An Affair of Vengeance (20 page)

He was, as always, perfectly attired. She immediately felt underdressed. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and stood her ground. “You’re in a suit. I thought ‘dinner by the pool’ meant casual wear.”

“Not judging by the state of things downstairs.”

“Last I saw they were all half-naked.”

He shrugged. “Now they’re in gowns.”

“Fine. I’ll go change.” She turned to walk back into the dressing room, but McCrea stepped forward, caught her arm, and twirled into the bathroom. Her back bent against the cold marble sink. With her heels giving her a boost, her forehead came just to his chin. She took in a quick, sharp breath. The same earthy, masculine scent that had intoxicated her in Marseille filled her nose. She could smell it on his jaw, inches away, hot and smooth. Her lips parted as she remembered the delicious chemistry of his kiss. Its heat, still inside her, flamed up, and she braced herself for a reignition in him.

The air hummed. Just as she thought he would lean in to give her another taste of his mouth, he reached behind her and opened the tap. Water poured into the basin, providing a white-noise background to their conversation. It wasn’t high-tech, but it sufficed in a pinch.

He whispered into her ear, barely audible above the running water. “You have to leave.”

Indignation cooled her rising passion. “I do not.”

“No arguments. I’ll tell everyone you’ve taken ill. Take my car to Arles.”

“No. It’s not even believable. If I don’t feel well, I wouldn’t be up for driving. I’d just stay here, in bed. What’s going on?”

He sighed, his breath warm against her neck. “Then that’s what you’ll do, for now. Stay here. I’ll bring you food.”

“Absolutely not!” She wanted to glare at him, but they stood too close. She could only scrutinize the fine weave of his shirt. “I know this is Kral’s place. Nothing you can say could possibly make me leave now.”

“What if I told you that Kral knows who I am?”

“Your cover? Or who you really are?”

“They’re one and the same.” His mouth compressed into a pencil-straight line.

“Explain.”

“I’d rather not.”

“And I’d rather you didn’t make me play guessing games for information,” she said quietly, knowing he’d warned her not to do the very same thing on their drive into the estate earlier that day, “but you’re clearly too pigheaded to do things the easy way. What does he know about you, and how does he know it?”

He grunted something wordless and rough, and then curled his lip into a sneer and poured his guttural mumble directly into her ear. “He knew my brother.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“No reason you should. My brother was a son of a bitch, but he’s also why I’m here. Why I kept my name. It gets me inside of places he’s been.”

“Like here?”

“Like here. He was Kral’s right-hand man.”

Her skin chilled, except where his hot hands braced her elbows. “And you didn’t expect that.”

“No. I knew he’d cut a few deals with this syndicate, but I had no idea he’d come so far.”

“Where is he now?”

“Dead.” His fists dropped. “Kral killed him, or had him killed. Said he put him down like an animal.”

“I’m sorry.” She touched his arm, but he’d gone as still as a mannequin.

“Don’t be. I’d have killed him myself if I ever saw him again.”

As much as she tried to ignore the hard edge of pain that cracked his voice, she couldn’t help but ache for him. But she remembered the night before, when they drank sherry in the dark, and shared miseries had led to an explosive passion. She ordered herself to keep things professional. “You’ve been following your brother all this time?”

“That was the plan.”

“If that was the plan, why am I just hearing about it now?”

“Personal details weren’t important.”

“And now they are?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

An antique clock hung above the toilet ticked several loud seconds before he responded. “It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s right, it doesn’t. You knew he was bad. You’ve been tracking him. If anything, you should be happy to find out that he came this far, because if we bring Kral down, we bring your brother’s legacy down with it.”

“True.” McCrea nodded, his eyes brighter. But then he twitched, and his mouth pursed. “It’s just hard to stomach the fact that this man, this murderous bastard, looks at me and sees my brother’s successor.”

“You aren’t. You’re the man cleaning up after him.”

“It’s hard to feel clean when everyone keeps telling you how good you are at being dirty.” His voice wavered with doubt.

She took him by the elbows and gave him a firm shake. “Don’t let these assholes convince you that you belong with them just because you’re good at your job.”

His shoulders pulled back and eased his arms out of her grip. “I’m not fishing for compliments. And don’t think I’d ever join them.”

“I know you wouldn’t. You’d die first. Look me at me. Damn it, look at me.” Waiting for him to comply took several patient, silent seconds. “I didn’t know your brother, but I know you, and you’re a good man. You can be kind of a dickhead sometimes, but I figure it’s an occupational hazard. Quit being mean to me in private, though. That’s getting old, fast.”

“Sorry.” His mouth softened into a contrite half grin.

She smiled back. “Good. That’s all I’m asking. Don’t try to alpha me off the job. And don’t confuse yourself with your no-good brother.” She grabbed his hands. His fingers slid easily around hers. “I trust you. Now I need you to trust yourself.”

“I’ll work on it.”

“Damn right you’ll work on it. I’ll kick your ass if you let me down.”

“When you put it that way, it’s hard to argue.” He grinned.

The distance between them shrank, and before she understood what was happening, he kissed her, and this time it was real. Too real.

It started quietly enough, just his lips on hers, soft and sweet. Maybe she could have ended it then, called it a friendly peck and retained her pride, but something in him called out to her and she couldn’t turn away. Logic and good intentions were cast aside as she tugged him close and dipped her tongue into his mouth. He opened to her, and then came back with his own masculine aggression. His fingers ran through her hair, dragging it down from its sleek arrangement, but she didn’t mind. She wanted him against her, on her, in her, in any way he’d have her. Hard, soft. Fast, slow. Whatever he wanted, she’d do, if only to feel this alive—this
connected
—for a little while longer.

He staggered backward, but this time, the motion didn’t make him stop kissing her. He did the very opposite thing—he grabbed
her hips and picked her up, clean off the floor. She flung her ankles around his back and her pelvis settled on the wide, stiff cylinder of his sex. He wanted her; the evidence was gloriously apparent. She luxuriated in it, shifting side to side, playing with the way he filled the space between the bones of her pelvis. The width of him would force her skin to stretch, and the length of him would be an exquisite test of a woman’s capacity to accommodate a man.

Their teeth clicked together as he blundered backward, out of the bathroom and up the steps to the bed. When the backs of his knees smacked the mattress, he collapsed onto it.

She fell onto his torso, but he didn’t miss a beat. Her dress hitched around her waist and his hands cupped the bare globes of her butt exposed by her skimpy underwear. He hauled himself up, bringing her to her knees, and buried his face between her breasts. The fabric of her dress strained against his nose, and she wanted to rip it away to let him have her, all of her.

Lost. As the humid air of his breath seared her skin, wetting her nipples, she recognized that she was utterly vanquished. She should never have wanted him to kiss her again as he had that first day, but now that she’d tasted the real him, she wanted it all. More. What she’d do after she’d had him and the mission ended, she had no idea. Bear the pain of losing him, she supposed. Just as she bore the pain of losing her parents. Day by day. Night by night. Breath by breath. Alone.

Oh, God. She couldn’t do it. His body felt right and good underneath hers, but she couldn’t go through with this act, only to extract him from her heart at some point in the future. It would hurt like hell no matter how they ended things, but it’d hurt less if she let him go now, before they made love. Before she fell completely for him.

She forced herself back, to breathe. “That’s good.”

“It is.” He smiled. “I think—”

“I hope somebody was watching,” she interrupted. “That was a good show. We should go.”

His face blanked. “I suppose we should.”

She vaulted off of him and fixed her dress. She turned into the bathroom to adjust her hair and to give him time to collect himself. When she came back out, he hadn’t moved, and still stared up at the canopy. He lay on the bed a moment longer and then stood, his erection gone, as far as she could tell. She was glad. That sort of thing had to be embarrassing for men. She would hate to have a penis, with no way of hiding her arousal. Her own had slickened the junction of her legs, but at least that was her secret to keep.

He opened the door. Warm wind swept inside, drying her skin. He gave her a hard look and she thought he’d say something, but his hand on the small of her back guided her out. They walked down the narrow stairs and across the stone patio to a large wooden table set for dinner. She greeted her friends from the pool, but otherwise fell silent as she sank into the chair McCrea pulled out for her.

A birdlike whistling alerted her to the wiry, pale man in a linen suit striding into the courtyard.

Him
. Kral. She’d looked at enough pictures of him to recognize him anywhere, though she’d always assumed that the neon blue of his eyes had been a trick of photography. It wasn’t. If anything, his eyes were even more electric in person. They widened when they connected with her.

Her hands twisted into a knot in her lap as she battled a flood of rage and a thirst for retaliation. Calm, she told herself. Stay calm, or die before you ever get the chance to see him punished.

McCrea’s hand slipped over hers and forced her to be still. It helped, somehow, to not be the only one struggling against an inner turmoil.

“You must be Evangeline.” Kral’s voice was high and smooth. He sat at the head of the table, putting McCrea at his right. “I am Lukas Kral, and I am absolutely delighted to welcome you to my little town. I trust the travel was not too arduous?”

“Not at all; it was an adventure and a pleasure, as is your hospitality.” She accompanied her words with what she hoped was a warm smile, which the little man returned with a nod of his head.

“We just met, and already you find me adventurous?” he teased. The sycophants at the table chimed in with flattery as they heard the exchange, but Kral’s sharp eyes stayed on Evangeline.

She had to look away. Staring at him made accusations spring into her mouth. She bit her cheek against their release and tried to eat. The bread was warm, with a light, crusty exterior and soft, yeasty interior. After dabbing a thick piece in olive oil, she leaned back to savor the taste.

“You are enjoying your first course?” Kral inquired from where he sat, legs crossed, sipping from a wide glass of red wine. He hadn’t touched the food. She wondered whether it was poisoned.

She patted her mouth with her napkin before speaking. “The bread is fantastic, but this olive oil is unbelievable. Do you mind if I ask where you got it?”

“From our trees, of course.” He waved his hand in a vague circle. “The townsfolk enjoy traditional processes of handpicking and pressing, and I reap the literal fruits of their labor. In fact, nearly everything you will eat during your stay is locally grown, and the system benefits all concerned. I reward the villagers for the items that they sell to me, and my guests get to consume the freshest food in France. They’ve even begun to export their goods to surrounding towns. They’re quite enterprising, really, driving all the way into Arles on Friday evening to set up for Saturday morning market.”

“The people living here, in the village below, do all that?”

“Of course. I give them a safe place to live. They may as well work for it. Do save room for the main course. I hear we are having the roasted ribs of a lamb that was killed this morning.”

Grunts of disgust sounded from around the table.

Evangeline grinned. His crudity didn’t shock her. She expected him to be a monster. She licked a touch of olive oil off her lips. “Sounds delicious.”

Kral laughed, loud and long. “McCrea! Where did you find this bloodthirsty vixen?”

“In the clutches of a lesser man.”

“Such a convenient location, from which they are so easily removed, are they not?”

“Indeed.”

Kral and McCrea shared a sly glance. It must have killed him to act as Kral’s compatriot, after all he’d confessed to her before they’d come to dinner, but McCrea showed no signs of discomfort. It was amazing, really, how easily he shoved his emotions down when he needed to play a role.

As dinner progressed, conversation ebbed and flowed among the men. The women were largely ignored, just as McCrea’d said they’d be.

“Evangeline.” Kral’s voice trilled above every other. “Do tell me more about yourself. I’m fascinated to hear how a young American woman finds herself in the arms of one of Europe’s most promising young…” He chuckled and patted McCrea’s hand. “What would you call yourself, eh? A businessman?”

“An opportunist,” McCrea said.

“Indeed!” Kral laughed, sending the table into another round of obsequious titters, but his blue eyes never warmed.

“McCrea came to my rescue. What girl can resist a knight in shining armor?” As though she’d done it before, she patted McCrea’s hard thigh. He tightened under her fingertips.

“And what knight can resist a maiden in distress?” Kral added. “You must have wrapped him around your finger, I think. He’s not known for his prowess with women.”

McCrea ignored the comment. Adriana laughed, with a slight hiccup. She was getting drunk.

Evangeline felt obligated to defend him. “He’s just been saving it up for me.”