Page 22 of Craved

With I sigh, I close my eyes, steeling myself against the inevitable. Then I turn around, and speak to the darkness. “Did you decide to join me on this trip down Memory Lane?”

For a moment, I see nothing. Just the shadows dancing as a few cars pass by. I’m almost convinced that I’d only imagined him when he emerges like a sorcerer from a shadow cast by a delivery truck.

Maxim.

The man I’d once loved. He’s older now, of course, but the years have only enhanced his exceptional looks. That face I’d loved so much has lost some of the roundness of youth. Now it looks to have been chiseled from stone, brought forth by an artist of exceptional ability. His body is still long and lean, but he holds himself now with the bearing of a man and, damn me, I feel myself tighten with a longing I have no desire to feel. But my traitorous body has other plans, and I give in to temptation and let my gaze roam over him, soaking in what used to be mine, and what I no longer want to crave.

I’d only seen him in a suit a few times, but before it had almost been as a child playing dress-up. Now, it seems like a part of him. A man who believes in his own value, and who would look just as powerful and put together in nothing more formal than jeans and a T-shirt.

But it’s his eyes that do me in. Those sky-blue eyes that always seemed to see straight into my soul. What, I wonder, are they seeing now?

As if in answer, he takes a step toward me. “I think I must be a masochist,” he says. “Soaking up these memories. It’s like drawing acid into my veins.”

“Good. I hope it burns.” I allow myself one tight smile. “And thank you.”

His brow furrows. “For what?”

“For showing me who you really are. You ripped the bandage off back then. It just about killed me, but that was better than the alternative.” I take a step toward him. “Imagine how stupid I’d feel right now if I still believed you’d ever loved me.”

Though it’s probably a trick of the light, I think he actually winces at my words. But all he says is, “You called me. Why?”

I let my eyes roam over him. Toe to head, head to toe. “We made a good team back in the day, didn’t we?”

He slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “We did.”

“I think we can again.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “I’m listening.”

“Not now. Meet me in the bar at my hotel in an hour. We can talk there.”

“You haven’t told me which hotel.”

I flash him my sweetest smile. “Sugar, if you can’t figure that out, then you aren’t even close to good enough for me.” And then, even though I know he’s dangerous, I turn my back on him, and I walk away.

Chapter Eleven

The charming little bar off the lobby of my hotel does a brisk business, and I can only assume that it’s a hangout for folks who live and work in the area. I tried to get a stool at the actual bar, but all the seats were taken, so I’m standing near a stone column, sipping club soda and deflecting interest from several of the men who pass by.

I’d popped up to my room to change, and apparently the sleeveless top, body-hugging skirt, and fuck-me-heels were the right choice for catching a man’s eye. But it’s not these random bar-goers I’m interested in catching. I want Maxim to see me at my best, not in the jeans and tee I’d worn to wander the streets.

I need him to trust me. And maybe it’s a cliche, but I’m more than willing to use sex to get what I want.

And my deep, dark secret? I’m actually looking forward to that whole Sex For The Mission thing. He may be an evil, scum-sucking creep who I’ll never forgive for ghosting me, but I can’t deny the twinge of arousal that seeing him earlier shot through me. The way my pulse had quickened when I became certain he was tailing me. The way my memory became a physical thing, all touches and caresses, lips and hands. On the one hand, I despise the way my body had reacted. But more than that, I want him to fully understand what he walked away from. I’d been a girl when he left. I’m a woman now. And I want him to regret the hell out of leaving me.

Still, it’s not payback or emotional castration that’s truly running this show. That’s just a bonus. Right now, all I need is for him to get his ass to this bar so I can start the work of worming myself into Killion Lambert’s operation.

Frustrated, I check my watch again. I’d told him one hour, and it’s five minutes past that.

He’s ghosting you.

The possibility makes me anxious. All we know is that Killion Lambert is planning to deploy a weapon, and he’s using the water treatment plant project as cover. But as for details, we know nothing. Not what his timetable is, not the nature of the weapon, not even if the water treatment plant is part of the delivery method, or merely acted as a cover during the manufacture of the device.

For all we know, it’s nothing more than a functioning water treatment plant, and has been a red herring all along.

Since the only way to get that information is to get close to Maxim, this entire mission is riding on me. But it’s not just about a mission. It’s about lives. One or a million or even more—we don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. If Killion Lambert takes even one innocent life it’s too many.

I can’t let that happen. But unless and until I come up with a Plan B, my access point to Lambert is through Maxim. And if he doesn’t show up, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.