“I don’t mean the case. I mean us.”
Us
? Tess’ heart squeezed as she let her guard down. Did he mean it?
Seeing him again, being held in his arms, the solid, easy way he moved, evoked a host of sensual, uneasy, memories. Lust struck like lightning. Brilliant. Hot. Luring her with flashes of selective recall. Grey had been a magnificent lover, seeing to her pleasure before his own. He’d taught her what he liked; had encouraged her boldness in discovering her own preferences.
Her hand drifted across his chest, edging beneath his jacket, her greedy fingers tracing the strong line of muscle, remembering. She wanted to believe...
Then her knuckles brushed his shoulder holster. Bitter reality washed over her, blotting out hope. Reminding her that Grey could wield seduction like a deadly weapon; that she was merely a ta
rget being sighted in the cross
hairs.
“You’re wearing a gun.” She tried to back away.
His fingers tightened at her waist, keeping her tethered. Captive. “I’m always armed, Tess. It’s part of the job.”
Get used to it
, he wanted to say. He glanced around the room, spotted the door leading to the balcony. “Let’s go outside.”
Not wanting to draw more attention to them, Tess nodded.
The balcony was deserted, but Grey sought out the darkest corner anyway. “About us,” he started.
“There is no
us
.”
He drew close, cupping her face in his hands. She was wrong and he wanted to prove it. To her. To him.
She made a noise, a tiny intake of air as he lowered his mouth to hers. Desire shuddered through him as he held her immobile, his lips dancing lightly across hers, tasting, teasing. This thing that was between them hit a flash point. He could feel it in the uneven tempo of his pulse. In the yearning that raked his skin.
She drew another breath and Grey’s tongue swept hotly into her mouth. She opened fully, her hands encircling his neck, her fingers spearing through
his hair. Just like before.
But different
. A point he wanted to drive home.
Grey’s mouth left hers, trailing down her neck. “Say my name,” he commanded in a throaty whisper. He wanted no ghosts between them, no memory of another touching her, kissing her...even if that other was him.
Dallas
.
She whimpered, resisting.
“
My
name, damn it.” His teeth grazed the sensitive skin at the crook of her neck.
“Grey.” The word was an anguished cry.
He sealed his lips over hers, claiming victory. He had her pinned against the railing, knew she could feel his heavy arousal.
The memory of making love to her made him grow even harder. He wanted to feel her hands grip him tightly before he buried himself deep inside her--
The doors behind them opened.
Grey abruptly stepped away, keeping a hand on her arm to steady her.
“Easy, I got you,” he soothed. “Pretend we’re discussing the auction.”
Tess blinked, reaching for the railing, trying to calm her breathing. The auction?
How could he go from kissing like that to pretending they were discussing art?
The same way he’d chameleoned from Grey to
Dallas
. He was doing a job. He was still doing a job. Today’s assignment was convincing her to testify.
She was a colossal fool. She’d spent the last weeks trying to bury her memories, forget what passed between them. And in the space of fifteen minutes he’d brought it all back.
Her eyes swept over him. All the things she’d struggled to forget -- that dimple, those quicksilver eyes, the way he kissed -- rushed forward, leaving her aching and unsure. Her pulse thudded low in her abdomen
,
reminding her of something else.
She was pregnant with this man’s child.
Dizziness assailed her.
She’d been sick enough the past week to recognize the symptoms. She was going to be ill. She panicked, moving away.
“Excuse me,” Tess said. “There’s someone... I need
--
”
She was shaking. Grey grew concerned. He knew his presence here tonight had surprised her. He also knew the kiss they’d just shared had affected her. But this? She’d lost color, as if she’d seen a ghost.
Or been frightened.
His eyes quickly scanned the ballroom, senses alert, but he spotted n
othing unusual. He focused
on her
again
.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
Nodding to the other couple on the balcony, Tess headed toward the relative safety of the ballroom, praying no one approached her, knowing Grey couldn’t stop her once she was
lost in the crush of the people
.
Grey watched her work her way across the crowded room. Her
I’ll be back
rang false. He knew why. Christ, he’d practically attacked her out here. Smooth move. He’d give her a few moments to pull herself together
,
then he’d go after her. Apologize. Again.
But Tess didn’t stop in the ballroom. She made a
bee-
line for the door.
She was leaving
.
Swearing, Grey hurried after her.
* * *
Tess slipped into the private suite that was adjacent to the ballroom.
Feeling too warm, she quickly peeled off her beaded jacket, dropping it on the floor as she rushed toward the wet bar in the center of the room. She turned on the tap, slid her wrists beneath the cold water.
She heard the door open and close. Glancing back, she saw Grey striding toward her. “How did you get in here?”
He picked up her jacket, tossed it aside. “You left the door unlocked. Why didn’t you tell me you felt ill?”
Moving deliberately, he wet some towels, wringing them out before placing them on the back of her neck. She looked ready to faint.
The cold compress felt divine against her flushed skin. “It’s nothing. Please leave.”
“And let you hit the floor?” He watched her intently.
Tess squirmed, feeling more awful by the second. “You don’t need to do this.”
“I want to help.”
Help?
Then go away.
Let her protect their child.
A child he had the right to know about...
The thought made her stomach lurch even worse.
Oh God... She was going to throw up. Right now.
She scrambled to push past him, frantic to make it to the bathroom in time.
“Hold on.” Two steps ahead of her
,
Grey shoved open the door and helped her inside.
Wrenching free, she shut the door in his face just before growing violently ill. She wept with embarrassment knowing Grey was right outside.
He knocked on the door. “Tess, let me help you.”
“Go away. I don’t need--” Another bout of sickness interrupted her.
Grey pressed against the door, finding it locked.
Now she decides to lock doors.
He rapped on the door, harder this time. “You okay in there?”
Tess drew a deep breath, no longer feeling as if she’d vomit from merely breathing. She turned on the water, rinsed her mouth. “Yes, I’m fine.”
A heavy sigh preceded his words. “I’m not leaving, so you might as well come out. Like it or not, you’re going to have to f
ace me.
”
She wanted to scream with frustration but didn’t have the energy. Straightening her clothes, she opened the door. But her light
-
headedness had settled in her knees. When she swooned, Grey caught her, carrying her to the couch.
She was too woozy to protest. And humiliated. Tears prickled the back of her eyes. She blinked rapidly holding them back. She’d gotten sick -- practically right in front of him -- then she’d nearly fainted. The last thing she wanted to do was start crying.
She had her eyes closed when Grey returned with more wet paper towels. Very gently he draped them across her forehead, inspecting her closely. Her pallor concerned him. Pressing two fingers to her wrist
,
he found her pulse to be practically nonexistent.
He expected her to be stressed and nervous over the upcoming trial. And it was obvious that seeing him again upset her. But to be sick? Faint? Something about this episode didn’t make sense.
“How long have you been feeling like this?”
“Since you showed up
.” On a star-
studded
Montana
night
.
Because there was no putting off the inevitable, and because it was easier to face Grey then to face the memories of
Dallas
, she opened her eyes and struggled to sit up.
He caught her by the shoulders keenly aware of her evasiveness. “Stay down. You still look green.”
“Thank you
,
Dr. Haynes. Or Dr. Thomas.” She scrambled to cover her vulnerability with sarcasm.
Grey knelt
directly in front of her, picked up her hands. “I’m not trying to upset you, Tess. I just want to talk. Not about the case,” he clarified. “Though at some time we do need to -- in context to us and what happened in
Montana
.”
His words tempted, until she remembered he was only here because Barry Neilson had sent him.
“I know what happened in
Montana
. Stockholm Syndrome. My reaction to you was classic. Hostage grows fond of and sympathizes with her captors. I’m told ours is a textbook example.” She softened her tone. “I’m also aware you were doing a job. Playing a role. You still are.”
Grey pressed a kiss to her hand. What transpired between them was more than hostage/captor syndrome. He knew it. And judging by the torment in her eyes, she knew it
,
too. The problem was determining what, if anything, they could do about it.
“This hasn’t been easy for either one of us, Tess. Yes, I’m here at Barry’s request, but with a very selfish hidden agenda.” He pressed yet another kiss to her hand.
The feel of his lips on her palm rocked Tess, confirming a truth she’d tried hard to deny.
She still wanted this man
.
She tried to move away, to get some distance as t
win bolts of pain collided in her temple. She pressed two fingers to her forehead and started rubbing. “I’m scared of testifying,” she blurted.
Grey straightened, gently easing her back against the slanted arm of the couch. When she didn’t resist, he slid onto the opposite end of the couch and pulled her feet across his lap. Tugging off her shoes, he started rubbing the ball of her foot.
“Do you realize if you refuse to testify or deny the statements you made under oath in
your
deposition are true, you can be prosecuted for perjury?” He kept his voice low, his eyes diverted as he stroked the knotted muscles of her foot. He pressed his thumbs expertly along the inside edge of her instep. “Or possibly jailed for contempt of court?”
Tess peered at him in disbelief. She hadn’t considered either possibility. “Isn’t there enough evidence to put them away without me? What about the other women they kidnapped?”
“This is the murder trial. They’re not involved. You’re the only eyewitness who can tie Bogen and Snake to Matt Michaels’ death.”
She knew that.
S
omeone else did
,
too.
She shivered, recalling the letter she’d received.
Testify and you die.
If she told Grey about the note, would he help her? Would he go to the prosecutor and explain, intercede on her behalf?
She hated her own fearfulness in this situation. Especially since her decision not to testify ran contrary to her deepest, inner convictions. Damn it, she did want to see Bogen and Snake punished. But not at the expense of her child’s safety.
She watched Grey from beneath lowered lashes, debating. Did she dare trust this man again?
“I got something in the mail,” she began.