“Of course it was an accident, honey. Of course it was,” she repeated in broken tones. “Let it go. What’s past is past. I'm so sorry.”
Raine had never mentioned the forbidden topic again, but the silence that surrounded the past made her feel breathless and stifled. It left her so little to go on; years of running and hiding, an endless succession of false names and passports, the naked fear in her mother's voice whenever her uncle was mentioned. A lingering memory of panic and terror, tightly braided together with grief. And of course, the dream. The dream was relentless.
So here she was. In the three weeks she'd been here, she had learned exactly nothing, other than a dizzying slew of Office of Foreign Asset Control regulations, financial spreadsheet programs, container transport contract templates and website tools. She was a terrible liar and had never shown the least talent for subterfuge, but that was just too bad. She had to muddle on as best she could, fussing anxiously with her melon chunks and mini- muffins. What a fearless, audacious wild woman on the trail of truth and justice she was.
Another prickling rush of awareness raced over the surface of her skin as she was unwrapping the foil on the cream cheese. She spun around and dropped it. Cheese side down, of course.
The man she had seen in the elevator was standing in the kitchen doorway.
She swallowed, hard. She had coffee and mini-muffins to serve, she reminded herself. She did not have time to be ravished by a hungry-eyed pirate, no matter how sexy or compelling he might be. “Are you lost?” she asked politely. “Can I direct you somewhere?”
The man's hot gaze was all over her, like strong, possessive hands. “No. I can find the conference room on my own.” His deep voice brushed tenderly across her nerve endings, like a slow, tingling caress.
“So you're, ah, here for the breakfast meeting,” she stammered.
“Yeah.” He glided into the kitchen with pantherish grace, bent down and retrieved the cream cheese. He rose up—and up, and up, towering over her five feet five inches. He took a napkin from the counter behind her, wiped off the lint that clung to the gooey wad of cheese and presented it to her. “No one will ever know,” he said softly. “It'll be our little secret.”
She took it, and waited for him to step back. He wasn't going to move, she realized, seconds later. On the contrary. She groped behind herself for the serving plate and somehow managed to deposit the glob of cheese without further mishap. Her heart thudded wildly. She could smile, she urged herself desperately. She could even flirt. She was a big girl. It was allowed. But he was so close, his eyes so hot and hungry. The intensity of his masculine energy paralyzed her. She was speechless, lungs locked, unable to inhale or exhale. A hopeless cream puff.
“I'm sorry if I made you nervous in the elevator.” His voice stroked her again, as soft as suede. “You took me by surprise. I forgot to be polite.”
She tried to sidle away alongside the counter. “You're still not being polite,” she said. “And I'm still nervous.”
“Yeah?” He put both hands on the counter, trapping her in a crackling force field of masculine heat. “Well, I'm still surprised.”
He leaned towards her. She wondered in a spasm of panic if he were going to kiss her, but he stopped scant inches from her hair and took a deep breath. “You smell wonderful,” he muttered.
She shrank back against the counter. The condiments drawer dug into her lower back. “I don't wear perfume,” she ventured bravely.
He inhaled again and sighed, his warm, fragrant breath fanning her throat. 'That's why I love it. Perfume covers up the good stuff. Your hair, your skin. Fresh and sweet and hot Like a flower in the sun.”
This couldn't be happening. Sometimes her dream world seemed more substantial than the waking world, and this unspeakably bold, gorgeous man belonged in one of her more improbable dreamscapes; along with unicorns and centaurs, demons and dragons. Unfathomable creatures, unbound by mortal laws and limitations, touched by wild enchantment Deadly dangerous.
She blinked. He was still there. Overwhelmingly so. The drawer handle still dug sharply into her back. He was very real, and not about to melt away into a puff of smoke. She had to deal with him.
“This is ... inappropriate,” she said in a soft, breathless voice. “I don't even know you. Please step back and give me some space.”
He retreated with obvious reluctance. “Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but apologetic. “I had to memorize it”
“Memorize what?”
“Your smell” he said, as if it were obvious.
Raine stared at him, openmouthed, acutely conscious of the way her nipples were rubbing against the fabric of her bra, the slide of the silk blouse against her skin as breath heaved in her lungs. Her face was hot, her lips felt swollen. Her legs shook. The look in his eyes pulled at something deep inside her; a verdant, hidden place that budded and bloomed under his gaze, aching with nameless longing.
No. This longing was not nameless. She was turned on, she realized, with a jolt of horrified embarrassment. Sexually aroused by a complete stranger, right here in the staff kitchen of Lazar Import & Export, and he hadn't even touched her. This was just a dandy time for her latent, wild woman sexuality to rear its head. Her timing had always sucked.
“Ah. Mr. Mackey, I presume.”
Raine spun around at the sound of Victor Lazar's cool, ironic voice. He was lounging in the kitchen doorway, taking in the scene with silver gray eyes that missed nothing.
The pirate gave him a courteous nod. “Mr. Lazar. Glad to meet you.” The words and tone were polite, but the caressing roughness that had characterized his voice was gone. It was as clear and hard as glass.
Victor's smile assessed him coolly. “You've met my assistant?”
“In the elevator,” the pirate said.
Victor's eyes flicked from him to Raine, lingering for an endless three seconds on her hot face. “I see,” he murmured. “Very well. Since you're here ... shall we? The others are waiting.”
“Of course.”
Tension throbbed in the air. The two men regarded each
other, smiling identical bland, impenetrable smiles. People usually jumped at Lazar's lightest wish, but this dark stranger had his own gravitational field. He would move when it pleased him, and not before. Raine was suspended between them, afraid to move.
A faintly amused smile flitted across Victor's face. “This way, please, Mr. Mackey,” he said, as if humoring a small child. “Raine, bring in breakfast, please. We have a great deal to discuss.”
The pirate shot her one last, fiercely appreciative glance as he followed Lazar out of the kitchen.
No blushing or stammering allowed, she told herself sternly as she filled the silver pots with coffee and tea. No tripping over the carpet or running into doors. She had to learn to take encounters like this in stride. And while she hadn't factored a sizzling affair into her mission scenario, it wasn't necessarily such a bad idea.
That delicious, rebellious thought sent a flood of knee-wobbling panic through her. She stopped in the corridor and silently talked herself down, her arms trembling from the weight of the tray. Maybe with an act of such uncharacteristic boldness, she could prove to herself that she had the guts to act instead of being acted upon. Maybe it would be good, not just for her, but for her quest. To accomplish this impossible task, she needed to become a different person altogether. Bold, fearless, ruthless. What better place to start than her sex life? That certainly needed a massive overhaul.
She pasted a geisha girl smile onto her face and pushed open the door to the conference room with her foot. There were several people in the room besides Victor and the pirate. She smiled at each of them in turn as she poured the coffee and tea, but she was careful not to look at the pirate as she handed him his cup. Just a glimpse of his long, graceful brown fingers as he accepted it made her pulse flutter.
The conversation in the room was an indistinct wash of sound She forced herself to focus and follow the sense of it. Any information at all could prove useful to her quest The pirate was talking about transponders, radio frequency identification. Data collection. Smart labels and data locks and programming cycles. GPS tracking, data streaming, wireless modems. Cold, technical stuff, the type that had always flown right over her head.
But his voice was so deep and resonant and sexy. It made the back of her neck tingle, as if he were caressing it with his hands, with his lips, with his warm breath, ft was incredibly hard to concentrate. Her own name jerked her to attention, making the cup she held rattle in its saucer.
