All or Nothing (7 page)

“Another thing I didn’t know about you.” Her voice dripped with frustration as thick as the extra honey she spooned into her tea. “Do you mean something like a safari resort?”

“Something like that, nothing to do with business, though.” She would see for herself soon enough, and he had to admit, he wanted to see her reaction without prior warning. “I purchased the property just before we split. A case led me to... It doesn’t matter. You’re right. I should have told you about an acquisition that large.”

“If it’s your home, can’t we be found there?”

“The property was purchased under a corporate name, nothing anyone would connect with me. There’s not much point in a retreat if the paparazzi can find you.”

“Well, if the press hasn’t found out about it, then the place must be secure.” She half smiled. “So do we plan to hide in Africa indefinitely?”

“What did you tell Anthony?” He set down his coffee cup carefully.

“It’s my turn to ask the questions, remember?” she reminded him gently. Her eyes fell away, and she stared into her cup as if searching for answers of her own. “But in the interest of peace...I told him what we planned for me to say, that divorcing my husband wasn’t as simple as I’d expected. That you and I needed time to sort things out. He was understanding.”

“Then he isn’t as big a threat as I thought.” He couldn’t wrap his brain around the notion of ever being okay with the prospect of Jayne and some other guy hooking up. His hand twitched around the cup.

“Conrad, not everyone is all alpha, all the time.”

He looked up fast, surprised at her word choice then chuckled.

“What did I say? And remember, you promised to answer my questions.”

At least he could tell her this and wondered now why he never had before. “Back in high school, my friends, we called ourselves the Alpha Brotherhood.”

“You’re all still so close.” She frowned. “Do they
all
work for...”

“Please don’t ask.”

“You said I could ask anything,” she pressed stubbornly.

He searched for what he could say and still stay honest. “If something were to happen to me and you needed anything at all, you could call them. They can get in touch with Salvatore. Is that answer enough for you?”

She stared at him for so long he thought she might push for more, and truly there was more he could say but old instincts died hard after playing his life close to the vest.

Nodding, she leaned back in her leather seat, crossing her arms. “Thank you. Get back to the Alpha Brotherhood story.”

“There were two kinds of guys at the academy, the military sort who wanted to be there to jump-start a career in uniform and a bunch of screwed-up rule breakers who needed to learn discipline.”

Did she know that when she’d leaned back her legs stretched out in a sexy length that made him ache? He wanted to reach down and stroke her calf, so close to touching him. The sight of her in those jeans and leather boots sent another shot of adrenaline to his already overrevved body.

He knocked back another swallow of hot coffee to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. “Some of us in that second half realized the wisdom of channeling those rebellious tendencies if we wanted to stay out of jail. After we graduated from college, Salvatore offered us a legal outlet, a way to make amends and still color outside the lines—legally. Honorably.”

“That’s important to you, honor.” She crossed her legs at the ankles, bringing her booted foot even closer to brushing him. “You’ve been so emphatic about never lying even when you hold back the truth.”

He looked up sharply, realizing how much he’d revealed while ogling her legs like some horny teenager. And he realized she was playing him. Just like he’d played her in the past, using sexual attraction to steer their conversations.

It didn’t feel good being maneuvered that way.

Remorse took his temperature down a notch. He sat up straighter, elbows on the table as he cradled his coffee. “My father was a crooked bastard, Jayne. It makes me sick the way the rest of the world all thought he was this great philanthropist. He made a crap-ton of money and gave it away to charities. But he made it cheating the same kinds of people he was pretending to help.”

Her hand fell to rest on his. “I understand what it’s like to lose faith in your father. It hurts, so much.”

How strange that he was holding hands with his wife and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. He’d touched her, stroked her, made love to her countless times, but he couldn’t recall holding her hand.

“I guess we do have that in common. For a long time, I bought into my old man’s hype. I thought he was some kind of god.”

“You’ve never told me how your mother felt about your father’s crimes?”

“She’s his accountant.” He shrugged, thinking of all the times he got an attaboy from his parents for making the grade. It never mattered how, as long as he won. “Colonel Salvatore was the first person to ever hold my feet to the fire about anything. Yes, I have my own code of honor now, Jayne. I have to be able to look myself in the mirror, and this job is the only way I know how to make that happen.”

“How weird is it that we’ve been married for seven years and there are still so many things about you I don’t know.” Her blue eyes held him as tangibly as her hand held his beside the plate of croissants and éclairs.

“That’s my fault.” He squeezed.

“Damn straight it is.” She squeezed back.

The jet engine droned in the silence between them, recycled air whooshing down.

He flipped her hand in his and stroked her lifeline with his thumb. “What happens now?”

“What do you mean?” Her voice came out breathy, her chest rising and falling faster.

Although he could see that even in her anger she still wanted him, he was now beginning to understand that desire alone wouldn’t cut it any longer.

“In the elevator we were a zipper away from making love again.”

Her hand went still in his, her eyes filled with a mix of desire and frustration. “And you want to pick up where we left off?”

“How will your dog sitter feel about that?”

She sighed. “Are you still jealous even after I told you I’m not dating him?”

“Are you planning on seeing him after you leave?” He had to know, even if the answer skewered him.

What had the other guy given her that he couldn’t? He’d lavished her with every single thing a woman could want, and it hadn’t been enough for Jayne.

“Honestly,” she said, “I thought I might when I flew to Monte Carlo, but now, I’m not sure anymore.”

He started to reach for her but she stopped him cold with a tight shake of her head.

“Damn it, Jayne—”

“I’m not done.” She squeezed his hand hard. “Don’t take what I said as some sign to start tearing our clothes off. I
am
certain that I want a normal life with a husband who will be there for me. I want the happily ever after with kids and a real family sitting down to dinner together, even if it’s hamburgers on a rickety picnic table at a simple hometown park. Maybe that sounds boring to you, but I just can’t pretend to fit into this jet-set lifestyle of yours where we share a bed and nothing else. Does that make sense?”

He closed his eyes, only to be blindsided by the image of her sitting on a porch swing with some other lucky bastard while their kids played in the yard. “The thought of you with someone else is chewing me up inside.”

“You don’t have the right to ask anymore,” she said gently. “You know that, don’t you? We’ve been separated for three years.”

“Tell that to my chewed-up gut.”

She tugged her hand free. “You’ve already moved on. Why shouldn’t I?”

He looked up sharply. “Says who?”

“Every tabloid in the stands.”

“Tabloids. Really?” He laughed. Hard. Not that it made him feel any better. “That’s where you’re getting your news from? I thought you graduated from college magna cum laude.”

Finally he’d shocked her quiet, silencing those damn probing questions.

But not for long.

Jayne’s hand clenched around her discarded scarf. “You’re saying it’s not true? That you haven’t been with other women since we split up?”

He leaned across the table until his mouth was barely an inch away from hers. He could feel her breath on his skin and he knew she felt his. Her pupils widened in awareness, sensual anticipation. And still, he held back. He wouldn’t kiss her now, not this way, when he was still so angry his vision clouded.

Not to mention his judgment.

He looked her in the eyes and simply said, “I am a married man. I take that commitment very seriously.”

She was his wife. The only woman he’d ever loved. He should have the answers locked and loaded on how to keep her happy. He was a damn Wall Street genius, entrepreneur billionaire and Interpol agent, for God’s sake.

Yet right now, he didn’t have a clue how to make things right with Jayne, and he didn’t know if he ever would.

Seven

T
he gates swung wide to Conrad’s home in Africa, and Jayne had to admit, he’d shocked the hell out of her twice in less than twenty-four hours.

She’d expected a grand mansion, behind massive walls with sleek security systems that made Batman’s cave look like something from last generation’s game system. This place was...

Understated.

And the quiet beauty of it took her breath away.

She leaned forward in the seat, as the Land Cruiser took the uphill dirt road. A ranch-style house perched on a natural plateau overlooking a river. She’d spent four years poring over renovations and perfect pieces of furniture for their different residences, perhaps hoping she could somehow create an ideal marriage if she could only put together an ideal home. She would guess the place was built from authentic African walnut. Everything about the house looked real, nothing prefab or touristy about it.

Porches—and more porches—wrapped around the lengthy wooden home, with rockers, tables and roll down screens to overlook the nearby river. Palm trees had a more tropical than landscaped feel. Mangrove trees reached for the sky with their gnarled roots twisting up from the ground like wads of fat cables.

She glanced at her husband, wondering what led him to purchase this place just before they’d split. But his stoic face wasn’t giving away any clues. Although, Lord, have mercy, he was as magnificent as the stark and unforgiving landscape.

With the day heating up fast, he’d ditched the sports coat and just wore jeans with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Like his home, he didn’t need extravagant trappings to take her breath away. As if she wasn’t already tempted enough around him.

Although the gun still tucked in the shoulder harness gave her more than a little pause.

Their game of twenty questions during the plane ride hadn’t helped her understand him one bit better. If anything, she had more questions, more reservations. Being here alone together was complicated now. They’d moved past the idea of sex for the hell of it as some farewell tribute to their marriage. That didn’t mean the attraction wasn’t still there, fierce as ever, just beneath the surface of their tentative relationship.

Tearing her gaze away, she pressed her hands to the dash. “This isn’t at all what I expected.”

“How so?” He slowed the SUV then stopped at the half-dozen wooden steps leading to the front door.

“No bells and whistles chiming. No gambling rich and famous everywhere you look.”

“The quiet appeals to me.” He opened the door and circled the hood to her side.

She stepped out just as he reached her and avoided his outstretched hand, not ready to touch him again, not yet. “If you’d wanted somewhere to be quiet, there were places a lot closer to home than Africa.”

The dusty wind tore at her hair. She tugged her scarf from around her neck and tied back the tangled mess.

“True. But this is the one I wanted and since I’m sinfully rich,” he said, pulling out her roll bag and a duffel for himself, “I can have the things I want, if not the people.”

Was this quieter persona one he donned for his missions or was this a part of her husband she’d never seen? She shivered in spite of the temps already sending a trickle of sweat down her spine. “What about security? I don’t see any fences or cameras.”

“Of course you didn’t see them as we drove up. They’re the best, thanks to our good friend Troy. If anyone crosses the perimeter, we’ll know.” He jogged up the stairs and flipped back a shutter to reveal an electronics panel. “You’ll be briefed on how everything works so you’re not dependent on me if an emergency arises.”

Now wasn’t that an eye opener?

She trailed her fingers along a rocker, setting it in motion and thought of his casino with the glassed-in balcony overlooking the sea. And she realized he loved the outdoors. Even now, his ear tipped toward the monkey chattering from some hidden tree branch.

“Jayne?” he called from the open door. “Are you ready?”

“Of course,” she lied and followed him inside anyway.

This was definitely not a safari lodge after all.

There weren’t any animal heads mounted on the walls, just paintings, an amalgamation of watercolors, oils and charcoals, without a defining theme other than the fact each one portrayed a unique view of Africa.

And in such a surprisingly open space.

Conrad had a style of his own—and a damn good one. But she’d fallen into a stereotypical assumption that he would put a foosball table in her living room if she turned over the reins to him. She thought back to his penthouse remodeling. She’d been so focused on the shock of all her things swept away she’d failed to notice the sense of style even in his man cave.

How much of his “hiding” of himself had she let happen?

She stepped deeper into the room with a massive stone fireplace in the middle. A wood frame sectional sofa dominated the space, piled with natural fiber cushions and pillows. There were no distractions here, just the echo of her footsteps and the sound of the breeze rustling branches outdoors.

The place was larger on the inside than it looked from outdoors, likely another means of security. Her entire condo back in Miami could have fit in the living area with room to spare. A glance down the hall showed at least five other doors, but she was drawn to the window overlooking the river. A small herd of antelope waded in for a drink, while a hippo lazed on the far side of the shore.

Conrad’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Jayne?”

She jolted and spun to face him, finding him so close her heart leaped into her throat. Her hands started to press to his chest, but she stopped shy of the silver gun.

“Uh, I was just enjoying the view.” She gestured over her shoulder at the window.

“You’ve been standing there awhile. I thought you’d dozed off.” He tugged the end of her scarf, her hair sliding loose again. “You must be almost dead on your feet since we didn’t sleep last night, so I’ll save the grand tour for later. There’s just one place you need to see now.”

The kitchen for a snack? His bed to make love before they both fell into an exhausted slumber?

He stopped in front of a Picasso-style watercolor of people in bright colors dancing. He slid the painting to the side to reveal another panel like the one she’d seen on the front door. After a quick tap along the keypad, he stepped back. Boards along the wall slid automatically and stacked, revealing a passage.

“This is the panic room.” Conrad pressed a card into her hand with a series of numbers. “This is the code. Do not hesitate to use it in case of an emergency. Don’t wait for me. I can take care of myself a helluva lot better if I’m not worrying about you.”

Salvatore’s words from earlier came back to haunt her, about how she was Conrad’s Achilles’ heel. Her presence placed him in greater danger. Somehow in the rush to leave Monte Carlo, she’d lost sight of that revelation.

Tears burned her eyes, and she ached to reach for him.

“Jayne, it’s going to be okay.” He brushed her hair over her shoulder. “You need to sleep, and I need to check the place over. We’ll talk more later.”

She tried not to feel rebuffed. He was doing his job.
She
had pushed
him
away after Salvatore’s revelation.

Her hands fell to her sides. Of course he was right. She couldn’t possibly make rational decisions with her head cottony from lack of sleep. And if she couldn’t think clearly she became even more of a liability to Conrad.

Yet as he showed her to the guest room, she still couldn’t help wishing she could sleep in his arms.

* * *

Conrad punched in the code to the safe room where he stored all his communication gear and security equipment. The entire place ran off solar power and a satellite feed, so he couldn’t be cut off from the outside world. He kept enough water and nonperishable food in storage to outlast a siege.

Call him paranoid, but even in his infrequent freelance role with Interpol, he’d seen some intense crap go down in the world.

The windowless vault room in the middle of the house had everything he needed—a bed, an efficiency kitchen, a bathroom and a sitting area, small, but useful down to the last detail. A flat screen was mounted on the wall for watching the exterior. And an entire office’s worth of computers were stored away, ready to fold out onto the dinette table like an ironing board lowered out of a wall.

He parked himself in front of the secured laptop and reached for the satellite phone. He needed to check in with Salvatore. Halfway through the first ring, his boss answered.

“Yes,” the colonel barked.

“We’ve arrived, and we’re settled. No red flags here that I can see. What do you have on your end?”

“The money in Zhutov’s wife’s account has been withdrawn and we have images—which I’m forwarding to you now—of his known associates in discussion with a hit man. We’ve got trackers on both individuals.”

“I’ll review his wife’s bank accounts again. Why her assets haven’t been frozen is beyond me.”

“We do what we can, and you know that.”

“Well, let’s damn well do more.” Scrolling through computer logs of account transfers, Conrad tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear, not wanting to risk speakerphone where Jayne might wake up and overhear.

“Hughes, my people are on it. You should sleep. You’ll be more alert.”

“Like you sleep?”

The colonel was a well-known workaholic. When they’d all been in school they’d theorized that their headmaster was a robot who didn’t need mere mortal things like sleep. Seemed as if he was always walking the halls, day and night.

Salvatore sighed. “Go spend some time with your wife. Repair you marriage. Put your life back together again.”

“Sir, with all due respect, you saw her back in Monte Carlo. She was pissed.”

“I saw a woman who looked like she’d just been kissed senseless in an elevator.”

“You’re not helping the problem at hand by playing matchmaker.” He’d need more of a miracle worker to untangle the mess he’d made of his life.

“I sincerely hope you and she had a long talk on the airplane about your work with me.”

Just what he needed right now, a damn lecture on all the ways he’d screwed up his marriage. “Thank you for your input, sir. I’ll take that under advisement.”

The colonel laughed darkly. “Still as stubborn as ever, Hughes. Leave the sleuthing to my end this time. Your job is to fly under the radar, keep you and your wife safe. Let me know if you need anything.”

The call disconnected, and Conrad set the phone aside.

Three fruitless hours of database searching later, he slammed the computer shut in frustration. He couldn’t figure out if the clues just weren’t there. Salvatore’s words echoed through his head, about his job being to protect Jayne. The old colonel was right. Conrad wouldn’t be any good to her dead on his feet.

Resigned to surrendering, at least for now, he left the panic room and sealed it up tight again. The sectional sofa looked about as inviting as a bed of nails, but it was the best place to keep an ear out for Jayne—other than sleeping next to her, which didn’t appear to be an option tonight.

And speaking of Jayne, he needed to check on her, to leave her door open a crack so he could hear her even in his sleep. He padded barefoot down the hall to her room and eased her door open.

Bad idea.

Looking at Jayne sleeping was torture. And apparently he was a masochist tonight because he stepped deeper into her room. Her legs were tangled in the sheets, long legs bared since her nightgown had hitched up. Her silky hair splashed over the pillow in a feathery blond curtain.

She slept curled on her side, with a pillow hugged to her chest just the way he remembered. If they’d still been together, he would have curled up behind her, their bodies a perfect fit. He still didn’t understand how something so incredibly good could fall apart like their marriage had.

Tired of torturing himself tonight, he pivoted away and walked back out to the living room. He yanked a blanket off the ladder rack against the wall and grabbed two throw pillows. Even if his mind resisted shutting down, his body demanded that he stretch out and rest. But still his brain churned with thoughts of Jayne and how damn close they’d been to making love again.

If Salvatore hadn’t been waiting for them in the penthouse, they would have ended up in bed. He could still hear her cries of pleasure from the elevator. He could feel the silken texture of her clamping around his fingers.

They may have had their problems communicating, but when it came to sex, they’d always been beyond compatible. And they’d had other things in common, too, damn it. They shared similar taste in books and politics. She enjoyed travel and appreciated the beauty of a sunset anywhere in the world.

And they both enjoyed the opera.

In fact, he’d planned to take her to the opera during their forty-eight hours of romance, back when he’d been enough of an idiot to think he could let her go again. He’d chartered a jet to fly them to Venice for a performance. He’d reserved a plush, private opera box where he could replay their
La Bohème
date.

He could still remember what she wore that night, a pale blue gown, feathery light. He’d been riding the rush of a recent mission, adrenaline making him ache all the more for his wife. The moment he’d seen her walk out of their bedroom wearing the dress, he’d known he wouldn’t rest until he found out what she had on underneath.

Before Act One was complete, he’d known....

* * *

Dreams of Conrad during that hazy realm of twilight sleep always tormented her the most. Fantasy and reality blended until she didn’t know whether to force herself awake or cling to sleep longer.

La Bohème
echoed through her mind, the opening act, except that didn’t make sense because she was in Africa with Conrad. So why was the opera playing out on a barge on the river? Confusion threatened to pull her awake. Until the glide of Conrad’s hands over her breasts made her cling to the dream realm where she could sit with her husband on the porch and listen.

Savor.