Honeymoon with a Stranger

by Frances Housden

  “I wanted to obliterate the place where Yves had put his slimy hands on you. When I thought Sevarin had taken you, the one person I really cherished, from me, I wanted to destroy the one thing he really treasured.”

  Mac was on an emotional high. Nothing she said to him could top the outpouring she’d just heard, not even I love you.

  So she didn’t attempt to compete.

  Instead, she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him hard, wrote him a love letter with her lips.

  For a long time the bedroom drowned in silence as they spoke from both hearts instead of minds. Told of their emotions with a sigh or a touch. And when at last Mac lifted his head and his gold eyes glittered down at her, she knew exactly what he wanted.

  He wanted her.

  He shook his head as if to set it straight again. “Chérie, there’s one promise I don’t intend to break. I promised you champagne, and champagne you will have. I intend to celebrate your success in style. How does a bottle of Krug sound?”

  Mac stood her in front of him to let him rise from the huge bed they’d kept their distance on since the day she’d moved in with him. “It sounds absolutely perfect,” she said.

  Her head swimming, she watched Mac’s long-legged stride carry him to the open door. He had a spring in his step that contrasted with the confessions she’d heard fifteen minutes earlier.

  Her heart pounded when she thought of all he’d done in the name of love. Love for her

  Reaching the doorway, he turned, a big grin on his face. “Of course, I’ll expect you to be naked when I get back.”

  And Roxie was, but tucked under the covers, still slightly shy of this huge man, and the hidden depths she discovered in him.

  Mac had felt wrung out with emotion, but lying in Roxie’s arms refreshed him. He just hoped she wouldn’t expect him to let it all hang out on a regular basis.

  It wasn’t as if he had no more secrets to spill.

  He still hadn’t told her what he’d discovered. That he was the bastard son of Milo Jellic, some ne’er-do-well cop. Or that his birth mother had once been married to the most wanted king of crime in New Zealand.

  Now, there was a pedigree that left Sevarin’s in the dust.

  There was no room for all of that in the bed with Roxie.

  And if he still hadn’t come to grips with his parents’ failure to tell him he was adopted, though they’d had thirty-one years to tell him the truth, too bad.

  He was a fraud. His blue-blooded American genes were nonexistent. In fact, he had the perfect profile for a spy; he’d been living a lie all his life.

  No wonder Jason Hart had picked him from all the American intelligence agents he’d had to choose from.

  He was the real deal.

  But he could forget all the uncertainty when Roxie welcomed him into her arms, to her body.

  Then, she was the only thing on his mind.

  She still hadn’t returned the gesture and said she loved him, but he could read the truth in the way she opened her body to him and rocked him in the cradle of her hips.

  They’d already done all the romantic stuff, crossed arms and sipped champagne from each other’s glasses, and punctuated their consumption of Krug with kisses that sparkled.

  Now there was only the rhythmic slap of their hips coming together as a background to the melody played by their passionate sighs and moans.

  He thrust deeper, faster, imprinting his taste, smell and feel on her synapses, binding her to him with his love.

  His life had been full of revelations lately, and if it hadn’t been for Roxie it would feel as if he was all alone, like standing on top of Everest, the highest mountain in Nepal, the country where he’d met a half brother without knowing it.

  Only one person had the power to make or break him now, Roxie, and she was locked in his arms, high with passion and elation, communicating her love through simply being Roxie.

  The sheets were in a tangle around them and the air locked in Roxie’s throat as Mac rolled her over so she lay on top of him.

  “Sit up and take control, chérie,” he panted, his chest heaving against the tender, well-kissed points of her breasts.

  A man of contrasts, Mac was willing to give her control in bed, yet wouldn’t let her work alongside him in a field he considered too dangerous.

  The question was, too dangerous for her, or for any woman?

  His hands gripped her hips to steady her, then reached for her breasts as she rode high above him. She’d never known her skin could be so responsive, but maybe it was only Mac’s touch that could wring this pool of sensations from her.

  They moved together, Mac’s hips undulating up into her with each powerful thrust.

  He looked up at her from under heavy eyelids, the glitter in his eyes a gold touchstone that set her on fire.

  Mac had taken her up this high over and over, without letting her tumble, but his expression told her he couldn’t hold out any longer. Knowing sent a shudder through her she couldn’t control.

  This time they were going to fly.

  He pulled the pillow from her side of the bed and in one swift movement tucked it behind her hips, “Lean back, bébé. Place your hands on the pillow for support.

  Mac was nothing if not inventive at finding new ways to increase their pleasure, so she did as he asked, arching her back and leaning her weight on her hands as he continued to thrust.

  “Now, look down. Look down and see what I see.” His palms curved round her hip bones, his thumbs stroking the small curve of her belly.

  Heavens, she’d never felt so open before, so vulnerable to his gaze, not even that first night in the bath.

  The look in Mac’s eyes as he watched them move together was enough to send her over the edge. “No, don’t look at me, look at us,” he groaned. “Watch me slide into you.”

  It felt like eroticism at its highest. Not lewd, but a loving act between two adults who only wanted to please each other.

  Her breathing became labored, but she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t drag her eyes from the dusky column that lifted her higher with each plunge and compelled her to protest in fear each time it drew back.

  “You’re killing me here,” she moaned as heat and exhaustion made her scared she would collapse before they leapt.

  “Time to go, bébé, time to blow the roof off this place,” he roared, his thumbs sliding down to stroke the pulse above the point where their bodies met.

  Once, twice, a third time and the ceiling lifted.

  She saw the stars. Shooting stars. Was there ever anything more glorious than lifting off with the man you loved shouting your name as he jetted his life force inside you?

  Roxie collapsed onto Mac’s chest, enervated, and just before she fell into a mind-numbing stupor, she said, “We should buy a mirror, a big mirror.”

  The next day went wrong from the moment they woke up, late.

  Mac was already running three-quarters of an hour behind schedule when he dropped Roxie off in front of the House of Fortier, wearing a red suit she said was an expression of her happiness.

  He’d left her standing on the sidewalk with no time for a goodbye kiss, just a “See you tonight.”

  Then he arrived at IBIS’s Paris headquarters to find Jason Hart there before him. Three hours before him.

  “Okay,” said Jason, “you can start by showing me these vials of Green Shield, then I want your suggestions on how to deal with the green beastie.”

  Mac led him along the corridor to the locked lab, where he’d stashed it in the freezer. “Personally,” Mac told him, “I want to see it destroyed, and there is only one way, extreme heat.” He laughed, then continued, “Sir, if I had my way, we’d burn it in a furnace, then seal it up and ship it to the Arctic for burial.”

  Jason’s laugh contained no humor. “It’s that frightening?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ve seen it in action, and I don’t believe we should take any chances.”

  “Too bad the people behind i
t are all dead. I’d like to string them up for unleashing this on the world.”

  “Not all of them. We still haven’t captured Javier Sevarin.”

  Jason Hart looked at Mac and held his gaze with a wealth of meaning behind his almost nonexistent expression. “I have this feeling he won’t live very long after we do find him.”

  “You could be right, sir,” Mac answered, catching his drift. Sometimes waiting for justice to take its course meant waiting forever; however, Mac would make sure it was considered a fair result even if the attempt killed him, as well.

  “You’re correct about Green Shield, it has to be destroyed. I’ll leave you to take care of that,” Jason Hart said as they reached the forensic laboratory where the vials were under guard.

  They had to wait a moment until the guard let them through, before Mac could say, “But I resigned. I might not be around.”

  “Well, hell, Mac. You didn’t really think I was going to accept that, did you? I had a promotion in mind. Now your cover’s ruined in Paris….”

  God, don’t shift me from Paris. Don’t send me away from Roxie.

  “How does head of the Paris bureau sound?” Without waiting for a reply, Jason continued, “Cliff Eagles is a good man, but he’s hankering to get back to the States. Washington will suit him just fine.”

  “I don’t know what to say, sir.” Mac felt stunned. He’d been waiting for the axe to drop, and instead he’d gotten exactly what he needed to stay close to Roxie.

  “Say yes, Mac. It’s a nice simple word.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mac felt like saluting, but his days in Naval Intelligence were long gone. So much had happened since Jason had recruited him out of there after 9/11.

  He opened the freezer and carefully pulled out the plastic ice cream cartons. “This is it.”

  Jason Hart took a grim look inside the common containers, which were the only thing standing between the world and disaster, if you couldn’t count on IBIS.

  “Repack it, Mac. Do it yourself. Pack it in something really flammable like polyurethane foam and wood. Then carry out the rest of your plans. Just don’t tell anyone what you’re burying in the Arctic.”

  They left the lab side by side, shoulder to shoulder, two men who had taken on the security of the world and everyone in it.

  About the time they reached the end of the corridor, Jason said, “’Course, you know what I’d really like to do. I’d like to take those two vials, march into the French Minister of Defense’s office and scare the crap out of him.”

  “Amen to that, sir.”

  “He’s as guilty as the rest of his department for giving this research the okay. You can’t create a monster and expect to keep it under control.”

  Jason gave a cold smile. Mac had seen it before, each time they took out another terrorist. “As it is, the minister will lose his job. I’ll see to that. I’ve a meeting with the French president this afternoon.”

  And Mac knew he would carry out his plans. Jason Hart was formidable at getting his own way.

  “The French were eager to sign up with me and IBIS, so they knew what they were getting into, and like the rest of us they have to abide by the rules, otherwise the bad guys will win.”

  Mac always marveled at Jason Hart; barely forty, he yielded considerable power, yet it never looked as if it rested heavily on his shoulders.

  He still had a lot of youth and vigor in the hand that shook Mac’s outside Cliff Eagles’s office. “I’ll go and give Cliff the good news. You have a good day, now.”

  Mac thought about Roxie.

  He certainly intended having a good night.

  It was as if his luck had turned from this morning.

  That was before he got a call from his parents.

  They were ensconced in the Hôtel George V and would like to talk with him. He remembered his parents sending for him to give him a talking to when he was young, usually for some form of mischief or another.

  Tonight, most of the talking would come from him, and his parents’ explanations had better be good.

  Roxie’s new cell phone vibrated against her hip. Vibrated because Charles abhorred the sound of tinny electronic music in his salon, claiming it spoiled the ambience.

  “Roxie, I’m sorry I can’t pick you up from work tonight.” As she listened to Mac’s voice, the hairs at the back of her neck prickled and her stomach churned.

  He only ever called her at work if it was important, and today his voice had a tense, edgy ring she couldn’t explain away as the fault of her cell phone.

  “Thierry will come and collect you instead.” He laughed then, but it had a hollow ring. “Don’t let him talk you into going for a drink with him. The guy is too handsome for his own good, or should I say, my peace of mind….”

  “But, Mac, where are you going?”

  “It’s too long a story. I’ll explain when I see you tonight.” He paused for a moment. “Chérie, I’m sending him because I trust him to keep you safe. Take care, I’ve got to go.”

  Roxie closed the cell phone and slipped it back in its pouch as she pondered Mac’s obvious agitation. There had been no sign of this morning’s protestations of love.

  Then it struck her.

  Javier!

  He was going after Sevarin’s son and leaving her out of the loop, again!

  She hated to compare Mac to Dumont’s antifeminist stance, but he’d been another who thought women shouldn’t go into the field. That the perfect use for her skills was gathering gossip.

  Was it any wonder she’d barged into Mac’s apartment when she’d had a chance to prove herself?

  Margaret McBride watched her son, Joshua S. McBride Junior, pace the floor of their suite. He was angry.

  “How could you let me believe I was someone who doesn’t exist?”

  Margaret was familiar with her son’s expression. Though it had been almost twelve years since they’d had daily contact, she could still read him like a book.

  “Of course you exist,” grumped her husband. “Don’t be melodramatic. You tell him, Meggy.”

  For a seasoned diplomat, her husband was good at passing her the buck in family matters. “Darling, you’ve always known you were born in New Zealand. It’s on your birth certi—”

  Mac didn’t let her finish. “Yeah, and all that told me was I couldn’t run for president, not that I wasn’t your son.”

  Though she was eleven inches shorter than him, she stopped his restless pacing simply by placing her hand on his arm.

  “Of course you’re our son. We loved you the moment we saw you. It didn’t matter that you were bright red with bawling your head off or that your auburn curls clashed with the color of your face. The moment I held you against my heart you were mine, my son.”

  Actually, she hadn’t realized his hair was auburn until Josh had mentioned it after they left the hospital. She’d fallen in love with Mac…with her son, at first sight.

  “So, you bought me?” Mac covered his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at her and pains of regret shafted into her heart.

  But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “No such thing,” she told him, hurt even more to hear him speak to her that way. Mac might have been stubborn growing up, but he’d never been disrespectful.

  She loosed a sigh that began somewhere near her toes. “Yes, we did give your birth mother money, but not because she asked for it. Her only concern was for your safety, to get you away from New Zealand before her husband found you and killed you as he had your biological father.”

  Tears welled in Margaret’s eyes as she remembered how desperate the woman had been to save her son’s life, and her grief because the death of her son’s father left her no place to turn to for help. Not without placing the people in danger from her husband’s wrath. Margaret had never felt as frantic as that woman, until now.

  She dragged Mac’s hand away from his eyes. “Look at me.”

  It cut her deeply to listen to the low moan that seemed to come from his
heart as he turned his back on her.

  Josh put his arm around her shoulders, but even her husband’s touch couldn’t ease her pain, just as nothing she said seemed to comfort her son.

  But at least one of the McBride males was on her side for he cautioned Mac, “Don’t you disrespect your mother that way, son. Sure we made mistakes, but it was with the best of intentions.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you paved my way to hell with them. Why didn’t you see fit to tell me all this while I was growing up?” Mac asked through tight lips, as if he hated them to know his pain.

  Josh tightened his hold on her upper arm. He might not have said much apart from leaping to her defense, but she knew he felt this deeply. Today was the day they’d hoped would never come.

  Her husband took over now. “Sure, we gave your birth mother money. As much as your life was in danger from her husband, so was hers.”

  Margaret took over the explanation, smoothing the rough edges of her husband’s statement. “We gave her the money to escape New Zealand. How could we live with her death on our conscience? She gave birth to you, the most precious gift we ever received.”

  “Quite right, my dear.” Josh backed her up, and she could tell he was just as affected by the memory as she was. “Her husband is still alive. We’ve made a point of keeping track of him over the years. He’s a very bad man.”

  “Darling.” Margaret went over and put her arms around Mac, hugging his stiff-with-resentment body close. “We did talk about telling you, but we know you too well. Your sense of honor and justice is too ingrained to just let it end at that.”

  She stepped back and looked up at her son. “We were frightened you might go haring off to New Zealand, intent on seeking justice for the murder of your biological father.”

  The strain eased from Mac’s face and a wry twist of a smile shaped it. “Yeah, you know me,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’d have done…might yet.” Margaret felt her heart sink, knowing the son of her heart was a man of his word. She feared for him.

  Feared to lose him even more than they had by their silence.