HEART OF MIDNIGHT Page 4

  "There was no reason for you to know."

  His eyes flared at her curt reply; then his mouth quirked at one corner. "Damn, but you've grown some claws. It must have been rough, losing him. Is that why you've lost weight?"

  "I'm not thin," she automatically denied, standing up and, in so doing, getting way too close to Gray. Awkwardly she shuffled the chair back to get around him. "And the way I look is none of your business."

  Gray came to his feet. "Don't get in a snit," he said mildly. "I wasn't saying I don't find you attractive."

  Sam stared at him in utter disbelief. "I don't want you to find me attractive!"

  He crossed his arms over his chest, his head cocked slightly to one side, and a slow smile slid across his mouth. "Then, baby, your luck just ran out. I'm male, and I'm not blind. The plain fact is, you can't disguise the way you walk. I recognised you from behind, even in that tent of a raincoat."

  Sam's pulse jumped, not so much at his words, but at the blatant male interest gleaming in his dark eyes. She shook her head, more a reaction to her own disorientation than a denial. She must be more tired than she'd thought; he couldn't be flirting with her. "What do you mean, the way I walk?"

  As far as she knew, she walked the same way she did everything else. Normally. Joe average. One hundred percent ordinary.

  Gray gave her a considering look. "Like warm honey flowing. Hot and sweet and slow."

  The rough sensuality in his voice hit her like a hammer blow. Sam retreated instinctively, forgetting he'd moved the coffee table from its usual place. Gray caught her before she tumbled back, moving so fast that she was jerked against his chest before she could even cry out in surprise.

  Heat radiated from him, warming her instantly, and the clasp of his hands burned, even through the heavy weave of her shirt. She was caught, held in his grasp, and a sense of déjà vu rose strongly in her, merging the past with the present in a confusing kaleidoscope of emotion. She wanted to move, to escape, but the hot shivery feel of his hands on her was too powerful. It had been so long since she'd been held by anyone, let alone Gray. She felt weak inside, unbearably pleasured by that simple touch, seduced by the mere thought of surrendering to more than just the possessive clasp of his hands.

  Her lapse in control brought Sam up sharply, and she couldn't control a keening wave of grief and despair. No. Not now. And not with this man. She didn't want Gray.

  She couldn't want him.

  His hand spread more firmly against the small of her back, as if to reassure her and control her instinctive retreat. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest, stomach and thighs, the heat blasting off his big body. The firmness of his arousal pressing against her stomach.

  "Damn," he growled softly. "Now you can slap me."

  Sam knew she should push free, but the plain fact was, she didn't want to move. Despite her protests, his touch filled her with a heady delight. With those few soft words he'd spun back the years, established an intimacy that had once been piercingly sweet and which she'd never been able to forget.

  She had been closer to Gray than she'd ever been to any other human being – including her grandfather – and the loss of that closeness had immobilised her with a grief that was still achingly familiar. Wrapped in the warm strength of Gray's embrace, she wasn't sure what she was waiting for – an apology, an explanation … something. A reason for betrayal and loss.

  Of course it didn't come. The sudden letdown left her feeling sick and dizzy.

  "Sam?" His hand cupped her jaw, anchoring her against the whirling sensation.

  Another low, masculine voice made an enquiry. One of the men she'd thought had left.

  Gray answered with an indecipherable rumble; then he urged her down onto the couch and pressed her head gently but inexorably down between her knees. All the while that deep, gravely voice encouraged and cajoled, calling her babe, and darlin', and making her wonder if she'd finally stepped across some invisible line and gone stark, staring crazy.

  This couldn't be happening.

  Only hours ago her life had been predictable and very firmly under control. Now the last man in the world she wanted to see was sitting beside her, holding her head down between her legs, and she was as close to fainting as she'd ever been in her life.

  The dizziness cleared. Gray's arm was still around her, both arms now, she realised dimly as he pulled her against his chest. The heat and comfort he emanated went through her in waves. She shuddered, for the moment beyond anything but simply accepting his hold.

  His chin came to rest on the top of her head. "Does this happen often?"

  The intimate rasp of his voice penetrated her curiously disconnected daze. She wondered why he was holding her when he could have simply let her lie on the couch, why he seemed to be taking every opportunity to touch her when she would have thought he would be just as wary, just as distant, as she wanted to be. "Only when I forget to eat."

  With relief, Sam realised that low blood sugar was the problem. She'd worked through lunch, and she hadn't wanted dinner. She'd let herself come close to sheer exhaustion through lack of sleep and skipping meals. That, along with the realisation of just how much Gray still affected her after all her efforts to exorcise the past, had floored her, literally.

  His hand curved around her nape. The burning warmth made her want to lean back and rub against his rough-textured palm, soak in the pleasure of his touch. Like a hungry cat starving for more than just a saucer of milk, she thought numbly, and knew that, dizzyness and stupidity aside, it was way past time to move. The embrace had started out as comfort, but it wasn't purely comfort any longer. She was all but sprawled across Gray's lap, and he didn't seem inclined to let her go. She could feel the rapid slam of his heart, feel him against her hip, firmly, inescapably male.

  His arousal jolted her anew, although she immediately rationalised why Gray was aroused. It wasn't because of her specifically. Gray was a highly sexed, healthy male animal. He would probably be aroused by the close proximity of any reasonably attractive female.

  Even so, she wanted to stay wrapped in his arms.

  The admission was difficult, but she couldn't hide from it, not when her whole body was quivering with an almost painful delight. Gray had been her lover, her only lover. He'd been fierce, and so strong he had taken her breath, but at the same time he'd cherished her with such an intense sweetness that their lovemaking had haunted her ever since. She had loved him, and it was ironic now that the man she least wanted to see, to touch, to even remember, was the only person left on this earth she'd been close to, who'd shared a piece of her past with her.

  He'd asked about Gramps, and the significance of that shook her. No one knew about Gramps. Not any of the employees or residents of the hotel with whom she had struck up tentative friendships – not even her secretary, Milly.

  Sam planted her palms on his chest and shoved. Nothing much happened.

  "Easy," Gray rumbled. "You still don't look too steady."

  Sam pushed again. "It's late. I want to go to bed."

  He made a sound that was suspiciously like a groan and let her push free of his hold. Immediately she got to her feet, ignoring the residual swimming in her head. Gray rose to his feet, too. There was nothing cold about his eyes now; they were heavy-lidded, intent, and his mouth was fuller, with a definite sensual curve. Her heart slammed once, hard. She half expected him to say, "Come to bed, baby," in a lazy rumble, the way he had years ago, but he didn't.

  His expression shuttered and be said bluntly, "Why did you leave me?"

  For a moment the world spun before righting itself. In all the scenarios Sam had ever imagined, Gray had never just come right out and asked that question. Seven years had passed. Years in which he had never contacted her, never to her knowledge made any attempt to find her. She had always assumed that be had happily continued on with the military career he had been taking leave from when she'd first met him. It had never occurred to Sam that a man who had been interested onl
y in a physical relationship would want to know why she'd taken the initiative and left, saving them both a painful scene.

  Anger surfaced in a rush. She hadn't realised the anger was still there, she'd buried it so deep. Now it welled up, as painful, as immediate, as the day she had finally realised that Gray hadn't made her any promises because he knew he wouldn't be able to keep them – that the small signals she'd been so sure had indicated genuine caring hadn't meant anything of the sort. She'd wilfully fooled herself, casting aside her natural wariness of any and all relationships, allowing herself to trust.

  Something in her had died that day – more than one thing, in fact – but it was the loss of that fragile trust that still cut so deep. Few people penetrated her reserve. She had friends, acquaintances, but the people she allowed past barriers forged in childhood by too much loss, too young, were scant. If Gray wanted to pin her down about a past he'd been only too happy to leave behind, that was just fine with her. She could take his injured male pride. She could take his fury. These days, she could take just about anything.

  "There wasn't any reason to stay," she answered with equal bluntness.

  His eyes narrowed, and for the barest moment he was the Gray she remembered: moody, intensely physical and demanding of her attention. "I wanted you more than I'd ever wanted any woman."

  Something very like hysteria bubbled in her throat. She was tempted to laugh, but mostly she wanted to cry. She was terribly afraid that she might do both at the same time, and then he would know just how badly he had hurt her. "And that was supposed to be enough to keep me hanging around until you decided it was time to spare me a little of your precious time? I was the woman you had sex with for a few weeks – I don't even think the term 'lovers' applied to us. And don't flatter yourself that you have any relevance in my life now. The fact that I took a job with the Royal knowing your firm owns it underlines my indifference. It was a mistake having an affair with you seven years ago."

  His sheer lack of expression had Sam's eyes widening in horrified comprehension. He probably thought he could sleep with her while he was here – that she would fall into bed with him as quickly and as easily as she had done before. "You're living in the wrong century if you think you can take up where you left off!"

  "I don't want an affair."

  And he didn't, Gray thought savagely. He wanted much, much more. He wanted to snatch Sam up and take her someplace safe, to pull her close and simply hold her, to explain … everything, when these days he didn't explain himself to anyone. He wanted to find out what had put those bleak shadows in her eyes and made her mouth look even softer, more vulnerable, than it had years ago.

  He knew he shouldn't touch her, but his hand lifted to her cheek anyway. "I missed you." The words grated out, hard and slow.

  She felt warm and soft and fragile beneath his fingers. He shuddered at the brief contact, a burst of heat tightening his muscles, making a mockery of his control. The sensation was beyond exquisite – halfway between pleasure and pain. And all the way toward insanity.

  Instead of jerking away, as he'd expected, she stood utterly motionless, her gaze fixed on his while she allowed his fingers to glide over her skin, making him aware all over again of how much he wanted to keep touching her. Then she seemed to realise what she was allowing. They were standing bare inches apart, and he was so close to kissing her that he could almost taste her mouth.

  Her breath came in sharply. "No."

  She backed up a step, spun and strode to the French doors, standing taut and still while she waited for him to leave.

  Her eyes were dark with challenge, unwavering, her mouth a stubborn line. And she still wanted him the same way he wanted her.

  Like hell burning.

  The knowledge settled inside him. He no longer needed to examine the link that had held him fast to Sam over the years. She fitted him. She could have been made for him, and he was determined to have her.

  Gray was uneasily aware that stating his objective was the easy part of the equation. The hard part would be gaining her trust. She was holding back on him, as he had expected her to do, hoarding herself behind that maddening wall of reserve. He could understand her wariness, even if he didn't like it.

  He would give her time. By his calculations, they had a week, max, to sort out their problems. It would be enough. It would have to be enough.

  Gray stepped out into the night, every cell in his body alive with a desire so raw, so hot, that all he could do was stand in the rain and wait for the savage ache to ease. He heard the door close behind him, the snick of the lock.

  Sweet hell, he'd made a mess of that. He had been too blunt, too rough.

  The plain fact was that he'd been out in the cold too long, hunting a killer who was little more than a whisper and a shadow, moving between jungles and slums and bars and living for the piece of information that would give him the edge to end this circular hunt. He knew the disorientation was just that – he would adjust as he always did – but it disturbed him all the same. It made him see how different he'd become. He'd lost touch with normal people, with women; their softness and fragility. With the way he used to be.

  The light drizzle intensified as he opened the courtyard gate, whipping across his face, soaking his shoulders anew.

  "That's one hell of a seduction technique," a dark voice said from the shadows.

  "Reels 'em in every time." Ben had been with them all along – Gray would have been surprised if he hadn't been. "Maybe I should ask you for pointers. I'm a little rusty."

  Seven years rusty, to be exact.

  The glare of the security light caught the silvery slash of the scar on Ben's cheekbone. An unaccustomed smile slid across the younger man's face. "My track record isn't anything to crow about, but you've definitely lost your touch on this one."

  "I didn't know I had a touch." Gray stared at the French doors, at Sam pulling curtains, blocking out the night – and him. Even angry and kicking him out, she hadn't been able to disguise the honeyed languor of her walk, the completely feminine swing of her hips.

  Instead of discussing safety precautions and bodyguards, he'd taken one look at Sam and lost the plot completely. Not for the first time, he felt a ripple of unease. Taming Sam wasn't going to be easy, and he wouldn't kid himself that it would be anything less than taming. Beneath that polite, ladylike facade she was still mad as hell at him. And unexpectedly vulnerable.

  When Sam found out why he was really here, she was going to be even more unhappy. Gray was going to protect her, but the protection would disrupt her life. He sucked in an impatient breath. Who was he trying to kid? The protection would dismantle her life.

  Damn it all to hell, he wished he didn't have to fire her.

  Carter eased out from behind a Dumpster, shoulders hunched against the drizzle. "Smooth moves, boss," he said in his slow, country drawl. "She was eating out of your hand. I could tell by the way she walked."

  Gray pulled his gaze from the warmth and light of the courtyard. "Carter," he growled softly, "do me a favour. From now on, don't notice the way Sam walks. Has West checked in?"

  A shape glided from pooling shadows so dense that the swirling darkness seemed to cling to his outline. "I thought you were gonna get us a job someplace dry," West groused.

  A reluctant smile tugged at Gray's mouth. West had been staking out the hotel, just in case Sam had returned before they did. Sheer, black-hearted danger aside, West looked like an offended cat. He hated getting wet unless he was supposed to get wet.

  Carter peered at West's still, shadowy form. "Damn, West," he muttered irritably, "do you have to keep sneaking around like that?"

  "Like what?" West asked mildly, but his teeth gleamed.

  Carter led the way to the back service entrance, produced a master key and unlocked the door. He looked irritatingly cheerful. "Did you tell her?"

  "Not yet."

  "I didn't think so. She was way too calm."

  Calm? Sam had been ready to tak
e his head off. And he hadn't given her all the best reasons yet.

  Another wave of heat slammed into Gray as he took the back stairs to his suite. He was glad of the gloomy lighting, glad of the hours of prep work ahead of them. His lack of control quite frankly amazed him, but then Sam had always had the ability to disturb him, to distract him. No one else had ever wielded that kind of power over Gray. Not any member of his family. Not any other woman he had ever been involved with – and, regardless of popular opinion there'd been damned few.

  Not for the first time it occurred to Gray that, if ever there was a woman who could get him killed, it was Sam.

  Chapter 4

  A slim, well-dressed man of indeterminate race – neither dark nor light – of medium height, and with no distinguishing features, set down his drink and walked from the dimly lit bar of the Royal, seemingly intent on keeping an appointment. He didn't hurry, didn't allow his urgency or satisfaction to alter his stride, even though his pulse beat like thunder and a light sweat sheened his skin.

  He took pride in his ability to blend in with his surroundings and move in almost any milieu without attracting notice. He would be extremely disappointed in himself if he violated his own strict code. It was an art, of course, that didn't gather much applause, but it had kept him alive when others close to him had been cut down.

  The circles in which he moved and plied his trade were as volatile and as vicious as the deep swirling currents that ate at the northern coast of his adopted country, Colombia. He had learned early in his chosen trade that only the most ruthless survived.

  A small, grey-haired woman arrived at the doors at the same time he did. He nodded courteously and held the door for her, despite her brisk, dismissive demeanour. He had spent his lifetime studying the subtle and fascinating nuances of respect. The lady was a senior citizen and therefore deserving of a certain cursory respect. He was careful not to use his damaged left arm, not because he couldn't use the arm and the hand, but his incapacity would then become obvious, and the lady might remember or comment on his injury. That was something he couldn't allow.