Forever and a Day (10 page)

Her body was amazing, even better than he’d imagined. She had full breasts with sand dollar nipples the color of burnished copper. A light dusting of freckles covered her chest, making him suspect at least one of her parents was a redhead. A slender waist flared to generous hips and a firmly muscled bottom. Tight black curls guarded the entrance to her body; they’d glistened with her fluids even before he’d closed his mouth over her. And her legs… He shut his eyes for a moment, picturing them. Long and shapely, they were banded with lean muscle. She must be a runner, or a climber, to have legs like that. Or maybe she rode a bike.

He cursed softly in German. None of it mattered. He’d always been a klutz socially. Working as an espionage agent fit his makeup perfectly because he never had to make small talk or schmooze people. That was more Garen’s job. Garen could be charming. Lars stumbled when he had to be anything less than straightforward.

He walked to a window, curled his hands around the sill, and looked out at the New York skyline. Forcing long, slow breaths, he catalogued what he knew about Tamara. It wasn’t much. Really only what Garen had told him. Maybe if they got to know one another first… He shook his head. That wouldn’t work. Not until the shifter stumbling block had been addressed. With that still standing in the way, the best they could tell each other would be half-truths.

He was three hundred sixty-seven years old, a few years older than Garen. Any history he shared with Tamara would be a sham unless he could admit that. He sensed she was much younger, but these things were difficult to assess.

Maybe I should not do anything until after we get to Seattle.
He winced. Definitely the coward’s way out, but it seemed easier than any of the alternatives. What if she’d used some sort of Celtic witchcraft to heal herself and she wasn’t a shifter after all? Garen’s intel was good, but it wasn’t foolproof. He hadn’t gotten a look at her wound while they’d clawed at one another, ripe with need, because he’d never gotten her top off. All he’d done was shove it north of her breasts. If he’d seen her bare shoulder, he’d have recognized shifter healing. As it was, he could only guess.

I was little better than an animal in rut.
He let go of the windowsill, doubled his hand into a fist, and slammed it into his thigh. His muscles bunched like they did when he found himself in life-and-death situations; he forced himself to relax, to breathe. He wouldn’t do anyone any good if he was this spun out.

The bathroom door opened. Even though it was a normal sound, he started as if a gun had gone off behind him. The soft patter of her footsteps moved toward him. He arranged his face in what he hoped was a neutral expression and turned.

She gazed at him with a sad, drawn expression and his heart shattered. Had he brought her to this? She’d been so strong, had survived her charade with Jaret Chen… “
Fraulein
.” He held out his hands.

“It’s all right.” She licked her lips. “Truly it is. I am sorry things got out of control. I assure you I will not be so brazen again.” She looked at the floor. “Sure and I’m not understanding exactly what got into me, but I said that before.”

“If that is what you wish,” he said stiffly, not wanting to betray any emotion that she might construe as pressure to change her mind, “I, too, will be more circumspect. You are a very beautiful woman. Any man would—”

She shoved a hand toward him, palm facing outward. “Stop. It’s better for us to speak of other things. How much more time until we return to the airplane?”

He glanced at his wrist. “A couple of hours.”

She scrubbed the heels of her hands up her cheeks and blew out a breath. “Seems like enough time. Maybe you could be telling me more about this company of yours. The one you’re wanting me to work for.”

“What do you wish to know?”

She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Everything.” Tamara walked into the small, open kitchen and began rifling through cupboards and drawers. “My goodness, but there’s a decent selection of ingredients here. While you talk, I’ll be making us a bit of a snack.”

“
Ja
, the concierge sees these kitchens are well stocked. You do not have to cook for me,
fraulein
.”

She spun to face him; her mouth was set in a tense line, her eyes were hooded. “I know, but I’m happier when I’m busy. If you see me reach for some ingredient you hate, speak up.”

“I am easy to please. Whatever you prepare will be wonderful.” Lars knew he sounded like an automaton, but his hands were tied. He couldn’t talk about what he wanted to. There were too many barriers. He turned one of the kitchen chairs around and sat, crossing his arms over its backrest. Tamara moved about the kitchen with grace and confidence. She was apparently making an omelet-esque dish with chopped fresh vegetables and grated cheese. Because her back was to him, it spared them having to look at one another.

She’d asked about The Company. What he could tell her about that was limited, since he couldn’t discuss its origins during the Revolutionary War, nor the fact that all field agents were shifters.

“Well?” She spoke to the skillet simmering in front of her, rather than to him. “It seems I have some decisions to make, and quite soon. I can’t be making them without a spot more information.”

“Of course,
fraulein
.” Lars took a measured breath. “Garen founded the company when he became concerned about the incompetence of the United States government to deal with threats to the free world. It took many years, but he has gathered as fine a team of intelligence agents as exists anywhere. We are loyal to the core.

“For many years I worked for a different company located in Germany. Same objectives, but separate management. Recently, we merged with The Company to better serve our common interests.”

She set a steaming plate in front of him. It smelled wonderful and reminded him how long since he’d had a real meal. “Would you like some tea with this—or maybe coffee?” she asked.

“Tea would be fine.”

She nodded. “Excellent. I brewed a pot, and I made enough for both of us…” She gave an apologetic shrug. “I suppose I should have asked, but I didn’t want to be interrupting you.”

“It is wonderful,
fraulein
. Thank you. Come sit so you can eat too.”

She brought her own plate to the table, poured tea for them, and spread a selection of condiments in front of him. He looked up from eating. “This is exceptional. Have you ever worked as a cook?”

“Sure and I’ve done a little bit of everything over the years. Cooking, waitressing, receptionist work. My family wasn’t exactly poor, but there was never much left over. I worked my way through college.”

She tucked into her food. He watched her sidelong, thinking she was the most enchanting woman he’d ever met. Of course she wouldn’t want a tongue-tied lout like him. Tamara looked up. “Tell me more? How many people work for The Company? Is Garen the boss?”

Lars nodded and took a sip of tea. It was brewed to perfection, just as the omelet was a succulent combination of crisp-tender vegetables, melted cheese, and just-right eggs. What a plus that she could cook.
A plus for some other man
, he thought sourly.

He reined in his disappointment and addressed her questions. “Between the European firm and the American one, there are just over a hundred employees. All are independent contractors. A board of directors is in charge of operations, so there is not a boss
per se.
Garen, Miranda, myself, and two others comprise the board…”

She fed him questions so skillfully, Lars was surprised when he glanced over at the microwave’s clock and discovered they’d run out of time. Even though they hadn’t discussed anything of consequence, he felt better, more balanced, than he had while he’d watched her cook.

“Thank you,” he said and got up. He gathered their few dishes and ferried them to the counter.

“Is it time?”

He nodded. “Yes, the airplane should be ready for us. I need to make a call and confirm our flight plan.” He picked up his cell phone and started to dial when a thought occurred to him. “Not that anyone will ask, but if they do, you are my copilot.”

Her eyes rounded. “I’ve fooled around a wee bit in single engine airplanes, but they’re nothing like what we flew across the Atlantic. I only recognized a few of the instruments in the cockpit. What if they ask for papers? A license?”

“They will not. If anyone should say anything, let me do the talking.” He hesitated. “The basic flight principles are the same, no matter what the aircraft. Perhaps we could use the next few hours to augment your knowledge base.”

A smile bloomed on her face, and she clapped her hands together. “Sure and I’d like that.” For the barest moment, she looked carefree. Lars wished he’d found her before she’d killed Jaret, wished he’d gotten to the man first. Though they hadn’t talked about it, she was probably still figuring out her life would never be the same. That sort of thing sank in gradually. If she had to absorb the full impact of her actions all at once, it might be too much to take in.

He opened his mouth to give voice to some of his thoughts, changed his mind, and simply said, “My pleasure,
fraulein
.” To avoid further conversation, he glanced at his phone and punched in the numbers to file their flight plan.

Tamara settled into the copilot’s seat and put the headset Lars handed her over her head. Thank all the saints the tension had bled out of the air between them. Somewhere between her making them a midday meal and talking about his work, things had cleared. Maybe he’d found a place to stuff his guilt over being unfaithful. She covered a grimace with a cough and rotated her injured shoulder. Though she hadn’t fully finished healing it in shifted form, it was good enough and the pain minimal.

He jabbered to the tower in pilot-ese, and the plane rolled out of the hangar and took its place in line for takeoff. “Do you have a private pilot’s license?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, but not very many hours, and all of them in tiny, single engine planes.”

“Why did you not fly more?”

“It’s very dear. The only reason I learned to fly at all was because my brother owns a small air cargo operation just north of Dublin. He knew how much I loved being in the air, so he took pity on me. He couldn’t afford to give me totally free lessons, but all I had to pay for was fuel.”

Lars glanced at her and smiled. “I am so glad you love to fly. It is one of my passions.”

Tamara couldn’t help herself. The words burst from her before she could modulate them. “What are your other ones?”

Color rose from the open neck of his buff-colored linen shirt. Her headset crackled with a spate of instructions from the tower and he said, “They have cleared us for takeoff,
fraulein
. We will talk more once we are airborne. Place your feet on the rudders and your hands on the yoke. Feel what I do with them. Watch what I do with the throttle and keep an eye on these sets of instruments.” He ran his index finger down a row of round dials between them. She noticed two identical rows and understood one was for each engine. He’d sidestepped her question about his passions, but there’d be time to ask again between now and Seattle.

She curled her hands around the yoke and settled her feet lightly on the rudder pedals. In an odd way, it almost felt as if he were caressing her through the plane’s controls. Tamara almost laughed aloud at her wishful thinking. Powerful jet engines revved. The plane bounded down the runway and rose smoothly into the air. She felt when he let up on the right rudder pedal, felt when he evened out the yoke, watched the instrument display needles hover at the top of the green zone before settling back to where they had a larger safety margin. All the while, she eyed him sidelong through lowered lashes.

Lars flew the plane as if it were an extension of his body. He seemed to sense its needs in his bones, responding before the plane needed his intervention. He looked her way, caught her gaze on him, and hastily returned his attention to the instrument panel. Tamara looked away also, but his smoke-colored eyes remained in her mind. So did his thick, white-blonde hair and athlete’s build.

“So.” His voice sounded strained. “We have just passed through ten thousand feet. I understand you do not usually fly so high in the small planes without pressurized cabins, but what is important about ten thousand feet?”

She captured her lower lip between her teeth and tried to focus on something other than Lars’ hands and wishing they were moving over her body rather than on the airplane’s controls. “Takeoffs and landings are when the plane is vulnerable, in most danger of crashing.” She took a breath, thinking. “With the small planes, it’s a relief to get enough altitude so there is a cushion, in case I have to plan an emergency landing. I’m thinking it might be similar, but this plane is so heavy, if we lost power, surely we’d die.”

He shook his head. “As I said earlier, the mechanics are the same. The more distance we are from the ground, the more time I have to come up with Plan B if something goes wrong.” In a move that both shocked and thrilled her, he reached across the cockpit and placed a hand on her thigh. “Tell me about yourself,
fraulein
. I wish to get to know you.”

Heat swooshed from her chest to the top of her head. “That doesn’t sound like a flying lesson.”

He cocked his head to one side. “The only things left to do are,” he held up one finger and tapped her thigh with it, “climb to cruising altitude and,” he held up a second finger, “set a course. They are the same as you already know.” He tightened his fingers across the top of her thigh, stroking her. “I know this airplane. Let me get to know you.”

Her crotch flooded with moisture; breath clotted in her throat. Tamara struggled to understand how his touch affected her so strongly. She wriggled in her seat and clamped her legs together. “Sure and my life hasn’t been very interesting—” she began.

He ignored her disclaimer. “Were you born in Dublin?”

“Yes. Well, not precisely. My family is from Drogheda, maybe fifty kilometers north of Dublin. It’s on the River Boyne just before it runs into the Irish Sea.”