True Lies (24 page)

“It might be a useful angle. Let me fill you in on what else we've found out.”

Bruce’s frown had deepened when he hung up the phone a few minutes later. Emma was watching him closely, her face carefully blank. “Well?” she asked.

“Well what?”

“What have you learned about Simon?”

“He’s apparently healthy, still willingly working for McQuaig.”

“What’s going to happen to my brother now?”

“Like I said before, that depends on him. Not you, not me.”

Her fingers twined together restlessly. She was silent for several minutes. “When are your people going to move in?”

“I don’t know anything for sure, but it will be soon. You need to keep out of sight a while longer, though.”

“I can’t play dead indefinitely.” She rose from the bed and paced across the room. “I've got a business to run. And if word of my death gets out, my investors might panic.”

“We'll talk it over with Xavier tomorrow. It’s only been two days. Could your business run without you for a few more?”

“Only two days,” she repeated, slowing her steps. “It seems longer.”

He knew what she meant. So much had been compressed into the time they had spent together, it seemed hard to believe that so little time had passed. “It’s for your own safety, as well as the good of my case.”

“I'm not under arrest, though, am I?”

“I could cite you for obstruction of justice, but I'm hoping you'll cooperate on your own.”

She paused in front of the door and fingered the chain. It rattled against its slot hollowly. “Do you still think I’d warn McQuaig if you let me go?”

“No. I don’t think you would.”

“Then why did you get only one room?”

Bruce inhaled sharply. She’d done it again. Her quiet question slid neatly beneath the rigid, professional armor he was struggling to maintain. It was unexpected, and dangerous. He didn’t want to answer, because he didn’t want to examine his motives too closely. Why? He glanced at the bed.
One
bed. They had slept side by side for two nights. They had lived together for longer than that. He hadn’t even considered getting separate rooms. Why? He didn’t want to get any closer to her than he already was, he knew they shouldn’t repeat what had happened after the explosion, he knew she still hated him and everything he stood for.

“Bruce?”

He met her gaze, and the answer came to him. “I didn’t want to be alone, Emma.”

She twisted away, pressing her forehead against the door. “Don’t do this.”

No, he shouldn’t do this. There was no point, no future. Still, he moved around the bed to stand behind her. “Do you want a separate room?”

“I should.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Then what exactly are you asking?”

He lifted his hand and spread his fingers a breath away from her shoulder. What was he asking? What did he want? “Damned if I know.”

The sound she made could have been a laugh, or a sob. “Damned if I know, either.”

“It’s late. There’s nothing we can do about Simon or McQuaig until tomorrow.”

“No, there isn’t. Do you think we could watch the sunset?”

The sudden switch in topic startled him. “What?”

She slipped past him and moved to the window. Her hand was unsteady as she reached out to tug the curtain aside. An orange beam slanted into the room, gilding her delicate features and sparkling in her eyes. “The sunsets from my cabin are spectacular. Sometimes the colors are hushed and subtle, as if the day is surrendering gracefully. Sometimes the rays stream from behind the clouds like paths to heaven. On warm nights I go down to the edge of the lake and watch it from my dock. In the winter it comes early. The blue of the sky is cold then, but the snow on the lake seems to capture the light and glow long into the night. I love sunsets.”

He followed her. The view from the window showed the parking lot and the other side of the road, nothing but an ordinary scene in a small town. Yet the sky was alive with streaks of color. He wouldn’t have noticed it on his own. “You're a constant wonder to me, Emma.”

“Don’t you ever take the time to watch a sunset?”

“Not lately. With my job...” He paused, thinking over the excuse he was about to make. It no longer seemed valid. His job had been ruling his actions for years. Except for the past week. “The sunrise we watched together was beautiful. I'll never forget it.”

Her hand tightened to a fist, bunching the fabric of the curtain into fat folds. “I'm twenty-eight years old, and I've watched too many sunsets by myself. I don’t want to be alone tonight, Bruce.”

He lowered his head until his cheek touched her hair. She smelled of the same shampoo he had used, as well as sunshine and warm, honest woman. Honest wasn’t a word that he would have thought to associate with Emma, but there had never been any doubt about the physical side of their relationship. “You won’t be.”

“You make it sound so simple. But it’s not. How can I want to be with you when you and your people could take away my brother’s freedom? How could I live with myself—”

“Shh.” He slipped his arms around her waist and crossed them beneath her breasts. “Let’s call another truce. Just for tonight, it’s only you and me. Whatever you want to do. Or not do.”

They stood together until the sun sank behind the trees and the light from the sign at the entrance to the motel washed out the last traces of dusk. Emma felt his breath stir her hair and his warmth chase away the shadows. She released the curtain and watched the folds fall back into place.
Whatever you want to do.
He still had no idea, did he? He didn’t know about the yearning she felt, or the hopelessness. He didn’t know that she wanted more than a temporary truce, or just one night.

“Emma?” His deep voice was like a caress, sweeping aside her caution. He stepped closer, pressing himself full length against her. Tightening his arms, he rocked gently from side to side, swaying their bodies to a rhythm that needed no music.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against his shoulder. “I'm tired of fighting, Bruce.”

“Then stop fighting.” He brushed a kiss along the edge of her jaw, trailing his lips toward her ear. “I can’t keep away from you. I've tried, God knows, I've tried. I've lost count of the number of times we've both gone over the reasons that we shouldn’t do this again, but the pull I feel toward you keeps getting stronger.”

“I feel it, too. I've always felt it.”

“You're a woman of deep passions. I've seen your anger. And your desire. I can’t forget either one.”

Anger and desire. That’s all he’d seen, all he wanted to see. She understood why, but that didn’t make this any easier. No, understanding him only made it worse.

He shifted his grip and his arm nudged the underside of her left breast. He tensed, flexing his muscle, and her breast lifted. “I can’t forget what you looked like in the moonlight,” he said. “Your skin glowed like silver satin. There were droplets of lake water at the base of your throat. I licked them off. They tasted like sunshine, warm and full of life, like you.”

Arousal awakened inside her, curling and stretching, a mindless creature driven by nothing but animal instinct. She felt herself tingle and swell. She turned in his embrace and lifted her hands to his face, cradling his bristly cheeks in her palms.

He tilted his head, capturing her thumb between his teeth. He nibbled gently, then ran the tip of his tongue to the inside of her wrist. “You still taste good.”

She pressed her face to his neck. “You smell good. That’s something that didn’t change, no matter who you were pretending to be. Your scent stayed the same.”

“It was frustrating to be Prendergast and not to be able to touch you, or to let you touch me.” He took her hands in his and brought them to his chest. “Do you remember how you stroked that arrow when we met? I watched your fingers glide along that shaft and I pictured them on me.”

“When you shook my hand that day, I felt as if I’d touched lightning,” she replied.

“I thought of you when I shaved off my beard. I was afraid you’d never want to touch me again once you learned who I was.”

“When you strutted into that warehouse as Primeau, I thought I was going insane.” She parted his shirt and raked her nails through the crisp, damp curls. “I couldn’t figure out why that lowlife character would make my palms sweat.”

“You look like royalty, whether you're wearing hiking boots or a designer dress.
You
make
my
palms sweat. You make me ache.”

“Even when we were fighting, I couldn’t help wanting you. The way I react to you...” She rubbed her nose against his collar. “It’s so primitive. Sometimes I don’t believe it myself.”

“Take it off.”

“What?”

“My shirt.” He dropped his arms to his sides and waited while she tugged the sleeves down. The soft flannel slid off his shoulders, bunching at his waist until she freed his hands. “I want you to see me as I really am.”

Her pulse raced with a sudden burst of power. She clutched the cloth in her fingers for an instant before she let it drop to the floor. When she raised her gaze her vision was filled with a bare expanse of gleaming skin stretched taut over lean muscle. He was as magnificent as he’d appeared last night in the firelight, but now it was better. She was free to touch him.

“You're beautiful,” she said, splaying her hand on the subtle ridges above his navel.

He stepped back. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

His hand went to the pocket of his jeans. Holding her gaze, he withdrew a flat leather folder and tossed it to the floor on top of his shirt. “Tonight it’s just me.” He unfastened the buckle of his belt. Leather slid through denim loops with a soft hiss. He opened the zipper of his jeans and pulled them off, then kicked them aside and stood before her completely naked. “Just me.”

A quiver shook her frame. Her lips parted. He had stripped away his clothes to strip away his personas, but he was all of them. He was sensitive and sexy, restrained and raw, vulnerable and virile and enough man to make her weep.

He smiled and held out his hand.

Emma knew that the image of him at that moment would be seared into her memory forever. Her breath hitched unevenly as she stepped over his clothes and his badge. He didn’t wait any longer. Scooping her up in his arms, he whirled around and strode to the bed. She hung on to his neck as he leaned over to pull back the covers. Then the springs creaked and his weight settled over her, pushing her into the mattress.

“I wanted to go slow this time,” he said, his voice rough. He rose to his knees, straddling her legs, and unfastened the buttons of her shirt with shaking fingers. Leaning over, he pressed an openmouthed kiss on her breast. “I don’t know if I can.”

Sensations whirled through her at his touch. She arched her back, blood surging and tightening. “I don’t know if I want you to go slow.”

His hands dropped to the zipper of her jeans. He pulled off the rest of her clothes and threw them over his shoulder. They landed with a soft thump on top of his. “You're incredible.” He slid lower, his lips grazing her belly. “You even taste like sunshine down here.”

There was no room for shyness, or shame. Emma reveled in what he was doing to her, gloried in it. She stretched her arms over her head and flattened her palms against the headboard, her entire body thrumming to his kiss. At her response he made a low sound of satisfaction and grasped her hips, lifting her closer, taking her higher. She flung her hand over her face, biting down on her knuckles to stifle her moans. Bruce moved on top of her, nudging her hand aside so he could cover her lips with his, taking her moans into his mouth.

Emma could lie still no longer. She pushed at his shoulder until he rolled over, then used her lips and her tongue and her teeth to explore his body as thoroughly, as possessively, as he’d explored hers. He’d wanted her to see him as he really was, and she did. She had seen past his appearance long ago. When she curled her fingers around his bicep she saw the strength within, his determination and tenacity. Her lips grazed the pulse that hammered at the base of his throat and she saw his will to survive. Her thigh rubbed the hot, hard, throbbingly masculine length of him and she saw the passion that needed no words to describe. Bracing her hands on his chest, she raised her head. She looked at the sun-streaked blond hair that curled boyishly over his ears, at the stubborn chin, the sensual mouth, the laugh lines at the corners of his incredibly brilliant blue eyes and she saw more than his handsome face.

She saw the man she loved.

“Emma?”

Her lungs heaved. She had forgotten to breathe. “Oh, Bruce,” she whispered.

His beautiful, sensual mouth stretched into a smile. He slid lower on the bed, grasped her shoulders, and pulled her downward until her nipple brushed his lips.

With a sob, Emma rolled onto her back. No. She couldn’t love him. Oh, no.

“Was that the one I bit?” He covered her breast with his palm. “I'm sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“No, I'm fine.” She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to love him. Not love. Not him.

“What do you want?” he murmured, his thumb toying with her nipple. “Tell me. We'll do whatever you want.”

I want to make love,
she thought recklessly. Real, honest, love. You and me, Bruce and Emma, one soul to another.

The desire she felt deepened, and blossomed. She grasped his wrist and pulled his hand to her mouth. She kissed his thumb, his palm, his long, strong fingers. A sob rose to her throat, along with the knowledge she couldn’t deny. She started over again, touching him, tasting him, because now it was different. This was why she saw him as he really was.

The truth couldn’t hide when she looked with her heart.

They rolled over, limbs twining together. She wanted all of him, everything, his passion, his pain. Her fingertips glided over sweat-slicked skin, rubbing across the crisp hair, memorizing his contours and textures by touch. She explored hollows and angles, hard and soft, until he quivered beneath her caress. And when her hand brushed the tender, puckered skin low on the side of his back, she came to her knees on the bed beside him, leaned over, and pressed her lips to the scar.