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Why, she wondered, was she letting him affect her like this? She’d met him once. Only once. In Atlanta, where he had helped steal the prize she had sought for so long. Orion’s head.
Where he had kissed her. Where he had touched her as though he knew her and her body had responded with a familiarity that made very little sense.
Turning away from the window, she shook her head as she drew the thick, heavy robe from the chair next to her bed and drew it over the silk nightshirt she slept in.
She didn’t have time to sit here waiting on a man who might or might not show up. A man she should pray never showed up. He could only be here for one reason, and that reason wasn’t her. He was here to steal the prize again.
Grinning at the thought, she left her bedroom and descended the winding staircase of the huge cabin-style mansion her parents had had built more than thirty years ago.
She had returned here a year ago and begun the very subtle game of drawing Warbucks into her own little web. Her life had been secured time and again by Warbucks for only one possible reason. The Serborne fortune. Now that she had revealed her disenchantment with her country, once she had proven it by looking the other way when several military items had been compromised at a Serborne research facility, she knew she was close.
Stepping into the foyer, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her robe and gave a soft sigh before turning and heading to the kitchen at the back of the house.
Entering the kitchen, she inhaled the scent of fresh coffee before moving to the coffeepot and taking a cup from the cupboard. Filling it with the aromatic brew, Bailey went to the breakfast nook, sat down in one of the opulently cushioned chairs, and stared outside the wide picture windows that surrounded it.
She knew he would be here this morning. Glancing at the watch on her wrist, she lifted the cup to her lips and sipped as she cast her gaze outside once again.
A shadow moved.
Bailey pretended she didn’t see it as she hid her smile behind the cup. It could be someone other than John Vincent, she told herself, but she doubted it. Only John sent this quicksilver punch of excitement rioting through her veins.
She watched the shadow shift again outside, this time closer to the house. Rising to her feet, she poured another cup of coffee and moved it to the table as those first fragile rays of sunlight lightened the snow-laden trees and evergreen shrubs that filled the property.
The mountain was beautiful in the winter. The snowy blanket looked pristine and untouched as it piled around the pine trees that surrounded the house.
There were bare spots beneath the trees, and if she wasn’t mistaken her shadowy visitor was using those bare spots to slip up to the house without leaving evidence of his visit.
She would have done the same thing. She’d actually helped her mother to plant some of the trees in the back when she had been a teenager. At the time, Bailey had been fascinated by the subject of slipping around undetected. Several of the trees had been planted with the idea of giving her an easy, untraceable route.
She’d left before she could try it, and now she watched as John used it instead, moving steadily to the patio and the French doors that were unlocked and awaiting his arrival.
She watched as the doorknob turned slowly, the door opened, and John stepped inside.
She was caught anew by the shock of primal awareness that surged through her at the sight of him. The dark blond hair that fell roguishly around his face. The high, almost flat arch of his cheekbones, his expressive dark gray eyes. The strong bridge of his nose.
“Coffee?” She arched a brow as he flashed her a quick, devilish grin and pulled off his leather gloves and ultra-thin protective jacket.
“It’s a bit cold out there.” He closed the door, locking it carefully behind him as he stared around the breakfast room and the kitchen.
“We’re alone,” she assured him as she indicated the coffee. “Have a seat, Mr. Vincent, and tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you for trespassing.”
She slid her Glock from the pocket of her robe and laid it casually on the glass-topped breakfast table beside her coffee.
His brow arched in am
usement as he glanced at the weapon before moving to the table.
Bailey pushed out the opposite chair with her foot and waved her hand toward it.
“At least you’re going to allow me a cup of coffee before actually shooting me,” he said, chuckling. “How would you explain that to the authorities?”
“Explain what?” she asked with a shrug. “I’d simply hide the body. I wouldn’t have to explain anything.”
The dark, low laugh that vibrated in his throat sent a rush of sensation chasing up her spine. Damn him, she should shoot him for that alone.
“I knew you’d be trouble when I first saw you in Atlanta,” he told her as he wrapped one hand around the coffee cup and brought it to his lips. “Pure fire wrapped in the sexiest package I’ve ever glimpsed.”
She grunted at that as she leaned back in her chair and watched him cynically. He was definitely charming. Something about his smile, the movement of his body, invited a woman to trust him, to lean into him. She knew better than to trust or to lean into anyone.
