Page 37 of I Dream of Danger (Ghost Ops #2)

Nick shrugged his shoulder and the man lifted his hand. Nick was glaring at her and she glared right back. Of all things, she hadn’t expected this. He was mad! At her. The nerve!

Anger, red hot and painful, boiled in her chest. Elle turned to the other woman in the room. Dr. Catherine Young could be trusted to be rational. “Dr. Young, please tell Nick?—”

Dr. Young lifted her hand. “Please Dr. Connelly, call me Catherine.”

One big breath. Two. Manners, she told herself. “And you must call me Elle, of course.”

Catherine nodded and smiled. They could have been in a drawing room over tea instead of some hidden location with three frightening men and one world-class scientist. “Well, Elle. We should make some other introductions. You’ve met Jon.

” Jon gave an ironic smile and a two fingered salute off his forehead. “Ma’am.”

Elle inclined her head. “We’ve met. As a matter of fact, he rescued me.”

“ He rescued you!” Nick said heatedly. “He didn’t do anything but fly the helo! So how the hell does he come off as the big rescuer? I’m the one who?—”

“And this is my husband, Mac.” Catherine’s voice was soft, but she managed to run right over Nick’s rant.

“Ma’am.” Mac had the deepest voice she’d ever heard. It was a rumble she felt in her diaphragm rather than heard. He reached over, engulfed her hand in his, squeezed gently for a second then let her hand go. Which was nice because he could have crushed it easily and Elle needed that hand.

Catherine hadn’t mentioned last names at all. Interesting. Well, if she couldn’t know names, could she get some info on other things? “Nice to meet you all. So. Where am I?” she asked.

Silence. Utter silence. That was interesting, too.

“I’m sure Nick will bring you up to speed eventually, Elle.” Catherine smiled at her. “But in the meantime, you must be exhausted and you must be hungry. So before we show you to your room…”

“ My room,” Nick interrupted angrily. “My room. She’s staying with me. In my room.”

Another moment of perfect silence.

“Elle?” Catherine asked softly. “Are you okay with that?”

She had no idea what to say. None. All of a sudden she was aware of her immense exhaustion, like a living thing weighing down on her. A huge boulder that weakened her knees and seemed to dim the lights in the room.

This was Nick, the man she’d loved almost her whole life. And this was Nick, who’d abandoned her the day after she buried her father. And this was also Nick who by some crazy tangled reasoning in his mind had decided he was angry at her

“No,” she said decisively. “Could I have a separate room?”

How she was going to deal with Nick from here on in was something she was going to have to face in the future, but right now, she was at the end of her physical and mental resources. Having a fight with Nick was utterly beyond her.

Nick’s eyes bugged. “ What?” His deep voice rose an octave. “What? What the fuck? Of course?—”

“Nick. Stop that right now.” Catherine Young seemed to be about half the weight of Nick with a soft voice, but that voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

His mouth closed with a snap, lips pressed together as if he had to work to not talk. But his eyes were still wide and a little wild. He huffed out a big breath like a bull.

He wasn’t liking this. Not one bit.

Good.

“Well, first things first. I’m not letting you go to your room before getting a bite to eat.

” Catherine gently steered her toward the cart, pulled a chair from a desk, and sat her down.

Mac pulled something down from the wall, detached it, pushed a button, and it magically unfolded into a table which connected to some hidden seam in the service cart with a distinct click.

It was a cue for everyone to grab a chair and place it around the table.

“Guests first,” Mac said in his deep bass. Which was kind, but also served to remind everyone that she was the outsider here. Mac and Catherine started lifting covers off the serving plates, and the room filled with the scent of delicious food.

Nick sat his chair right next to hers, so closely his shoulder brushed hers as he piled food on a plate and set it in front of her. “Eat,” he commanded.

Everyone was looking at her expectantly, as if they’d never seen a person eat before. Elle waited a second, fork poised above her plate, watching them watching her.

Nick nudged her plate closer. “Eat,” he repeated.

She ate.

All it took was a bite or two for her eyes to open wide with astonishment. As a scientific experiment, she took a bite from everything on her plate and confirmed her first hypothesis.

“This is the best food I’ve ever eaten,” she blurted. They’d been watching to see her reaction to the food. Catherine sat back and looked at her husband and Jon with a smile. Both men nodded. Nick didn’t meet their eyes because his were fixed on hers in an unblinking stare.

Everyone but Nick was transferring food to their plates. Nick’s plate remained empty as he continued watching her. It didn’t intimidate her, though. She’d suffered worse things than having someone watch her eat. Not to mention the fact that eating this amazing food was no hardship.

Huge ricotta raviolis with a wild mushroom and cream sauce, the most succulent tagliata in the history of the world, dusted with arugula and parmesan flakes.

The lightest possible fried artichoke slices.

Sautéed escarole with plump raisins. Frisèe salad with hot bacon.

Steamed broccoli with garlic and a balsamic vinegar reduction.

A freshly-baked ciabatta to soak everything up.

Simple fare, done absolutely perfectly.

Nobody talked. Nobody should. The food was a religious experience and required proper worship. Elle had eaten a couple of times at Chez Panisse before Alice Waters retired, and this food was arguably better.

There was tiramisu—what looked like the platonic ideal of tiramisu, frothy and creamy and chocolatey—in a big glass bowl in the corner. Just for encouragement.

When she was stuffed, Elle sat back. “Is this a secret five-star restaurant? The kind that never advertises and you have to be a foodie and pass a test to find? Though—” This with a slanted glance at Jon, “hooding clients is taking it a bit far.”

“Good old Stella.” Jon had eaten with unswerving fervor and wasn’t finished. He heaped a third helping of everything onto his plate. “I love her experiments but when she does the basics…man. No one does it better.”

“Stella?” This Stella person was obviously the chef.

Jon grinned. “Yeah, you wouldn’t believe who the cook is. She’s?—”

“Jon!” Mac’s deep voice was like a whip lash. Jon’s blond eyebrows shot up.

“We might want to discuss this, and other things, tomorrow.” Catherine placed a hand on her husband’s huge one and gave Elle a smile.

There was another painful silence.

Secrets. Deep secrets that weren’t going to be shared with her.

O-kay.

Nick had spooned some of the tiramisu onto a dessert plate and put it in front of her. “Eat.”

Elle set her teeth. “Is that all you can say? Eat?”

“Oh no.” Nick gave a smile that showed his own teeth, but wasn’t friendly. “I’ve got a lot of other things to say, but not right now. Later. When we’re alone.”

Curse her fair skin. Heat rose from her chest and she knew she was turning pink. Because it was very clear what he meant.

And curse her obsession, because instead of making her angry that he was assuming she’d just sweep aside ten years of abandonment to go to bed with him, her body reacted to his words and to the images his words conjured up with enthusiasm, completely out of her control.

Right now, with Nick so close to her, his shoulder rubbing hers, his body heat like a force field around him, his fierce eyes locked on hers—her body remembered what it had been like to make love to him.

She’d spent the entire night with him in a state of arousal, just like now. A flush of heat prickled through her body as if she’d suddenly stepped out into the blazing sun. Her breath grew shallow, her breasts felt heavy, swollen.

Her sex…wept with pleasure. Incredibly, it suddenly felt as if Nick’s penis were in her and her sex clenched around it, stomach and groin muscles pulling hard. Her heart was knocking against her ribs so hard she was sure someone could hear it.

Certainly Nick could. Or he could hear something because his gaze narrowed and tightened, his nostrils flared, and two white lines of stress appeared around his mouth.

His eyes were focused on her face, then abruptly dropped to her chest. It would be pointless to cover her breasts with her arms, he’d seen her hard nipples.

Oh God, this was so humiliating. It was like being stripped bare of all defenses, rendered down to bedrock, open and vulnerable, when she’d worked so very hard all these years to make herself strong and protected.

All it took was Nick’s presence and she morphed back to that helpless, grieving girl who’d been full of hopes and dreams for one night.

What a triumph it must be for Nick. That he could disappear for ten years and she’d still be so love-sick his mere physical presence turned her on more than any number of courters ever could.

Nick didn’t look triumphant and cocky, though. He looked stressed, almost in pain.

“Goddamn it,” he said suddenly, grabbed her hand and stood up. He walked fast to the door, pulling her stumbling behind him.

Elle looked back and saw Catherine half rise and her husband reach out to her and shake his head. She sat back down, looking troubled, and then the door opened, Nick pulled her into the corridor, and the door slid closed behind them.