She tried to drown out the question and wallow in her physical satisfaction instead, but the doubts and new resentments prickled against her heart. She smoothed the sheet over her chest as if she could wipe away the annoying sensation.
But the questions and doubts grew louder, so she wrapped her arms around the pillow and inhaled the light, masculine, soapy scent he’d left behind, wanting to smell all that promise and hope and
All she could hear was
And
She shook her head. She had to get off this kick. So he’d lived in Singapore and picked up a little accent. That didn’t mean he was a liar, a cheater, a—
A soft vibration from the hall stopped her thoughts. She pushed out of bed, ignoring her nakedness to follow the sound of the buzz. She stopped, frowning at the linen closet, zeroing in on the vibration.
Opening the door, she spied a thin silver phone on the floor, a green light flashing. He must have dropped it while he was undressing her and one of them had kicked it under the closet door. As she picked it up, she made a face. Wasn’t his phone black? She was sure of it.
It vibrated again, a name flashing.
John Brown.
Oh, he must be calling his own phone to find this one. Her finger hovered over the green Speak button, wondering how she should answer. Something sexy? Something meaningful? Playful and fun? How about all her pulse-pounding unanswered questions?
She tapped the green button and put the phone to her ear, opening her mouth to speak, but she was silenced by a man’s voice.
“Ian! Ian, listen to me, mate!” The rich English accent stunned her into silence as she clutched the phone. “We got Darius Vane. We got him, damn it. He’s under arrest and N1L is officially closed.”
Who was this? What the hell was he talking about?
“Ian, do you hear me? You’re free. Get whoever it is you found to marry you as soon as humanly possible and stay tuned for instructions. You’re going to Canada, Ian Browning. You’re going to get your kids. All you need to do is marry someone. Anyone. It doesn’t matter who! So if you haven’t spilled your bloody guts yet, don’t. Okay? Ian? Ian, are you there?”
Her heart pounded so hard Tessa could barely make out the words in her ear. And even if she could hear and understand, nothing,
“Ian, is that you?”
She stayed perfectly silent, not even breathing.
“Bloody hell.” The man clicked off.
“Bloody hell,” she repeated in a breathless whisper, staring at the phone as if it had a life of its own.
What had he said? The words rolled around in her head.
Her whole body turned to ice-cold nothingness, so chilled that she barely heard the back door open.
“Tessa?” John stepped into the hall. “Tessa, if you find that phone—”
She held it out. “I did.” She put it in his hand, close enough to see his stricken expression. “You got a call.”
One eyebrow lifted but he made no effort to speak, no attempt to do the one thing he needed to do: Tell the truth.
She turned, now aware of her nakedness and ashamed. Ashamed to be so stupid. Ashamed to be so trusting. Ashamed to have made love with a man whose
Ian.
“Tessa, let me—”
Rage and pain and an overdose of humiliation rose in her throat, closing up the passageway and stealing her breath. “There was a message with the call,” she managed to say.
Both eyebrows shot up now, pure dread in his eyes.
“Some very excited man who wanted Ian Browning to know they found the vein and the N one something is closed, and they’ll send instructions soon.”
His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, and he added that you better get someone to marry you so you can get your kids in Canada.”
He looked like he might keel over. “Tessa, I have so much to tell you.”
“That’s too bad, John. Or should I say Ian? Because I don’t want to hear it.” She walked into the room, slammed the door, locked it with trembling fingers, and let hot, sticky, miserable tears flow.
She did want to hear it. She wanted to hear it all. But right now, she wanted to wallow in the mud of her own trusting, blind, desperate stupidity.
Well, it sure as hell had.
Chapter Twenty-six
Shit. Shit. Bloody hell and
But it was useless to blame anyone.
He leaned against the door and listened to her soft crying, the sound drowning out the message she’d delivered. Ironic, wasn’t it? All these months he’d waited for the news that they’d shut down the deadly gang that held a price on his head, and he couldn’t even take a minute to celebrate what that meant.
Because what that meant now is that he would likely lose the first woman he’d cared about in a long time. He had to tell her now, and not because of the call. The need for silence would never go away, no matter who was behind bars. She couldn’t talk to her friends about this. She couldn’t talk to anyone.
Except him. Would she ever believe the epiphany he’d had last night, and how he truly wanted her for real? How he’d planned to tell her everything tonight and ask her to leave this life and join him?
She’d never believe him now. She’d never believe another word he said. But he had to make her believe this was still a matter of life and death.
He tried the door, but it was locked, so he slid down the wall and sat on the floor.
“Go away,” she called from behind the door.
“Not going to happen.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” She hiccupped on the last word, gutting him.
“Well, you’re going to talk to me. Through a door or face-to-face. I have to talk to you and I have to make you understand something.”
“I understand enough.”
“I’m afraid you don’t.”
“I understand that everything you’ve ever said to me has been a lie.” He could hear her grind out the words through clenched teeth. “I understand that whoever or whatever you are, you don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”
“It’s not that I don’t—”
“And I understand that you need to marry someone—anyone, I believe was the way he said it—so that you
