WOULD-BE CHRISTMAS WEDDING (6 page)

Chapter Seven

The marina?
It was just one more question on the list spinning through Cecelia’s mind, none of which she wanted him to answer here in the cab.

She didn’t need the echoes of her brother’s warning to reach the obvious conclusion that Emmett Holt wasn’t some average guy with a private security firm, as he’d posted in his online profile. The surprise attack and resulting tension between them made it clear they both knew there was more going on here.

“Are you hurt?”

He didn’t reply, just sat beside her, his body rigid, his hands on his knees. His eyes, she knew, were scouring the street, looking for any sign they were being followed.

Adjusting her purse, she reached over and laced her fingers through his. He startled, then stared. First at their joined hands, then slowly he lifted his glacier gaze to meet hers.

“I’m a good listener,” she said, low enough that the cab driver wouldn’t overhear. She told herself that this was part of what a good field agent would do...but she wasn’t entirely sure that was the motive for her actions.

She prayed she wasn’t being a fool.

Still, of all the things she might have told him, that one point seemed the most relevant. It didn’t make sense. He’d obviously lied to her about a few things, but something about the man beside her—the frown twisting his face, the tension in his body—made her say that first.

She had the odd feeling he was in over his head. As a deputy director of an elite covert team, it didn’t seem entirely reasonable. Her brother’s team of Specialists was well trained to salvage ops that slid sideways and out of reach. Their success rate was ridiculously high because Thomas wouldn’t tolerate anything less. What could possibly worry a man with that kind of experience and expertise?

The potential answers didn’t offer any sort of comfort. Just the opposite.

Remembering how one attacker had demanded
her,
she shivered. Her apparent savior shifted, tucking her under the shelter of his arm. She should tell him those same men had asked her for directions just a few hours ago, should tell him she knew who he was. She should tell him about the message Casey had sent a few minutes ago.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say any of those things in the cab. “Thank you,” she said, as the post-adrenaline tremors set in.

He rubbed her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her hair. It wasn’t the kind of gesture she expected from a worldly operative or a man supposedly betraying his team and country. There was an inherent kindness behind the comfort he offered her.

“You did well,” he said.

Not from her perspective. “You did all the hard work.” She traced the rip in his jacket sleeve. “It’s ruined.”

“It’s replaceable.”

“We should have a real conversation.”

“Probably,” he said, twisting a bit to peer out the back window.

“Will we?”

He didn’t reply, just squeezed her shoulder once more.

Her tremors eased up as the cab driver turned into the marina entrance. The landscaping on either side of the drive was draped with colorful holiday lights, but it didn’t do anything to lift her mood.

A loud party overflowed the marina building and she did a mental rundown of the local calendar, trying to figure out if she’d know anyone attending, but she couldn’t recall who had rented the space for tonight.

Would she call out for help anyway? Or just keep going with the flow and hoping this man was the hero she wanted him to be?

Maybe her daughter and brother were right. Maybe she didn’t have the right stuff for this kind of work.

“Looks like quite a bash going down,” the cab driver observed as Emmett paid the fare.

“Sailors always know how to party,” he agreed. “Thanks for the lift.”

Instead of leading her around toward the water, he guided her straight toward the raucous party. “We’re not dressed for this kind of event,” she protested.

He looked her up and down and the resulting shiver had nothing to do with fear or adrenaline. Only anticipation. “Not every party is a gala.” The wind caught her hair, but he smoothed it back behind her ear. “You look very good to me.”

And he looked pretty damned gorgeous, even after the fight in a grimy alley. At this point she wanted answers. He had a point, though. The safety of a friendly crowd held a good deal of appeal just now. “We need to talk.”

“We will. I promise.” His mouth thinned to a grim line. “As soon as we’re safe.” He urged her closer to the front doors.

“What’s going on? What did those men want?” Besides her.

“We’ll figure that out,” he promised, “as soon as we know we’re not being followed anymore.”

Since those two men had been stalking her before the encounter in the alley, she couldn’t actually blame him for what happened. Truth was, he had saved her from God only knew what sort of fate. For now, she had no choice but to trust him.

“I thought you gave this address because you had a boat here,” she murmured as they checked their coats and prepared to join the revelers inside.

“Even if I do have a boat here, I’m not going to lead whoever followed us right to it.”

Spy 101, she mused as she looked over his shoulder. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Doesn’t mean they aren’t out there.”

Now, that sounded ominous. And more than a little paranoid. But she could tell he was sincerely concerned about the likelihood of more trouble. And he was highly trained. Like Thomas.

“Then we should go to the police.”

“Not yet.”

She refused to take another step. “Why not?”

“Trust me. I’ll explain later.” He took her elbow and urged her forward again. “Come on, it’s time to blend in and get festive.”

She pushed a hand through her hair and tugged at her sweater. From the guests they’d passed already, she knew it wasn’t black tie, but she got the impression it was a private company event. “You’re serious about crashing.”

“As a heart attack.” He held up the tag from the coat check and gave her a look she knew was meant to put an end to her balking. “Just to buy some time.”

The man looked around the room as if the crowd had taken over his home uninvited. “We won’t blend in at all if you keep doing that,” she warned.

“Doing what?”

“Scowling. It’s not
festive.
” She circled a finger at his face. “We’re crashing a party and you look like you’re on the way to your execution. Try a smile.” She gave him an example.

His first attempt—a grimace—actually scared her a little. She glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Relax. They were just a couple of muggers,” she said, though neither of them believed it. “We weren’t followed.”

So far. She mentally crossed her fingers as she drew him deeper into the anonymity of the party and joined the line waiting for service at the bar.

“Not smart,” he grumbled at her ear.

“Look around.” Everyone carried some sort of drink. “This was your idea. You want to blend,” she said with a wink. She swayed provocatively to the music pounding through the room. “And those thugs interrupted us before we got to dance.”

She hoped a drink and a dance would be enough to stop the ruination of what had started as a perfectly lovely evening. Keeping it simple, she ordered a beer for each of them and then led him to a spot just off the dance floor. If this was really some sort of operation that involved her, this was the perfect time to prove she had what it took for fieldwork.

She clinked her beer bottle to his. “Happy holidays.”

“Cheers.” He tipped the bottle back, but kept his eyes on hers.

In the improved light of the party, she could see the red abrasions on his knuckles. They’d likely be dark bruises by morning. “Do you want ice for that?” She wondered how he’d managed not to break any bones.

“I’m good.” He rubbed the cold bottle across the marred skin while he studied the crowd.

“Yes, you were.” She stepped a bit closer. “Thank you, by the way.”

“You said that already.” He frowned at her, but she decided it was because she wasn’t what he expected. Well, that made them even. “You certainly adapt quickly.”

“I’ve—”

“Mrs. Manning?”

“The woman knows everyone in town,” he grumbled.

Cecelia found herself in the exuberant, slightly tipsy embrace of a young woman who’d gone to school with Casey.

“Merry Christmas, Heather.” Too late, Cecelia remembered the invitation she’d declined. Heather’s father was a broker and their girls had been on the varsity field hockey team in high school. William had made a few investments with him, but they weren’t particularly close friends.

“I didn’t know Daddy invited you. Oh, my gosh!” She stepped back, eyed Cecelia up and down. “You look amazing!”

“You’re too kind.”

“Daddy is going to go nuts.” Heather leaned close, but didn’t lower her voice. “He’s always had a thing for you.” She put her hand over her lips. “Oops.”

Cecelia cringed at the dark expression clouding Emmett’s eyes. “Heather, let me introduce you to my
date,
Mr. Holt.”

He did a fine job pretending to enjoy the introduction, but Cecelia knew better. His gaze was cataloging faces and he was looking for ways to make a hasty exit.

“Anyway, I’m so glad you came,” Heather effused.

The music changed to a Latin beat and Emmett captured her hand. “Let’s dance,” he said, pushing their beer bottles toward Heather. She barely had time to wave a farewell to the younger woman as Emmett tugged her into the crowd of dancers.

His hands molded to her hips; his touch burned with a hot purpose through the fabric of her slacks as he started to lead. She grinned and rested her hands lightly on his shoulders for balance. Already she realized this wasn’t a ballroom rendition of the salsa he had in mind, but something much more intense. Sexy.

Something much more fun.

Thank heaven the party guests were drinking heavily enough that they wouldn’t remember Mrs. Manning crashing the party and grinding it out with a stranger in public.

She couldn’t help it. Blaming the adrenaline or just her eagerness to reclaim her life, she tossed her head back and laughed at the absurdity of it all. She had to play the part, didn’t she? Wasn’t this exactly what spies did in the field?

When she met his gaze again, his half smile was full of a different kind of heat. A heat that made her want to take chances and explore their options, no matter who he was or how many interruptions they had to endure.

For the past three weeks, he’d been charming her with clever, interesting emails and photographs of architecture and sailing—his two passions outside work, according to his profile. That had been enough to captivate her even before she’d realized his profile picture had been current—and incredibly accurate.

The man was a walking—dancing—invitation to sin. Right now she should be insisting on finding a quiet corner and getting some real answers, but she couldn’t pull her head out of the sexy spell he was weaving around her.

The logical part of her brain knew he was doing it on purpose. An applied technique for either protection or distraction, she wasn’t sure. Wasn’t even sure she wanted the answer just yet. Instead of being terrified by the near miss in the alley, she felt exhilarated. There was an energy Emmett drew out of her that she hadn’t felt in far too long.

More than surviving, more than managing life, she realized she was really living again—for the moment.

The revelation would have made her stumble, but Emmett was there. His hands guided her, brushed her body as they swiveled and rocked in time with the fast pulse of the music.

He used his eyes to tell her they’d been followed, and turning her, she spotted a pair of burly men hovering at the sliding door that opened onto the wide deck. They must have come around from the dockside rather than the front door as she and Emmett had done. With their well-worn coats and rough clothing, they didn’t blend in with anyone other than the two men who’d attacked them in the alley.

She did a slow turn to face him again, then leaned in close on the next forward step. “Plan?”

“I’m thinking.”

Step, sway, forward, back. Cecelia laid her palms on his. “We can’t let them start a fight here. People will get hurt.”

“I know,” he growled.

“They said they wanted me.”

“Yes.”

“Want to hand me over?”

“No. Unless you know something I don’t.”

She shook her head. “Kiss me.”

“What?”

Her idea was flimsy at best, but it was all they had. The bad guys wanted her. She could be bait, especially with Emmett ready to assist her.

Her heart stumbled at the thoughts. Was she really ready to do this? Play bait...and kiss this man?

“Kiss me when the dance ends. Make a scene out of it.” The dance carried them apart for a moment, then back again. “I’ll go to the restroom. If they follow, we can subdue them there and leave through the back door.”

He didn’t look happy about it. Apparently, no one wanted to credit her with any skills beyond marriage, motherhood and pushing paper. It wasn’t her first brush with disbelief, but there would be plenty of time to deal with her bruised pride later.

Besides, she had a lifetime of hearing William, Thomas and more recently, Casey, talk about how to execute a proper egress in the most unusual of circumstances.

The music soared as the song ended and Emmett put a flourish on the last move, dipping her back over his arm and bringing her back up so fast in the next beat that her head spun. Then his mouth captured hers.

His fingers speared into her hair, his palm hot, firm and somehow gentle where he cradled her head. She gripped his shoulders for balance, digging into his firm muscles when he shifted, taking the kiss deeper. His thigh wedged between hers, his other hand splayed across her back.

Her breath stalled in her lungs, but she didn’t care. She’d told him to make a scene and he was doing a fine job of it. His tongue stroked boldly against hers, making dark, silky promises her body wanted him to keep.

The cheers and catcalls brought her back to reality with a shock. He released her so suddenly she swayed. She touched her lips, staring at him a long moment before remembering she was supposed to make a break for the restrooms.