing them in the thick hair, then curling her fingers against his heated skin and allowing her nails to scrape lightly over his nipples.

He shuddered and gathered her closer, his own painful groan mingling with hers at the contact of her thighs between his. He could feel the swell of her breasts beneath the slickness of the jersey. “No fermata, mi amore,” he rasped against her ear, his voice gravelly with restraint as he begged her not to stop. “I want it all.”

She stiffened against him, and he knew at once that her anger had resurfaced. She shoved herself away, staggering to the other side of the kitchen, her eyes shooting daggers from a face flushed with desire. “I’m not your love.” Her chest heaved with emotion. “And I won’t be a diversion.”

Roman gripped the counter on either side of his hips, taking several unsteady breaths to gain control. Better that than grabbing her to finish what they’d just started.

She hugged her arms over her chest, a self-protective move that sliced through him. Looking up at the ceiling, he gritted his teeth and ignored the pressure between his legs. Oh, he wanted her. He also wanted her to be loved unconditionally, to have children, to grow old with someone. Everything he couldn’t give her. “Doc, I had no right—”

“I agree,” she interrupted, her voice cool, the control back in place. “You don’t. Once, I gave you the right, but you handed it back.” Her chin tilted with an academic arrogance. “No, you did worse. You tossed it aside on your way out the door. I won’t give you the opportunity to do it again.”

She swung away. When she reached the bottom step to the loft, she stopped, not bothering to face him, her spine rigid, her hand curled tightly around the railing. “It was ridiculous of me to turn you down earlier. I’m not going to make excuses for my behavior, but I do apologize. If the offer for the ride is still open, I accept.” She started up the stairs. “But don’t expect me to thank you.”

His gaze followed her until the bathroom door closed with a quiet emphasis. He rubbed his hand over his chest, trying to ease the tightness. So much for the trusting approach.

KATE STEPPED from the shower, wincing when the cool air stung her heated skin. How could her emotions have gotten out of control so quickly?

She had scrubbed her lips with trembling fingers, washing away the last of his taste as she faced the harsh truth—she was no more immune to Roman now than she had been two years ago.

The humiliation swarmed over her, making her skin crawl. In spite of their past—the animosity she felt— Roman could still arouse her passion to a fever pitch, defying all logic.

It was difficult to believe that his kiss had been little more than a means to punish her. Then their lips met and she simply hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught of emotion that emerged.

If her instincts were right, neither had he.

With quick, jerky movements, she dried her body with a bath sheet, rubbing hard to erase the imprint of him from her skin.

If she hadn’t felt so safe and protected, she wouldn’t have given in to the raw passion that surged to the surface. But when his strong arms surrounded her and she felt the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat against hers, she’d folded into him.

Again.

Despite it all, she had to admit she was terribly relieved he’d shown up yesterday when he did. His presence made her feel less vulnerable, more secure.

Common sense told her the safest option would be to stay here with Roman until she could contact Cain. Still, could she trust Roman? And did she have the right to put his life in jeopardy? From what Marcus had told her on the phone, this Nigel Threader was a dangerous man. A man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill to get what he wanted.

Realistically, having an able-bodied male around gave the formula more protection. Roman was resourceful, intelligent and too chivalrous to turn away from a damsel in distress—or an ex-lover in distress, for that matter.

He was also connected. Most of Roman’s jobs were government contracts. It was very possible he would know someone who could be trusted enough to help her out of this situation.

Kate wrapped the thick bath sheet around her, anchoring it with a knot between her breasts and stepped onto the earth-toned tile.

A quick search in the bathroom cabinet produced a half-used tube of toothpaste. Smiling at her small discovery, she finger-scrubbed her teeth while studying her reflection in the mirror.

Grudgingly she admitted the drugged sleep had done its job. She looked much better than she had the day before. The dark smudges under her eyes were almost transparent against her skin. But the signs of stress remained, visible in the tightness around her mouth and the pinched area between her brows.

It wasn’t until she searched her eyes, finding the terror lurking in the depths of her pupils, that Kate made her decision. “You can’t trust him with your love,” she said to her reflection. “It will be up to you to keep your heart safe.” Tapping the mirror for emphasis, she ignored the smears of paste left on the glass. “But right now you’ve only one option if you want to save the world, and he’s downstairs.”

Five minutes later Kate pitched her beige skirt and matching vest into the bathroom wastebasket. The clothes were grimy, and too battered from her trudge up the mountain to be of any use. After a few minutes of scrounging in the bedroom closet, her search revealed only one other wardrobe choice—her brother’s frayed Naval Academy T-shirt, a pair of his sweats that had been cut off above the knee and an old, shriveled pair of ladies’ canvas shoes, a half size too big.

She tied the drawstring of the sweats tightly around her waist, rolled the cuffs, then donned the T-shirt and shoes. Her ponytail, tied with some extra string from her shorts, swished damply against her back as she descended the stairs.

After steadying herself, she noticed the unusual silence that filled the room. Uneasily she scanned the cabin.

“Roman?”

No answer. The nape of her neck prickled and her unease took a quantum leap.

“Damn it, Roman where are you?” she called, keeping her voice pitched low before heading for the kitchen. Empty.

Backtracking into the living room, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nervousness. He wouldn’t leave without letting her know, she was certain. Which meant he had to be outside.

She scolded herself for overreacting and reached for the doorknob, only to smile at her silliness when the creak of the porch steps echoed through the door. Certain it was Roman, she threw it open in relief. “You had me worried.”

But it wasn’t Roman. Fear, stark and vivid, swept through her.

“Dr. Katherine MacAlister?”

Two men, modestly suited, stood in the doorway, both looking ridiculously out of place on the cabin porch as they presented their badges and identification. Central Intelligence Agency.

Kate remembered to breathe.

The older of the two, a tall man with trim brown hair, removed his mirrored sunglasses. His blue eyes flashed with impatience. An impatience, Kate noticed, not revealed in the politeness of his next statement.

“I’m Carl Dempsey.” He nodded toward the whipcord-thin man to his side, and the faint scent of peppermint drifted toward Kate. “This is my associate, Robert Jackson. May we talk with you, Doctor?”

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but calm civility wasn’t it. “I’m not sure…” Kate grappled for an answer while her mind worked overtime. Where was Roman? Her gaze quickly swept the area behind the two agents, but he didn’t appear. A bead of sweat tickled her shoulder blade.

“We can understand your hesitancy, ma’am, but we have reason to believe your life may be in danger.” Jackson spoke, his voice liberally laced with a warm, Southern accent that matched his blond, boyish features. “Would it help to know we were sent by your brother Cain?”

She was stunned. “Cain?” Was it possible he’d found out about her situation and sent help? Like Roman, Cain’s business put him in a position of making friends with high government officials. He could’ve learned about her disappearance.

She had tightened her grip on the door, ready to slam it shut, but now she hesitated. If they were working for Threader, they wouldn’t be announcing themselves, would they?

For the hundredth time, Kate wished she had her mother’s talent for reading people at a glance. Unfortunately, Ian was the only one of the siblings that seemed to have inherited that particular trait.

Kate stared into Jackson’s deep, brown eyes searching for the truth, but when he met her gaze, she saw only sincerity in their depths.

“May we come in?” he asked again, quietly this time.

Sincerity and sympathy.

Nodding, Kate loosened her grasp on the door and stepped back, allowing both men into the living room. “I’m sorry about my hesitancy, gentlemen, but I have to admit this is a little too cloak-and-dagger for me.” The click of the door’s automatic lock triggered a low hum of disquiet along her spine. Kate carefully positioned herself between the agents and the door.

“We apologize for that, ma’am,” Jackson said, his voice showing respectful, Southern decorum. He moved to the center of the living room, taking everything in with a brief glance before he turned to face her.

“Just a minute ago,” he observed, “when you answered the door, it sounded as if you were expecting someone. Do you mind if I ask who it was?”

The hum picked up its tempo.

“My brother,” she responded immediately, knowing Roman was her only protection if these men were here to harm her.

“You’ve been in touch with him then?”

“No,” Kate struggled for an explanation. “I left word for him to meet me here if his schedule permitted.” She tossed her head back before pinning him with her best imitation of her father’s business persona. “Why?”

“As we said, your life is in danger, Doctor,” Dempsey interjected and walked to the window. He eased the curtain open, addressing his next statement to the glass. “We’re here to protect you.” His voice, absolutely emotionless, chilled her.

“Your brother has reason to fear that a mutual friend of yours, a Mr. Roman D’Amato, is not what he seems.” Dempsey paused for a moment while he continued looking outside. “He was right.” He let go of the curtain, leaving it open and swung around to her. “But then I’ve never known Cain not to be right when it came to situations like this.”

Slowly his gaze circled the room, his eyes searching, the look unreadable when it rested briefly on her before continuing. Kate gripped her elbows in an effort to stifle the urge to make him stop.

He did, finally, in front of the fireplace. “You know, Cain’s invited me up here on several occasions, but I never could seem to make the time.” He picked up the framed picture of her parents from the mantel. It had been taken the previous year, on their fortieth anniversary. “I wish the circumstances surrounding my first visit could be different.”

“You know my brother personally?” She raised her eyebrow, deliberately allowing some uncertainty to show in her face.

“Over five years now,” he responded absently, continuing to study the picture. “Handsome couple, your parents.” He smiled before putting it back, an easy good-ol’-boy smile that set Kate’s teeth on edge. “I haven’t had a chance to meet them yet.”

It was obvious Dempsey wanted her to believe that Cain and he were friends. Cain had many acquaintances but few friends. Her brother never allowed anyone, with the exception of family, into his inner sanctum of trust. As far as she knew, his only close friend was Roman.

As if sensing her suspicion, Dempsey continued. “We met when he was working on a security job for the Agency. Hit it off right from the start. He called me when he started to worry.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, furrowing her brow in feigned confusion. “Why is Cain worried about me?”

The men shared a subtle look before Jackson took over the conversation. Kate saw the pass, tough agent to sensitive agent, but chose to ignore it for now.

“Your brother told us about your history with Roman D’Amato, so this might be difficult to accept.” He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “Several weeks ago Cain started becoming suspicious of D’Amato’s business activities. At your brother’s request, we did a little digging. It turns out that the man you know as Roman D’Amato is a man the Agency’s been tracking for a few years now. He calls himself Cerberus.”

He pulled out a small notebook from inside his jacket and flipped to a middle page. “We also believe he operates under the aliases of Xavier Roman, René Arneau and Ramon Cordova. He’s wanted by our government, and several others, for selling illegal contraband to foreign countries.” After closing the notebook with a snap, he placed it back into his pocket. “He’s considered unstable and extremely dangerous.”

The hum rushed through her ears and the floor started to give way under Kate’s feet. She dug her nails into the backs of her arms to offset the shock.

“Contraband? Do you mean drugs?” This time she didn’t have to fake her confusion.

Her question had been directed to Jackson, but it was Dempsey who answered, his voice grave. “Weapons mostly. Some drugs.”

She was suddenly cold, as if her blood had stopped pumping. Roman? An arms dealer?

“Do you need to sit down?” Jackson asked the question, his concern apparent.

Yes, her mind screamed, but Kate shook her head, not trusting herself to speak yet.

They were lying. They had to be. Roman wouldn’t hurt her. Or would he? Logic conceded that his appearance could’ve been more than a coincidence, and his concern for her an act. Her heart contracted painfully against her mind’s reasoning.