I'd Rather Be In Paris (22 page)

He did, slipping in and out in a slow, even rhythm. She moved with him, but it still wasn't enough. She rocked her hips harder. “Stop teasing me."

Lawson rocked faster and harder as he delved into her again and again. She met each thrust with her own, her breath coming out in choppy gasps as the first wave of orgasm hit her. She threw her head back as wave after edgy wave rippled under her skin, sucking all the air from her lungs.

As her orgasm pulsed around him, he slowed the rhythm again, teasing out her pleasure. She clung to him and when his ragged breathing mixed with hers and he buried himself fully to her core one last time, she held him close and whispered his name.

In the aftermath, she stared up at the heavens as Lawson's heartbeat tripped hers into its solid rhythm.

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He couldn't stop touching her.

Zara slept on her stomach in Lawson's bed, her head half-buried in the pillow, her backside completely uncovered by the sheet, affording him an uncompromised view.

The sun was rising, one strip of light running the length of her body, illuminating her face, one arm and a thigh. He lightly traced the landscape of her shoulder blades with his finger, watching her slow, steady breathing raise and lower her rib cage. His fingers walked down her spine.

Sex on the rooftop had been a fast and explosive couple of minutes that left him barely able to walk when it was over. He had wanted it slower, wanted Zara to be comfortable so he could take his time and draw out her pleasure. But she kept demanding a different agenda and he had to admit, in the end he hadn't minded a bit. The sex had been amazing.

Afterwards, he'd put her in the shower and washed her from head to toe, soaping her slowly and studying every curve of her body while he sorted through his feelings for her. At dinner he'd realized there was something more than physical attraction stirring his gut every time he looked at her. More than her big blue eyes and her even bigger attitude.

He liked the way she was up for every challenge he handed her. The way she refused to take his bullshit without giving a healthy dose of it back to him. The way she wasn't letting her past interfere with her future.

He liked how she defended her point of view with passion and substance. She knew what she was talking about whether the topic was fashion or war, and she could argue anyone into the ground about either.

He'd known before she knocked on his door last night that he wanted more than sex from her. The fantasy had already turned into something else. Something deeper and far scarier than anything he'd ever faced on any mission, air, ground or sea.

His gut had warned him one night with her wouldn't be enough. Their mission might last another week, maybe longer, but now he knew even that wasn't enough time. He wanted more. He just wasn't sure how much more, and he wasn't sure how much Zara was willing to give him.

He palmed one of her butt cheeks, and she grabbed his wrist, tried to push him away. Sleep made her voice husky. “Don't you ever rest, Vaughn?"

He kept his hand where it was and gave a little squeeze. “Never.” He leaned over and planted a kiss between her shoulder blades.

She shivered under his lips. “You've got to get over this Superman complex,” she said into her pillow. “You're killing me."

He planted another kiss on her back, lower. “Too much for you, huh?"

"That's not what I meant.” She started to roll over, but Lawson moved down her body and pinned her legs underneath his arms. He placed his open mouth on one beautiful butt cheek and sucked her cool, smooth skin into it.

She gasped. “Easy,” she said over her shoulder. “I don't like pain."

He moved his mouth to the other butt cheek and repeated the process, enjoying her wiggle as she tried to escape. Then he released her legs and, as expected, she rolled over and sat up. She stretched and pulled her knees to her chest.

He propped himself up on one elbow as she raked her hands through her tousled hair. “I would never hurt you, Zara."

Her hand stilled. She looked away from him, embarrassed, and scanned the room. Her attention landed on the Valentino hanging on the armoire. A tiny smiled curved her mouth. “You hung up my dress."

"I knew it was important to you."

Her gaze came back to his. “That's so sweet."

Lawson wasn't sure he'd ever been described as sweet—he sure as hell wouldn't want the guys of Pegasus to hear that—but coming from Zara it sounded nice. For her, he'd be as sweet as his mama's peach preserves. “My mother tried to raise me to be a gentleman,” he said, putting a bit of southern Georgia into his words. “I guess her hard work must a done some good."

"Seems to me your mother did a fine job teaching you to be considerate of others.” Moving toward him, she nudged his hand out from under his head and pushed him over on his back. She straddled him, leaning forward so her face was only a whisper above his. “Your benevolence is downright sexy. Makes me hot."

Running his hands over her thighs, he took stock of his benevolent arsenal. “Did I ever tell you about the time I rescued the president from a terrorist and stopped a ticking nuclear warhead?"

Zara shifted her hips and took him in her hand. “My hero.” She brushed her lips over his, stroking him at the same time. “You deserve a special reward for all the good work you've done."

Her lips moved to his jaw, to the hollow of his throat, to his collarbone. Her velvet hand continued to stroke him in a steady rhythm. “In fact, I never thanked you properly for supposedly saving my life. You get
big
points for that."

"Supposedly?"

She kissed his bellybutton and proceeded to go lower. Lawson closed his eyes as her warm, wet mouth replaced her hand.

"No thanks necessary,” he said, although he wasn't sure why he would say such a thing at the moment.

Her mouth left him. “Really? You don't want to be recognized for a job well done? You don't want me to make you feel appreciated?"

Jesus, she was such a tease. Of course he wanted her thanks if it involved her mouth returning to its previous spot. He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes to look at her. He liked the way her blonde hair contrasted against his tanned legs and darker hair. “A man always likes to know he's appreciated."

Low, husky laughter matched the carnal female look she gave him. “Then lay back, Lawson, and relax, ‘cuz I've got a boatload of appreciation to show you."

When it was over a few minutes later, Lawson was sure he'd just had something akin to a religious experience. Zara had done things that had both amazed and impressed him. He'd tried to give her back as much as he took, but it had been all he could do to remember to breathe.

He'd closed his eyes to block the beauty of her arched back and her compact butt riding him. He'd tried to concentrate on something besides how tight and warm she felt inside. He'd tried to shut his ears to her moans and whispers.

Even with his eyes closed and his mind trying to remember all the names of his pet dogs he'd had as a child, he just couldn't distract himself enough. So instead, he'd opened his eyes and enjoyed the view.

Now he was still trying to get air into his lungs as she slid her body next to him. “Jesus H. Christ,” he mumbled.

Laying her head on his chest, she tangled her fingers in his chest hair and laughed. “Did you like it?"

"I think I just died and went to heaven."

"Good.” She smiled against his chest before slinging one of her legs across his waist and running a hand over his biceps.

There would come a day in the not-too-distant future when she'd be out of his reach again. When they left this little fantasy land of Villa Bernier behind and returned to their normal lives. He would go back to tracking people down for the CIA or the FBI or whoever needed him, and she would probably be back in Paris running agents. The only way he'd see her again would be if he went to wherever she was.

And he would probably do it. At that moment he knew that even if Zara never wanted to see him again, he would still fly anywhere in the world to be near her. He would even force himself to sit through a ballet performance if it meant being in the same room.

Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled her closer. For now she was here with him and he could touch her and hold her to his heart's content. He wasn't the kind of man to let such an opportunity pass him by. “I can't get enough of you,” he murmured into her hair. “I'm at your mercy."

She raised her head to look at him. “Really? Most of the time I can't decide if this partner thing is working for either of us."

"Sorry you came?"

"No,” she said after a pause. “I'm not sorry at all."

Lawson rolled them both over. “I was hoping you'd say that."

"Edgar Degas,” Del said into Lawson's ear. “Pastel on monotype. Entitled
Ballet Scene
. Circa 1878-80. Whereabouts unknown according to Interpol. It's believed the painting was lifted from a private collection quite a few years ago. There's a similar history on most of the other pieces you photographed and sent to me."

Lawson drummed his fingers on the desk and listened to the shower running in the suite's bathroom. Zara was cleaning up after their last lovemaking session.

He shifted the phone from one ear to the other. “Christian Bernier's an art thief?"

"Not Christian.” He heard Del shuffling papers in the background. “His father, probably his grandfather as well. Stealing famous artwork apparently runs in the family. Except Christian's clean from what I can tell. Never stole so much as a candy bar. He's just your everyday European millionaire who likes to run around in a leotard and keep the family's stolen artwork under wraps. The man has friends and acquaintances in high places, low places and everywhere in between. Makes the CIA contact list look like child's play. I'm guessing our friends at Interpol would love to get inside that house, though. What are you still doing there?"

"How do you know I'm at Christian's?"

Del laughed. “I've known exactly where you've been every step of the way. I just didn't tell you."

Lawson fingered his laptop and then the digital satellite uplink. “Bug's in the satellite, isn't it?"

"One in your phone too. They give out a random pulse even when they're not in use.” Lawson heard Del shuffling papers again. “I've got info on Janvrin."

Del spent the next minute giving him Janvrin's résumé. Most of the information was identical to what Christian had already told him.

"I found him in bed with Varina a couple nights ago when she was playing Yvette's role,” he told Del. “They'd had themselves quite the party. Blow, reds, some other stuff I can't even name."

"You call the cops?"

"My civic duty."

"Borrowed Janvrin's car?"

"He was going to be tied up for awhile. I didn't think he'd mind."

"Apparently he did."

Lawson heard the shower stop. “How about Yvette? She turn up yet?"

"No. Flynn's agent on the ground in Paris claims he talked to Yvette in person and gave her the Dmitri assignment Tuesday morning, the same time you were getting your end of it back here. That was the last time anyone saw her."

"Why didn't Flynn give me a picture of her? He could have saved me this freakin’ mess. All I had was a phone number to establish contact."

"Flynn didn't have one. A lot of the field agents are reluctant to do photo IDs these days with the Internet and all. Makes it too easy for their likenesses to fall into the wrong hands at lightning speed. Besides, Yvette's been a reliable source for the Agency for years."

"Enough reason to take her out?"

"Could be, but why substitute Varina in her place?"

Lawson sat back in his chair. “To cover up Yvette's disappearance. Maybe Yvette knew more about Dmitri and Vos Loo's prison break than was healthy. Varina and friends didn't want that passed on so they got rid of her, but then they had to buy themselves time because they knew someone from the CIA was already on his way to meet her."

The bathroom door opened and Zara appeared, wrapped in a dark blue towel. Her hair was wet and her cheeks were pink from the shower. She smiled shyly at Lawson as she crossed the room to retrieve her dress from the bureau. His heart banged against his ribs like a sledgehammer.

"Forget the Yvette angle for now,” he told Del. “I found out who was behind Dmitri and Vos Loo's prison break. Mafia guy named Stefano Biaggio. Ivy League education, friends and business cohorts with Varina and Janvrin. Sounds like he's good at thinking outside the box and probably has a hundred and one uses for a terrorist and a mad scientist. He could be our link to figuring this whole thing out."

"You think Dmitri's working for him?"

Zara lifted the dress off the bureau doorknob and headed toward the bedroom door to leave. He was out of his chair and reaching for her before he even thought about it. She grinned as he put his hand behind her and shut the door, sealing off her escape.

"If Biaggio financed Dmitri's prison break and subsequent disappearance,” he said into the phone while he ran a finger over Zara's collarbone, “I'm sure he did it with a few strings attached. I want you to find out what you can about him and his business dealings."

"What about Dmitri? You still want to know where he and the doctor are hiding out?"

Zara pinched his waist and laughed silently as he jerked away from her fingers. He pressed her up against the door and stared into her eyes. “You got something for me?"

At that, she lifted her brows, and Del said, “My good buddy Annette figured something out. She said if she wanted to set up a lab near Geneva and was afraid to go back to her previous abode, she'd be looking for real estate. Something outside the city limits with no nosy neighbors nearby but with good access to the road for deliveries. With that in mind, she did some digging and found an estate forty miles north of Villa Bernier that meets those requirements and was recently purchased for large sums of cash. I sent you the address."

The spot between Lawson's shoulder blades twitched, but he ignored it as he dropped a silent kiss on Zara's lips. “I'll check it out today."

"Actually, you're not supposed to go near it. Flynn says you and Zara need to lay low until he can get things smoothed over with the Frenchies."

"Still got their undies in a bunch?"

"Try a complete wedgy, and they're sure we're the ones giving it to ‘em. Stone's taken a lot of heat in the past twenty-four hours from everyone from the DCI to the President's National Security Advisor. Flynn's already in Paris kissing FI's ass."

Frowning, Lawson took a step back from Zara. Conrad Flynn did not kiss anyone's ass. “You're shitting me."

"I shit you not, my man. I got a twenty says you won't be on Flynn's Christmas list this year. He's blaming you for everything."

Zara laid a hand on his arm. He glanced at her and saw her brows knit together in worry.

Images of the previous night flashed through his mind and made the inevitable ugly confrontation with Conrad Flynn seem almost unimportant. Taking hold of Zara's hand, he winked at her. “I got a twenty, Del, says Flynn will be my biggest fan when this is all over."

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