Secretive Stranger

She just didn’t seem to get it. Who was supposed to be comforting whom in this deal? Who was trying to show that possibly falling in love, deeply in love, problematically in love, was happening here? Right now. This exact second. For her. With her.

Later he remembered scent, sound, taste. He remembered the luring softness in her eyes. He remembered her sucking in a breath when he filled her, slow, deep, owning that silken secret core of her…remembered her opening her eyes and giving him an unexpected smile before starting the ride.

It was a smile saying “I own you.”

A smile suggesting she was about to discover things about his body that he’d never known himself.

She couldn’t have forgotten the trauma or fear of the closet ordeal, or of anything else that had happened over the last few weeks. But it was as if the now, with him, mattered more. As if the two of them together mattered more. As if she turned the switch on the negative, and poured out all the love and heat and energy that was in her…times ten.

When it was over, he was wasted, stunned by the volatility of the orgasm-and even more by the connection to her. It took a while before he found the energy to open his eyes. When he did, he found her lying there with a sweet, soft smile on her lips.

Naturally, then, he had to lean up. Give her one warning glance before pouncing. If she thought she could do that to him without retribution, well. They were just going to have to do it all again.

Chapter 11

If anyone told Sophie a month before that she’d be eating, naked in bed, giggling like a kid at a carnival, she’d have suggested someone was suffering from delusions-and it wasn’t her.

But it was her. A giant tray in the center of the bed was chock-full of delicacies that Cate had prepared before her flight home. When they’d finally awakened, they discovered that they’d completely forgotten lunch-and almost dinner. They were trying to make up for it now. First, there was a wedge of brie, with hot marmalade poured over it, to be eaten with crackers. Another plate had fresh, icy shrimp keeping company with a wicked red sauce. Then there was celery, stuffed with crab and cream cheese. On the side table, sitting together, was one wine and one long-necked beer. And one very naked man on the other side of the bed-making a gooey mess out of the crackers and brie mixture, but was it good!

“Tell me again why we’re having this here, instead of at the table, like civilized people?” she demanded.

“We both agreed that we were never leaving this room.”

Until daybreak tomorrow, anyway. Heaven knew, a heap of reality was waiting for them back in D.C.-the unanswered questions of his brother’s murderer, the source of the break-ins, the repercussions of all the blackmail evidence in Jon’s apartment. Sophie still had the welts on her back to remind her that fear and danger were only hours away, still waiting. But they both figured that getting back to Foggy Bottom by Sunday morning was time enough to gear up for the coming trials.

They still had a few hours. And Sophie needed these last crazy hours with Cord like she’d never needed anything in her life before.

“You know there’ll be crumbs all over the sheets,” she groaned.

“Nah. We’ll just toss out this sheet and find another.” He motioned to the containers on the tray that neither had uncovered yet. “How can your sister make all this fabulous stuff and not weigh five million pounds?”

“She loves to cook, but she never seems to remember to eat. You liked her, didn’t you?”

“What’s not to like? She’d kill for you. Far as I could tell, that’s about the definition of a perfect sibling.”

Her eyes softened. “She is. And so is my other sister, Lily. I just wish your brother had been the least bit like my sisters, so you’d know what that kind of love is like.” She added quickly, “Cate said she’d left some kind of French stew for the real dinner, but after these hors d’oeuvres, to be honest, I can’t imagine eating another bite.”

She looked at him, her handsome lover. Cord was so sleep-deprived at this point that she couldn’t fathom how he could still be awake…much less how he’d…performed as exquisitely as he had. Twice. He loved her, she mused.

And no, he hadn’t said it, but she didn’t need the words. She’d known the instant he climbed in the shower with her in all his clothes. She’d known from how he’d made love, from how he looked at her, from how he’d opened his heart to her.

Still, she jumped when she heard the landline ring from the other room. She was relaxed, even happy, but even that innocuous sound of real life hit like a shot of adrenaline. It did the same for Cord. “I’m not answering it. There’s nothing that can’t wait for a few more hours. I guess we should solidify some plans, though.”

Her blissful mood faded, but of course she didn’t expect that euphoric high to last forever. And they did want to agree on a plan of attack for the days ahead. Although Cord had done several back-and-forths to feed and water Caviar, Sophie was still fretting about the cat being alone. So they agreed that they’d head in really early tomorrow morning-where she’d pack up some clothes, her work, pick up her mail, get rid of old milk and somehow maneuver Caviar into a cage.

The goal was for her to set up here for a while. Technically, she could do her translating work anywhere, so it was no hardship to hide out at Cord’s. “And something has to break,” he kept saying. “They’ve got more suspects and clues and information than Carter ever had liver pills. One of the leads has got to hit pay dirt.”

She not only agreed, but being an enthusiastic coward, she was happy to hide out in Cord’s cave. The deep bruises on her back were still swollen and achy. There wasn’t a reason on the planet to put herself in harm’s way. She wanted to help, but being victimized by someone who mistakenly thought she was a threat was crazy.

She heaped more of the soft, warm brie on a cracker. “Did you think about what we discussed before? That the day Jon was murdered, there had to be some kind of trigger for the killer, something unique that happened?”

“Yeah. And I think you’re absolutely right.” He took a pull on the beer, as comfortable naked as he was fully clothed. “Something had to have happened that day. Something that provoked the person into confronting Jon. God knows, any number of women could have been motivated to kill him. But if we could figure out the trigger on that one day…”

“The puzzle would come together,” she finished.

“Sophie, we need to talk about a couple of the women you know. Jan Howell and Penelope Martin.”

Cord’s head was down; he was still opening tops, finding more stuff Cate had made for them. Something looked a little green; he put the lid back on. Likely it was petrified vegetables. Sophie, though, had gone absolutely dead- still. She couldn’t say why alarm bells suddenly went off in her head. But something was…off. Cord’s tone had changed in an odd way, become too casual, too careful. And he’d brought up the two names out of seemingly nowhere.

“Sure,” she said. “What about them?”

Again, it seemed like an innocuous question. But they hadn’t been talking about innocuous things. Sophie felt another whistle of unease. “Well, you know how it is around Foggy Bottom. There are a lot of people living there alone, temporarily-like for political jobs, or for the schools, or for projects with the government or whatever. There just seemed a regular group who grabbed breakfast on Sunday morning at the same bistro. You start to recognize people in the same neighborhood, you know? They made the first moves, I think. Made friends. I wouldn’t say any of them are soul mates or likely to be lifelong friends, but they’ve been good neighbors. Good company.”

“Like Penny. Like Jan.”

“Yeah. And like Hillary.” For someone who’d been eating like a wanton pig, she suddenly couldn’t look at the food. And sitting there without clothes abruptly felt…wrong. She reached down, found his shirt on the floor, yanked it on. “They talked about your brother all the time, naturally. All the best gossip revolved around him. Everybody knew Jon. He wasn’t awake most Sunday mornings, but he was known to grab a coffee there, too. What makes you ask about them?”

Cord wasn’t looking at her. Of course he was still eating. “I just think that your holing up here for a while is a good idea.”

“Actually, I was thinking that we’ll be in Foggy Bottom early enough tomorrow that I could do my Sunday coffee klatch thing with them. They’ll think it’s weird if I don’t show up. In fact, they’ll worry. Besides which…Cord, they’ve