Not-So-Secret

Chapter fifty-six

Her laughter faded as James moved closer. Then there wasn't anything to hear but breathing.

She'd been on his mind all morning, even when he'd met with Owen.

His boss had told him that they had identified a Pakistani radical coming in to the Henderson airport, on Jones's private plane. They wanted to pick him up, which would be a huge mistake.

James did agree that more surveillance on all of Jones's properties was a wise move, but to mess with what he had going could blow everything sky-high, in the most literal sense.

But Owen had also had the equipment James had asked for, so their meeting wasn't all frustration.

He'd finished with Owen, come back to the hotel and after a quick shower, had come right down, his thoughts a constant stream of conflicting emergencies.

Jones. Lee. The Pakistani. Bombs. Kelly, Kelly, Kelly. And here she was, standing close enough that he could smell the hint of citrus in her hair. There was nothing to do but touch her, let his fingers land gently on her shoulder, urge her forward.

She came willingly, her gaze as familiar as his dreams. He leaned down those few inches, touched the soft cream of her lips with his own.

Kelly sighed and he tasted her need.

He pulled her in tight. But she was tense, all the muscles in her back as taut as bow strings.

"Kelly, I can leave."

She shook her head. "I'm okay," she said in the whisper he heard every time his eyes closed.

"You're not. You're scared to death."

"Of course I am and you should be, too. But I don't care. I need to forget. To make him disappear."

"Ah, Kelly," he said.

She didn't say anything at all and he lost her. Her gaze slipped away, staring past him, past the safety of the closet to the terror of our there.

No. He'd gotten a film loop of the closet to the boys outside and they'd rigged it so that whoever the hell was doing the surveillance wouldn't know they were there.

He'd fixed the microphones himself, so all they would hear was white noise.

This was all he could do. This stupid room with the racks and racks of shoes and rows of clothes and hats and purses and the ugly velvet chair. But there were also the big pillows and the thick carpet and they could make themselves a little nest and he could touch her and feel her pale, cool palm on his hot, thick flesh.

He'd get her back. Gently. Carefully. Take her away. Bring her home.

He touched the side of her cheek with his fingers and Kelly looked up. There he was again, the one she recognized, the one she'd loved and never stopped loving. The man she wasn't sure was real.

"I'm here," he whispered. "Right now."

"Who are you?"

His lips curved up on one side with the smile that had been her downfall. She was a strong woman and had trained herself to stand tough when everything told her to fold.

But when it came to that smile, the way the lines spread from the edges of his eyes, the way his forehead furrowed, the cleft in his chin . . . the whole damn package, she was helpless. She'd wait forever for that smile.

"I'm James," he whispered. "You know me. Just like I know you." He leaned a bit to his right and kissed the curve of her neck, making her tremble. "I know you're ticklish right here." Then he took her earlobe between his teeth, nibbled long enough to weaken both her knees and her resolve. "I know the shape of your nose, how your skin feels after a bath. I know how you taste, Kelly. Every part of you and I'm so damned hungry, I can't stand it."

She took in a deep breath of the masculine scent that was James and no one else on this earth. Then she raised her arms and curled her hands around his neck. She kissed his chin, then closed her eyes. "I remember you, too," she said. "Everything. Every move, every word, every touch."

"Yes," he said. "Everything."

"More," she said. "Give me more to remember."

"Exactly what I had in mind."

His hand moved down her back in a caress so gentle or took her breath away and when those same hands moved to the front of her body and peeled back her shirt, he took far more than her breath.