The Makeover Mission. Mary Buckham
now even less separating her sleeping quarters from the enigmatic major’s. Sort of like a lamb lying next to the lion’s cage, only with removable bars, she thought, reaching for the door handle and turning it.
“It’s locked.”
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words aloud until Ekaterina replied, “Yes, the lock is on the major’s side.”
“And do I have a lock on this side?”
The young woman shrugged. “I know of no key, but I will check if you wish.”
“There’s no need.”
Jane whirled at the sound of the dark voice behind her, felt the triple-time pounding of her heart before she registered it was McConneghy who had spoken. He dominated the now-open doorway connecting the two rooms, either in response to her rattling of the door handle, or on his own agenda.
“Speak of the devil, Major,” she said, aware of the intensity of his gaze on hers, and of how his presence dominated the room even though he remained on the threshold. “I was just wondering about a key for this door. I know I would feel much more secure.” She made sure he heard the stress on the last word. “If I knew where it was.”
“I have it.” He nodded to the maid. “You may leave us now and finish unpacking mademoiselle’s luggage while we’re at dinner.”
Jane waited until Ekaterina closed the door behind her before she spoke. “That’s pretty presumptuous and arrogant—” she began, only to be cut off as McConneghy strode into the room, closing the door as he moved.
“It’s a security issue.” He ignored where she stood as he walked through the room, looking high and low. “I need to have access to protect you. You don’t.”
“Don’t what?” She could feel the anger start to simmer inside her. Never a fan of high-handed tactics, she was even less inclined to ignore them after the day she’d already been though.
He peered beneath the lampshade on the bedside table and picked up the phone receiver. “You don’t need to access my room, thus you don’t need a key.”
“I don’t want a key to access your room,” she wanted to choke on the words. “I want one to make sure you don’t access mine.”
He spared her a glance. Quick, appraising and heated.
“I can assure you the only reason I’d use that key was if your life was in danger.”
And just what did he mean by that two-edged comment? she wanted to know, and was afraid to ask. Especially as he crossed to tower in front of her, the strength and size of him making her feel all the more vulnerable.
She checked the urge to step back and stepped forward instead. Something the old Jane Richards, the one who went to bed a librarian and expected to wake up a librarian, would never have done.
With a finger sharpened by frustration and something more, she stabbed his chest, knowing it was about as effective as howling at the moon. “Listen here, Major, if you think I can’t control my primitive urges—”
“Primitive urges?”
She heard the laughter in his voice and ignored it. Easier to do if she kept her gaze level with his chest. “Yes, primitive urges. If you think I can’t, then you’re beyond idiotic. Not that a man who came up with this whole hare-brained scheme—”
“Mission.”
“Hare-brained mission would know the difference between reality and fantasy.”
“Oh?” His tone snapped her gaze to his. A mistake, a big mistake she realized—too late.
There was something in his look, in the flare of his nostrils, in the tightening of the skin across his cheek bones that warned her they’d strayed far from the point she wanted to make.
The mountain breeze cooling the room only moments ago disappeared. It was the only explanation as to why it suddenly seemed harder to breath, the air thicker, heavier, her skin too sensitive, feeling goose bumps where there should be none, aware of the abrasion of her dress across her nipples.
The shifting of his gaze told her he’d noticed.
“You were saying?” His look dared her to jump deeper into the waters already threatening to take her under.
“I…I can’t remember,” she admitted truthfully, aware it gave him an advantage.
Yet, as if she’d thrown a switch, his expression changed, became banked, distant. He mentally and emotionally retreated from whatever brink they’d both teetered on.
“Everything I do is for your protection and the protection of this mission.” She wondered which of the two protections took priority in his mind. “I give the orders. You obey them. Clear?”
As glass, she wanted to respond, but found the words stuck somewhere in her throat. She nodded instead, too worn out to fight this man on so many levels at the same time. Whatever had just happened between them had been a mistake. Her head relayed the message, his actions rein-forced it, but it wasn’t going to be easy to forget that for a few seconds at least, the world had slipped out of orbit.
“I’ll have your maid show you the way to the dining room for dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, then stopped. “Fine. I’ll have a tray sent up later. Tomorrow she can show you the way to the dining area.”
“It’s all right, I’m sure I can find my own way.”
She heard the sharpness in her tone. It was a tone she’d never have used in her own world. She’d been taught to be better than that, gentler, more willing to please others.
“The maid will show you the way.” Either he didn’t hear her response, or chose to ignore it. Then before she could say more he added, “It’s for your safety.”
That’s right, they wouldn’t want to lose their pigeon at this point, she thought wryly. Her expression must have given her away, for he shrugged his shoulders and turned.
“I’d recommend you retire early this evening. We have a full agenda tomorrow.”
The man could burst bubbles quicker than a pin in a balloon shop. So they were back to dictator and minion. There was no time for a snappy comeback before the connecting door snicked shut behind his silent departure.
At least she had all night to pull herself together. Enough time, she hoped, to resurrect her defenses and to remember, all too vividly, the major’s words from earlier that day. His directive to trust no one. Including himself. Especially him.
Lucius wondered if he’d lost his mind. What else could account for the few moments when he’d stood over Jane and no longer thought of her as a pawn in a dangerous mission? He’d forgotten everything except for the way her dark eyes flashed fire, her ridiculous phrase about primitive urges and the white-hot stab of lust slicing through him like an inferno sweeping across dry timber.
He’d been an operative long enough to know that desire and adrenaline were twin cousins under tense situations. But that knowledge had deserted him without a qualm, to be replaced by other knowledge. The certainty that, if he’d pushed moments ago, he’d not be standing, still breathing heavily, on one side of a two-foot thick wall right now, with her on the other side.
He’d seen it in her gaze, anger giving way to wariness, wariness slipping into desire, a heartbeat away from capitulation. He’d registered the way her breath hitched a notch, her pulse escalated in the hollow of her throat. One step, one minor movement forward and he’d know if she responded with the same lightning quickness he’d observed in her thought process, if she tasted as sweet as she looked.
And it was that thought that had stopped him cold. Days ago he’d never have met Jane Richards, their paths would never have crossed, their destinies never