he was gone. She blinked, unsure that she’d actually
seen him turn and leave. She struggled off the bed, her muscles still weak, and
staggered toward the door.
Just in time to hear the click of the lock.
She sagged against the carved wood frame, unwilling to shout
for him to let her out when she knew he’d never comply. She pounded on the
wood once, an impotent but necessary gesture. Exhausted and angry, but mostly
swimming in a wash of desires she needed to exercise out of her system, she
rolled onto her back. The room glowed with candles, flickering seductive
fingers of light over the golden bed sheets and intricately woven satin duvet.
He’d planned to seduce her here, just as she’d anticipated.
She’d asked him—nearly begged him. Wasn’t that what he wanted?
Wasn’t she?
She staggered back to the bed, tossed aside the robe and climbed
between the covers naked. Maybe he’d come to her later tonight, when he’d
found some control for the wild emotions she’d caught in his eyes.
Or maybe not. Either way, by tomorrow, she’d end his game,
if it was the last thing she did.
Chapter 7
“He’s here.”
Dante snapped his attention away from the monitors to the
speaker on his desk. “Show him up.”
After flipping the switch so that the image of Macy
searching the billiard room instantly disappeared, he slid his chair back,
retrieved his jacket from the brass peg on the wall and slipped his arms into
the silk-lined garment.
An anxious tremor ratcheted through his system. Just a
decade ago, a meeting such as this would have been unheard of, but Dante had
decided after receiving the urgent communiqué from T-45 that the time had come
for change—especially under the current circumstances.
As far as Dante knew, Abercrombie Marshall had not returned
to the States since he’d left the Arm. Though Dante had never met the man, he
had the highest respect for him—not only because of his impressive dossier, but
because he’d not only gained Macy’s high opinion, but he’d also been the one to
finally give the woman her due.
Macy was the reason Marshall had come in person. Their
arrangement had been unorthodox, especially with a possible terrorist strike at
stake.
Marshall entered the room without hesitation, barely waiting
for the agent assigned to open the door to move out of the way. Tall and broad
shouldered, Abercrombie Marshall wore his hair sheared short, without a single
sprinkle of gray at the temples. His eyes, dark and assessing, crinkled at the
corners and his full-lipped mouth melted easily into a friendly smile.
He held out his hand, which Dante accepted.
“Mr. Marshall,” Dante said. “I’m honored to meet you.”
“Probably more like shocked as hell, but I hear your manners
wouldn’t allow you to speak so freely.”
Dante released the man’s hand after a hearty shake, and then
directed his guest toward one of two comfortable leather chairs in front of his
desk. “My manners have been exaggerated, sir, I assure you. Plain speaking is
simply a lost art in our business.”
Marshall sat. Dante took the chair next to his. He had no
reason to try and show superiority by sitting behind his desk. He wouldn’t be
fooling anyone if he did.
“I want to speak with my agent,” Marshall said.
“I’ve done nothing to block communications with you. She’s
sent regular updates.”
“Which you’ve monitored,” Marshall pointed out. “Is she a
prisoner?”
Dante didn’t hide his surprise. “Absolutely not. She’s
working hard, though with frustrating results,” Dante said, privately noting
the double entendre. What he and Macy had shared over the past two days had
given new depth to the word frustrating. “You may see her immediately,
of course.”
“Good,” Marshall acknowledged, with a gleam in his eye that
told Dante that at this point, he’d see Macy if he wanted to, with or without
Dante’s permission. “And I
seen him turn and leave. She struggled off the bed, her muscles still weak, and
staggered toward the door.
Just in time to hear the click of the lock.
She sagged against the carved wood frame, unwilling to shout
for him to let her out when she knew he’d never comply. She pounded on the
wood once, an impotent but necessary gesture. Exhausted and angry, but mostly
swimming in a wash of desires she needed to exercise out of her system, she
rolled onto her back. The room glowed with candles, flickering seductive
fingers of light over the golden bed sheets and intricately woven satin duvet.
He’d planned to seduce her here, just as she’d anticipated.
She’d asked him—nearly begged him. Wasn’t that what he wanted?
Wasn’t she?
She staggered back to the bed, tossed aside the robe and climbed
between the covers naked. Maybe he’d come to her later tonight, when he’d
found some control for the wild emotions she’d caught in his eyes.
Or maybe not. Either way, by tomorrow, she’d end his game,
if it was the last thing she did.
Chapter 7
“He’s here.”
Dante snapped his attention away from the monitors to the
speaker on his desk. “Show him up.”
After flipping the switch so that the image of Macy
searching the billiard room instantly disappeared, he slid his chair back,
retrieved his jacket from the brass peg on the wall and slipped his arms into
the silk-lined garment.
An anxious tremor ratcheted through his system. Just a
decade ago, a meeting such as this would have been unheard of, but Dante had
decided after receiving the urgent communiqué from T-45 that the time had come
for change—especially under the current circumstances.
As far as Dante knew, Abercrombie Marshall had not returned
to the States since he’d left the Arm. Though Dante had never met the man, he
had the highest respect for him—not only because of his impressive dossier, but
because he’d not only gained Macy’s high opinion, but he’d also been the one to
finally give the woman her due.
Macy was the reason Marshall had come in person. Their
arrangement had been unorthodox, especially with a possible terrorist strike at
stake.
Marshall entered the room without hesitation, barely waiting
for the agent assigned to open the door to move out of the way. Tall and broad
shouldered, Abercrombie Marshall wore his hair sheared short, without a single
sprinkle of gray at the temples. His eyes, dark and assessing, crinkled at the
corners and his full-lipped mouth melted easily into a friendly smile.
He held out his hand, which Dante accepted.
“Mr. Marshall,” Dante said. “I’m honored to meet you.”
“Probably more like shocked as hell, but I hear your manners
wouldn’t allow you to speak so freely.”
Dante released the man’s hand after a hearty shake, and then
directed his guest toward one of two comfortable leather chairs in front of his
desk. “My manners have been exaggerated, sir, I assure you. Plain speaking is
simply a lost art in our business.”
Marshall sat. Dante took the chair next to his. He had no
reason to try and show superiority by sitting behind his desk. He wouldn’t be
fooling anyone if he did.
“I want to speak with my agent,” Marshall said.
“I’ve done nothing to block communications with you. She’s
sent regular updates.”
“Which you’ve monitored,” Marshall pointed out. “Is she a
prisoner?”
Dante didn’t hide his surprise. “Absolutely not. She’s
working hard, though with frustrating results,” Dante said, privately noting
the double entendre. What he and Macy had shared over the past two days had
given new depth to the word frustrating. “You may see her immediately,
of course.”
“Good,” Marshall acknowledged, with a gleam in his eye that
told Dante that at this point, he’d see Macy if he wanted to, with or without
Dante’s permission. “And I
Similar Books
