Secret Agent Seduction (21 page)

Now it was too late.

In a low, carefully measured voice, Armand said, “Did I hear you correctly? Did you just tell me that you were trying to read that mercenary's mind?”

Lia hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“How?”

She drew a long, deep breath and took the final plunge. “I can read minds.”

Armand said nothing for what seemed an eternity.

When Lia finally worked up the courage to look at him, she found him staring at her in stunned disbelief. And then suddenly a wide, knowing grin swept across his face. “That was good,
chère.
Very convincing. You almost had me going there.”

Lia stared at him wordlessly.

As the silence stretched between them, his eyes narrowed on hers. “Wait a minute,” he said slowly. “You weren't teasing me, were you?”

“No.”

“You…you can
read minds?
”

Lia nodded. “That's how I knew the mercenary wasn't really an electrician. Yes, the lie he told about the scar made me suspicious of him, but I didn't know for sure until I actually read his mind. I'd patted him down before letting him inside the cabin, so he had to leave his weapons in the van. When he claimed he needed to go get his tools, that's when I stopped him.”

“My God,” Armand breathed, staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and fascination. “How long have you had this gift?”

“My whole life. I inherited it from my great-grandmother Genevieve, who was a voodoo priestess in Baton Rouge. She owned a storefront boutique back in the fifties, but because many whites weren't entirely comfortable patronizing a black-owned business, she had to come up with additional ways to make a living. So she told fortunes, read palms and tarot cards, practiced voodoo. Her ability to read minds proved to be lucrative for her and her family. Until the day she read a white customer's palm and realized that the woman was planning to harm her own child.”

“What did she do?” Armand asked. “Your great-grandmother, I mean?”

“She begged her not to do it, but the woman got angry and claimed she didn't know what Grandma Genevieve was talking about. After she left the store, Grandma Genevieve didn't know what to do. She was a black woman living in the segregated South. If she warned others or went to the authorities with what she knew, they would call her crazy or throw
her
in jail for slandering a white woman. So she kept quiet, hoping she was mistaken, or hoping that the lady would change her mind about hurting her child. Two days later, the drowned body of a little white boy was found in the river. When the townspeople learned that the woman had gone to see my great-grandmother just days before she killed her son, and that Grandma Genevieve had done nothing to prevent it, they became enraged. They set her store on fire while she was trapped inside. She died in the blaze.”

“Mon Dieu,”
Armand muttered grimly. “That's terrible.”

Lia nodded in agreement. “My mother wasn't very proud of that part of her family history. Which is why she and my father never told me about my great-grandmother. When they found out I had inherited Grandma Genevieve's mind-reading ability, they were shocked and devastated. I remember my mother crying and rocking me in her arms, saying it wasn't my fault, that it was a family curse that had skipped two generations. That's when I learned all about Grandma Genevieve, the voodoo priestess.”

“How old were you when you found out you could read minds?” Armand asked, clearly riveted by her tale.

“I was five years old when I could actually articulate what was happening to me. Before that I didn't understand why I could hear other people's thoughts when I touched them.”

“Wait. You have to be touching someone to read their mind?”

“Yes. That's how it works for me. I can't read minds without skin-to-skin physical contact.” A sad little smile touched her mouth. “One day when I was five, my father picked me up and was carrying me to the car to take me to school. I looked into his eyes and asked him, ‘Daddy, how did Mommy catch ovarian cancer?' He was so shocked he nearly dropped me!”

Armand said quietly, “Your mother had ovarian cancer?”

Lia nodded. “They had just found out the day before. They were waiting for the right opportunity to tell me. My father thought I must have overheard them discussing it in their bedroom. When he asked me if I'd been eavesdropping, I pointed to his head and told him, ‘I heard it in here.' I think that was the first time I ever saw my daddy cry.”

Armand reached over and gently touched her cheek. “I'm sorry,” he murmured.

Lia captured his hand and held it between hers. “It's all right. Thankfully they caught the cancer in time. My mother has been cancer-free and healthy for over twenty years.”

“That's wonderful,” Armand said warmly.

Lia nodded, smiling. “Her only regret was that she couldn't have any more children. But after a while, she realized that having
one
psychic child was more than enough for her to handle.”

Armand chuckled softly. “I'm sure.” He looked down at their joined hands, and Lia didn't need her gift to know what he was thinking.

“You're wondering whether I can read your mind,” she murmured.

He nodded, meeting her gaze. “Can you?”

She searched his face. “How would it make you feel if I could?”

“A little embarrassed, to be honest with you.”

“Why?”

His lips quirked, and there was a decidedly sensual gleam in his eyes. “If you knew some of the thoughts I've been having about you, believe me, you'd think twice before coming anywhere near me.”

Lia's belly quivered with arousal. She gave him a sultry smile. “How do you know I haven't been having rather explicit thoughts about
you?
”

He flashed a wolfish grin. “I sure as hell hope you have.”

Lia laughed, gently tracing the lines in his warm, calloused palm.

He watched her for a moment. “Are you reading my palm?”

“Uh-huh. Do you know what I see?”

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I see you testifying at that hearing in five days, telling the world all the reasons why Alexandre Biassou deserves to spend the rest of his rotten life behind bars. I see those wise, compassionate members of the Security Council heeding your people's cry for justice and handing down the punishment Biassou so richly deserves—”

“Death,” Armand growled.

Lia stopped, probing the feral intensity of his eyes. “If that's what the Security Council decides—”

His face hardened. “That's what he deserves. Nothing less.”

A fine chill ran through Lia, despite the humid night. “Listen to me,” she said, low and controlled. “You are
not
to take the law into your own hands. If that's what you're thinking of doing, put it out of your mind right now!”

A mocking gleam entered his eyes. “You mean, you don't know what I'm thinking?”

“No, I don't!”

He frowned. “What are you saying? You can't read my mind?”

“No, damn it. For whatever reason, I can't read your mind, Armand. It's never happened to me before, but I guess there's a first time for everything. You must have some sort of genetic anomaly that counteracts my psychic ability!”

“Really?” He blinked, then shook his head as if to clear it. “This is surreal. I can't believe we're actually having this conversation. I feel like we're on the set of a movie, where the two dueling superheroes suddenly realize they're the yin and yang to each other.”

Lia was not amused. “Go ahead and make fun of me,” she fumed, quickly gathering their trash. “That's the kind of reaction I expected from you anyway, which is why I've never told anyone but my parents!”

“Wait a minute!” Armand protested as she jumped to her feet. “I wasn't making fun of you.”

Ignoring him, Lia marched over to the trash receptacle and dumped in their empty plates and bottles. Armand grabbed her before she could start toward the storm-cellar door that led down to the underground bunker.

“Look at me.” He tipped her chin upward, forcing her to meet the glittering intensity of his gaze. “I was
not
making fun of you, Lia. I think you're the most wonderful, extraordinary woman I've ever met. I believed that before you told me about your special gift, and I believe it even more so now.”

“You don't think I'm a freak?” Lia retorted.

Armand shook his head, tenderly stroking her cheek. “How could I ever think that about you? Do you have any idea how much you mean to me? I'm in love with you, Lia. I love you so damn much it kills me to think about going back to Muwaiti without you.”

Lia's heart squeezed painfully. Tears rushed to her eyes, spilled down her cheeks. But before Armand could gather her into his arms, she stepped out of reach and pinned him with an unwavering stare.

“If you love me, then promise me you won't go after Biassou if he walks,” she commanded, her voice husky with emotion. “Promise me.”

Armand clenched his jaw, then shook his head slowly.

“Promise me.”

His eyes went hard and flat. “I can't make that promise.”

“Damn you!”

“Lia—”

“Are you crazy?” she screamed. “Do you have a death wish? Do you have
any
idea what will happen to you if you try to kill Biassou? If you succeed, you'll be sent to prison—or executed! And if you fail, God help you. Remember those gruesome punishments you were talking about earlier? The ones Biassou is notorious for? How much worse do you think it will be for
you
if you try to kill him? He will subject you to the worst, most excruciating torture you've ever imagined, and then he will smile in your face before killing you! Is that what you want? Are you trying to become a damn martyr?”

“What other choice do I have?” Armand exploded, his eyes flashing with fury. “I had that son of a bitch right where I wanted him—twice. But I was trying to be honorable and humane. Like my father, and like Francois Seligny. So I let Biassou go.
Twice,
damn it. And because I spared his worthless life, hundreds of innocent people have died. Do you think my act of mercy comforts me at night? Do you think I congratulate myself for taking the high road? No! So, yes, Lia, if the Security Council fails to do what's right, I'm going after Biassou to finish what I started.”

Lia stared at him, trembling with rage and despair. “I won't let you. For your own good I'm going to tell someone. I'm going to make sure you can't get anywhere near him.”

“Don't bother,” Armand sneered. “I got to him before, and I will get to him again. Believe that.”

Chilled by the lethal promise in his eyes, Lia realized she was fighting a losing battle. Heaving an angry breath, she threw her hands up in the air.

“Fine,” she snapped. “You want to get yourself killed? Be my damn guest. If that's how you want to repay me for repeatedly putting my ass on the line to save you, that's fine with me. You know what? Don't even come down to the bunker with me tonight. Sleep out here, out in the open. There's no point in me trying to protect you anymore if you're just going to run out and get yourself killed anyway!”

Armand descended upon her. She fought against him, swinging wildly and shoving at his chest, but he was too strong for her, pinning her arms between them, imprisoning her in his embrace until the fight gradually drained out of her and she melted in his arms with a muffled sob. He crushed her to him, kissing her fervently, running his hands over her hair and face, whispering tender endearments against her mouth.

With only a look passing between them, they turned and made their way down the concrete stairs into the dank, dusty cellar. Lia had lit scented candles earlier, hoping to dispel some of the gloom and the musty odor that permeated the air.

They undressed each other quickly, fingers tangling in their desperate haste. When they came together, flesh to flesh, it was in an explosion of heat and need. Wrapped in each other's arms, they sank to their knees on the soft pile of sleeping bags that covered the cement floor. He cradled her face between his hands, and her head went back as he kissed her throat, his teeth and tongue tormenting the sensitive flesh until a liquid rush flooded her loins.

She pushed him onto his back, then straddled his lower thighs. He propped himself on his elbows and watched as she brushed her wet, pulsing sex along his skin, back and forth, up and down, making him shudder. Their gazes locked as she leaned down and took his throbbing penis deep inside her mouth. He swore hoarsely, his eyes smoldering with desire as she sucked him, using her tongue in ways she'd never dreamed of doing to another man. She could feel the tension building in his body, hear his harsh breathing in the silence of the cellar.