“Look at me.”
She turned, remembering the way he’d kissed her in the drawing room. Worse, though, she recalled how he pulled away. “I’m not sleepy yet.”
“You’re exhausted.” He entered the room, his gaze focused on her. Lightly, he caressed her chin, the softly rounded point lifted pugnaciously. Sebastian understood her reluctance. The narrow cot he’d dragged into the main lab wasn’t designed for two. Unfortunately, they’d left her sleeping bag at the Martinez house. “This has been a traumatic day, honey. You need to rest.”
“I will. Soon.” Pulling away from his disturbing touch, she returned to her pruning. “I’ll collect a few more specimens and nap on one of the lab tables.”
Sebastian shook his head. The flush on her skin told him that she was recalling their brief kiss in the drawing room. He’d thought of it incessantly. How soft she’d felt beneath his hands, his mouth. How vibrant she’d been, demanding that he kiss her. How he’d pushed her away. One of his few noble moments, and he’d managed to hurt her feelings. Gruffly, he demanded, “Take the cot if you’re worried about sharing a bed with me, Kat. I’ll sleep on the table.”
Hearing something in his voice, Kat angled her head to look at him. He stood ramrod straight in the doorway, arms crossed. She wanted to sleep with their strength around her, his heat beside her. Embarrassment fled, and she asked boldly, “Did you stop kissing me because of the danger or because you didn’t want to?”
Startled, he answered without thinking. “I want you, Kat. There’s no question about that. But I’m not going to do anything about it.”
She sensed a struggle inside him and wondered at the reason. “Why not?” Why won’t you take what I can offer? Why not me?
Hearing the unspoken questions, Sebastian grappled with conscience and chose unvarnished honesty. He gripped the sleek shoulders misted by the green house spray. The wet misted her lips, glowed on her skin. Need crashed through him, and for once, he knew he had to resist. For her sake and his. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not about to take advantage of a traumatized woman running for her life.”
In his experience, sex mixed with danger was heady and overwhelming and intensely satisfying. With the wrong woman, it became more—lust looked like love, and mutual convenience seemed like destiny. “You’re not the kind of woman for this, Katelyn. I know it, even if you don’t.” He touched her cheek, the skin impossibly soft. Craving, denying himself, he whispered, “Come to bed, Kat. To sleep. Let me hold you.”
Kat felt a swell that threatened to burst through her chest, then the wave settled, gentle and strong. Though she’d never been in love before, she imagined that the flood of need and want and affection and admiration could only be described that way. She petrified him, Kat realized wonderingly. And she loved him. Soundlessly, she raised her head to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Sebastian backed away, her lips imprinted on his skin. He draped a sheet and the comforter over the mattress. They readied for bed in silence, and Kat slipped in beside him, resting her head against his naked chest. Without speaking, they drifted into sleep, holding each other tight.
Sebastian awoke, hard and ready. Opening his eyes, he found that like the nights before, Kat, like her namesake, enjoyed a sleep position of sprawled abandon. Her thigh tucked itself between his legs, her breath sighing against his throat, and his hands doing in slumber what he only imagined while awake. Aroused, hungry, he nearly accepted her unconscious invitation before he’d wrenched himself into full wakefulness. He surged out of bed and padded across the room to the single bathroom. In what had become a ritual, he availed himself of the icy water in the shower. With limited success.
Kat woke while he showered, and by the time he returned, she was already hard at work. Busying himself at the kitchenette, Sebastian boiled water on the burner and readied the morning’s treat of oatmeal and raisins. He lazily stirred the grains into the pot, a habit he’d be more than happy to break if they made it out of this alive. The provisions in Estrada’s larder and the lot they bought in the marketplace had been selected for crisis, not for a varied, sophisticated palate. More than once, he craved Senora Martinez’s paella and taquitos or the rare experience of Kobe beef prepared by a surly Japanese chef.
Fluorescent lights maintained a permanent midday in the facility, a casino-like atmosphere without the bells and whistles. Instead, he listened to the steady murmurings of his partner as she tried to piece together an ancient mystery that still stunned him.
Sebastian had reread Borrero’s diary and, when she allowed him to, he’d checked out the priest’s manuscript. According to the diary text, the villagers had found Borrero near death, collapsed in the foothills. They’d nursed him to health and welcomed him into their fold. Five years later, as a gift to the town, he’d recorded their medical knowledge, especially the elixir they’d crafted from a variety of plants found in the Amazon jungle and the Andean mountains.
But his first trip into the Spanish world he’d fled made him realize that should the manuscript fall into conquistador possession, the ramifications would be deadly. Already, a civil war raged in Peru, and its battles threatened to spread into Bahia. Worse, Diego de Almagro, Pizzaro’s former partner and current nemesis, caught wind of his discovery and sent a hunting party to find him and steal the Cinchona.
Unwilling to bring harm to his saviors, Borrero hid the Cinchona with other priests who’d abandoned the order. The Brothers of Divinity swore to protect the manuscript and kept it hidden from the Spanish. A feat they managed for more than five hundred years.
Until Felix Estrada found the Cinchona.
Sebastian watched as the grains plumped and thickened. Estrada’s quest for the Cinchona might have been fascinating to him if the old adventurer hadn’t dragged his niece into this mess. Like her uncle, she was now obsessed. And Sebastian worried over the consequences to her and to him. Because he still had a job to do, one that Kat would vehemently oppose.
Though she seemed to have forgotten, he had not. He was a thief. Nothing more, nothing less.
And the lady was stubborn, headstrong, and brilliant.
Once Kat understood the promise of the manuscript, she’d been scrawling formulas across the whiteboards that hung in Estrada’s office, typing code into that monstrosity of a computer they’d uncovered. At the necessary intervals, Sebastian lured her into the makeshift break room for a meal or convinced her to take advantage of the stall shower in the bathroom. Each interruption was met with resistance and a glassy-eyed certainty that a moment of pause would make the Cinchona vanish.
Lucky for him, female vanity at his sniff of disdain and mention of a ripe smell had compelled her to give in after he’d come out of the shower. Using one of Estrada’s concoctions, when Kat emerged, she no longer smelled of juniper and lavender or dust and grime. Instead, now, her scent was exotic, unnameable.
And driving him crazy.
Dressed in borrowed clothes from the locker, she should have looked bedraggled in the aquamarine scrubs and one of the ubiquitous black tank tops she carried in her knapsack. Add the stark white lab coat, her hair pinned into an unruly brown mass atop her head and the perpetual squint as she reviewed another stack of notes, and Sebastian could barely take his eyes off her. She uttered Latin phrases like poetry and moved with an alluring competence in a space that grew increasingly too confined for his comfort.
Sebastian set his spoon down on the ceramic cooktop with a muffled thud and glanced over at the object of his wanton thoughts. Too far away to touch, Kat bent over a lab table, cutting at a root with precision. Her slender hands gripped the blade with practiced ease, her concentration complete. The punch of desire he’d grown used to became a boxer’s flurry in his gut.
Her lab coat framed the lithe, athletic body that curled against him at night, and the too-large scrubs dipped fantastically low despite their drawstring. A band of caramel skin appeared above the white tie, a tantalizing echo of the fles
h that rose above the scooped neck of her black tank. In a flash of blistered memory, he tasted the cool heat again, the silken curves. Sebastian nearly groaned aloud when a brown tendril slithered across her cheek. But it was the steady, sensual grinding of the root by mortar and pestle that mesmerized him like an exotic dancer. He hadn’t known science could be so sexy.
He fumbled for sanity and urgently spooned oatmeal into the two bowls he’d found. Setting the meal on a cleared lab table, he ordered brusquely, “Kat, it’s time for breakfast. Sit down and eat.”
“Just a second.” She set the mortar down on the table and lifted the shallow container to sniff. A musty aroma greeted her nose, exactly what she expected from the contrayerva root. According to the Cinchona, it had a diaphoretic effect that combined with flavanoids in other plants to both sweat out and reduce fever. Borrero had described fascinating combinations of roots, leaves, and bark. If she could—
“Kat. Now.” Sebastian loomed over her crushed root power and firmly pulled the cup from her grasp. “You’ve been working for hours.”
“I woke up thirty minutes ago,” she protested, reaching for the contrayerva. Sebastian took a long stride away and raised the bowl. Kat followed the movement with consternation. “Be careful with that! There’s only one more plant in the green house.”
Sebastian lifted the bowl slightly higher, taunting. “Since we got stuck in here, you have dissected the manuscript, sniffed at every vial, and conducted experiments on all manner of leaf and stem. You sleep for an hour, then jump up to work again.”
“How do you know? You sleep like the dead.”
“I wish. Usually, you’re lying on top of me, and, baby, believe me, I notice.”
Kat flushed, embarrassed that he’d been aware of her body’s exasperating tendency to drape itself across his. Logically, she chalked it up to her subconscious recognition that Sebastian represented safety and that the firm, hard body gave off heat like a furnace. Not quite so logical, however, was her fondness of nuzzling against the broad, solid chest, lured by the reassuring beat of his heart and the comfortable, seductive pillow that it formed beneath her head.
As brazen as she’d been in the drawing room, Kat wasn’t the type to attack handsome men and demand their favors. Even if the man felt entirely constructed of sinewy muscle and lean, sybaritic flesh. Fevered dreams tracked her into sleep, ones where the deep ache that pulsed inside whenever she thought of him finally found its release.
Nearly had, she thought in silent mortification, after she almost straddled him last night. That time, she’d left their shared bed to study Tio Felix’s capillary electrophoresis system, hoping vainly that playing with the geek’s dream machine would distract. Instead, she found herself barely able to concentrate, focused instead on the cot where Sebastian wore only the scrubs without a shirt. And where a thin arrow of soft black hair skimmed down a washboard stomach and disappeared beneath his waistband.
No, she admitted ruefully, she hadn’t slept much. How could she when her mind was occupied with the task of salvaging her uncle’s dream and trying not to attack the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
More galling though, Sebastian’s attraction extended beyond the blatantly physical. Technically savvy, he played the computer’s keys like a maestro and made a more than adequate lab assistant. Beneath the glib, facile façade that she didn’t dare ignore, her partner displayed a range of talent and a depth of character she knew he’d hate to admit.
The more time she spent with Sebastian Caine, the less she understood about him. And the deeper her attraction grew, edging uncomfortably close to emotions she refused to acknowledge.
Like now, as irritation mixed uneasily with appreciation for the care he took of her. He nagged like a grandmother, pressing food on her when she worked, cajoling her to sleep when she swayed on her feet from exhaustion. Hell and blast, she conceded silently, she had fallen in like with the amoral bandit. She’d have to guard against like slipping hazardously into more.
He’d warned her, and she’d heard his caution loud and clear. No falling in love with scoundrels, despite their better qualities. Conceding defeat, Kat spun away from the lab table and flounced over to the breakfast that steamed gently. She dropped onto the stool and shoved her spoon into the oatmeal.
Sebastian joined her, a smile playing over his mouth. Kat caught sight of the grin, and warned darkly, “Shut up.”
“I wasn’t saying anything.” He swung onto his seat and picked up his spoon. “But if I were to speak, I’d point out that you have a nasty stubborn streak, Dr. Lyda.”
“Not all of us can be as malleable as you are. Principles tend to make me tenacious.”
“Tenacity is all well and good, but there are limits, even to your formidable constitution.”
“I’m eating, aren’t I?”
“But you’re not getting any rest. The bags under your eyes have bags.”
Kat flinched in feminine pique. How dare he point out what the bathroom mirror already told her? Her hair was a tangle that limited a brush’s utility. And, yes, perhaps she had dark circles under her eyes, but what type of cad pointed out the obvious. Retreating behind icy indifference, she retorted coldly, “I really don’t care what you think of my looks. They didn’t seem to disturb you before.”
With a grimace, Sebastian realized how she’d taken his comment. “I’m not saying you’re ugly, Kat—”
“No, just unattractive. I get it. But having my life threatened does take some of the plea sure out of gussying up for the day. I’m a scientist, not a model, Caine. If you want eye candy, steal from someone else next time.”
Annoyed at her self-derision, Sebastian shot his hand across the table and gripped her wrist, knocking her spoon to the table. When her eyes flashed venom at him, he shook his head once. “You know I think you’re beautiful, Katelyn.”
She jerked at her wrist. “I’m not asking for compliments.”
“Well, too damned bad.” He tightened his hold, his mouth flattening in temper. “You’ve got skin like porcelain, with that glow that some women have that makes them luminescent. Those huge almond eyes of yours spit at me and seduce me every time I look, and I become afraid of falling in. Liquid pools of topaz and amber and heat and light. Not to mention that lush, overripe mouth of yours. I could happily die simply kissing you.”
“Oh.”
“But if you don’t slow down, and take better care of yourself, we’re not going to make it out of this alive.” Kat opened her mouth to protest, and he raised his other hand to silence her. “I know what we’ve found. What I don’t know is who else is in on this. Dr. Burge for one. My client, possibly. And our friends, who are probably waiting to ambush us as soon as we come up for air. If you’re exhausted and tired, they’ll use that against us. Against me. I won’t risk your life. So as soon as we finish eating, you’re going to take a thirty-minute nap while I continue my research online. Then you can return to your experiments. Deal?”
Kat’s mouth curved into a tremulous smile. “Why, Sebastian Caine, I think you’ve just broken one of your golden rules.”
“What?”
“Stay the hell away from anyone who might make me forget one or two,” she repeated mockingly. “You care about me.”
Sebastian released his hold, but she twisted her hand to mesh with his. The contact singed and soothed, and she reveled in the contradiction. “Too late, Sebastian.”
Picking up her spoon with her left hand, she began to eat, refusing to relinquish her prize. The giggle that bubbled up inside was tamped down with great effort. Smirking at his frozen expression, she urged smugly, “Eat up. Your oatmeal is getting cold.”
Grumpy, mystified, he capitulated, hooded eyes returning to the tabletop, where their joined hands rested. Inside, the frenzied twist of desire shifted subtly into a slow yearning that he resolutely, absolutely ignored.
“Why do you steal?”
Sebastian tensed, despite the fact that he always had a ready a
nswer. This time, though, for the first time, he cared about the listener’s reaction. “I like it,” he answered simply. “I enjoy the strategy of casing a location, of figuring out the weakest point, and exploiting it. Or the most difficult and surpassing it.” Rolling his shoulders, he continued to eat. “A psychiatrist would blame it on my poor childhood.”
“Rubbish.”
He laughed. “Indeed. Mom and I were poor for a while, then she got a gig as nanny to the most brilliant girl I’ve ever known.”
Ego had Kat pouting until she caught herself. “Who is she?”
“Erin is a professor in New Orleans.”
Hearing the obvious affection, ego gave way to a sensation uncomfortably akin to jealousy. Kat took a bite, eyes downcast. “Are you in love with her?”
Sebastian noted the tense question and grinned above her head. “No. Not really. I mean, I do love her, but she’s married to a good man. A reporter. She and Gabriel are right for each other.”
“I didn’t know you were a romantic.”
“All good thieves are.”
Kat looked up. “You think stealing is romantic?”
“Stealing can be pedestrian, another job. But the best ones are romantics. They love their targets, are willing to risk life and limb and a long prison sentence on the thrill of possessing.”
“Men.”
“And women.” Sebastian thought of Mara, his favorite con artist gone maddeningly straight. Of course, he acknowledged, finding true love and millions of dollars might have that effect on anyone.
“How did you get started?” Not since their dinner in Ballestas had he given her a chance to ask personal questions.
Normally, he avoided conversations about his childhood, but he wanted Kat to know. “Middle school offers more than reading and writing when you live in New York. I used to run a shell game on tourists. Did a little pickpocketing to sharpen my skills.”
“Naturally,” Kat murmured, drawing Sebastian’s self-deprecating chuckle.
Secrets and Lies Page 18