hand rested on his chest, jolting him back to the present. Damn, she was perceptive.
He grinned bleakly at her. “Yeah, sure. I was just pondering what New Year’s resolution I should make this year.”
“Hmm. That’s a good question.” Laughter twinkled in her warm gaze. “Mine is going to be to wear more red shoes.”
“Gonna take more chances, huh? Gonna try living on the edge?” he teased. The thought of her existing in a world like his was ludicrous. But he couldn’t begrudge her the dream, he supposed. The reality was so much darker than a woman like her could ever imagine.
She nodded firmly. “Yup. That’s me. Danger Girl.”
He laughed, genuinely amused. She had no idea just how dangerous to him she was. He commented lightly, “Well, then, my resolution is to help you make your resolution come true.”
Her gaze snapped to his. Not slow on the uptake, his Emily. She hadn’t for a minute missed the implications of that. He was talking about continuing to see her after tonight. He looked her in the eyes, losing himself in their sweet depths. To have a woman like this for himself, to bathe himself in all that goodness, to soak up her innocence and generosity, to be loved forever by someone like her—
He cut the fantasy off cold. Danger Girl, indeed.
“Wanna take a walk?” she murmured. “Get a little fresh air?”
He grinned. “I think that’s supposed to be my line. Then comes the part where I drag you into some dark corner and try to make out with you.”
She grinned back. “Who says I’m not trying to drag you into the corner to make out with you?”
He nodded his amused acquiescence. “Lead on. My body is yours to ravage.”
He was shocked when she led him over to the elevators and punched the up button. She wasn’t going to take him up to her office—in the Special Cargo Department, no less—was she? Surely this op wouldn’t be that easy.
He leaned down to murmur in her ear, “Are you planning to throw me down on your desk and have your way with me?”
A fiery blush leaped to her cheeks. “Good Lord, my cubicle will never be the same now that you’ve planted that image in my mind!”
“Think how much fun work’s going to be on Monday morning,” he teased.
“I was thinking that we could go out to the water garden and stroll around.”
Ah. The building’s tenth floor was not a floor at all. Rather it was an open-air terrace sporting massive columns and housing an elaborate outdoor modern art collection interspersed with, as she’d already alluded to, a bunch of fountains. All the good stuff in the firm was above that. It was the reason he’d come in through the roof—or at least tried to until that plan went completely to hell.
The elevator opened, and she punched a security code into the number pad inside. He memorized the six-digit number as a matter of course. Emily Grainger was the brass ring and then some for getting the inside scoop on AbaCo. She so far surpassed his wildest expectations for this op that he could hardly believe his luck. And all he could do was imagine different ways to bed her. He was a cad. A sharp knife of guilt stabbed him.
While he admonished himself to get over it and concentrate on his job, she reached out shyly to loop her fingers in the crook of his elbow. He gazed down at her intently and the smile faded from her face. She stared back at him, her pupils dilating until her eyes went black as she correctly interpreted his expression.
The elevator dinged and the door slid open. She shook herself free of their mutual reverie first and stepped toward the exit. Rocked at the effect she had on him, he followed her outside. The wind was howling tonight, but glass panels mounted at intervals all around the edge of the terrace shielded the garden from the worst of it. Nonetheless, he took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
He caught the surreptitious sniff she took, inhaling his scent. And something moved deep within him. Something protective. Possessive.
They’d only walked a dozen steps forward before he spotted the first surveillance camera. This place was a freaking fortress, all right. All the more reason to give up on a simple break-in tonight. Better to cultivate Emily as a long-term asset, to spy for him from the inside.
Distracted by thoughts of all those secret meetings they’d need to have with each other, he ducked his head away from the camera out of long habit, and immediately could’ve kicked himself for having done it. Dammit. If the camera operator was half as good as the rest of the AbaCo team, Jagger had just sent a big red flag up the pole. No innocent civilian reacted that way to a surveillance camera. But a spy most certainly would.
He sighed. Nothing to do now but brazen it out. “Are you warm enough?” He smiled down at Emily.
“It is chilly. But I enjoy the quiet.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, tucking her close against his side. “Better?”
“Mmm,” she murmured. She sounded like a kitten after lapping up a bowl of warm milk. “Are you warm enough?”
He chuckled. “I love cold weather. This is bracing.”
She shook her head. “Give me a tropical beach every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”
“I gathered that from the way you were bundled up when you arrived.”
She laughed ruefully. “My mom always told me to dress like I expect my car to break down and be stranded for hours. I confess I have been known as a compulsive safety girl before. But no more, of course. I’m Danger Girl now.”
He heard the whoosh of an elevator door behind him and held himself still, not reacting. He studied a red metal abstract sculpture in front of him. “That looks like a Calder,” he commented, ignoring the guards he felt approaching in the sudden twitchiness of his shoulder blades.
“I think it is. I’m not too much into modern art, I’m afraid. I like my art old—and the subject identifiable.”
He laughed quietly as two pairs of footsteps became audible.
“You there!” a male voice called out sharply.
He and Emily turned as a single unit, which had the effect of making the maneuver look nice and casual. “Can we help you?” Jagger asked smoothly.
The two men halted, eyeing him suspiciously. “How did you two get up here?”
Emily laughed. “We crawled up the side of the building using our supersuction fingers and spider silk. We took the elevator, of course.”
“Who’s the gentleman with you, Miss Grainger?”
Emily glanced up at him in surprise. “Why, Jagger Holtz, of course.”
The men frowned. “Mind if we see a little identification, sir?”
He frowned as any innocent man would at such a request, but shrugged. “Not at all.” As he dug out his wallet and passed over his driver’s license, he asked, “May I ask what this
