Into the Crossfire (10 page)

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conversation, be distant when saying good night, avoid the kiss.

But he didn't look smug. He looked serious, stern, as if wild sexual

attraction were the most dangerous thing on earth.

And it was. A loaded grenade, in fact.

Oh God, she had to nip this in the bud, and fast.

"Look, I--" Nicole's eyes widened in dismay. The words didn't come out.

This was terrifying. All that came out was a huff of air as her throat tightened. She

had to stop and try again.

"Look." Through sheer willpower she steadied her voice, tugging her hand

from his. Trying to, anyway. His hold was painless but unbreakable. "There's

something I need to say to you, right up front, Sam. And I need you to listen to me

carefully."

He bowed his head, eyes always on hers. "Fine." He tightened his warm

grasp slightly. "But I want to be touching you while I listen."

Well, hell. Him not touching her was part of what she wanted to say. But

her hand felt...wonderful in his. Warm, surrounded by hard male flesh, somehow

safe.

She took a deep breath because this wasn't going to be easy.

For a moment she simply looked at him, at this very large, very strong,

utterly male man who had most improbably woken up her dormant libido at

exactly the wrong time in her life. She had an enormous pang of regret for what

she had to say to him, but there was no evading it. It had to be done.

From the moment she'd gone to pick up her sick father in Dushanbe and

had been told by the doctors what condition he was in, she'd known that her old

life was over and that everything but caring for her father was going to have to be

tossed overboard. Her carefree single life in Geneva, friends, a love life.

Everything had to go. She'd seen it all in one moment of brutal clarity.

The only other thing she could allow into her life was work, and that was

purely out of necessity.

She hadn't been even remotely tempted to allow anything else into her life

before now, but somehow Sam Reston made her yearn, yearn for the affair they

might have had if things had been different.

But they weren't.

"This...this thing between us--" she waved her free hand between them,

"and you'll notice I'm not denying that there's something. But whatever it is, it has

to stop here. Much as I'd like to explore it, I can't."

His face was utterly impassive and he held himself still. He didn't even

appear to be breathing. He was completely concentrated on her, all that male

power, tightly focused on her.

She'd asked him to listen carefully because she thought he wouldn't want to

hear what she was saying. He didn't show any trace of denial, though, as most men

would have. Maybe that was a soldier's gift--to see what was. If you couldn't see

reality, no matter how unpalatable, you were dead.

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"Explain, please." The deep voice sounded thoughtful, not angry or

defensive.

"Okay. I need to tell you where my life is right now." Deep breath. Let it

out in one controlled stream. Just like her yoga teacher had taught her. "A little

over a year ago I was living in Geneva, where I'd gone to university. I was

working for the UN as a translator. I loved my job and I had a wide circle of

friends and an active social life."

She looked out the window for a second, allowing herself the sharp pang of

pain at what had been lost.

How incredibly happy she'd been. Young, single, earning well. She'd loved

translating, her colleagues, her friends, her life. The UN paid very well, in Swiss

francs and tax free. Geneva was a dream city--pretty and green and safe,

surrounded by gorgeous mountains with the best skiing in the world. A short train

ride away from southern France and northern Italy.

The world had been her oyster. She suppressed a sigh. Those days were

gone, forever.

She looked back at Sam, watching her steadily. "Well," she said briskly, "I

imagine you know all that if you checked my website. Or at least you'd know the

basics."

"Yeah." The deep voice was quiet. "I know you lived in Geneva and

worked for the UN. Sounds interesting."

A sharp little stab to the heart. "Yes, yes it was interesting. I loved it."

Nicole sat up straighter, stiffening her spine. It had been good. It was now over.

Deal. "But now I have other priorities. I've always been close to my parents. My

mother died in a car accident in 2004 and it was a huge blow to my father and me.

We just had each other. When I graduated and started my new job, he was

appointed ambassador to Tajikistan, with special plenipotentiary powers. He

seemed as happy in his new life as I was in mine. So I had no inkling of trouble

when the call came. Midnight, on the fourteenth of May, a little over a year ago.

The call was to say that Dad was in the hospital."

Nicole's mouth tightened. She remembered the scene so vividly. The call

had come on a Friday evening. She'd been packing for a ski holiday on the

glaciers, happily thinking of snow and schnaps and schnitzli. Then her world fell

apart. The caller was an embassy secretary, to say that her father was in the ICU.

An hour later, Nicole had been at the Geneva airport, waiting for the first of four

connections for the 24-hour trip to get to her father's side.

"The Embassy said that my--my father was very ill, in a coma. I left

immediately and when I arrived in Dushanbe, Dad was just coming out of it. In

carrying out a CAT scan to exclude a stroke, they discovered that--"

Oh God. This was so hard to say. Her hand in his started trembling and his

hold tightened slightly.

Just say it.

"They discovered that he has brain cancer. Not one big tumor, which would

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be serious but perhaps treatable. His brain is riddled with them, almost too

numerous to count, the doctors said. Inoperable. The only thing they could do for

him was radiotherapy to extend his lifespan a little, and some chemotherapy. I was

making arrangements to fly him back with me on a medevac flight to Geneva,

when he started waking up. I knew I could cope in Geneva. I could find a larger

house to rent; medical care there is excellent; the UN has a very generous health

plan that includes relatives; I was phoning people, working it all out. When he was

fully awake, Dad was told his condition. And--and he told me he'd served his

country abroad all his adult life, and that now he wanted to go home, back to the

States to--"

Nicole's throat seized up, simply wouldn't work. Her eyes prickled and she

had to look away for a second. She swallowed. Sam didn't show any impatience at

all. He simply sat, looking at her, holding her hand. Quiet and still and focused.

A minute, two. She stared blindly out the window until she could get her

voice back. She drew in a shuddering breath and looked back at him.

"To die. He wanted to come back home to die," she finally whispered. A

single tear spilled from her eye and plopped onto the table. And here she thought

she had no tears left.

Sam dried the track it had left with his thumb. The skin of his finger was

rough, like a cat's tongue, the touch delicate.

"Sorry," she said, bowing her head. A weeping dinner date was no fun.

"Sorry?" He frowned. "For what?"

She was sorry about everything. Sorry that she was soon going to lose her

father, sorry about her reduced life, sorry that this attraction couldn't go anywhere.

Okay, the next bit just had to be said.

"From that moment, from the moment I learned that my father was very ill

and that he wanted to come home, my life changed on a dime. I quit my job and

we moved here, to the house my grandmother left me." Nicole tried to make her

voice brisk. "So, Sam. Like it or not, this is my life. My father is dying and we

have no money. While closing up Dad's affairs, I discovered that Dad had invested

his life savings in a mutual fund run by Lawrence Karloff."

She nodded when he winced. The tangled lawsuits of the thousands of

people who'd lost every cent of their savings in the giant Ponzi scheme run by the

Wall Street legend were still making headlines.

"Yes, indeed. Dad lost every penny he'd ever put aside to that bastard

Karloff. He is essentially penniless. That SOB took everything. And since Dad had

to retire from the State Department early for reasons of health, he has a reduced

pension. Basically, the pension pays for the utilities, food, taxes and that's about it.

The State Department covers hospitalization. But the costs for his nursing care,

our housekeeper, his physical rehab, the drugs...they're all astronomical and they're

all on me. I don't think we could have afforded to actually move back to the States

if my grandmother hadn't left me our house. Luckily, we don't have to pay rent or

a mortgage. Otherwise I don't think it would have worked and Dad wouldn't have

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gotten his--his wish.

"So we came back to the States. I founded Wordsmith with my contacts

from university and from my UN job. I tried to work out of the house all last year,

but it wasn't ideal. Dad, bless him, interrupted a thousand times a day, and I do

need to meet with clients, so that's when I decided to get an office downtown. At

Wordsmith we're good at what we do, but it's a typical small company that is

growing steadily but not always fast enough. With what I earn from it, I can barely

keep up with the medical bills."

She looked him straight in the eye. Recounting her life like this was painful

and depressing. And, unfortunately, necessary.

"I'm not saying any of this to make you feel sorry for me. Please don't. I'm

doing exactly what I want to do and right now, I wouldn't have my life any other

way. But I do need you to know that this is my life and there's no reason why any

of my problems should be a part of yours. It's no fun dating someone who has no

money for anything. And it's not just money I lack. Every second of my day is

dedicated to my father or to work. That's it, that's what I do. I take care of Dad and

I work. I don't go out, I don't go to the movies or to plays or concerts. I can't even

think of a vacation--not even just a couple of days away. I won't leave my father

alone and I couldn't afford it anyway. This is the situation as long as my dad is

alive, which I hope with all my heart will be as long as possible. So you see, I am

not free to just...come out and play with you. There's nothing lighthearted or easy

about my life right now, Sam. I am, in all senses, a burden. I'm saying this to you

because you--well, your body language is pretty clear. You seem to be, for want of

a better word, attracted. Am I right?"

He nodded, eyes never leaving hers. "Jesus. Absolutely. From the first

second I saw you."

She sighed. He wasn't making it any easier. The attraction was mutual.

Except she'd been able to explain away the sharp awareness of him, the

accelerated heartbeat, the slight trembling when she saw him as fear of a

dangerous-looking man.

He was still dangerous-looking, but it wasn't fear she felt. Oh God, no.

He wasn't handsome but he had sharp, clean features, the strong features of

a man used to wielding authority. The whole package--the outsize body, the big

rough hands, the penetrating dark eyes, the no-nonsense air, the deep voice--was

delectable and made her tremble deep inside.

She'd been so caught up in what she was telling him that she had had no

sense of herself, but now sensations came rushing back in.

She was aroused by him, it was absolutely unmistakeable. Right now, in a

perfectly nice Lebanese restaurant, blood was rushing to her sex and her breasts,

her breathing was speeding up, her head filled with heated images of her crawling

onto his lap and simply licking him all over.

Nicole hated machos. She'd grown up in third-world countries where the

most idiotic male felt he was superior to all women because he had a Y

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chromosome and a piece of flesh dangling between his legs.

She was immune to their posturing, to their torrid glances and boasts of

sexual prowess.

But Sam Reston was the real deal. He didn't flaunt his maleness, it

just...was. As much a part of him as his hands or feet. Male strength, not just of his

muscles, but of his will, exuded from him, together with a godzillion male

pheromones that had her heart racing.

He was still holding her hand and the connection felt electric, the heat

running all the way up her arm. Even his smell was delicious. Not a cologne, just

clean male skin, the starch in his blindingly white shirt, and a faint scent of soap.

Not Armani or Boss, but still guaranteed to make female hearts trip up. He simply

exuded power and sex.

Hormone city.

She was as turned on as she'd ever been in her life, yet they were simply

sitting in a restaurant, hand in hand. Though nothing overt was happening at all,

her chest felt tight and it was hard to breathe. She was hot all over, like she had a

fever.

She had never felt this before, and it wasn't...unpleasant. How sad to have

to give it up without even having a chance to taste it first.

With a sigh, she tugged and he allowed her to slip her hand from his. She