Part 9 (1/2)
Skye woke before dawn. Instantly aware Katrina wasn't with him. He reached out and turned on the lamp on her nightstand just as the bathroom door opened and she came out fully dressed. He sat up slowly, looking at her. She was ready for work, her royal blue silk dress elegant, her fiery hair tamed in a braided coronet. She looked beautiful and controlled and aloof.
”I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” she said.
Even her voice was distant, he thought, and held a hand out to her. She hesitated, then came to the bed and didn't resist when he pulled her down so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed near his hips. He kissed her, holding her tightly in his arms until the faint stiffness left her and she melted against him with a smothered little sound. And when he raised his head at last, her eyes flickered and her lips were parted, softened and slightly swollen.
”Good morning,” he said.
Katrina blinked at him. She felt a little wild for a moment, thinking that a greeting like his could easily make a woman useless for the rest of the day. Then she cleared her throat. ”Good morning. I thought you should rest.”
His lips quirked, and quick laughter gleamed in his eye. ”Oh? Did I give you that Impression?”
Realizing how that had sounded, Katrina flushed and got determinedly to her feet. ”No,” she admitted, her mouth going dry when he cast off the covers and slid from the bed. No matter how many times she saw his muscled body, she always felt an instant sense of surprise and wonder at the stark male beauty of him.
”I don't seem to be very tired,” he decided.
Her gaze lifted hastily to meet his, and she cleared her throat again. ”No,” she agreed.
He tipped her chin up and kissed her again, this time lightly. ”You usually have breakfast in the restaurant, don't you? Walt for me, and I'll go down with you.”
Katrina didn't bother to voice an agreement, knowing he'd take it for granted. She wandered out into the den to wait while he showered and shaved, trying to piece back together the control he had shattered so easily.
So easily...
Six.
”The human element,” Hagen said in disgust, pacing the room and working himself into a fine state.
Gigi, watching with an elbow propped on her desk and her delicate chin resting in her cupped palm, said sympathetically, ”It is most disheartening, I'm sure.”
Disregarding the interpolation, Hagen continued to pace magnificently. ”I knew it the moment he caught sight of her in the lobby. We're on the point of capturing an a.s.sa.s.sin and terrorist who has successfully eluded the combined law enforcement and intelligence agencies of the world for years, and Skye Prescott takes one look at a woman and goes to pieces. A trained, experienced agent, mind you, and a man I would have said could have dispatched Adrian with his bare hands.”
In a reflective and somewhat dissatisfied tone, Gigl offered, ”Not to pieces, not quite that.” She sighed before attempting to redirect Hagen's thoughts. ”You said Skye had found the explosives placed by Adrian, so he is obviously thinking of why you brought him here.”
Hagen wasn't mollified. ”He wasn't thinking at all once he caught sight of your Katrina. Send her away, Gigi!”
”No.”
He stopped pacing, setting his palms on her desk and leaning toward her. In a voice of awful authority he said, ”You must send her away.”
Unimpressed and even a little amused, Gigi retorted, ”It would be better for your blood pressure, Hagen, if you could bring yourself to realize that you do not command me. I will not send Katrina away. And if you were as wise about human nature as you claim to be about virtually everything else, you would know that Skye wouldn't be much good to you if I did.”
Hagen stared at her for a moment, his blue eyes steely. Then he moved to her visitor's chair and sat down, heaving a gusty sigh. ”I suppose not,” he said unexpectedly.
Gigi blinked, then smiled.
Seeing her expression, he said testily, ”I am not such a fool as you seem to believe!”
”I have never thought you a fool,” she said definitely. ”Egotistical, selfish, manipulative, arrogant, secretive, and always ruthless-but never a fool.”
This measured and masterly description of his character brought a gleam to Hagen's eyes. ”And I've never thought you a fool, my dear.”
”No,” she agreed, adding sweetly, ”merely a lump of clay awaiting a molding hand.”
He winced. ”If I ever believed that,” he muttered, ”you rid me of the notion years ago.”
”Not completely.” Her voice was dry. ”You continue to behave, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, as if you can bend me to your will.”
Hagen eyed her speculatively. ”I've never been able to do that, have I, my dear?”
”No. And you never shall.” She watched his face and believed that for the first time he had accepted the truth. She saw something else as well, though no hint of that knowledge showed on her face. Skye, she thought, was not the only hard and capable agent who had allowed a woman to distract him from professional thoughts.
Hagen had forgotten all about Adrian.
The clowns of Fantasyland tended to wander all over the park, so it wasn't very surprising that one of them stood near a docked riverboat in the section called Seafaring Days and talked to an antebellum gambler. But more than one pa.s.sing visitor stifled a laugh, mostly because the happy clown was busy consuming, under the fascinated eye of the gambler, a foot-long hot dog that seemed to have everything on it.
”Want a bite?” she invited cheerfully.
Dane winced. ”Thank you, but no. My mind balks, to say nothing of my stomach. Is that black stuff caviar?”
”Uh-huh.”
”On a hot dog?”
A faintly startled look refused to be hidden beneath her happy clown's makeup. ”That is strange, isn't it? I've been putting it on everything lately.”
Dane's firm mouth twitched. ”A very extravagant craving,” he noted politely.
Her eyes gleamed at him. ”You've got to learn how to be an indulgent husband. After I ordered a jar from room service and put some on waffles, Josh just bought a case of the stuff and put it in the refrigerator in our room. I left him there a little while ago taking care of some business calls, and he didn't say a word when I got a jar out and put it in my money belt.” She indicated the belt meant to hold the proceeds from her balloon sales, explaining, ”I knew the hot dog vendor wouldn't have caviar.”
He watched her finish the hot dog with undiminished enjoyment, shaking his head, then said, ”I hope you'll pardon my inexperience in these matters, but should you be out here in this heat?”
Raven crumpled up her napkin and tossed it accurately into a nearby trash can. Dryly she told him, ”The days of ladies in interesting conditions being waited on hand and foot are long past, pal-though Josh would, if I'd let him. I'm fine, believe me. Aside from my odd cravings, that is.”
”If you say so.”
He seemed a bit doubtful, and Raven couldn't help grinning. She had never in her life been treated like a frail flower, even by Josh, who openly adored her; pregnancy clearly changed all that, and it fascinated her. This ”Interesting condition” of hers was giving her a whole new perspective on the mysterious Instincts of the male, and she was enjoying it. Being Raven, she explored the matter curiously.
”I realize that impending fatherhood must be as unnerving as impending motherhood,” she said to Dane, ”but what is it that makes you men go all to pieces about it? Josh was fine when we first found out, but the next morning at breakfast he suddenly went white as a sheet. He said it had just hit him.”
Dane eyed her thoughtfully. ”I can't speak from experience, but I think that unnerving is the wrong word. Terrifying is probably closer to the mark.”
Raven considered that. ”Well, I'll admit that parenthood is a scary proposition. But you men-all of you, not just my darling husband-look at a pregnant women with the most amazing fascination.”
”We can't do it, you see,” Dane explained gravely.