True Deceptions (True Lies) (3 page)

She’d seen hundreds of hot guys while surfing the beaches in Southern California. Simon, however, was not only graced with abs of steel, arms of well-defined muscle, and a handsome face, his body appeared molded by Roman gods for purely hedonistic activities. His expression conveyed a bored resignation with life. His tightly cropped hair gave him a military appearance, and his eyes were the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, even bluer than her own.

“Are you standing in my room for any particular reason, or simply sightseeing?” His deep voice caused her insides to vibrate as though standing near a subwoofer.

“Suitcase. I need my suitcase.” She turned away from him and grabbed it. “I’ll leave it in the hall closet.”

“Fine.”

She paused at the door, waiting for him to say “good night,” “nice to meet you,” or even “I hate your presence in my flat.”

“Cassie?”

She turned around and smiled. “Yes?”

“Shut the door when you leave.” He rolled onto his stomach and pulled the pillow over his head.

“Sure thing, boss.” She waved at his back then closed the door and sighed.

This was so far over her comfort zone. Like sky diving was to a person who preferred strolling through a park at dawn.

She wouldn’t make it one week with him. She’d gladly work with someone less scary. No, scary wasn’t the word to use for Simon. Overwhelming. He overwhelmed all of her senses and made her feel naked and vulnerable.

She moved into the bathroom and remained staring at the wall until her heart slowed to a steadier beat. Stripping off her jeans and shirt, she jumped into the shower and let the hot water ease her stress. Washing her hair with orange blossom shampoo and feeling the lather slide down her body placed her close to nirvana. She turned the water off and tried to be positive. She’d survive as she’d survived the death of her mother—one day at a time.

Her arm stretched across the room for her towel at the same moment the door opened. Simon stared directly at her uncovered chest and then moved his glance down her body. The only part hidden was her backside.

What the…

She flung the towel around her and stepped over the edge of the tub. Heat covered her face like a crimson veil.

“Hey,” she hollered. “The door was locked.”

He leaned against the wall, looking almost bored. “I’m locked out of nothing here. Do you understand?”

The calming effect of the shower disappeared. All of her fears and insecurities emerged. They’d said the assignment would push her boundaries, but she’d never thought the mission through. This wasn’t a challenge. This was hell on Earth.

“I have no bed, my previous existence has been erased, I’m assigned to the devil, and now I have zero privacy? Wrong.” Her voice lifted to an octave below a screech. She stepped toward him and poked him in the chest. He didn’t move. “I will have privacy. Unless you are stopping terrorists bent on killing me in the shower, you will never, and I mean
never,
enter this bathroom while I’m inside.” She thought about poking him again, but she hated violence and would already be berating herself all night over her outburst.

Simon smiled. A dimple emerged on his cheek and laugh lines appeared around his eyes, the kind that only formed after decades of happiness. It was so unexpected, it frightened her.

“Glad to see you have your limits. You appeared too timid to survive in the field. I refuse to work with someone like that. Too much fear will make you do inept things, causing one or both of our deaths. Goodnight.” His gaze drifted across her bared body parts before he turned and left the room.

Chapter Three

S
imon never woke up because he’d never fallen asleep. He spent his night staring at walls and trying to rid himself of the image of Cassie’s body.
He couldn’t. Her perfect breasts and the blonde curls between her legs had been tattooed on his brain. And those long legs would look amazing on top of his sheets. Her sex goddess appearance, however, was only part of the problem with her. She embodied everything he didn’t want in a partner—inexperience, clumsiness, and a body he’d obsess over. Tucker must have planted her here as a joke. Simon didn’t appreciate the humor. The idiot had no respect for human life, only for outcomes.

Throwing on running shorts and a black T-shirt, he slipped into the small office next to his bedroom, sat at one of the two desks, and logged into his computer. Without knowing his target, he had no idea how useful Miss Cassie Watson would be. He didn’t have time to play around, so he entered a little known database that held the personnel files of MI6’s most valuable assets and located Cassie Watson. Her file was only a few weeks old. Ms. Watson, formerly known as Catherine Wallace, was thirty-one, was born on the second of January at Bristol General Hospital, and had a PhD in Computer Science. A brain in a centerfold’s body.

She’d taken a position at General Atomics, arriving at MI6 a year later. A robotics specialist with a focus on software development, and also a very capable hacker, she’d never experienced fieldwork. That was obvious. Despite remaining calm after he’d yanked her down, she didn’t respond defensively. No fight whatsoever. If he’d wanted to extract every bit of information in her head, he’d have had it in under two minutes.

He needed food. Slipping past the living room without a glance toward his new partner, he headed to the refrigerator. Orange juice, iced tea, beer, fruit, vegetables. No eggs? Milk was missing as well. Who stocked a fridge without eggs?

“You’re up early.” Her morning voice was deeper than the night before and sexy as hell.

Temptation stood next to the couch with tousled hair and sleepy eyes, wearing a short nightshirt—emphasis on the short part. Holy hell. Distractions killed, and her looks could disarm a man even if her fighting skills couldn’t.

“Did you do the shopping?”

She nodded and padded into the kitchen in bare feet and daisy toes.

“You forgot eggs and milk.”

“No, I didn’t. I don’t eat animal products.”

“Why not?” he shot back at her. His hunger had killed any small desire he might have to respond diplomatically.

“It’s just wrong.” She slipped past him without meeting his gaze and poured herself a glass of orange juice.

He tried to keep the scowl off his face, but her nonchalance pissed him off. The do-gooder attitude would screw up his work
and
his meals.

He stepped toward her to see if she’d back up. She did. “Milk is not an animal.”

“It comes from an animal.”

He stepped forward again, and she coughed into her hand. Either the orange juice or his presence didn’t agree with her.

This isn’t a game, pretty girl. This is a billion dollars, enough weapons to start an army, and a group of power hungry dealers who care more about profit margins than human—or animal—life

She didn’t back away when he pretended to pick something off her shoulder. It was a start. Perhaps the shrinking violet thing was all an act. Doubtful.

“Do you drink coffee?” Simon tried to be pleasant to her, but her apprehension bothered him.

She nodded, yet her eyes never met his.

“Good. Make the coffee. I’ll be back with a proper breakfast in an hour.” Some exercise and real food would help him empathize with this puzzle of a woman.

“You’re leaving?” Tension surfaced in her jaw, and she sucked in her bottom lip. She had amazing lips. Probably the most distracting thing about her, besides her legs.

He headed to the door and turned back toward her. “I work out every morning. I suggest you do the same. We’ll be busier in the afternoon and at night.”

“I plan on doing yoga this morning.” She opened a cabinet. “Don’t worry about the coffee, it’ll be ready when you return.”

Her nightshirt lifted up as she reached for the coffee, exposing pastel pink knickers. Four steps and he’d be next to her. He shook his head. He had an assignment to complete and a retirement to plan. Mindless sex with this gorgeous blonde would solve not one of his problems. It would only create a myriad of new ones.

An hour later, he returned with proper provisions. Cassie sat in the kitchen, dressed in a long turquoise skirt and white T-shirt. Her hair was twisted into a bun, and not a spot of makeup marred her perfect complexion. The poster child for the all-American girl.

She leaned on the table, reading a book while picking at a steaming plate of sweet potatoes and a mix of green vegetables. He’d had girlfriends who ate like rabbits, but he’d never had to rely on them to save his ass on a mission. She’d better keep up.

“Coffee?” he asked with an attempted smile.

“All done.” She tried to maintain eye contact. It would have been impressive if he hadn’t noticed her hand shaking. Despite her bravado, she wouldn’t last a week. Men with inverted moral codes would break her in one night, but it wasn’t Simon’s job to second-guess why she’d placed herself in the middle of a battlefield.

“Can I pour it for you, boss?” A sliver of her smile emerged.

He sighed and then laughed at his own hesitation to give her a break. “Only if your ethics allow you to add cream.”

“I’ll make an exception this time.”

He pulled out two pans and prepared himself an omelet with cheddar cheese, ham, sweet peppers, and mushrooms. Cooking was no hardship. It provided him a chance to relax and focus on one thing. When not in the kitchen, his thoughts needed to process transportation logistics, appraisals of non-cash collateral, technical information, and international arms treaties.

She handed him some coffee. The old black mug felt funny in his hand. It belonged in Nicola’s. He preferred the large white one from the Hard Rock Cafe, which was situated next to Cassie. The temptation to take it back from her almost overtook him, but he suppressed it.

Sitting at the table again, she glanced toward him. “You don’t seem the type to cook.”

“I hate stereotypes, don’t you?” He took in her earthy outfit. Her hippie persona was definitely not going to work when they went to meet his contacts. Which brought him to his next question. “What’s your specialty?”

“Robotics.” She shrugged, as though every bombshell of a blonde majored in robotics.

“Any languages?”

“I know about forty computer languages.”

“Good. You can speak to all the computers we encounter. What about foreign languages?”

“Spanish and French.”

“Fluent?”

“Mexican Spanish fluent, not so much in French. Since I don’t know my role, I’m unsure what skills I’ll need.”

They must have chosen her for a purpose. She’d be the technical expertise, while he handled the practical logistics. “You’re supposed to be my lover. Are you comfortable with that?”

He watched her reaction. She nodded, swallowed hard, and then dropped her eyes to her potatoes. He’d take that as a no.

F
orty-eight hours later, Cassie still hadn’t received any information on what her role would be. Simon treated her as though she didn’t exist. He cooked for himself and spoke to random people on his
phone. In response to her questions, he gave one-word answers. A few times he’d asked her to get out of the way because his body took up so much more of the hallway than hers did. He also refused to let her near the computers. Searching some of the case files would tell her something, and any bit of information would calm her nerves better than the nothing she knew presently.

She’d looked Simon up on her work computer, one day before her office had been stripped of her things. That attempt to find out about him, however, had left her confused. Simon Dunn didn’t work for MI6. He didn’t seem to work anywhere. His record in the Driver and Vehicle Standards Agency held a minimal amount of data: his name, Simon C. Dunn; age, thirty-four years old; date of birth, the twenty ninth of May, four years before she was born. His address listed a location in some other part of London. Yet she couldn’t track down where he was born or any record of his education.

She headed to the office and stationed herself behind him. He stared at the computer screen, sitting in the same position he’d been in all day. He’d only left his chair to eat, sleep, and exercise. Maps and papers covered the desk. He’d written most of his notes in a shorthand she didn’t recognize.

The previous evening, he’d found his way to the living room to watch a soccer game. Stretched across the couch, also known as “her bed,” he yelled at the television until well past midnight. She’d fallen asleep on the recliner with a pillow over her head. When she woke, her back ached, but Simon’s blanket from his bed covered her body. Perhaps he only acknowledged her existence while she was sleeping.

At the moment, she was awake. Therefore, he ignored her. Tapping his shoulder, she waited for him to look at her. He didn’t. She cleared her throat, but he still didn’t acknowledge her. “If we’re going to be stuck together, we should at least get to know each other,” she said.

He continued typing. “I know everything about you. You received your PhD from the University of Southern California, placed third in your age group in a triathlon in Los Angeles, and have had no friends since arriving in London three years ago.”

“And yet I know nothing about you.” Ten minutes in one of his computers might provide her with enough details to satisfy her curiosity, but he guarded them as though she were a plant from an enemy organization.

“You know everything a girlfriend of mine would know, except my favorite position in bed.” He spun his chair around to face her and raised his eyebrows. “Curious?”

Yes, very curious, but men like Simon unnerved her. She tended toward computer geeks who liked to watch old black and white films while drinking organic lemonade.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Perhaps bothering him wasn’t such a great idea after all.

“As you wish. Do you mind if I return to work now?” Without waiting for an answer, he faced the screen.

She turned to go, but a faint echo of her mother’s voice caused her to stop.

Fight for what you want. Being the nicest kid in the room isn’t enough.

Years of struggling through the tech world, justifying her ability over and over and over again, should have toughened her. Years of watching younger men with less experience and expertise take positions she’d applied for, just because they went to the same college or were in the same fraternity as the company president, should have pushed her to step up and demand what she deserved. Instead she’d always slipped into a background role and never made waves.