Aim for the Heart. Ingrid Weaver
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ease away, he pressed her fingers to his sleeve and trapped her wrist against his ribs. Beneath his jacket, his arm was corded steel.
She did a rapid survey of the area, momentarily concerned she had missed some other potential threat, but everything appeared clear. She tipped up her chin to look at him.
It was the first time she’d regarded him directly since the incident had begun. His lips were thinned and his jaw was clenched. The corner of one eye twitched. He dipped his head close to her ear. “This afternoon I wondered whether you were suicidal or just plain crazy,” he muttered. “Now I know you’re both. Don’t move.”
Before she could respond, Hawk released her and stepped forward to shake the prince’s hand. “Jibril, it’s good to see you.”
The prince clasped Hawk’s shoulder. “And you too, Hawkins. How long has it been? Ten years?”
“Fourteen.” He drew back and grasped Jibril’s arm. “You have my deepest apologies for the mix-up. This wasn’t the greeting I would have hoped for.”
“Think nothing of it, my friend. It was rather entertaining. A novel experience.”
“You’re gracious, as always, Jibril.”
The first of the hotel security guards arrived then. Sarah still didn’t like the situation, but she decided matters were under control, now that they were no longer hidden from view. Even a man as powerful as the Moukim crown prince wouldn’t attempt anything overtly hostile in such a public place. She explained to the security staff that it was a false alarm and thanked them for their concern, yet she didn’t relax for an instant.
The glares she was receiving from Jibril’s palace guard were making the hair at the back of her neck tingle. By besting them, however fleetingly, she had not only hurt their male egos, she’d damaged their professional pride. She knew the military mind-set. This insult would not be forgotten.
But it was the emotions she saw when she met Hawk’s gaze that could present a bigger problem.
The danger was far from over. It was only beginning.
Hawk paced across the sitting room, but the suite was too small. He yanked off his tie, balled it in his fist and threw it on the floor, then pivoted and paced to the door. What he really needed was a good, long run to clear his head. Work off the restlessness, the frustration, the fear.
Yes, fear. That was at the root of his anger.
Sarah could have been killed. Any one of Jibril’s guards could have snapped that beautiful neck of hers with one blow. It was a miracle that she had escaped the situation unscathed.
She was an idiot. A madwoman. She’d risked her life unnecessarily because she’d thought she was saving his.
Again.
He hadn’t anticipated this when he’d decided to keep her. He should have thought it through instead of being swayed by the chemistry that was going on between them. Whether the threat to his life was real or not, Sarah was managing to place herself in danger simply because she was so determined to do her job.
Whatever that was.
Damn! He turned away from the door and strode to the sofa. He couldn’t go for a run. He had given Sarah his word that he would remain here. He wasn’t going to add lies of his own to the mix. And who knew what Sarah would do if she came out of the bathroom and found him gone? Would she follow him? Or would she take advantage of the opportunity to hack into his computer?
He peeled off his jacket and looked at the bedroom doorway. Just how dedicated a soldier was she? Could she really have accosted Moukim royalty merely to reinforce her cover story? If so, she’d been a brilliant performer. A true method actor. She’d been completely convincing, from her fighter’s stance to her coolly assessing gaze. And then there had been the way she’d kicked aside her skirt with no regard to modesty.
He dropped his jacket on the back of the sofa. He rubbed his face, forcing himself to take deep breaths. What was wrong with him? The standoff he’d witnessed tonight could have ended in tragedy if Jibril hadn’t decided to defuse the situation, so how could Hawk think of Sarah’s legs?
Yet the image of all that bare skin wouldn’t go away. It had been burned into his memory: delicate ankles, slender calves, taut thighs…with two wide bands of black elastic circling the right one to hold her holster in place. And before her skirt had settled, there had been a glimpse of pale peach lace where her thighs met.
Her underwear was peach-colored lace. Nothing practical or serviceable about that. It was the choice of the woman, not the soldier.
His gaze returned to the bedroom doorway. He heard the flush of the toilet, followed by the sound of running water. He was struck by the intimacy of their situation. Despite the background facts that both of them had dug up, they were still virtual strangers, yet Sarah showed no uneasiness about sharing accommodations with him.
Hawk’s gaze dropped to the cot she had set up. She had placed it between the bedroom and the door of the suite, as if she intended to protect him even while she slept…or give the impression that she protected him.
“I’m finished now. Thank you for waiting.”
He hadn’t heard her approach. She was standing in the doorway. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, her hair was a cascade of loose curls around her shoulders. The dress she had worn tonight was draped over her arm in a fall of shimmering ice blue. In its place she wore an olive-green T-shirt and a pair of plaid flannel drawstring pants.
She wasn’t dressed for seduction, she was dressed for bed. Yet the sight of her sent Hawk’s pulse racing. Why was that? Was it the challenge she presented? Or was it because she seemed oblivious to the effect of her appearance? Her lack of vanity was as attractive as the self-assurance she displayed, her take-it-or-leave-it attitude. It arose from that confidence in her femininity he’d noticed the first time she had caught him looking at her body.
The anger he’d been struggling to control shifted. He no longer wanted to grab her and shake her for putting herself in danger. He wanted to kiss her.
He clamped his hands on the back of the sofa. “Sarah, we have to talk.”
“I agree, Dr. Lemay.” She carried her dress to the wardrobe and hung it up beside her coat. Her breasts swayed beneath the T-shirt as she raised her arms. “We need to discuss some ground rules.”
He dug his fingers into the upholstery. “Good. We can’t have a repeat of what happened this evening.”
“Exactly. In the future, I’ll need to know the details of any meetings you arrange.”
“Why? So you can report on them?”
“No, so I can assess the risk and suggest an alternate arrangement.” She took a brush from the bottom of the wardrobe and went over to sit cross-legged in the center of her cot. “I’ll fax a written apology to Prince Jibril tomorrow, but the incident could have been avoided if you had told me you had gone to the reception specifically to meet him.”
She really didn’t give an inch, he thought. And she was right—he had attended the reception in order to meet Jibril. “Sarah, the incident happened because you overreacted. You were jumping at another mop handle.”
“The prince was trying to abduct you, sir.”
“That’s not true. You heard what he said.”
“Precisely.” She tipped her head sideways and ran the brush through her hair from the roots to the tips. “I heard and understood every word he said. I speak Arabic.”
The revelation shouldn’t have surprised him. She had already demonstrated her gift for languages. “And?”
“He lied to you. He didn’t tell his men to escort you to a quieter place. He told them to keep you quiet and get you outside.”
“The two versions sound close. You could have made a mistake with the translation.”