wasn’t a word in Hawk’s vocabulary. He always had just the right comeback, the right solution. But when he looked into Elizabeth’s wide eyes and saw memory glowing back at him—the heat, the uncertainty—his body came to immediate and painful attention.
Say something, he commanded himself. Break the moment before it breaks you. It was bad enough he had to spend the night with her. He didn’t need to spend it with memories, too.
“Don’t worry, Ellie,” he gritted out, spurred on by survival instincts that had failed him earlier. “I’m not here to get you into bed. We’ve been there,” he said with a casualness he didn’t come close to feeling, “done that, remember?” He paused, tried to smooth the jagged edges inside him. For effect he grinned. “And if I were a betting man, I’d lay money on the fact you threw out the T-shirt.”
Confident he’d said what was necessary to kill the moment of intimacy, Hawk braced an arm against the doorjamb and waited. But then the most amazing thing happened. Elizabeth didn’t look away or lift her chin, she didn’t skewer him with a pointed comeback. She…smiled.
“Actually,” she said in that honeyed voice of hers, the one that rang of old Richmond breeding and hot Southern nights, the one she usually hid behind crisp boarding-school style, “I donated the T-shirt.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or swear or eliminate the distance between them and show her just what she did to him. Still. Even now. Against every rule in his book.
“You saying I’m a charity case, dear heart?” he asked, stepping toward her.
The bathroom wasn’t big to begin with, but with both of them standing in the cramped space and the heat of memory weaving between them like a net falling into place, the little white walls seemed to box them in. She tried to step back, but there was nowhere to go.
“Your words,” she said with a breeziness that he recognized as dismissal, “Not mine.”
This time he did laugh. “Because if I’m a charity case and your job is fund-raising, then maybe we should seriously consider getting another donation together and—”
She lifted her chin. “Go away, Wesley.”
He’d never been a man to back down from a challenge, and that cultured, clipped voice registered as a twenty on a scale of one to ten.
“What are you afraid of?” he drawled, his voice low. “I’ve told you my intentions are honorable, and it’s a little late for modesty.” They both knew he’d seen her do far more than brush her teeth. “If I go away, who’ll protect you from the bad guys?”
Her eyes met his. “Maybe I’ll take my chances.”
“But I won’t.” Then, because the Army had taught him the value of ending a campaign before the tide turned, he reached into his shaving kit, found the spare toothbrush and handed it to her. “Here.”
She took the red handle from him and ripped off the plastic wrapper. “I’d tell you you’re a jerk,” she said, meeting his gaze in the mirror, “but that would make you too happy.”
Very true. “And God knows that would be a crime,” he muttered, then turned and walked out of the bathroom.
He didn’t look back.
As much as he’d once enjoyed playing verbal chess with Elizabeth Carrington, that time had come and gone. They weren’t dancing in the shadows now. Each encounter wasn’t foreplay. They’d exploded and fizzled out, no matter how much a part of him deep, deep inside burned to see if he could still rattle her cage. He had a job to do. It was as simple as that.
Out there somewhere, Jorak Zhukov lurked. Thirsting for revenge. Targeting Elizabeth. Acting out of character. Striking quickly wasn’t his style. The bastard preferred to stalk his prey slowly, deliberately, luring them into invisible traps.
Desperation, however, could change a man.
Hawk knew that well.
Pacing, he glanced toward the nightstand, where his Glock lay next to Elizabeth’s black pearls. They shimmered against her skin, changed colors with her outfits. Once, he’d enjoyed holding them in his fingers, rubbing, caressing…
On impulse he crossed the room and sat on the bed closest the window, picked up the pearls. They were soft and smooth, cultured, refined.
Just like her.
Swearing softly, he let the pearls fall from his fingers, but could do nothing about the sound of gunfire echoing through his memory.
“You don’t have any more surprises in store for me, do you?” Elizabeth turned off the bathroom light and breezed into the main room. “We are headed to Richmond tomorrow, right?”
Hawk stretched out on the bed and linked his hands behind his head. When he’d left her a few minutes before, her eyes had been big and dark, memory glowing like a candle that refused to burn out. But classic Elizabeth Carrington, she’d washed all that messy emotion away and now looked at him through a gaze as refined as the pearls he’d been fingering moments before.
“I don’t know,” he said, unable to resist. He lifted the remote and cruised away from CNN. “I was thinking we could take a scenic tour of Lake Louise first…”
Elizabeth swung around. “Wesley,” she said with just the right blue-blood clip. “I’m serious.”
Hawk felt his lips twitch, clenched his teeth hard. Laughing at her wouldn’t help matters, but she had no idea how she looked, standing there with her mother’s glare in her eyes and his ratty flannel shirt hanging from her shoulders.
“So am I,” he drawled, then stopped channel surfing on a Toronto Blue Jays baseball game. “I was reading about a horseback ride up to a glacier, where there’s this quaint little tearoom.” Laughter almost broke through the words. “You like tea, don’t you, Ellie?” he asked with all the innocence of the young elk pictured on the cover of the travel magazine beneath his Glock.
“Why the hurry to get back to Richmond when you’re in such a beautiful country?” he added, knowing the answer. “Does being around me make you that uncomfortable?”
For a minute, there, he actually thought she was going to stalk across the room and smack him.
Instead she lifted her chin. “Saturday is the charity auction. Nicholas and I—”
“Nicholas.” Hawk felt his whole body go tense. “I thought you two called it quits.”
She turned from him and stared a long moment at the ice bucket and room-service menu strewn on the floor. Frowning, she picked them up and returned them to the dresser. “We did.”
The momentary enjoyment he’d found in teasing Elizabeth hardened into something dark and entirely too familiar. He worked hard to shove the emotion down, but the reality of what that man represented overrode years of rigorous training.
“What happened?” He resisted the urge to close the distance between them and take her shoulders in his hands, force her to look him in the eye, deny what they both knew. “You couldn’t marry him after we—”
“No.”
