“Bath time,” he said.
Mia’s eyes widened. “No. Matthew, it’ll be cold!”
“Ready or not,” he said, and ran straight into the water. Laughing, he carried her deeper while she kicked and shrieked and laughed enough to make him wish he could freeze this moment and keep it, forever.
“Mia,” he said, “Mia…”
Her laughter faded. So did his.
“Matthew,” she whispered, and kissed him.
His mouth was a hot contrast to the chill of the pool, his body was hard and strong against hers…
And she finally knew there was no sense lying to herself.
Somewhere between yesterday and today, she’d fallen in love with Matthew Knight.
CHAPTER NINE
DAYS AND NIGHTS flowed one into another.
There were no clocks to watch, no outside world to observe them, no rules to obey.
The lovers laughed and talked; they feasted on the meals Evalina prepared and left for them, drank the wines stored in the cellar. They swam in the Olympicsize pool behind the house and luxuriated in the heated spa on the deck.
They took long walks through the cool woods and drove the narrow roads that wound through the mountains. They played Monopoly and Scrabble and watched really bad horror movies late at night, via satellite.
That is, they did those things when they weren’t making love.
“Do you like this?” Matthew would say, bending his head to Mia’s breasts. “This?” he’d whisper, parting her thighs. “And this?” he’d ask huskily, sliding deep inside her.
Her sighs, her moans, the swift clenching of her muscles as she closed around him, told him everything he needed to know.
Everything except the real reason she’d run from Cartagena.
He knew her, now. She was beautiful and feminine; walking toward him, naked, as she rose from the pool in the forest, she might have been painted by Botticelli.
But she was strong in all the ways that mattered.
He couldn’t see her running from Hamilton, no matter how unwanted the man’s attentions. She’d have looked the bastard straight in the eye and told him what she thought of him, but run?
The more Matthew knew Mia, the less likely that seemed.
But he’d given up asking her to tell him the truth. It hurt him that she wouldn’t but he figured she had a damned good reason for it. When she was ready, he told himself, she’d share it with him.
In the meantime, they were on a voyage of sensual discovery.
Mia, uninhibited in her responses to his lovemaking, was, at first, reserved in her exploration of his body.
“Tell me what pleases you,” she’d whisper, and he’d say she was what pleased him.
It was true. Just watching her comb her hair or step into the bath was enough to make him hard.
“Tell me,” she’d insist.
“Touch me and find out,” he finally said, with a little smile.
And, sweet Jesus, she did.
One night, on the terrace, with only the moon to see by, she undressed for him. She wouldn’t let him help, wouldn’t let him touch her.
She did it by herself, slowly, slowly, with all the innate skill of Eve. By the time the last of her clothing drifted to the tile floor, he was half out of his mind.
He started to pull off his shirt. Mia stopped him.
“My job,” she said softly.
She stripped away his shirt. His jeans. He had nothing on under them and when he sprang free, into her hands, he had to clench his teeth to keep from ending it right then.
“Is this for me?” she purred.
And then she drove him to the edge. Stroked him. Tasted him. Lowered herself onto his straining shaft while she watched his face. She rode him, her head back, her eyes closed in ecstasy, and he let her think she was in control until, with a primitive growl, he rolled her beneath him, pinned her arms above her head and drove her to the thin edge of release again and again, until she wept and begged for mercy.
“Please,” she whispered. “Matthew, please…”
He let go of her wrists. Caught her face and kissed her mouth. Then he rose above her again and drove deep as she screamed his name into the night.
He collapsed on her. He knew he was too big, too heavy, but he couldn’t move, didn’t want to move.
Mia didn’t want him to move, either. When he finally stirred, she held him tight.
“Stay,” she whispered.
He kissed her mouth, her eyes, her throat. Then he rolled onto his back, tucked her into the curve of his shoulder, and held her close against his heart.
Mia sighed, shut her eyes and drifted to sleep.
Matthew watched the fire of the starry night wheel overhead, the fat moon drop from the sky. The past days and nights had changed him. Years ago, a woman he’d been involved with had grown angry at what she called his “removal.” He was, she’d said angrily, a lone wolf.
It was the truth. Except for his brothers, he’d always been most content to be alone. Not anymore. He was most content, hell, he was only happy when he was with Mia.
What did that mean?
What did it mean? Matthew thought, and refused to reach for the word.
Another long, perfect day.
They drove to a little town high in the Andes where you could stroll across the street and step into Brazil. They ate tortillas and empanadas, drank icy cold beer and shared an ice-cream cone.
He bought her a corn-husk doll. She bought him a fetish hung from a leather cord.
It was, the vendor said, a bit of bone from the bravest of creatures. An eagle.
“An eagle for a man who wears an eagle,” Mia said softly, as she slipped the leather cord over Matthew’s head.
To her delight, he blushed.
“Did you really think I hadn’t noticed your tattoo?” she said, smiling up at him. “He’s beautiful. Just like you.”
Matthew’s blush deepened. “You’re gonna pay for all this,” he said, which delighted her even more.
“I hope so.”
The look on his face made her laugh. She took his arm as they began walking again. “Did you get the tattoo when you were in the service?”
“In the…?” A muscle in his arm jerked under her hand. “When I was a soldier, you mean? No. Before that. It was a kid thing. I have two brothers.”
How little she knew about her lover. “Older? Younger?”
“Older. We were born a year apart and we’ve always been close. Anyway, we all got a little, uh, a little stupid the night before Cam—he’s the oldest—the night before he left for college.”
“Meaning, you realized you were going to be separated, probably for the first time, and it upset you.” She nuzzled his shoulder. “I think that’s sweet.”
Matthew grinned. “The truth is, we were drunk as skunks. All of a sudden, some memento, something we could share, seemed right. So we drove to this little place Cam had heard of, spent a while arguing over whether we should get tattoos of an eagle or a skull and crossbones…”
Mia gave a dramatic shudder. “I’m glad the eagle won.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Me, too. Anyway, it was just kid stuff.”
“It was nice stuff,” she said softly, hugging his arm.
“You think?” he said, and felt foolish because he couldn’t stop the pleased grin that spread over his face.
“I know. I was an only child. I’d have given anything for brothers or sisters.” She looked up at him and batted her lashes. “Besides…that eagle is very sexy.”
“You’re what’s sexy,” Matthew said, and kissed her right there, on the street, for all the world to see.
A shop caught Mia’s eye. Matthew saw the way she gazed at a pale apricot dress in the window.
“Let’s go inside and take a closer look,” he said.
She shook her head. This wasn’t a tourist shop. Everything here would be expensive.
“No,” she said, “it’s lovely, but—�
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Matthew caught her hand and tugged her through the door. A smiling woman bustled toward them.
“Buenos dias.”
“Buenos dias, señora. Quieremos comprar un vestido, el del aprador de la vitrina.”
“No!” Mia gave the woman a quick smile, then turned to Matthew. “I don’t want to buy the dress,” she whispered. “It’s too expensive.”
“I want to buy it,” he said softly.
“I can’t let you.”
“Aha,” he said. “Discrimination!” His expression was serious, but his eyes laughed at her. “Ice cream’s okay but a dress isn’t.”
“Matthew.” Mia tried not to smile. “That’s silly.”
“She discriminates, and now she slanders me.” He turned toward the shop’s owner, who was watching the byplay and grinning. “What is a man supposed to do with a woman like this, señora? Unless…” He looked at Mia. “Unless, you don’t like the dress.”
“Of course I like it. It’s beautiful. But—”
“Or you think it’s not your size. Actually it does look kind of small.”
“It’s not too small.”
“You sure?”
“Honestly, Matthew…”
“Honestly, Mia,” he said gently, “I’m going to buy the dress.” He put his hands on her waist and drew her toward him; the señora smiled and busied herself at a counter filled with brightly-colored silk scarves. “I want to see you in it,” he said huskily. “And then I want to take you out of it. All those tiny buttons…”
Her eyes darkened, the way they always did when they made love. He bent his head and kissed her. Then he drew back, watched as her lashes slowly lifted and her eyes met his.
Mine, he thought, with sudden ferocity. Mine, forever.
The breath caught in his throat as he realized that the impossible had happened.
He was deeply, passionately in love.
Mia changed in the dressing room.
The dress was beautiful. She’d never owned anything like it. The neckline swooped low, showing the curve of her breasts. Her gaze fell to the little buttons that went all the way to the hem and she shuddered with pleasure, imagining Matthew undoing them, one by one.
There was a knock at the door. It opened just enough for a large, masculine hand to reach around the edge. Delicate accessories tumbled on the cool tile. Slender-heeled sandals that might have been spun of gold. A gold purse. A black lace mantilla that looked too fragile to be real.
Mia’s heart turned over.
The emotions that filled her felt the same way. Too fragile to be real.
She leaned her forehead against the door. “Matthew,” she said in a choked whisper, “really, I can’t—”
“We’re having dinner at a restaurant the señora assures me is deserving of all this elegance.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “How can we disappoint her?”
How, indeed?
The señora was right.
The restaurant was perfect. It was small and candlelit; a group of musicians played softly in the background. Their corner table offered a view shared only by an Andean condor, soaring on enormous wings a thousand feet over the mountains.
And yet, the only sight Matthew feasted his eyes on was Mia.
He’d been right about the pale apricot dress. It might have been made for her. Her skin, her eyes, her hair, streaming in loose curls over her shoulders, all seemed shot with gold.
He ordered for them both, steaks and ensalada and a bottle of Chilean cabernet sauvignon. Mia said everything was wonderful and he believed her, but he couldn’t taste anything himself.
Mia filled his senses.
He loved her. God, he loved her.
And what in hell was he going to do about it?
Did a man tell a woman he loved her when she carried a secret she refused to share with him? Because the truth was, he knew, in his gut, that what Mia had told him about leaving Hamilton was a lie.
She hadn’t left because he wouldn’t take no for an answer. There was more to it than that.
Why wouldn’t she let him know what it was? It killed him that she didn’t trust him enough…but who was he to sit in judgment?
He had his own secrets.
He’d told her he’d been a soldier. Okay. He had, but there was more to it than that. He’d been a spy. A spook. Hell, he’d been an agent for a faceless government agency and even though he’d believed in his country, there were times he’d done things…
How would she feel, if she knew he had a past that still haunted him? If she knew that he’d been unable to save Alita, or even to avenge her death?
So many questions. So few answers. And yet, only one mattered. When he told Mia he loved her, would she tell him she loved him, too?
He reached across the table for her hand. The truth about himself, first. He’d tell her now. Right now.
“Mia?”
“Yes?”
Her eyes met his. He’d never seen her look happier. He was a man who prided himself on his courage but now, he felt his throat go dry.
“Mia,” he said, and pushed back his chair. “Baby, will you dance with me?”
She went into his arms as if she’d been there all her life. As if she’d be there forever. And she would be, he thought, closing his eyes as he gathered her close. She would be his, always.
He touched his lips to her hair.
“Happy?” he said softly.
Mia nodded. She was almost afraid to speak. It was silly, she knew, but she could feel the tears gathering behind her eyes.
How come women cried when they were happy?
How could her terrifying flight from Cartagena have led to such bliss?
They were questions without answers, but so what? All that mattered was this. Being in Matthew’s arms. Knowing she loved him.
Knowing she trusted him.
Because she did. No matter what she’d believed about him initially, she trusted him now.
It was time to tell him the truth. Everything, from start to finish.
That she worked for a faceless place known as the Agency, even if she hadn’t even heard of it a year ago and knew she’d never, ever want to work for them again.
That she’d been sent to Cartagena as Hamilton’s P.A. so she could find out if he had turned and was working for the Rosario cartel.
Douglas grew suspicious. Without admitting anything, he’d accused her of spying on him. She denied it, and he decided to take out what he called “insurance.”
He set it up to look as if she’d tried to smuggle cocaine to the States. Then he quashed the supposed attempt.
“Do anything stupid, and I’ll turn you over to the local authorities,” he’d said with a nasty smile. “Imagine how it will be to spend a few years in a Colombian prison.”
And he made it equally clear that part of the price she’d pay for staying out of prison was warming his bed.
That was when she’d decided to run.
She’d found a list of Douglas’s cartel contacts and the monies they’d paid him hidden on his computer. She downloaded the list to a mini compact disk and fled.
If she could just get to Bogotá, she’d told herself, get to the Embassy…
Except, Matthew intercepted her. And even though Douglas had sent him to find her, she’d come to trust him.
To trust him…
“Matthew,” she said breathlessly. Couples around them were swaying to the music but Mia came to a stop. “Matthew.” Her heart thudded as she looked up into the eyes of her lover. “I have to talk to you.”
She saw, immediately, that he understood. She didn’t want to discuss the weather or the wine or the food. She wanted to discuss what had brought them together…and what kept them apart.
He nodded. “That’s good,” he said, “because there are things I have to tell you, too.”
He led her back to their table. She drew the mantilla around her shoulders and picked up her purse while he took a stack of bills from his wa
llet and left them for the waiter.
Then he led her out into the night.
They drove in silence, hands clasped on the console.
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