Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next day . . .
Lena stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her gaze locked on the finger-shaped bruises encircling her neck.
Blue. Black. A bit of red mixed with shades of purple.
The myriad of colors was the only outward proof of how easily she could have died.
If Rafe hadn’t come into that room when he did—
I wouldn’t be here.
But he had, and she was, so she needed to stop with all the pointless what-ifs. Kozlova was still out there, and eventually, he would send someone else to kill her and Rafe. She met her own gaze in the mirror as her thoughts shifted to something far more pleasant.
Rafe kissed me.
And boy, what a kiss it was.
Hot. Powerful. Toe-curling and oh-so-good. The man kissed as if it were his reason for living, and Lena prayed for the chance to taste him again.
Her eyes fell shut, and for a short, stolen moment, she replayed the unexpected scene from the night before. She and Rafe in his den. The bourbon. Her sincere apology and the revelation of Rafe’s misplaced guilt.
And then, there was the kiss. That incredible, soul-stealing moment she’d never forget. Lena had hoped it would lead to so much more, but unfortunately for her, he didn’t feel the same.
Oh, Rafe wanted her. Physically, anyway. Of that, she was utterly certain. No man pulled a woman into his arms the way he had or kissed the way Rafe did without the possession of genuine desire. Question was, why did he stop?
You know why.
She looked at the bruises again.
Lena sighed, abandoning her reflection to flip off the lights and leave the en-suite bathroom. She glanced around at her temporary home on her way past the amazing bed.
Its dark mahogany frame rose high to a rectangular canopy lined with the most beautiful, ornate carvings. Swirls and swoops that gave its otherwise masculine appearance a feminine touch.
Romantic.
That was Lena’s first thought when Rafe had appointed the space as hers. The bed. The room. The entire house held a classic, romantic feel. Just like the burly Brit who resided within its walls.
Not that he’d ever admit it.
She opened the door and headed down the long hallway, toward the stately home’s spectacular staircase. Lena was mid-way past the structure’s smooth, wide curve when she heard voices coming from the main floor below.
One was deep. Male. Definitely belonged to Rafe. The other was much softer and higher pitched. A strange feeling crept into her tightening gut, and it took her a few seconds to recognize it for what it was.
Jealousy.
Whatever. She was closing in on fifty, for crying out loud. She didn’t get jealous. The thought was so absurd it was laughable.
Then why are you still standing here, hiding out like a coward?
Lena filled her lungs with a cleansing breath before letting it back out with a silent exhale. Spine straightened and chin lifted, she bounced her way down to the home’s gorgeous entrance. Following the sounds of conversation, she bypassed a formal sitting area on her way to the kitchen.
She spotted Rafe first. He was sitting at a round, wooden table in a windowed corner at the far side of the room. He was dressed in well-worn jeans, a pair of slightly scuffed boots, and a heather gray t-shirt that stretched over his delicious muscles with perfection.
Damn, he looks good.
Morning. Afternoon. The time of day didn’t seem to matter. Rafe Owens was a sexy silver fox who’d given her the best kiss of her forty-nine years.
Soft laughter pulled Lena forward another step, clearing her view of his female guest. The tension in her shoulders fell away as a rush of chagrin settled in.
It’s Alice.
Or Shadow. Lena still wasn’t quite clear on which name she was supposed to use when it came to Rafe’s daughter.
Either way, the intelligent blonde was sitting at the table, smiling at something her father had just said. He opened his mouth to say something more when his Spidey senses picked up on her presence.
In pure gentlemanly fashion, Rafe stood and greeted her with a smile. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” Lena smiled back, trying hard to read his thoughts through his eyes.
Was he thinking of last night? Did he regret pulling away?
Does he regret the kiss?
“Your voice,” Rafe rumbled. “It sounds much better this morning. How are you feeling?”
“Good.” Hating how superbly awkward this moment is, but other than that, I’m good. Her gaze slid to the right. “Hi.” She went over to Rafe’s daughter and offered her hand. “You must be Alice. Or should I call you Shadow?”
“You can call me anything but late for dinner.” The pretty blonde grinned, but then winced as she started to stand.
“No, don’t get up.” Lena stopped her with a raised palm before the two women shared a quick shake. “Save your strength. Getting shot takes a lot of you.”
“You say that as if you’re speaking from experience.”
She and Rafe shared a look before she released a soft chuckle. “Yeah, well . . . you don’t play the game as long as I have without picking up a few souvenirs along the way.”
“Here.” Rafe pulled out the chair between his and his daughter’s. “Would you like some coffee?”
“God, yes.” Lena took the offered seat. As he walked away, she turned her attention back to Alice. “I’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about you, both personal and professional.”
“Likewise.” Alice grinned. “Colt said you were a solid agent and a . . .” She took a moment to recall. “A ‘tough but fair boss’ is how he put it.” Her intelligent gaze slid to the man in the kitchen before bringing it back to Lena’s. “My father talks very highly of you, as well.”
“Your father is one of the best operatives I’ve had the pleasure of working with.” A true statement. “I’m just sorry you were caught in the crossfire of our past.”
“Like I told him”—she jutted her chin toward Rafe—“what happened wasn’t your fault.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but—”
“But nothing.” Alice’s expression turned serious. “If Alexei Kozlova is behind this, it’s on him. Not you.”
“Rafe read you in.”
“He did.” The young woman nodded.
“Then you probably also know I’m the one who led the op to stop him thirty years ago.”
“And he got away.” Alice shrugged. “It happens.”
Not to me, it doesn’t.
Just that once, and she hadn’t lost another target since. But once was enough, as was evident of the injured computer expert sitting before her now.
“So.” Lena did an about-face on the subject. “Please tell me you didn’t drive yourself here.”
It had been what, a few days since she’d taken a bullet to the gut?
The Tac-Ops analyst sent her a knowing stare. Thankfully, Alice went along with the sudden switch.
“Uh . . . no.” She rolled her eyes. “My husband probably would have tied me to the bed if I tried. And not in a fun way.”
“I heard that.” Rafe reappeared with a fresh cup of steaming coffee.
“Well, that’s good since I didn’t whisper,” his daughter teased.
Lena’s snort sent a sharp reminder of the tenderness in her throat. “Thanks.” She took the ceramic mug from Rafe’s hand.
The tip of her pinky brushed against his in the process. He eyed her closely, as if trying to reach depths previously unseen.
She could thank her carefully constructed walls for that. Emotional barriers put in place years ago. Walls that protected her from things like pesky feelings and the sort.
Feelings made a person vulnerable. Distracted. And distracted CIA officers were a liability in the field. Losing focus put them and others at risk, so no. No feelings aloud.
But on those rare occasions when she was around Rafe, Lena couldn’t help but to feel. Excitement. Desire. Fear. Whenever the sexy Brit was near, she felt all those things and more. Even now—with the man’s daughter sitting two feet away.
“Slade is in the other room,” Rafe explained. “He had a call he needed to take.”
“Ah.” Lena nodded, taking a cautious sip of the roasted beverage.
“Two sugars and a splash of cream.”
She met his gaze with a smile. “You remember.”
Their eyes became locked, and for a fraction of a moment, it was as if they were the only two in the room. The spell was broken when Alice cleared her throat with gusto.
“So, Lena,” she began. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Is that a trick question?” Her attention shifted to the pretty blonde. “Because you’re in no condition to cook.”
“Oh, I’m not cooking.” Alice laughed as if the thought alone was positively absurd. “That’s his thing.” She motioned to her father.
To which Rafe chuckled. “I’m afraid she’s right. My daughter is a woman of many talents;, however, cooking isn’t one of them.”
“I burn everything.” The tech genius unabashedly shrugged. “That’s why God created delivery.”
Lena’s soft laughter was still a bit scratchy. “I actually love to cook.”
“You do?” Rafe’s handsome head tilted slightly to the side. “How come you never cooked for us while we were in Syria?”
“Because if I had, y’all would have expected me to feed your butts every day.”
“Mighty confident in your cooking abilities.”
Her lips curved. “Only because I’ve got the skills to back it up.”
“I don’t know, Dad,” Alice chimed back in. “Sure sounds like a challenge to me.” To Lena, she added, “Before you came downstairs, he asked if Slade and I wanted to stay for breakfast.”
“Perfect.” Lena stood before double-checking with Rafe. “Unless you have any objections to me taking temporary control over your kitchen.”
“By all means.” He waved a hand to the space behind her. “Show us what you’ve got.”
Be prepared to be amazed.
“Copy that.” She gave Alice a sideways wink as she turned and walked away.
An hour later, Lena was placing the final platter of food onto the table.
“Don’t be shy,” she instructed. “Go ahead. Dig in.”
Fluffy, from-scratch pancakes were stacked high with a light smattering of butter already melted in. Eggs had been scrambled with a touch of butter, diced chives and a dabble of sour cream.
The pile of bacon was crispy but pliable, and a few slices of lightly browned toast finished off the selection. To the side was a small bowl of warm, raspberry sauce as an added topping.