NINE
“I’m all set, Con. I mean…Jeremy.”
Whatever name he went by didn’t matter—he was still walking sin poured into that suit.
And the glasses had given her a little thrill, way down low in between her thighs, even if they were fake lenses.
She tipped her head, studying Con. “Should we speak in code? If we’re doing spy stuff, maybe we should have spy codes for each other.”
He gave her a flat look. The flare of his nostrils was the only reaction he had to her suggestion.
She crossed the room to the mini bar.
“Sophie, what are you doing?”
“I’m doing agent shit.”
He issued one of those grinding noises he seemed so fond of making deep in his throat.
“One week I’m a professor, next week I’m this…” She struck a pose, arms angled out to shoot the pretend gun formed by her fingers.
When Con didn’t react, she struck a second pose, angling the other direction.
“Sophie.”
She straightened and tossed a smile his way. “You’re going to have to lighten up a little, Con. You can’t act stiff at a party.”
He made another growling sound.
“You make that sound so often, I’m beginning to think you need to see a doctor.”
“I don’t need a doctor.” His eyes flashed like black steel. “What do you need code words for? You’ll never be far enough away from me to need a code word. Especially in that dress.”
She blinked, any words she was about to say flying from her mind at his mention of her dress. “Is that your way of giving a woman a compliment, Con?”
She swore she saw his eyelid twitch. The man was never going to pull off this newlywed farce if he was acting so stiff. She was only trying to loosen him up a bit.
“How about this for a code? Newlyweds often have discussions about money. Our code for the bank is ‘I need that money, honey.’”
“I’m sure no one will ever figure that out.”
“A restaurant is nom-nom time.”
He snorted. “Cute. But I’m never saying that.”
Her shoulders slumped in defeat.
“But I meant it about the dress. You look gorgeous.”
Now she made a noise in her throat. A soft, feminine mewl that wasn’t like her at all.
Sophie Edwards was levelheaded, especially around men. She dealt with male colleagues, and over the years, she had to shut more than a couple of them down. But knowing that Con thought she looked good made her want to take off all her clothes.
He broke the moment by waving a hand toward the door. “Shall we go?”
She nodded. “We’re catching a lift?”
“We have a car waiting.”
“How did you manage that?”
He shoved the glasses back on his face, and she was pretty sure her ovaries exploded right there and then. If Con wanted, he could read the book of her body in Braille.
She couldn’t be thinking about her temporary partner this way. Or maybe she should—it would definitely make things easier in this pretend role of his wife.
No one would be quizzing her about how her “husband” tasted, but ohhh, she could describe that in detail.
When he guided her out of the hotel, she was completely aware of how tense he was because the fingers he stretched along her spine felt like five iron daggers. They passed swiftly through the lobby where people milled around checking in to their rooms or passing through to the fine dining restaurant.
Outside, Sophie was stunned to see the sun sitting low in the sky. She’d lost all track of time here in Turkey.
A sleek black car was parked in front of the glass double doors, and without even checking to see who was behind the wheel, Con led her to the back and held open the door for her to slip inside.
She immediately looked at the driver. He didn’t speak to her but simply gave Con a nod of greeting.
Suddenly, her joke of being a spy didn’t seem so funny anymore. Nom-nom time? What was she thinking? She was really playing this dark, frightening game.
At her side, Con sat at ease, his arm resting along the back of the seat behind her. She fiddled with her small handbag that held her fake ID and a tube of lipstick. If she was actually a trained spy, she’d have a little gun stowed in her bag too.
A shiver rolled through her.
Con turned his head to look at her, and she gave him a small smile to show that nothing was off. Nothing amiss at all as they headed to a party filled with strangers who would see straight through her and Con’s act if they made one mistake.
Was this even a job for a SEAL? She thought only the CIA performed tasks like this.
The city streaked past her window, and she barely had time to take anything in before they pulled up in front of a huge estate. Three other couples were getting out of cars too, each more luxurious than the last.
Without a word to the driver, Con climbed out, one long leg clad in excellent Italian lightweight wool extending to the ground. He reached out a hand for Sophie, and she took it.
Her stomach did a little somersault at the brush of his rough fingers, and then he was drawing her out of the car to her feet.
She looped the thin strap of her bag around her wrist and glanced at her surroundings. A white limousine pulled up behind them, and the chauffeur got out to open the door for his passengers.
Leaning toward Con, she whispered, “You didn’t give me any directions for when we get inside.”
He dipped his head to catch her words, his nose hovering inches from her ear. Was he smelling her?
She’d grabbed the perfume bottle but stopped short of spritzing herself with it. She didn’t need her partner distracted again. Besides, what happened in the pool had been a huge hit to her ego. She didn’t want a repeat.
They entered through a set of grand doors carved in intricate geometric patterns. Music carried through the space, loud enough to make it a party but not intrusive enough that they couldn’t hold a conversation.
Everywhere Sophie looked, well-dressed men and women mingled with each other. What was she doing here? She was just a professor. She didn’t have anything in common with these people—or even Con.
A tall fountain spilled golden champagne into tiers that emptied into glasses at the bottom. She started toward the display, but Con grabbed her arm and led her into an open area where couples swirled to the music.
When Con drew her into his arms and positioned his hand perfectly on her waist to guide her in the dance, she couldn’t be more shocked.
“Is this part of your training?”
“No.” He looked down at her, making her aware that she was being recorded by his glasses.
“How did you learn how to dance?”
“Navy balls,” he said in a low voice meant only for ears. He shifted his gaze to the other couples surrounding them.
“Who are we searching for?”
“One of those smaller photos is of a businessman. The head of a shipping company.”
She glanced around too, but since she’d never seen that particular photo, she didn’t know what the man looked like. “Do you have a picture of him on your phone?”
His gaze flicked back to her. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. Holding it between them, he flashed the photo up for a split second for her to see.
She nodded.
He pocketed the device again and continued spinning her around the floor with precision and ease and even a good amount of skill.
“You’re actually a good dancer. I don’t know why I’m surprised—you seem to be a ‘Jeremy’ of all trades.”
He gave a soft snort. “Nice one, Sydney .”
All of a sudden, this seemed fun. She got into the music, swaying her body with Con’s as they navigated the entire dance floor. She had to admit, it was a great way to move quickly through the crowd to search for this businessman.
The music trilled on a long note. Con whipped her over his arm, dipping her low enough to the ground that she felt the ends of her hair brush the floor.
She cast a look at the crowd from this new, foreign angle.
Her stomach dipped right along with her body, but for another reason.
There he was—the businessman, standing at the edge of the floor, not ten feet away.
* * * * *
“Oh my god. She’s so hot.”
Con withheld a deep growl at the Henner’s comment projecting into his ear. Whose bad idea was it for him to stay connected via comms? The tiny device was imperceptible to anyone who looked at him. But Con wished he could get away from his team for a few hours.
“Dip her again, Con. I think her boob was about to fall out of the side of her dress.”
He whipped Sophie upright just as Mason jumped on the bandwagon with Henner.
“Yeah, man! Dip her again.”
Con swallowed another noise of warning that made Sophie’s wide eyes even wider.
“Shut up,” he bit off in a low mutter meant for his teammates. “I’m going to break your necks when I get back.”
“Jeremy!” Sophie’s urgent whisper brought his attention back to her.
She was paler, and her eyes held a glint of fear. “He’s behind us. I saw him when you dipped me!”
He purposely whirled her in a wide arc that carried them within footsteps of the edge of the dance floor. He looked straight at the man who stood talking with two other men.
“That’s our guy,” Henner said into his ear.
“Where’s his wife? Why isn’t she with him?” Mason added.
At that moment, the businessman dressed in a smart, dark suit and tie like everyone else, broke away from the others and disappeared into the crowd.
Con released his grip on Sophie’s waist and pulled her into the crowd behind him. He kept one hand clasped tightly around hers. He meandered past people drinking and talking, his gaze fixed on the back of the businessman.
Facial recognition software had named him as Ahmet Deniz. And Con’s team was right—he had a wife who should be with him at an event as big as this.
Casually, Con guided Sophie in his wake. The huge room was set up in sections according to activity—dancing, dining, and drinking.
Deniz made a beeline to the open bar and ordered a drink. Con and Sophie passed by the champagne fountain that had interested her on the way in. He paused a foot away from the bar and snagged a flute of champagne for his bride and one for himself.
She clasped the glass by the stem and searched his eyes. “He’s right over there. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
Into his ear, Henner added, “Man, did you get a look at her lips?”
Con automatically dropped his stare to Sophie’s mouth, then realized what he was doing and shook himself. “Focus,” he gritted out to his team.
Sophie caught on that he was speaking to someone else. She tilted her head, studying his glasses.
He lifted a hand and touched his ear to indicate that he had a device.
Her lips formed a small O of understanding, and she quickly covered the reaction by taking a sip of her champagne.
Then her eyes rounded again as she looked past Con. “He’s leaving.”
Under pretense of moving closer to his “wife,” Con looped his arm around her and angled them both to see Deniz sauntering around the guests to reach the front door.
“Get the car ready. We’re following him,” Con ordered his men.
Suddenly, Deniz tossed a glance over his shoulder, his focus landing right on Con.
Deniz was on to them.
He set his untouched flute down on the wood of the bar. Any clink of his glass was swallowed by the noise of the party. Sophie did the same, tossing him an indulgent smile as if she was so enamored with him that she couldn’t wait to be alone.
Outside, the car was waiting, just as he ordered. Sophie hopped into the back and Con slipped in right behind her.
“Follow that man,” he told the driver.
In unaccented English, the man said, “Got it, Con.”
They rolled forward on the tail of the black Porsche. Sophie’s fingers curled into the edge of the seat, and she sat stiff with nerves.
“Con, he saw us. He knows we’re following him.”
“I know.”
Seeing her affected this way made him tense too. Reaching over, he covered her hand with his.
Her gaze shot to his. He saw her throat move in a delicate gulp.
She wasn’t cut out for this work. Christ, whose idea was it to force a university professor like her into a role like this? She should be tucked up in her quiet home back in Princeton reading her books, not following an international businessman out of a party.
Gently, he pried her fingers out of the seat. With a soft gasp, she twisted her palm up and threaded her fingers with his.
His heart gave a hard pinch at the realization that she was seeking comfort from him.
She gained comfort from his touch.
He stroked his thumb across the back of hers and heard the quiet release of air she’d held trapped in her lungs.
They wove through a mosaic of streets filled with old-world charm meshed with modern extravagance. The fading evening light cast shadows along cobblestones and the last rays of daylight glinted on the glass-sided buildings of new architecture.
Down one narrow alley, several vendors were packing up their wares for the day, called home to prayer. One cart was stacked high with colorful textiles and another held crates of roasted chestnuts.
Sophie’s gaze swung from the view through the side window to the taillights of the Porsche. He suspected she wanted to ask a million questions—that was how her scholarly mind worked—but she held her tongue, most likely unnerved by the driver.
Con knew the driver personally. He was a plant in this city, and worked closely with the American embassy. He was confident that the man was trustworthy.
Up ahead, the spire of a mosque caught the magic of twilight, even as the deepening shadows spoke of darker things that would take place in the city.
Sophie’s grip tightened on his, and he glanced down at their twined hands, too late realizing that Charlie team could see everything through his glasses.
He didn’t care. She was under his protection, and he was offering her a safe haven. He caught a deep chuckle through his earpiece but ignored it.
As the car made several turns, their driver hung back at a distance to make it look like he was just going the same direction. He paused to allow a group of pedestrians headed to a night club across the street to cross. Music from another car shook the windows.
The Porsche headed from one nice section of the city where the party had taken place to another. The opulence in this area wasn’t understated at all. The enormous home that Deniz turned toward was befitting the position of the shipping merchant he was.
They watched one of five garage doors open, and Deniz drive inside. Their driver knew what to do—he turned down another street.
Sophie let out a shaky breath. The ragged sound pulled at Con’s heartstrings.
“Where to, Con?” the driver asked.
“The hotel.” He wanted to get Sophie back to her comfort zone quickly. She shouldn’t be placed into a high-stress role like this.
As soon as they entered their hotel room, Sophie whirled toward him, her face alive with excitement.
“We did it, didn’t we? We found out where that businessman lives!”
God, she was stunning. And smart, and filled with life.
Whatever she saw on his face made her step closer.
He leaned down. “Yes, Professor. We did it.”
Her eyes hooded as she sidled even closer. “Maybe we can find something in the mini bar to celebrate with.”
He reached for her, pressing his fingertips into her lower back. “We should celebrate.”
She issued a husky laugh and curled one hand around his nape.
“Take off those glasses, Con.”
He plucked them off his face to resounding groans of protest in his ear. “Goodnight, guys.”
“I just made popcorn!”
Con was going to peel those strappy shoes off Sophie and throw her extremely sexy ankles over his shoulders.