Lindsay McKenna - Heart Of The Tiger

She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him. “You look capable of handling virtually anything, Maj—I mean, Matt.”

He was aware of her lilac perfume enhancing the warm scent of her body as he stood mere inches from her. “Looks are deceiving,” he warned her. “Stand still.” He saw a brief flicker of fear in her eyes as he reached behind her, gently loosening the confining pins that held her blue-black hair in the chignon.

“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you looked the first time I saw you?” he whispered huskily as he loosened the neatly twisted hair. The silken mass tumbled through his fingers to settle in a cloud around her shoulders and breasts, and he drew in his breath, aware of her femininity, her vulnerability where he was concerned. She did trust him, allowing him to caress her magnificent hair. “There,” he said, his cobalt eyes dark with veiled desire. “That’s how I like my wife—winsome, carefree and beautiful.”

Layne trembled beneath his touch. Her knees were weak from the caress of his fingers coaxing her unruly hair across her shoulders. Closing her eyes momentarily, she felt a throbbing intimacy leap between them. When Layne reopened her eyes, she drowned in the flaring azure of his, losing her heart to this inscrutable man who touched her soul as surely as the sun kissed the uplifted face of each flower. At a loss for words, she took a step away from him.

“Remember,” Matt went on gruffly, himself shaken at the sudden flare of intimacy, “you’re my wife, and we’re newlyweds. Anyone watching us would expect us to be in very close contact with each other.” A glimmer came into his blue eyes. “This is the only part of the whole charade that I’m going to enjoy.”

“What? Pretending that we’re married?” she heard herself protest. But Matt’s touch was anything but fakery. And Layne’s instincts told her his feelings were genuine despite the circumstances. She realized she was becoming badly rattled. She didn’t want to be helplessly ensnared by his male magnetism and that special flame of tenderness that surfaced whenever they were together.

Matt’s brow wrinkled slightly, his eyes growing darker with concern as he reached over, gently brushing her flushed cheek. “Where does pretending end and reality begin?” he mused. “Sometimes they overlap to become the truth.” A disarming smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “I told you before, kitten, you’re the stuff dreams are made of…the kind every man wishes would come true.” His brows moved downward and he caught himself as he saw shock register in her eyes. What had Brad Carson done to make Layne react like this? Perhaps aboard the plane on the way to Hong Kong, he would have time to explore some of the more personal facets of this complex woman.

Layne’s heart was pounding, and she lifted her hand to her breast. “This whole thing is a nightmare to me,” she warned him.

“Even the idea of being married to me?”

“It’s merely part of the plan. Nothing more!”

“And you aren’t going to enjoy it?”

“Damn you, Talbot! You watch your step. Just because we have to pose as man and wife doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to take any liberties.”

Matt’s smile broadened as he watched her bluster, because he knew how deeply he had affected her. He could tell by the gold fire burning in the depths of her wide, heart-stealing brown eyes and by the delicate flush of rose across her cheeks.

He pulled a small, dark green box from the inner pocket of his suit coat. “Let’s make this charade a little bit more genuine and permanent then, shall we? According to the records, we were married two weeks ago in a civil ceremony that was held in Alexandria, Virginia.” Matt claimed the hand that was resting against her breast and slipped on the rings.

Layne looked down, a gasp escaping from her. The diamond engagement ring and wedding band were fashioned out of old gold; the diamond had to be at least three carats. “Oh, Matt! They look—”

He placed the green box in a nearby desk drawer. “They belonged to my grandmother,” he explained, carefully noting the sentimental expression that replaced her shock. “She told me that if I ever found a woman who made me lose my train of thought and was in my mind every waking and sleeping moment, that I should give her these rings. And I just found such a woman.” He pulled other essential papers from the left breast pocket of his suit.

Layne gave him a stricken look as she gazed down at the rings. A rush of joy suffused her heart for one heady second before it was replaced by fear. Brad had been just as smooth with his words before they’d gotten married. Was Matt the same? Was he, perhaps, lying to her for the sake of the mission? Yet Brad and Matt seemed as different as a glacier and a gentle, crystal-clear stream. Matt’s warmth and care radiated outward to surround her. Brad had never made her feel like that. How could an agent—how could anyone—produce that sort of feeling if he didn’t mean it? Her heart said he couldn’t. Matt Talbot was more sincere and emotionally honest with her than any man she’d ever known. But even as she felt it, five years of the glacial past froze her fleeting joy. “I couldn’t possibly wear these. I mean, what if—”

Matt lifted his head, meeting Layne’s misty topaz eyes. Did she have any idea how vulnerable she looked? No, it was obvious she wasn’t aware of her charms as a woman. He halted his spiraling thoughts. Business was their first priority—and then…

“I promise you, there will be no lies between us, Layne,” he assured her. “The wedding rings are my personal property. And I can’t think of a lovelier woman to wear them. It’s a compliment, kitten, not a death sentence.”

Layne touched her brow. “I’m sorry, Matt. It’s just that so much is going on and—”

Matt placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. “You’re doing fine. Let’s get to some of the simpler details of this assignment.” Handing her the new passport, he pocketed his own. “Your last name is now Talbot, Layne. Mrs. Matthew Talbot. Here’s a copy of the letter from the magazine authorizing us to do a series of articles on the pirates. And here’s a copy of our reservations at the Princeton.” He smiled. “Women usually take care of these items, don’t they?”

Layne was too stunned to answer, numbly taking each item as he offered it, slipping them all into her shoulder bag. “I—well, yes. Usually.”

He nodded, placing his hands on his hips. The moment Layne saw that stance she knew that he was a fighter pilot; it was so typical of that breed of male to possess a languidly confident body language. And yet she could feel the tension radiating from him. But it wasn’t nervousness; it was coiled power like an inner spring waiting to be released. Oddly, she felt her own nervousness dissipate in the presence of his alertness.

“Ready?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She snapped her head up. “Yes, but I haven’t gotten in touch with my mother.”

“It’s being taken care of,” Matt soothed, realizing how affected she was by their departure. Layne was off balance, and he meant to restabilize her. He grinned, then moved toward her and took her hand. Layne relaxed visibly, then gave him a tremulous smile.

“I’m so nervous, Matt. I feel like I’m ready to explode inside. I worry about my mom. What will she think? She knows how I feel about anyone connected with the Company, and then I suddenly go off…” But Matt was on the move, checking over her apartment.

All windows locked, all lights off, Matt thought as he automatically completed his mental checklist. “Chuck will be driving over to see your mother at eight o’clock this morning to explain what’s going on,” he said, returning to Layne’s side.