Bearing It All (5 page)

She wrapped her hands around her mug of hot coffee. “I'm sorry. My peeking at you last night is exactly how I got in this awful mess at work. Even as a child, I had my nose in everything. I was one of those kids who searched high and low for the hidden Christmas presents. Once I found the gaily wrapped packages, I'd carefully open them, slowly so as not to tear the paper, and peek. I couldn't stand not knowing things.” She shrugged. “It's just how I am. I
have
to know.”

“Ye sound like our Colleen. She doesna miss a thing.”

“I'd taken a report into my superior's office. One I felt he should look at immediately. I saw a Post-it note on his monitor: ‘Check out latest video on Anisa's file.' I couldn't think of any flight testing I'd done recently or any new designs I'd come up with. So, what file could the writer mean? And it looked like Mitch Franklin's slanted scrawl.”

“Who's Mitch Franklin?” Ronan's eyebrows wrinkled and his eyes bored into hers.

“There were three CIA members in ICAT. Because America's the most powerful nation, they had the most members in the coalition. France had two. So did Germany and Great Britain. My immediate supervisor was American Todd Anderson. He and Mitch were close buddies. Their boss, Sebastian Wells, kept himself more distant. He used the chain of command to his advantage.”

“So, ye were in Todd's office when ye saw this note?” Ronan crossed his one ankle over his other knee and sipped his coffee. A slow grin spread. “How long did it take ye to open that file?”

“I needed his passwords to get into his computer files. So, I looked around his desk…”

“Meaning, ye snooped.” His sexy grin grew. The corners of his dark eyes crinkled, softening the planes and angles of his face.

The Scot was without a doubt a very handsome man and, at times, surprisingly jovial, which upped his rating on her sex appeal meter. She smiled and leaned toward him, twirling a strand of his honey-colored hair around her finger. “Yes, and I snoop
so damn
well.”

He exhaled a bark of laughter. “Oh, Frenchy, there's nay a doubt in me mind.”

“First, I tried his drawers, looked beneath them, too. Then, I studied the top of his desk and noticed the back of the frame of the picture of his children wasn't pushed all the way into the silver frame. I slid it out and found passwords taped to the inside of the faux-velvet backing. I copied them, put it back into the frame just as he had it, and hurried out of his office.”

Ronan held his coffee mug almost to his lips. “Nay wonder the CIA is pissed with ye. I bet their best spy couldna keep up with yer powers of observation. Ye are one smart woman.”

She was touched by his compliment. So touched, she wanted to lay a lip-lock on him. Oh, wouldn't the Scot sputter and swear over that? It would be better to keep telling her story now that she'd begun.

“I wanted to log on to Todd's files right away, but figured he'd have a program that would alert him when someone accessed his records. To be safe, I had to wait. He stopped by my office later to thank me for the report, said he and Mitch were going for a long lunch, and did I want to join them. At first I answered I did, then I snapped my fingers, and told him I forgot I had to call my mother about Sunday dinner. It was my sister's birthday and I wanted to ask what I should bring. Made a joke about having to answer mother's many nosy questions, like was I dating anyone. He laughed and said he understood.” She gulped her coffee. Sharing all of the rest would be difficult.

“Once I was sure they'd gone for lunch, I opened his files. Took me a while to find the right password for what I wanted. They had a file on everyone in the coalition except for the Americans and my French coworker, André Mouzon. My file had pictures and information about my family, my bank records, my charge card purchases, copies of my phone calls, and movies from cameras placed around my apartment.”

“Bloody hell, the numpties were spying on ye?” A glower quickly replaced his smile. His eyes narrowed, and damned if he didn't look dangerous.

She stared into her cup, giving herself a minute to gather her courage. “The latest tape Mitch had written the note about was of me in the shower with my dildo.”

Ronan slammed his coffee mug on the table. “The fokin' bastards. They were getting off watching ye naked in the privacy of yer own home. What the bloody hell did this have to do with drones?”

A bear roared and she jumped. “I know you said it was outside, but, mercy, it sounds like it's in the room with us. Don't bears hibernate in winter?”

“Depends on the species. Sometimes, the laws of wildlife change. Ye'll get used to it eventually.” He placed his arm across the back of the sofa and around her shoulders. “Now, back to yer work experiences. I can imagine ye felt betrayed by the bugs on yer phone and cameras in yer home.” His hand resting on her shoulder rose and tilted her head into the warmth of his muscled chest. He leaned his head against hers. “Violated by the verra people ye worked bloody hard fer.”

For the first time since this nightmare had begun, she sensed safety and protectiveness. Still, she knew this cocoon of his shelter wouldn't last forever. Nor should she expect it to.

“I'm betting a woman like ye woulda felt shame. Especially when ye'd done nothing wrong.” He kissed her hair. “But I'm also guessing ye were mad as fookin' hell, ready to kick arse and take bloody names afterward, fer ye're nay a pushover.”

She slid her arms around his neck. He got it. He got her deepest feelings—the range of her emotions. What an intuitive man he was. Even with his biteable ass.

“So I snooped further.”

“Aye, that's me lassie. I ken ye wouldna let anyone best ye.” His eyebrows rose in question. “What did ye do?”

“I wasn't sure how long they'd be gone for lunch, so I hurried to a computer store across the street and bought three storage sticks. I ran back and copied all the files, put them in a cardboard mailing envelope, and mailed them to a post office box I kept under another name and ID. I know enough about computers to make sure I'd erased my time on his, or so I thought. But nothing gets erased from a hard drive unless it's wiped clean.”

“So ye were caught?” He ran his hand up and down her spine and she wanted to purr.

“Eventually. When the computer tech guys did their routine sweep of our computers. By then, I'd received the data storage sticks and taken my laptop to a restaurant with Wi-Fi access.” She tipped her head back from his chest. “For all I knew, the CIA had a camera on the desk area in my apartment where I used my laptop. I couldn't let them see what I was looking at.”

He rubbed his knuckles from her cheekbone to her jaw. “Bloody hell, I love a smart woman. What did ye learn from the files?”

“They were only reporting part of the information I gathered to their superior.”

Ronan closed his eyes for a beat as if trying to recall all the names she'd tossed at him. “Sebastian Wells?”

“Yes. Not just my intel, but Israel's as well. Some of Britain's, too.”

He stiffened at this last bit of news. “Were they, now? And did ye figure out why?”

“I found bank accounts. Swiss bank accounts in Todd Anderson, Mitch Franklin, and André Mouzon's names.”

“Who is André Mouzon? The name sounds French.”

“It is French. He was my fellow countryman selected to ICAT. While his ideas for the drones were good, they were old school, lacking innovation. Innovation I'd only been exposed to in the United States schools I'd attended. André was a very hard worker.” She shrugged. “Just behind the times. He fought new ideas. I overheard him grumble about his ideas being ignored and how he wanted to move up in rank. So imagine my shock to find he was part of this conspiracy. I couldn't believe it and went over and over the intel to make sure I was interpreting it correctly.”

Ronan fingered one of her curls. “By the sadness in your expression, I can tell you were.”

She nodded and exhaled a deep sigh. “He was also included in the correspondence with Russia in code. It took me awhile and a lot of long nights, but I broke the code. They were telling
them
everything, but not the countries in the coalition. The more I dug, the sicker I became. Not only were they selling our secret operations to the Russians, but they had set me up as the bad person. The mole. They'd manufactured evidence to point in my direction and I couldn't figure out why. With what they had so diabolically contrived, I'd have had a hell of a time proving my innocence.”

Ronan embraced her closer and kissed her hair. “Fookin' good-fer-nothin' bastards with hearts as dark as the inside of the Earl of Hell's waistcoat. To betray one's country like that. To put a coworker in danger.” His muscles tensed as if they were a tightened coil, ready to spring. “Ye'll be safe here with me. We'll talk and figure out what ye want to do next. No harm will come to ye now.”

One long glance into his espresso-colored eyes and his square chin, rigid with determination and she snuggled closer. “Thank you for not judging me.” She kissed his neck and he inclined his head to embrace her face.

For several comfortable minutes, the only sounds in the cabin were their breathing and the fire crackling in the hearth. Outside, the winds howled like banshees. “The plane ye jumped from yesterday was one of those drones, wasna it?”

“Yes, one of my main jobs was to design a drone that could fly unmanned or with a pilot, small in stature. We can build drones the size of a fly, a dragonfly, a hummingbird, up to the size the public is used to seeing in the news. The size depends on the equipment the government wants on it. A simple camera. Facial recognition programming. GPS tracking. Tanks of lethal gas. All powered by solar panels, some minuscule, of course. Some larger, weighing more that require battery packs integrated with solar panels. And, thanks to my designs, which I hadn't thought through, a drone that can fly below radar, faster than the speed of sound, undetectable, and armed to kill.”

“But the radio announcer last night said you'd stolen an airplane.”

“Right. Because the coalition doesn't want it known what projects we've been working on, especially that one. So they're giving the news outlets false information, yet sticking my name in the middle of their contrived mess.”

Ronan leaned his head back. “No wonder the Russians would be interested in it.”

“I had to get away. I hated being watched at home. Sure, I could have removed the bugs and cameras, but then they'd have known I knew. So I packed my backpack with essentials I'd need to survive, a little each day so as not to arouse suspicion, knowing I was being watched by cameras. My final day at work was spent making adjustments to the biggest drone or pretending to. I checked it for tracking sensors, like I told you. I also removed some communication gear to lighten its weight.

“Then, I told them I was taking it for a test flight. Because I flew under our radar, they had no clue where I was or that I'd gone beyond our normal test run distances. I figured they'd think I would head south where the sun would be stronger, but I chose Scotland. Something about the Highlands has always intrigued me. I just never expected to parachute where I did and land on a bear.” Her hand fisted in his flannel shirt. “A freakin' huge bear, Ronan!”

He looked at her strangely. “How did ye escape it?”

“Hell, I was in such a sour-assed mood from being branded as something I wasn't and having to leave my family, I guess the bitch in me was in high gear. I yelled, screamed, and scared him off.”

The corners of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile. “I found GPS tracking devices in your helmet.”

She stood and started to pace. “So they do have an idea where I am. I need to get away from you. They'll kill you and think nothing of it.”

“Have ye looked outside? There's a bloody blizzard going on. This is yer safest spot for now. No one can drive in.”

She stopped pacing for a second. “But they could fly over us, use their heat-sensing equipment and detect two people in this cabin.” She pushed her dark hair back from her face. “
Mon Dieu,
you're the nicest man I've met in years and you might be killed because of me.”

Ronan stood and slowly approached. His gaze locked on hers as his hands encircled her neck. His rough fingers slowly and with the barest of touches trailed up her neck, over her jawline, and cupped her cheeks.

Every nerve ending in her body was on high alert. She trembled at his touch. Her panties were instantly wet. God, he knew how to stimulate a woman.

“Dinna fret, Frenchy. Between yer brains and hand-to-hand combat training and me natural skills, we'll be fine.”

She'd never accept being called a nickname by another man, but coming from this brawny Scot, it carried an endearing quality. He tucked two fingers under her chin and fisted his other hand in her hair, lifting her face to his. Then he leaned in and took command of her lips. Gentle nibbles at first, quickly turning to a kiss of power and possession. She moaned and his tongue took that opportunity to sweep in and take control. He was a Scot, teaching her how to French kiss.
Mon Dieu.
Had the world turned upside down?

Ronan's mind was abuzz with worry and primal sexual needs.

How could he keep this sweet lass safe from all the high-tech equipment at this international coalition's disposal?

He couldna recall ever desiring a woman—his French
Frenchy
—to the degree he did right at this moment. Dear God, he wanted her in every possible way—as a lover, a friend, a confidante, and as a partner. His lips still locked on hers, he backed her against the counter, set her sweet arse on it, and wrapped her legs around his hips. A gentle push and her groin was against his erection. Kiss after kiss, moan after groan, and grind after grind. He was slowly losing his mind.

Ronan kissed her a few quick times and planted a slow one on her forehead. “Guess I lost control. Ye've got enough on yer mind without dealing with me needs.”

The joyful arousal dimmed from her blue eyes. “Your needs. Not your desires or your affections. This is just about your needs. So, any woman could end up on this counter with her legs curled around your waist? It's not that you're attracted to me. Any female would do?”

Och shite, he'd chosen the wrong bloody thing to say. He just wasna used to talking to a female on a deeper level. Teasing, yes. Flirting, to a small degree. But not in a truly affectionate way.

Her fist made contact with his jaw before she shoved him away and slipped off the counter, wincing when she landed on the floor. She hobbled into the bedroom and, for the first time, it registered she'd been limping all morning. Had she injured her leg falling over that sharp stone last night?

He followed her into the sleeping alcove. She was curled under the blankets, only the tips of her dark curls were visible. “Anisa, what's wrong with yer leg?”

“Nothing. Go away.”

One thing he'd learned as a brother-in-law was when a woman said “nothing,” it most definitely meant
something.
He yanked the covers back and tried to jerk up one leg of her Lycra pants, but dried blood held them in place. She kicked while she cussed him.

“Dinna move, I'll be right back.” He strode into the bathroom and made a washcloth wet. Once he had her pants damp enough to be moved, he wiggled them above her knee. Her shin was bruised and had a bad cut on it.

Anger surfaced. “Why didna ye tell me about this injury last night?”

She tried to jerk her leg away from his touch. “It's nothing. I've been hurt worse before. Far worse.”

“Not around me, ye have'na. Take those pants off. Do ye have others to wear?”

She pointed to her backpack. “Jeans.”

“Good. I'll get some antiseptic and bandages.” He charged out of the alcove again. How much pain had she been in and not uttered one word of complaint? He ground his back molars. Not one feckin' word about her discomfort. How was he to take care of her when she hid her injuries from him?

They fussed and growled at each other while he took care of her wound. She needed three butterfly bandages and he wrapped her shin well so she wouldna bump it on something, causing her more pain. He reached for her jeans to try to help her into them and she made a fist at him. He backed away. For a woman, she packed a mean punch. “Take a nap. Maybe it'll improve yer mood.”

She scowled and all he could see was her trying to hide her vulnerability. “I don't need my mood improved. There's not a damn thing wrong with it.”

“Well, if ye ask me, then, ye need yer arse smacked.”

She stood in some kind of fighting stance, her feet spread and her hands curled into fists, and scowled—a sexy-as-hell sight in her Lycra top and red panties. “Oh yeah? You and who fuckin' else, buster?”

Sweet Jesus, he wanted to laugh; she was one scrapping woman. So feminine with all her delectable curves and yet so brave. What kind of man wouldna treasure such a female? “What did I do to set ye off? What did I say? One minute we were kissing and I didna ken about ye, but I was so feckin' turned on I nearly had sex with ye on the counter.

“Before every cell in me brain went up in sex-smoke, I considered all ye've been through of late. Bloody hell, the last thing ye need is a man ye barely remember pawing all over ye.” He reached to touch her face. “Anisa, ye are more valuable than a quick tumble. A woman as precious as ye deserves courting. So, I said something to cool things down a mite, which blew up in me face fer ye got hotter than one of the logs in the fireplace. Tell me what I did that was so wrong.”

“You know what you said.” Her lower lip pouched out and Lord how he wanted to suck on it.

Kiss. Apologize. Make her happy again.

Ronan wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her so they were eyeball to eyeball. “I dinna care how many times ye hit me, but I'm going to kiss ye. First, because I'm sorry I upset ye and, second, because I love the feel of yer lips, the taste of yer mouth, and the noises ye make in me arms. I dinna like having ye upset. It feckin' bothers me, so it does. And believe it or not, I've never responded like this to a woman before. I dinna ken what to do with someone who suddenly matters so much.”

Diamondlike tears rimmed the lower lashes of her eyes and he was lost. His one arm encircled her waist and clamped her to him. His other hand cupped the back of her neck and brought her face to his. With all the gentleness he could gather, he kissed away her tears. “
Frenchy
…lovely lady…sweetheart.”

These were all words he'd never said before. What scared him through every fiber of his being was he meant them. Ronan Colby Matheson had found a woman he cared about. A woman he'd opened his heart fer.

She wrapped her legs around him again and his hand slid down to her arse to discover she wore a thong. Her round bottom was firm and covered by the softest skin he'd ever been blessed to touch. Sweet Lord in heaven, how would he keep his hands off her? Did he want to?

On a slow pivot, he spread her on the bed and lay beside her. “If we lived near each other, I would woo you slowly.” He dragged his teeth along her jaw. “I would take ye to dances and movies.” He nipped her earlobe and she shivered in his arms. “Bring ye flowers and call ye late at night to hear all about yer day before we fell asleep.” He bit her neck and she moaned. “I would have ye to family meals and take ye fer long walks to talk and sneak a few heated kisses behind a tree.”

He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit it before he soothed it with his tongue. “I dinna open me heart easily, but with ye I suspect I already have.” He covered her lips with his and kissed her like he never thought possible to kiss a woman. She melted against him, fisted her fingers in his hair, and fried every synapse in his brain. And 'twas all clear. So clear it shook him to his alpha core. He kent he would kill for her. Or take the bullet so she would live.

Anisa trembled with desire and panic. She wanted this man, not just sexually, but in a permanent way, which was totally strange for her. With everything she had hanging over her head—all the danger she was in—she feared the growing condition of her heart even more. Dear God, she was falling into serious lust or a case of petite-love. Their renewed acquaintance was too soon for real and lasting love.

His large hands framed the top of her head. “I want to make love to ye in the worst kind of way. But I want ye to want it, too. We're going to be snowed in for several days. Let's talk, get to really know each other as if we were dating.”

“That would be nice. I do recall you as being
un homme d'honneur.
”

Ronan laughed and hugged her. “An honorable man? Me brothers and cousins would tell ye I can be overbearing at times. I dinna ken that's right, but if 'tis, I dinna want to be that way with ye. This may make me sound like some silly sod from a romance book, but ye make me want to be a better man. And isna that strange in so short a time? I just ken I dinna want to hurt ye in any way.”

He kissed her in a sensitive spot under her ear and she trembled. “I'm going out to wash our dishes now. Cover up and take a wee nap to allow yer shin to heal.” He kissed her again and she couldn't say a word.

He rolled out of bed, pulled the covers over her shoulders, and closed the heavy drapes, darkening the room, before he exited the alcove.

To calm herself, she focused on why the Highlands had always fascinated her. For some people, it was the Riviera or Venice. Her girlfriends at college dreamed of going to New York City or Texas to ride horses on a ranch. However, it was the rugged part of Scotland that called to her. There was a mysticism about it, which was so contradictory to her studied world of rigid facts and figures. She'd read many books about the history and geography of the Highlands. Pored over them so well, she knew where Mathe Bay was located when Ronan had mentioned it as he'd introduced himself.

He sang what she figured were some Scottish folk songs while he did the dishes. A soothing sound that soon relaxed her and settled her to sleep.

The odor of baked chicken filled the cabin as she woke. She twisted the knob on the light on the nightstand and crawled out of bed. The drapes quivered slightly as the winds howled outside. A shiver skittered over her skin. Reaching for her backpack, she removed clean clothing. After changing her underwear, slipping into a navy turtleneck and her jeans, she tugged on warm stockings.

Her attention slid to Ronan's bookshelves. He must be a voracious reader. Many books were worn and some barely touched. He had a wide variety: Robert Ludlum's Bourne series, Ian Fleming's 007 books, Sherlock Holmes, many volumes by James Patterson, the Navajo series by Tony Hillerman, Scottish fairy and folk tales, Scottish clans, British and American history.

She pulled down a book by James Patterson and the one on Scottish fairy and folk tales. Sitting near the fire and getting engrossed in a good story might keep her mind off her ineptness that had landed her in this present situation.

How arrogant she'd been, thinking she'd been so smart, so careful in planning her escape. Her nerves were near the fraying point and her raised heart rate pounded in her ears as she worked or pretended to work her last day at ICAT. Taking her time, she investigated the drone for tracking devices and had, in fact, found and removed three that weren't supposed to be there.

As the hours slowly ticked by, she'd worked hard at keeping to her regular routine, smiling, and responding at the correct times to coworkers' remarks, even though she wanted to crawl out of her skin. But never once had she thought about checking her flight suit or helmet for GPS tails. She should have. With all the training she'd been through, she should have.

But, in the interim, she was having such a hard time believing what they were doing to her. She got along well with everyone at work. Why? Why had they chosen her to betray, to put in such a terrible situation? It was a question she had asked herself over and over—with no answer to be found.

Now the coalition, both the bad and the good members, knew where she was, or close to the actual vicinity. Her best bet would be to pack up and leave. But with her having no additional tracking devices to locate her, how would they know she'd moved on? The last ping of the devices would show the vicinity of this cabin. How would her leaving keep Ronan safe? Because that's what she wanted—more than anything—to make sure this fantastic man stayed out of danger and alive.

She shuffled into the larger part of the cabin, and the clothes they'd laundered were hanging on hangers, stuck here and there around the big room to dry. Ronan was stretched out on the sofa and lowered the novel he was reading. “Ye dinna listen to orders very well, do ye?”

She bristled and tightened her grasp on the two books she held. “Orders? I don't recall hearing any orders from a superior officer.”

She stomped past the sofa to the chair by the fireplace. Ronan's hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. “When I told ye to take a nap, I was thinking of several hours. Not,” he glanced at his watch, “fifty minutes. I meant a long nap fer yer own good. Ye've had a rough few days. I'm only trying to keep ye safe, to help ye recuperate. Scottish men take care of their women.”

“Their women? Since when have I become your woman?”
Mon Dieu.
He was taking this macho bit a little too far.

His one eyebrow arched and a slow sexy smile spread as he gently tugged her a step closer. He locked his gaze on hers, turned her hand, and pressed a long kiss to her palm. The tip of his tongue touched her skin. Her eyelids fluttered shut for an instant and her nipples peaked. Well, there
was
that. She refused to think about how damp her thong just got. This man was too damn sexy for her to keep her wits about her. She eased her hand away. Perhaps a change in topic was in order.

“There are too many thoughts running through my mind to take a nap in the middle of the day. I thought maybe if I mentally crawled into a book, I could forget some of them for a while.”

“Aye. There's nothing like a good book to make ye escape yer troubles or a bad mood. Do ye want a blanket to snuggle under? The wind is bitching and screeching at the Highlands today, like a fishwife pissed at her man.”

He stood and brought over the quilt she'd snuggled under last night. He spread it over her torso and tucked it under her feet. “Do ye have a fondness fer hot chocolate? I was about to make a cup. 'Tis just as easy to make two.”

“Sounds lovely.” She glanced out the window. “The snow is blowing so hard, I can't distinguish your truck. In fact, I can barely see the end of the porch.”

Ronan moved around the small kitchen. “Aye. 'Tis a low-visibility day. I love storms like this.” He glanced out the window over the sink. “One feels like the Highlands are hugging ye with their massive strength, cocooning ye from the outside world, busy and loud place that 'tis. I'd be happy living here, but I'm needed at the lodge to help the family.” He sidestepped to the stove and began stirring.