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She should have known he’d be the one laughing. Smiling, she propped her chin in her palm. “Anything else risky?”
He settled in the chair closest to her and stretched out his legs, propping his feet on the coffee table. “Let’s see. Right after that is when Amy and I started going together, and I was faithful to her from day one until we got divorced. I’ve had a few close friends since then, relationships lasting from a couple of months to two years, but nothing casual. I’ve mostly been in places where there was no wild nightlife, unless you count the four-legged kind. Whenever I was in a civilized area, I didn’t want to spend my time nightclubbing.”
“For someone who’s been in the wilds most of his adult life, you’re very sophisticated,” she murmured, suddenly uneasy as that discordant detail registered with her. She should have noticed before, but she wasn’t greatly alarmed because she knew his weapon was in his duffel in the closet—and hers wasn’t.
“Because I speak French and stay in luxury hotels? I stay in places like this when I can, because there’ve been times when all I had between me and the sky was air. I like driving fancy cars because sometimes I’ve had to get around on horseback—and that’s assuming there were even horses.”
“I wouldn’t think French was very common in South America, though.”
“You’d be surprised. I learned most of it from a French expatriate in Colombia. Now, my Spanish is much better than my French, and I also speak Portuguese, plus a smattering of German.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Mercenaries are a polyglot group by necessity.”
He’d never actually come right out before and said he was a mercenary, though of course she’d understood he was either that or something close to it. People hired him to make things happen was what he’d said, and she hadn’t for one minute thought he was talking about corporate takeovers. Her uneasiness faded; of course he would speak several languages.
“Being married to you must have been hell,” she said, thinking of his ex-wife at home with two little kids, not knowing where he was or what he was doing, if he’d ever return or die in some remote region and his body never be found.
“Thanks a lot,” he said, starting to grin. His blue eyes twinkled at her. “I’m a lot of fun when I’m around, though.”
There was no doubt about that. On impulse she got up and deposited herself on his lap, slipping her hand inside the collar of his shirt and cupping the back of his neck as she leaned into him. His skin was warm, his neck hard with muscle. He supported her with his left arm behind her back, while his right hand immediately began stroking her thigh and hip. She kissed the underside of his jaw, feeling the stubble of his beard rough against her lips and inhaling his scent, man mixed with the faint remnants of the aftershave he’d used that morning.
“What’s this for?” he asked, though he didn’t wait for the answer before giving her one of those slow, deep kisses that made her feel as if her bones were melting.
“For being a lot of fun,” she murmured when he lifted his mouth; then she went back for seconds. His lips were more forceful this time, his tongue more demanding. His hand shaped her waist, slid under her shirt and up to her breasts. She caught her breath as he pushed her bra up and molded her bare breast with his palm. His hand was hot on her cool skin, his thumb gentle on her nipple.
She pulled her mouth free and took a deep breath, burying her face against his throat as warm pleasure began tightening her loins. She hadn’t felt desire in such a long time that she had forgotten how it slowly unfurled, spreading throughout her body, making her skin ultrasensitive, so that she wanted to rub against him like a cat.
She wanted him to hurry, to get
the awkward first time over with so she could relax, but for all his love of speed, hurrying didn’t seem to be on his agenda tonight. He stroked her breasts until they were so sensitive the sensation bordered on pain; then he tugged her bra back into place and hugged her tightly to him. She knew he was aroused; either that, or he had a backup pistol shoved in his pocket, a big ten-round forty-five caliber from the feel of it. But he eased her back, kissed the tip of her nose, and said, “There’s no hurry, we’ll eat dinner, relax for a while. It won’t kill me to wait.”
“No, but me it might,” she snapped, sitting up and glaring at him.
His mouth quirked into a smile. “Just be patient. You know the saying, ‘All good things come to those to wait’? I have my own version of that.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Those who wait, come good.”
He needed slapping, he really did. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, rising from his lap. She picked up the room service menu and tossed it at him. “Order.”
He did, lobster and scallops, a bottle of Beaujolais, chilled, and apple tart. Determined to play it as casually as he did, she resumed reading while they waited for room service to deliver their order. He leafed through both newspapers, used his cell phone to call the States and check on the condition of his friend who had been in the car accident—unchanged, which caused his expression to set in lines of worry.
He wasn’t carefree, she thought, watching his face. No matter how much he laughed and teased, his emotions weren’t all on the surface. There were moments when he was lost in thought and there was no humor at all on his face or in his eyes; she had seen flashes of cold, grim determination in him. There had to be more to him than just good times, or he wouldn’t have succeeded in his chosen field, though she wondered if someone actually chose to be a mercenary or gradually fell into it. He’d evidently made some money at it, so that meant he was good. That likeable, charming manner was just part of who he was; the other part would be fast and lethal.
Lily had shied away from relationships with normal men over the years, men who held ordinary jobs and had normal concerns. Not only would someone like that never understand how she did what she did, she had always been concerned that she would overpower a man like that in an intimate relationship. She had to be forceful and decisive, and that wasn’t something she could turn on and off like a water tap. When it came to romance, she didn’t want to dominate, she wanted to be a partner, but that meant by necessity she needed someone as strong in personality as she was. In Swain she sensed an easiness, a self-confidence that wasn’t at all threatened by her. She didn’t have to pander to his ego, or dampen her own personality so he wouldn’t be intimidated. If Swain had ever been intimidated in his life, she would be surprised. He’d probably been gutsy and a hell-raiser even when he was a little boy.
The more she observed of him, the more she respected him. She was falling fast and hard, and there was no net beneath her.
26
After they ate, he watched Sky News for a while, and Lily read some more. They could have been a couple for years for all the impatience he was showing, but she remembered the erection that had thrust against her hip and knew otherwise. A man didn’t get painfully hard when he wasn’t interested. He was giving her time to relax, not pressuring her; he knew, of course, that eventually they would be going to bed together and the inevitable would happen then. She knew it, too, and knowledge was its own seduction. She couldn’t look at him without thinking that soon he would be naked and so would she, soon she would feel him inside her, soon this coiling tension inside her would find a release.
At ten she said, “I’m going to take a shower,” and left him to Sky News. The complimentary toiletries in the marble bathroom were designer brands, and smelled heavenly. She took her time, washing her hair, shaving her underarms and legs—an American habit she’d never lost—then smoothing scented lotion all over herself before blow-drying her hair and brushing her teeth. Feeling as ready as she ever would, and having killed most of an hour, she put on one of the thick hotel robes and tightly tied the belt around her before walking barefoot back into the room.
“You’re a bathroom hog,” he accused, turning off the television and rising to his feet. His gaze went over her from her shiny hair down to the tips of her toes. “I expected you to come out wearing your pajamas. I’ve been thinking about getting them off of you.”
“I don’t wear pajamas,” she said, and yawned.
His brows snapped together. “You said you wore pajamas.”
