"I don't tell people . . ." He broke off and shook his head, letting go of her hand and shaking his head. "You're going to think I'm insane. Look, let's just call it a night and I'll look at the books some other time." He ran his finger around the inside of his collar again and rubbed the bridge of his nose looking, for all the world, like a very uncomfortable man.
"Just tell me." Judith's dark gaze slid away from his, giving him a glimpse into her insecurities.
Her psychic abilities were strong. He could feel the sheer potency of her energy surrounding his. When his energy rubbed hers, the boost was so powerful he expected to see sparks, an explosion, something tangible. Yet Judith didn't feel in control of her power and that gave him an advantage. If she was uncertain of herself, that left the door open for inexplicable things to happen--like Thomas Vincent accidentally sending his fantasy straight into her mind.
He shrugged. "Fine. I have certain abilities and I think Sea Haven has an energy that amplifies . . ." He trailed off uncomfortably again.
The moment Thomas's hand had settled so gently over hers with such hidden strength, preventing her from calling the sheriff, Judith's entire body felt the surge of heat rushing between them. The fire was hotter than anything she'd ever experienced, a flash of need that grew and spread and left her aching and restless.
Shocked, ashamed and certain she'd humiliated herself for life, she swallowed hard studying Thomas Vincent's averted face. His awkwardness was endearing and completely at odds with his large, muscular appearance--as was his speed and his gentleness. She had done her research on him the moment Inez had asked her to meet with the man. She distrusted outsiders on principle and since Levi had married her sister Rikki, even more so. Her entire family was fully aware Levi Hammond wasn't his real name, but none of them cared. He was theirs now, and they'd protect him just as they did each other.
She'd searched the Internet for Thomas Vincent and his name came up repeatedly in an instant. He was much more than he had said so casually. He was a man who had a reputation for brilliant deals, swooping in on failing businesses, turning them around and then selling them for quite a profit. He was reportedly worth millions. He was the only son of a railroad worker. His mother had died in childbirth and he'd been raised by his father. The father had never remarried and had died several months earlier of cancer. It was easy to see why he was such a powerful figure in the business world, but a little shy with women.
There were several photographs of Thomas Vincent with his father, and the two had looked very close. Her heart had gone out to him. It was no wonder he was contemplating a life-changing move. And God help her, she was attracted to him. That was the biggest red flag of all. She would never again risk falling for someone and put those around her in danger. She didn't make good choices. But never once in the last five years had she thought this could happen to her--this amazing invigorating, exhilarating response to a man.
She wanted to help him out of his dilemma even though he'd scared her to death. She had been flirting. Not overtly, but she'd definitely let a little leg show, hoping to draw his attention. She'd had very erotic fantasies about him throwing her down on the counter--something completely out of character for her--and she'd somehow connected with his mind.
Her wild fantasies about him had gotten out of hand and he'd picked them up and thought himself responsible. Clearly he had psychic ability and, by her reaction, there was no doubt that she'd given away the fact that she was adept as well. She should have been surprised, but the truth was, Sea Haven did have energy, power, whatever one wanted to call it. And those with psychic abilities were attracted to the small epicenter of it.
"If you're trying to say you have psychic abilities," she said, "I do as well."
He looked infinitely relieved, sinking back down into the chair by the computer. "Most people think I'm crazy. I never admit I even believe in psychic gifts."
She stayed behind the counter where she felt a little safer--or where she could keep him safe. She hadn't realized until that moment how sex-starved she'd been. She didn't date. Didn't trust anyone enough to get that close to her--close enough to share intimacy. Judith couldn't do one-night stands. She was all or nothing, and for a very long time, it had been nothing. Of course, it had to remain that way, but . . .
He pushed his fingers through his hair, messing it up further. She hadn't realized it was as long as it was, or as thick. He had beautiful hair. Judith couldn't help her fascination with the thick wavy strands, her fingers itching to touch. Why did he have to be so attractive?
"I'm sorry about . . ." He trailed off, looking as if he was blushing a little. "About, you know. I don't normally get erotic images of women in my head, but you're very sexy and it's been a long time for me." Each word of his confession was delivered painfully.
She couldn't let him take the blame. As humiliating as it was, he had the courage to confess what he thought was his sin, she couldn't do less.
Judith moistened her lips. "Actually, Tom, I think you're off the hook this time. I'm standing behind the counter here because I'm not sure you're entirely safe. I seem to have a few wayward thoughts of my own. I'm totally sorry."
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. "You don't have to take the blame, Judith."
"I'm being honest. Believe me, if it wasn't the truth, I would never say it."
A slow smile pulled at Stefan's mouth even as his body went so rock hard he was afraid he would burst. A strange roaring began in his head. The thunder of his heart was loud enough to wake the dead. He didn't want to think too much about the real reason such elation swept through him. Doing a job meant getting it done, not necessarily being happy in the doing of it. He didn't have emotions swaying him one way or the other--or making him vulnerable.
He shouldn't give a damn that Judith Henderson thought she was having the exact same erotic fantasy about him as he was about her. He shouldn't care that she was attracted to him other than to make his job easier. He shouldn't be in danger of drowning in her amazing eyes. He was in her presence an hour and he was fucking up big time.
"Are you still willing to take me for a tractor ride on your farm tomorrow?" He had to give her the out. Thomas Vincent was a decent man, and in keeping with his reticence with women, Stefan had no choice. If it was left to him, the counter wouldn't save her. Nothing would save her--or him.
"Of course. I can't very well condemn you when I was being just as bad. We'll just agree to behave ourselves." She offered him a faint, hopeful smile.
Oh yeah. She believed the Thomas Vincent act, or else she'd be much more alarmed. He could read the wariness in her eyes, but the fact that he was keeping his distance and so careful to take the blame for a healthy male's thoughts was a good sign. She was a little bit flattered as well. He averted his eyes, not for Thomas, but because she was so damned beautiful, so bright and innocent, he was choking on his own deception. Not once in his life had he felt shame for misleading another person, but Judith, with her willingness to confess an embarrassing moment to a complete stranger, with that profound sorrow weighing her down that she kept so carefully hidden from the rest of the world, made him feel unworthy.
"I think that's a good idea," Stefan agreed. "If you don't mind, I'll keep my mind on the books for a little while." Resolutely, Thomas Vincent turned his attention to the books lying open on the desk while Stefan Prakenskii centered his attention on his surroundings and the woman.
The front of the gallery was all tinted glass, allowing a magnificent view of the turbulent ocean, while still protecting the paintings and sculpture from the sun. It would be difficult, but not impossible to see inside during the day. With the lights on at night, it would be easy. The office was protected and there were obvious exits, four of them. It led into the back workroom, which provided even more cover as well as another exit.
He winced a little as Judith moved in front of the bank of windows, the lights exposing her exact position to anyone watching. He had to push down the d
esire to call her to him on some pretext, just to get her out from in front of those windows. She wasn't in danger--yet--but she would be if Ivanov was close by. The man had no regard for life. He was a pure sociopath, and he loved his job. He lived for the killing of others. Stefan had long ago come to the conclusion that the man killed for enjoyment, not for duty. He wouldn't see Judith's brightness or her innocence and if he did, it wouldn't matter. It might only add to his pleasure of taking her life.
Stefan sighed. Before setting up a meeting with Frank Warner, he had slipped into Sea Haven a couple of weeks earlier and spent time there setting up for his mission. He had already walked through the village numerous times, familiarizing himself with every street and alley, every conceivable hiding place and escape route. He'd driven the highway again and again, investigating the side roads that led away from the sea until he knew he could run them in the dark at high speeds. He'd set up several escape routes and already secured a storage facility where he kept money and passports in various names.
Petr Ivanov would come, if he hadn't already. Stefan knew he'd been set up. One didn't use his talents to babysit an old girlfriend on the unlikely chance that a prisoner the secret branch of the government was breaking out of a prison would elude the very agents helping him escape. That made no sense. His being in Sea Haven wasn't about Judith Henderson or Jean-Claude La Roux--it was about finding Lev Prakenskii and eliminating him. And his handler would know Ivanov would have to kill him too. They couldn't leave Stefan alive.
He rubbed his temples. Why had they decided to retire a couple of their best operatives? Was there a purge going on for a reason? Had some reporter uncovered the truth about the "orphanages" that had really been schools to train agents and assassins. In the new government, with the alliances that had been formed, it might not be in the best interests of the country to have those schools discovered.
"Headache?" Judith asked sympathetically. "I've got aspirin in the medicine cabinet."
She'd been watching him just as closely as he'd been observing her.
"I think I'll call it a night if you don't mind. Too much traveling and not enough sleep." It would give him another excuse to see her again after the tractor ride.
"Of course I don't mind." Judith was as agreeable as he knew she'd be. He was a master manipulator, trained in the best schools, every lesson a life or death one. He had survived and someone like Judith had no chance against him. He tasted bitterness in his mouth and kept his eyes averted as she locked up the safe.
4
THE moment Stefan stepped outside the gallery into the coolness of the night, he knew he was in the biggest trouble of his life. Maybe in for the biggest fight for his life. It wasn't the sniper who had him in the crosshairs, or the itch on the back of his neck that told him the assassin was definitely in the small village of Sea Haven. He was an operative, trained practically from birth to use people, surroundings, anything and everything as tools--yet instinctively, without thought, he put himself between Judith Henderson and a sniper's bullet, instead of using her body to shield his.
Everything in him froze. What the hell had he just done? What was wrong with him? His actions didn't make sense. He stood, completely exposed, his body blanketing hers, the scent of her enveloping him. The wind tugged at her hair and strands blew back at him to slide temptingly over his skin. He was astounded at his actions, shocked, horrified even, but his feet wouldn't move. One shift and he would be on the far side, placing her body between his and the water tower where he was certain Petr Ivanov lay up there with a rifle and scope. Petr was there--Stefan felt him. Felt the slick wash of menace that always alerted him, one of many psychic gifts. Still, he didn't move. Where the hell was his ingrained sense of self-preservation? Years of survival training? All his expertise?
Warning bells went off like miniature explosions in his mind. His left palm itched so badly he rubbed it along his thigh. He remained where he was, as if his feet had grown roots. His heart pounded and he tasted passion in his mouth, a fruit he'd never known but recognized instantly. Judith. She filled up all the emptiness in him. Somehow in the small space of time he'd spent with her, she'd poured herself into him and brought him something he never imagined: hope. She represented life. Living.
He was aware of people moving up the walkway to their right, from the direction of the tower. He might be able to use the small crowd as a shield, work his way around to get behind Ivanov. If he could, he would track Ivanov back to his lair and kill him. The disposal of his body would be easy enough and that would give him time to find his brother without fear of exposing him to an exterminator.
Right now, the most imperative thing in his world was to protect Judith. He kept his body between the sniper and Judith. His mind demanded to know what the hell he was doing, but his body remained firmly in place.
He doubted if Ivanov would take the shot even if he had it. It was too soon. The assassin wanted Lev. His brother had disappeared here, presumed dead, and Petr Ivanov wasn't buying it. His plan was to kill both Prakenskii brothers, not just Stefan. So he wouldn't shoot, but just in case, Stefan's sense of self-preservation should have forced him to move. It was impossible to though, and the terrible itch on the back of his neck grew.
Damn the woman. What in the hell was taking so long? "Do you need help?" he offered politely, staying in the role of Thomas Vincent.
"The lock seems to be stuck."
Judith glanced over her shoulder at him, and his heart nearly stopped. There was something incredibly alluring about her face with that fall of silky hair across it. Her gaze drifted over him and for a moment time seemed to stand still. He wasn't the only one tasting passion in his mouth, it was there, in her eyes. He had caught glimpses of fire in her earlier paintings and he hadn't been wrong. No matter how cool and controlled she acted, the fire was there seething beneath the surface, ready for the right man to bring out.
He pulled back from his thoughts very sharply. What right man? He was nobody's right man. He lived in another world, far from this one, and he had no right thinking a woman like Judith Henderson could be his. Not even in his imagination--yet he didn't move, not an inch.
"Let me try." He didn't wait for her to step aside, but reached around her with both arms, trapping her between the door and his body, careful to keep her hidden from Ivanov's scope while he took the key from her hand.
His fingers brushed hers. A jolt blazed through his body, the force of it shaking him. She was more frightening than any enemy he'd ever stalked and killed. She moved him when nothing ever had. A captive in the circle of his arms, she went very still, but he felt every breath she took. Heat rushed through his veins and settled like a fireball in his groin. He had used sex as an effective weapon, a perfect tool, extracting information, controlling his body, allowing an erection when needed, sustaining it for as long as it took, but he couldn't remember a time when his body responded to a woman in the way it was doing now, almost as if it had a mind of its own.
The strange and very unique phenomenon was both shocking and exhilarating. He'd never been on a roller coaster, but he felt almost as if he was on one now--thrown this way and that, off balance, all over the place, nearly incapable of breathing. His lungs felt starved for air. He was aware of everything about her, strands of her hair, the length of her lashes, her parted lips, the rise and fall of her breasts even as he pushed the key into the dead bolt and wiggled repeatedly to get the lock to fall into place.
"I have to tell you, Judith," he confessed, half Stefan and half Thomas, "it's getting harder and harder to breathe."
He expected her to push him away. Anything to save herself--or him. Maybe she didn't realize the danger she was in and it had nothing whatsoever to do with a sniper's bullet.
"I noticed that. My lungs are burning too."
He groaned. Her honesty was going to kill him. He wasn't an honest man. He didn't even know now if he was deliberately manipulating her, which he was entirely capable of. He had no idea who he w
as anymore. Judith seemed so out of his league, everything that he was not and could never be. She was genuine. Soft. Compassionate. He could see it so easily in her.
He was all hard edges and shadows. He had no idea of the kind of world she lived in. His was violent and ugly. There was no laughter and no honesty. The lock clicked with a hard thud and he had no reason to keep her caged. But he didn't move his body away from hers as he handed the key back.
"I'm not good with women." That was a blatant lie. He manipulated women without trying. Thomas Vincent might not be good with women, but Stefan used sex as a weapon, seducing a woman into giving him anything he wanted. Everything he wanted. He had been trained and had complete control of his body--until Judith.
He certainly shouldn't be having trouble controlling a massive--and painful--hard-on just because he was inhaling her unique scent deep into his lungs. Or touching all that silky hair.
"I'm not all that good with men either," she confided.
His gaze captured hers and held her there. In the intimacy of the night, Stefan felt as if the world had turned upside down. There was more power in Sea Haven than he realized--or more power in this woman. He had come prepared for warfare, but not for this slow seduction of every one of his senses. He didn't feel. He wasn't permitted to feel and yet, with his body a breath from Judith's, he was more alive than he'd ever been.
He pushed the key into her hand and checked the door before slowly, almost reluctantly straightening. He couldn't quite move away from her, and never once did he take his gaze from hers. Stefan placed one hand carefully above and to the side of her head, leaning that inch or two closer until her breasts were a heartbeat from his chest.
"Never in my life, has this ever happened to me." She couldn't fail to hear the honesty in his voice. It was the stark truth. "I don't even know what the hell is happening." That was definitely Stefan Prakenskii and he winced. It was an accusation. A snarl. A demand for the truth--worse, stepping out of his role as bashful Thomas.