Chapter Three

      “Will you marry me, Celia?”

      She lay in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, and the past wouldn’t stop haunting her.

      “Don’t tease, Sully. When you say that to a woman, she might just take you up on the offer.” They’d been in Vegas. Bright lights. Slot machines. Parties that didn’t stop.

      The champagne hadn’t stopped, either.

      But she hadn’t been drunk. She couldn’t pretend that she had. Sully...

      “I’m not teasing.” His handsome face had been dead serious. That wonderful square jaw of his had been hard with determination. His green gaze had seemed to see straight into her soul. “I want to be with you, C. Tonight and always. Marry me?”

      Her hold tightened on the covers. There were no rings on her fingers—not any rings at all. But he’d given her one that night. When they’d pulled up at that little chapel. When she’d been almost delirious with happiness. When she hadn’t been able to stop smiling.

      “I love you.” Her words, to him. She should have known, even then, that it wouldn’t work. Because Sullivan hadn’t told her that he loved her. He’d held that part back. He’d kissed her wildly. Made love to her endlessly that night. But...

      But did he ever love me?

      She wasn’t sure that he had.

      And now she was in his home. In his spare bedroom. And she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

      “This isn’t working.” The sound of her own voice was jarring, but maybe she needed to be jarred. Because for her to just agree to stay with him—how wrong was that? She knew exactly how bad the guy was for her. She’d gone to his office because—yes, she actually had planned to use him. He had connections in Mexico, and she’d intended to call in her favor when she slipped over the border. She hadn’t planned to wind up in Sullivan’s bed.

      Celia dressed as quickly as she could. As soon as she was gone, her first order of business would be finding new clothes. Maybe changing her hair again. Red was actually her natural color, but by the time she cleared the border, she intended to be a brunette. Maybe a brunette with green eyes? It’d be easy to pick up some contacts and then she’d nearly be a new person.

      Again.

      She tiptoed into the hallway. Celia figured she’d been in the guest room for nearly an hour, maybe two, tossing and turning and replaying her past too many times. Sullivan would be asleep by now, and she’d sneak out of his house as quickly and easily as she’d slipped in. But maybe she’d leave the guy a note, telling him that he really needed to install a few new security measures. The setup was good, but not good enough and—

      “Celia.”

      She froze in front of his open bedroom door. He’d spotted her. It wasn’t pitch-black in the hallway. Light spilled in from the den, illuminating the narrow corridor. She turned her head and stepped toward his room, her movements still soundless. She started to speak.

      “Celia, don’t go.”

      Words froze in her throat.

      He sounded so desperate. When had Sullivan ever been desperate? She inched closer, her chest seeming to burn, and then—

      Moonlight spilled through his blinds, revealing his form in that big, sprawling bed. Sullivan’s muscular chest was bare, and the sheets were tangled around his hips. He was rolling a bit in the bed, and his eyes were closed.

      Surprise held her motionless.

      Sullivan had picked up a few habits since they’d last been together. It seemed that he now talked in his sleep. And he dreamed about...her.

      A low warmth bloomed in her belly.

      She found herself stepping toward him. The floor creaked beneath her feet. Celia froze, but it was too late.

      So much for being quiet.

      Sullivan instantly shot up in bed.

      “Sully—”

      In an instant he had his hands on her. She could have escaped his hold. Could have fought and had him tumbling back, but she didn’t. He caught her in his arms and pinned her between his body and the door frame.

      “Celia?” His hands slid over her. “What is it? What’s happening?”

      Oh, just the usual. I was sneaking away in the middle of the night. She wet her lips and tried to figure out a nice excuse that might work. And one that just might not make her seem like the coward she was.

      He wasn’t holding her prisoner any longer, not now that recognition and consciousness had hit him fully. In fact, he’d backed up a bit so that his body wasn’t touching hers at all. But he was still there, a strong, immovable object in her path, and the heat from his body seemed to wrap around her. Her hand lifted and her fingers slid over his chest.

      She hadn’t meant to touch him...had she?

      He called for me in his sleep.

      Her fingers trailed over his chest, and she felt the raised marks on his skin. “You didn’t have these scars before.” She knew she was touching scars. In her business, you could always recognize them. Carefully now, she slid her hand down and felt more scars along his ribs. Another near his stomach. Another—

      His hand locked around her wrist. “Be careful just how far you go.” In the darkened room, his eyes glittered at her.

      She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Did you get those scars when you were captured?” The last mission he’d worked with the CIA. The mission that had changed everything.

      Traitors had been revealed. Loyalties had been tested. And when the blood and dust finally cleared, he’d left her.

      And she’d picked up the pieces and carried on.

      “My captors wanted information.” His voice was a hard growl, but his fingers were lightly stroking the inside of her wrist. Could he feel her skyrocketing pulse? “They were real interested in learning everything they could about the Special Activities Division.”

      “I didn’t betray you.” Hadn’t she told him that before? When she’d finally gotten him on the phone after that brutal mission. He’d refused to see her when she tried to visit him at the hospital. Mac had gruffly turned her away, but she’d finally gotten Sullivan on the phone and—

      It’s over, Celia.

      Her eyes closed. Her cheeks burned. “Why couldn’t you have trusted me?”

      “Because I’d spent seven days in a hellhole. They’d sliced me open. They’d nearly killed me—again and again—and all the while, they kept telling me things that only you should