leave.”
“No!”
The vehemence in that single word startled her. Her gaze met his in the mirror. But his voice was nonchalant enough when he explained, “Women have the advantage of being able to just pull their hair up to achieve a different look. Believe me, sweetheart, your hair is going to be the last thing any man concentrates on.”
While she struggled with his meaning, Jasmine watched Walker cover the hair on his arms with the same mixture, then apply it to his chest. The matching color would make his alteration all the more convincing. She noted the face he made as he rubbed the stuff on his torso. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just shave the hair off?”
One side of his mouth lifted. “Easier? Yeah. But the only time I tried that I almost went nuts while it was growing back. It itched like crazy. I’ve decided this is more work, but much more comfortable later.”
He bent over the tub that was easily large enough to host a small dinner party, and turned on the gold-plated taps. With his head shoved under the faucet he said, “Get me a couple towels and washcloths, will you?” She did so, then returned to the bedroom. There was something much too cozy about watching the man engage in his preparations. Their assignment was complicated enough by their previous brief relationship. There would be no place for emotion in this job.
She distracted herself by studying the quarters he’d been given. It was opulent, like the rest of the palace, with a huge lake of a bed covered with rumpled satin sheets. Pillows lay strewn around it. Walker liked to sleep sprawled out, she recalled. At least he had in the little time they’d spent sleeping their one night together. Although she’d awakened to find herself close to the edge of the bed, she’d been in no danger of falling from it. He’d been holding her much too closely for that.
To shake the memories from her mind, she crossed to the large desk. Its top was strewn with papers and maps. When he rejoined her minutes later she was absorbed in them.
Without turning around she folded a map over to reveal the one beneath. “How will we travel to Maloun?” While she’d spent every hour they’d been in Tamir trying to learn as much of that country’s history as possible, Walker had been taking care of the physical details of the assignment.
“The sheik’s jet will fly us to Redyshah, the capital city. That’s where the prime minister’s quarters are located.” He stepped to her side, indicated a spot on the map. “The airport is in the northernmost part of the city. One of our operatives will have a car waiting for us, outfitted with some supplies I ordered.”
She nodded. “You will have ample opportunity to demonstrate your skills as my driver. I hope you are up to the challenge. As your passenger, I will have very exacting standards.”
Her attempt to needle him failed. He merely crowded closer to her, reached to flip a map over. “I’ll be at your service, Jaz. In whatever areas you require.”
He was tantalizing her intentionally. The knowledge was the only thing that kept her from moving away. She was unwilling to display even that slight hint of weakness. Studying the maps, she gave every indication of ignoring him. Maloun was Tamir’s closest neighbor, located on the nearby Arabian Peninsula. The northern and central parts of the country, she noted, appeared mostly desert, with the country growing hillier where it was edged by water. She wondered in what part of the country the Brothers were housed.
In a movement she hoped seemed casual, she turned, faced him. “When do we leave?”
“A few hours.” He’d lightened his brows, too, she observed. He would probably also wear contacts to change the color of his eyes. She wondered if it ever seemed odd to him that while other men put on a suit and tie to go to work, he had to become someone else entirely.
But that thought was quickly followed by another. She couldn’t see Walker James wearing pinstripes and keeping banker’s hours. There was something much too elemental, too primitive about him for that. He would be attracted to danger, to excitement. If he hadn’t turned to espionage, he’d be engaged in something else just as risky.
“Let’s go over our covers again.”
She stifled a sigh. They’d been over their stories so often she could repeat hers backward. “My name is Rose Mahrain. My father was the Tamir ambassador to America and we divided our time between Washington, D.C., and Tamir. My husband was also in government, until his death two years ago. When Sheik Kamal offered me a diplomatic post, I eagerly accepted. This will be my first assignment out of the country, and I am naturally anxious to do well.” As was usually the case, the cover could be substantiated, at least on the surface. If an inquiry was conducted, it would be discovered that the details corresponded exactly with a woman by that name, who had been sent out of the country for the course of this assignment. Except the real Rose Mahrain had been offered no such post.
As Englishman John Logan, Walker, too would have a cover that would withstand scrutiny. She found herself anticipating the character he would adopt, complete with accent.
“How did your husband die?”
The continued questioning annoyed her. She was not a schoolchild reciting a memorized lesson for a critical teacher, although she’d certainly repeated this one for Walker often enough. A hint of mischief seized her. “He died in bed.” Her improvisation earned her a narrowed look. “I am a woman of great…needs. I pleasured him to death.”
There was a long pregnant pause. “Stick to the script,” Walker advised finally. “This job is going to be complicated enough without you being deliberately provocative. You may get a response you hadn’t counted on.”
“I have no intention of provoking a response from our targets!”
“I was talking about me.”
Her throat abruptly went dry. There was an all too familiar heat in his eyes that she hadn’t meant to ignite. This tension between them was causing her to act out of character. In every job she prided herself on her ability to remain cool. But something about Walker brought out an unfamiliar impulsivity. The last time she’d given in to those impulses, she’d gotten badly burned in the process. She’d do well to remember that the next time she was tempted to drag a response from him.
To distract them both, she rounded the desk to cross to the window. “What have you learned about the prime minister?”
“His name is Hosni El-Dabir. He’s a career politician, so he’ll be well acquainted with Sheik Ahmed Kamal and his family, even though the two countries don’t have much to do with each other. If he brings up a subject you aren’t completely familiar with, you’d be better off to admit ignorance. He’ll know if you bluff.”
“Thank you so much for the advice,” she said with mock politeness. “I do not know how I manage without your wisdom on other assignments.”
Still wearing a slight frown, he looked at her. “Don’t get bitchy, Jaz. I’m not belittling your ability, just giving you some facts. This thing isn’t going to work if we’re at each other’s throats all the time.”
Since she had thought much the same, she was ready to agree with him. Perhaps even to suggest some sort of truce. But the suggestion he made next drove all other thoughts from her mind. She gaped at him, doubting she’d heard correctly. “What did you say?”
“I said maybe we should just spend an hour or two in bed and get it out of our systems.” When she couldn’t seem to manage an answer,
