Despite everything, she already loved that little child. And even if she didn’t she would have done just about anything for Samantha’s baby.
“Well, you know what I mean,” she amended a bit lamely.
“I don’t really care what you mean,” he said impatiently. “I want to know how you got in here. I want to know what you think you’re doing here.” His blue eyes darkened. “And most of all, I want you to go somewhere else.”
She winced. She could hardly blame him. “Okay,” she said, pulling herself up taller in the seat. “Let me try to explain.”
Was that a sneer on his handsome face?
“I’m all ears.”
She knew very well he was being sarcastic. He didn’t seem to like her very much. That was too bad. Most people liked her on sight. She wasn’t used to this sort of hostility. She sighed, too sleepy to do anything about it, and went back to contemplating his ears.
They were very nice and tight to the sides of his head. She admired them for a moment. Everything about this man was pretty fine, she had to admit. Too bad she always felt like a gangly, awkward teenager around men like this. She was tall; almost six feet, and she’d been that tall since puberty. Her high school years had been uncomfortable. She’d been taller than all the boys until her senior year. People told her she was willowy and beautiful now, but she still felt like that clumsy kid who towered over everyone.
“Okay.”
She rose and began to pace restlessly. Where to begin? She’d thought this visit was going to be pretty straightforward, but now that she was here, it seemed much more complicated. The trouble was, she didn’t know all the sorts of facts a man like this was going to want to know. She’d acted purely on instinct, grabbing Cici and heading for London on barely a moment’s notice. Panic, she supposed. But under the circumstances, she had to think it was understandable. She’d done the only thing she could think of. And now here she was.
She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, shaky breath. She’d come to this man’s apartment for a reason. What was it again? Oh, yes. Someone had told her he could help her find little Cici’s father.
“Do you remember meeting a girl named Samantha?” she asked, her voice cracking a bit on the name. Now it was going to be a chore just to keep from crying. “Small, blonde, pretty face, wore a lot of jangly bracelets?”
He swayed just a little and looked to be about at the end of his tether. She noticed, with a bit of a start, that his hands were balled into tight fists at his side. Another moment or two and he was going to be tearing his hair out in frustration. Either that or giving her shoulders a firm shake. She took a step backward, just in case.
“No,” he said, his voice low and just this side of angry. “Never heard of her.” His brilliant blue eyes were glaring at her. “And never heard of you, either. Though you haven’t provided your own name yet, so I really can’t say that, can I?”
“Oh.” She gave a start and presented herself before him again, chagrined that she’d been so remiss.
“Of course. I’m sorry.” She stuck out her hand. “My name is Ayme Sommers. From Dallas, as if you couldn’t tell.”
He let her stand there with her hand out for a beat too long, still looking as though he couldn’t believe this was happening. For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse to respond and the question of what she was going to do next flitted into her head. But she didn’t have to come up with a good comeback, after all. He finally relented and slid his hand over hers, then held on to it, not letting her go.
“Interesting name,” he said dryly, staring hard into her dark eyes. “Now tell me the rest.”
She blinked at him, trying to pull her hand back and not getting much cooperation. She was suddenly aware of his warm skin and hard muscles in a way that stopped the breath in her throat. She tried not to look down at his chest. It took all her strength.
“What do you mean?” she said, her voice squeaking. “What ‘rest’?”
He pulled her closer and she gaped at him, not sure why he was playing this game of intimidation.
“What is your tie to Ambria?” he asked, his voice low and intense.
She gasped, her eyes wide, and gazed at him in wonder. “How did you know?”
He inclined his head in her direction. “The Ambrian shield on your earrings pretty much gives it away.”
“Oh.” She’d forgotten. Her mind was full of cotton right now. It was amazing that she even remembered who she was. She touched one ear with her free hand. “Of course. Most people don’t know what it is.”
His eyes narrowed. “But you do.”
“Oh, yes.”
She smiled at him and he winced, and almost took a step backward himself. Her smile seemed to light up the room. It was too early for that—and inappropriate considering the circumstances. He had to look away, but he didn’t let go of her hand.
“My parents were from Ambria. I was actually born there. My birth name is Ayme Negri.”
That sounded like a typically Ambrian name, as far as he knew. But he didn’t really know as much as he should. This girl with the shields decorating her ears might very well know a lot more than he did about his own country.
He stared at her, realizing with a stunned, sick feeling that his true knowledge of the land his family had ruled for a thousand years was woefully inadequate. He didn’t know what to ask her. He didn’t know enough to even conjure up a quick quiz to test her truthfulness. All these years he’d had to hide his identity, and in the process he hadn’t really learned enough. He’d read books. He’d talked to people. He’d remembered things from his early childhood. And he’d had one very effective mentor. But it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know who he was at his very core, nor did he know much about the people he came from.
And now she’d arrived, a virtual pop quiz. And he hadn’t studied.
Her hand in his felt warm. He searched her face. Her eyes were bright and questioning, her lips slightly parted as though waiting for what was going to happen next and slightly excited by it. She looked like a teenage girl waiting for her first kiss. He was beginning to think that the alarm, which had gone off like a whistle in his brain, was a false one.
But who was she really and why was she here? She seemed so open, so free. He couldn’t detect a hint of guile in her. No assassin could have been this calm and innocent-looking.
It was pretty hard to believe that she could have been sent here to kill him.
Chapter Two
“AYME NEGRI,” he repeated softly. “I’m David Dykstra.”
He watched her eyes as he said the name. Was there a slight blink? Did she know it was an alias?
No, there was nothing there. No hint of special knowledge. No clues at all. And it only made sense. If she’d wanted to finish him off, she’d had her chance while he was sleeping.
Still, he couldn’t let his guard down. He’d been waiting for someone to arrive with murder on his mind since that dark, stormy night when he was six years old and he’d been spirited away from the rebellion in Ambria and across the countryside in search of a safe haven.
The palace had been burned and his parents killed. And most likely some of his siblings had died as well—though he didn’t know for sure. But he’d been