Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 50

HE’D MISSED BIRTHDAYS, two Christmases and two New Year’s Eves, but he hadn’t missed his sister’s wedding. That had to count for something.

So he’d been slightly late and utterly filthy? His sister Lena had still slotted him into her wedding party without a moment’s hesitation, before turning back to the celebrant and marrying his best friend, Trig—Adrian Sinclair.

That had been several hours ago now. The wedding dinner plates had long since been cleared away and the dancing was now in full flow beside the lazy snake of an Aussie river, with spotlit red gums soaring into the night sky. Jared had tried to be there in spirit as well as in body. He’d smiled until his jaw ached. He’d danced with the bride and he’d teased the groom. He’d stood until he couldn’t stand any more, and then he’d sat beneath one of the big old gum trees, his back to the bark, and let the party happen around him.

It had to be mid-evening by now—with many of the guests gearing up to kick on well into the night. Jared, on the other hand, could feel the adrenalin seeping out of his body and leaving a bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. He needed to find a bed and lie in it for a few days, weeks, months … He needed to find a place to be, a place to stay.

Damon had offered the beach house, and, yeah, maybe that would work for a few days. But people had a habit of dropping by the beach house, and what Jared really wanted was to be alone.

He watched with faint interest as Trig headed his way with a woman in tow. She’d arrived about an hour ago and hadn’t seemed the slightest bit perturbed that she’d missed the wedding ceremony or the food. Not a guest, he surmised. He didn’t quite know what she was.

Immaculately dressed—he’d give her that. All class, with slender legs and a pair of high-heeled shoes that he figured had cost a small fortune. Both his sisters had gone through an expensive shoe phase. He recognised the look of them, even if he couldn’t recognise the brand.

The shoes stopped in front of him and he looked up, his head resting against the tree trunk, steadying him, holding him.

Up close, he could see that the slender athletic form he’d been admiring had more miles on it than he’d thought. Up close, he could see that whoever had put this woman’s face together had had one hell of a liking for the unusual. She had a wide, lush mouth that tilted up at the edges, and wide-set eyes that tilted up at the edges too. Her nose was small. Her brown hair was short and boyish. Her ears weren’t big, but maybe—just maybe—they stuck out a little.

Together, her features made up a whole that was too odd to be classically beautiful and too arresting to be ignored.

‘Jared, I want you to meet Rowan Farringdon,’ Trig said. ‘The new Head of Counter-Surveillance, Section Five.’

Section Five. Jared tried to get his brain to work. Section Five was Eastern Europe, and when he’d left two years ago it had been headed up by Old Man Evans. Hard to say if she was going to be an ally Jared could use or not.

Probably not.

‘Your reputation precedes you, Mr West.’

Her voice came at him gravel-rough, with just enough honey at the edges to keep things interesting. She bent lower; she had to if she wanted to get a good look at his face.

‘You’re not as pretty as I’d been led to expect.’

‘Give me time. Bruises fade.’

She smiled at him then, careless and casual, and that smile …

That smile was a weapon.

‘Your sister suggested that you might want a lift up to the house. I have a car here.’

He’d noticed it. Black. Sleek. Probably armour-plated.

‘Why all the security for a wedding?’ He’d noticed them—of course he had. Fully a quarter of the guests here tonight were Special Forces and plenty of them were packing. As was the woman standing in front of him.

‘You know the answer to that one, cowboy.’ She smiled again, more gently this time. ‘We’re here for you.’

‘You’re not my section head.’

‘And for that I am truly grateful. You’ve made quite a mess. Bravo. But the fact remains that we’re here to take you to Canberra and make sure nothing untoward happens to you along the way.’

‘Give me the weekend and I’ll go willingly.’

‘Mr West …’ It was a murmur shot through with indulgence. ‘We’re giving you tonight, and for that you should be grateful. You were due back two years ago.’

‘Sorry I’m late.’ Jared shot her a lazy grin, just to see if it would annoy her. ‘You’re young for a director.’

‘I’m forty years old and cunning as an outhouse rat.’

She was ten years older than him.

‘Like I said …’

Her laugh came low and unfettered and slid straight into the number one spot in the list of things he needed to make this woman do again.

‘Don’t underestimate me, Mr West. And I won’t underestimate you.’

‘Call me Jared,’ he murmured, and then he caught Trig’s sudden alertness and switched his attention to his oldest friend—who was now his brand-new brother-in-law.

‘Jared …’

Trig looked faintly amused—or was it resigned? Maybe Trig had ESP, or maybe he’d simply known Jared so long that he could read every twitch, but somehow Trig had sensed his interest in this section head with the funny face and the whisky voice and the smile that was a weapon.

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘Really bad idea.’

‘I’ve had worse.’ Jared turned his attention back to the director and smiled.

Rowan Farringdon wasn’t slow on the uptake. ‘Listen to your friend, Mr West. I’d chew you up and spit you out before breakfast.’

‘I wouldn’t complain.’

‘Oh, but you would.’

Did the woman’s lips never stop tilting towards a smile?

‘If I get in that car with you am I going to end up at the farmhouse or in debrief?’

‘At the farmhouse for tonight. I give you my word. You don’t have to be in debrief until ten past nine tomorrow morning.’

‘Any idea what they plan to do with me after that?’

Her expression grew guarded and in that moment he got a glimpse of the razor-sharp politicking that could make a woman section head at forty.

‘I dare say that’ll depend on the way you play your cards from here on in. You can play? Right?’

He was handsomer than she’d expected, thought Rowan—and she’d expected a lot. His body was big, and brutally honed for fighting, and the close-cropped black hair on his head only added to his formidable air. In contrast, his face could have graced billboards or movie screens, and his mouth had a ripeness to it that would leave lovers dreaming for just one more taste. Great jawline and cheekbones—and eyes that had seemed soft and liquid-bright whenever he looked at his sister, but were sharp and assessing now.

This was the man who’d singlehandedly destroyed a hundred-billion-dollar illegal arms empire. Singlehandedly exposed a line of rot within the anti-terrorism unit he’d worked for that had stretched all the way to a sub-director’s chair. The fallout had been spectacular, and there was fierce debate as to whether there was still more to come—whether he’d withheld information … saved the best until last.

She would have.

‘Mr West, let me drive you up to the house and have a doctor take a look at you. My men are taking bets on how many ribs you’ve broken and whether or not you’ve lost your hearing. Odds are three to one at the moment that you’re simply a very good lip-reader.’

‘They just want to look at my lips.’ Jared West let his lips curve into that lazy smile again. ‘I get that a lot.’

‘I’m sure you do. And I’m sure you use it to your best advantage.’ She let her gaze linger on the lips in question, because they really were that good, but after a slow count to three she stopped and snapped her gaze back to his eyes. Control. She had it and she fully intended to keep it. ‘The fact remains that we’d like someone to take a look at you.’

‘Is that an order?’

‘Do you take them?’

He smiled again. ‘From you—I might.’

‘You could use a Taser on him?’ Trig suggested. ‘That might work.’

‘I could, but he looks rough enough already. If I killed him there’d be paperwork.’

‘Director, would you mind if I had a word with the groom in private?’ asked West.

He tried to make the words sound like a request—he did give her that. But he expected her to grant his request. That much was very clear.

Rowan wasn’t going anywhere until she’d figured out his health status.

‘Try over by the river,’ she suggested. ‘It’s private there.’

‘It’s private here.’

‘Mr West.’ Gloves off, then, and to hell with protecting his ego. ‘How about you stand up and prove to my people that you can still walk?’

His chin came out. His gaze was all fierce challenge—no weakness in it at all.

‘I can walk.’

‘I’d like to see that.’

But he didn’t get up.

Pride was a bitch.

‘See that he gets to the house. We’ve a doctor waiting for him.’

Rowan didn’t wait for Trig’s reply before heading towards her car. She knew what it was going to cost West to get moving again. She’d been monitoring his movements ever since Antonov’s super-yacht had blown up. The trail of destruction he’d left in his wake and his relentless drive to get home in time for his sister’s wedding had been truly spectacular. No sleep for the past fifty hours and he was beyond exhausted—his body was struggling to hold him upright.

The only thing keeping him upright was willpower.

This was a man who’d been streamed for command from the moment he’d taken his first special intelligence service entry exam. He’d excelled at every position they’d ever given him. And if you counted his time with Antonov as solo dark ops work, he’d excelled at that too. She’d been expecting a pretty face atop a fierce intellect—a will of iron and a predisposition towards making trouble.

She wasn’t disappointed.

‘Great walk,’ Jared murmured as he watched her walk away, all confidence and sway. And he still liked her ears.

‘Can you walk?’ Trig wasn’t going to be distracted.

‘I think so. I just can’t get up.’

Trig held out his arm and Jared grasped it—high near the elbow, a climber’s grip. Next minute he was standing, and gasping, trying not to pass out or throw up or both. Two harsh breaths after that Lena materialised beside him, swathed in wedding dress white, with her hand wrapped around his other upper arm to keep him balanced.

‘You’re heading up to the house?’ she wanted to know.

‘In a bit.’ There was the small matter of having to get there on his own two feet to consider first.

He could walk.

Couldn’t he?

‘Use the bed in the master bedroom.’

‘You mean your bed?’ Their wedding bed? Unlikely. ‘Yeah—no. Pretty dress. Maybe you should step back a bit.’

She didn’t, and he bit down hard on his nausea. Lena never had been inclined to do as she was told. She was a lot like him in that regard. Instead she stepped up into his space, put a hand to his cheek and studied him with worried eyes.

‘You look awful. Like you’ve been through hell to get here. Tell me you’re not going back?’

‘I can’t tell you that, Lena.’

She got that stubborn set about her jaw that boded well for no one.

‘Got some cleaning up to do,’ he offered gruffly. ‘Nothing too strenuous.’

‘Do you still have a job?’

‘Could be I’m not flavour of the month.’

Trig snorted.

‘What did the director say?’ asked Lena next.

‘That we’re leaving tomorrow.’

‘Did she tell you that there’s a doctor waiting up at the house to check you over? She called for one two minutes after she laid eyes on you.’

‘Women will fuss.’

‘Don’t you dare lay that line on me. Or on her, for that matter. If I’d walked into your wedding looking like you do you’d have dragged me to the hospital two minutes after I arrived.’

‘I’m going,’ he muttered. ‘Stop looking at me as if I’ll break.’

‘I had a year of people looking at me like that.’

‘I didn’t look at you like that,’ he protested faintly.

‘Yeah, because you weren’t here.’

‘I’m here now. Lena.’

It sounded like a plea. It was a plea. For mercy. For absolution. And she really needed to step away from him soon—before he ruined her dress.

‘I’m going. I’ll find a bed. Do whatever the good doctor says.’ He covered her hand with his own and leaned into her touch. A moment of weakness—a tell for those watching. And there were plenty watching this little exchange. ‘I’m going. I was just enjoying the party, that’s all.’

He took one breath and then another. Stepped forward.

And the world went black.