answers to.” She smiled up at him. “And if I can manage to get chummy enough, I’ll ask ol’ Debbie if she’s got a squeeze ol’ Sonny’s not wise to.”
A squeeze. He liked the term. Rather crass and usually reserved for females, but probably descriptive of the power-mad Martine’s lovers.
He thought about squeezing Renee and couldn’t seem to dismiss the idea. Main squeeze stuck in his brain like a song fragment that played over and over.
Why was she so open with him, so trusting? What sort of agent took chances such as that? He admired her courage but wondered about her sanity.
But then, who was he to judge? He was well aware that he had not had the usual experiences of someone who’d led a regular life. Since the age of thirteen, and probably even before that, he had been trained not to trust.
But he had trusted Renee tonight more than he had anyone else in a very long time. She had that effect. Alarm bells were ringing in his head. This woman was dangerous on so many levels.
Renee watched as Mark opened the door to her apartment and entered first, his weapon in his hand.
She resented that. It was her place to clear her own quarters. He would bully her if she allowed it, but she decided to choose her battles. If she didn’t, they’d be at each other’s throats the entire time.
He rejoined her in the small sitting room. “Looks okay.”
“Thanks. Excuse me for a minute.” Renee immediately went into the bathroom, turned on the water and made a phone call to see if there were any further results to her earlier inquiry. Nothing had changed, but she hadn’t really expected it to and was glad it hadn’t.
She believed Mark. He’d never have gotten into the course they had attended together without a bona fide and rather remarkable association with one of the elite forces battling terrorism. Lazlo had an excellent rep. They hired the best and got results.
“Where do I sleep?” he asked when she returned.
She pointed to the antique recamier, a one-armed lounge that wasn’t even comfortable for sitting, much less sleeping. “I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.”
He sat on it, bounced once and frowned. “And perhaps a back brace for the morning?”
Renee turned away from him as she suppressed a laugh at his expense.
He had a dry sense of humor, but his having one at all surprised her. He almost never smiled without qualifying it with a lift of that left eyebrow. “For a homeless person, you’re not very appreciative.”
“I was hoping you might want to keep me under closer surveillance for the night, in the event I’m not really who I say I am.”
“Share my bed?” She chuckled. “And here I thought Brits had no sense of humor. You’re a riot.”
He grinned. “And I was under the impression Americans were…unreserved.”
“Profiling at its worst, I guess. I’ll get you that pillow.”
Renee left the room in a hurry, hoping he hadn’t noticed that split second of consideration she’d given his suggestion.
They were unwilling partners now and would be pretending an intimate relationship during the coming days. The idea of establishing a real closeness with him to insure his help and full cooperation was so unprofessional it was laughable. And tempting, she had to admit.
Really, really tempting.
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