Family Secrets: Books 5-8 Page 9

  He slanted her a look as he spooned soup into her bowl. You got brothers and sisters?

  No.

  There you go, then, he said obscurely, and served himself some soup.

  I always wanted brothers and sisters, she said, oddly defensive.

  Uh-huh. He sat opposite her. Eat.

  She picked up her spoon. I like large families.

  He reached for the peanut butter jar in the middle of the table. Yeah? You got kids?

  Practice had made her experienced at hiding the pain. Stan had given her so much. But not the children she longed for. She swallowed a mouthful of broth. We werent blessed with children.

  You ever think about adopting?

  Stan hadnt wanted to adopt. Think of the risks, he used to urge. How can we disrupt our lives for a child of unknown parents and unreliable genetic makeup?

  Her spoon clanked against the side of her bowl Adoption was not an option.

  Marcus tilted his chair back on two legs and regarded her through slitted eyes. You got a problem with adoption?

  No. But that seemed disloyal to Stan, so she added, Its such a gamble. An adopted infant may have unidentified health problems or special needs. And with an older child, theres no memory of you as his parents to help you through the teen years.

  Or no memories at all, Marcus muttered.

  Pardon?

  He dropped the legs of his chair. It doesnt matter. More soup?

  She looked down, surprised to discover her bowl was half-empty. No, thank you, she said politely. What about you?

  Guess I will. Thanks. He reached for the pot.

  Samantha bit her lip. No, I meant do you have children?

  His blue eyes gleamed. Are you asking me about my personal life, Ambassador?

  I Oh, dear. It seems reasonable. Given that were going to be spending a certain amount of time together.

  Not to mention that you stuck your tongue in my mouth, she thought.

  He shook his head. No kids. No dependents of any kind. Is that what you wanted to know?

  She felt herself blush and grabbed a cracker in self-defense. I was simply wondering how its possible for you to disappear for days on end without anyone objecting.

  I got called, he said, as if that explained everything. And maybe for him it did. When youre on the Teams, youve got to give it one hundred and ten percent. Theres nothing left over for a relationship.

  You have a problem with marriage?

  Let him see how he liked the question. Although, would she like the answer?

  Not that she cared. She wasnt supposed to care.

  He spread peanut butter on a cracker and handed it to her. I like marriage fine. I like it so much Im not doing it until I can do it right.

  Her heart beat faster. Which means what, exactly?

  Another hundred and ten percent.

  She licked crumbs from her lips. Which is what? A total of two hundred and twenty percent?

  He shrugged. So maths not my strong suit. You missed some.

  Excuse me?

  You missed some. Peanut butter. He leaned forward across the table. His big, strong hand approached her face.

  She pulled back.

  Easy, he murmured.

  His eyes were focused on her mouth. She noticed little rings of gold deep in the blue, haloing the wide, dark pupils.

  This time as his hand approached, Samantha held very still to prove to him, to prove to both of them, that she was in control. His thumb rubbed slowly at the corner and then across her lower lip. His skin was warm and slightly rough and tasted of salt.

  There, he said quietly. That did it.

  Oh, goodness. Oh, yes. It did.

  She exhaled. I should go upstairs. I have

  Work to do? he finished for her. I dont think so.

  Reading, she said. I can catch up on my reading.

  You could. If Id brought any with us.

  Her sensual fog evaporated, burned away by something like panic. She could acceptbarelythat Marcus had kidnapped her as part of some misguided stratagem to keep her safe. But to deprive her of her work, her reports, her bufferYou didnt bring anything?

  He stood to clear the table. Groceries.

  Groceries, fine. ButNothing to read?

  Not unless you count Honeys T-shirts.

  Samantha narrowed her eyes. He was joking and she wanted to throw thingsthe soup plate, the peanut butter jar. But of course she didnt. She never did. This is very inconvenient. What am I supposed to do for the next few days?

  I dont know. Eat. Sleep. Play the piano.

  His gaze collided with hers, the rim of gold around the black, the burning blue. She felt the impact in her stomach.

  Have sex with me.

  She retreated from the very idea, the unspoken invitation.

  The temptation.

  She cleared her throat. Theres a piano?

  Yeah. You play, dont you?

  She was surprised hed noticed. A little. Enough to know this one must be out of tune. How long has the house been empty?

  But he didnt answer her question. You should give it a shot, he said. Maybe its not so bad.

  A kidnapping and a private piano recital in one evening? She shook her head. I think my time would be better spent putting sheets on the bed.

  He rinsed their bowls in the sink. Wait till I get the dishes done and Ill help you.

  No. Given the T-shirts you picked out, I think Ill choose my sheets myself. I really dont want to wake up between Scooby-Doo and GI Joe.

  His mouth quirked. That would be kind of kinky.

  Marcus enjoyed the little huff that escaped her then, half laughter and half exasperation. Her chest rose and fell with it. The silver letters winked and twinkled on her shirt. Kiss Kiss.

  I think Ill say good-night now, she said.

  He watched the yellow light bob away with her down the hall, listened to her footsteps climb the stairs and tried real hard not to think about clean sheets and Samantha bending over the bed.

  At least he had work to do.

  He retrieved his laptop and opened it on the kitchen table. Maybe once he got the generator going and didnt have to depend on the battery, he could let Samantha go online to get her news fix. This computer had one of those wireless Internet hookups.

  Only the best for our boys at the State Department.

  He typed the URL Jerry Baxter had provided, waited for the lock sign to appear and then tapped in his ID and password: Hector Protector.

  Almost immediately, a jerky, goofy animation glowed on his screen. Some funny little game. Some funny little guy, dressed all in green.

  Marcus watched a moment, amused by the tiny characters antics. Hector Protector was dressed all in green, Hector Protector was sent to the queen.

 
The queen did not like him.

  A noise yanked his attention from the screen. He frowned. What was

  Scraping wood. Upstairs.

  The window was being forced.

  Samantha!

  Marcus slipped the Glock from the holster at his back and moved smoothly and silently toward the stairs.

  Seven

  T he target was alone.

  The man in the shadows watched, his heart racing, as she bent over the mattress.

  The open window was a break he hadnt counted on. It was an easy shot.

  Sweat prickled under his arms and at the small of his back. Nice and easy. He flexed his fingers, savoring the reassuring weight of the gun.

  Ready. Aim.

  Eliminate the target.

  The crack was loud enough to make her jump. The painted trim around the open window splintered. The glass shattered.

  Samantha screamed.

  Marcus burst through the open door like a one-man SWAT team, his face grim and his gun at the ready.

  Damn it, get down!

  She dropped behind the bed and lay with her cheek against the dusty carpet and her heart threatening to pound its way out of her chest. She watched Marcuss feet cross the room in long angry strides, his boots crunching on broken glass.

  What happened? she asked. Did you get him?

  No.

  He was standing by the shattered window, a darker shadow against the night outside. She could see his feet surrounded by shards of glass.

  For goodness sake, be careful! she said sharply.

  Stay down. Did you get a look at him?

  She raised her head from the carpet. At who?

  The guy trying to get into your room.

  She squinted, not sure shed heard him correctly. Maybe shed hit her head on the way to the floor. Or inhaled too much carpet dust. No one was trying to get into my room.

  Samantha. Marcuss voice was tight with patience. Somebody tried to force your window. I heard him.

  Her windowShe levered herself cautiously to her knees. The broken edges sparkled, framing the black, soft night. She bit her lip. I thinkIts possible you heard me.

  Marcus went as still as a bronze soldier on the Mall. Explain.

  Of course she could explain. She had a perfectly reasonable explanation. It was very stuffy up here. Hot. And I thought Her rationale stumbled under his stony regard. I thoughtYou had a window open in the kitchen. I thought it would be all right.

  You opened the window, he said without expression.

  She nodded.

  He jammed the gun into the holster at his back with so much force she was surprised it didnt go off. Do you have any idea how much danger you were in?

  Well, obviously. Since somebody shot at me.

  Not exactly. His voice was grim.

  She blinked. I dont understand.

  Damn it, Samantha, look at the window.

  Its broken.

  Yes. Because my bullet hit the frame and the impact shattered the glass.

  Her stomach did a slow roll. Are you saying you shot at me?

  He scowled. No, I shot atThere was somebody there.

  But you said no one knew where to find me.

  They dont. They shouldnt.

  Then

  Christ, Samantha! The words burst out of him. I could have killed you.

  The bronze soldier on a monument was just an act, a hard shell over Marcuss real, live, anguished concern. He believed what he was saying. He actually believed he could have shot her. The possibility shook his voice and made his hands tremble.

  And somehow his doubts, his fears, stilled hers. His very uncertainty made her sure of one thing. He would not hurt her. He would never hurt her.

  No, you couldnt, she said. Youre too experienced. You wouldnt make a mistake like that.

  I almost did!

  But you didnt. She got to her feet and came around the bed toward him. Im fine.

  His mouth set. For now. You cant sleep here.

  She tilted her head. Does that mean youll take me back to D.C.?

  I cant. His hands curled into fists at his sides. Until I have ordersunless I know DS has caught whoever is behind this breach in securityI cant take you back.

  He believed that, too. Was he wrong on both counts?

  All right, Samantha said. Then how many bedrooms does this house have?

  Youarent you going to argue with me?

  She smiled slightly. Maybe in the morning. But right now I just want to go to bed.

  The words hung in the air between them, sparkling and dangerous as the broken glass around their feet.

  Marcus exhaled. Four bedrooms. Ones downstairs, but I dont want to be that far away from you. Theres this one. I could sweep up the glass and board up the window, but

  Its too late and were both too tired, she finished for him. That leaves two other rooms.

  Yeah. Only He stooped to brush up a large shard of glass.

  Dont do that with your hands. Youll cut yourself. Only what?

  He straightened, oddly reluctant to meet her gaze. After their daughter, Luanne, moved out, the Robinsons turned her old room into a sewing room. So there are still two other bedrooms upstairs. Just not

  Her heart thumped. Just not two beds.

  He nodded once. Its not a problem. I can sleep on the floor.

  Of course he could. It was a good idea. A fine solution. A safe, workable

  Or we could share the bed, she suggested.

  His face went blank. You want to share the bed.

  She wanted She wasnt admitting what she wanted. Not even to herself.

  To sleep, she said, as if this was a practical suggestion. Like a sleepover.

  Honey His voice was edged with amusement and something else. Were grown-ups. We dont do sleepovers.

  Precisely. We are grown-ups. Not hormone-crazed teenagers. If I were another SEAL

  There are no women on the Teams.

  All right. If I were a man

  If you were a man, we would be so not having this discussion.

  She stuck out her chin. You mean its only women you object to sleeping with?

  He gave her this funny look, as if he couldnt believe what he was hearing. She didnt blame him. She hardly believed it herself. It must be the adrenaline talking.

  No, he said patiently. I like sleeping with women fine.

  Her face flamed. So its me you have a problem with.

  Lets see. Do I have a problem with a beautiful, intelligent womana woman I consider totally hot, by the wayinviting me to share her bed? To sleep
next to her and smell her skin and touch her hair? Maybe to roll over and feel her all warm and soft next to me? He pretended to consider. Nope. Nope, thats not it.

  She felt warm and soft, all right. All over. Just from his description. Then why?

  Im the problem. Me. I dont know that I trust myself to lie next to you all night and not, you know, act like a guy. Or react like a guy. If you get my drift.

  Oh, goodness. She jerked her gaze away from the front of his dark slacks. Pleated, to hideI get it.

  Yeah, well, that might not be all you get if we cuddle up for the night, he said frankly. You really want to risk that?

  She understood risk. Every diplomat did. She knew how to weigh her options and calculate her chances. It wasnt like her to gamble on the unknown. It definitely wasnt like her to lie down with a man shed known less than a week. And yet

  Her heart beat faster. I trust you, she said.

  Marcus stared at her, his usually open face inscrutable in the darkness.

  Lets hope thats not your first mistake.

  Mistake, hell.

  This whole mission was a disaster.

  Lying on the lumpy mattress, Marcus drew in a shallow breath and let it out slowly through his mouth so that Samantha wouldnt hear him pant. Combat breathing. Only the enemy he fought this time was his own unruly body.

  He could do a four-mile run wearing boots in under twenty-six minutes; he could do a two-mile ocean swim in less than an hour. He was trained to subdue hunger, to control thirst, to ignore pain and fatigue.

  But pretending to sleep beside Samantha in the dark, he couldnt do a damn thing about the fact that he was painfully, completely aroused.

  If he lay on his back, the covers stuck up like a tent around a tent pole. If he lay facing herNo, she didnt need him poking at her all night. He twisted onto his right side, toward the door, away from her.

  Im sorry, Samantha said softly. Am I keeping you up?

  He almost groaned. If he werent so damn uncomfortable, this would be funny.

  No, Im good, he said.