Crimson Lies

Chapter Six(M)

Lisa

That single word was like a kick in the gut. So I did another stupid thing. I kissed her, diving from about a thousand feet and landing with a silky glide of tongues. She tasted just as good as she had when they were outside on the sidewalk, like whiskey, rich, sophisticated and so damn hot it seared my flesh. My pulse pounded and I pulled back, breathing hard. I couldn't do this. I wasn't being honest. If she found out I lied to her after they had sex-tonight of all nights-she'd be furious. She deserved better than being fucked over by a lowlife like me.

I stroked her hair off her forehead and the touch made her quiver. "I have to go."

She pressed her lips together and pulled out of my arms. "Fine." Then she skirted around me, grabbed her coat off the couch and walked stiffly to the door.

"Where are you going?" But, shit, I already knew.

"Back to the bar." She was barefoot but didn't seem to notice as she struggled into her big wool coat. "I told you, I just want to forget for one night."

"Forget what?" My mouth went dry, choking on deception. Maybe I could keep her here by talking.

"Everything."

Christ. Part of me wanted to shake her, make her realize the risks she was taking just by drinking too much, let alone seducing some stranger. But being lectured on life choices by an assassin was too hypocritical, even for me.

She held her head high but tears glittered in her eyes.

I made her feel bad. Great. Dread settled over me. Dread and an odd sense of defeat. The arousal of my body stretched my nerves taut. I could ignore my own needs; it was hers that crushed me. I eyed the liquor, picked up one glass and knocked it back, then picked up the other and did the same. If you can't beat 'em...

I understood the need to forget, to block out vast chunks of life-I'd give every last cent to eradicate certain parts of my memory-the death of my buddies in Afghanistan; the torture inflicted in Morocco; the faces of the men I'd eliminated in an effort to make the world a better place. Unfortunately there wasn't enough money in the world to obliterate some things.

She stood by the door, watching me. Sad and hurting.

This wasn't love or romance. This was sex. And I hadn't had sex in so long I could barely remember what it felt like. Now I wanted it-wanted her-with an intensity that should have scared me. I had too many secrets to get involved with anyone, least of all Special Agent Roseanne Park, but it seemed that where she was concerned I made one bad decision after another.

A one night stand.

It might destroy what little was left of my soul but I had a terrible feeling it would be worth it.

I removed my jacket and pulled my T-shirt over my head, tossed it across the room. Her eyes flashed with shock as they locked onto my body and then my scars. There was the chance she'd be so repulsed she'd kick my ass out the door which would solve both their problems.

The light in her eyes wasn't repulsion. It was empathy. Compassion. Lust.

Okay then.

"Afghanistan?" she asked.

"Some." I couldn't tell her the truth, but lying would be equally impossible, even when she was drunk and hopefully wouldn't remember a word. That revelation startled the shit out of me.

Tonight she needed someone to help her forget and I was going to take one for the team like a good little soldier. What the hell harm could it do? I'd sate the need that raged through my veins and be gone in under an hour. She'd be home, safe and asleep and would have survived another heartbreaking anniversary.