The Makeover Mission (24 page)

The room swam around her, not in the way of fairy-tale princesses,
but more like a nightmare that wouldn't end. The king's soft, meaty hand
sweated against her back, bodies brushed past them, conversations ebbed and
flowed. This should have been a magic night, might have been if the right man
had held her in his arms. But if there was one thing Jane was coming to expect
in this unreal situation, it was that McConneghy would have his own agenda.

Then, as if her thoughts bid him to her side, Lucius was there,
murmuring polite noises to Tarkioff, his gaze molten on hers. She felt his arms
steel around her before she could brace herself for her reaction. An automatic
shift into overdrive, with breath backing up in her lungs, her cheeks flaming
and her heart doing the rumba, no matter what beat was being played in the
background.

"Don't look like that." McConneghy murmured it against
her hair.

"Like what?"

"Like you're ready to bolt. I don't plan to eat you."

A shame, her rebellious thoughts interjected before she could control
them. A crying shame.

"I don't run." She said it with her librarian's diction.

He offered his predator's grin in return. "If you did, I'd
come after you."

Dangerous ground. Very dangerous ground, but the new Jane replied
before she could stop. "And?"

"You like playing with fire, don't you?" His voice
sounded like molten lava sliding across her senses.

She felt the lightest of touches as his thumb grazed her back,
tiny pinpricks of sensations streaming up her spine, along her nerve endings,
across her skin. How could so simple a touch make her want to arch and rub,
push closer for more and yet bolt at the same time?

She cast her glance downwards, knowing he'd see too much if he
looked closely.

"Now I've frightened you."

Funny, she realized with a start, that was the one thing she'd
never felt around him. She'd felt fear, but because of the situation, not the
man. Though she'd felt other, rawer, more primitive emotions—wariness, kin to
awareness only deeper—when he'd looked at her as he was looking now. As if
there was no one else in the universe except the two of them, and time held no
meaning.

"I've never been afraid of you."

The words were honest. Though there could be a hundred different
definitions of
afraid,
as she knew he knew when he grinned and answered.
"You should be. You very well should be."

She wanted to respond, even if the words clogged in her throat,
but there was no time. In the space between one dance step and the next
everything changed.

There was a sound, a loud boom, like fireworks let off nearby. A
woman screamed. A glass was dropped, shattering against the floor. She heard it
all in the distance, her whole attention focused on the man before her,
watching his face change, his mantle of control descend as sure as a suit of
armor. His hands tightened fractionally around her—instinct or training? she
wondered—before he was dragging her toward the side of the room.

It was happening again.

"Do exactly as I say. No questions. No arguments."

"But what—"

"No questions." He turned from her, nodding toward
someone in the distance, the crowd around them already milling like frightened
sheep. Another explosion sounded outside, followed by the sounds of men
shouting, booted footsteps running.

"I want you to go straight to my room."

"Your room?"

"Mine. You'll be safer there. Don't stop for anyone. For any
reason."

"But—"

"Do as I tell you."

There was no gentleness in this man. He was all warrior now, and
she was part of his mission.

"All right."

She thought he might have looked relieved, but the impression came
and went so quickly it may have only been her imagination.

"I want you to lock the door behind you and make sure all
other doors into the room are locked, too."

"Okay." He was scaring her now with the intensity of his
look, the tightness of his grip on either arm.

"I'll send one of my men along with you. He'll be stationed
outside the door until I relieve him."

Until, or if?
she wanted to ask, but
swallowed the thought. That and the queasy things it did to her stomach.

"Do not open the door to anyone. Not to Tarkioff. Not to his
brother. Not to anyone except myself."

She nodded her head, aware the hysteria in the room around her was
building.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And you'll do exactly as I said?"

She might have been afraid, but she was not an idiot.

"Of course I will."

He smiled, the briefest of expressions and one she knew she'd
carry in her memory forever. Another man materialized at his side, one as
controlled, as intense as he.

"Keep her safe." McConneghy spoke to the other before
turning back to her, pitching his voice low. If she thought he was going to
leave her with some warm and touching sentiment, she was wrong.

"If you need it there's a pistol in the nightstand by the
bed. You'll have to click the safety off before you use it."

Since Jane's experience with guns was limited to what she'd
watched on TV she only nodded her head. If it came to her having to use one,
she was in deep trouble. But now didn't seem to be the time to point out
another of her shortcomings.

"Fine. I understand." She didn't really. Not about the
gun at least, but she did about other things. Like the fact that McConneghy was
leaving her to head toward the explosions, not away from them. The man had to
be certifiable insane. Also brave, responsible and determined, yes, but
definitely certifiably insane.

As he turned to leave, she grabbed his arm, not caring if she left
nail marks on his jacket. "You'll be careful?"

His predator's grin turned into a pirate's. The man was actually
enjoying himself. Well, maybe not enjoying, but he wasn't quaking in his boots,
either.

"I'll be careful."

She didn't want to place any bets on that one. Instead she turned
away, letting the nameless, silent team member lead her away, telling herself
there was nothing to fear. Not for herself.

But for McConneghy?

Lord, she wished she knew the answer to that one.

Chapter 10

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^
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L
ucius stole a glance at his watch,
not surprised to see the smaller hand sliding past three o'clock, feeling it
had been a year since he'd left the ballroom instead of hours. His feet echoed
hollowly down the empty hallway, a fitting accompaniment to his dark thoughts.

Something wasn't right. His gut repeated the message; the last few
hours verified it. The explosives set off in the courtyard had been noise and
smoke and not much more. Either they were dealing with amateurs or bumblers
who'd make the Three Stooges look competent by comparison. It was similar to
the bomb in the pool room. All smoke, little damage.

But the initial attack on Elena Rostov had been planned by a pro.
From the explosive device used, the timing, the lack of a trail to follow
afterwards, it had run like clockwork. So was he dealing with two different
threats? And if so, how was he going to keep Jane safe from simultaneous
fronts?

He rounded the last corner, pleased to see Santiago on alert, as
if he'd been standing there minutes instead of hours. The kid was good, better
than good, as he was standing outside of Jane's room instead of down the hall
in front of Lucius's door. The biggest threat would have come from within the
palace. By posting himself where he was, the young soldier might have given
Jane a few extra seconds of warning should there have been an attack. Time,
Lucius knew, that could have made the difference between survival or not.

"Any problems, Santiago?"

"No, sir," came the quick response. "The king's
brother wanted to leave a few of his men, but I suggested they would be better
positioned farther down the hall."

Since Lucius hadn't seen any, Eustace Tarkioff must have either
rejected the offer or called them off earlier. Another piece of the puzzle to
analyze and interpret.

"And the mademoiselle?"

Lucius watched the young man's face relax. "Meek as a lamb,
sir."

Then they must have been talking about two different women, Lucius
thought, failing to suppress a smile.

"You're done for the night, Santiago. Report back to Elderman
and we'll debrief at zero seven hundred."

"Yes, sir." The young man snapped a salute.

"Oh, and good job, soldier." Lucius watched the pleasure
seep into the other's eyes. "Especially the decoy in front of the wrong
door. Nice touch."

"Thank you, sir."

"Good night, Santiago."

After saluting the departing soldier, Lucius approached the door
with the same rush of adrenaline and wariness that he approached any unknown
situation. The night's activities had unsettled him, and he wasn't even
thinking about the series of explosions, but about the earlier shock waves. The
ones that had begun when a door opened and a woman in black had stood before
him, more beautiful than he could have imagined, a smile flirting about her
lips, a dare in her gaze.

He'd been lost from that moment forward. And not because of the
way a scrap of material looked draped across her, or the instantaneous response
of his body. It was more than that.

It was the way she knew the servants' names, not for convenience
sake, but because she saw them as individuals. It was the way she greeted
strangers in a receiving line, or thought to ask about a newborn child.

Whatever he had expected when he'd entered a dim, cramped room to
discover a woman taken against her will, it hadn't been Jane Richards, or what
she was doing to his world. The mission had faded beside his need to keep her
safe. Somewhere along the line she'd become
his
woman, the woman he
longed to claim and would fight to the death to protect. There was no point in
denying it or ignoring it, neither tactic was going to change reality.

Jane Richards, with her too-large eyes, sweet, sweet smile and
stubborn streak that was getting wider every day, had gotten under his skin and
branded him. Just as he wanted to brand her, every inch of her. It was a
primordial thought, an urge as instinctive and as old as time, which did not
sit well. Especially when he knew she deserved more than a man committed to his
country, his job and a lifestyle that wreaked havoc on relationships.

He unlocked the door, turning the handle slowly, not wanting to
frighten her if she was still awake on the other side. The room was bathed in
shadows, a single nightstand lamp casting an amber glow throughout it.

Another woman might have had the room ablaze to ward off the fear,
but leave it to Jane to keep a cool head. The shadows gave her the advantage
over anyone coming in from the lighted hallway. It even took him a second or
two to locate her, curled up in a club chair dragged across the room until it stood
halfway between the French doors and where he stood. The woman would have been
a natural strategist, he realized, allowing the smile that accompanied the
thought.

He entered quietly, closing the door behind him, the sound of her
even breathing taking away some of the fear congealed in his gut. She looked
nothing like the Siren nestled in her chair cocoon, her legs drawn up beneath
the thin silk of her dress, her hair tousled about her shoulders. She looked
relaxed and vulnerable, except for the Glock nine-millimeter lying lax in her
right hand.

The image slammed against him with the force of a gale. She should
have been sheltered from violence, from the ugliness he dealt with on a regular
basis. But she wasn't and he'd been the one who'd dragged her out of her safe,
secure world into the middle of this mess. Guilt ate like acid through his
system.

"McConneghy?" He heard her soft whisper from where he
stood, not daring to slip any closer, accepting that even he had limits on his
control. Limits constantly stretched too thin around this woman.

"Yeah, it's me. It's all right. Another false alarm."

He watched her sleepy smile, felt his body's immediate response
and bit back a groan.

She stretched. A slow, sensuous arch of arms and back that had him
entranced and petrified at the same time. Nothing had changed. She still
deserved more than he'd offered her thus far, and giving in to the burning need
raging within him was only going to compound the situation. But looking at her
there, sleep-rumpled and inviting, smiling that soft smile that crumbled his
defenses quicker than an Uzi blast at short range, taxed to the limit his
resolve to do the right thing.

Jane shrugged off the last dregs of a haunted sleep she'd never
meant to indulge in and wondered what she'd done now. Lucius looked like a
thundercloud ready to erupt, eyes narrow, skin stretched taut along his nose,
shadows hollowing his cheekbones. He'd said everything was okay, but maybe it
really wasn't, and he didn't want to give her the bad news.