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“Look.” Her hand swept up.
He followed its trajectory to the oil painting on the wall. Jacobites charged, broadswords and targes in hand, toward British redcoats. Fraser and Stuart plaids mingled with MacDonalds and Mackintoshes. The Battle of Culloden.
She pointed to the Highlander leading the charge. “He could be you.”
Invisible bands squeezed his chest that her impish grin failed to loosen. A battle rife with betrayal and the beginning of the end for the Highland clans.
How fitting that she saw him in this scene.
Fitzy hadn’t made it, then.
“We need to find out who gave Nadia that intel. They set us up.”
Nathan’s icy blue eyes turned arctic. “Yeah, about that. No one can find Nadia. Your guys conducted a base-wide search. Her things are gone from her housing unit.”
“Lachlan?” A tug on his sleeve. He looked down at Sophia’s faltering smile.
His hand lifted to trace the line marring the skin between her brows.
Her eyes softened, her tongue sneaking out to lick her full bottom lip.
What was he doing?
He dropped his hand. There was no changing the past. He was hardly the hero in the painting. “It’s bonnie, as are you. Stand in front so I can take a picture of you both.”
She stepped in front of the painting, posing with one hand on a cocked hip, the other pointing to the black-haired Highlander. “I think you should buy it.”
Her cheeky smile amused him. “Maybe I will.”
He snapped several photos, his good humor evaporating as he scrolled through them. Sophia saw him as a hero in a romanticized version of past glory. In reality, he was the aftermath of the battle, a broken version of the man in the painting.
“Are you ready to leave? I’ll take you home now.” He kept his tone light so as not to reflect the dark path his thoughts had taken.
If he let her get too close, she would see the real him.
The thought lingered like a slow poison in his system on the drive to Sophia’s condo. When they arrived, he walked her to the entrance.
“Thank you for bringing me home. I had a nice time tonight.” Her eyes were luminous beneath the glow of the building’s exterior lighting, her hands clasped in front of her, fingers twisting around each other in a clear indication of nerves.
Before he could summon a polite acknowledgment and say goodbye, she stood on her toes and gave him a butterfly kiss. The touch of her lips sent an electric current to his groin and shorted out his sense of self-preservation. He hauled her into his body and seized her mouth, desperate for a taste.
Sophia melted into him. White wine and sugar. Heady and sweet. Her lush floral scent sank into his skin and embedded into his brain. Her breasts molded to the hardness of his chest. He wanted to yank down her dress, suck their rosy tips into his mouth, and grip them in his teeth. Wedging his hand between them, he covered one of the soft mounds, squeezing gently. Her answering moan jerked his hips forward, letting her know her power over him without words.
What did she see in a broken man like him?
“I don’t trust her. Nadia.” Thom’s pale blue eyes met his, lines of tension carved in his face.
Lachlan frowned. “Why not? She’s been a valuable asset to our team and the Americans.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Thom paused, set his jaw, and met Lachlan’s gaze with a steely resolve. “She might come off sweet and innocent, but something lurks behind her eyes that raises the hair on the back of my neck.”
“Do you have any evidence that Nadia is lying? Anything at all?”
“No.” Thom shifted on his feet, but he continued to hold Lachlan’s stare. “Just my gut. It’s served me well enough for fifteen years of military service.”
Lachlan speared fingers through his hair and let out a frustrated sigh. “Gut instinct isn’t sufficient to call off a mission as critical as this one. Nadia’s a British citizen, here by her own choice, risking her life. You may not trust her, but I do.”
Thom straightened, his posture stiff. “You asked for my opinion, and I gave it to you. Will there be anything else, Captain?”