Dare Me, page 19
He dried his hands on a dishtowel and gestured toward the parlor. "Anything else you'd like from the kitchen?"
She stood, noting the extra pull around the button and zipper area of her jeans. "Maybe my sweats?"
His grin was pure sin. "No sweats, but I did arrange a change of wardrobe for you."
Eyebrow quirked, she followed him into the parlor, which glowed with a wide array of candles. She had no idea when he'd lit them—they'd hardly melted— then guessed he'd simply put in a request to one of the half-dozen or so agents she'd seen stationed around the grounds. Though he'd banished all Arm agents from the premises while she worked, the house was his to do with as he wished, including rearranging the furniture to execute a sweet seduction.
He'd cleared the space of all coffee tables and end tables. The marvelous antique mirrors, kaleidoscopic Tiffany lamp shades and cut-crystal vases caught and reflected the firelight so that the room nearly buzzed with flickers of flame. The aroma of beeswax permeated the room with a honeyed perfume that became heady, thanks to the wine. He strolled to the opposite corner of the room and flicked a switch, piping music into the space. She didn't recognize the artist, but the sultry sounds of saxophone jazz slipped into her consciousness and washed away the last of her resistance.
"This is quite the atmosphere you've created," she said.
His smile barely curved his generous lips, but made his gray eyes sparkle like polished obsidian, dark and glossy. "You deserve the best."
She glanced over at a delicate oriental screen in the corner, one she knew hadn't been in the room when she'd searched earlier. "Nice addition."
"Glad you like it. If you slip behind, you'll find the more comfortable clothing I've arranged."
She bit her tongue in making fun of the whole "why don't you slip into something more comfortable" cliche and decided just to go with the flow. The truth was, Dante had sufficiently enticed her. His seduction had worked. She couldn't help but wonder if the spark that had once burned them with its intensity still existed between them. But even if the fire remained, she knew the heat couldn't scorch her again. For that to happen, she'd have to care about their future like she once had—and that simply wasn't the case.
Behind the screen, she found a lovely pitcher filled with rose-scented water, a porcelain basin, a delicate towel and, draped on a padded, satin hanger, an exquisite gown in breathtaking sapphire blue. With long sleeves and no ornamentation beyond a simple diamond broach that would likely sit just between her breasts, the dress was nearly demure in style. Nearly, but not quite.
With a grin, Macy whipped her T-shirt over her head and shed her jeans, which she kicked out of the way. She was game. If the man wanted to torture himself with what he could never truly have, who was she to argue? In fact, if torture was what he wanted, she'd happily oblige.
She washed and dressed quickly, loving how the fabric fell in soft waves over her body while the rose-water enhanced the femininity as it absorbed into her skin. When she emerged from behind the screen, Dante's eyes widened in unhampered appreciation. When he licked his lips, even with the subtlety that was ingrained into his style, she couldn't help but feel a buzz of awareness that persisted long after he spoke.
"You're beautiful."
"You knew that," she shot back.
"I don't recall us taking much time in the past for the aesthetics."
She squared her shoulders. "I wore sexy nighties for you all the time," she insisted.
"Which I removed in three seconds flat."
Macy fingered the diamond broach nestled low between her breasts. Surprisingly, the pin held the entire ensemble together. Once he removed the jewelry, the entire robe would fall away. "This won't take you half as long."
He crossed the room slowly, his hand extended toward hers, his eyes dark with such a combination of desire and restraint that Macy felt certain the man might soon explode. Instead, he pulled her gently into his arms and began to sway to the lazy, luxurious rhythm of the music.
"I don't intend to undress you tonight."
"You said we would make love here. That was the deal." She dismissed the disappointed sound she thought she'd heard in her voice. She'd pushed herself to the limit. So had he. Clearly, she was nearly on the brink of exhaustion.
He tugged her closer, wrapping her hand in his and giving her little choice but join him in the dance. "We are making love. In ways we never have before."
"Aren't there any good games on?"
Dante glanced over his shoulder, not the least surprised that Sean Devlin had bypassed all of Dante's security and entered the office unannounced, dressed in sweats that looked like they might not have been washed—ever—with a cutoff T-shirt and a Chicago White Sox baseball cap, worn backward. For all his horrid fashion sense, Devlin had once been the best all-around agent the Arm had ever employed, even if he'd only been in the service of U.S. Intelligence for just over two years. Better than Macy. Better than Dante. Had he stuck around, Sean likely would have surpassed his mentor and taken over as chief. Luckily for Dante's career, Sean hadn't been programmed with a stick-to-anything strand in his genetic code. But while the two men no longer worked together,
they had remained good friends. Cheating death together had created a lifelong bond.
"The game I'm watching is fascinating," Dante answered, gesturing his old friend inside.
Situated above Bogdanov's garage in a room built by the Arm, the surveillance center allowed Dante an unhampered view of Macy as she searched the arboretum. For over three hours, he'd observed how cleverly she'd ignored the plants, knowing their ever-changeable nature would likely provide no clues to the countercode. She'd used ultrasound and radar technology to explore the soil, and when the technical search didn't satisfy her, she dug in the dirt herself.
She'd counted and looked for patterns in the hand-painted floor tiles and with attention to detail that would have made his eyes cross. She'd examined every weave in the antique wicker furniture, every shadow or beam of light cast by the dim bulbs. Nothing in the room, from the light fixtures to the crevices in the wall, went unnoticed or untouched. When she'd finally stood, dusted off her hands, glared straight into the so-called hidden camera and announced the room was clear, he hadn't known whether to grin or frown. Now that she'd completed the room, they were one step closer to a second night of sensual delights, but as agents, they were also no nearer to finding the code they'd both been sent to discover.
Sean scooted onto the desk behind Dante and peered over his shoulder. "Is that who I think it is?"
Dante flipped off the screen. "Why are you here?"
Though his eyes narrowed, Sean dropped the topic of Macy and her unorthodox presence in the operation. Though he trusted his good friend with the secrets of his personal life, Dante had never been one to kiss and tell. Particularly when he'd hardly even kissed Macy yet.
"Heard you were in New Orleans," Sean said casually, as if his appearance in the middle of a top-secret operation were completely ordinary. "Wanted to check out the action."
Dante grunted. Sean had no more interest in intelligence-related action than Dante did in the current National Football League standings, which Sean undoubtedly knew by heart.
"You're checking up on me," Dante decided.
"Isn't that what friends do?"
Sean poked around Dante's desk, chuckling triumphantly when he found the small humidor tucked beneath a status report from an operation in St. Louis. Never mind that the document was marked CONFIDENTIAL and had the name of a celebrity and several political dignitaries scribbled on the outer flap. Sean didn't spare the file a second glance when he tossed it aside.
"Friends who have phones can call," Dante reminded him.
"Not when the other friend is in New Orleans. Have you checked out that club near Tchoupitoulas and Canal? I hear it rocks."
"I have no time for clubbing."
"Man, you gotta make time." Sean selected a premier Romeo y Julieta cigar, bit off the end, spit out the tip and then shuffled around for a match.
Dante extracted his Colibri lighter from his jacket pocket.
Sean grinned in thanks, ignited a steady flame and then rolled the cigar in the bluest part of the fire. "That's what's missing from your life," he said between puffs. "Time for fun . . . and a good woman."
"One in particular or will any do?"
Sean wiggled his eyebrows and rolled off the desk, suddenly interested in the technology around him rather than answering the question Dante had posed. Dante didn't need Sean to point out that his life had been missing much more than time for relaxation and a good woman. He'd been missing Macy, who probably wouldn't fall into anyone's definition of "good" except his own. She was cunning, cool and aloof. If ordered to, she could lie without conscience and kill without regret.
She also loved her family, considered loyalty the most important virtue and would gladly take a bullet to keep an innocent alive.
So much like him. How could he resist her?
Unfortunately, he'd needed a gunshot wound and a brush with cold death to bring the depth of his feelings for her back to the surface after their nine years apart. Ever since Sean had orchestrated Dante's rescue from a drug lord's den, Dante hadn't been as content with the status quo as he'd been since Macy had left. Back then, he'd accepted that his betrayal could not be forgiven, could not be undone—even if his motives had been pure. Then after dying twice on the operating table, he realized that anything was possible.
That's why he'd sought her out when the first report of the terrorists in Russia hit his desk. That's why he'd made sure the Arm bought the Garden District house before T-45 could get its hands on the valuable property. He'd known the agency would send Macy.
His change in attitude was also why he'd made Macy agree to this seduction. He'd decided to prove to her that the love they'd once shared shouldn't have been thrown away—even if he'd royally screwed up. But he certainly didn't need Sean to remind him of the importance of his success.
"Why are you really here, Sean?"
Sean stopped fiddling with a prototype nightscope and turned to Dante. His expression was benign, his stance relaxed, but his eyes flamed with ominous gravity.
"Word on the street is that you're in collusion with T-45."
Dante chuckled. He'd thought he'd been so careful about keeping this operation under wraps, but he couldn't control the other side. And Sean had contacts everywhere, even though he insisted to everyone who would listen that he was out of the spy business for good.
"T-45 and the Arm are working on a cooperative mission, yes."
"You can't trust those guys, Dante. They work for no one but themselves. They're mercenaries."
He thought about Macy, imagined her slipping into her shower right about now to wash the rich, black soil off her skin. She'd grab a quick protein bar from her backpack, then indulge in a power nap until she searched the next room on her agenda—the master suite.
"So you came here to warn me," Dante concluded, pushing the erotic possibilities of tonight's activities from his mind. He'd primed Macy's senses last night with the delicious food and exquisite wines, then slow, sensual dancing that forced their bodies close. But in her eyes, he'd seen the spark of curiosity, interest, even desire. He had successfully whet her appetite for another, more intimate interlude. So tonight, he'd test the true limits of her resistance.
"I only came to check out that club," Sean said, "but thought a friendly warning about our counterparts at T-45 might go a long way. Abercrombie Marshall is a good man, but he can't control all his agents all the time. They work with agendas of their own."
Dante grinned, leaned across the desk and retrieved a cigar for himself. He could only hope Sean's contention was true. Only once Macy realized what she really wanted—and what she was willing to do to get it—would he truly win back her heart.
Macy returned to her bedroom around eight thirty, her vision blurry after her search of the master suite. She'd finally thought she was onto something when she found an odd mathematical pattern embroidered into the fabric of Bogdanov's custom-designed duvet cover. Unfortunately, once she had the numbers identified and sequenced, she realized she recognized the pattern as the combination to his safe, which was no help since the Arm had already unlocked the thing and had rifled through all the contents, none of which proved useful.
What had surprised her about the search was the way the luxurious master suite had grabbed her personal attention. Usually, when she worked a room or even an entire house, she completely disassociated herself with the things inside. She loved fine art and furnishings, but when she was on the job, she rarely noticed much beyond the relevant details. But in the master bedroom today, she'd had a hell of a lot of trouble ignoring the fact that in just a few hours,
Dante would have her at his mercy on that huge, fluffy bed.
Macy locked her bedroom door, knowing Dante could pick the antique device with something as common as a kitchen knife, then stripped down to her lingerie and threw on a robe. She didn't know when he'd call for her, but he had been nice enough this time to send up a meal of cold cheese, fruits and wine to sustain her until he invited her to the next interlude of their seduction. She still couldn't believe he'd done nothing more in the parlor last night than dance her around the room. They'd shared slow, sensuous dances, yes, with amazingly provocative music, but except for smoothing his warm palm down her back or across her shoulder, he'd barely touched her. His chest, however, had been pressed intimately against hers. His subtle, spicy cologne had played havoc with her susceptible senses and the natural heat sizzling off his body had nearly driven her insane. By the end of the hour, the sound of his voice had become enough to entice her thirsty libido.
He'd then kissed the top of her hand so gently before informing her that the night was over, she'd almost thought he was teasing. Which he was—in the most powerful way she'd ever experienced.
Just what did he have in store for her tonight?
When a soft knock sounded on her door, her nipples automatically peaked in an erotic Pavlovian response followed by a warm thrill simmering through her body. She had no idea what she'd experience tonight or what, if anything, he would demand of her. But unlike last night, she was actually eager to find out.
She opened the door, but no one was there. On the door, he'd tacked a flower, a lavender hothouse rose tied with a filmy, iridescent ribbon that curled down to the floor. She couldn't help but detach his invitation to the arboretum and draw the petals to her nose, where she inhaled a powerful scent that nearly weakened her knees.
She found him in the center of the tiny but overflowing room. She shut the French doors behind her, keeping the natural warmth of the atmosphere contained. In her robe, barefoot and holding the rose, she cleared her throat to announce her presence.
He turned around slowly, an inscrutable grin toying with his lips.
"How was your dinner?" he asked.
"Filling," she answered simply.
Through the overflowing ferns and nearly ceiling-high crotons in an array of wild color from gold to green to pink and burgundy, Macy watched Dante grab a towel and innocently dry off his hands. She should have been accustomed to the concentrated smell of the rich and fertile earth all around them, but the assault on her senses once again enticed her.
What did he have in store for her tonight? And more importantly, why was she looking forward to his seduction with such eager interest?
He held out his hand to her. "Last night, I attempted to appeal to your sense of taste and hearing. The delicious food, fine wine, incredible music. Tonight, I'd like to concentrate on your other senses."
A thrill tripped through her bloodstream. As far as Macy was concerned, Dante had hit every sense last night with full force. But if he wanted to work hard at this seduction, who was she to argue? "Like?"
He glanced around the arboretum and inhaled deeply. "Scent, for starters."
Then, they'd head for the bedroom. "And then?"
His smile revealed nothing. "You'll have to wait and see. Anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac, don't you agree?"
He stretched his palm farther toward her and she couldn't resist stepping closer and laying her fingers gently in his hand. He tugged her forward, then stopped—forcing her to walk through a curtain of foliage of her own volition. Clever, clever man. She had to want this seduction. She had to walk in willingly. Little by little, he was altering the atmosphere, changing the rules without really changing a thing. Intrigued, she couldn't stop her curiosity, not even after she spotted the large, claw-footed porcelain tub sitting in the middle of the arboretum, just to the left of the impressive marble fountain.
Steam slithered off the top of the water, adding to the thick humidity of the room. The dim lights, enhanced by two or three strategically placed candles that reminded her of the glittering tapers he'd filled the parlor with the night before, added a romantic ambience that even the coolest woman on earth couldn't ignore. Two days ago, Macy might have considered herself in the running for that designation, but not anymore. Like it or not, Dante had melted through her icy exterior, exposing the woman within.
And judging by the way he filled the tub with a fragrant powder that turned the bath water a milky, opaque pink, he intended for her to expose quite a bit more. And soon.
"What have you here?" she asked. "An indulgence," he replied.
He exchanged the bottle of bath salts for a silver wicker basket overflowing with pink and lavender rose petals, which he scattered over the surface of the water. Macy couldn't help but watch the incongruous scene with boundless curiosity. Even with the light muted and the scents of a hundred flowers buzzing in her head like the bees normally kept outdoors by the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, she couldn't put together the image of Dante drawing a bath for her and the man she'd once known and loved.
