Page 23 of Afraid to Hope

This was not what she had intended. Natasha flopped around like a fish out of water, ending faceup, her head resting on his growing arousal. She panicked and looked to the front seat where Simon was busy adjusting the rearview mirror, wholly enjoying the two of them. When she succeeded in sitting next to Bane and adjusting her skirt, her face was flushed with exertion and embarrassment.

“That was unforgettable!” Bane laughed hysterically, rendering her speechless. He tilted his head back, eyes crinkled, mouth wide open, straight white teeth exposed, chortling his ass off. He placed one of his large hands over his flat stomach. “Damn, my gut hurts.”

Natasha growled at him, which made Bane laugh even harder. He wiped at his eyes.

“Seriously? You found that funny?” Her anger bloomed like algae in a stagnant summer pond.

“Simply the best.” Bane erupted into laughter again, almost doubling over. He was clearly fighting to bring himself under control. “Are you okay? I’m sorry. Should’ve asked first, but having you launch like that. And land as you did—” He started to laugh again. “Shit, Nat. That was the best. Totally unexpected. You made my morning.”

Natasha burst out laughing. “You make me so mad. I lose my head. Let me know when you’re done laughing at my expense.”

His words mixed with his laughter. “Hey. You okay up there, man? Did she clock you with one of her lovely feet while she was going over?”

Natasha snorted.

“I am in one piece. Somehow she missed me entirely.” Simon chuckled.

Bane sobered. Still smiling, he shook his head. “Okay. Think I’m done.” He twisted slightly to look at her and then started laughing again. “Seriously, Nat. I never thought I’d see Miss Starched Ass Stick in the Butt do something like that.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then opened them again. His concern appeared genuine. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously I am.” Best intentions.Nothing more than a bruised ego.The admission hurt.Miss Starched Ass Stick in the Butt. Jesus.Was that really how he saw her? Probably, and that wasn’t good. When was the last time someone appeared genuinely concerned about her? Natasha was unable to utter a word because her heart stuttered around in her chest.Nat.She could live with that. It really wasn’t a big deal, and actually coming out of his mouth it made her feel… hope. And that felt… good.

Bane grinned. “This will be something we can tell our grandchildren about.”

Natasha’s breathing slowed as she found herself lost in Bane’s hazel depths.

“Relax. It’s okay. We’re married,” he whispered in her ear. He clasped her hand in his and pulled her closer, leaning over to help. “Let’s get you buckled up.” His deep voice took on a husky edge and he clicked in her seat belt. “Simon, how much longer?”

“Traffic is moving well. About thirty minutes.”

Natasha and Bane reviewed their covers and assignment details while Simon drove.

“The archaeological museum is up ahead,” Simon announced.

“Time to look alive. We’re on. Ready?”

Natasha smiled. “I am.”

The acquisitions area of the museum was an enormous windowless catacomb. Natasha and Bane walked briskly behind Ms. Guilford, the curator who had met them at the front desk upstairs. On either side of them, varying sizes of crates were scattered about in different stages of being unpacked, and staff busied themselves cataloging the items and logging them into the museum’s network.

Ms. Guilford’s heels clacked over the tile, and Natasha noticed how the curator’s hips sashayed under her skirt, working to get Bane’s attention.The woman is going to throw her hips out.Ms. Guilford made a sudden right into a hall and headed through a door. Natasha elbowed Bane sharply and gave him a hard look just before they followed her into the cube of glass.

“What?” he mouthed.

“I apologize for the state of my office,” Ms. Guilford said, closing the door behind them, her eyes following her extended arm as it swept over the cramped, disheveled space. “Have a seat please, Mr. Rua. Dr. Rua.” She smiled warmly and indicated the empty, utilitarian metal chairs while clearing hers of paperwork. “I apologize, Mr. Rua. The chair is a little small for a man of your size.” Her tone dripped with female appreciation.

Natasha tamped down her annoyance. “He’ll manage. Trust me.”

Bane faced Natasha and winked, further elevating her annoyance. He held the chair and bent over as she sat, his hand briefly stroking her shoulder before he moved the other chair next to hers. Closer, he slipped an arm around Natasha, encouraging her to lean in. His hand slid over her arm and brushed her knuckles. Bane continued until Natasha started to soften, then released her. He leaned back and stretched his long legs out in front of him, wearing a satisfied expression, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.

His simple act lit her blood on fire. Natasha’s eyes had a mind of their own as they stared at his big hands parked over his zipper, then traveled up his body—past the webbed belt threaded through the loops of his khakis to his snug-fitting button-down, which highlighted the flat, hard planes of his abs and chest—to his face. Bane’s eyes connected with hers, and he flashed a straight white smile.

Ms. Guilford took several folders from the top of the credenza behind her desk and lowered herself to her seat, slipping on her glasses, which did little to detract from the lovely, delicate face framed by silky, long brown hair and bangs. After quickly flipping through the pile and extracting several pocket folders, she pushed one of them toward Natasha and Bane, back in full professional mode. “Per Executive Director Cantrell, I am aware you are working with AFRIPOL. The museum is grateful to you for helping us recover some of the most important artifacts found in recent years. The significance of three-hundred-thousand-year-oldHomo sapiensremains and the codex could be monumental.”

“We are happy to assist and understand the urgency in recovering and repatriating these discoveries.” Natasha scooted her chair closer to the desk and pulled the contents from the folder. She noted how Ms. Guilford’s pale skin flushed a rosy pink every time her eyes flitted over Bane. Indeed. He had that effect on women.

Bane edged his chair next to Natasha’s, brushing against her as he leaned in to better see the documents and photos.

His touch made her burn, and she took a deep, controlled breath to quell her accelerating heart rate before focusing on the photos and field notes. “What exactly are we looking at, Ms. Guilford?”

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