Secret Agent Seduction (9 page)

But she
was
a federal agent, which meant she couldn't stand by and do nothing if Magliore decided to seek out justice on his own.

She was so absorbed in these grim musings that she didn't notice him studying her over the rim of his wineglass until he murmured, “Time to change the subject.”

Lia snapped to attention. “What? Why?”

“Because you're frowning. Which means whatever you're thinking about is upsetting you. And it would be a shame to waste any more of this meal, or this wonderful view,” he said, gesturing toward the mountains, “on such an unsavory topic as Alexandre Biassou. So I propose that we change the subject. And the sooner, the better.”

“All right,” Lia agreed, managing a smile as she lifted her glass to her lips. “What would you like to talk about?”

“You.”

She chuckled wryly. “How'd I know
that
was coming?”

“I don't know,” Magliore said with a lazy smile. “Maybe you can read minds.”

Lia choked on a sip of wine and began coughing.

Magliore frowned, leaning forward a little. “Are you all right?”

She nodded quickly, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin. “Went down the wrong way,” she said hoarsely.

He eyed her a moment longer, as if trying to determine whether or not she needed the Heimlich maneuver.

“I'm fine,” Lia assured him. To demonstrate, she ate a forkful of her baked potato, chewing and swallowing without incident. “What, uh, would you like to know about me?”
Besides what I can't actually tell you. Like the fact that I
can
read minds. Just not yours!

He gave her a lopsided grin that somehow managed to be sexy and boyish at the same time. “To throw your previous question back at you, do
you
cook often?”

This time it was her turn to grin. “That, er, depends on your definition of
cooking,
” she hedged.

He raised an amused brow at her. “Meaning?”

Lia's grin turned sheepish. “I can boil water, heat up frozen dinners and toss a mean salad, but that's pretty much the extent of my culinary talents.”

Magliore chuckled. “And why is that?”

“Well, for starters, I'm not home very often. I've grown accustomed to eating on the go, at restaurants, hotels, airplanes, presidential retreats or wherever my various assignments take me.” She shrugged, spearing a cherry tomato with her fork and popping it into her mouth. “I guess you could say I've spent the last six years, more or less, eating on my employer's dime.”

Magliore smiled a little. “I guess the least they could do is feed you, considering that you put your life on the line for them every day.” As he picked up his fork and resumed eating, he remarked, “You must love your job.”

“I do, very much,” Lia agreed without hesitation. “There's no such thing as a typical day. My job is challenging, diverse, rewarding in ways I could have never imagined. I've had the pleasure of meeting so many different types of people, from all walks of life. I have the utmost respect for the smart, dedicated people I work with. Well,
most
of them, anyway,” she amended with a wry grimace.

Magliore smiled, his gaze never leaving hers. She'd noted that about him from the very beginning, the intensity with which he zeroed in on her face whenever she spoke, as if what she were saying was of immense importance to him.

A woman could get lost in those beautiful, mesmerizing eyes.

“So what are the drawbacks?” he asked.

Lia blinked. “Drawbacks?”

He nodded. “To being a Secret Service agent. What are the drawbacks?”

“Hmm.” Lia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, as an agent on protection details, you sort of learn the hard way that you can't make any future plans because when the time comes, there's a pretty good chance you might be halfway around the world. The reality of the job is that you're forever on someone else's schedule, and that can take some getting used to. Fortunately for me, moving around so much during my childhood prepared me to handle the transient nature of my job.”

“Still,” Magliore said, “it can't be very easy on your social life.”

Lia gave a humorless laugh. “Social life? What's that?”

“My point exactly.”

Poking at her salad, Lia lifted one shoulder in a flippant shrug. She didn't bother explaining to Magliore that even before she'd joined the Secret Service, her social life had been practically nonexistent. Being a freak of nature had a way of keeping one isolated from others.

“You're a very beautiful, desirable woman,” Magliore murmured. “You can't expect me to believe you don't have someone special waiting at home.”

Lia briefly considered, then decided not to berate him for asking such a personal question. Instead she met his knowing gaze with subtle defiance in her own. “What if I told you I don't?”

“Don't what? Have someone special waiting at home?”

She nodded.

A glimmer of satisfaction shone in his amber eyes. “Then I'd have to conclude that there's something seriously wrong with the men in this country.”

Lia told herself it was
not
a twinge of pleasure she felt at his words. Surely she wasn't that susceptible to male flattery—even from the mouth of a gorgeous, incredibly virile man like the one seated across from her.

“How do you know the men are the problem?” she countered mildly. “How do you know
I'm
not the one who's not interested in a relationship?”

Magliore held her stare. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Interested in a relationship?”

Lia pursed her lips for a moment, pretending to consider the matter. “Maybe,” she said enigmatically. “Maybe not.”

His gaze darkened. “That's not an answer.”

“I know.” Against her better judgment, Lia found herself enjoying the heady sense of playing with fire, as if she were dangling a raw steak in front of a ravenous wolf. “At any rate, what I may or may not be interested in has no bearing on this conversation.”

Subtle challenge glinted in his eyes. “Doesn't it?”

“No,” Lia said matter-of-factly. “It doesn't.”

Instead of responding, Magliore tipped his head slightly to one side, regarding her in thoughtful silence for several long, unnerving moments. The longer he remained silent, the more Lia found herself wanting to squirm under his intense scrutiny.

Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, he said softly, “You know what I think?”

Lia shot him an aggrieved look. “No. But I'm sure you'll tell me.”

His mouth twitched. “What I think,” he said, “is that you're very young.”

Lia made a strangled sound. “
Excuse
me?”

He held up a hand. “Hear me out. I'm not implying that you're immature. I'm saying that you're young. You're only twenty-eight. Young, like I said.”

“What's your point?” she said through gritted teeth.

“My point,” Magliore said, “is that you haven't really lived long enough to know what you want.”

Lia bristled, her eyes narrowing sharply on his face. “Are you suggesting that I don't know my own mind simply because I'm still in my twenties? That is pure nonsense—an insulting, ridiculous and unfounded generalization. And besides, you're only four years older than me. That's nothing!”

A shadow of a smile touched his mouth. “I've lived a thousand lifetimes in one,
ma petite.
” In his voice Lia heard sorrow, regret, anger and the terrible pain of loss. She heard the voice of experience from a world-weary, battle-scarred soldier who'd witnessed too many atrocities and lived to tell about them.

Although her indignation had been justified, she felt small and petty for challenging him, for inadvertently diminishing the horrors he'd experienced under Biassou's brutal regime. He was right. He was a lifetime older than she, and wiser in more ways than she could ever imagine. She'd traveled around the world, immersed herself in different cultures and embarked on dangerous missions, but she'd never faced the level of adversity he had. She'd never been forced to endure the kind of hardship and suffering he had eaten, slept and breathed every day of his life for the past four years.

Before she could formulate a response, Magliore, his eyes roaming across her face, said huskily, “As to the other matter, don't think for one moment that I don't know exactly what
I
want.”

Lia swallowed, ensnared by the heat of his intoxicating gaze while her heart thudded uncontrollably in her chest. Although she knew she should keep her distance from this dangerous man, she was hopelessly drawn to him. Intrigued.

Captivated.

She could not speak as he continued, “One day you're going to fall in love. Maybe not soon, but one day. Head over heels, helplessly in love. The kind where your thoughts are consumed by that person, and after a while you find yourself unable to remember what your life was like before he entered the picture. And one day,
chère,
like it or not, you're going to be forced to make a difficult choice between the job you love and the man you love. I wonder what choice you will make?”

Lia was so mesmerized by his words, and the uncanny sense that he'd looked deep into her soul and discerned her innermost desires, that it took several moments before his question sank in. When it did, she felt a fresh wave of indignation.

Her chin shot up, her eyes narrowing. “Who says I'd have to choose?” she challenged hotly. “Who says I can't have both? The man
and
the career?”

Magliore gave her a look that told her she should know better. “It doesn't really work that way.”

Lia scowled. “You're only saying that because I'm a woman. I know you wouldn't have asked me that question if I were a man.”

“If you were a man,” he drawled blandly, “I wouldn't be remotely interested in your response.”

Ignoring this remark, Lia pinned him with a direct look. “Just what do you have against women in the Secret Service?” she demanded bluntly.

Magliore frowned. “Didn't I tell you earlier that I couldn't see you confined to a safe, boring desk job?”

“Yes,” she said impatiently. “But ever since we met, you've made it perfectly clear that you don't think women belong in the Secret Service, working as agents.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but Lia wasn't finished. “Look, I realize that we come from two different cultures. I've heard that Biassou is a notorious misogynist, and while I'm not putting
you
in that category, I understand that you, too, may have grown up with certain views and expectations of women. But things are different here in America. Women balance families and demanding careers all the time. We're decorated soldiers who leave behind our husbands and children for months at a time to fight overseas. We're doctors, lawyers, scientists, politicians, police officers and firefighters. We hold top-level positions in academia, business and government.”

“I noticed,” Magliore murmured, his mouth twitching.

“Good. So it should come as no surprise to you that when, and
if,
I find a man deserving of my love, I fully expect him to respect and support my decision to continue working as a Secret Service agent.”

“And if he doesn't?” Magliore asked in a low voice.

Lia met his gaze unflinchingly. “Then he's not the one for me.”

Even as the uncompromising words left her mouth, the names of over a dozen other agents who were either divorced or going through a divorce ran across her mind. Her own boss was a casualty of a failed marriage.

There was no denying the fact that the divorce rate was particularly high among those in law enforcement. Lia had no illusions about the amount of compromise and sacrifice that would be required of her and her partner to make any relationship work. She'd learned that firsthand by watching her parents. Because the family had moved around so much, her mother had never worked outside the home. She'd sacrificed her own career in finance in order to support her husband's, and although it couldn't have been easy for her, she'd never once complained—not to Lia's knowledge, anyway. Her parents had, and continued to have, the happiest, healthiest marriage she had ever known. Their relationship was based on the abundance of love, admiration and respect they'd always had for each other. Lia knew that the demands and pressures of her job would make any future relationship challenging, but she also believed that if she found the right man, together they could make it work.