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Lachlan’s jaw tightened. “Dismissed, Staff Sergeant Barnwell.”
“Lachlan. Where did you go?”
His gaze focused to see confusion muddying the green flecks in Sophia’s eyes. When had he stopped kissing her?
“Where did you go?” she repeated. Her fingers brushed his jaw.
To Hell.
“I’m sorry.” Apologizing to her was becoming a habit. He took a halting step backward. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He owed it to Thom, Fitzy, and the others not to make the same mistake again.
“Goodnight.” He took another step back.
She gave a hesitant nod, not meeting his eyes.
He stifled a curse. “By the way, thank you for the plant.” He didn’t want to leave things so awkward between them.
Her head lifted, and he was relieved to see a pleased smile curve her lips. “You’re welcome. See you Monday.”
He waited until she entered the building before leaving. The I-495 exit loomed on his right. His demons rode him hard. He hit the accelerator, and the Mercedes shot onto the Beltway as he tried to outrun them.
Chapter Ten
Sophiatrudgedtoherdoor, her body and emotions still reeling. One minute she and Lachlan had been sharing the hottest kiss she’d ever had in her life, and the next, he’d gone still, his mind somewhere else, and he’d pulled away from her like he had just found out she was Typhoid Mary.
The only thing that would make her feel better tonight was more wine, a romance novel, and her battery-operated boyfriend.
She jammed her key in the lock with a frustrated huff. What the heck was she doing, anyway? She was supposed to be discovering whether Lachlan was an arms trafficker, not throwing herself at him.
At least he liked the plant she’d picked out for his office. Her lips pursed. Or he was just being polite?
No, she decided. He’d genuinely thanked her. It was a small victory toward gaining his trust, but she’d take it.
She opened her door and tossed her purse on the foyer table. It bounced off a large Coach tote that hadn’t been there when she left for the gallery reception.
“Finally.” Emily Dane leaped from where she’d been sipping a glass of wine on Sophia’s couch and raced over to envelope her in a hug. With her artfully styled, shoulder-length ash-blonde hair, periwinkle blue silk blouse, and cream tailored slacks, Emily looked like she had stepped off the pages of Marie Claire—classic and feminine.
Sophia’s dismal mood evaporated as she returned her best friend’s embrace. “You’re supposed to be in Paris.”
“I was. I’ve got some meetings at the State Department next week and thought I’d surprise you.” Emily’s changeable eyes were a deeper blue in the overhead light and almost matched her blue blouse. She leaned back to inspect Sophia’s outfit. “Hot date?”
Sophia averted her gaze from her too-perceptive friend. “No, actually, I attended an art gallery reception for work.”
“Uh-huh. You realize you have the worst poker face on the planet, right?” Emily gestured at Sophia’s heels. “Take those off and have a seat on the couch. I’m going to get you a glass of sauvignon blanc, and you are going to tell me what man put that look on your face.”
Sophia kicked off her pumps, breathing a sigh of relief on behalf of her toes. She padded into the living room. Long white drapes shut out the night, and a pair of lamps on her glass end tables bathed the room in a soft, warm glow.
Emily returned with a second wine glass and handed it to her before dropping onto the sofa and curling her long legs beneath her. Sophia took a sip of the crisp, pale yellow liquid to try and wash away Lachlan’s imprint—whisky, a trace of mint, and the clean, masculine scent of a pine forest after a spring rain.
“Spill,” Emily ordered.
Sophia let out a dispirited sigh. “I spent most of the evening with one of my new colleagues, Lachlan Mackay.”
Emily’s eyes twinkled over her wine glass. “Ooh, is he as sexy as his name implies?”
“He’s Scottish.” Sophia couldn’t help her grin. “And, yes, he is. I secretly nicknamed him the Hot Scot.”
“Do tell, girl.”