We might not be wha—?
He was almost awake, and thoroughly confused, and, okay, he might have offered her a good time at some point—it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility—and the coffee line sounded like him, but still.
‘And then you told me that the ripples in my hair reminded you of deep ocean waves—in the moonlight, no less—and I figured we might just be soul mates after all. I’ve been wrong before.’
‘I did not say that. I would never say that. Your hair’s too short for ripples. It’s unrippleable.’
‘I gave you a glass of milk and three prescription painkillers and you groaned your gratitude. It was a deep and growly groan. Very sexy. I still had faint hope of an exemplary orgasm. Ninety seconds later you were asleep.’
She was better at this game than he was. He was playing injured, for starters. But maybe, just maybe, she was the better player.
‘You can stop now, Director. I know who you are.’
‘Of course you do.’ She shot him a very level gaze. ‘You need to stop playing me for a fool, Mr West. You need to stop looking at my mouth. And then you need to pay attention to what I’m about to say.’
He eased into a sitting position, wincing as he slung his legs over the side of the bed. At least he still had his trousers on. He remembered bandages too, but maybe they’d been coming off rather than going on. Either way, they were nowhere to be seen. Neither were any of his other clothes. Possibly because they’d been filthy.
He eyed the suitcase in the corner with interest. ‘I’m listening.’
‘You need to know that there’s no record that you were working for us during your time with Antonov. No one’s going to claim you as their dark pony. You’re on your own.’
That got his attention. He dragged his gaze from the suitcase back to the section director standing at the end of the bed. ‘So you’re throwing me under a bus?’
These things happened when you came back covered in filth rather than glory.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, but she didn’t deny it.
‘I want to talk to my handler.’
‘Then talk. Because right now the closest thing you have to a handler is me.’
‘No offence, but I don’t know you.’
‘No offence taken, but I do hope there’s someone in-house that you’re willing to talk to. I’ll be in your sister’s kitchen, Mr West. As for you, it’s time to get dressed. My people are almost ready to leave and you’re coming with us.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes. Either willingly or not.’ She smiled gently. ‘We don’t care.’
‘You know, they never mentioned that in the brochure.’
This time she laughed. ‘Maybe you should have read the fine print.’
If Jared had figured to slip quietly out of the farmhouse unnoticed, he’d been sadly mistaken. A big breakfast cook-up was in progress by the time he emerged from the bedroom, with his brother, Damon, wielding the tongs and his sister Poppy presiding over the flipping of fried eggs. The director was there too, sitting on a stool, sipping coffee and reading something on her computer, looking for all the world as if she had a place in his family—as if she was comfortable there.
He headed for the coffee machine. Looked at it and sighed. It was shiny, spanking new, and he had no idea what half the knobs on it did. ‘Does this do double-shot espresso?’
‘Only if you ask nicely,’ said Damon’s very pregnant wife.
Ruby was her name, and Jared eyed the bright green bow atop her head warily. She opened the lid of the coffee container and the aroma of freshly ground beans assaulted his nose and sent him straight back to a little coffee house in Istanbul.
Ruby obligingly waved the container beneath his nose. ‘We can put this in a pot and make it Turkish-style, if that’s your preference?’
‘I’m beginning to understand why Damon married you.’
‘You mean, it didn’t instantly dawn on you?’
‘Um …’ Why was his world suddenly so full of beautiful smart-mouthed women? ‘Turkish coffee would be great. I can make it.’
Ruby favoured him with a pretty smile. Jared risked a glance in Damon’s direction before taking a careful step back. He liked women with pretty smiles. He did. He’d never before been scared of one, but there was a first time for everything.
‘I … uh … I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back for your wedding.’
‘Play your cards right and you can be Damon’s plus-one at the birth.’
Oh, dear God. She was probably joking. Hopefully she was joking. But he figured a change of subject wouldn’t hurt. ‘Anyone seen the newly happily married couple this morning?’
‘They’re still in bed.’
Jared winced. There was another image he really didn’t want in his head.
‘You don’t approve?’ asked Poppy.
‘I do approve. I just don’t want to think about it.’
‘Very healthy,’ his new sister-in-law murmured.
‘If I whimper will you back off?’
‘I didn’t think terrorist-hunters whimpered.’
‘This one does.’
He shuffled around to the kitchen side of the bench, opened a couple of cupboards before finding a saucepan and dumping some water in it. Surprisingly, Ruby carefully shook a damn near perfect amount of ground coffee into it before putting the coffee tin back on the counter.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Poppy.
‘Good.’ As if a rhinoceros had rolled on him. ‘Peachy.’
And then Poppy was beside him, worming her way beneath his arm and hugging him carefully, and he closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her head as he gathered her in—because it was good to be home, and they had no idea how much he’d missed this, missed them, and for what?
He’d brought down the Antonov operation. So what? Another arms dealer would take Antonov’s place. He’d exposed a few moles in high places, but he’d be a fool to think he’d exposed them all. He knew he hadn’t exposed them all.
He opened his eyes to find Rowan Farringdon staring at him with puzzled eyes. He knew he was showing his weakness for family but he just didn’t care any more. He closed his eyes and hugged Poppy tighter.
‘Do I get one of those?’
The voice came from the doorway. Jared opened his eyes and looked straight at Lena. She looked well, if a little tousled, and her pretty floral sundress suited her. She looked happy.
‘If you want,’ he offered gruffly.
‘I do want.’
Lena started towards him, a slight hitch in her step—no way was he going to call it a limp—and then he had his arms full of Lena and Poppy both.
‘Got to do something to take that look off your face,’ said Lena.
‘What look?’
‘The faraway one. You need to come back to us, Jare.’
‘I am back.’
Lena stared at him intently for what felt like a very long time before silently shaking