Tell Me No Lies (31 page)

His mouth was warm, his groan welcome. She ran her hands under his shirt, and in one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head. She gasped at the beauty of him. The wide shoulders, muscled and hard, his taut back. So big.

She tasted his skin, her tongue flicking over his neck and chest She wanted to inhale him, become him, wanted him against her, skin against skin.

And he did, too, because her shirt was gone in an instant. His hand flicked open the clasp of her bra and she sighed as those large, hard hands cupped her, his mouth heating her, turning her inside out, flesh over flesh, no bones, nothing to keep her standing.

And when she would have collapsed with the rush of feeling, he bent and swooped her up, taking her into the bedroom.

"Sasha," he whispered, as he laid her on the bed, his hands slipping easily into her too-big, borrowed pants. His fingers found her, found the heart of her and lit her up in a blaze of sensation.

She arched into his touch, breathing hard, wanting more to be bound, to merge, to be one creature newly formed. With no past and no future. Only now, this moment.

"Come with me,
liubini,"
she whispered, calling him sweetheart. "Be me. Let me be you."

She tugged at his pants as he pulled away hers. She kissed the hands that held her, covering her face with their strength as he entered her.

And then they were one. She gasped with the feel of him, opening her, becoming her. His strength was hers now, the weight of him, broad-shouldered, muscled. Her warrior, her lover.

Tears hovered behind her eyes. She was no longer alone. No longer cold. Cut off. Every nerve ending pulsed, every place they touched radiated. He whispered her name, his mouth breathing the sound into hers.

And all the while he moved inside her, around her, stroking, caressing, making her body sing with pleasure until thought dissolved into ecstasy. Into heat and desire and him. Only him.

She'd been darkness, the night, the hidden one, but far in the distance, the sun beckoned.

His body was bringing it to her, stoking her, heating her. His lips tasted of it, hot and warm with belonging. Together they would find the light.

She wrapped her legs around him, bringing him closer, fusing skin and bone, blood and heart. There, almost there. Almost

She exploded with light, splintered with heat. AH her secrets shattered.

All her secrets gone.

All her

She breathed. Lungs back in her chest. Fingers attached to hands, ribs in place, skin, hair. It was all there. She was all there, but new, different, reborn.

And Hank was gazing down at her, a stricken look on his face.

"Oh,
dusha moya."
My heart, my soul, she'd called him, her voice low and soft. She heard the emotion in it and couldn't mask it. Didn't want to. She rubbed her mouth with his. "It's all right. Don't worry so. It's fine. Everything is fine."

He smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. "Yeah? Says who?"

Those green eyes were troubled now, and she wanted desperately to make him forget the danger.

"Kiss me, and I will make you believe."

He did, and it was like spring, new and filled with promise. She flung her arms around him, drawing him close. Tears welled.

Oh my God.

She loved him. Loved him.

And that was far more precious than revenge.

18

Tell me about this." Hank's finger traced a line from her naked shoulder to her throat, the tip skating below the jeweled pendant hanging from the gold chain around her neck.

"It's a matryoshka a replica of ttje nesting dolls in Russian folk art. This one is the three smiling sisters."

"Matri "

" Oshka."

He repeated it, his tongue making hash of the word. But she smiled at the effort; it was endearing.

They were in Edward's bed, scrambled in his sheets. They'd been there for hours. Now twilight beckoned from the window. Hank was propped on one hand, his bare shoulder and chest solid and hard, the scar in the center large and still vivid. It scared her, that scar. His body was so big and strong and had been pierced so easily.

"You've worn it before."

"It was a gift from my father."

"From Baklanov?"

"Yes."

His hand moved lazily, over her breasts, down her belly, and back again, leaving shivers in its wake. "Be precise. I don't want to get confused again."

"You are rather easy to confuse."

He nipped at her lip. "You're just a very good liar."

She smiled. "Practice makes perfect."

He ran his fingers around the necklace, circling the little sister and giving Alex more shivers. "A Christmas present? Do Russians have Christmas?"

"A birthday gift. My sixteenth." She sobered remembering. "My father was killed a few days later."

He pushed the hair back from her forehead, a world of comfort in his touch. "Ah, it's precious, then."

"Very."

She wrapped her fingers around the pendant, felt it warm with the contact, her one final secret safe. He watched, eyes sharp with perception. She loved that look, loved knowing that he saw past her secrets with understanding and compassion.

All except this one.

Should she keep it or let it go?

Her gaze drifted past his face to his chest She caressed the jagged line where the skin had been broken and was suddenly lashed by a whip of fear. What if something happened to him?

She'd lost everyone else, would she lose Hank, too?

If she gave up her revenge she could keep him out of danger. But could she give up what she'd spent so many years pursuing?

He leaned over, his lips rubbing her cheek. "What's going on in there, Sasha? That calculating look is back."

"Is it?" She'd spent years perfecting the art of deception. How was it he saw through her so effortlessly?

"Uh-huh."

"Well... I was just wondering," She wrenched her gaze away from the scar. "Do you still think this was a bad idea?"

Another troubled expression crossed his face. "Yeah. I do." But he kissed her anyway, and she thawed against him, the ice inside her gone the way her secrete had.

The phone rang, and he tensed.

"Let it go," she whispered.

"Wish I could." He untangled himself from her arms. "But it might be important."

Hank stumbled off the bed and out of the room; their clothes, his cell phone, weapon, everything lay on the floor by the recliner.

Guilt staggered him. Guilt and the knowledge that he'd made a mistake, a terrible lapse of judgment The knowledge sank inside him, a hundred-pound weight assaulting his conscience the way the insistent ringing of the phone battered the silence.

He rummaged in the pile, found his phone and punched it on. It was Mason.

"Everything all right?"

Not really. Hank wasn't sure anything would be all right again. "Yeah, everything's fine."

"Sasha giving you problems?"

He thought about that, about the problems she'd given him all afternoon. Heat and pleasure and trust.

"No, she's... she's okay." He closed his eyes, sweating as he remembered her touch, her softness, the smooth arch of hip and leg. She was fire and light, a cushion against the darkness inside him, and he was so far gone he couldn't find his way back with a map. But he couldn't tell Mason that. "She agreed not to make a move toward Petrov until we've lined everything up."

"Been trying to talk her out of it?"

"Yeah."

"She listening?"

"Nope."

A beat of silence, as though they both recognized the problem and the power of the woman.

"Okay, then," Mason said. "I got two guys lined up. Matt Pruitt and Danny DiMarco. They should be there tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Reality crashed into him. "So I don't shoot them first, what do they look like?"

"Familiar. You had a little roadside chat with them. I'm sure you'll remember."

He remembered all right. His jaw tightened. "Just make sure they don't come in like a couple of James Bonds. This isn't a CIA action, and keeping Alex safe is all that matters."

"Cool your jets, son. They're okay. They were with me when I brought Alex over young guys just starting out. They like her. They're not going to do anything that puts her at risk."

That soothed him. A hair. "I need ammo."

"I'm on my way. I'll bring some with me. What do you need?"

Hank told him, and they disconnected.

He stood still a moment, staring at the phone in his hand. Hours had passed, and he hadn't checked his messages, hadn't called home or Parnell. Hadn't done anything but make love to Alex.

He ran a hand through his hair, his heart pumping out a thick, dull drum line. He was going to get her killed.

This was what came of falling in love.

The realization ruptured inside him, not a surprise, more an acknowledgment of what he'd known all along.

Fool.

Lucky man.

A bolt of dread stabbed him.

"Hank?" Her voice from the bedroom. "Who was that?"

He found his pants in the pile on the floor, slid them on, and retrieved his weapon. The phone call had been a warning. A reminder that his luck could be someone else's curse.

"Who was it?"

Her voice was nearer and he turned to find her in the doorway, smooth and pale, naked from head to toe, every curve a temptation.

"Mason." He threw her the pants and shirt she'd been wearing. "Here, get dressed."

She caught the clothes and dropped them. "Why?"

He eased into the armchair. It was positioned away from the bedroom, so he couldn't see her. "Just get dressed."

"Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine. Mason's sending two guys up tomorrow. Says you know them. Pruitt and DiMarco."

"Matt and Danny? Yes, I know them. I haven't seen them in years, but "

"Great. It'll be a hometown reunion. But first you have to get dressed."

Her hand reached over the back of the chair and stroked his head. A quiver of awareness ricocheted through htm.

"No, I don't." She sidled around, wormed her way onto his lap, and nestled against him. "Come back to bed."

"I have to check my messages. Call the department. Let Rose know what I'm doing."

She nuzzled his neck, and he breathed in sharply, her touch igniting a conflagration under his skin.

"Do it later."

Christ, he was hard again, wanting her again. "Look, I don't think we should "

"Don't think." She kissed him.

"Petrov "

"Doesn't know where I am. We're in control. Until I contact him, we're in control."

She kissed him again, her mouth liquid and soft. Resistance crumbled. Thought crumbled. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her up and carried her back to bed.

***

The
gravelly sound of male voices penetrated Alex's brain. She opened her eyes in darkness, felt the empty bed beside her and made the connection between sound and source. The bedside clock read two-twelve. Hurriedly, she slipped on Mason's shirt and khakis, pushing the sleeves up over her wrists, and peeked out

Hank and Edward were hunched over the kitchen table. A rush of heat went through her at the sight of Hank's broad back, his muscled shoulders flexed, his strong arms braced on the tabletop. She remembered the feel of him beneath her hands and for a long moment wished Edward had stayed away for another hour, another day, another lifetime.

"When did you get back?" She leaned against the doorframe. How much did Edward know? Had he caught Hank in bed with her? Would he care? Did she? She ran the idea around her mind. Not only didn't she care, she hoped he did know. She wanted everyone to know.

"Five minutes ago." Mason stepped back and nodded in the table's direction. "Had a few things to drop off."

She saw what lay on the table and froze. Black and gray steel with muzzles and triggers. Wicked-looking bullets. The weapons and ammunition made the looming confrontation with Petrov all too real.

She met Hank's gaze, remembered the scar he bore, and once again, her need for revenge shifted inside her, no longer clear or certain.

"Your friends should be here in a few hours." Hank's gaze drilled into her. "That gives us our four men. The surveillance is in place. The weapons are here. Mason brought the wine, and the clothes you wanted will be delivered. We're all set." Face grim, he crossed his arms. "Are you?"

Now that the moment had come she only wanted to put it off. "I... I'll need more than that. Rugs. Something to cover the walls."

Mason fished a cell phone from his pocket "I'll call Danny. See what he can find." He punched in the number and walked out onto the porch to make (he call.

Hank's gaze never left her face. She flushed and turned away, but his unspoken words whispered in her head.
Don't do this.

Could she listen? The urge to let go had sneaked up on her, but now it was mere every time she looked at Hank. The man who had broken through all her barriers. Who had freed her from the secrets of the past

Could she have her revenge and Hank, too?

Or would one cost her the other?

The bleating of a cell phone scattered her thoughts.

"Bonner." His tone was flat unemotional, a cop's voice.
"What?"
Shock erased the impassivity.