Dangerous Illusions (Steel Hawk Book 3)

by Sarah Ballance

  Sophie wondered if she should leave, but no, he hadn’t opened himself to her because he wanted to be alone. He’d wanted someone at his side.

  She got to her feet and made a silent trek across the room, hesitating just behind him. She worried he might want privacy, but the draw was just too much. She slid her arms around him from behind and rested her head against the strong plane of his back. To her surprise, he wrapped his arms around hers and pulled her in tighter.

  They stood for the longest time in silence. She couldn’t see anything but his back, but she instinctively knew he was staring out at the world, wondering about his place in it. “You’re still the same person you’ve always been.”

  A self-deprecating laugh rumbled through his chest. “No. That man doesn’t exist—not anymore. I made a career out of following the letter of the law, and now I’m some kind of hypocrite.”

  “Did your parents love you? Did they give you a good life?”

  Tension ratcheted through his muscles, but he spoke softly. “Yes, of course.”

  She moved so she could look at him, but she hadn’t been prepared for the consequences. He stole her breath. She had to fight to get it back. “Then they did everything they could. They gave you a life that your birth mother, for whatever reason, felt she couldn’t. This news might alter your sense of self, but it doesn’t change your foundation. It doesn’t change who you are inside.”

  He brushed back a strand of hair that had found its way to her face. His fingers lingered on her cheek in a gentle caress, and her eyes fluttered closed until he spoke. “How do you manage to know so much about me?”

  “Maybe I find you a fascinating subject.”

  “You are so incredibly beautiful,” he said. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating.”

  He smiled softly, his thumb dragging the corner of her mouth. “Do you really think I’m prone to exaggeration?”

  “No,” she admitted. “But I’m not exactly prone to having a man like you look at me like that.”

  “And what kind of man might that be?”

  “Smart. Sexy. Thoughtful.” Her attention drifted to his lips. “An incredible kisser.”

  He laughed. “There’s probably not another person in the world who would attribute those qualities to me.”

  “Their loss.”

  His hands slid to her body, and he pulled her until not an ounce of space existed between them. Then he leaned down and covered her mouth with his. The kiss was so gentle, yet he trembled from it, as if restraint tore at him.

  She didn’t want him to fight it. Not anymore.

  “You don’t have cameras in here,” she teased. “Do you?”

  He grinned against her mouth. “Might. If you plan on taking advantage of me, we’d better go into the bedroom.”

  “I guess we’d better go, then,” she murmured.

  She didn’t have to ask twice. He picked her up immediately, hoisting her so she straddled him, and kissed her deeply as he carried her to his bedroom.

  “Nice bedroom,” she said in between breathless kisses, though she hadn’t seen a damn thing in it but him.

  “It is now.” He kicked the door shut with his foot and eased her onto the bed. It was nearly dark—more so without the wall of windows offered by the other room—but she saw everything she needed when he crawled over her and captured her wrists just past her head, leaving her helpless to touch him. She was already squirming when he nudged his knee between her thighs and skillfully applied just the right amount of pressure. By the time his mouth touched her neck, she was gone. She wanted desperately to put her arms around him—to hold onto this man she suddenly couldn’t fathom losing—but he didn’t relent.

  “I want to feel you,” she whispered. “All of you.”

  He withdrew, an absence she felt immediately, but when he began unbuttoning his shirt, she realized it was well worth it. The lack of ambient lighting left him deep in shadows, but she read every contour of his body. Felt his every breath. Emotions threatened to overpower her when he tossed the shirt to the side and rejoined her on the bed.

  She reached to trace her fingers over the tattoo, a little taken aback by how incredibly sexy she found his ink. “What?” she asked, noticing he was just watching her, an intent look upon his face.

  “You’re smiling.”

  “Have you seen yourself lately? Trust me, that body is what smiles are made of.”

  He rolled over her, caging her in with his arms. “Is that what you’re after? My body?”

  “At the moment? More so than your mind.”

  He laughed, and the soft, gentle sound infiltrated and thrilled her. “I can think of worse things than having you use me for my body.”

  “Rest assured,” she murmured, “using people is not my style.”

  He grinned wickedly. “With all due respect, I have no intention of resting at all tonight.”

  With his warning, her heart came to an honest-to-goodness standstill. The moment lingered between them until his lips touched hers, then the world exploded into red hot need. She opened her mouth and immediately tasted him. Between the defiant exploration of his tongue and the heated trails his hands left through her clothing, she thought she’d drown in sensations. Her body throbbed, needing him like she’d never needed anything before in her life.

  Her fingertips scoured his back, each dip and plane of his muscles sexier than the last. She could have explored him forever, but she wanted more. So much more.

  When she went for his zipper, he caught her hand. “Are you sure?”

  She laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

  He pushed up her shirt and yanked her bra out of the way. She sucked in a breath and dug her nails in his biceps as his mouth closed over her breast. She was reduced to whimpers by the time he switched sides, her attempts to get him naked all but forgotten with the rasp of his tongue against her sensitive skin. She was still reeling when he abandoned her nipples and worked his way down her stomach, his hands making quick work of her pants. He had them off in seconds, then went immediately to shed his own. When they hit the floor, she could only stare.

  She couldn’t imagine that she’d ever forget the sight of his body. Every inch, from the powerful lines of his thighs to the flat planes of his stomach and the obscene perfection of his manhood, left her stunned. “I hope you have some version of birth control in here,” she muttered.

  He grabbed one of her hands and helped her to a sitting position, then pulled her shirt over her head. She yanked at her bra until it somehow freed itself from her body, then they both fell to the bed together. She winced when she realized her key had ended up at her back, lying under her shoulder, but quickly forgot the discomfort when he reached for the table beside the bed and pulled out an unopened box of condoms.

  “Only twelve,” he mused. “We might need to pace ourselves.”

  “Pace yourself later,” she said. “I’m dying over here.”

  He grinned and ripped into the box, then a wrapper. “Can’t have that now, can we?”

  A moment later, he was nudging at her opening, the weight of his body fully against hers. She wrapped her legs around his and tried to drag him in, but he resisted, grinning wickedly the whole damned time.

  “Edward, seriously.”

  “You’re so wet.”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of your cue.”

  He took it, finally. He took her, taking sexy to a whole new level by filling her with a single slow, shuddering stroke that left them both trembling. “Fuck,” he muttered.

  Yeah, let’s do that. He filled and stretched and inhabited her in a way that she didn’t think possible. He’d barely moved, and yet she was so close to the edge, she was dizzied by it. For an endless, beautiful moment, neither of them moved, then he withdrew—a long, slow slide that existed in perfect contrast to the explosion that happened when he reached between them and found her clit. The last thing she saw before her vision was reduce
d to single points of light was a deceptively innocent smile, as if he just sent her flailing into the land of orgasm by mistake.

  Damned if she was going alone.

  She managed to drag him close enough to devour, and when he was focused on giving her the best damn kiss she’d ever experienced in her life, she rocked underneath him. She was so ready, there was no possibility of friction, but somehow the pressure shifted and he was left sputtering and cursing and, finally, finally, pounding into her. Everything faded but the smack of wet skin and labored breaths, until she felt him jerk and pulse inside her. She fell right alongside him, her body begging for mercy.

  Begging for more.

  Knowing if anything better existed, she couldn’t want for it.

  And she still hadn’t seen that second tattoo.

  Chapter Thirteen

  One moment, Sophie was dreaming about kissing Edward, and then he was there. Real. And in the bright light of day, almost too good to be true.

  “Morning,” he murmured against her lips, kissing her again. Naked. Oh Lord, there was a heaven, and it existed right here in his apartment.

  “I’d offer to fix you breakfast,” he said, “but that would require getting out of bed, and I’m neither willing nor ready to do that.”

  She stretched against him, enjoying the sublime length of his body against hers. “Don’t we have to go to work today?”

  “Probably, but if you wear the same thing you wore yesterday, people might talk.”

  “They might?”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much guaranteed.” He dropped a series of kisses against her neck, all the while tracing the curve of her waist and hips. His hand trailed dangerously close to the apex of her thighs, and she squirmed against him. “I thought you weren’t a morning person.”

  “I can be convinced,” she said.

  “I see that.” He kissed her again, and her eyes drifted closed. She could watch him forever, but there was something beautifully intimate about just feeling.

  Edward apparently didn’t share the sentiment.

  She felt a tug on her necklace.

  “What the hell is this?” he demanded.

  Her eyes flew open. Oh no. Sophie’s heart hit the floor at the same time her hand closed protectively on the key, stealing it from his grasp. It was a part of Steel Hawk’s history—it was her family’s legacy. There was no reason she’d have something like that—no way to tell the truth without revealing that she’d misled him. That wouldn’t have mattered if things hadn’t gotten personal—so personal—but the line they shouldn’t have crossed was so far back in the rearview, she could no longer see it. If he somehow recognized the key, or if she told him the truth, he’d probably never forgive her.

  “It’s a…charm.”

  The news didn’t placate him. If anything, he’d traded his initial surprise for…oh hell. He was once again trembling against her, but this time had nothing to do with sexual fervor. He was pissed.

  “What kind of charm?”

  Sophie didn’t answer, nor did she resist when he reached and dragged it out of her hand. The long chain that had kept it hidden made it easy for him to draw it close for a full inspection. He studied it for a couple of seconds, then dropped it. “Where did you get this?”

  “It was my grandmother’s.”

  He stood. His body was wrought with hard edges and angles that hadn’t been there before, but she couldn’t admire them. Not with the fury with which he yanked on his pants. “You know what’s funny? Honeysuckle Hawk has a charm just like that. She said there’s only one other one in existence, and guess who has it? Her sister.”

  Oh God. She didn’t know what to say. He was furious, and she couldn’t blame him, but he shouldn’t blame her. She leaned over the side of his bed and picked up her blouse. Hid behind it briefly while she dragged it over her head. What could she say?

  He yanked on his shirt, no obvious concern for the fate of the crisp fabric as he tore at the buttons. “Well, since you’re feeling so truthful, let’s have it. You’re her sister, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” The word tore her apart. Not because of the confession, but because of the lies before it.

  “And you were here to do what? Prove I’m the bad guy?” He nearly spat the words.

  “No one wanted to railroad you.” She kept her voice calm, even though her insides were anything but. “If you haven’t noticed, we’ve done a pretty good job of finding out you might be innocent after all.”

  The sarcasm they both favored fell flat. “I might be? You just spent the night in my bed, and you still doubt me?”

  “Of course I don’t doubt you.” That part was easy. It was what came next that bothered her.

  Naturally he picked up on the fact that she held back. “But what?”

  “The only but is that I have a job to do. An obligation to figure out what’s going on with the company, and, I might add, a vested interest to do it right.”

  “And I was a means to that end.” His voice was still steel, and she didn’t blame him. He’d opened up to her, almost certainly in ways he hadn’t with anyone else. The betrayal might not be what he thought it was, but it would be a long time before he saw that. In the meantime, his anger—however justified—splintered them both. She wanted to fix that, but she couldn’t lie.

  “No, you weren’t a means to an end.” She hesitated, then threw out her hands. “Well, hell, I don’t know. Who else was I supposed to talk to? You were in the middle of everything that happened. Hanging out with the window cleaners wouldn’t have netted much information.” The words felt cold, and they left her numb. But they were honest, and she couldn’t blame herself for doing the job she was hired to do any more than she could blame herself for falling for the man. Her integrity for the job stood, but that didn’t make her feelings for him any less real.

  Judging by the way he glowered, he’d need a while to come to see that. “Well then, let me congratulate you, Ms. Garza, on a job well done. You managed to get closer to me than anyone has in a long time. I gave you more of myself than I thought I had to give, but that’s what I get for wanting to believe in someone. You can bet I won’t make that mistake again.”

  He was halfway out the door before she could speak. “Edward—”

  He paused, but he didn’t look at her. “We’re done here. I presume you’ll find your own way out. Lock up when you do.”

  A moment later, a door slammed.

  He’d left her alone in his apartment. Alone in his bed, the feel of silky sheets against her bare legs. His pillow still held its dent, and she found herself wondering about the irrelevant. Was that the side on which he normally slept, or was she in that space now? Had he lain there awake, thinking of her? She’d quickly found there was so much more to him than the surly, angry version of himself he presented to the world, but she was still struck by the vulnerability of the man who had stripped far more than his clothing.

  He’d let down his walls.

  And just like that, there they were again. Probably higher than ever. Her heart ached. He’d never believe that all those whispered words were real—he’d only see the betrayal. She found the necklace at the end of the chain and toyed with it, fighting the urge to yank it off and hurl it against a wall. Closing her eyes did nothing to stop the brilliant slap of sun that mocked her. She wouldn’t put a label on what she and Edward had, but she felt the loss of it all the same.

  She got up, made his bed, and finished dressing, trying with each garment to cover the hurt. She couldn’t blame him, but it also wouldn’t do any good to blame herself. She hadn’t gone in there expecting to fall for the world’s hardest ass, and at no point thereafter would it have been prudent to make a confession. She hadn’t been hired to made friends with Edward. She’d been hired to find the truth, and no matter how much her heart hurt, she still had a job to do.

  She’d sort the rest out later.

  Leaving the apartment was harder than it should have been, but closing the door
helped to compartmentalize the ache. She chose to walk the several blocks back to her hotel, grateful for the chance to process Edward’s connection to Zarrenburg. It seemed unfathomable that it wasn’t somehow related to what was going on with Steel Hawk, especially considering she now believed the woman in the café to be the one-time Zarrenburg royal biographer who penned the tell-all that seemed slanted to destroy the company. Edward wasn’t the only connection between Steel Hawk and Zarrenburg—the two entities had longstanding ties of their own—but there had to be a way he fit into the mess.

  Clara de Burgh. Could Edward’s mother be the key? Unfortunately, Sophie wasn’t in a position to hop on the next plane to Zarrenburg, and she somehow doubted the Internet would be a great deal of help. A royal—even a lesser one—wouldn’t likely keep an online record of his illegal activities.

  But someone had. And that someone wanted Edward to know all about it. Maybe if she looked at the original documents, she’d see something he didn’t. Even if the answers didn’t lead to Steel Hawk, maybe they’d give him some closure. The basement had been locked down, but maybe she had a way around that.

  She withdrew her cell phone. A quick mental calculation told her it was dinnertime in Zarrenburg, so she called Adam.

  She skipped the small talk. “I need to know how to get into the basement,” she said when he answered. “Edward told me he was shutting it down and alarms would go off if I went in there.”

  “May I ask why you want access?” Adam asked, as if he really didn’t want to know.

  “Relax. It’s not to rummage through your gadgets. I just need to get into the unfinished part.”

  “Has Edward refused to help?”

  She hesitated, absently touching her pocket to feel the outline of the tools she’d grabbed during a quick visit to her hotel room to shower and change. “I don’t want Edward to know.”

  He sighed. “I can program you in from here. Just let me know when you’re finished so I can reactivate the alarm. I don’t want anyone else down there.”