Dark Cover (The DARK Files #2) (6 page)

Celia cast an anxious look at her assistant. “For the screens and the friezes, the more ornate cabinets, the market is specialized.”

“Alexei knew how to bring in certain buyers.” Emil drummed his manicured nails on the brass table. A slight, dapper man in a bow tie, his Greek extraction totaled his only kinship with Nick.

“Danielle and I are slated to attend a reception at the Washington Cultural Museum on Friday,” Nick said. “Networking could line up more prospects for the business.”

“If I could make the buying trips to the Orient that he used to do, new imports might breathe new life into the business.” Celia sat still as ivory on a blue brocade chair, with her folded hands in her lap. Her knuckles gleamed white.

Nick’s hands on his knees looked relaxed, but a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Ms. Chin, it’s too late for that. Selling is the only option. In the meantime, I’ll write up that reference for you. For you both.”

Vanessa ducked from view. Time to retreat.

All five employees — the clerks and warehouse attendants as well as the managers — were wound as tightly as the antique clock on the wall. No evidence tied them to Alexei’s nefarious dealings, but they bore watching.

The background report said that after Alexei had disappeared, Nick paid the utilities and the housekeeper. He also kept the import business afloat, but he refused to do anything to keep it flourishing. He wanted out.
Why?

His international restaurant supply company was diverse. This was just another kind of import business. With a little effort, it could be profitable again. Why was he so determined to sell? Was he as rigid and inflexible as Danielle had said?

Or was it something more?

***

After the shop closed and the employees left, Nick found Vanessa reading through Alexei’s business e-mail.

Her freckled nose wrinkled as she studied something obscure. Her hair seemed to contain the sun’s rays even under the office’s ugly fluorescent lighting. If he ran his fingers through the fiery waves, would they feel cool and silky or would their heat warm his hand?

Idiotic thoughts like that had kept him away from her over the weekend. Damn, but he thought he’d hardened his internal armor against her gentle warmth. What was it about her wholesome beauty that drew him so?
Studying the business’s books and chatting up the employees, she played the role of Danielle well today.

Except for her personality.
Other than her red hair, he could see why DARK had chosen her. The employees talked to her easily. All she had to do was ask a simple question here, make a comment there, and they blathered away. Her skill at drawing them out amazed him.
From the snatches of conversation Nick overheard, he inferred their complaints were endless.
About him.
For them, he hated to close up shop, but keeping reminders of Alexei’s filth was like being flayed alive daily.

“Didn’t DARK and the cops go through those e-mails ten times already?” he asked.

Turning, she rolled her shoulders. The movement lifted her breasts against the soft fabric of her beige linen dress.

Heat kindled in his blood.

She laughed, a cynical chuckle.

The sensual sound stoked the flame.

“I’ve found nothing new yet, mostly chitchat about
objets d’art
I know little about. But I can’t help myself. In there, in that extravagant office is where he choked a man to death. I was part of the unit that trapped and captured Alexei, and I want closure.”

“I want closure too. I want this damned mess out of my life!”
Damn Alexei!
Nick slapped the door frame.

She rose from the swivel chair and placed a hand on his forearm. Muscles bunched at her warm touch. Her sorrowful gaze tugged at him.
“I’m sorry, Nick. That was thoughtless. I shouldn’t have spoken so coldly about your brother. No matter what he did, his death is a tragic loss to your family.”

He turned, breaking the physical contact, but not the spell she wove over him. He strode into the showroom. There he had more space, more control.
Stopping beside an ivory chess set, he lifted the black queen’s knight. “What do you know about my family?”

Great. At last Nick is talking.
Vanessa threaded her way through the display cases to him. Strangely nervous now that they were alone in the shop, she circled her index finger on the white king’s crown.

“I know what the DARK file contained. Your father, Dmitri Markos, was a merchant marine captain for a Greek freighter line before he retired to his villa in Greece. You’re the oldest of his three offspring, by his first wife.”

“My mother was Spanish. Zita died when I was two. I grew up in Brooklyn, Athens and Marseilles.”

“Sad to lose a parent at such a young age. But Alexei’s mother came into the picture a year later, I believe.” She waited quietly, her hand cradling the king. She rubbed the smooth ivory as if it were a worry stone.

“Father is never long without a woman.” He lifted his gaze from the carved figure and dropped the queen on her side.

She approached, willing her gaze to reach inside him, to grasp what demon knotted him up. “Each child had a different mother. You, then Alexei. You have a half sister, Mikela, who lives with your father and his third wife.”

“After the divorce Alexei lived with his mother. He visited when Father was home. He was the spoiled son, and I was the responsible one. We were too… We were opposites.”

She lifted her chin, caught by his emotion, but not afraid. He seemed to surround her, filling her with his intense gaze, with his heat and male scent.
“What are you trying to tell me?”

Unnamed turmoil swirling in his stormy blue eyes, he clasped her shoulders. For support or in frustration, she didn’t know. His grip was tense and firm, but not painfully so. The force of his emotion trembled through her as though an earthquake swept them up.

He was going to kiss her. Her pulse raced.

But she must’ve been mistaken. His expression hardened as he seemed to subdue his internal tempest.

“I’m saying your expressions of sympathy are misplaced. Alexei trafficked with terrorists and committed two murders. He deserved what he got. If my father knew the truth about his precious, pampered son, it would kill him. The only tragic loss I grieve for is our family honor.”

***

Nick lay awake in the dark, staring at the white ceiling. He had to get a grip. What was it about that woman that brought out the worst in him?

Her unwanted sympathy had only exacerbated his self-loathing for being glad Alexei was gone. First he vented his temper by grabbing her. Then nearly succumbed to the urge to kiss her until neither one could stand. At the last moment, he reined himself in.

She was going to be here for weeks as his fiancée.
His fiancée, for God’s sake.

In public he had to treat her as that. In private he had to pretend he still had a damn fiancée and deal with her in a businesslike manner.

Danielle was safe. Stopping New Dawn was the goal. Punishing the damn murderers. Maybe he could let go of his anger once the Markos name was cleansed. Maybe.
Closing his eyes, he began consciously relaxing his muscles, focusing inward, calming himself. He was aware only of the faint moonlight leaking between the curtains, of the banjo clock ticking, of the lemon tang of furniture polish.

Of the footsteps on the stairs.

Muscles taut, he rolled out of bed.

Had New Dawn infiltrated the house without the alarm’s warning? Where the hell was DARK surveillance?
He glanced at the portable security monitor. No breach. The damn thing thought everything was secure.

Then who was sneaking around the house?

Holding his breath, he opened the door a crack. From the master suite, he had a clear view of the staircase and the hallway to the other upstairs rooms. High windows let in enough moonlight to illumine movement in the dark.

A dark-clad figure reached the top step and stopped. Apparently listening.

Hell. DARK should be handling an intruder. Not him. A damn failure who’d sent men to their deaths.
But he couldn’t let them take Vanessa.

The figure took a tentative step. He turned to go down the hall.

Nick lunged and grabbed him in a choke hold.

The guy heaved a kick at his knee.

Nick twisted enough to deflect the worst of the blow. He yanked the intruder’s right arm behind his back.

Then reality hit him. Small. Soft, sweet scent. Hell.

Vanessa.

He relaxed his grip.

A foot behind his calf sent him tumbling. At the last moment, he took her with him, and they fell to the hardwood floor together. He managed to take the brunt of the impact before rolling and trapping her beneath him. He pinned her hands beside her head.

“Van— Danielle! It’s me.”

She twisted beneath him. Soft, rounded curves rubbed against him. With every stroke, the friction made him harder.

“Nick! Why did you tackle me?”

“Why are you skulking around in my house?”

“I wasn’t
skulking
. Snow and I did a perimeter check.”

“Danielle wouldn’t be out there in the wee hours.” Danielle wouldn’t be here at all. He shouldn’t be here either, plastered against this delectable woman who thought he was engaged to another. Maybe he should tell her the truth.

Another wriggle. This one was an attempt at a shrug. “I needed to know the layout. A little night work. It didn’t blow my cover. I apologize if I woke you.”

Hell. He nearly groaned. If he confessed his broken engagement now, she wouldn’t believe him. It was a bad idea anyway. The artificial barrier between them should remain.

A tangled web. “I wasn’t asleep.”

She wore a commando-style jumpsuit, thin and clinging to her curves. With each panted breath, her breasts rose and fell against his bare chest. Autumn leaf and dew scents mingled with her unique fragrance.

If he lowered his head, he could bury his nose in her hair. Or taste the soft skin on her neck.
Or kiss her.
And find respite from his torment.
“You have that little mic turned on?”

“No. Why?” The breathy tone said she knew the answer.

If he thought any more, he’d remember why he shouldn’t do what he longed to do.

So he didn’t think.

VANESSA COULD SEE little of his face in the dark. She didn’t need vision to know his intent.

Although the danger of attack had receded, adrenaline hyper-powered her senses. Every pressure point where his muscled body touched hers tingled — fingers, arms, breasts, belly. Desire rolled off him in waves. Her erratic heart thumped in time with his so they seemed to possess a single heartbeat. Awareness burned into her, melting her very bones.

“Nick,” she whispered, her mouth as dry as sand, “this is a bad idea.”

“I know.”

The deep velvet of his voice thrilled through her. He lowered his head. His chiseled mouth took hers with surprising warmth and softness. As he savored her with his lips, his tongue, his entire body, passion built to the same burning intensity with which he did everything.

She felt feminine and desirable, consumed by his passion.
I can’t. This is wrong. Not this man.
Common sense managed barely a whisper, but her body fairly shouted.
Let go. Let the feeling take you.

His heat poured into her body, rich and drugging, and she yearned toward him as she tasted and savored. His kiss, powerful and thorough, claimed her as his own. His hand skimmed the length of her throat and her cheekbones.

Was that her voice murmuring pleasure against his mouth? She was aware only of him, of him surrounding her with his scent and intensity and hardness.

He pressed gentle kisses to the corners of her lips, to her temples, then pulled away. “Ah, Vanessa, I knew you’d be hot like this. Night work with you should mean tangled sheets, not tackling terrorists.”

When he brushed his thumb across her lower lip, moist and still yearning, she realized her hands were free, had been free for some time. She was clinging to his shoulders — his broad, naked shoulders. As he rolled away from her, her fingers slid, bereft, against muscle and bone. He was breathing as hard as she.

Willing herself to resist the chemistry between them, she scooted away. She pushed to her feet on legs made rubbery by desire.
Her heart raced as though she’d just completed a marathon. In a way she had.

She shook her head. “No night work for us. No distractions that could jeopardize the mission. There can be nothing between us. I gave in to the heat of the moment. I admit it. But how can a man who puts so much stock in honor forget he belongs to another woman?”

“Apparently I need reminding.” He rose to his feet as fluidly as the panther he resembled in the shadows. He padded on bare feet into the faint light cast by the gallery windows.

She let her gaze skate over layered slabs of muscle and a flat belly dusted with dark hair that trailed down to the waistband of his pajama bottoms. The thin silk outlined his corded thighs and rampant masculinity.

Ye gods, she knew his pajamas were silk because she’d run her hands down his sinewy back to his taut butt.
Desire slammed her again, and her mouth went dry.

“I’m going to pull on some sweats and have a brandy. Join me downstairs?” He disappeared into his room and left her alone to decide.

Was he giving her a gentle out? Or was he so supremely confident of his appeal that he knew she’d agree?
She shouldn’t. If she knew what was good for her, she’d toddle off to her cool sheets and barricade the door.
To keep herself in, not to keep him out.

He was rich and influential, a man women threw themselves at, a man used to having anything and any woman he wanted. He didn’t want her. Not really. Attraction, at least on his part, was due to proximity.

She’d spoken the bald truth. Intimacy could jeopardize the mission. The larger mission of trapping the New Dawn leader and her secondary mission of making sure Nicolas Markos stayed on DARK’s side. Her personal mission of staying out of his life. And keeping him out of hers.

Intimacy would compromise her impartiality and her emotions. Emotions blurred the line between an unwanted masquerade and her identity. Was she too burned out from all the deception to keep her emotions in check?
Emotions, sensations, drives were sure running amok inside her at this very moment. Her belly quivered with unfulfilled need. Her heart bloomed with foolish hope. And her soul longed for what could not be.