Chapter Two

The woman was going to be trouble.

Ms. Moore was obviously clueless as to the impetus she’d set in motion. Terrorists’ activities would no doubt increase in response to her identifying Ziyad Dembri and preventing the bomb from going off. The Red Hand was ruthless when provoked.

He shot her a sideways glance. Imagine, coming to Paris and unwittingly foiling a terrorist’s attack. What were the chances of doing that? For that matter, what were his chances of getting stuck with the ice queen here? He sighed in irritation.

Niko resented the hell out of this assignment—babysitting an uptight American woman. He did his fair share of this type of work early on in his career with Interpol. When he was handpicked and recruited for the revamped French counterterrorism unit, he hoped his resignation from Interpol would be a move up. Now he had his doubts. His job title, second in command, should have precluded this mundane type of assignment.

He’d rather be in the control room at headquarters, in the thick of things, pounding computer keys, analyzing data and shouting out commands. Just his freaking luck to be saddled with Ms. Uptight American.

This was undoubtedly his superior’s way of showing displeasure. He sensed his boss resented something about him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. His age, perhaps? His fierce ambition? His past employment with Interpol? Or was it Henri Moreau felt threatened by his uncanny ability to zero in on how terrorists thought and planned their next move. He walked a fine line between aggressively advancing his career and making sure he credited his supervisor with every solved case. This babysitting assignment indicated Moreau was not impressed with his efforts.

His hand pressed to the small of the American’s back, Niko led her to his Porsche 911 Carrera. The car of his dreams chirped when he pressed his key fob, opening his trunk. After placing his briefcase inside, he opened the passenger door and helped her into the tan leather-wrapped interior. He lovingly wiped a speck of dust off the roof of the Carrera’s high-gloss black exterior.

“I’m a little old to be babysat, Niko.”

Hell, had the woman read his mind? She swung her feet from his car onto the concrete garage floor as if she were going to get back out.

“I’m used to taking care of myself. Have since I was in grad school. Look, this is silly, really. I’ll just hail a taxi back to my hotel, pack up and get a hotel room somewhere else. I’ll lay low until Monday when I can get my passport.”

Niko rested one arm on the roof of the car and leaned toward her, taking in her blue eyes tensed with worry and fatigue. She was treated rudely by his superior who had a strong dislike for Americans. He was sorry for the manner in which Henri flaunted her personal information. For his superior, it was a power strategy. For her, it, no doubt, had been damned humiliating.

“My job is to take care of you.” He flashed a smile, hoping to put her at ease. “You wouldn’t want to get me in trouble for dereliction of duty, would you? My superior can be difficult to handle when he’s provoked.”

She heaved a sigh, shook her head and placed her feet back in the car. He closed the door before she changed her mind.

Settling into his bucket seat, Niko clicked his seat belt and focused on not noticing Ms. Moore’s perfume which enveloped him in the elevator. Everything about the woman was soft—her fragrance, her voice with its southern drawl, and most certainly her eyes. He had a job to do. He needed to ignore her appeal. Every assignment he performed garnered one hundred and thirty percent of his wide-ranging skills; this one would be no different.

“Give me your cell.” He gave a beckoning motion with his hand. She turned those big eyes on him in obvious question. “Give me your cell, please.” Once she removed it from an outside pocket of that ugly yellow shoulder bag, she pressed it into his open palm. “I’m programming my number on speed dial. Who do you have at number one? I’m taking that spot.”

“No one. My ex-husband was in that spot.” She cleared her throat, her lips formed a gentle smile. “I’d be glad to have you replace him.” Her eyes widened, evidently realizing what her words implied. A blush kissed her cheeks and long, slender neck.

His gaze locked on hers, those soft eyes drawing him in. Oh yeah, for damn sure, this woman was going to be freaking trouble. He touched the save pad and then programmed her number into his cell. For reasons he didn’t want to entertain, he placed her on speed dial one, too. After all, recalling number one in an emergency would be no mental strain.

“If we get separated, we need to be able to reach each other in an instant. Is that clear? I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are at all times.”

She nodded and nervously turned her phone over and over in her hands. “I feel like I’m in the middle of some outlandish movie. When I came to Paris to have a bit of an adventure, believe me, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

“No, I guess not.” Niko turned the ignition key and the powerful engine purred.

Her stomach grumbled, and she covered it with her hand, her face blushing again.

“Hungry?” He slipped on his Ray Ban Wayfarers before backing the car out of the tight parking spot.

She nodded. “Very. The croissant and cappuccino I had for breakfast was hours ago.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost two o’clock.”

“How quickly can you pack your clothes?” He nosed the Carrera out onto the busy street, shifting gears smoothly as he zipped from lane to lane. “Once we’ve settled things at the hotel, we’ll have a late lunch.”

“Half an hour, maybe. I’m here for two weeks so I packed a lot of clothes. My dream vacation. A segment in the turning point of my life.” She sighed and rubbed her temple with her fingertips as if rubbing away a headache. “I planned on going to the Notre Dame Cathedral later. I also wanted to buy a book at Shakespeare and Company.” Her voice sounded wistful, almost dreamy. She folded her hands primly on her lap, a movement he found rather charming. “Today was supposed to be such a special day. First the Louvre with Mona, then Shakespeare, and finally time with God. Now it’s just a nightmare.”

“I can drive along the Seine, if you like, so you can see the Notre Dame. The Prefecture de Police where you were questioned is on the Ỉle de la Citẻ, as is the cathedral.”

“Would you please? I’d at least like to see it before I leave, even if I can’t go inside. I suppose you’ve been inside many times. Or aren’t you a religious man?”

“My faith is often the only thing that keeps me going, Ms. Moore.”

After passing the cathedral, Niko made two trips around the section of Boulevard Saint Germain that housed the Madison and the famed Saint Germain-des-Prés Church. The stone chapel, the oldest in Paris, was located directly across from the nineteenth century building that was now her hotel. He looked for suspicious vehicles before he settled on a parking spot a block beyond their destination. Nothing struck him as being out of the ordinary, nor had he detected a tail, but that didn’t mean they weren’t being watched.

Ms. Moore shifted in her seat. “Back home, one can park the car along the front of the hotel on its parking lot. Here the buildings begin at sidewalk’s edge, making that impossible. I couldn’t believe how close cars were parked when I first arrived. Some are nearly touching each other. How does one get their car out when bumpers are a couple inches apart?”

“Practice.”

The Madison had an impeccable reputation. It was a small hotel, well-run with a very friendly staff, or so Ms. Moore told him as they walked toward the building. Once inside, he held onto her arm, keeping her by his side as he quickly flashed his badge to the concierge on duty.

He slipped off his Ray Bans and, with a sweeping experienced glance, took in the light and airy lobby. Vases of fresh flowers, a fireplace and a stylish blend of antique and modern furniture added to the ambience of the Madison. One man, dressed in a brown suit, sat in a red plush chair, nursing a drink, a laptop perched on his lap. He was one of Niko’s agents, Jacques Laurant, assigned to keep an eye on things at the hotel until the American by his side was safely checked out. The two exchanged imperceptible nods, a signal all was well.

Still, he’d rather Laurant stationed himself inside Ms. Moore’s room. A question briefly niggled at his gut. Was Laurant doing work on that laptop or was he playing games or engrossed in porn sites? They needed to talk, later, when this babysitting chore was over.

Niko instructed the concierge to send Ms. Moore’s hotel bill to the counterterrorism department of the French government. He also asked that any clothing left in her room be packed and shipped to her home address at the department’s expense. The hotel employee gave Niko a substitute keycard to replace the one stolen by Dembri.

His hand still wrapped around her slender arm, he escorted her onto the elevator. She pointedly looked at his hand and then gazed up at him. “There’s no need for you to keep your hands on me. I’m quite capable of walking by myself.”

This woman was so uptight he bet her ass squeaked when she walked. “The French pride themselves on their good manners. My maman would disown me if I didn’t show you proper courtesies.”

“Point taken. Now, I want to know why I can’t take all of my things with me? You asked me how quickly I could pack.”

“My trunk’s small. Pack enough for three days.” He closed the wire door on the lift cage.

Her chin jutted out in a pugnacious manner. “You’re being dictatorial. I want to keep my things with me.”

“I’m being protective.” He scanned the hallway of the third floor when the elevator screeched and shuddered to a halt. “Stay behind me.”

“Yes, boss man.”

Damn fool woman. Once he had her safely inside her hotel room, he’d give her hell. For now, he had to stay focused. Two men came down the hall and Niko stepped back, pinning Ms. Moore between his back and the wall. The gentlemen smiled and stepped onto the elevator, engrossed in conversation as they closed the cage door.

She poked a finger in his back. “I can’t breathe. You’re smothering me.”

He unlocked the door to her room, took her by the arm and pushed her inside. Closing the door and locking it, he shoved her up against it and stood close, his hands gripping her arms and their thighs touching. “If you want to live to see the United States again, you will do exactly as I say, when I say it and the way I say it. Is that clear?” He shook her gently. “You will not leave my sight.”

Good Lord, those blue eyes. A man could dive into them and drown in their beauty. That mouth. She had lips made for kissing. If he bent his head… What the hell am I thinking? He stepped back and took a long cleansing breath. He never lost control.

Her eyes snapped with anger and she inhaled an indignant breath. “Don’t you yell at me, you pompous, arrogant little twit! I’ll be damned if I’ll obey your every command. Through no fault of my own, I’ve had one helluva day. One that probably took twenty years off my life. Now you want to shove me around like some errant school child? Order me about as if I don’t have the brains to blow my own nose? Oh, I think not, buster. You better jump back, jack!”

She poked her finger in his chest to emphasize every word. He fought back a grin. Damn, she surprised him. Maybe she wasn’t as soft as he thought. Maybe there was a core of strength nestled in all that softness. Maybe he liked her all huffy and bitchy. Maybe he’d push her from time to time just to see the fire flash in those eyes again.

However, life in his profession had no room for maybes, only absolutes. He stared at her and tamped down the growing attraction—and he was most definitely attracted.

He took another step back, relieved to be away from the effects of her enticing fragrance and the power of her blue eyes. “Fair enough. Is everything the way you left it?”

“What?”

“Look around. Does anything seem moved, disturbed in any way?” The room was artfully decorated. The French would call it charmingly chic; Americans, small. How does she see it?

“Well, the bed’s made and the dirty towels are gone.” She turned. “You think someone was in here snooping around? Touching my things?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I can’t dwell on that. If I do, it’ll ruin the memories I have of staying here. I love this room. Look at my view of the steeple of the des-Prés Church.” She waved her hand at her windows as she talked about her view. “I really hate leaving it.”

Niko opened the tiny closet and removed her carry-on. He tossed it on the bed. “Pack enough for three days. No white sneakers. No shorts or capris. They label you as American.”

“But I’m wearing capris and white sneakers now.”

“I know. I want you to blend in with the crowd, not stand out.” He rifled through her things hanging in the closet, chose a red and black floral sundress and extended it to her. “Here. Put this on. Heels, did you bring heels? All French women wear heels. It’s part of their DNA.”

“I’m not French.”

Niko hunkered down to peruse her poor selection of shoes and shook his head. “That much is obvious.” His oldest sister, Margo, the shoe maven of the family, would die at this scant and hideous selection of shoes. He stood, holding a pair of black flat sandals. “You came to Paris without packing a pair of heels?” He waved the shoes at her and sneered. “What are these ugly things?”

She snatched them from his grasp. “They’re flip flops. Very comfortable.” Her chin elevated a notch in obvious irritation, and he wanted to laugh. His sister Simone did the same thing when she was pissed.

“They’re uglier than a baboon’s ass.”

Her eyes widened and flashed again. Oh yeah, I most definitely like seeing her pissed. There was passion buried inside her and that delighted him. A passion buried so deep beneath the controlled, icy exterior the woman probably didn’t know it existed.

“I’ll tell you what’s ugly, young man—your haughty attitude.”

God she was glorious with her shoulders reared back and her eyes flashing. He’d yank her chain a little more. Being the youngest boy in a large family meant he had plenty of experience at annoying people. He took delight in provoking his siblings. “My attitude is not half as ugly as those baggy clothes you’re wearing.”

“What did you just say?” She tugged at the sides of her wrinkled white capris. “These are new. I bought them especially for my trip. My sister said they look fabulous.”

Niko snorted, hoping the sound would animate her eyes again. She seemed almost dead back at headquarters. He liked her better angry and mad as hell. “Capris, when worn, should be worn with heels.”

“Well, pardon me. I didn’t know I was in the presence of Niko Guicci, world renowned fashion police.”

“Frenchmen know fashion.” When she made a growling noise, he turned away and smirked. Mission accomplished. He rifled through the shelves at the end of her closet where she stored her sleepwear and lingerie.

“What are you doing? Those are my personal things.”

When he turned, he held up a red sheer bra and matching thong. “Now these are more like it. Put them on.”

The emotions that played across her face as it bloomed redder than the most excellent lingerie he dangled in front of her were priceless. She sputtered and gestured aimlessly with her hands, opening and closing her mouth in mute embarrassment. “Those are not mine. I mean, they’re mine, but I didn’t buy them.” She raised her gaze to his. “They were a gift from my sister. She told me to wear them for some handsome Frenchman to drive him wild.” She snatched them from his outstretched hands and laughed in a self-conscious manner. “As if I could ever drive a man wild…”

“Take a quick shower and change. I have some calls to make.” The gentle tone in his voice surprised him. Until now, the only people who touched that part of him were family. Certainly not his coworkers or the myriad of women he briefly dated. He was responding to her—well, to be precise, his libido was responding—which could be dangerous, both professionally and personally.

“Shouldn’t I pack?”

“I’ll pack. You shower. Most women feel better after a shower. Don’t you agree?”

She stilled and looked up at him. “What makes you the expert in women?”

“Four sisters and one very beautiful Italian mother.”

He’d just finished packing for her when the bathroom door opened a crack. “Niko?” She held out a flight-sized bottle. “This isn’t my shampoo.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s my bottle, but the contents aren’t mine. I’ve used the same shampoo for years because I love the smell of it, but this has a strange odor.”

In a few long strides, he was in the tiny bathroom with her. The shower was still running. She was clasping a towel around her wet, trim body. Water from her shoulder-length blonde hair dripped onto the floor.

He sniffed the acidic smelling mixture in the pink plastic bottle. “Did you use any of it?”

“No, I’m a creature of habit. I always sniff my shampoo after opening it.” She raised a trembling hand to her mouth while retaining a death grip on the towel with her other hand. “Dear Lord, he was here, wasn’t he?”

Niko snatched the wastepaper can from the floor and began throwing away all her toiletries and makeup. “We’ll get you new things later. Don’t use anything. Don’t touch the hair dryer either. Finish your shower and get dressed. I need to get you out of here. Damn Dembri.”

By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, he’d called Laurant stationed down in the lobby. He met the agent in the hallway outside the room to hand over the container of toiletry items for analysis and to upbraid him for not being more vigilant.

Figuring the hotel room was bugged, he went to the end of the hallway to call his superior. Someone from Dembri’s organization tampered with Ms. Moore’s things. The bad guys were three steps ahead of the good guys. Niko was not a happy man.

Ms. Moore stood just outside the bathroom as if frozen to the spot. Her face was pale, her blue eyes wide with fright. Being scared was one thing, but being immobilized with terror would not help her. He had to make her angry, hoping to tap into her passion. What could he say to piss her off again?

“Well, Mrs. Moore, you no longer resemble a sloppy American.” Fact was she looked good in that low-cut sundress. Damned good. While he’d always been a leg man, he had a healthy appreciation for the breast portion of the female anatomy, and her breasts were quite eye-catching. The wide skirt that emphasized her trim waist skimmed shapely calves. The woman was trouble in a sexy little package.

His calling her Mrs. was evidently like a cold slap to her face. She gave the desired response. “Let me give you a lesson in life, Niko. Never call a woman who endured twelve years of a cold marriage to a cheating husband by the title Mrs.” She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder.

He fought back a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Lesson number two. Never call a woman, who is one day shy of turning forty, ma’am. My first name, Alyson, will do nicely.”

He retrieved her carry-on from the bed and opened the door a crack. After checking the hallway and finding it empty, he glanced back over his shoulder, winked and purposely lowered his voice to a sensual purr. “Anything else you’d like to teach me, Aly?”