“As am I.” Even with her clipped British accent firmly in place, Lila’s smile shone like sunshine on Nino. “I’m sorry I missed your feast. I’ve heard about it and really wanted to stay.”
His weathered face creased up, his thick brows drawing together as he checked her out. “You’ve heard about it?”
“This is an old friend of mine, Lila Wickham,” Gabe said, smoothing over the introduction. “My gramps, Nino Rossi.”
Nino engulfed her much smaller hand in his gnarled one. “This is the blonde you were talking about?”
“I hope so,” she said, a tease in her eyes that reminded him so much of Isa. “But with Gabe, you never know.”
With her he never knew. Which woman was he getting? This was a cover, of course, and if she were to be noticed, as they wanted, then she couldn’t freeze them out, but still. This unguarded, natural version of Lila was…attractive.
“How do you know each other?” Chessie asked, so curious Gabe thought she might crawl out of her skin trying to find a computer so she could run a complete background check of Lila Wickham. But he’d done that already, and even his superhacker sister wouldn’t find anything that wasn’t legit.
“I’m a former agent, like Gabe,” Lila said. “I’ve met Gabe on various assignments over the years.”
“Ohhhh.” Chessie drew out the word.
“Could you be any more uncool or obvious?” Gabe asked her.
“Oh, I could,” Chessie said brightly.
“Just give her a minute and a little more eggnog,” Lila teased.
Smooth. Perfectly silky smooth. Gabe couldn’t help shooting a glance of pure appreciation at Lila, impressed by how she’d jumped into this plan and worked like the pro she was.
In fact, he wasn’t even sure Isadora could have pulled it off. She might have wanted to, but her style was to let him shine while she sat back and did the translating. This woman wasn’t going to cede power or play to anyone.
A new trait that was incredibly hot.
“The truth is,” Lila continued, “after Gabe and I talked, we agreed his family has no secrets, so you might as well know I was in British intelligence and worked on a task force with the CIA.”
“Oh, you have to meet some of these other people.” Chessie threaded her arm through Lila’s. “They suck this stuff up with a straw.”
Lila threw a look to Gabe and winked. “She even talks like you.”
“I taught her everything I know,” he said.
“Be right back. Nino,” Lila said. “Don’t go anywhere, I’m dying to talk to you about that cacciatore recipe of yours. Gabe made it for me once, years ago, and I never forgot it.”
Nino’s jaw dropped as Lila headed off with Chessie to continue to spread the love. And Gabe watched her go. Damn.
“I like her,” Nino said, gazing after her.
So do I. “This from the man who started the day with ‘don’t get taken in by this woman,’” Gabe teased. “One mention of your cacciatore, and you’re ready to marry her.”
“You didn’t tell me you knew her already. And I was so busy talking you out of her. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Gabe brought his drink to his lips. “I had to make sure she wasn’t here for my help going undercover. She’s not. And we’re old friends,” he said, then washed the lie with a little booze.
Nino turned to him. “She looks good on you.”
“She’s not on me, Gramps.” But he sure as hell wouldn’t mind, especially if that spark he liked so much was lighting up the bedroom.
Could that ever happen again? Not while she was hiding something, he thought as he glanced after her again. What was it?
“I mean her…effect.” Nino grinned. “Maybe you’ve moved past bargaining and into acceptance.”
“Oh, stuff your stages of grief, Gramps.”
“Careful, Mr. Gabriel.” A large hand shot between them, palm up. “I’m listening to you.”
“I didn’t swear, Poppy.”
“But you will.” She added a smile. “And then you will pay me and pay me.”
“And Merry Christmas to you, Poppy.” Gabe gave her a kiss on her coffee-colored cheek. “How’s the live goat cooking up?”
“It’s curried goat,” she shot back. “And stewed oxtail in spiced rum.”
Nino rolled his eyes. “You know, a traditional Christmas dinner.”
She elbowed the old man. Hard. “We had enough fish to fill an ocean last night, and tonight’s my turn. Keep your pie hole closed, Nino Rossi, except to eat my traditional Jamaican food that the owner of the resort requested I cook for her party.”
Nino flattened her with a vile look. “You aren’t happy unless you’re driving me over a wall.”
She laughed. “Who taught this man English when he came to the United States?”
“Speaking of coming to the United States,” Gabe said, sensing this conversation was headed downhill fast since these two could not get past their differences. “Surely I’ve cursed enough to get those nephews of yours here.”
Her face fell, and she shook her head.
“You gotta have a grand saved up by now, Popcorn. You get five bucks every time I breathe.”
Her sigh was heavy and far too sad for a woman who normally exuded joy. “Isaiah’s in trouble, I’m afraid. And I can’t bring Ezra or baby Samuel without their older brother.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The worst kind.”
“He missed Sunday school?” Nino mused.
“He’s in jail.”
“Whoa,” Gabe said. “What’d he do?”
Instead of delivering her usual slicing remark, she averted her eyes. “Nothing, but the law isn’t always on the side of a boy like that. ’Scuze me, I have to check my goat curry.”
Nino backed off, too, letting her leave without a snide remark. “Damn shame,” he muttered. “She lives for those kids.”
“Wonder what he did,” Gabe said, only half thinking about it while he scanned the room for Lila.
“I can find out,” Nino said. “Chessie’s teaching me more computer stuff than you can hit with a stick.”
“Or shake one at.” Gabe put a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. “Let’s go find Lila.”
“You go.” Nino stepped to the side. “Poppy probably needs a hand with that goat. If I know her, she wrecked it with too much spice.”
“There’s the Christmas spirit.” Gabe gave him a toast and a smile, because he’d long suspected that they didn’t hate each other as much as they pretended to with their kitchen competitions.
Gabe took off, wending his way through the rooms, narrowly missing a few running mini-humans.
“Elijah! Here we come!” Two little near-matching blonds came barreling through the room, a boy who might be five or six with his Christmas button-down out of his pants and shoes long gone, followed by a twin sister who moved more slowly, holding a red velvet skirt out wide, at least forty sparkly bangles on her wrists, a tiara on her head, and enough beads around her neck it was a wonder she could walk.
“I am the queen!” she called out as she passed. “Make way for Queen Emma!”
“Long live the Queen of Too Much Jewelry.” Gabe let her by and added a slight bow. He watched her jingle-jangle away, a weird, unfamiliar, not totally unwelcome ping in his heart.
It was his day to be with kids, apparently. Kids he didn’t know. Kids he should have known. Kids he wanted to know so bad. The sudden desire to have Rafe right here, running around with these kids, having a Christmas, being a family, hit so hard he nearly dropped his drink.
He wanted to get him right now. Spring him from his little prison and his douchebag babysitter and bring him right here where he belonged. He looked around for Lila, spotting her on the other side of the family room in the middle of at least five people, chatting and laughing. After a second, she looked over the shoulder of one of the women talking to her and locked on his gaze.
And took his fucking breath away
.
What had made him think she wasn’t beautiful? Maybe not conventionally, no. Not the way Isadora had been. But she simmered with something under the surface that attracted him every bit as much as the luscious, bodacious woman she used to be.
Shit. What was going on here?
Holding her gaze, he crossed the room and came right to her.
“Do you all know Gabe?” she said, taking his hand and bringing him to her side. Like she was the one who’d been in Barefoot Bay all along.
Introductions, or greetings with people he already knew, were made, and Gabe tried to remember to get Lila’s name and background out there, but he kept stealing glances at the woman on his left, mesmerized.
“Oh, here’s my husband.” One of the women, the one who owned the hot-air balloon business at the resort, reached her hand out in greeting to a man who’d just walked in, a six-foot-plus male-model type in doctor scrubs. “He had an emergency at his clinic.”
In a moment, the man was next to her, introduced to Gabe and Lila as Dr. Oliver Bradbury.
“What kind of medicine do you practice?” Lila asked, her complete ease in a group of people yet another thing that reminded him of Isadora. But different, still.
“I have a clinic that specializes in advanced cancer treatment over in Naples,” the doctor said. “I do research and surgery.”
His wife, Zoe, beamed. “He’s a brilliant physician,” she said proudly. “And a wonderful father. Oliver, Lila is an ex-MI6 agent,” she added.
The doctor was suitably interested, as anyone was when they heard someone was a spook, making Gabe certain his plan to get the word out that she was here would work.
The only question he had was what he’d do when the someone who was looking for her landed in his lap, besides break his face. Then what? Would she stay here? Would she go—
“Right, Gabe?”
He blinked, realizing he was staring right at Lila, and she was asking him a question.
“The life of a spy isn’t always as sexy as in the movies,” she said.
“It has its moments,” he said, taking her hand. She closed her fingers around his, a natural move that felt as good as it did right, and kept the easy conversation going. All through cocktails, all through dinner, and even during the kids’ painfully precious performance of The Little Drummer Boy.
As the last song ended, Lila put her head on his shoulder. Just like Isa.
“Ready to leave?” he whispered.
“If you think we’ve done our job here and every single person knows my name and story.”
“Every one. And someone will tell a cousin who will tell a friend who will put a post on Facebook or tweet about meeting a real live female James Bond, and bam. We’ll get some company.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I hope this works.”
She looked so pretty like that, so feminine and sexy. He tipped her chin up and gave her a light kiss on the lips.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“So people talk more,” he lied.
She reached up and put her arms around his neck, pulling him close. “Then let’s give them something to really talk about.” She kissed him on the lips, long, slow, and sexy enough that everyone had to notice.
And he had to get her home. Now.
Chapter Thirteen
The walk back to the villa was short; Rockrose was less than a half mile down the beach from Lacey and Clay Walker’s house at the curve of Barefoot Bay. But Lila wanted it to last forever, because right that minute, she didn’t have a headache. Not even the shadow of pain at the base of her neck.
It was always like that when she was concentrating on a cover, and she longed for the pain-free moment to last.
But one look at the man walking next to her, his shoulders broad in a white shirt, his hair tussled from the breeze, shoes in hand, a half smile in place…and she knew this bliss wouldn’t stick around for very long.
He’d hold her hand. He’d make her laugh. He’d pull her close and kiss her and then…it would start. Affection. Warmth. Love. It all hurt her.
“You know what’s weird?” Gabe asked.
That love had to hurt her. “This whole situation?”
“Besides that.” He slowed his step and turned from the water to study her. “We have a history, but it feels like I met you last night. I don’t know where that leaves us.”
She looked past him, not wanting to test the headache gods, pulling on her shield of ice. “It leaves us right where we are, on this beach, with this plan, and those memories.”
He gave her a look, dubious and narrow-eyed.
“What?” she asked.
“You confused me tonight.”
“Confused? I couldn’t have been more clear. Hello, world, here I am, Lila Wickham. Please report my whereabouts.”
“So you were acting?”
“I was…” She stopped walking to think about that. “Working, yes.”
“But you were a lot like Isadora,” he said softly. “Only a little different. Even though you were Lila. See? Confused.”
So was she. “In what way was I Isadora?”
“Oh…” He thought for a moment, then stabbed her shoulder with his finger. “When you do this. You poked me in the chest today. Twice.”
“Because you want to be in charge of everything, and you’re stubborn, and I…” She laughed. “I don’t really poke anybody but you. What else?”
He touched his left shoulder. “You put your head here like you used to.”
“It’s just…the right height.” The need to put her head right there, right now, made her stomach clutch a little. Gabe’s shoulder was the safest, sweetest, sexiest place she could rest her head…but if she did, that head would start to hurt.
“But then you say something like that, or ‘it leaves us right where we are.’ And, wham. The ice maiden is back.”
“And you don’t like the ice maiden?”
“I like her enough to…want to melt her.”
She threaded her fingers through her hair and pulled it back as the tingling started in her scalp. Damn it. Damn it all. “Of course I changed, Gabe. I’m not that carefree CIA translator who jumped on every chance to be on an assignment with big, bad Gabe Rossi so I could fall into bed with him at every possible moment.”
“Is that why you took all those assignments? I thought it was because my creative language was such a professional challenge to your translating skills.”
“It’s true.” She tipped her head, remembering one particularly dicey meeting in China. “No other agent made me say, ‘Shut up, you hopeless pile of wankstain’ in Cantonese. It’s every interpreter’s dream.”
He put his arm around her, squeezing. “Now there’s my girl.”
Her smile faded as her heart dropped down to her stomach. “I can never, ever be Isadora again, any more than our son can be Gabriel. The agency made me give up every piece of paperwork that would prove I’m Isadora Winter. Birth certificate, social security card, passport, driver’s license. Plus there’s a death certificate with Isadora Winter’s name on it in their files.” She turned to him again and took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “And, honestly, I’m sorry I’m not the pretty, voluptuous girl you loved.”
As an answer, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “I’m starting to like this new you. A lot.”
The confession warmed her, almost as much as the pressure of his body, molding right to hers.
“I miss the memories,” he added.
“We still have them.”
“Do we?” he asked.
“They didn’t surgically remove my memory banks, Gabe. I remember everything—every moment, every touch, every kiss.”
“Me, too,” he whispered, closing every bit of space between them. “And it makes me want more.”
She tilted her head back, ignoring the pressure that started in her temples, and half closed her eyes. “I don’t care,” she wh
ispered to that demon of pain. “I want this.”
“I do care. And I want this, too.” He dipped down and captured her mouth in a long, sensual kiss. She lifted her arms to circle around his neck while he eased her closer to let her feel how the kiss affected him.
“Ooh, I certainly remember”—she rocked into his erection and sighed at an avalanche of good memories—“that.”
“Do you remember the time”—he trailed his lips over her jaw and throat and slid his hands over her backside—“in the bathhouse in Beijing?”
“Under the bamboo cabana?” She arched into him, the memory vivid.
“And how about that night you came to my apartment in DC in nothing but a raincoat on your birthday?”
“To show you my birthday suit.” She inched back and gave a soft laugh. “Do you remember I got pulled over—”
“For having a headlight out,” he finished.
“I was so scared the cop was going to make me get out of the car, and the coat.”
He grinned at her. “I got you out of the coat.”
“With lightning speed.”
They smiled at each other, lost for a minute, in the past.
“See? It’s still me,” she whispered, laying her head against his chest because it felt so good.
“I knew I could find you in there.”
She opened her eyes, and her gaze landed on the shimmer of silver moonlight spilling over the water, instantly calling to mind another precious memory.
“Varadero Beach on the outskirts of Havana,” she whispered. “Oh, Gabe. That night.”
“Best water sex in the history of water sex.”
She drew back and looked up at him. “We went in completely dressed.”
“And when we came out, you put on my shirt and tied it into a knot right here.” He reached for the spot just under her breasts. “You know what you did in that moment?”
“Ran to the hotel room soaking wet?”
“You pretty much killed any chance of me falling for any other woman. Ever.”
She let the words roll over her and then asked the obvious question. “Even this woman?”
“I guess…it depends on who you are.”
Wordlessly, she lifted her finger and crooked it, refusing to lose this magic because the headache had slipped from a shadow to a five-point-five on the pain scale. Hell, she endured worse when Rafe climbed into her arms and said he loved her.
Roxanne St. Claire - Barefoot With a Bad Boy (Barefoot Bay Undercover #3) Page 12