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“One more word,” Hamilton hissed, “and you’ll sign his death warrant.”
It didn’t matter. Her pathetic attempt at warning Matthew that Hamilton had forced her to go with him was a failure. Matthew had already turned his back and walked to the far end of the deck.
He was lost to her, forever.
The colonel half-dragged her around the house, to where his car and driver waited. Once there, he bound her hands and shoved her into the back seat, then got in beside her.
The driver gunned the engine and the car sped up the road.
Mia craned her neck, trying to see out the rear window.
“The men with you,” she said desperately. “Call them off.”
Hamilton chuckled. “Wasn’t that an excellent story? I’m delighted you believed it.” He leaned close to her. “I can hardly wait to get you home again, dear girl. What fun we’re going to have together.”
She didn’t think. She acted, and spat full into his face. Hamilton snarled and backhanded her across the mouth but it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered, now.
Nothing ever would, without Matthew.
The sound of the car engine faded and silence returned to the forest.
Matthew stood on the deck, unmoving, staring into the dark night while he cursed himself. And Hamilton. And the government…
And Mia.
How could he have been such a fool?
He knew how easily a man could misjudge things when he was operating under stress, how simply he could be diverted from the truth.
There were endless tricks of the trade in covert ops. Lies, fabrications, miscues. Double agents, men who’d look you in the eye and swear they were telling the truth.
Women schooled in the art of deceit. The art of the honey trap.
He clenched his fists. How could he have been such an easy target? He’d gone after Mia knowing exactly what she was but somehow or other, that reality had slipped his mind.
She was innocent, she’d said. And, pow, just like that, he’d believed her. She hadn’t had to try very hard to convince him.
A few passionate kisses—a few nights in his bed, he thought coldly—and he’d done the convincing all by himself.
If there was any small comfort in all of this, it was that he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself tonight. What if he’d told her that he loved her? Just imagine if he’d stood on this deck, taken her in his arms and said, Mia, I love you.
Except, he wouldn’t have done that.
He’d have come to his senses in plenty of time because the truth was, he didn’t love her and never had. Thinking he loved her had been a lie he’d told himself.
Maybe it had to do with the way they’d met. He as the hunter, she as his prey. There was something sexy in that, wasn’t there?
Or maybe it was the way she’d trembled in his arms. How she’d lifted her face to his when he kissed her…
Matthew gripped the deck railing.
What the hell did it matter? It was over. Done. Finished, and to hell with standing around feeling sorry for himself.
He spun on his heel, went into the house, picked up the pair of Baccarat brandy snifters and went to the sideboard.
What he’d felt for Mia was lust. Lust…
