Secret Agent Seduction (16 page)

Damn it. Why was she making this so hard?

From across the room, Magliore chuckled softly. “Why are you making this so hard,
chère?
” he drawled, echoing her thoughts. “I'm not a film critic. I won't criticize whatever choice you make.”

“I know that,” Lia muttered.

“If I had known how difficult this would be for you,” he said dryly, “I would have chosen the movie myself while you were in your room. But I know how strongly you American women feel about being able to make your own choices.”

Lia scowled. “Very funny, Magliore. You know, I've had just about enough of you and your sexist remarks and—”

He laughed. “Just pick a damn movie, woman!”

Lia quickly selected a psychological thriller she'd wanted to see last year, then popped it into the DVD player and grabbed the remote control.

As she made her way back to the sofa, Magliore watched her, his eyes dancing.

“You didn't have to yell at me,” she said with as much icy hauteur as she could muster, considering she wanted to laugh, too. She
had
been taking ridiculously long to make a selection.

“I'm sorry,” Magliore said, looking anything but apologetic with that irreverent grin tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, right.” As Lia sank down on the sofa beside him, she realized it hadn't even occurred to her to sit elsewhere. There was a perfectly comfortable love seat or a leather armchair she could have curled up on, but she hadn't.

So much for wanting to keep your distance.

“I shouldn't have yelled at you,” Magliore said, trying very hard to sound remorseful. “How can I make it up to you?”

Lia gave him a sidelong look. “Well…since you asked, I always like to eat popcorn when I'm watching a movie.”

“You want me to get you some popcorn?”

“Yes. There should be a box of microwave popcorn in one of those cabinets in the kitchen.”

“All right. Consider it done. Anything else?”

“Hmm…How about a nice cold beer? In a glass.”

Magliore nodded, rising from the sofa. “Popcorn and beer, coming right up.”

Lia waited until he'd almost reached the kitchen before adding, “Oh, and could you bring me some marshmallows? For some reason I always crave something sweet after eating popcorn. Must be all that salt.”

Magliore turned and stood in the doorway, staring at her with a look of mild exasperation. “Popcorn, beer and marshmallows,” he said slowly, with exaggerated patience. “Will there be anything else,
mademoiselle?
”

“No, that should do it,” Lia said cheerfully, smothering an impish grin.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yep.” When he'd disappeared inside the kitchen, Lia waited a beat, then called out, “I'll need a few napkins to wipe the butter off my fingers. And don't forget to pour the beer into a glass!”

She heard him mutter something in French that made her throw back her head with a shriek of laughter.

He emerged several minutes later, balancing a bowl of popcorn, two bottles of beer, an empty glass and a bag of miniature marshmallows on a wooden tray.

As Lia watched, still grinning, he set the tray on the ottoman, then with a smooth, gallant flourish proceeded to fill her glass.

“Here you go,
mademoiselle,
” he murmured.

“Thank you,” Lia said, accepting the cold glass from his hand. “Has anyone ever told you that you'd make an excellent waiter?”

“Yes,” he said wryly as he sat down. “When I was fifteen, I had a summer job as a bartender and waiter at one of the popular tourist restaurants in downtown Port le Duc.”

Lia grinned, watching his grim expression. “Something tells me you didn't like it very much.”

“Other than the long hours and having to deal with drunk, obnoxious tourists—the Americans were the worst—it wasn't all that bad. The owner liked me, so to compensate for the embarrassingly meager wages he paid, he used to let me sneak food home to my brother and sister. They loved the conch, salt-fish and
chictai.
”

Lia groaned loudly. “Mmm, don't you dare talk about Muwaitian food. Not unless you can produce a plate filled with those foods right this very second.”

Magliore smiled. “Believe me,” he said, “if I could, I would.”

Glaring balefully at him, Lia stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth and chewed, feeling sorely cheated.

He laughed and took a swig of his beer.

“So how long did you work at that restaurant?” Lia asked curiously, reaching for more popcorn. “Just one summer?”

He shook his head. “Two. That was about all I could handle of tourists.”

Lia cast him a knowing grin. “I bet you got hit on all the time.”

He smiled. “What makes you say that?”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Well, gee, let me think. Hmm. Could it be because you're ridiculously good-looking? I mean, I can just see you at fifteen, not yet a man, but still irresistible in cutoff shorts and T-shirts that showed off the muscle tone you'd developed from all that swimming. I bet those horny women used to flock to that restaurant just to ogle the hot, young island stud with the dreamy eyes and melting smile. Come on,” she teasingly cajoled. “Tell me they didn't slip you their hotel-room numbers and pinch your butt every time you turned around.”

Magliore let out a choked laugh. “I was just a kid!”

When Lia twisted her lips and gave him a don't-insult-my-intelligence look, he chuckled. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

Lia grinned. “Uh-huh. Just as I thought. You probably flirted right back and got those women all hot and bothered, thinking they were going to have a steamy island fling, like the heroine in
How Stella Got Her Groove Back.
”

He flashed a wolfish grin. “What can I say? They tipped very generously.”

“Oh, I bet they did.” Chuckling, Lia reached for her glass and took a sip of beer, watching him over the rim. She could definitely see him working his magic on those poor tourists, even at the tender age of fifteen. The kind of raw animal magnetism Armand Magliore possessed was innate, instinctive, as natural to him as breathing. He'd been born to seduce women.

If she wasn't careful, she could easily become his next victim.

Shoving aside the unsettling thought, Lia asked, “Where'd you work after quitting your job at the restaurant?”

“I continued working in the tobacco fields,” he answered, settling back against the sofa.

“Continued? You mean, you worked in the tobacco fields at the same time you were a waiter at the restaurant?”

“Not quite at the same time,” he said with a small, teasing smile. “I couldn't be in two places at once.”

Lia made a face at him. “You know what I meant.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I know what you meant. And yes, I worked in the tobacco fields during the same time that I waited tables. On the days I wasn't scheduled to work at the restaurant, I reported to the fields.”

“You were only a teenager,” Lia said softly.

He nodded. “I was fourteen years old when I first started working. It was shortly after my father died. My mother worked tirelessly as a seamstress, but it was difficult for her to support herself and three young children on her modest income. We needed more money, so I got a job.”

“You got two jobs,” Lia said softly, her throat constricting around a knot of emotion. She knew his background, knew he'd been looking after his mother and siblings since his father's death eighteen years ago. But she hadn't realized the full extent to which he'd assumed responsibility for his family's survival. He'd basically sacrificed his childhood in order to take care of them and provide for them. Was it any wonder his mother and siblings looked at him with such adoration, loyalty and unconditional trust in their eyes? He was their rock, the glue that held them together. They would be lost without him.

Magliore shook his head in response to her previous statement. “I didn't start working at the restaurant until the following summer.”

“Well, what was your schedule like during the school year?” she prodded, hoping he wouldn't tire of her questions. She'd always been naturally inquisitive, but with Magliore, her curiosity took on a whole new level of intensity. She found herself wanting to know everything about him, wanting to understand every facet of who he was.

“I worked a few hours after school every day and on the weekends. But my education was always the first priority. My mother would have it no other way. If I wanted to miss a day of school in order to earn some extra money, she adamantly refused. She always told me that education was a powerful weapon against poverty, ignorance and hopelessness, and as long as she had breath in her body, her children would not squander their educational opportunities. Although she was a seamstress and my father was a tobacco farmer, Maman always believed God had greater things in store for me and my siblings.”

“And she was right,” Lia said quietly. “Here you are—a leader of men, a revolutionary. Poised to change the lives of over five million people because you were courageous enough to take a stand against a brutal dictator.”

He said nothing for a moment, turning his head slightly to watch the flames leaping and dancing on the hearth. When he spoke again, his voice was remote and reflective. “When I joined the Muwaitian army at the age of seventeen, my only concerns were providing a better life for my family and being able to afford college. President Seligny's generous commissions made it possible for me to achieve those goals, but it was his vision for the country that enabled me to become the best soldier I could be.” He paused, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “I never thought I would one day find myself in a position of trying to overthrow the government.”

With a gentle smile, Lia said, “As a wise man once told me, ‘Life can be that way sometimes. Unpredictable.'”

Recognizing his own words to her from a few days earlier, Magliore chuckled quietly as he turned to look at her. “A wise man, huh? I honestly don't know what pleases me more. The fact that you think I'm wise, or the fact that you called me ridiculously good-looking a few minutes ago.”

Lia laughed. “Don't let it go to your head, Magliore. I was just stating the obvious. Try not to read too much into it.”

He smiled, absently rolling the neck of his beer bottle between his fingers as he fell silent for a few minutes.

Lia considered starting the movie, but the truth was that she was enjoying their conversation. Tucked within the cozy confines of the mountain cabin, with a fire roaring in the hearth, thunder rumbling overhead and rain lashing the windows, she and Magliore could have been the only two people in the world. At that moment, she felt closer to him than any other man she'd ever known. It was a scary yet wonderful feeling.

Laying her head against the back of the sofa, Lia slanted a soft smile toward Magliore and said, “I like your family. I can tell how close the four of you are, how much you mean to one another.”

He nodded slowly. “The death of my father brought us together in a way nothing else could have. We had to learn to depend on one another, or we never would have made it through the bad times. And there were plenty of those.”

Her heart stirred with compassion. “I'm sorry about your father,” she said quietly. “I know he was killed by an armed robber, who was then apprehended and shot by the police. I can only imagine how devastating that must have been for you and your family.”

Magliore nodded. “It was. It was probably the most devastating day of our lives. He was a good man, and he meant everything to us. But we had to learn to go on without him, and as difficult as it was, we eventually had to learn to forgive the man who took his life.”

Lia gazed at him, her heart swelling with pride and admiration. “Over the course of my career, I've spoken to many family members of murder victims. I've always been humbled and amazed by those who somehow found the strength to forgive the criminals who took away their loved ones. I honestly don't know if I could be that strong or magnanimous.”

“It becomes a matter of self-preservation,” Magliore said somberly. “You can either spend the rest of your life consumed by anger and hatred, or you can learn to forgive and seek closure. Thankfully, my family chose the latter.”

“They're amazing people,” Lia said warmly.

His mouth curved in a poignant smile. “I've always thought so.”

Smiling companionably, Lia tucked her legs beneath her on the sofa. “Felicite is beautiful, and Henri looks just like you.”

Magliore chuckled. “Everyone always says that about both of them. And once you get to know them, you realize that while they might be twins, they're as opposite as night and day.”

Lia grinned. “I could already tell.”