Dark Cover (The DARK Files #2) (7 page)

Damn the man for being walking temptation.

He was engaged, for God’s sake. What kind of man hit on one woman when he was promised to another? So what did his indiscretion mean? Would her male colleagues see it as another reason to suspect Nick’s integrity? No, not guys who constantly thought with their anatomy.

If he tended to forget he belonged to another, she wouldn’t. She didn’t poach. She wasn’t that kind of woman.
But she’d use her resentment and latch on to suspicion as a talisman to protect her. The flutter in her stomach told her she needed all the protection she could muster. The list in her mantra was growing.
Suspicion. Detachment. No intimacy.

If she knew what was good for her… She did, but this wasn’t about her.

She’d go have that brandy. For her reasons, not his. Wasn’t she bemoaning the fact that he wasn’t talking to her?

Earlier he’d exploded with anger at his brother. Raised in many ports of call by a Greek ship-captain father, he had an old-world view of honor.
That outburst wasn’t nearly enough of a peek at what made him tick. She needed a cozy chat to open him up about his life, his business, his family.
Cozy, or intimate? Didn’t intimacy lead to confiding? No, she’d stick to cozy.

Suspicion. Detachment. No intimacy.

Sure.

***

Nick left his room a few minutes later, dressed in a gray T-shirt and sweatpants but barefoot. He found the hallway dark and empty. No light beneath Vanessa’s door.

Damn.

He’d gone too far and chased her away. Already in bed and done with him.

She was too professional to be snared by his impulsive seduction. Once he’d felt her beneath him and sensed the same elemental need in her, his blood surged with such need he was barely able to stop. He was thankful her breathy moans threw him back to reality or he’d have taken her there on the hall floor.

She was right that anything between them might endanger their operation.
How ironic that Vanessa believed he’d beggared his honor to cheat on his real fiancée with his pretend one. That was something he’d never do if he were still engaged.
He could tell her the truth. Let the chemistry sizzle between them. See where it led… But she was a capable, experienced government officer. Why would she want a former soldier with a shameful disaster in his past?

Besides, any hint that he lied might arouse suspicions and endanger Danielle. Might endanger the entire operation. Better to ice down his libido. His relationship with Vanessa would be professional only.

But damn, somehow, holding her had eased his grief and anger. Her sweetness both soothed and aroused him.
Hell. He stomped down the stairs.

He stopped in the doorway of the formal living room. A single brass lamp burned on an end table. Vanessa sat curled up on a red brocade-upholstered wing chair. She still wore the black jumpsuit, and now he could see the thin fabric hugging her body. Her hair was tied back in a braid, with small curls at her temples.

His heart kicked from exasperation to pleasure that she hadn’t run to her room after all.
“Ah, good, you’re here. A man shouldn’t drink alone at this time of night.” He rubbed his hands together and strode to the Chinese puzzle chest that served as a liquor cabinet.

“I decided brandy would help me sleep after my little adventure.”

He turned to her with raised brows and a sly grin he couldn’t prevent.

“Outside.” Cheeks turning pink, she hurried on. “My little foray with Snow. To check the perimeter.”

All right. He’d flustered her.
Grinning, he pushed the correct sequence of inlaid ivory leaves on the cabinet front, and the doors opened, revealing decanters and bottles on a shelf. “I had to talk Alexei into giving me the code to this thing.”

She chuckled. “I’m surprised he told you.”

“So am I. A secretive and possessive son of a bitch.” He selected a bottle of Benedictine and two glasses. “My half brother had his faults, but he knew good liquor. I think you’ll like this better than brandy.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the snifter with its serving of dark amber liquid.

He sprawled on the curve-backed sofa, the only comfortable piece in the room as far as he was concerned, and tossed the decorative pillows. He sighed as the liqueur slid smoky warmth down his throat. He watched her as she took tentative sips.

A careful woman. Both restraint and pleasure at the alcohol’s effect. She’d like to be spontaneous, but her professional training — and something else — prevented her from letting go. Intriguing, but he should let it pass.

Professional only, remember?

“I have to tell you about the perimeter check.” She started to set her glass on the end table, but instead clutched it in her lap. Her features stayed calm, but excitement glittered in her eyes.

Taken aback, he sat more erectly. Hell. She’d returned from facing danger, and he jumped her bones. “Something happened. Are you all right?”

The flutter of one hand waved away his concern. “We found a breach in the fence.”

“Where?”

“Southwest corner — back corner — behind the overgrown shrubbery. The fence backs onto a park with more shrubbery. Someone sawed partway through the boards. That’s it so far.”

“A point of insertion not likely to be discovered under normal circumstances. What will you do?”

“The techs have set up another camera and some motion sensors. All we can do now is wait. Snow and the others will snatch whoever comes in.”

“Not you.” He mentally heaved a sigh of relief and swallowed a long gulp of Benedictine. Not the best way to enjoy the fine liqueur, but he wanted its punch.

She smiled. “Not me. I’m the target. Remember?”

“Sometimes it’s harder to sit in the background unable to take part in the action.” He knew firsthand what torment that inflicted.

“Yes, you feel anxious and helpless though you’re not responsible for that aspect of the operation.”

“Or you are responsible and still you can do nothing because it’s too damned late!”

His hand clenched, shattering the glass. With a ringing pop the bulbous bowl flew apart in a fireworks starburst that sprinkled tiny crystal shards and amber droplets onto the sofa and Oriental carpet.

“Damn!”

“Are you hurt?” Vanessa flew to him and grabbed his hand.

Blinking away the memory, Nick looked down at his hand. He felt no pain, but blood welled from the pad of his thumb where a needlelike shard protruded. He dropped the rest of the glass’s stem and plucked out the offending sliver. “Looks like I am. I’ll go take care of this.”

She clucked and tsked at him, herding him to the other end of the sofa. “Here, scoot down this way, away from the broken pieces. You’ll cut your bare feet.”

Once he was vertical, she cradled his wounded thumb in her small hands. Her warmth and gentleness seeped into him. “Let’s get this cleaned out and disinfected.”

He wanted to yield, to let her pamper him, but she was not going to bandage him like a little boy who’d fallen off his bike. He’d already allowed her to glimpse too much of his private pain. Coddling him would mean more intimacy. Intimacy meant questions.
He firmed his mouth. “A minor cut. Nothing. I’ll manage.”

Her expression flashed from concern to hurt, then recognition. Recognition of what, he couldn’t fathom. What did her perceptive green eyes see? He almost caved and let her nurse him.

She released him, her expression neutral. “Yes, you go ahead and bandage that. I’ll clean up this mess.” She turned and strode down the hall toward the kitchen.

Uncertain, he stood in the same spot for a moment. What the hell just happened? One minute, she’d been Nurse Vanessa, all mother-hen worry and kiss-it-make-it-better tenderness. The next she couldn’t wait to get away from him. Did she see his determination? Or did she remember that they ought to steer clear of togetherness?

Shaking his head, he padded toward the stairs.

She emerged from the back of the house with a hand vacuum, broom and dustpan. “Nick.”

He halted on the second step.

“Before you come back down, put something on your feet. In case I don’t find all the bits of glass.” With that she breezed into the living room.

She cared after all. Unaccountably pleased, he took the stairs two at a time.

***

After clearing away the broken glass, Vanessa stowed the cleaning tools in their places in the utility closet and returned to the living room. What had just gone on? What torment built to critical mass inside Nick?

It wasn’t about his half brother. Not this time. All that anguish about responsibility and helplessness sprang from another source. Add his sardonic comment about not being a hero, and it had to stem from his military service. Some hidden trauma.

Well hidden.

Nothing in his file was suspicious. Whatever happened churned inside him. His emotional reactions might affect this mission, so she needed to know. Pulling it out of him would mean delicate moves on her part. He’d already raised new barriers against her seeing his physical pain.

Many times she’d seen the same tight jaw and closed expression on her brothers when they came home from basketball or soccer games with cut eyebrows or banged-up shins. The male code: show no pain; show no weakness. Her mom ignored their protestations and cuddled them anyway. Stoic Troy endured the pampering, but Jason, ever the luxury-loving baby, milked it for all it was worth.

Vanessa figured Nick to be more the stoic type. Except for that inner volcano that erupted just now.

Besides, treating his cut in the closeness of the master bathroom might have been dangerous in another, more personal way. No, she’d wait here for another window into what made Nicolas Markos tick.

“Danielle,” Nick yelled from upstairs.

She hesitated a second at the unfamiliar name, then smiled at his putting her in her undercover identity. She scurried into the hallway. “Problem?”

He appeared at the railing, a washcloth pressed to the injured thumb. “Yes, dammit. The cut’s deeper than I thought, and I’m too right-handed to do much with my left. I need your assistance after all.”

With a nod, she started toward the stairs.

“Would you bring me another drink on your way up?”

To his suite. His bathroom.
His bedroom.
Her face heated at the possibilities.

“On second thought,” he called, “bring the bottle.”

She was a professional. She could handle this situation. He wanted the drink for medicinal purposes. And a little more liqueur might ease the tension humming along her nerves. But no, if she hoped to elicit more from her complicated companion, she needed all her wits and defenses about her.
She collected the bottle and
one
snifter before climbing the stairs.

The master suite was every bit as decadent as she remembered from her quick tour with Snow. A bedside lamp illuminated a mirrored ceiling, silken covers and drapes and an ankle-deep white carpet.
Averting her gaze from the rumpled jade-green sheets on the two-acre bed, she looked beyond to the sitting area, which led to closets and a dressing room as big as her studio apartment. A few days’ worth of newspapers littered a sea-green upholstered settee. A tray laden with dirty dishes sat on a small table.

So that was where he retreated to escape sharing meals with her.

“I’m in the bathroom. Turn right,” he called.

Nick sat on a stool to the right of the sink, the washcloth pressed to his wounded thumb. Impassive demeanor in place, he extended his left hand for the liqueur glass.

“Sure I can trust you with this one?” She couldn’t prevent the biting tone.

A wry expression canted his mouth, and humor glinted in his eyes. “Unless you want to hand-feed me.”

Her mind binged on an image of herself holding the goblet and pressing the rim to his lips. The lips that had kissed her so thoroughly. Then tipping the liquid into his mouth and watching his throat work as he swallowed.
Don’t go there.

Dry-mouthed, she poured him a generous amount.

He downed the Benedictine in one gulp. “That’s better. Damn thing stings like the devil. Bandages and antiseptic are there on the sink.”

The bedroom’s color scheme extended into the bath with white tiles and forest-green cabinet and towels. The spacious room boasted a shower stall separate from the Jacuzzi-equipped bathtub. No antiques except in the design of the brass towel racks. Heated, of course. Alexei had enjoyed his luxuries.

“Let’s see that cut.” Determined to be businesslike, she cradled his hand in both of hers. “You washed it out?”

His strong, lean fingers dwarfed hers. His heat seeped into her, softening her insides and threatening her composure. Hard calluses on his palms surprised her. Running an international import company didn’t entail physical labor.

He nodded. “Washed it, rinsed with peroxide. You probably heard me howl.”

Pleased at his rare show of humor, she replied, “I thought a tomcat was serenading on the back fence.”
She lifted the blood-soaked washcloth and peered at the cut. “Deep, but small enough that you don’t need stitches. You’ll have to keep pressure on it for a while.”

“Wrap it good and tight, doc. I don’t want to get blood all over those fancy silk sheets.”

Intrigued at the disapproval in his voice, she cocked her head at him. “You don’t like Alexei’s bedroom decor?”

He snorted. “I like the silk sheets, but they’re the least of it. Most of his choices tick me off. The extravagance in this house reminds me every day of the greed that led to more than one death. Including his.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, and his shoulders jerked.

“Hold still.”

“Sorry.” He clamped his mouth into a tight line and lowered his gaze as she worked to treat his thumb.

She squeezed antiseptic ointment on the cut. “The anger that crushed the glass wasn’t about your brother, was it?”

“No.” The finality of his tone didn’t invite questions.

She had to think how to draw him out.
But his nearness made it hard to think at all. The liqueur’s rich scent mingled with his soap to lure her closer. She applied a sterile bandage while fighting the urge to run her fingers through his tousled hair.