in a simple show of regard. She didn't think he liked himself much, deep down.
Maddox woke to rain drumming the panes of the French doors leading to the veranda. He'd always considered himself a sun worshipper, but over the past two years, he'd grown to love the rat-a-tat of raindrops hitting the banana leaves and dripping from the bougainvillea blooms outside his windows. He liked the way the world smelled after a hard rain, fresh and new.
The clock over the piano read 5:54 a.m. The rain would hold off the dawn a little longer, but he didn't have the luxury of sleeping in this morning. Not with Iris Browning sleeping in his bed.
It was crazy, but he could still feel her lips on his. Soft as flower petals and twice as sweet. It had taken every bit of strength inside him not to take her into the bedroom and finish what they'd started earlier that day in her hotel room.
How had he let himself get into this mess? It was bad enough to want her so damn badly, but to play bodyguard to her? He'd decided three years ago that his life playing hero was over. He hadn't been very good at it, had he? People had died because of his decisions.
He rubbed his gritty eyes, listening past the sound of the rain for any sign that Iris might be stirring. Despite her protests the afternoon before, he might be able to persuade her to catch a plane for the States this morning. Mariposa was no place for a woman alone, especially one so obviously fragile.
She was apparently in constant physical pain, beyond what she'd admitted to. He knew what pain looked like, how it etched itself in a person's face. Iris Browning was hurting. Bad.
How much of her pain was coming from him?
He closed his eyes, wondering how such a thing as empathic sensitivity could even be possible. Surely such a thing would have been documented somewhere already if it actually existed-unless people who really do such things took care to hide their abilities from others, he thought.
Iris certainly hadn't wanted to tell him that she could feel his aches and pains. He wasn't sure if she'd have said a word if he hadn't called her on it. She was so different from most of the people he'd run into at the cocktail party and the conference. They liked to talk about their so-called abilities, wore them as a badge of honor.
Wannabes, he thought. Maybe that's why they were still at the conference instead of holed up somewhere playing guinea pig for a former Soviet scientist and his terrorist cohorts. He shuddered at the thought of Iris putting herself in the hands of Tahir Mahmoud, even with Quinn backing her up.
His cell phone rang. He tried to push himself into a sitting position on the sofa, but the screaming agony in his ribs barely let him stretch his arm out to the coffee table to grab the phone. 'Yeah?'' he growled.
'It's Darcy.' The RSO's clipped tones hinted at a sleepless night. 'I thought I'd check on Ms. Browning.'
'Mighty thoughtful of you.'
'Did you have an uneventful night?'
Maddox couldn't suppress a bark of wry laughter. 'Hardly.'
'What happened?'
'Now you're interested?' Maddox countered, annoyed at the RSO agent's accusatory tone. 'Yesterday you couldn't wait to pass her off to the first beach bum that came along.'
'Damn it. Heller-'
'She's fine. Hell, she may have even gotten a little sleep, no thanks to your buddy Quinn.'
'What did he do?' Darcy sounded apprehensive.
'Can't tell you that.' Maddox said with no small bit of satisfaction. 'Classified, you know.'
'Is Ms. Browning available to speak to me?'
'She's asleep.'
'No, I'm not.' Iris's voice made him turn. She stood in the open doorway of his bedroom, dressed in a black silk robe that made her fair skin look like porcelain. His heart dipped.
'Who is it?' She nodded toward the phone.
'Prince Charles.'
She shot him a look and took the phone. 'This is Iris. Oh, hello, Mr Darcy.'
Maddox tried to make room for her on the sofa, but the slightest movement made him grit his teeth. Iris settled on the edge of the coffee table, giving him a look of concern.
She'd showered sometime since she'd retired to the bedroom. The tang of soap lingered on her skin, the masculine scent rendered exotic and female.
'I really can't say,' she said. 'You understand.'
Maddox grinned, realizing she'd just given Darcy the same line around on the Alexander Quinn question that he had. Her lips quirked in response, the half smile transforming her face.
His breath caught, trapped in his chest by a crashing wave of desire that caught him flat-footed. He forced himself off the sofa, biting back a howl of pain, and hobbled to the piano bench, putting needed distance between them.
'I appreciate the offer I'll let you know. Goodbye, now.' She disconnected and laid the phone on the coffee table.
'What offer?'
'He suggested I might be more comfortable staying at another hotel and offered to book the room for me under the name of the consulate to preserve my anonymity.'
His stomach fluttered. 'Maybe you should take him up on it, sugar. Better yet, maybe you should see if he'll help you book a flight back home this morning'
She frowned. 'I told you last night-'
'I know what you told me. I also know that Quinn is not going to back off as long as you're here.'
Iris jutted her chin, her gaze leveling with his. 'Maybe 1 don't want him to back off.' she said.
Chapter Eleven
Maddox stared at Iris, not believing what he was hearing. 'You're not thinking of going undercover for him.'
'What if I can help uncover a terrorist plot?'
He shook his head, 'Who do you think you are, Mata Hari?'
Her lips tightened. 'Quinn thinks I can help.'
'Quinn's willing to use you. He's not looking at you as a partner in crime fighting, darling.'
She slumped forward, her elbows resting on her knees. 'I just want to find Sandrine. Then we can go home.'
'I don't think that's on Quinn's agenda.'
'That's his problem.'
'It's your problem, too, if you work for him.' He leaned forward, the movement making his ribs scream with agony. 'Ever seen the handiwork of a terrorist attack up close and personal? It's not pretty. You don't want to be on the receiving end.'
'Have you?' she countered.
He looked away from her, raking his fingers through his sleep-knotted hair. 'Yes.'
She was silent long enough to draw his gaze. A look of understanding glimmered in her eyes, 'The embassy siege in Kaziristan?' she guessed. 'That's how you know Mr. Darcy. And Quinn. You were all there, weren't you?'
'Yeah. We were.'
'You were a diplomat?'
The disbelief in her voice made him laugh, despite the fact that humor was the last thing he felt at the moment. 'I was part of the Marine Security Guard at the embassy.'
Her lips quirked. She reached out and toyed with a piece of his overlong hair. 'You with a buzz cut,' she murmured.
