Ava Gray - Skin Tight

“Today is… an anniversary of sorts.”

“Of a loss,” she guessed.

Mia couldn’t help but feel touched he’d come to her. Maybe there was nobody else in his life to offer solace, but she imagined he had spent the occasion alone before. Sometimes it took only one tiny shift to change everything; they called that the butterfly effect.

“Yes.” He sounded as if the word was ripped from him. “A profound one.”

I’m sorry seemed too prosaic for the colossal sorrow she sensed in him. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

She wasn’t surprised when he shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

His smile was fleeting as sunlight in winter. “Take your pick.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“Knowing you were close by proved too much temptation.” He leaned his head forward, resting it on her shoulder. “When you e-mailed me last year about Kyra…” He trailed off with a shrug.

“No, finish the thought.”

He shook his head, disavowing whatever he had been about to say. “How did you know I would still be monitoring that box?”

“A guess, no more, but I suspected you’d want to make sure no loose ends from your old life turned up in your new one. Having those e-mails forwarded would give forewarning, if nothing else.”

“Precisely,” he said.

“And I knew you’d have some way to get in touch with the man you hired. Kyra needed to see him again.”

“Closure?” he surmised.

“Not exactly.”

“She wanted to kill him?”

“Again, no.”

To her surprise, he wanted the details, so she filled him in on how Kyra and Reyes had sailed off together and, by her best reckoning, ought to be in Singapore by now. When she finished, he looked both amused and astonished.

“That’s-”

“Wonderful. A regular guy would never have made her happy.” She grinned at him, pleased that some of the shadows had left his eyes. “You should ask for a finder’s fee. Open your own matchmaking agency. You’d make a great shadchan.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

She shook her head solemnly. “Not at all. But I’ll need to fatten you up a bit first. Whoever heard of a matchmaker being thin as a blade?”

“You cook?”

“Nope. And that’s going to make it tough.”

His laugh came out choked and rusty, but it was most definitely a laugh. Mia realized she’d never heard it before. She gazed at his sparkling eyes in wonder, then sought the rare curve of his sensual mouth. He usually kept it drawn into such a taut line that she hadn’t noticed its beauty before.

Now she did the only thing that made sense; she kissed him. He tensed, as if this act had long since ceased being pleasurable. If the women all went crazy, she could understand why. But it didn’t happen. Not this time. There was just the taste and feel of him. She luxuriated in his mouth. He’d had chai tea at some point, and the faint sweetness lingered.

At length, she broke away, surprising a look of pure wonderment onto his face. The rush went straight to her head.

“You’re still with me.”

“Get used to it.” She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “Seriously, would you like something to eat?”

This was such a domestic scene; it didn’t fit either of them. Mia didn’t nurture men. In her opinion, women who did wound up playing the role of mother all their lives, and she wasn’t interested in that gig, never had been. And yet, there was something about him that called out a secret cache of tenderness.

He shook his head. “I ate at a café before I came over.”

“Then what would you like to do?” It was a leading question, she knew, and was liberally laced with mischievous suggestion. He didn’t have a bag, so he couldn’t have brought his bedroom accouterments. Nobody would be getting tied up tonight.

“I hadn’t thought that far,” he confessed. “I was pretty sure you’d boot me out.”

“Ah, fantastic. Now you’ll think I’m easy.”

“You are many things, Mia Sauter. Lovely, brilliant, fascinating-but easy is not one of them. If you were,” he added, so softly she almost didn’t hear, “I would not have thought of you so often in the last year.”

“Is that so?”

She’d thought of him, too, but with a fierce anger attached. She’d rarely been so impressively wrong about whether she could trust someone. Until then, her intuition had always proved reliable. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that his betrayal had shaken everything, including her professional confidence. How could she find a thief when she couldn’t even tell a man was about to hand her over to her enemies?

Now she remembered all the reasons she shouldn’t open herself up to him. She had to get him out of here before he fucked up her head again. Mia tried to pull away, but his arms tightened on her.

His hands framed her face, eyes steady and level. “I swear on everything I hold dear… I will not let you down this time.”

Fear, unadulterated fear. She stiffened. “That promise lacks weight. I don’t know anything about you. So how am I supposed to believe there’s anything you hold dear?”

“There’s you.”

“Unlikely,” she said. “God, why can’t I tell you to fuck off and mean it?”

He sank his long artist’s fingers into her hair, cradling her skull in his hands. The gesture could have felt threatening, but his hands were exquisitely gentle. “Mia, look at me. Tell me what you see.”

“No one.” Her voice came from far away.

The horror of what it had been like for him finally sank in. Nobody knew him, not his face or his real name. He lived as a dead man in hope of completing his secret agenda, and she had never known anyone so unspeakably alone. Madness flickered along the edges, echoes of an obsession so deep it left no room for anything else.

Until now.

And yet here he was. With her.

She felt wonderful, so soft and warm. In some ways, Søren was virgin-pure with her. He had never held a woman in his arms like this-at least, not one who recognized him.

“If things were different, I would bring you flowers every night. I’d write you bad poetry and call five times a day. I would give almost anything for that to be so.”

“Almost,” she repeated. “You speak as though it’s too late.”

If only she knew.

If only.

But he couldn’t wish away the past. He didn’t wish away the happy years with Lexie. Certain realities could never be altered.

He had to be honest with her. “It is for me. Not for you. I count myself lucky that I get to be with you for a little while at least. You haven’t changed your mind?”

She hadn’t officially agreed to anything yet; Søren wondered if she remembered that. He held his breath while she considered.

Finally, she shook her head. “No. We have an agreement: your help in catching the thief in return for the IT pass and my badge when my work is done. In the meantime, we’ll… enjoy each other’s company.”

Such a prosaic way to put something that felt like a miracle. He wanted to tell her about himself, so somebody would remember after he was gone. Maybe, just before the end, he would. Before then, the truth would give her too much insight, and he couldn’t afford to give her any ammunition. By now, he knew Mia well enough to realize his intentions would appall her.

“Thank you.” Søren buried his face in her hair, taking a deep breath. He’d ever after associate the scent of vanilla and cinnamon with a desirable woman. God, he’d be lucky if he could step into a bakery without getting an erection henceforth.

“I’m not doing you any favors,” she said pointedly. “I notch another win and enjoy a few weeks of great sex. How is that a hardship?”