Take Me for a Ride (29 page)

He snorted, loudly. Then he said, “She has a name: Natalie. And I’m not in love with her.”

“Mmm. I’d bet about two hundred thousand dollars on it,” she murmured.

McDougal changed the subject abruptly. “Where’s the damn tiger?
This
I have got to see.”

The tiger didn’t like Mongolian barbecue, but everyone else did, and the officials liked the cash bribes Avy supplied for dessert so that she, Liam, the Nazi, and the tiger could all take off into the starry night sky.

Liam cheerfully lashed the Nazi’s cot into place next to the big, cranky kitty, displaying not an ounce of pity for the man, even when his eyes rolled in his head and he fainted from sheer terror. The big cat twitched its tail and seemed to find Nazi-in-the-raw much more interesting than smoked meat.

McDougal saw them off, shaking his head. Then he exited the airport himself, eager to get back to Natalie. He topped off the Renault’s tank and returned the car to the same street from which he’d borrowed it.

Then he took the subway to the Kremlin and made his way back to the Savoy, watching carefully for any sign that he was being followed. There was none. He seemed to have lost the Russians for the time being.

Wearily, he entered the room that he shared with Natalie, hoping that she’d been able to get to sleep. But all the lights blazed and her suitcase stood next to the door, packed and zipped.

“Natalie?”

A tornado in a sweater, she rounded the corner from the bathroom and pummeled him with her fists.

McDougal staggered back under the force of her rage as she caught him under the jaw and then right in the solar plexus.

“You bastard!” she said with loathing.

He caught her wrists before she could hit him again. “Natalie, it’s not what you think.”

She struggled in his grasp, her small white hands still clenched into fists. “It’s exactly what I think, you creep.”

He tried to keep his hold on her gentle. He didn’t want to bruise her or cause her pain. “No. No, it isn’t. Please let me explain—”

“Take your hands off me!”

He was afraid that if he did, he’d never be allowed to touch her again. A nameless emotion tightened his chest, rose painfully to his throat, and threatened to strangle him. For a moment he was unable to speak.

“Let. Me. Go.” Her tone was low and deadly.

“Please,” he said again, drawing her closer in spite of her clear efforts to get away. Her face was six inches from his. If he bent his head, he could kiss her. Maybe his lips could communicate physically what they seemed unable to say verbally.

She seemed to read his mind.

She turned her face away.

He’d never in his life had to say “please” to a woman. They said it to him. They lay down for him. They forgave him instantly.

But Natalie?

Natalie’s eyes were no longer navy. They’d gone black with betrayal and contempt. Her lids had become armor, the lashes around them tiny swords to keep him at bay.

Her lips formed tight, straight lines. Even her skin, usually rosy with invitation, had gone pale and blank as a wiped slate.

“Please,” he said a third time. “Let me explain.”

She tore herself from his hands, her normally sleek hair wild around her face. “There’s nothing to explain, Eric. I saw the message from your colleague. You work for ARTemis.”

Skewered by her gaze, he could only nod.

“You deliberately targeted me and got me drunk in Reif’s to pump me for information on the necklace.”

He bowed his head. He would have given anything to deny the fact.

“Admit it!” she shouted.

“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse and strange to his own ears as he damned himself. “I met you on purpose.”

“You’ve used me from the moment we met—”

“It’s not that simple, Nat. I didn’t count on—”

“You are
despicable
.”

“—liking you so much. Caring for you.”

“Stop it, you smooth,
sickening
liar. I have been a job to you, and nothing else.”

“No—”

“A
job
!” she shouted.

“
No
,” he said forcefully. “That’s not true.”

“What do you know about the truth, McDougal? You’re a born manipulator; you lie for a living; you steal for a living. And you seduce for a living!”

He raised his eyebrows. “Did I seduce you, that first night?”

Her face flushed pink in mortification.

“As I recall, I did not.”

“You got me drunk,” she pointed out.

“Did I? I forced that whiskey down your throat?”

Her color deepened to brick. “You—”

“I took advantage of you later? Tore off your clothes and had my way with you?”

“Why do you have to humiliate me on top of everything else you’ve done, Eric? Is this fun for you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not trying to humil—”

“I was a slut! Okay? Is that what you want me to say? The nice girl hit the whiskey and her inner slut emerged to dance around your pole. Well, you know what? I’m glad. I’ve never done anything like that in my entire life, and maybe it was about time.”

“That makes two of us. Because I’ve never done what I did that night, either.”

“What?” She turned a still furious but puzzled gaze on him.

“I’ve never—not once in my life, Natalie—turned down what you offered that night. I’m the king—no, the emperor—of the one-night stand.”

“Congratulations,” she said in a withering tone.

“Damn it, will you listen to what I’m trying to say? It didn’t feel right with you. I couldn’t do it—even if you hadn’t passed out cold on me. You were different.”

Her expression was skeptical, to say the least.

“When I made love to you—”

“Made love?” she scoffed. “You
screwed
me—in every sense of the word—for a
commission
, Eric! Do you know what that makes you? You’re a gigolo. A male
whore
.”

He winced. McManWhore. “No,” he said firmly. “When I made love to you, it had nothing to do with the job. You have to believe me.”

Again, that scathing glance. “I thought you were some kind of white knight,” she said, shaking her head. “The way you came riding to my rescue. I couldn’t figure out why you’d buy me a first-class ticket to Moscow. I was dumber than a brick! You knew I’d lead you right to the necklace.”

McDougal couldn’t deny this. He was guilty as charged in terms of initial intent. “Natalie, it started out that way. But I couldn’t go through with it.”

“Really? Then where’s the St. George necklace?”

He eyed her helplessly. “I don’t have it on me right now.”

“Of course you don’t,” she said. Scorn dripped from her voice. “My grandmother will die of heartbreak, I’ll go to jail, and you’ll cash your commission check without a trace of conscience.”

He shook his head. “I put the necklace in a safe place in case the Russians came after me again. But I swear—”

“Don’t bother, McDougal. The lies never end for you, do they?”

“Nat, I’m not lying,” he said quietly. “I will bring you and your grandmother the necklace.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you do that?”

It was certainly a valid question. Why? And as McDougal stood there, desperately hoping that he could salvage his relationship with her, he understood at last that Avy was right, damn it. “Because . . .”

He’d never said the words to a woman other than his mother. He’d never wanted to betray their meaning, like his father.

“Why would you do that?” Natalie repeated.

McDougal swallowed hard. “Because . . . I love you.”

Clearly incredulous, she started to laugh. It was the worst sound he’d ever heard.

“You aren’t even able to stop lying, are you?”

“I love you, Nat.”

“You don’t love anyone but yourself, Eric.” She stalked to the door and yanked up her suitcase.

“Where are you going?”

“Why would that be any of your business?” she asked brutally.

“Natalie, don’t put yourself at risk because you’re angry with me. Those men are still out there.”

“How do I even know that those attacks weren’t staged? It’s mighty convenient that you’ve come to save me every time I’ve been threatened. Did you hire those men? Were those exercises just to win my trust?”

Appalling thought. “That’s crazy, Nat!”

“Answer the question. Was it you who trashed my apartment in New York? Before you so gallantly rode to my rescue in Connecticut?”

“No! How can you think that?”

“Easily, Eric. Your lies have blown open the door to any possibility.”

“I could never—Nat,
I love you
,” he said again.

“I don’t believe you. You’ve left me with nothing to believe in.” She looked down and pressed her lips together hard, as if to stifle a sob.

“My grandmother,” she said, “is still convinced that you’re a modern knight, that you’ve been sent to us by St. George himself.” She laughed again, bitterly. “Poor, deluded woman. And now I get to go and inform her that far from being a knight, you’re a serpent—the dragon.

“I should have known better. Women who sit around waiting for princes and knights to rescue them are utter fools. We have to be our own knights. We have to wear our own armor, ride our own horses, fight our own battles.”

Natalie turned her back on him and opened the door, then stopped. “My kingdom for a spear right now, Eric. I’d ram it down your lying throat.”

McDougal came after her. Why, she didn’t know. She could hear the soft rub of his denim-clad legs as he walked. Why did he bother? What could he say? He couldn’t defend his actions—they were inexcusable.

And his sudden declaration of love? Pure manipulation. Like everything else about him, the tender words were too damned convenient, meant to con her and defuse her anger.

“Natalie, if you’re going to stay with your grandmother, you’d better realize that you’ll put her in danger,” he said.

She stopped.

“The Russians are following you.”

Were they? She squared her shoulders. “Are they really, or did you hire them, Eric?”

“Nat, I swear by all that’s holy that the Russians are for real. Please don’t expose yourself. No matter how good the security is here at the Savoy, once you leave the premises you are a target. You have a bull’s-eye on your back, same as I do—and no way to defend yourself.”

“No, Eric. They know that you have the necklace now. Why would they care about me?”

“They may use you to get to me. Natalie, these people don’t screw around. I don’t want to have your fingers delivered to me in a box, okay?”

She put down her suitcase, then turned and faced him, willing herself not to be suckered again by that honest, direct blue gaze. Arming herself against his professional sincerity. Steeling herself against the attraction she still stupidly felt for him. Even now, her silly, idealistic feminine side wanted to believe in the fairy tale. She wanted to slap that part of her into next year. “If you’re so worried about me, then give me your gun.”

“Give you my gun?” He stared at her, incredulous. “You don’t know the butt from the barrel. Have you ever even fired a weapon?”

She raised her chin. “So teach me. It’s the very least you can do.”

He spread his hands wide. “I’d be happy to teach you, if it were broad daylight and we could locate a firing range. But it’s close to three o’clock in the morning and we can’t exactly line up cans of caviar on the windowsill to practice on.”

“Fine. Then teach me the basics with the safety on.”

“No. It’s a bad idea, Natalie.”

“Then what options do I have?” she burst out.

“You can stay with me and let me protect you until this business with the necklace is resolved.”

Scorn suffused her entire body. “I’d rather die.”

“Yeah? You think long and hard about that, sweetheart, because you could. Go back to the room, Natalie. Please go back to the room until I can figure out a way to neutralize these people.”

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. But I will.”

“After all this, I’m supposed to believe you’ll be my hero?”

He sighed. “You can believe whatever you want. You’re right: I’ve been a deceitful son of a bitch. I can regret that, but I can’t change it. All I can do is try to make up for it.”

She leaned forward and poked him in the chest. “What I’m trying to figure out, Eric McDougal, is why you’re still here. You’ve got the necklace—so what’s stopping you from flying home to the U.S. and claiming your commission?”

He eyed her steadily, without flinching. “You,” he said.

Oh, how she wanted that to be true! The rush of scorn faded, and she was left with a dull ache. She ached for him to be real, for him not to be the most skilled liar she’d ever met.

Wake up, Natalie, you dumb cluck. Think. What are his real motivations?
As she stood there resisting her hormones, resisting his sheer physical appeal, it hit her.

She marveled at his coldness.

The problem was that she did need his protection. He was right about that. But she was so done with being used. She stood there considering her options. Could she beat him at his own game?

Distasteful to descend to his level. Not her style. She wasn’t a fan of guile and manipulation . . . but she wanted the St. George necklace back. And, if she were honest, some small measure of revenge for what he’d put her through.