He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles before letting it go. 'You wouldn't have recognized me back then'
'Do you have any photos from that time?'
'No,' he lied.
He took a deep breath. 'Quinn was attached to the embassy, undercover, as a translator. Darcy was an assistant to the embassy RSO, Harlan Brand '
Just saying Harlan's name still hurt, after all this time. He'd been one of the first to die, in a rocket attack outside the embassy. He'd died trying to protect the ambassador. A hero to the end.
He lifted his hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. His battered ribs howled in protest, making him catch his breath.
Iris released a soft gasp. He looked up and found her brow wrinkled with pain.
'Sorry.' His stomach knotting, he rose and crossed to the French doors, putting distance between them.
She followed him to the window, closing her fingers around his wrist. He felt an odd sensation, as if she were drawing him into her, molecule by molecule, 'It's okay. I'm used to it.'
He pulled his hand away. 'I'm not.'
She looked away, her face lifted to the pale dawn light seeping through the rain forest outside. 'I'm sorry you went through that nightmare. It must have been terrible for you.'
The pull of her hadn't ceased just because she'd let go of his hand. He leaned close enough to feel her warmth and pointed to the mountain visible through the glass. 'Mount Stanley.'
She pressed her nose to the glass like a child. 'Strange how you go from a beach to a rain forest on such a small island,' she said, apparently content to drop the subject of Kaziristan for now, 'I can see why you love it enough to stay.'
He chuckled, unnerved by his reaction to her. Not the sexual part; that was predictable. She was a pretty woman in a black silk bathrobe, standing close enough to kiss. But this other feeling, this strange amalgam of admiration and giddy pleasure scared the hell out of him.
He didn't want her to leave. He'd never felt that way about any woman he'd ever brought here.
'How do you afford this place?' she asked.
He wondered how much to tell her. He didn't like to talk about the money. He'd done nothing to earn it, and he had no desire to explain the tainted circumstances of his inheritance, 'I came into some money a while back,' he compromised.
She turned to look at him. 'An inheritance?'
He gazed at the mist-shrouded peak of Mount Stanley, 'Yeah.'
She didn't say anything else. As the silence between them stretched, he turned his gaze to find her looking up at the mountain, her eyes shimmering with the pale light of dawn.
'You hungry?' he asked.
'Yes.' She looked at him. 'But don't go to any trouble.'
The curve of her cheek gleamed like fine porcelain. He touched her face with his knuckles, almost surprised to find her flesh warm and soft. Her lips trembled apart.
The need to kiss her shook him like a hard wind. Dropping his hand, he backed away, his heart pounding. He entered the kitchen, putting the breakfast bar between them. 'I have toast and…toast.'
'I'll have toast.' Laughter colored her voice.
He dared a look at her and immediately regretted it. She was tempting enough pale and serious, well-slept and smiling, she was dangerous territory. But as she sat on one of the stools on the other side of the breakfast bar, her smile faded. 'Maddox, what happened to you?'
He knew what she was asking-what had happened to the spit-and-polish Marine he used to be? How had he ended up in the tropics working odd jobs, cutting all ties to his former life? He should have known she wouldn't drop the subject of Kaziristan permanently.
'You can't get away from who you really are in the end, Iris. You can try on a different kind of life, but it just doesn't stick.' He reached for the pieces of toast that popped up from the toaster, but Iris's words stopped him.
'Who is it that you think you are? Some rough, tough guy who doesn't like to be tied down or care about anyone too much?'
'You tell me. You have it all figured out.'
She slid off the stool and walked around the counter to join him, standing too close for his peace of mind. He didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want to want someone as much as he had begun to want her. Nothing good could come of it.
'Kaziristan must have been terrible. Something like that can make you question-'
'Stop it. Iris.' He slammed his hand on the counter, relishing the sting in his palm because it distracted him from the queasy knot in the pit of his stomach. 'I don't want to talk about it. Talking doesn't change anything. It doesn't undo what happened. It doesn't make any of it go away.'
She took a step toward him, trapping him against the counter. She lifted her hand to his chest, placing her palm over his heart. 'I can make some of it go away,' she whispered.
He felt a tingling sensation in the skin beneath her palm, as if she were drawing his heart out of his chest into her hand. Her brow furrowed, her eyes darkened with pain, but she pressed her hand even harder against his chest.
He stared at her, understanding seeping into his sluggish mind. 'It's not just physical pain you can feel,' he whispered. He pushed her away from him, stumbling out of the kitchen.
'Let me help you.' she said.
'No!' He hunched his back to her, shaking with horror. What had she felt? What had she taken out of him into herself? 'You had no right-'
'It's not like mind reading.' she said, tears coloring her voice, 'I don't know what you're thinking.'
'Just what I'm feeling. That's so much better.'
'Not even that. Not really. I can just feel that you're hurting and learn to make it better.' Her voice broke, 'Please, let me make it better for you.'
He made himself look at her. Tears stung his eyes, making him blink. 'I don't want you to feel what I feel. It's my pain. Mine. I didn't say you could take any of it from me.'
She stared at him, her eyes bright with moisture. 'You want to hurt? Why? Do you think you deserve it or something?'
He looked away, restless energy flooding his aching body. He crossed to the coffee table and picked up the phone. 'You're going home. Today.'
'No, I'm not.' Iris said, her voice hard as steel.
'Well, you're not staying here. And you're not going back to the St. George.' He checked the phone's memory and found the last incoming number. Darcy's cell number. Punching Redial, he waited for the RSO to answer.
'Darcy.'
'It's me. Iris would like to take you up on the offer of another hotel room. Can you arrange it?'
'Maddox-' Iris began.
He held up his hand, silencing her. She snapped her lips shut, glaring at him. He turned his back to her.
'I'll book her a room at the Princeton.' Darcy said. 'I assume you know where that is?'
'Yeah. She'll be there in an hour.'
'You do realize the embassy cannot foot the bill for this.'
'Yes, I realize that. I'll take care of it.'
'May I ask what has happened to lead to this change in plans?' Darcy asked.
'No, you may not.' Maddox hung up the phone, slamming the receiver into the cradle.
'I never figured you for a coward.' Iris said.
He gritted his teeth, refusing to acknowledge her remark.
'Fine. You run. I'll be in the bedroom, packing.' She brushed past him, her warm, lush scent lingering as she slammed the bedroom door behind her.
Maddox dropped to the sofa, closing his eyes. His head was pounding with pent-up anger. Who was she to
