Authors: Jenna Mills
"Think we can arrange a trade for tomorrow?"
Elizabeth
blinked. Though the same size, she and Miranda rarely traded anything. Their tastes ran too different. Whereas
Elizabeth
opted for conservative and tradition, Miranda preferred funky. "A trade?"
"Hawk for Sandro."
The vertigo she'd been fighting whirred closer, forcing her to realize she was not quite as together as she'd thought.
"Lizzy?" Her sister stared queerly at her. "You okay?"
Yes, she was okay. She had been for a long time. Two years, actually. Two nights and a handful of adrenaline-charged kisses couldn't change that.
She glanced at Miranda, who'd brought the bottle of vanilla pear lotion to her face.
"Did I just hear you right?" Once, her sister had seized every opportunity to disparage the man she'd referred to as a brooding Viking, but after the role he'd played in bringing her and Sandro back together, he'd become her new best friend. Now she didn't miss the chance to gush about him. "You want Hawk?"
Her sister laughed in that infectious manner she'd been blessed with since birth. "Desperately," she said with her flare for drama. Then she winked. "But not quite like you do, of course."
Elizabeth
did her best to shoot her sister a withering glare. "What is
that
supposed to mean?"
Miranda squeezed a blob of lotion onto the tip of her finger and rubbed it against her forearm. She looked up then and studied her sister, chewed on her lip. "As if you don't know," she said. "Tell me, Lizzy. What was it like being with him again?"
The surge of heat was automatic. "I wasn't with him," she shot back. "Not like you were
with
Sandro, anyway."
But Miranda would have none of it. "Come on, this is me you're talking to. We both know you and Hawk can't be alone together for five minutes without—"
"—wanting to kill each other,"
Elizabeth
finished for her. Last night didn't count, she told herself as she brought the comb back to her tangled hair. Last night had been extenuating circumstances. The fact that he'd listened quietly while she talked of Kristina, that he'd told her about his mother, meant nothing. "The man has a knack for making me want to scream."
Miranda grinned. "You don't say?"
Through the mirror,
Elizabeth
noted the knowing look in her sister's eyes. "Not like that."
Miranda was back to fiddling with the orchid, bending the stem in a completely different direction. "Has Nicholas ever made you want to scream?" she asked. "In any way, shape or form?"
The thought almost made Elizabeth laugh. "Of course not."
"What about cry? Has he made you cry?"
Memories staggered back, of sobs shared only with her pillow, sobs meant for no one's ears but her own, pain and confusion her sister had overheard and refused to forget. "Let it go, Miranda, okay? I have."
"Maybe you shouldn't," her sister said quietly. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with a man who doesn't know how to make you feel anything? Who can't reach you?"
The observation scraped. "It's not like that," she defended. "Nicholas understands me. We want the same things."
Miranda lifted a brow. "Boredom?"
Elizabeth
couldn't help it. She laughed. "No, not boredom." She paused, considered. "He's been a good friend to me." Except those dark days two years before, when he'd wanted to take his fiancée to bed and
Elizabeth
had frozen.
"We're compatible." To him life was more than just physical sensations. He respected goals and plans, dreams. He knew the consequences of living on the edge.
"Are you in love with him?"
The question zinged in, landed hard. Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, she wanted to feel. At one time she'd thought Nicholas the perfect man for her, otherwise she never would have accepted his marriage proposal. But she'd broken the engagement six short weeks later.
"Where is he anyhow?" Miranda asked. "I figured he'd be all over you like glue."
Elizabeth
adjusted her robe. "I wanted to be alone tonight." She'd talked to her mother, her brother. Now she just wanted to sleep for the next ten hours. "He respected that."
"My point exactly!" Miranda crossed her arms over her chest. "A man shouldn't just roll over and play dead like that. A man should fight for what he wants."
Like Sandro had done for her.
Like Hawk had done—
No. Absolutely not. Hawk had done nothing for her but confuse everything. "What do you want him for anyway?" she asked.
Miranda looked horrified. "I do
not
want Nicholas."
"Hawk. You said you wanted to borrow Hawk."
"Oh, that. Yes." She beamed a smile. "Shopping, of course."
Elizabeth
blinked. Keeping up with her sister was like keeping up with a shooting star. "You want Hawk to go shopping with you?"
Miranda nudged the stainless hair dryer closer to
Elizabeth
. "I have a lead on my wedding present for Sandro, but…" Without warning the sparkle drained from her gaze. Shadows returned, reminding
Elizabeth
only a few months had passed since Miranda had endured her own nightmare. "He won't let me out of his sight," she said, and her voice swirled with sorrow and love. "With Zhukov unaccounted for, it's like the old Sandro is back, the commando. He'll barely let me breathe without him."
The tickle of envy caught
Elizabeth
by surprise. "He loves you, pipsqueak. He's not about to let anything happen to you."
She could only imagine a love like that, so consuming, so all-encompassing, that a man would rather die than let harm come to the one he'd given his heart to. Sandro had done that for Miranda. He'd risked his life for hers in
Portugal
, and
Elizabeth
knew he wouldn't hesitate to do so again.
"I never knew it was possible to love someone so much," Miranda said. "Sometimes … it's almost like it hurts."
Elizabeth
set down her comb and took her sister's hands. "That's because it's real," she said. She'd dreamed of that kind of love her entire life. Until Miranda had brought Sandro home, she'd thought it only existed in fairy tales. "You're very lucky."
Moisture rushed her sister's eyes. "You'll find it, too," she said. "I promise. Love always, always finds a way."
Elizabeth
pulled her sister into a tight hug. "Let's concentrate on getting you married first, okay?"
Miranda laughed. "I can borrow Hawk, then?"
Elizabeth
released her. "He's all yours." Like he was hers to give. But still, the thought of Miranda dragging Hawk through the mall made her grin. "Why don't you go ahead and get that pizza ordered?" It had been over forty-eight hours since she'd had a real meal.
"You bet," Miranda said, then turned and headed for the bathroom door. "Oh." Glancing over her shoulder, she tossed her sister a wicked smile. "Sandro still makes me scream, and I wouldn't have it any other way."
* * *
"I suspect they'll find the fuel line tampered with," Hawk told Ethan. He stood at a screen door that led to
Elizabeth
's small backyard and stared at three hummingbirds hovering near a red feeder dangling above the patio. The sun had dipped below the tree line, sending swirls of peach and yellow above the tops of the birch and maple dominating the long narrow yard behind her Church Hill town home.
"I suspect Zhukov got to someone at the airport. You'll want to have everyone's background investigated."
"I'm all over it," Ethan said from his office at the Justice Department in
"No problem."
"So help me God, that bastard is going to pay," Ethan vowed. "I just thank God Lizzy is okay. How's she holding up?"
Hawk glanced toward the stairs leading to her second-story bedroom. She'd yet to come down from her shower, despite the fact over thirty minutes had passed since he heard the water shut off. "She's a trouper," he told her brother and meant it. "A night or two of rest, and she'll be fine."
"Give her a hug for me," Ethan said. "Tell her I'll be home for the auction tomorrow night."
Hawk swore softly. "Will do," he said, then disconnected. He'd forgotten about the auction. She'd be dressed to the nines, in her element. She'd also be with Nicholas. The thought of seeing her in another man's arms, of watching him touch her, whisper to her, kiss her, messed with the clarity he'd been finagling for since leaving the mountains. If he let himself, he could still feel her soft curves sprawled against his body, shifting in her sleep, whispering her hand across his chest. And beyond.
He chose not to let himself.
Last night had been a colossal mistake, he reminded himself. Not only had survival forced him to lose sight of his objectives, but for some idiotic reason he'd let her back him into a corner. He'd let her coerce him into talking about his past. He'd give almost anything to take back those damning moments, when he'd come close to revealing details that were none of her concern. What had gone down under Steven's roof was ancient history. It didn't matter anymore, no longer carried the power to wound.
Love you? You thought I loved you?
He shook off her smoky voice, but the memory kept right on slithering.
Puh-lease, Wesley. Be real. This wasn't about love. We're from different worlds, want different things. You know that.
Then what the hell was it?
Melanie hadn't even hesitated.
Fun, of course. What else could it have been?
Forever, he'd thought at the time. The real thing. Retrospect had a way of changing things, though, and now he realized the stolen moments with Steven's daughter had been nothing but rebellion and exploration for her. A touchstone for him. He'd thought he was the one teaching Melanie, exposing her to pleasures she'd never dreamed of. Instead, she'd been the instructor, her lesson one of the most important of his life.
Thirteen years later
Elizabeth
had provided a friendly little reminder.
Resolve replaced the ridiculous tenderness he'd felt in the mountains. He stalked across the hardwood floor of
Elizabeth
's antiques-crowded living room, toward the front window, where he stood until the pizza deliveryman arrived. After paying, he closed the door and turned, only to find her standing at the foot of the stairs, wearing a pair of denim shorts and a
"Gosh, that smells great," she muttered, then glanced around the town home. "Where's Mira?"
He carried the pizza to her small, shockingly white kitchen. "Sandro picked her up about twenty minutes ago."
She followed. "I thought she was staying for dinner."
The rich smell of tomato and mozzarella reminded him just how long had passed since he'd eaten. He pulled open the carton and drew a deep breath, let out a low groan of anticipation. "Secret agent man had other plans for her," he said with a knowing wink. "She didn't seem to mind."
"Oh."
Elizabeth
stared at the pizza, then at the quartet of vigorously blooming African violets in her windowsill. "I thought she was hungry."
Hawk couldn't help it. He laughed. "She left with Sandro, didn't she?"
Now she did look at him, looked hard. Her hair was damp, slicked back from her face and emphasizing her killer cheekbones. "Very funny."
He didn't give himself time to think, time to change his mind. He crossed the meager distance between them and pulled her into his arms, careful not to crush. The doctor had pronounced her ribs in good shape, and she insisted she felt fine, but he knew they had to hurt like a son of a bitch. She would never admit it, though. He knew that about her. She'd put on a happy face, even if deep inside she was dying. That was the Carrington way, and when it came to being a Carrington,
Elizabeth
excelled.
After last night, he refused to let himself consider why.
She stiffened at the contact, held herself completely still as he slid his palm up her back and under the damp curtain of her hair. She felt damn good in his arms, despite the fact she stood more rigidly than the posts supporting her patio. He could change that, he knew. With a few well-executed strokes, he could change resistance to acceptance, make the hard lines soft.
Of course, the opposite would be true for him. There was nothing soft about him. He didn't need to be harder. Contrary to what she thought, he was not a man who enjoyed torture.
But God, she smelled good, like vanilla as always, but with a hint of something new. "Peaches?" he murmured.