confidently settling the officer’s cap on his head, its black bill shading his eyes. “I am what I seem, Mrs. Hamilton. Shall we? I have reservations at La Fleur for twelve-fifteen.”
Layne walked briskly beside him, wildly aware of his fingers on her elbow as he guided her out of the university. “La Fleur? That’s terribly nouveau riche for someone on an officer’s pay, Major Talbot.”
“A classy place for a classy lady,” he murmured, guiding her toward the parking lot.
“Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, Major.”
Matt smiled tentatively, guiding her to a shark-gray Lexus. “I prefer women with silky black hair and beautiful golden eyes,” he corrected.
Layne observed him closely as they arrived at his car. Brad had gone through similar motions hundreds of times: carefully inspecting the vehicle before putting the key in the door. After all, a bomb could have been placed inside, ready to explode upon contact when the key entered the lock. Although it was ninety degrees and the hot sun was beating down upon them, Layne shivered.
Finally satisfied, Matt opened the door for her. Layne climbed in without a word, strapping the seat belt across her body. Then Matt slid in, deceptively relaxed.
“Why are you being so complimentary today?” Layne demanded as he guided the purring Lexus into the noontime traffic.
“Why not?”
Layne fumed inwardly. How many times had Brad answered a question with a question? She’d finally realized she wasn’t supposed to ask questions at all, although she’d had many during the last four years of their marriage. Now, she gave Matt Talbot a murderous look.
“Because you want something from me, Major Talbot, that’s why.” And you’re too handsome, she added silently, aware of his clean profile as he drove. A slight, inviting smile hovered around his mouth, easing the hard planes of his face.
“Why do you confuse my honesty with wanting something from you?”
Layne frowned and clutched her leather purse more tightly between her hands. “Since when did agents become honest?” she retorted scathingly.
“I’m an officer in the Air Force, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“You also work for the Company.”
“Sometimes.”
“Like now. You’re working for them now. This minute.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve got the nerve to ask me why I don’t trust your compliments?”
He slid a lazy look in her direction, then returned his attention to the driving. “Did you question your husband’s compliments?”
Tears drove into her eyes. She felt as if someone had struck her in the chest with a fist. “That’s unfair!”
“Any more unfair than questioning that I might compliment you because I think you’re attractive?”
Her nostrils flared with anger as she glared at him. “You’re very good at slipping a dagger between someone’s ribs, Major Talbot. Did someone teach you to use personal assaults to net the desired response from the other party, or does it just come naturally?”
His eyes turned glacial. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re paranoid?”
“It comes with the territory.” Layne’s knuckles whitened, and she stared straight ahead.
“There’s an old axiom that the more paranoid the agent, the better he or she is destined to be—” Matt gave her a keen look “—but it’s not recommended behavior for the family of the agent.”
“It rubs off,” she replied, tight-lipped.
As they walked into the elegant French restaurant located in a popular section of Georgetown, Matt leaned over. His voice was low, vibrating through her. “I owe you an apology. It’s been one hell of a rough day, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Am I forgiven?”
One look into his eyes and Layne’s retort melted. She avoided his searching look. “Let’s just call it a draw, shall we?”
Matt laughed softly, guiding her into the darkened foyer of the establishment. “Now you see us as sparring partners in a boxing match.”
“Aren’t we?” she needled him.
He gave her an amused look, saying nothing.
Layne was not surprised when Matt shifted into fluid French with the maître d’, and she reluctantly admitted his accent was excellent. As they approached a quiet, intimate table, Layne noticed that Matt was the only uniformed guest. The noontime trade at La Fleur mostly consisted of Hill people.
“You’re getting quite a few daggered looks, you know,” she said when he’d completed the wine order.
Matt’s gaze settled hungrily on Layne. He liked her husky, warm voice. It reminded him of melting honey. “Does it bother you?”
She shook her head, folding her hands and resting her chin on them. “No. They probably think you belong back over at the Pentagon and not on this side of the Potomac.”
He smiled, placing the menu aside and resting his forearms on the table. “There wasn’t a restaurant like La Fleur over there. You deserve the best, Mrs. Hamilton. And if my uniform causes any of the patrons a bit of discomfort, I can live with that if you can.”
“Men in uniform don’t bother me, Major. It’s agents in plain-clothes that I distrust,” Layne reminded him sharply.
“Then I’m glad I’m in uniform.”
Layne had the grace to blush. And then she recognized the sincerity in his softly spoken words. She felt as if he’d reached out and caressed her, the vibrant warmth of his voice again soothing her emotions. Last night she had lain awake a long time remembering his comforting words in her ear as she’d sobbed against his chest. And she remembered with vivid clarity the strength of his arms around her body, rocking her, caring for her simply because she was hurting and alone. Layne felt confusion rise within her as she met and held his gaze.
“Please,” she begged softly, leaning forward, “why are you going to all this trouble? I know you want something from me.”
Matt cocked his head, studying Layne with raw intensity. She was warm and outgoing by nature. And he had known her late husband, Brad Carson, off and on for years. Brad had been as cold as they came. Matt couldn’t imagine Layne in Carson’s arms. She was a woman of vulnerability, her sensuality as natural as moonlight. And Carson had never shown any response to others’ feelings or emotions. How had they come together? Matt wondered.
Rousing himself, he forced a slight smile. “For you, I’m an open book.”
Layne gave him a careful look that implied skepticism. “Oh, sure you are!”
He opened his hands in a gesture of peace. “Try me.”
The waiter came, interrupting them,
