His Spy at Night (Spy Games Book 3) (10 page)

Now, after having Lies thrust on him against his will?

He’d begin a game of his own. His would be more direct. She could use the reminder that, if she planned to pursue men like Vanderloord, at least one of her boundaries should be inflexible. Sympathy was about to become her mistake. She believed him trustworthy.

Well, he was a man too.

He slung an elbow over the back of his seat, allowing the knuckles of his dangling fingers to gently stroke the smooth skin of her naked upper arm. His gaze dropped to her partially exposed breast, remained for a second, then flicked back to her face.

She went very still. Her eyes turned to pools of blue ice. “I didn’t mean for you to practice on me.”

They were sitting in his car on a side street in the hub of the city. Although it was late at night, and the street deserted, privacy was hardly assured. Nevertheless, he tossed down the gauntlet. “You can stop me anytime you like.”

“Nobody’s stopping you.”

She sounded so complacent. So confident she’d best him. He almost relented. Instead, he tracked the tips of his fingers along the length of her shoulder to the base of her throat, then upward to her jaw. The pulse leaped beneath his light touch and he was glad he’d persisted. Some responses couldn’t be feigned. He tucked the crook of his finger beneath her chin and angled it upward, bringing her mouth more in line with his. Seated, without the advantage of heels, she wasn’t nearly as tall.

He bent forward, pressing his lips to hers. He eased his right hand behind her head and placed his left hand on her hip, tugging her body slightly toward him. If not for the stick shift and console between them, she’d be on his lap. He skimmed his hand lower to the top of her thigh, then beneath the whisper-thin fabric of her dress until his palm cupped bare flesh. He felt the sharp inhale of her breath, then caught its soft, fluttering release as she exhaled. Her arm slid beneath his jacket, curled around his waist, and her fingers dipped beneath the band of his trousers at the small of his back.

Excitement coursed through him, exchanging coherent thought for a mixture of base sensations—the scent of her hair. The taste of her skin. The touch of her hands and lips. She’d closed her eyes. He took a second to admire her lovely face, and to try and decipher her expressions, hoping to find a trace of the real Lies in an unguarded moment. Her lashes fluttered apart. Her eyes, filled with a mixture of challenge, trust, and an unmistakable heat, gazed into his. When would she call a halt? How far was she willing to go?

Because he had no plans to end this. Not yet.

He trailed his mouth down the side of her throat, nipping with his teeth and making her gasp, then touching the tip of his tongue to the vee at its base, waiting for her to say
enough
. He squeezed her thigh with his fingers, a light touch of warning, before inching them upward to the tiny scrap of fabric covering her mound. He ran his thumb over the triangle, testing the spring of tight curls pinned beneath it. Her fingers fisted against his back. Her other hand clutched at the front of his shirt and she arched her hips, inviting a more intimate touch. Desire exploded at the front of his skull. He lowered his mouth to the gap where her dress had exposed part of her breast, nudging it open, and the soft moan of pleasure that escaped her as his mouth found her nipple, teasing it with his tongue, was all the encouragement he needed to ignore that this was a game and what he was doing crossed every single one of his boundaries.

At the edge of incoherent, desire-driven thought, his conscience rapped sharply. Despite all her confident talk of past boyfriends, it was painfully obvious that Lies was far less experienced than he. He was the one going too far.

And on a public side street no less.

A palm beat on the windshield. Harry lifted his head as a blurry face appeared in the steamed-up passenger window, jeering at him. It was one of the young thugs who’d passed the car a short time ago. Behind the boy, three of his friends issued catcalls of encouragement, obviously enjoying the peepshow Harry and Lies were providing.

He withdrew his hand from the slit of Lies’s skirt, and straightened the fabric over her breast and thigh with a calm nonchalance he was far from feeling. He ignored the aching strain of his groin as he reached for the ignition and started the engine.

Then coolly, as if being caught making out in his car with a beautiful woman was an everyday occurrence for him, he flipped the laughing boys his middle finger before pulling away from the curb.

Chapter Six

A pair of tickets had been left on Lies’s desk along with a note:

You said you were a fan. Please enjoy the tickets. Bernard V.

Lies picked up the tickets and examined them. Tiësto. They were for the VIP area at a concert on the upcoming weekend that had been sold out weeks ago. As she held them, wondering what their purpose was, her phone rang.

It was Vanderloord.

“Thank you for the tickets,” Lies said, cautious as to how flirtatious to be. The age difference between them was enough that she had to be careful. She’d gotten the impression that Vanderloord liked younger women who posed a challenge. “Is the second one yours?”

“While I would very much enjoy your company,” he said wryly, “I can think of a thousand better ways to do so. Take someone your own age. I prefer concerts where there are actual performers and musical instruments.”

“Like a harp and violin?” she dared to tease, testing him.

“At the very least a piano.”

He definitely had a sense of humor. She liked that. It was easier to work with. “If I’m ever given tickets to the opera, they’re yours.” But these tickets weren’t a gift and she was curious as to what their price tag would be. He wanted to find out how easily she could be bought and she didn’t plan to sell out too cheap. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I’d like to book an appointment with Harry,” Vanderloord said, getting straight down to business.

She turned into Harry’s personal assistant, brisk and polite. “May I ask what it’s regarding?”

“There’s a Canadian shipping contract about to be put out to tender by DND. I’m interested in obtaining the names of potential second-tier suppliers and Harry should have some knowledge of them.”

DND was the Canadian Department of National Defence and the request was nothing out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, Harry’s schedule was legitimately booked solid. Lies made an executive decision. This meeting with Vanderloord took precedence over trade commission business, but she couldn’t make it too obvious.

“Harry can give you a half hour on Friday, but it’ll have to be during lunch.” She’d order in sandwiches.

“Whatever is convenient for him.”

She hung up, then sat at her desk without moving. She should go talk to Harry and tell him what she’d done to his schedule. He’d been avoiding her for a week now, speaking only when necessary while they waited for Vanderloord to make the next move, which he just had. Harry couldn’t ignore her any longer.

She nudged a pen on her desk with her finger. The drive home from the theater that night had been so incredibly awkward and silent. She regretted her part in it—not because she’d encouraged Harry to touch her, but because she had let things go too far. She’d been curious to see if the attraction between them was real or one-sided. Maybe she’d also needed to feed her ego. The affair with Michael had been a blow to her pride.

She couldn’t be certain what Harry was angriest about. It wasn’t that they’d been caught making out like a couple of teenagers, although he’d definitely been unhappy about that. There was a stronger possibility that he simply didn’t want to be attracted to her. He truly didn’t like games—which was one reason why he disliked Bernard Vanderloord so much. And because she was an intelligence officer his prejudices carried over to her, so that might well be it.

But if he was angry because he’d tried to teach her a lesson about the dangers of flirting and she’d refused to give in, then they both owned their behavior and between them, they’d have to figure out how to deal with the fallout. Since Vanderloord had finally reached out there was no time like the present.

Ignoring the mad thud of her heart, she approached Harry’s office door. It was open a crack. She poked her head around it, peering inside.

His office was what could best be described as austere. He had framed diplomas and certifications on the walls, nothing else. No family. No photo of the queen. No curtains or blinds at the window. Since they were on the second floor his view consisted mainly of trees and the upper levels of other buildings.

Harry was at his desk, his head bent over his work. He had a frown of intense concentration on his face that made him appear so…cold and remote. At least on the surface. There was a whole lot more to him, and it wasn’t cold, despite the shivers it gave her. The coolness was an act. Harry used excellent manners to disguise how he felt.

But when he set those manners aside…

She had a hunch he’d be amazing in bed. Part of her longed to find out. The way he’d kissed her and touched her said it wouldn’t take much.

Her team leader, however, had been specific that she was to protect her professional integrity for this particular assignment. Because Harry was connected to her investigation, she’d have to tell the CSIS director—because she was answering to him—about it if she slept with him. She could well imagine how that would look after the last confession she’d had to make. She also had a good idea how Harry would feel having CSIS know he’d slept with one of their intelligence officers. His integrity was important to him too.

So was his dignity, but she had fewer qualms about messing with that.

“Would you like to go to a rave?” she asked.

“God no,” he replied, without lifting his eyes from whatever he was writing. “Not even at gunpoint.” His hand stilled and his head came up. His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

She stepped fully into the room and closed the door, leaning against it. “Bernard gave me two tickets to a Tiësto concert.” She flashed him a brilliant smile. “I gave him a half hour of your time in exchange.”

“It’s Bernard now, is it?” Harry continued to regard her. “If your new best friend supplied the tickets, why isn’t he going to the concert with you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You have no idea who Tiësto is, do you?”

“I do know what a rave is. OK, I see your point.” He glanced at the schedule she’d programmed into his phone for him and pretended he knew how to read it.
Luddite
. “Where did you manage to find a half hour for a meeting?”

“Friday at lunch. He’s coming here and I’m ordering sandwiches for two.”

Harry sighed. “Let me guess. He’s after a list of second-tier suppliers from that new shipbuilding contract. Better order sandwiches for three. You’ll want to sit in.”

“I could wire your office,” she suggested, mostly in fun. She’d do it, but he’d never agree.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You aren’t wiring embassy offices. Not mine and not anyone else’s.”

“Then leave the door open so I can eavesdrop. Unless you can come up with a good explanation for my presence.”

He settled back in his chair, the tips of his fingers pressed together. The sight of those long fingers reminded her of the feel of them on her skin. Heat lanced up her spine. He was good with his hands.

Very good.

“My office. My rules. I don’t need to make up an excuse,” he was saying, bringing her abruptly back to the present. “I’m asking you to join us for lunch. We’ll keep it casual.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from arguing. His world was so easy for him. Hers was somewhat more complicated in that she often dealt with perceptions rather than rules. In this case his rules wouldn’t necessarily align with Vanderloord’s perceptions. Vanderloord, who was neck-deep in military theft, might well find it curious as to why Harry’s assistant was joining their business meeting. Harry was never that casual.

On the other hand, no one would ever imagine Harry in a parked car on a public street with his hand up her skirt and his mouth on her breast either, so stranger things had happened. Which brought her back to her real purpose for coming into his office.

He’d returned his attention to his work, dismissing her with an abruptness that said she’d been right and it wasn’t just her. They were both confused about this attraction between them.

“About the other night,” she began.

He set his pen down with careful deliberation. His eyes chilled. “I apologized for that.”

He had. Beautifully. Whereas she’d mumbled something incoherent and scrambled from the car, then fled as if from the scene of a crime. Not her finest moment.

“I didn’t though. I should have.” His brown eyes narrowed a little more, probably suspicious as to what her game was, so she plunged ahead before he could remind her that he was busy. They couldn’t work together with all this tension between them. “It’s hardly your fault I’m so attracted to you.”

That got his attention. “Excuse me?”

“I always go straight for the bad boys. You know… The men with an element of danger? An edginess to them? The women in my family are addicted to the adrenaline rush you give us.”

“Just so I understand. You’re apologizing to me because you can’t control yourself around me? Because I’m edgy and
dangerous
?”