“It feels wrong to want you.” Her blond hair had fallen over her shoulders like the halves of a curtain. “I don’t even know you.”
He didn’t mistake her words. They were essentially the ones he’d given her earlier. Except the difference was that in his case, he had known he was lying.
She lifted her chin, staring into his eyes. “Why? Why do I feel this connection with you? Is it because we’re in the same boat? Because Grafton has us both by the nose?”
“I cannot say.” Another lie. The pile was becoming unwieldy. “But I can tell you I feel it too.”
He thought she would be happy to hear it, but she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and blew out a gusty sigh. “I’m tired. I should go to bed. We leave for Moldova in six hours.”
Whoa. What? That was it? She was going to abandon the conversation when it was getting good?
“Good night, Angel,” she said a little breathlessly.
Stay, he wanted to tell her.
No. Screw that. He didn’t want her to stay. He wanted to toss her over his shoulder, cart her upstairs, and throw her on his bed and undress her. He wanted to kiss every inch of her naked body until she begged him to put himself inside her.
Instead, he took a step back and lifted a hand, wordlessly indicating she was free to go.
It took everything he had not to reach for her when she slid past him. Instead, he satisfied himself with watching her hips sway to the feminine rhythm of her body as she walked to the end of the kitchen island. She had filled out some over the years. Not that she’d ever been stick thin. God had smiled the day he made her and blessed her with curves. But what little angularity youth had given her was gone now. Her hips were fuller. Her breasts heavier. Everything about her screamed woman.
At the doorway, she swung around, a question in her eyes.
“Was there something else?” he asked.
“I know you think I’m broken.” The misery in her voice hit him in the place where his shattered heart used to be.
Oh, Sonya. What happened to you?
He wanted so much to take her in his arms and remind her of what she once was. Of who she once was. But all he could give her was one simple truth. “The light only truly shines through people who have been broken.”
Chapter 6
“It’s all arranged?” Asad Grafton spoke quietly into the phone. With the massive mahogany doors to the library closed and the fire crackling loudly behind the grate, there was no chance his conversation could be overhead. But still…
One can never be too careful.
“As per your instructions, the owner of the café has been properly paid off.” Benton’s thick Yorkshire accent sounded on the other end of the line. “He’ll act as your server during the transaction. He knows what part to play. Also, your Al-Qaeda contact is on a plane to Moldova as we speak. He’s been apprised of the plan and is ready and eager to go. As long as the Prince of Shadow’s source comes through, everything should go off without a hitch.”
“Good.” Grafton nodded, running through possible scenarios to ensure they were ready for anything and everything. “Good,” he said again when he was satisfied all was in place for the next day. “Oh, and by the by, he prefers to be called Angel.”
Benton snorted. “For shit’s sake, why? ‘Prince of Shadows’ is way cooler. Sounds dark. Sinister.”
Grafton grimaced. “I think, even now, he’s careful to protect his cover. You should hear the way he talks. Little slang. Very few contractions. His accent varies from word to word. It’s impressive. And besides, if you’d ever met him, you’d understand it doesn’t bloody well matter what he calls himself. The man is dark and sinister.”
For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the line. Grafton used it as an opportunity to push away from his desk and walk over to the fireplace. When he added another log, sparks flew and were sucked up the chimney.
“You sound afraid of him,” Benton finally said.
Grafton’s hackles sprang upright. Partly because it would never do for one of his subordinates to speak to him with such familiarity. Partly because the almighty Spider was meant to fear no one. But mostly because Benton was right.
Angel didn’t frighten him. Not exactly. But the man certainly made him…wary. The way Angel moved, that deadly knowledge that gleamed in his eyes anytime their gazes met all but screamed one word: assassin.
Given the chance, Angel would kill him. No questions. No second thoughts. No remorse. It was one of the reasons Grafton had doubled the number of guards patrolling the grounds, and why he was nervous that only three of those guards would be coming with him to Moldova.
Three trained security personnel against one man should be more than enough. In fact, he’d convinced himself they would be since that was as many as his private plane could safely seat. But still, there in the far, darkest corner of his mind glowed an ember of doubt.
