His Captivating Confidante (Secret Sentinels) (3 page)

“That would have been a great move, but you didn’t put it into play fast enough,” he countered brusquely. A little too brusquely, judging by the angry flush that washed across her sculpted cheekbones.

He hadn’t meant for his response to tumble out so roughly, but in a real-life attack faltering like she had could get her killed.

“I had the situation in hand,” she snapped back.

Her righteous indignation gave him pause.

In hindsight, perhaps she had every reason to be annoyed with him. Maybe he had acted a bit prematurely. In the heat of the moment, all he’d been able to think about was rushing to her aid. It hadn’t occurred to him she might not appreciate being on the receiving end of his knight-in-shining-armor treatment.

Deciding now wasn’t the time to point out that if he’d waited one second longer it would have been game over, he toned his cockiness down a notch.

“I’m sorry,” he offered sincerely. “I was out of line. My competitive streak got the best of me.”

Interrupting her during the shooting match and interceding with Landers’s personal assistant on her behalf weren’t the only missteps he’d made that night. Asking Stephanie to dance had been his first error in judgment. Now all he could think about was how right she had felt in his arms.

She tossed her head in aggravation, sending her titian waves bouncing. “Is what you did even allowed?”

“Of course. The rules state that when a teammate is in trouble it’s okay to give them an assist. You had an awesome run going, but you were losing valuable seconds. I wanted you to hold on to that perfect score.”

Clearing his throat to draw their attention, Bruce stared at them pointedly. “If you two are done bickering like an old married couple, can we get back to the game?”

Bruce’s inquiry splashed across Frank’s psyche like a drenching from a bucket of ice water. He’d been so wrapped up in Stephanie he’d forgotten they had an audience.

And Stephanie had been just as absorbed in him. He could tell she was all too aware that she’d lost sight of what she was there for, and that she was shaken by the lapse. Her reaction was barely perceptible, but his trained eye didn’t miss the way her hand trembled slightly as she traded the laser-simulator pistol she’d used for the first round of the match for the assault rifle version of the weapon she would employ in the second round.

Laser shooting competitions were held on realistic courses that duplicated potential real-life scenarios, mirroring situations the players might encounter in the field. Players used guns that emitted electronic pulses to indicate hits, and they were allowed to employ other mock weapons or feign martial arts moves if their primary protection failed.

For this round, the course had been set up in an abandoned alley to simulate an apartment complex under siege. The players filled the roles of both innocent civilians and dangerous assailants—it was up to Stephanie to differentiate friend from foe.

He gave the signal for the round to begin, and it quickly became clear she wouldn’t need his help for this segment of the trial. She eliminated the threats in record time, without a single innocent civilian taking a hit.

Bruce whistled softly in appreciation. “Damn, she’s good. That’s a new record.”

“See? I told you she’d be a great addition to the team,” Frank asserted, knowing there was more than a little pride in the boast that rolled easily off his tongue.

Stephanie had navigated the course as smoothly as she’d fielded the genuine crisis they’d been caught up in a few weeks ago when they were ambushed. A rookie field operative, she’d handled the threat like a seasoned veteran. And she’d done far more than impress the hell out of him.

She’d saved his life.

He sent her a thumbs-up. “If you’re sure you want to join a group of law enforcement officers and bodyguards playing what amounts to a paintball game on steroids, you’re in.”

“Of course I’m sure,” she said, beaming. “I’d love to.”

Bruce wrapped Stephanie in a celebratory hug. “I think you may have lost your spot on the team permanently, Frank. She just tied your best score.”

Tamping down the urge to peel Bruce’s arm away from its silken resting place on Stephanie’s shoulder, Frank told himself it couldn’t possibly be jealousy heating his blood to a boil. Fortunately, he was spared having to respond to his buddy’s good-natured ribbing when their four remaining teammates—Barry, Kent, Andy, and Wyatt—circled around Stephanie to offer their congratulations.

“Since we’re keeping her, she needs a nickname,” Andy insisted with a grin.

“Oh, a code name!” she enthused, flashing Andy a broad smile.

As another jolt of jealousy pierced him, Frank tried not to dwell on why he found the thought of his friends bestowing a nickname on Steph oddly unsettling.

What was wrong with him tonight?

Not only was his sudden—and unexpected—attraction to Stephanie damned inconvenient, it was also entirely unacceptable. She was a friend. In no way, shape, or form should his feelings for her ever cross the border of buddy-hood into sexual temptation territory. So how had he let that very thing happen?

Shaking his head in self-deprecation, he shoved the disconcerting question aside. “The guys all have nicknames. Bruce is Goblin, Barry is Bear, Kent is Cruncher, Andy is Flash, and Wyatt is Shadow.”

“And what do they call
you
?” she asked.

When Frank hesitated rather than answering her question, Andy jumped in to reply. “Tiger,” he supplied with grin.

“That’s going to cost you, Flash,” Frank told him before turning his attention to the team. “Okay, guys. Stephanie did me a favor by coming down to try out for the team when she had another commitment tonight. It’s time we let her get back to her evening. You can decide on a nickname for her at our next practice.”

She’d always be “Kitten” to him, but he didn’t want anyone else calling her by that moniker.

Watching his buddies congratulating Stephanie, it was obvious she’d already managed to wrap them all around her little finger. He wasn’t surprised the men had taken to her so quickly. She was intelligent, witty, and a gifted markswoman.

Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous.

Once they were alone, she turned to him, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. “Since you’re letting me join your team, is it safe to assume you’ve forgiven me for not telling you about my work with Sentinels?”

“No.”

“No?” she parroted.

“No. There’s nothing to forgive.”

“If that’s true, then why have you been doing your best to avoid me ever since Liz told you what I really do for a living?”

“I haven’t been trying to avoid you,” he insisted. “I’ve just been busy.”

His conscience twinged a bit at the statement. Maybe he
had
been skirting her, but the fact that she hadn’t trusted him with the covert nature of her chosen career still stung. Her lack of faith in his friendship
had
stoked his temper at first.

But when she’d shown up at the benefit dinner dressed to kill in an evening gown that screamed seduction, every drop of that disappointment had evaporated and pure, unadulterated lust had leaped in to fill the void.

He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. “Look . . . I’m not upset with you. I’m just disappointed you didn’t trust me enough to confide in me. I would have kept your secret, you know.”

“I know. And I planned to tell you, but I didn’t want to fill you in via an e-mail or text message. I was waiting until I saw you face-to-face. Then you left the CIA and joined Sentinels, and Liz inadvertently beat me to the punch. So I owe you an apology. That wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

“It’s okay. I understand why you can’t go around broadcasting what you do. I can count on one hand the number of people I clued in to what I did for a living when I worked for the CIA.”

“But you told me.”

He nodded. “You’re important to me. So, are you still angry with me for interfering?”

They both recognized he was talking about more than the shooting match. He’d overstepped his bounds by nosing in on her new assignment.

“Yes,” she shot back cheekily, but her reply lacked the bite of her earlier dressing down. “I’ll forgive you, though, since you gave me a shot at joining the team.”

“You did good tonight, Kitten. I’m proud of you.”

Even as he spoke the words, the feel of her soft, warm skin under his palm taunted him. It was more than pride coursing through him. It was lust flooding every cell in his body, urging him to make her his. And that was wrong on so many levels. She trusted him—counted on him to be a loyal friend, not a desire-fueled lothario. And even if their friendship could survive a casual fling, Steph wasn’t that kind of girl. She didn’t do one-night stands—didn’t do intimate relationships outside of marriage, period. And marriage didn’t factor in anywhere in his plans.

Which meant he couldn’t act on his feelings for her.
Ever.

Frank’s praise set Stephanie’s face aflame, but the glow from the blush dimmed when, for the second time in less than an hour, he followed up a compliment by tacking on the nickname he’d tagged her with as a teenager.

The childhood moniker bristled more than usual tonight. She didn’t want him to think of her as a helpless kitten. She wanted him to see her as a capable operative—and a grown woman. And after the dance they’d shared and that near kiss, she’d thought—hoped, actually—he might finally see her as more than just a buddy.

Obviously, she must have imagined the spark of desire she’d thought she’d seen flare in his eyes.

Those eyes snared hers now, melting her heart and vaporizing her annoyance.

“Come on. I’ll take you back to the charity gala,” he offered.

It was a tempting suggestion, but she was dangerously close to overdosing on his potent blend of charm. Going back to the ballroom with him would
not
be a prudent plan.

“I’ve had enough mixing and mingling for one day,” she declined, softening her refusal of his invitation with a warm smile. “Since I’ve accomplished what I needed to, I’m going to call it a night.”

“Did you have a chance to get anything to eat before I interrupted your evening?”

She shook her head. “No, but that’s okay. I’ll grab something when I get home.”

“I was planning on ordering a pizza from Luigi’s. Why don’t you come back to my penthouse and share it with me? I’ll even sweeten the deal by tossing in one of their famous tiramisus for dessert.”

Her stomach voiced its approval of his suggestion with an appreciative grumble, and her willpower executed a major nosedive. Even if she had the resolve to resist the double temptation of pizza from her favorite restaurant
and
Frank’s company—which she didn’t—the tiramisu would have dealt a deathblow to her tenaciously shored-up reserves. So much for extracting herself from the danger zone.

While her tummy and taste buds rejoiced in anticipation of feasting on slices of pure Italian mastery and the sugary decadence that would follow, other parts of her anatomy stood up and cheered at the thought of having dinner with the epitome of masculine deliciousness. There was no way she could refuse him now.

“You had me at Luigi’s,” she told him with a grin.

He led her to where he’d parked his racy black Ferrari, then opened her door and saw her seated before going around to the driver’s side. Soon he was steering the car out of the city and toward the New York suburb where his penthouse was located.

Surreptitiously drinking in his handsome profile as he drove, she decided she would be better equipped to deal with his unexpected appearance and unwanted interference if she knew where she stood with him.

Frank had been doing his best to avoid her since he’d left his post at the CIA to join Sentinels. Learning from someone other than her that her work as a librarian was merely a cover career for her real vocation as an agent for the protection firm had hurt him. She got that. She’d simply assumed he would understand the need for secrecy, given his CIA background.

And she
had
intended to tell him.

Despite his assurances that he didn’t hold her decision to keep the truth about her real vocation from him against her, the fallout from her actions still hung awkwardly between them. She needed to clear the air, and she might never have a better opportunity to revisit the subject they’d only scratched the surface of earlier than right now.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you about my work with Sentinels before you found out from Liz,” she dove in, picking up the thread of their previous conversation before she lost her nerve. “I hadn’t planned on keeping it a secret from you. I was just waiting for the right opportunity to explain, but then Liz unwittingly beat me to it and . . .” she trailed off, suddenly uncertain how to give voice to her regret.

Frank hurriedly filled the verbal gap. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. And you certainly don’t owe me an explanation. I wish you would have trusted me to keep your confidence, but I understand why you felt you couldn’t clue me in to your career choice. I’ve already told you—I’m not upset with you.”

As much as she wanted to believe him, his words didn’t ring true. Up until tonight, it had certainly felt like he’d been doing his best
not
to spend time with her. And, to be fair, she’d been avoiding him, too. She harbored more than a little guilt over botching their first assignment together. She was the reason he’d taken that bullet.

“If that’s true, why do I feel like a wall has sprung up between us ever since you found out? I can’t shake the feeling that you’re purposefully distancing yourself from me.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Tearing his gaze away from the hurt and confusion swirling in Stephanie’s eyes, Frank turned his attention back to the road ahead. She was far too perceptive. Yes, he’d been trying to put some space between them lately.

But not for the reason she thought.

“That overactive imagination of yours is hard at work again, I see,” he responded, intentionally making light of her concern in an effort to throw her off the scent. As much as he wanted to bring the man responsible for his partner’s death down, he wasn’t about to let Stephanie get tangled up in the net he’d cast.