Lying and Kissing (5 page)

And then ignored them.

When our second set came to a close, Karen let out a little sigh of satisfaction. “Thank you,” she told me. “You really came through for us.”

I smiled, but inside I was dying. The whole op had been a complete washout. I sat there numbly, watching Karen putting away her cello. She paused for a moment to check her phone and then smiled adorably as she read a text from her boyfriend.

My chest ached as I watched her. Why couldn’t
I
have that? Why was I so wrapped up in spying on other people’s lives, instead of living my own? We’d both just done the same gig at the same party, but she was going home in the warm glow of a job well done, home to the arms of her boyfriend. I had four hours in the SUV with Adam as we drove back to Virginia, while he tried to be polite about how it had turned out and I beat myself up, over and over—

I grabbed my stuff and headed out into the hallway. With four of us all trying to get out at the same time, especially with Karen’s cello case, it was chaos. Then one of the guys from the quartet came back in out of the snow, complaining that he couldn’t get a cab to stop, and—

The bodyguard who was guarding the stairs hurried down and out of the door to help and—

Just for a moment, the way upstairs was open.

Roberta must have seen my expression because I heard her catch her breath in my earpiece. “
No!”

The bodyguard was still outside, his back to us, whistling for a cab. The hallway was empty aside from Karen. “I can do it,” I murmured under my breath.

“
No!”
hissed Roberta. “Abort! Get out of there!”

Adam said nothing at all for a second. Then: “You really think you can do it?”

The hope in his voice made up my mind. I grabbed Karen’s shoulder. “I just have to find a bathroom,” I told her. “You get the cab. My dad’ll pick me up.”

Karen was trying to maneuver her cello case out of the door. “What? Oh. You’re sure? Okay. I’ll PayPal you your share. Thanks!” And she bustled out. In the street, I saw a cab finally pull up. Any second now, the bodyguard would turn around.

Heart thumping in my chest, I raced up the stairs.

When I reached the landing, I headed straight for the bedroom whose light was on—I figured that must be Luka’s. There was no time to listen at the door. The bodyguard was probably already walking back inside. Any moment, I’d hear him mount the stairs and then—

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding my breath.
If he’s in here, it’s all over….

But the room was empty. I quickly closed the door behind me and leaned against it. Seconds later, I heard the heavy footsteps of the bodyguard on the stairs. Had he been counting the quartet as we left and knew he’d only seen three of us go? Would he wonder where I was or just assume I’d slipped out of the house in the commotion?

The footsteps reached the top of the stairs...then came slowly towards me.
Shit!
He was thinking about checking the rooms. The floor creaked, right outside the door....

...and
then faded away as he went back to his post. It was several seconds before I dared to breathe again.

For the first time, I looked around. The lights were down low, but I could see a king size bed with expensive, midnight-blue bedding. Off to one side, an open door led to a walk-in closet with suits hanging in neat rows. On the other side of the room was a closed door that I figured led to the bathroom.

And sitting right in the middle of the bed, its screen lit up, was the laptop. Luka must have been coming up here throughout the night to check his email. A workaholic.

I hurried over to the bed and dug in my purse for the bug—a wafer-thin silver sticker. I lifted up the laptop, then peeled off the sticker’s backing and stuck it in place on the underside. Now, whenever the laptop was on, we’d be able to see what was on his screen.

I put the laptop back exactly as I’d found it. Now all I had to do was wait until the bodyguard took a break and I could sneak downstairs and out of the front door.

At that moment, the door to the bathroom swung open and Luka stepped out.

There are some moments you know you’re going to remember for the rest of your life. I know this, because one in particular has burrowed so deep into my soul that it’s never coming out. I remember the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach as the car fell. It was my life, dropping out from under me. The feeling that nothing is ever going to be alright again.

This was the same and yet different. That was an ending; this was something beginning.

I’d stepped away from the bed and towards the door. That single step probably saved my life. If I’d still had my hand on the laptop, he’d have known for sure I was a spy and I would have been carried out of that room in a bloody, plastic-wrapped bundle.

I saw shock on his face and then, just for a split second, another look, one I couldn’t even process, right then—I filed it away for later. Then anger, and a quick glance at the laptop.

Some instinct made me keep my eyes on him. If
I’d
looked at the laptop, my fate would have been sealed. But I just stood there, mouth open, as he closed the distance between us.

One huge hand slammed into my chest, the palm right on the valley of my upper breasts. He pushed me back against the door, the hard wood jarring me painfully. He kept coming, stopping when his face was inches from mine. The whole world narrowed down to the throbbing heat of his hand against my skin and those burning, ice-fire eyes.

“What the
fuck
are you doing in my room?” he demanded.

We stared at each other as I took panic breaths through my nose, my lips a tight line of fear. His hand, pinning me to the door, might as well have been made of warm iron. He had me so firmly that I couldn’t even wriggle to the side. And despite my mounting panic, I was aware of the side of his thumb and the side of his pinky finger as they framed the tops of my breasts. Every breath made the soft flesh push and swell around them and a black, twisting energy shoot straight down to my groin.
What the fuck is wrong with me?!

In my earpiece, I could hear panicked whispers as Adam, Roberta and the others tried to figure out what to do. Burst in and rescue me? Wait and see how it played out?

His words were replaying over and over in my head. It was the first time I’d ever heard him speak in English. His accent was heavy, softening some syllables and making others granite-hard. His
fffuck
was like a slow penetration followed by a jerk of the hips.

What the hell is wrong with me?!
I wondered again. I had to answer him, had to think of some way out of this, but my mind was stuck on endless loop, replaying his words. Any second now, he was going to snap and just kill me.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I squeezed my eyes shut to try to break the loop and saw that image of him as he’d come out of the bathroom. The shock on his face, flicking momentarily to another look.

Pleasure.

Just for a fraction of a second, the ghost of a smile had touched his lips. Not the fake smile he’d given the women downstairs. A smile that actually reached those cold eyes, thawing them a little. It had been gone in an instant, but it had been there. He’d been pleased to see me.

The implications of it were still detonating like fireworks in my chest when I opened my eyes and said, “I was looking for you.”

He went utterly silent. His eyes flicked over my face, fast and brutally efficient, searching for any trace of a lie.

He didn’t find one because, on some level, I think I was telling the truth.

He inched his head back from me, but he didn’t release me. He was getting a better look at me, I realized. He’d been entirely focused on my face, but now his eyes swept down over my chest, my hips, my legs. Something like a hot shudder went through me and I felt a flush rise in my cheeks. That feeling I’d had downstairs was back, that sense of being locked onto each other like magnets, close enough now that I twisted and turned to mimic his movements.

As he looked at me, I looked at him. He was nearly a head taller even with me in my heels, and his frame blocked out almost all of the light from behind him. With the black suit, he looked like he was made of shadow except for those blazing blue eyes. But it wasn’t his size so much as the solidity of him, the
realness.
Next to him, I felt like a faded, worn-thin copy of a person.

And the weirdest part was, as I stood there pinned against the door, I could feel the energy of him flowing into me, reawakening me. After years spent frozen and slowly dying, I finally felt alive again.

He took a long, slow breath and leaned in closer to me again. He was wearing some cologne I didn’t recognize, something complex and elegant and somehow old-fashioned. He moved his mouth close to my ear. Then he spoke, and each word was like a savage little kiss. “You shouldn’t come looking for monsters. Men like me will eat you alive.”

And then he drew back to see my reaction.

I didn’t know how I was going to react either. I was operating on a whole different level, now, something deep inside me directing things. I was just along for the ride.

I took a shaky breath and whispered, “I’m not scared of you.”

He stared deep into my eyes, appraising me, and said, “Yes you are.”

And a deep, hot oil slick seemed to sluice through me, more complex than fear, more complex than lust.

His free hand closed on my leg, just beneath the hem of my dress. His palm cupped my flesh through the nylon, his heat throbbing into me. And he stared at me, demanding an answer.

I swallowed and stared back, and the message my eyes sent was…“
Continue.”

His hand rose, rasping along the dark nylon, my breathing ratcheting higher and higher with each inch. His fingers slid over my thigh...then my
upper
thigh. Each square millimeter he touched burned as if it was on fire, the energy crackling inward and up towards my groin. The dress was coming up along with his hand, gathering on his wrist. And then he touched the naked skin above my stocking and I realized I was panting.

He stared straight into my eyes as his fingers reached my panties. His fingertips toyed with the waistband for a second...and then continued. He moved inward, now, hoisting my dress up further with an impatient jerk of his wrist. His hand slid over my stomach and up to my chest and—

He cupped my breast, his hand weighing it in my bra. His palm throbbed warmth through the thin fabric, straight into my soft flesh. Then he squeezed—a long, lingering squeeze, and pleasure erupted in my chest and roared out to every corner of me. I tried to go up on my tiptoes, to twist, to thrash in response, but his other hand still had me pinned. I had to just stay there and take it.

I’d never been more turned on.

And then I heard a noise in my earpiece, a soft intake of breath.
They’re listening to this!

And my mouth said, “I have to go,” even as my body demanded that I stay right where I was.

Luka had his eyes half-closed. He just remained there, studying me for another few seconds. He gave my breast one last, unexpected squeeze and I gasped as it sent a ripple of heat through me. Then he released me and my dress fell back into place.