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“Almost twenty-one-year-old daughter of politicians who named me after a princess as if that’d somehow make me one.”
He laughed again.
“I can see the headlines now,” I went on, deflecting from the flash of embarrassment cutting through me. At least it sent fear to the backseat. Fear, always the worst backseat driver, so my dad liked to say. “Hero fails to save the ambassador’s daughter after she triggers his awkward sense of humor with her own, sending them crashing through the floor.”
“My sense of humor is perfectly on point.” He fake-grunted. “Speak for yourself, kid.”
Kid. Ugh, I’d rather be ma’am’ed. “You really are pretty slick at the whole keeping-me-sane and helping-me-forget-the-‘I’m on death’s doorstep’ thing.” I went to lower the sweater from my face, but he lightly shook his head, a directive to keep it up. “Or in the hands of the devil. Of course, the devil was an angel before he fell. But I get the feeling you’re?—”
“About to become your second-favorite guy, because my teammate is about to extract us, and he’ll be your new hero.”
“Wait, really?” My sweater fell, and I choked on some of the disgusting air.
He lowered his mask, revealing his lips. Lips I’d love to kiss as a thank-you.
“The embassy is secure from enemy fire. Our EOD man confirmed there are no more explosives inside. They’re thirty seconds out from rescuing us,” he said, presumably relaying whatever had been told to him over his earpiece.
“Mm. Well, I suppose you can be my second-favorite, not-just-a-door-kicker-but-humorous, Delta Force–operator hero.” That was a mouthful.
As the seconds ticked by while we awaited our rescue, he began smiling again, and it did something funny to my insides. Made me warm. Feel like I was bathed in the light of an angel, and definitely not in the hands of the devil.
“What are you thinking?” I couldn’t help but ask him.
His smile reached his eyes, and I could actually see his face, light finally shining on us from somewhere and eliminating the shadows that had surrounded him.
“Just happy to have a hand in saving the girl who plans to one day save the world.”
3
CARTER
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
There were too many people at my wife’s holiday party. One short of two dozen to be exact. Unfortunately, Griffin hadn’t been one of the guests, so I had no one there I wanted to talk to other than my wife. And Rebecca was busy entertaining people—from dignitaries to dipshits.
One thing was for certain, she was in her element as Rebecca Barclay of the Barclay billionaires, not Rebecca Dominick. Not the wife of a guy who made less in a year than she made in a day. That was probably being generous. She more than likely topped my yearly salary in an hour.
At the sight of more people crowding in from the private elevator, I decided to bail for a few minutes to get some air.
It was starting to snow and arctic cold out, so I put on my coat and took the back steps to the rooftop terrace overlooking Fifth and Madison. Given the less than accommodating weather, I’d thought I’d have the terrace to myself. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one willing to brave the elements for a momentary escape.
The woman had her back to me. Blonde hair pinned up. A long wool coat wrapped around her small form. Eyes either shut or taking in the view of the city.
I didn’t remember meeting her downstairs, but maybe she’d come in while I’d been pouring myself a scotch from my private stash hidden in my wife’s office.
I contemplated finding somewhere else to have that minute alone I needed since I could only do so much fake smiling and handshaking without losing it. My skin was practically on fire, though, so the snowflakes and cold air were essential.
“Excuse me.” Maybe I could get her to go. She turned slowly, lifting her hands from her jacket pockets, then startled back. Damn—please don’t fall over the railing. And, fuck, was that . . . Diana? “Careful.” Worried she might fall fifty stories, I quickly joined her at the edge of the rooftop.
“You,” she mouthed, the word soft and barely audible. Her eyelashes fluttered in shock. “It is you, isn’t it? Your beard is gone, but . . .”
Why couldn’t I hide the smile that managed to sneak up on me? The woman was staring at me, starstruck. Like I was some celebrity. It was cute.
After Griffin had rescued us that day at the embassy, I’d barely had a chance to say goodbye to Diana—never even saw the ambassador. My team had been rushed away from the scene, so the media didn’t get eyes on us.
“It’s me,” I finally answered, getting out of my head. “Rebecca invited your mother to the party, I assume?” I hadn’t seen her down there, but why in God’s name would Rebecca do that? I wasn’t allowed to tell my wife classified details about certain operations, and she had no idea I’d been in Abu Dhabi last month. I didn’t bother to tell her I’d been part of the rescue team at the embassy, and she hadn’t asked. Hell, why would she? She’d believed I’d been in Africa at the time of the terrorist attack. So Diana and her mother weren’t at the party because of me.
“Wait, you know Rebecca Dominick?” She shook her head. “Of course you do, or you wouldn’t be here.” But then her eyes went wide. “Dom . . . inick. You’re Carter Dominick?”
