Page 7 of Lone Spy

ChapterFour

My heels clickon the marble entry floor. The gray and white stone reflects the light of the sun glinting off the ocean.

Another echoing click of my heels, and the couch in my living room comes into view.

My heart pounds and the headache from this morning roars back to life behind my eyes as Temperance Johnson unfolds himself from its deep seat. He's smiling, warmth radiating from his eyes—golden brown tiger stones set above high, elegant cheekbones.

I take an unconscious, unintended step back, the clack of my heel jolting awareness into my body. Ash is right there, blocking me. We don't touch, but an electric spark surges between us, sharp enough to thrust me forward.

Ash follows, the space between us sizzling, as I cross the top of the steps that descend into the seating area. Temperance waits at the foot of the stairs—he only has to tilt his head a little to look up at me. His arm is long enough he can reach out and offer his hand, palm up.Shall we dance?

I let the edges of my lips curl into a smile that borders on a smirk.As if I have a choice.

I lay my hand in his—our palms press together, fitting just fine. I don’t lean any weight on him as I descend the three steps, slowly going from taller than Temperance Johnson to shorter.

He’s a big man. Not as large as Ash but they are about the same height. Temperance is trimmer, less bulked up. He has the body of a swimmer, a shark gliding through water.

Our hands part as we end the charade that I needed his help descending into my own living room—womanhood summed up in one false gesture. Revulsion churns my stomach and burns the base of my throat.

"Can I offer you a drink?" I ask, my voice steady, as if there is nothing uncomfortable about finding him in my home.

“Thanks, I’ll have whatever you're having." His voice is a velvety baritone, not so much familiar as burned into the depths of my brain, wrapped up in all sorts of trauma. All sorts of misery. It's as if the man narrates my nightmares.

But there is kindness in those tiger eyes. He’s pulling off menacing and caring—Temperance could have acted on the screen, but chose espionage, a less public kind of performance. It seems he loves the craft as much as me, but prefers shadows to stage lights.

My heels sink into the thick rug—an abstract geometric design in blues and grays reminiscent of the ocean swirling around the pylons below—as I cross to the bar. I have to give Temperance my back. But that’s okay. Because a large, gold-framed mirror hangs above the walnut credenza.

My gaze flicks up to where Ash still stands, a few feet back from the top of the steps. His expression is blank. He's taken off his sunglasses and stares out toward the horizon. There is no evidence he feels guilt about letting Temperance ambush me.

Dark embers of rage burn in my chest. I'll deal with Ash later.

"Congratulations on the new film," Temperance says, still standing at the bottom of the steps as if waiting there in case any other women might need assistance. "You look lovely in the photos from last night. I'm sorry it ended the way it did."

"Thank you," I say, keeping my voice light as I focus on my task. Sliding one of the credenza's doors aside reveals a wine fridge stocked with drinks.

I bend down to snare a bottle of sparkling water, knowing what my body looks like to the two men standing behind me. Knowing that one glance in the mirror would confirm two sets of eyes incapable of looking away from what they want. Men are too predictable. Why are they the ones ruling the world?

"The premiere is being rescheduled." Temperance's voice does not tip up at the end. It's not a question. I haven't even gotten a call about that yet. "The European press tour will be pushed off by a week," he continues as I pour the water. I turn back to him, holding two cut crystal glasses, sizzling with seltzer.

Crossing the space between us, I let my hips sway. The jeans I'm wearing hug my curves, but Temperance's eyes stay focused on my face. He’s confident of what’s there, doesn’t need to look.

When I'm close, too close really, invading his personal space, he reaches for a glass. I smile and shake my head, a subtle gesture but Temperance doesn't miss it. His hand falls back to his side. "Sit," I say, pointing toward the couch behind him with my chin.

Temperance smirks as if he knows what I'm doing, recognizes how close I'm standing, understands I'm ordering him to dance. A little bit of a quid pro quo, you might say.You came into my house unannounced, the least you can do is what I tell you to.

Temperance glances at the couch over his shoulder and then gives me his back to move toward it.Happy to play your games, Sweetie.

It's only two strides and Temperance is there, with me right behind him, crowding him. When he turns to sit I remain close, but the only effect on him appears to be amusement.

I stand over him, his knees almost brushing mine as he lands on the low, deep couch. It's meant for lounging, curling one’s legs up, and staring out to the sea.

I hand Temperance his glass, leaning over so that my breasts fall together and push at the top button of my blouse.

He doesn't glance at them, but when I turn around, crossing to my chair, I check in the mirror to see his eyes exactly where I expect them to be.

My gaze is drawn back to where Ash stood. He's gone—slipped away quiet as a mouse. Sneaky as a snake. I’ve never caught him looking. Not once. But I don’t doubt the way I affect him. I’m just that arrogant.

I sit in a high-backed chair to face Temperance. The view isn't as good as the one from the couch, and I rarely take this seat. It also makes me feel like a guest in my own home, a feeling I now force away. I belong here. This is all mine. Iearnedit.

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