Instead of responding, Magliore tipped his head slightly to one side, regarding her in thoughtful silence for several long, unnerving moments. The longer he remained silent, the more Lia found herself wanting to squirm under his intense scrutiny.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he said softly, “You know what I think?”
Lia shot him an aggrieved look. “No. But I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
His mouth twitched. “What I think,” he said, “is that you’re very young.”
Lia made a strangled sound. “Excuse me?”
He held up a hand. “Hear me out. I’m not implying that you’re immature. I’m saying that you’re young. You’re only twenty-eight. Young, like I said.”
“What’s your point?” she said through gritted teeth.
“My point,” Magliore said, “is that you haven’t really lived long enough to know what you want.”
Lia bristled, her eyes narrowing sharply on his face. “Are you suggesting that I don’t know my own mind simply because I’m still in my twenties? That is pure nonsense—an insulting, ridiculous and unfounded generalization. And besides, you’re only four years older than me. That’s nothing!”
A shadow of a smile touched his mouth. “I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes in one, ma petite.” In his voice Lia heard sorrow, regret, anger and the terrible pain of loss. She heard the voice of experience from a world-weary, battle-scarred soldier who’d witnessed too many atrocities and lived to tell about them.
Although her indignation had been justified, she felt small and petty for challenging him, for inadvertently diminishing the horrors he’d experienced under Biassou’s brutal regime. He was right. He was a lifetime older than she, and wiser in more ways than she could ever imagine. She’d traveled around the world, immersed herself in different cultures and embarked on dangerous missions, but she’d never faced the level of adversity he had. She’d never been forced to endure the kind of hardship and suffering he had eaten, slept and breathed every day of his life for the past four years.
Before she could formulate a response, Magliore, his eyes roaming across her face, said huskily, “As to the other matter, don’t think for one moment that I don’t know exactly what I want.”
Lia swallowed, ensnared by the heat of his intoxicating gaze while her heart thudded uncontrollably in her chest. Although she knew she should keep her distance from this dangerous man, she was hopelessly drawn to him. Intrigued.
Captivated.
She could not speak as he continued, “One day you’re going to fall in love. Maybe not soon, but one day. Head over heels, helplessly in love. The kind where your thoughts are consumed by that person, and after a while you find yourself unable to remember what your life was like before he entered the picture. And one day, chère, like it or not, you’re going to be forced to make a difficult choice between the job you love and the man you love. I wonder what choice you will make?”
Lia was so mesmerized by his words, and the uncanny sense that he’d looked deep into her soul and discerned her innermost desires, that it took several moments before his question sank in. When it did, she felt a fresh wave of indignation.
Her chin shot up, her eyes narrowing. “Who says I’d have to choose?” she challenged hotly. “Who says I can’t have both? The man and the career?”
Magliore gave her a look that told her she should know better. “It doesn’t really work that way.”
Lia scowled. “You’re only saying that because I’m a woman. I know you wouldn’t have asked me that question if I were a man.”
“If you were a man,” he drawled blandly, “I wouldn’t be remotely interested in your response.”
Ignoring this remark, Lia pinned him with a direct look. “Just what do you have against women in the Secret Service?” she demanded bluntly.
Magliore frowned. “Didn’t I tell you earlier that I couldn’t see you confined to a safe, boring desk job?”
“Yes,” she said impatiently. “But ever since we met, you’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t think women belong in the Secret Service, working as agents.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but Lia wasn’t finished. “Look, I realize that we come from two different cultures. I’ve heard that Biassou is a notorious misogynist, and while I’m not putting you in that category, I understand that you, too, may have grown up with certain views and expectations of women. But things are different here in America. Women balance families and demanding careers all the time. We’re decorated soldiers who leave behind our husbands and children for months at a time to fight overseas. We’re doctors, lawyers, scientists, politicians, police officers and firefighters. We hold top-level positions in academia, business and government.”
“I noticed,” Magliore murmured, his mouth twitching.
“Good. So it should come as no surprise to you that when, and if, I find a man deserving of my love, I fully expect him to respect and support my decision to continue working as a Secret Service agent.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Magliore asked in a low voice.
Lia met his gaze unflinchingly. “Then he’s not the one for me.”
Even as the uncompromising words left her mouth, the names of over a dozen other agents who were either divorced or going through a divorce ran across her mind. Her own boss was a casualty of a failed marriage.
There was no denying the fact that the divorce rate was particularly high among those in law enforcement. Lia had no illusions about the amount of compromise and sacrifice that would be required of her and her partner to make any relationship work. She’d learned that firsthand by watching her parents. Because the family had moved around so much, her mother had never worked outside the home. She’d sacrificed her own career in finance in order to support her husband’s, and although it couldn’t have been easy for her, she’d never once complained—not to Lia’s knowledge, anyway. Her parents had, and continued to have, the happiest, healthiest marriage she had ever known. Their relationship was based on the abundance of love, admiration and respect they’d always had for each other. Lia knew that the demands and pressures of her job would make any future relationship challenging, but she also believed that if she found the right man, together they could make it work.
Not that finding Mr. Right would be on her radar anytime soon, she reminded herself.
Watching as Magliore took a sip of his wine, she shook her head ruefully. “I guess I should have warned you that, in addition to being a supercompetitive fisherman, I hate losing arguments,” she joked, trying to inject some levity into the conversation.
The remark wrung a grim laugh from Magliore. “I would’ve never guessed.”
Her lips twisted into a wry, self-deprecating smile. “One of the things you learn as a Secret Service agent is how to be diplomatic when diplomacy is called for, and how to be a good negotiator when diplomacy doesn’t work. That said, there are certain issues I feel very strongly about, and in the process of defending my position, I’ve been known to come across as a bit, ah, combative.”
Magliore’s mouth curved in a lazy smile. “Never apologize for being passionate about your beliefs, Miss Charles. God knows I never have.” He raised his glass to her in a toast. “Truce?”
Lia grinned. “Truce.” They clinked glasses lightly.
Gazing across the table at him, she admired the smooth perfection of his mahogany skin in the soft candlelight, watched as the flickering flames danced across the hard angles and planes of his face. Her eyes traced the line of his thick, black brows and lingered on the sensual contours of his lips. As desire stirred within her, she looked away, her gaze settling on his strong hands clasped lightly on the table. She remembered their calloused warmth against her skin, leading her from the cabin in Muwaiti, passing her a cold bottle of beer on the boat, giving her a high-five when she caught the eight-pound trout.
She’d thoroughly enjoyed his company that afternoon, arguments or not. A part of her didn’t want the
day to end.
A very big part of her.
It was now dusk, the sky muted and purplish against the darkening landscape of trees. A pair of citronella torch lamps, along with the candle, cast a warm, inviting glow over the table and kept the mosquitoes at bay while fireflies flickered on and off around them. Lia felt the tranquility and beauty of her surroundings seep into her, lulling her into a state of relaxed contentment.
As she and Magliore finished their meals, they laughed and talked, picking up where they’d left off earlier at the lake. Lia listened in rapt fascination as he regaled her with stories about growing up in Muwaiti, tales that included spontaneous forays to sugarcane fields, exploring caves and chasing iguanas with his twin siblings, and going hunting and fishing with his father. Although Lia knew from his dossier that Jacques Magliore had been killed when his oldest son was only fourteen, Magliore chose not to mention this, dwelling instead on happier childhood memories. He reminisced about lying on the floor of his fourth-grade classroom and reading from his favorite book while he listened to the ocean waves crash against the rocks outside the window. That was his reward for completing his assignment early, along with the sweet treats his teacher used to sneak to him. Lia’s mouth watered when he talked about how he and his friends would lie in the sun after hours of swimming and gorge themselves on luscious mangos, guavas, pineapples, pomegranates and carambolas.
She was so enthralled by the colorful sights and sounds he was describing that she didn’t think to protest when he suddenly rounded the table, took her hand and pulled her gently out of her chair.
“Dance with me,” he said as a reggae song with an upbeat tempo began playing on the stereo.
Lia’s response was part laugh, part groan. “Do I really have—”
“Just one dance.” Magliore smiled as he led her out to the middle of the deck, the calloused warmth of his big hand sending shivers up and down her spine. “Ahh, this is one of my favorite songs,” he said as he began swaying his hips to the music.
When Lia stood still before him, he chuckled and reached for her, pulling her lightly into his arms. She resisted, her body stiffening beneath his hands on her waist.
“Relax,” Magliore murmured, subtly guiding her movements. “I won’t bite, I promise.”
“It’s not that.” Although it should have been. “It’s just that…I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer. I missed most of the high-school parties and dances, including my prom, which, as you probably know, is the single most important social event in any American teenager’s—”
“Wait.” Amber eyes searched her face. “You missed your high-school prom?”
Lia nodded ruefully. “My father was rushed to the hospital an hour before I was supposed to leave. He was having severe chest pains. We thought he was having a heart attack. Thankfully it turned out to be nothing more serious than angina—scary, but treatable.”
Magliore shook his head at her. “So you spent your prom night in a hospital emergency room?”
The compassion in his deep voice nearly brought tears to Lia’s eyes. Which made her feel like a complete fool. “I didn’t tell you that to make you feel sorry for me,” she said almost defensively. “I just wanted you to understand why your dance partner may have two left feet.”
“You’re doing just fine to me.”
“I—” With a start, Lia realized that they had been swaying rhythmically to the music the entire time they were talking. The moment she became cognizant of it, she stumbled.
“It’s okay,” Magliore said softly. “Just relax and absorb the music. Your body will do the rest.”
He was right. Before long Lia felt her limbs loosening as she emptied her mind of everything but this moment. As one song segued into another, she felt herself surrendering to the music, keeping her upper body relaxed and steady while her hips undulated to the edgy, pulsing rhythms. Magliore held her gaze as they danced, and there was something so powerfully intimate about the connection between them that Lia felt naked, her soul stripped bare before him. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life.
Watching her through heavy-lidded eyes, Magliore said huskily, “I knew you had it in you, chère. I knew the moment we met, when we crossed swords at the cabin back home, that you had this fire in you.”
Lia felt herself flush, immeasurably pleased by his words. She smiled demurely at him. “You’re not too bad yourself, Mr. Magliore.”
Which was an understatement. Lia had watched enough movies and music videos to know that Caribbean men, generally speaking, were supposed to be amazing dancers. Armand Magliore was no exception. The languid sensuality of his movements hypnotized her. Just the way he danced left no doubt in her mind that he would be a superb lover—intensely passionate, skilled, unselfish.
Imaginative.
When her body grew hot and flushed, she knew it had nothing to do with her exertions on the dance floor.
Just then the uptempo reggae music faded into a slow love song. As Magliore drew her into his arms, bringing her flush against his body, her pulse hammered and her blood heated.
“It’s getting late,” she whispered shakily. “We should probably clean up and—”
“Shh. Just close your eyes and dance,” he murmured, the velvety timbre of his deep voice caressing her senses, seducing her.
Although she knew she shouldn’t, Lia did as he told her, curving her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. She was breathtakingly aware of every inch of his body against hers: the strength of his arms around her, the hardness of his chest and abdomen rubbing her tingling breasts, the firm, muscular glide of his thighs against hers as they swayed to the slow, sensuous music. His heat penetrated her flesh, scorching her nerve endings. He smelled like smoke and fire from the grill, but beneath that was his own clean, uniquely male scent. Suddenly she wanted to press herself more fully against him, crawl inside his skin, touch everything, taste everything.
As if sensing a shift in her, Magliore drew back his head and looked down at her.
Their gazes locked, and for one intense moment the world swirled around them in a rush of smoky sound and dancing shadow. The smoldering heat in his eyes made her breath lodge sharply in her throat. In that instant Lia knew he was going to kiss her.
And she wasn’t going to stop him.
In the far recesses of her mind, an alarm sounded, but her body was beyond heeding the warning.
As his dark head slanted over hers, her pulse quickened with anticipation. The first touch of their mouths was like an explosion in her brain, in her body. All her senses roared to life. Her breasts throbbed, heat pooled between her legs, her thighs trembled.
His soft, warm lips moved slowly and sensually over hers, drawing a helpless moan of pleasure from her. Dizzy with need, she ran her hands along his muscled upper arms, then over his broad shoulders to pull him even closer. With a low, husky groan of approval, he deepened the kiss, parting her lips so that the tips of their tongues met, making her shiver.
His tongue slid inside, exploring her mouth in silky, tantalizing strokes that sent currents of sensation whipping through her. He ate at her mouth, tasted and licked inside her as if she were made of his favorite confection and he couldn’t get enough. She fell headlong into his fierce, marauding kiss, intoxicated by the taste and feel of him. The experience of him holding her, crushing her against the solid warmth of his chest, was unbearably arousing. A liquid warmth coiled inside her, drawing tighter and tighter until she thought she’d come apart in his arms. She wanted him with a desperation that terrified her—or would have, if she’d been thinking at all clearly.
But Magliore made her forget everything in those forbidden moments—she lost awareness of time, of where they were and even who she was. All she knew was that she needed him closer, deeper, tighter…his touch, his taste, his mouth devouring hers.
She nibbled and suckled his lush bottom lip, and he made a harsh soun
d deep in his throat, his arms tightening around her with steely strength. She trembled as his lips moved against the corner of her mouth, jaw and chin before sliding along the arch of her throat, trailing a fiery pathway of nerves.
His hands slid to her bottom, kneading her, grinding her into his pelvis so she could feel the thick, rigid length of his erection.
That was when Lia realized she’d let things go too far.
As if she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water, her body stiffened with shock. Her eyes flew open.
Magliore groaned, tightening his hold on her as she tried to pull away. “Don’t go,” he entreated her raggedly, his lips rasping against her throat. “Please don’t go.”
Lia shivered in response even as she forced herself to step out of his arms. “No,” she whispered breathlessly, shaking her head. “I-I’m sorry. This is wrong. We shouldn’t have done that.”
Magliore was breathing as hard as she was, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He reached for her, his eyes glittering with need and frustration. “No one has to know.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lia said, struggling against the pleasure of his touch. “I know. And that’s more than enough for me.”
“Damn it, Lia—”
She held up a hand, cutting off the rest of his argument. She was so shaken by the explosive kiss they’d just shared that she didn’t bother correcting his use of her first name. What would be the point? After what had just transpired between them, they could never return to any semblance of formality, anyway.
“Maybe you should go inside,” she said, marveling at her ability to keep her voice steady when her legs were quivering uncontrollably. “I can stay out here and clean up.”
A muscle worked in Magliore’s jaw. He held her gaze for a long, charged moment, then abruptly turned away. “No. You go inside. I’ll clean up.”
“We can both—”
“You don’t want to be anywhere near me right now,” he said, low and dangerously controlled. “Take my word for it.”
Lia swallowed, her heart thundering. Not trusting her voice, she turned without another word and beat a hasty retreat, wishing she could run all the way back to Washington, D.C., and as far away as possible from Armand Magliore.
Secret Agent Seduction Page 9