An Inconvenient Affair Read online

  She drew him.

  Troy watched her over the top of his glass. “Are you still angry about the auction?”

  Slowly, she placed her seltzer water back on the shiny steel table and stirred the lime around deliberately. “I’m upset that you didn’t tell me the truth on the airplane. I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

  “I didn’t lie.” He’d been careful with his words.

  She looked up sharply. “You left out parts. You quibbled about your identity.” Her freckled nose crinkled ever so slightly in disgust. “Quibbling is the same as lying.”

  She sounded like Colonel Salvatore. He cursed softly.

  “What was that?” She arched a brow, again just like his mentor.

  “If I’d told you my full name on the plane, would you have spoken with me during the flight?” He leaned forward, taking her cool hand in his, the minty scent of her carrying on the late-night breeze. “Or if you did speak, would it have been the fun, easy exchange we shared?”

  She stayed silent, but she didn’t pull away.

  “Exactly.” He thumbed the inside of her wrist, enjoying the satiny softness of her skin, the speeding throb of her pulse. “I wanted to talk to you, so I didn’t pull out a calling card that says hey, I’m the Robin Hood Hacker.”

  “Okay, okay—” she chewed her bottom lip, which glistened with a simple gloss, all of her makeup minimal

  “—but can you at least acknowledge that you deliberately misled me?”

  “I did.” He clasped her hand with both of his and squeezed once. He was making progress. Getting closer. Anticipation thrummed through his veins in time with the bluesy music. “And I’m sorry that has upset you, because honest to God, from the moment I saw you on the plane, I’ve just wanted to spend time with you. I want you to see me, not my Wikipedia page.”

  She released her bottom lip from between her teeth. “You make a compelling argument.”

  “Good. Then consider this. We’re both here for the weekend. So let’s make the most of it. Don’t think past Sunday. I’ll be patient through all your visits with the chef.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I’m in Chicago because I’m obligated to be here. You’ve made a dull weekend much more interesting.” His eyes lingered on the way the stars and lights brought out streaks of gold in her sleek red hair. His fingers ached to thread through each strand. “If we hang out together for the rest of this gala, we don’t have to make awkward conversation with others.”

  “Better the devil I know than the devil I don’t?”

  “I can live with that if it means I get to spend more time with you.”

  Her midnight-blue eyes narrowing, she traced a finger over the top of their clasped hands. “Are you seriously hitting on me?”

  “Yes.” And for once he wasn’t holding anything back.

  “You must be really hard up.”

  “Or just h—”

  “Don’t even say it.”

  “Hungry for your company.”

  “You’re not funny.” Her mouth twitched anyway.

  “Yes, I am. But it’s not something I take pride in. I’m a smart guy, and intelligence is a genetic lottery. What really matters is how I use those winnings.”

  She swayed forward just a hint. “There’s sense in some of that egotistical ranting of yours.”

  He canted closer until only a sliver of air separated them. He waited. Her breath puffed faster and faster with the quickening rise and fall of her chest. Her pupils widened as she met and held his gaze.

  Then her lashes fluttered closed. All the invitation he needed.

  Taking advantage of their shadowy corner, Troy slanted his mouth over hers, testing the soft give of her full lips. Tasting the lingering lime flavor of her drink. He squeezed her hand more firmly and claimed her. Completely.

  He slid his arm around her shoulder and deepened the kiss, teasing along the seam of her mouth until she opened for him. Her sigh filled him with a surge of triumph. He’d been imagining this since the second he’d clapped eyes on her on the airplane. She didn’t just melt, she participated, stroke for stroke.

  His fingers tangled in the silky glide of her hair along her shoulders. The strands clung to his fingers with a snap of static and something more snapping through his veins.

  There was chemistry here, a connection and crackle he burned to explore along with the curve of her hips, her breasts. He wanted to kiss the crook of her arm, behind her knee and find the places that made her go weak with pleasure. This weekend presented the perfect opportunity to indulge in the countless fantasies exploding to life in his brain.

  Her hand flattened to his chest, her fingers gripping his silk scarf and bringing him even closer.

  His heart ramped up at the strength of her passion. And the thought of her tugging that scarf off, of peeling the rest of their clothes away and touching him without the barrier of fabric… A possessive growl rumbled deep inside him, almost pushing him over the edge.

  He pulled himself from her before he took this too far in such a public setting. She gasped, then looked around quickly.

  Her eyes wide, she pressed the back of her trembling wrist to her mouth. “That was…”

  “Damned amazing.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “I thought you might say that.” But given her reaction to him, he wasn’t daunted in the least.

  She flattened her palms to the table and drew in a shaky breath. “You’ve got to understand, I have exceptionally crummy taste in men. It’s like I have a radar for finding the most dishonest, untrustworthy guy in the room. So the fact that I like you makes you very dangerous for me.”

  “You like me.” He nudged her loose hairpin back into place. “But, wow, you sure know how to throw a guy hope and smack him back down again at the same time.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s true, and honestly—” she looked around nervously “—now’s also a really horrible time for me to even think about dating.”

  She seemed to be searching for an escape route, but then he knew that she also needed to stay here, at the party. Watching. Just as he did. So, pressing her to stay at the table shouldn’t be too tough.

  He wanted to kiss her again. But he would settle for hearing the sound of her voice, which was more amazing than even the professional singer and musicians back in the ballroom.

  “Tell me more about these horrible men you chose.”

  She started to stand, to leave. “I don’t appreciate being made fun of.”

  He stroked her arm, the heat of their kiss still firing through him. “Stay, please. I’m serious. I want to learn more about you. Unless you have somewhere else to be?”

  Pressing two fingers against her temple as if combatting a headache, she looked through the doors at the crowded ballroom, then shook her head. “I should stay until…the chef is free.”

  “Then pass your time with me. Tell me about the losers.”

  She turned slowly back to him. “Fine, if you insist.” She held up three fingers. “In high school, I dated three guys. One cheated on me.” She tucked down a finger. “The other was just using me to get to my best friend.” She tucked down another. “Number three liked to mix vodka in his sports drink and dumped me in the middle of the homecoming dance. And the pattern continued on through college and the few times I’ve risked the whole relationship gig as an adult. I’m some sort of a scumbag magnet.”

  She said it all dispassionately, as if she’d built a defense against the hurt, but somehow, he knew it was an act. Guilt pinched inside him over the things he wasn’t telling her, that he wasn’t authorized to tell her. His intermittent work for Interpol depended on him keeping up a carefree, jet-setting lifestyle. But if she ever found out his real reason for being here, she would have to know that for once, someone was actually putting her welfare first.

  “Hillary, it’s not nice to call me scum.”

  “I’m sorry, really, but you must be if you’re drawn to me. Or mayb
e it’s because I’m drawn to you.” Her pupils widened again in response, just as they had right before he’d kissed her.

  “Or maybe you’re just going through lots of frogs until you find your prince.”

  Her laughter reached out to him on the night air. “You’re mixing up your fairy tales. You’re not a prince. You’re Robin Hood.”

  He winced. “God, I hate being called that.”

  “Robin Hood’s been a beloved fella throughout history.” She toyed with a lock of her hair. “He took care of the less fortunate. Exposed corruption.”

  “He wasn’t in it for the glory.”

  Her praise was making him itchy.

  “So it’s the adoration you object to.” She tapped his wrist, already showing a bruise from where he’d first fought the handcuffs earlier. “That’s actually rather honorable.”

  “Watch it. You’re falling under my scummy spell.”

  “Right.” She inched her hand away. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  “I just want to keep you safe from me.” He winked.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m twenty-seven. It’s time I looked out for myself.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to stop fighting the notion of being my date for the weekend?” This whole weekend would be so much easier if she went with the flow. Easier, yes, but he also couldn’t deny he found bantering with her exciting.

  Intoxicating.

  “I thought the auction was for tonight?”

  “No, you didn’t.” He took her hand again. “But nice try.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, lingering.

  Her throat moved with a long swallow. She shot to her feet. “About the weekend, I do have to work. I can’t spend every waking moment with you.”

  “I’ll just hang out while you work. I can even sample some pâté, give you my opinion on petits fours. My friends say I’m quite enlightened.” He slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him so quickly she forgot to protest. “I’m amazingly footloose, too much money and not enough to do. So I’m all yours.”

  “That’s not a good idea.” As they moved away from the table and entered the hallway, she glanced over her shoulder, back at the ballroom.

  “Why not?” Because if the way they’d danced together was any indication, they could be very, very good together.

  She weaved past two women whispering on their way to the restroom, jewel-encrusted clutch purses in hand. “You’ll be bored.”

  He stopped in front of the gilded elevator and jabbed the up button. “Let me make that call. I really can help you, you know.” He chose his words carefully, so she would think he meant the chefs, but so she would also realize he could get her more access overall. “If you’re with me, you will meet more people, make more connections for your entertaining business.”

  She looked up at him through narrowed eyes. “Do you think everyone’s Machiavellian?”

  “I know they are,” he answered without so much as blinking. “And knowing that makes life easier.”

  “Troy?” She touched his silk scarf lightly, her blue eyes darkening with…sadness? “That’s no way to live your life.”

  She swayed into him, and he wondered how the hell he’d gotten closer to her at the moment he’d been trying the least. Something about Hillary Wright had him off balance, as it had from the start.

  Right now, he wanted nothing more than to head up to his penthouse suite and make love to her all night long. To tell her again and again how damn perfect she was. To show her she could trust he was one hundred percent into her. That he was a man who didn’t want to take anything from her. He just wanted to give.

  The elevator slid open.

  Colonel Salvatore stood alone inside, mirrors capturing his scowling reflection. He held Hillary’s little black clutch bag in one big fist. “I’ve been looking for the two of you.”

  Four

  Hillary’s high heels darn near grew roots into the plush carpet as she stared at Colonel Salvatore glowering at her from the elevator.

  She couldn’t seem to make herself move forward and end this evening with Troy. An amazing evening. Unconventional, sure, but fun. He’d surprised her with an engaging mix of arrogance, humor, intelligence and perception.

  Plus, he kissed like molten sin.

  She forced her feet to drag forward without pitching on her face. Inside the elevator, she held out her hand for her thrift-store purse. “I must have left it at the auction. Thank you for keeping it safe.”

  Silently, Troy stepped in after her, and she realized he must be curious about Salvatore even though he’d written off the man as her “uncle” just before he’d whisked her away to dance. She searched for the words to explain without saying things she shouldn’t.

  “Troy, this is my friend, Colonel—”

  “No need, Ms. Wright,” Salvatore interrupted. “Troy and I know each other well.”

  Something dark in his voice, an undercurrent she didn’t comprehend, sent shivers down her spine. She looked from one man to the other. Troy slid in the key card to access the penthouse floor and the colonel kept his hands behind his back. She reached to press the button for her floor.

  Salvatore shook his head as the doors slid closed. “We’re all going together. It’s time the three of us had a talk.”

  Together?

  Ding. Ding. Ding. The floors went past.

  These two men more than just knew each other. Suddenly she realized that Troy was somehow tied into her reason for being here. Given his sketchy background could he be part of Barry’s mess, too? Her stomach plummeted even as the elevator rose.

  Although she could swear she’d never seen him with her ex-boyfriend. So many questions and fears churned through her head, stirring up anger and a horrible out-of-control feeling. All her life, she’d tried to play by the rules. She’d worked hard to get ahead and somehow she kept screwing up.

  The elevator dinged a final time, opening to a domed hallway with brass sconces and fresh flowers. A door loomed on either side, leading to two penthouses. Troy angled left, guiding them inside the three-room suite that sported a 1920s Great Gatsby opulence.

  Any other time she would have enjoyed examining the tapestry upholsteries and dark polished woods—not to mention the breathtaking view from a wall of windows overlooking the Windy City. Skyscrapers and the lake blended together in a mix of modern prosperity with a layer of history. She loved cities, craved the bustle and excitement—the ultimate contrast to how she’d grown up. She rubbed the silver cow charm on her purse and turned to face the two men.

  Colonel Salvatore paced with his hands behind his back, his heavy steps making fast tracks over the Persian carpets in the living area. Troy leaned lazily on the bar, flipping a crystal drink stirrer between his fingers.

  The silence stretched until Hillary was ready to pull her hair out. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  “Fine.” Salvatore stopped abruptly. “I expected better from both of you. While you two were playing footsie on the balcony, our guy was slipping away. My sources say he left sometime this evening and is probably already on a private jet out of the country.”

  Her legs folded and she sank onto the edge of a camel-backed sofa. “Our guy?”

  Pivoting sharply, Salvatore pinned Troy with a laser glare. “You really didn’t tell her anything about your role here? Damn it, Donavan, why is it you chose now to follow the rules when you’ve rarely concerned yourself with keeping me happy in the past?” His sigh hissed between his teeth as he shifted his attention back to Hillary. “Troy Donavan’s in Chicago for the same reason you are. To help ID Barry Curtis’s associate.”

  Of course he was.

  She’d known the truth on some level, from the moment those elevator doors slid open and Colonel Salvatore said he was looking for both of them. Except, up to the last second, she’d been holding out hope—foolish hope—that she was wrong. Apparently her bad-boy radar was in full working order.

  Troy knew
about her reason for being here and hadn’t said a word to her. He’d made her believe he really wanted to spend time with her. She must have looked so ridiculous to him, talking about needing to see the chef. It had all been a game to him, playing along with her. Likely he’d been keeping this from her even on the airplane.

  She forced her attention back to Salvatore’s words. For better or worse, she still had to get through this weekend in order to reclaim her life.

  “The guy we’re after is insanely good at staying away from security cameras. It’s as if he has an inside scoop. But I would still like the two of you to review the recordings of tonight’s events, make use of Troy’s exceptional tech skills and see if you can find even a glimpse.”

  She struggled to sort through so much information coming at her so fast. “Why do you need both of us to identify him?”

  Troy snapped the crystal drink stirrer. “Yes, Colonel, please do enlighten us, because I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  “Some things in life are on a need-to-know basis and neither of you need to know why I chose to play it this way. Troy, my tech guy has forwarded you all the security footage from tonight. I hope to hear good news from you both by morning.” He nodded to Hillary. “Your luggage has already been brought here so you can change out of your formal wear.”

  Share a suite with Troy? She eyed the two doors leading to bedrooms. Where was the colonel staying? “And if we find who we’re looking for in the video feed right away, we can all go home? This is over?”

  “Troy will contact me in my suite across the hall. Once we’ve reviewed what you found, you’ll be free to leave. If anyone sees you leaving the hotel, let the partiers here think you’re spending your weekend together somewhere else.”

  “You’re just sending Hillary back to D.C. unprotected after making her a target?” Troy snorted. “Think again.”

  A target? Surely, he was exaggerating.

  “And don’t you think she was every bit as much a target before? Helping us is her best shot at getting back a normal life. Good luck convincing her to do anything your way after the masterfully foolish way you’ve pissed her off,” Colonel Salvatore shot over his shoulder before walking out the door.