In the kitchen she poured herself some coffee and popped slices of the wonderful crusty bread she’d bought into the toaster. Humming, she pulled eggs from the fridge and organized ingredients for an omelet.
Outside, a small engine coughed to life as Silvio started mowing the grass. She waved and the portly man waved back. The mower’s path resembled the curvy hill roads. A little morning libation before work. Unusual. Although Italians enjoyed their wine, they frowned on intoxication.
Turning, she peeked at Jack over her coffee mug. He was bent even lower over the keyboard. Trying not to notice her.
She’d figured out last night that he walled himself off from her because he cared for her but didn’t want to. Ah, well, she had the same problem and her own issues, but without the torment raging inside her that he had. During those hours she waited for him, she found a direction for self-discovery. He’d set her up on his laptop with a guest password, so she conducted a search for Santa Elisabetta Rinaldi.
On three different Web sites she’d found two dozen Saint Elizabeths from everywhere, Saint Elizabeth of Prague and Saint Elizabeth of Hungary and Saint Elizabeth the Recluse among them. Only three were Italian. None a Rinaldi. She wasn’t giving up. There were other Web sites and more lists. She’d search again today. The next day if necessary.
Jack’s gibes about her natural bent picked at her brain. Was he right? Or did she nurture and teach because there was no other choice? The talents of her mom and her sister — the ambitious ad exec and the teenage artistic slacker — shined no light on her soul. Searching her roots brought her to Italy. Santa Elisabetta would guide her, would give her a sign. She hoped. Anyway, Mom would want the history of the saint.
Her brain strain hadn’t filled the remaining gaps in her memory either. Even if she remembered that last day, there was no guarantee she knew where Vadim might be or what he told her or anything helpful. And she was no closer to stopping Jack from ruining his life. She could do nothing more now. Except give him space.
She managed to tempt him with her cheese-and-vegetable omelet, but he barely spoke to her. He spent the day working on the computer or talking to his contact on the sat phone or walking the hills, his gait restless and charged with turmoil.
When he wasn’t using the computer, Sophie returned to her search for her family saint. Later, she sat in the sun with her book, but couldn’t concentrate, so she relived her recovered memories of Italy and hoped for a breakthrough on the memories still hiding somewhere in her brain. No luck. With the saint or with the memories.
In the evening, he wouldn’t let her cook but insisted they walk to the village trattoria for dinner. As usual, she translated and chatted with the villagers while he observed.
Boh, she got it. Surrounded by strangers, he didn’t have to talk to her over a meal.
On the return to the house, the day’s puffy cotton-ball clouds were gone, driven out by charcoal-rimmed monsters. The air pulsed, alive with electricity. Maybe Jack wouldn’t go out. She was wrong. He left her at the door.
The wind fretted and tossed, rattling the palm fronds like dry bones. It shrieked under the stone house’s eaves. Around midnight, raindrops as fat as ripe plums splatted against the windows in a syncopated rat-a-tat. Lightning forked and cannon volleys rolled over the hills.
Sleepless and tense with worry, Sophie curled up on the chaise by the bedroom window to watch for Jack’s safe return.
***
Jack stared at Sophie with aching eyes and a leaden heart, imprinted the image on his brain so he would have her goodness to sustain him.
She slept with her head propped on the chair arm, a light blanket across her legs. The bedside lamp haloed her dark hair in gold, but her face was in shadow. Beside her on a tiny round table stood her saint statuette, keeping watch over her while she watched for him.
Warmth curled in his chest and spread outward, leaching the chill from his wet skin.
How late did she sit there until even the lightning and thunder couldn’t keep her awake? He was a thoughtless jerk who didn’t deserve her worry. Half the night he’d spent in the shed garage talking to Byrne on the sat phone.
She’d left towels by the kitchen door for him. He didn’t deserve that kindness either, but he was sure been glad to see them when he dragged in. He’d dried himself and left his sopping T-shirt and sneakers in the utility tub.
He rubbed his dripping hair and stared out the window at the storm. Jagged bolts speared the ground way too close to the house. He’d made it inside just in time to miss being fried. The exploding thunder shook the house and vibrated his bones.
Italy sure as hell knew how to stage a sound-and-light show. Emotional and extravagant, like the Italian character. Like Sophie. Looping the terry length around his neck, he stared at her, ached to hold her, to spend his passion inside her welcoming body.
Hell. He should head down the hall before he woke her.
During his solitary treks he’d made some new connections. Byrne told him a snitch had a line on Saqr’s plans for the uranium. His other news set up his next steps to get to Vadim. And they didn’t involve Sophie. She was safe here. He should leave her the hell alone.
He turned to go.
“Are you all right?”
Her voice glued his bare feet to the wood floor. “No lightning strikes.”
She tossed aside her cover. She wore the pj’s he’d helped her into their first night on the road. The cropped top and low boxers revealed her warm-honey skin and killer legs. Her hair fell in waves across her shoulders. His Venus.
No, not mine. He couldn’t let himself even think it.
She left the chaise and padded barefoot to the foot of her bed. “The gods wouldn’t dare. You’d probably heave lightning bolts back into the sky.”
He winced at the truth of her assessment. The concern and tenderness in her eyes shattered his good intentions. His treks had cured his indecision, but they didn’t cure him of Sophie. He tried to concentrate on his enemy, but inevitably thoughts of her shoved the others aside. Soon he would have to leave her, but now…
Every muscle in his body strained with tension. What if she refused him? “I said some things….”
“So did I. It doesn’t matter.” Arms inviting, she took a step toward him.
In two strides he reached her and held her close, breathed her unique scent, the fragrance of her skin, of her hair.
Damn, she felt good. Fantastic.
He tunneled his fingers through the dark luxury of her hair and drank from her lips. He could never get enough of this woman. “I tried, but I couldn’t stay away from you.”
“I know.” She skimmed her hands up his belly. In her eyes he saw the same fever that burned in his soul.
He was harder than the stone walls, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t take advantage. Gritting his teeth against his pounding need, he held her away from him. “Sophie, I can’t give you more than sex.”
“I know that too. I’m not looking for long-term. First I need to make a life for myself. If all we have is now, why not? Spogliati.”
“What’s that? Throw caution to the winds? Go for it?”
She gazed at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Spogliati means take off your clothes.”
His blood-starved brain needed a moment to process. As her words made sense, amusement bubbled up like champagne. He sputtered a laugh.
She tackled his jeans snap. “You’re getting me all wet. See?” As demonstration, she took a step back.
The wet denim had soaked the pj’s to transparency. Damp cotton molded to her gently rounded stomach and outlined the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs.
His stomach twisted and coiled with need. He stripped off his jeans and boxers.
Lightning strobed the bedroom window. The flash rimmed her hair with fire and set him ablaze. Thunder cracked overhead and rumbled deep in his body.
His hands shook. “Sophie.” God, he loved the so
und of her name, the taste of it, a sweet whisper on his lips.
She flicked open the top button of her pajama shirt. Then the next. And the next. The folded edge fell back to skim the inner curves of her breasts. When she dropped the thin shirt and bottoms to the floor, the dam broke on his control. He crushed her to him and rubbed his chest against her firm breasts. He rocked his mouth over hers, and she molded her lips to his with a sexy moan. He rubbed the dusky nipples, puckered to hard points. She was sweet and tart and light and heat, and he craved her as a drowning man craved air.
Blood hammered in his head louder than thunder. “I need you, Sophie.”
Chapter 20
I NEED YOU. His words streaked joy inside Sophie. But did she want to be needed? She refused to examine it.
“I’m here.” She stepped backward, pulling him down on the cool sheets with her.
He groaned his pleasure, his hard body pressing her into the soft mattress.
The skin-to-skin crush sent electric tingles through her. Her heart went wild, and heat surged in her blood. Their tongues dodged and darted, coaxing and caressing. She rubbed her fingers over the coarse golden hair and smoothed her hands over the contours of his muscles. When she scraped her nails down his lower spine, his growl of satisfaction reverberated inside her.
His hand slid across her abdomen and between her legs. She shuddered with delight. He kissed her neck, licked at her nipples, then slid lower, pleasuring her with his tongue.
Desire speared her and tension coiled in her belly. “Now, Jack, now!”
The next flash of lightning glinted on foil. And then she took him into her body, and he stilled, his jaw clenched, straining for control. As the storm crashed and boomed outside, a raw jolt of power shot through her center that clenched and unclenched her muscles around him. Currents of sensation took her, tossed her, and she cried out his name.
A shudder rippled through him. “Sophie, Sophie, I’ve never felt like this. Come with me.” He thrust, hot and wild and surging faster and faster.
She gripped his shoulders, writhing beneath him, breathing in gasps. Shivers pulsed inside her, sparks fired, shimmers lapped higher, higher. The storm slashed its fury at the windows. The cataclysm rolled through her and burst into white, pulsing shock waves as he spasmed with her, his big body shuddering uncontrollably.
They lay panting, wrapped together, joined as one, while they recovered from the storm.
“Damn, did I hurt you?” he said, rolling to the side and smoothing back her hair. She couldn’t see his eyes in the dark but felt the worry in the bunched muscles of his arms. He held her as though she were made of glass.
“I’m fine. More than fine.” She turned on her side. Snuggling closer, she cupped his beard-roughened chin with her hand. “I think we were competing with the storm.”
He chuckled, and the tension eased in the biceps beneath her head. “Nice bed. Beats the hard ground at a tomb.” He drew one hand down the curve of her breast, to the indent of her waist and over the flare of her hip.
She sighed with delight at the feel of his rough hand. “I don’t think that’s the bed you’re feeling.”
“Better than a bed.” He rolled on his side to face her and kissed her with a promise of more to come.
The lazy sweep of his tongue stirred a curl of need through her blood. She’d thought she was thoroughly sated, but she wanted him again. And he wanted her, judging from the hard length pressing into her belly.
“Listen. The storm’s past. It’s just raining lightly. We can take it slow and easy, like the rain.”
“Slow and easy,” she agreed, but when he slid inside her, a raw jolt of need vibrated out to her fingertips.
***
“The clock is ticking, Sebastian.”
“Dak, Ahmed. I know.” Vadim gritted his teeth. The unconscious use of Cleatian could betray his anxiety. He had to choose his words with caution. “My men have experienced difficulty. This American is slippery. I will have the package by Saturday. You can be certain.”
“You have made such promises before. Others have sorely regretted breaking their promises to me. I hope this situation will not come to that.”
Vadim swallowed, schooled his voice to remain even. “I will bring the package to London myself.” With the authorities looking for him, how he might accomplish that was problematic, but the reassurance should calm his old friend.
“You have until Monday to turn over the package.”
When he heard only silence, Vadim also disconnected.
Monday. Until then, he must maintain complete security. No one must find him. Not this task force. Not Ahmed Saqr.
Then, with or without the uranium, he must disappear.
***
By morning the rain had rolled northward, leaving the sky washed clean for clear blue skies and baking sun. Jack and Sophie made love again, with the sunlight streaming its blessing in the window.
They spent the day together. He invited her to accompany him on his hill trek. He didn’t resist when she coaxed him to talk about David.
She told him about her family, her stubborn sister and her mother, whose goal was to be CEO of the company where she worked. The corporate rat race wasn’t for her, Sophie insisted, but what lay ahead for her remained murky.
He had a good idea about that, but she needed to find her path herself.
As darkness swallowed the watercolor-daubed sky, he tossed his duffel into the car’s backseat.
He glanced at the closed front door and pictured Sophie in the dining room, at her saint search, fruitless so far. He was beginning to wonder if the antique-shop purchase was a fake. Another scheme set up by Vadim. A way to ingratiate himself into her bed. Another nail in the dirtbag’s coffin. Even if it hadn’t worked.
The car key jabbed his palm, and he forced open his fist. He’d told himself one more night with Sophie would be enough. Wrong. The emptiness in his heart proved him a liar. A thousand nights wouldn’t be enough. He dreaded saying goodbye, explaining why he had to leave her at the safe house alone.
But he couldn’t stay. Especially after last night. More involvement with her would soften his resolve and be unfair to her. Maybe he could leave a note and just drive away. Hell. He couldn’t be that big a jerk. He owed her a face-to-face explanation. And reassurance.
When he turned back to the house, Sophie was waiting in the doorway.
“I wondered if you were leaving without me.” Her half smile and sad eyes said she suspected he was.
Two shiny clips caught back her hair, leaving curly wisps around her face and the rest on her bare shoulders in dark waves. Her crossed arms drew his gaze to her breasts in the V-neck sundress. She looked sexy as hell but determined, not the fey-looking fragile creature she usually appeared. Not Venus but an Italian Valkyrie.
Instead of chasing this bad guy, he’d rather carry her up to bed and take up where they’d left off this morning. But her little hum of impatience said she was waiting for his answer.
“I’m leaving, but not without telling you goodbye.” His chest tightened at his glib words.
She sauntered closer, hips swaying, and challenged him with flashing eyes. “Sweet. That makes a mega difference.”
Her rare sarcasm speared him in the chest. Dammit, he was doing it this way to protect her. His cheeks heated, and he jammed his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t reach for her. “I had word from Byrne last night. They’ve rolled up two of the Mafia thugs.”
“Rolled up? You mean arrested?”
He nodded. “The motorcyclist and his buddy in the Fiesta. When they started asking around about two Americans, suspicious locals called the polizia. Byrne’s cooperating DARK guys stepped in.”
“Now they’ll find Sebastian Vadim?”
“Not that easy. Byrne said Tomasso — that’s the man we called Slick — hired them as backup. They know squat about Vadim.” Waiting for the next question, he held his breath.
“That’s what I was coming in to tell you.”
She arched one dark eyebrow and cocked her head, not giving him an inch. Where was the sweet, compliant Sophie? This woman was breathing fire that singed his skin and heated his blood at the same time.
He huffed out a sigh. “I talked to Byrne again just now. One of the hired thugs said they were supposed to meet Tomasso tomorrow morning in a hill town in this area. If I can grab him up, I might be able to get to Vadim.”
“You, not Interpol.” She rolled her eyes and gestured with both hands in expansive Italian fashion.
“They’ll back me up if I need it. The other thugs were flashing a photo of you.”
A thoughtful frown creased her brow. “Vadim took pictures with his phone when he took me sightseeing. I’m still fuzzy, but I remember that much.”
“Makes sense. But they might not know what I look like. Tomasso won’t expect me to be alone.” Finally, after some fast talking, Byrne had agreed to support Jack’s plan. So with Sophie why did he feel like a kid conning his mom into buying him a pet boa constrictor?
“Tomasso might not even know where Vadim is.” She heaved an impatient sigh. “Any more than I do.”
“Vadim’s rent-a-gorilla is a hell of a lot more likely to know where his boss is than you do. I realized it while I tramped those damn hills. Of all the houses Vadim owns or has access to, how could you know which one he’s gone to ground in? And who’s to say he hasn’t moved ten times in the last two weeks?”
“Then why is he sending these hit men after me?”
“I think you know where the uranium is. There’s some connection we’re not making. Some clue we — you — are missing.”
Tears sheened her eyes, but her chin jutted up in defiance. “Don’t you think I’m trying to remember?”
Dark Vengeance (The DARK Files Book 4) Page 16