style="font-size:15px;"> “I wasn’t trying to change anything. I just think you look—”
“Fabulous. Right. Now here’s my question—have you or haven’t you invited Michael inside after work?”
Tate felt the instant rise of heat in her cheeks. “Not yet.”
“Not yet.” Sara put her fork down and somehow managed to look stern and motherly despite the fact that she was Tate’s age and her hair was a mass of wild blond curls. “You can’t even ask Hotty McSwoon into your home, let alone into your bed, and you’re going to get kidnapped? By strangers? With rope and handcuffs? You don’t see a problem with this?”
“I know. It sounds crazy. But the whole reason I haven’t invited Michael in is because I’m scared. Of everything. Or haven’t you noticed?”
“Of course I know you’re scared, but let’s look at the progression here. First kidnap, then sex?”
“Yes. And I don’t know that he’d even want to have sex.”
Sara laughed. “Oh, please. The way you two look at each other in that limo? I’m surprised you both don’t come at every stoplight.”
“Sara!”
“It’s true and you know it.”
Tate got busy with her lasagna, wishing now she’d taken a much bigger piece. Just thinking about Michael was enough to get her all hot and bothered, and even though Sara was her closest friend, she didn’t like to feel like this except in the privacy of her own bedroom.
“Tate, what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Nothing.”
“Talk to me, girl. This is a huge decision.”
“I know. I’m just so tired of being me. If I could have an exorcism, I would. But I don’t think it’s a devil that makes me so scared. I’ve set up my whole life to be safe, but the cost is huge. I would love to go to the gym with you. I’d love to go back to Italy. I can travel anywhere in the world, but all I see is this place.” She felt tears burn her eyes, and dammit, she didn’t want to cry. “I really think this kidnapping thing will change me. I have to take the chance.”
“What does Michael think?”
“He agrees with you. That it’s insane. But I have to go with my gut on this. I’ve made sure that I can stop things in a minute if I need to. I hope I don’t have to. I want to be a real person, not a shadow.” She pushed her plate away, suddenly not hungry. “I need you to support me, Sara. Please. I need all the good karma I can get.”
Sara reached over and put her hand on Tate’s. “I’ll support you no matter what, okay? Think it through. Make sure this isn’t going to make things worse.”
“It can’t get much worse.”
Sara sighed. She looked around the solarium, at all the plants and flowers, the miniature fruit trees and the tall grasses by the fountain. “I want you to be happy. For what it’s worth, I think Michael’s a really great guy, and you could do a lot worse than getting back in the game with him. But let him in on the kidnap plan. Let him make sure nothing goes haywire.”
“No. He can’t be there or it won’t be real.”
“It’s not going to be real.”
“You know what I mean.”
Sara sighed. “Yeah, I do.”
Tate grinned. “Can you stick around for a movie?”
“Sure I can. But only if I get to pick.”
“We’re not going to watch Notting Hill again.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Deal with it.”
Sara lifted her glass of wine. “To stubborn women.”
Tate raised her own glass. “Amen.”
SHE DIDN’T THINK about the kidnapping or Michael until after Sara left. Tate had gone to her bedroom where she’d washed and gotten into her sleep shirt, then climbed into her bed. She wished she had a cat or a puppy, something to sleep with her. Her father was terribly allergic, so she’d never had her own pet, but this was her house, and if he didn’t like it, he didn’t have to visit.
The moment she closed her eyes she knew it wasn’t a pet she wanted sharing her bed. She wanted Michael.
He really was an exceptional man. She knew he wasn’t thrilled with his life, that he wished he was back doing his 007 thing, but when they were together, him in the front seat, her in the back, there was a connection between them. Even Sara had noticed.
Of course, there was no real future with Michael, but that was all right. Sara had hit the nail on the head—Michael would be ideal as her first after so, so long. He’d be gentle and caring….
A fling. That’s all she wanted. Really.
4
AS HE STOOD LEANING against the limo, waiting for Tate to finish her shopping, Michael thought once more about going to William. It had been a week since Tate had told him she’d agreed to the kidnapping. In that time Michael had met with Brody, talked with three of his past “victims” and gone over the plan about fifty times. He still thought it was a ridiculous and dangerous game, but Tate had made up her mind.
There was still time to go to William, who would put a stop to this nonsense, but Tate was adamant that her father be kept out of the loop. When he’d suggested that he come along for the stunt, Tate had nearly wept insisting that he stay the hell away.
Wasn’t going to happen, of course. Although Brody had said he’d give no warning before the actual snatch, Michael was going to see him tomorrow to persuade him that it was in Brody’s best interest to take him along. Tate wouldn’t know, and that was fine, but there was no way he was going to let her get taken to some unknown location for an indeterminate period of time without him watching every goddamn second. He could just see himself trying to explain to William how Tate had been hurt—or worse—while he’d been watching basketball on ESPN.
Of course, if Brody continued to object, Michael had a plan B. He always had a plan B.
He checked his watch and figured he’d give Tate another five minutes. She was in the Prada store having a fitting. He still couldn’t figure that damn store out. There was practically nothing on display. It was all hidden in some way that clearly appealed to women.
He’d waited out enough fittings to know he couldn’t rush her, but he also didn’t like her to be out of his sight. Of course, Elizabeth was with her, and he trusted her. Even better, Tate trusted her. A former CIA case officer, Elizabeth knew her way around a weapon.
His cell phone rang. It was George, one of his tech guys who worked on the alarm system at Tate’s. They were replacing some of the equipment, and Michael had asked for regular updates. As in all things concerning Tate, he wanted the hard-core work to be done when she was sleeping or out
