“Let’s see if you can read mine.” She pulled his head down and sealed her lips to his. Sweet and insistent, her tongue slipped inside his mouth and blotted out all coherent thought.
He cupped her butt and dragged her closer, let the taste and the scent and the feel of her course heat through him, unchecked and unrelenting.
She clung to him, setting flame to the hot coals that had been smoldering since he’d first seen her. Never had he wanted a woman the way he wanted her, now and hard and deep…. When she broke the kiss, he gasped for control but ached to ignore the alarms in his head, to ignore everything but her and the inferno they created together. “Sophie, ah, Sophie.”
“Yes, I know,” she said in a breathy whisper.
And then she was tugging his shirt from his jeans and running her soft hand over his bare chest.
“We shouldn’t.” But all the reasons they shouldn’t floated out of reach like her memory mirages. All he knew was Sophie.
Sophie had never felt this heart-slamming hunger from a kiss, this rush at the musky scent and heat of his hard body. He was as sexy as he was severe and stern. And vulnerable beneath his protective shell. Knowing he’d allowed her to see the inner man kicked her in the heart. “I know and I don’t care. Make love with me, Jack.”
He smoothed a hand over the swell of her hip to the heat between her thighs. Heat surged through her in ripples of desire. When she scraped her nails over his nipple, he moaned and stripped off his shirt.
She tugged at the snap on his jeans. “I want to see you, all of you.” Then immediately sank back into the shadows. “Protection. We have no protection.”
He produced a foil packet from his kit. He shrugged with an apologetic and very appealing grin. “Leoni slipped some in my bag. Just in case.”
“Thank him for me.”
“I make no promises beyond tonight. You’re sure?”
“I want no promises, only tonight,” she lied. In her heart she wanted more, much more. “Hold me, love me. Give me a new memory to brighten the darkness around us.”
“No regrets.”
“No regrets.” When heat leaped in the dark centers of his eyes, she ripped at the sling’s fasteners. “This will go a lot easier if you help me out of this straitjacket.”
He slid the thing away. She wriggled out of her pants. He helped her pull off the sweatshirt.
When he saw she was wearing only a skimpy pair of blue lace panties, no bra, he sucked in a breath. The cool night air puckered her nipples. When he palmed her breasts, the sensation zinged through her body.
“Ah, Sophie, rose-brown nipples, perfect breasts. So beautiful. You’re so beautiful,” he murmured as their bodies fitted together, skin to skin.
“You’re beautiful too.” She reveled in the feel of him against her, the coarse hair on his chest rasping against her nipples, his thighs hard as boards against hers and his sex thrusting the harsh denim against her belly.
Stripping away her panties, he found her with his fingers. She gasped, arching her back at the exquisite sensation. He stroked and circled and explored. She sighed and nibbled and kneaded. They kissed, hot and hungry, until neither could wait a second longer.
He kicked off his jeans and boxers, and when she wrapped her soft hand around his aching arousal, he thought he’d lift off to Mars. She shimmied beneath him and wrapped herself around him like a ribbon of fire. Without her clothing, she was a miracle of soft curves and silken skin. He sank into her tight, pulsing heat as blood thundered in his head and flames enveloped him, and she writhed against him with urgent pleas. Lost in the wonder of this woman, in the perfection of their joining, in an intensity that transcended sex, he wanted the incredible rush to transport him forever, but the tide of his climax pulled at his belly and licked at his spine.
He held on until he felt her first spasms clenching at him and heard her call his name, and then his body seized up and he convulsed with her in a wrenching wave of white-hot pleasure.
***
Sophie peeled garlic in the safe-house kitchen as she watched Jack outside talking on the sat phone to his DARK colleague, Byrne.
That morning a tow truck had arrived at the tomb road with a new car, an Opel Corso, another subcompact. The driver handed over the keys and a sealed packet, then drove off with the bullet-riddled Fiat. Among other items, the packet contained money and directions to a farmhouse in the hill town of Giordano, just south of Florence.
Farmhouse, she scoffed. Maybe once but no longer. Someone with a decorator’s eye had bought the stone dwelling from the farmer. With truckloads of euros they’d transformed it into an elegant country retreat, complete with new tiled floors and a modern kitchen. A mix of antiques and clean-lined modern furniture gave the rooms a relaxing ambience. Palm trees, as incongruous as a vineyard in the East Village, grew on either side of the red front door.
Jack told her it belonged to Byrne’s fiancée’s parents, their future retirement home, so neither DARK nor the task force knew about it.
The caretaker, Silvio, who lived just down the road, kept the house ready for occupation. He was weeding the flowers when she and Jack arrived. Sophie had smelled wine on the red-faced man’s breath as they shook hands.
She set the garlic aside on the slate counter beside the new peas, fava beans and asparagus. Experimenting, she rotated her shoulders — both of them. No twinges in her left as long as she didn’t try to lift it too high. She was fine.
Next she chopped the leeks and peppers. She’d probably bought too much in the village market, but fresh spring vegetables were hard to resist. Sautéed in olive oil and tossed with tomatoes and ziti, they would make a wonderful dish to accompany the remaining grilled chicken. She’d also purchased fresh bread and half a cream cheese tart topped with orange marmalade and sliced almonds.
She crossed herself and aimed a glance skyward. “See, Nonna, all your efforts with me in the kitchen paid off.”
Outside the mullioned kitchen window, the sat phone to his ear, Jack paced in the small garden. In a navy polo shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, he looked so sexy and strong that heat curled in her stomach. His rugged features set in a stony expression, he punctuated his conversation with jabs of his free hand.
Maybe not bad news, but no good news, either.
If only she could remember the crucial day at the villa. All she seemed to be able to think about was last night.
Making love with Jack had been incredible. After the first time, they slept in each other’s arms. The second time, he lifted her astride him, insisting that he was concerned about her shoulder pressed to the hard ground. The night — no, Jack — had been romantic and sexy and magical.
She’d warned herself that her aching need for him was just lust. Big-time lust. The heady connection, the euphoria were because of being thrown together in the midst of danger. What she felt couldn’t be love. It couldn’t, shouldn’t be. But it was. She’d fallen in love with Jack.
She wanted to dance a jig and weep at the same time. Making love had been amazing, not like the few hasty, lukewarm couplings she’d experienced before. Their bodies and needs meshed as though they were made for each other.
In every other way, they definitely weren’t.
She was an emotional open book. He kept his feelings locked behind a stone mask — except for anger. And hatred. Besides, they wanted different things. She was bound to find her memory and herself, not to be responsible for others anytime soon. He was bound in his grief and revenge and saw no future for himself, let alone a future with her or any woman.
She couldn’t let him know her true feelings. She would cherish whatever short time they had left together. She would make the most of it. For them both. She sighed, longing to comfort him, to help him end this chase in a way that somehow maintained his pride and assuaged his guilt.
But what could she do? She had no idea.
A few minutes later Jack entered the kitchen and l
ounged, one hip against the counter, not close enough to touch her but close enough to snag some peas. Today he’d backed off and kept his distance. He touched her only by accident. He talked to her only when necessary. A professional mask kept his emotions hidden.
Romantic and magical had vanished with the dawn.
Were his worries about being a pariah occupying his thoughts? Was it his focus on killing his enemy? Or was their lovemaking, the attraction between them, a one-night fling? Had he gotten from her what he wanted and now it was over? The suspicion cut deep, piercing her heart with a blade sharper than the one she stabbed into the peppers.
“Smells good already,” he said. His gaze focused on the vegetables, not on her, as he stripped the purloined peas from their shells.
“Thanks. What did you find out?” She hoped her voice didn’t betray her feelings. She grabbed a pepper and whacked at it with enough force to sever the cutting board.
A barely perceptible tightening of his mouth was the only indication he’d noticed. “No news on the leak. Byrne has a contact on the inside who’s working on the problem.”
“Someone in the Venice polizia?”
“Interpol. Then he shook loose some other DARK officers to round up the hit men. I should know more in a day or two. Then maybe De Carlo will clear me.” He bared his teeth in a thin-lipped spread of lips no one would call a smile, then popped the green pearls in his mouth.
She set down the knife before she did real damage. “But it’s hard to wait and do nothing.”
“I’m treading water and sinking lower all the time.” Pain clouded his gaze before he shuttered it. He cleared his throat, apparently chagrined at revealing his frustration. “I have work to do.” He turned and marched into the dining room. He seated himself at the table with his laptop. Earlier he’d installed its small satellite dish on the roof.
She returned to her dinner preparations and turned on the faucet. Through the window above the sink, she watched a flock of birds streaking over the undulating green hills terraced with vines and olive trees. She couldn’t see Florence, tucked into a valley not far away.
Farther away dangled the solution to helping Jack. Whatever the reason, his torment road-blocked the bridges they’d gradually built between them. Persuading him to abandon vengeance meant an upward slog steeper than these Tuscan hills.
Chapter 19
JACK BOOTED UP the computer. Simon Byrne had given him the codes to enter the task-force site. Maybe he could find the damn leak and clear himself so he wasn’t shut out of the endgame. He logged onto Internet2, the secure high-speed pathway only academics and government agencies could use.
He stared but saw nothing on the screen. Saw only the hurt in Sophie’s eyes when he’d walked away from her in the kitchen.
Dammit, last night had been fantastic, the best sex of his life. The best… Hell, more than sex. Sensual and soft, she gave herself to him with total abandon. Her scent, the incredible feel of her body and her giving passion were imprinted on his DNA. He’d never lost it like that — and he desired her still. More than before. If that was possible. He wanted to rip off that sexy sundress Vadim had bought for her, damn him, and drag her down on the kitchen floor and drive into her right now.
And if he did, the release he found in her arms, like last night, would give him only brief respite from the fire in his blood. There was no forgetting what he had to do.
He cared for her, sure. A lot. Forced closeness and his protective instincts. Natural enough. That was all it must be, all it could be. He had no right to involve someone else in his life or in his cause.
Besides, he couldn’t give Sophie what she needed. Showing every emotion was alien to him. Talking about it scraped at his nerves with fifty-grit sandpaper. She crowded him too much about the maelstrom of feelings he couldn’t begin to sort through.
No, he ought to leave her alone. She was safe here at this farmhouse. She was better rid of him. He was better off concentrating on finding Vadim and killing him. If Byrne couldn’t clear Jack, if the task force kept him shut out, he’d have no choice.
And he was missing something, a connection he ought to make, an anomaly. Emotion always interfered with analytical thinking. That’s why he was missing a vital clue.
He shut out his hatred for Vadim and his scrambled feelings for Sophie and keyed in the task-force password.
***
“Dinner was great,” Jack said. His chair scraped against the brick-colored tiles as he pushed away from the table. “Five-star rating. Leave the dishes. I’ll clean up later.”
Leaving an openmouthed Sophie behind him, he strode through the French doors. He inhaled deeply, but the scents of white and yellow blossoms edging the brick terrace, whatever the hell they were, didn’t settle his rabbiting nerves. Neither did the wind’s racket in the palm fronds.
He’d hurt Sophie again, dammit. She tried to start conversation during dinner. She asked about his work, about the computer search that had found zip. God, she even wanted to know more about David. He cut her off every time.
She’d gone to such trouble to prepare a gourmet dinner, and he barely tasted a blasted thing. He’d just shoveled in food until he could get away. He couldn’t hear the gentle sound of her voice without feeling sparks ignite in his chest. And lower. He couldn’t stand being around her without touching her, without craving her. Hell, he had to stop. He had more urgent things to think about than a woman who made him wish for a future that didn’t exist.
Light from the dining room illuminated rectangles across the terrace. Sophie’s shadow crossed back and forth in front of the windows as she ferried dishes to the kitchen. Maybe she would stay there and leave him the hell alone.
Fat chance.
When she opened the terrace door, he turned his back so she wouldn’t see the hunger in his eyes.
“Jack.” Her soft hand warmed the skin of his forearm. The sound of his name on her lips soothed what he didn’t want soothed.
“Look, I apologize. I’m not very good company tonight.”
Her arms slipped around him. “The task force, finding Vadim, it’ll all work out. I’m not foolish enough to tell you not to worry. I understand. But it’s a beautiful night, and there’s a big, soft bed upstairs. I’ll be waiting for you.” She rose on tiptoe to brush a kiss on his mouth.
Even that light touch of lips zinged heat downward, and he ached to pull her close. Instead he hardened his resolve and stiff-armed her from him. “You understand? You couldn’t possibly understand what I’m feeling.” He shot his gaze upward to the star-filled night so he couldn’t see the shock in her eyes.
“Then why don’t you tell me instead of keeping that fuse burning?” Her voice went from soft to a razor edge.
Ignoring the warning bells in his head, he glared at her with the same ferocity that had cowed captured terrorists and made scumbag witnesses wet themselves.
She didn’t back down. Only inches away, she smelled of flowers and spices, and she gazed at him not with fear but purpose. No more amenable Sophie who gave in when pushed. Cool compliance gone, she glowed with defiance and challenge, with such intensity of emotion that he felt the heat.
Instantly his body responded. Blood pooled in his groin, and he ached to possess her. To have her legs wrapped around him, to bury himself inside her, to—
He sucked in a deep breath to clear away the unwanted needs. It didn’t work, but he couldn’t take his eyes from her. In the depths of her eyes he saw sympathy. Sympathy he didn’t need, didn’t want. He wanted her. “Tell you? I can’t, I—” How could he express the war waging within him?
Not in words, for damn sure.
He yanked her hard against his chest and crushed his mouth to hers. Instead of fighting, she molded herself against him and encircled his waist with her arms. Lust jolted through him. He went to fevered urgency in a sizzling flash.
The lightning-bolt impact slammed Sophie’s pulse to a violent pace and
struck wildfire in her very core. His kiss was untamed, harsh, full of demand and desperation, and her heart sang with joy. Not a simple fling.
All at once he shoved her away.
“Don’t think you can distract me with sex.” He fired each word from between clenched teeth.
She reeled, breathless from the onslaught, tossed adrift by his senseless accusation. “Distract you?”
The skin drew taut across his cheeks, and his eyes flared with blue fire. “You can’t soothe away my flipping problems by luring me to bed. It won’t work. I’m no crying child to appease with origami.”
“No, Jack, I didn’t—”
“Honey, you can’t help trying to kiss and make it all better. Those maternal instincts are too strong. You’re a natural.” He raked his scarred fingers through his hair.
Where had this idea come from? She shook her head to jar his off-the-wall assumption into some sense. Arrogant man. She poked his chest. “Jack, you are so wrong. About me. About everything. If you think I’m offering myself to you to soothe your wounded soul, you’re pazzo da legare!” She folded her arms and glared back at him with matching heat. “Pazzo means—”
“I don’t need a damn translation for that one, thank you very much.” He turned on his heel and stalked away. “I’m going for a walk. Alone.” His long-legged stride carried him into the gloom.
Hugging herself, she shivered in spite of the warm night air. Tears burned her eyes. “That went well.”
A natural? Was she fighting her own nature? He couldn’t be right about her. Could he?
“I’ll be waiting for you,” she whispered.
***
Sophie stayed up as late as she could, reading a Donna Leon mystery from the house’s extensive library, but mostly pacing and watching for Jack. Then she lay awake in the master bedroom’s king-size bed. He hadn’t returned when she finally fell asleep.
The next morning she came downstairs to find the dishes done, as promised, and the man hunched over his laptop and his coffee. He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all. He’d dumped his duffel bag in another bedroom, but that bed wasn’t mussed. She started to ask if he was all right, but the rigid set of his shoulders warned her to leave him alone. He needed to work things out in his mind and heart.
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