Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“So we’re just going to share the bed?” Charlotte asked, aware that her voice held the faintest of trembles and came out way too breathy.
Logan hit the button on a remote, and the heavy curtains over the windows slid into place, completely blocking out the sunlight and plunging the room into darkness.
An enveloping, too intimate darkness. “It’s a massive bed,” Logan’s voice rumbled at her from the dark.
“You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. I’ll be good, promise.”
That voice of his…Deep. Sexy. Rough at the edges. Just the kind of voice that a woman would love to hear, say, in a dark room. Next to a massive bed.
“I can sleep on the couch,” she blurted. “Or there has to be another bedroom in this place. It’s like a huge suite. Nearly covers the entire top level of this hotel.”
“It is not that big.”
Okay, it was not. She’d exaggerated. Sue her.
“Put a pillow between us if you want, but I’m crashing in bed. So are you. I just found out that you’re prey for some globe-trotting serial killer. You think I am letting you get away from me after that big reveal? Hell, you’re lucky I am not chaining you to my side.”
“That would be serious overkill,” she muttered.
Then…
Rustles. Faint rustles of sound. Her eyes strained to adjust to the darkness so that she could see what he was doing. Suspicion compelled her to ask, “Are you stripping right now?”
“Why sound so shocked? I’m pretty sure you know that I sleep in the nude. Didn’t you get a full show the other day?”
Yes, she had gotten quite the show. One that played on repeat in her mind.
Charlotte just hadn’t anticipated he’d be hopping into the bed naked, with her in it.
“Don’t!” A yelp. His voice had been all rumbly and sexy, while she came out sounding like Minnie Mouse.
Fantastic. “Keep on your boxers, at least!”
Had the bed just shifted? Was she imagining that movement?
“I’m under the sheets,” he told her. “I’m on my side of the bed. Get that sweet ass in here with me, Charlotte. I’m exhausted, and I know you are, too.”
Nope. On the contrary, she felt weirdly wired.
Adrenaline.
Or…
No, no, she did not want to think about what else could be causing the twisting tension within her. She kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed. Her side of the bed. She practically clung to the edge.
“Did you take off your clothes?” Logan inquired in his deep, rumbling voice.
She grabbed one of the pillows—there were far too many pillows on that bed—and she plunked it down between them. “Do not cross this pillow.”
Laughter. Warm. Tempting. Seductive.
Stop it. Stop finding so much about the man to be sexy. She needed to focus on his faults. He had lots of those. He was wild. Undisciplined. He had criminals for friends. He took dangerous risks.
“I’m sorry,” Logan said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But that wasn’t really a yes or no response to my previous question. So, let me ask again, did you take off your clothes?”
“I took off my shoes.”
“Ah. Does that mean you always sleep fully clothed? If so, interesting point to know about you. Thanks for sharing.”
“I do not. Normally, I don’t sleep with all of my clothes on.” This was not a normal situation. “But I am now.”
“Why?” Low. “Because you don’t trust me?”
“I—”
“Or because you don’t trust yourself with me?”
Her heart could not beat faster. “Go to sleep, Logan.”
“Just so you know, if you get the urge to jump over that pillow and jump on me, I am more than willing. Totally up for anything you want to do with my body. Have at me.”
“Thanks for that.” In the dark, she rolled her eyes at him. And tried to ignore just how tempting that offer truly was. Oh, to jump on him…
“But I will not be crossing the pillow.” An oddly serious tone. For him. “You are safe with me, Charlotte.”
She…
Let go of the bed’s edge and turned toward him. She couldn’t see him, nothing but shadows, but Charlotte felt him. “Why do you try to be the bad guy?”
“Try? That’s insulting. I succeed.”
“No, you don’t. Because you save wannabe baseball players from horrible cage matches. You take care of your grandmother. You do everything you can to protect her while she is battling her dementia and you—”
“Stop.” Hard. “I am not talking about my grandmother with you. The CIA has already used her more than enough. She is off-limits.”
Charlotte swallowed. He was right. The whole reason she was there right then?
His grandmother had been put in danger not too long ago.
The CIA had stepped in to help. To whisk her to a safe location.
Now Logan was paying the debt he owed for his grandmother’s protection.
“All I meant is that you are so much better than what you want the world to think you are.”
“No, sweetheart, I am not. I am twisted and dark in my very core.”
“Stop it. You aren’t the devil.”
“Don’t be too sure about that. If this murdering prick gets hold of you, I can guarantee, he will think he’s faced the devil before I am done with him.” Logan’s words held the unmistakable ring of truth.
She wet her lips. “Am I about to get the five minutes of serious Logan that I was promised before, back in the elevator?”
“You really want him? He’s not much fun. Still an ass, just without all the jokes.”
“I want the truth from you when I ask you questions. I want five minutes of no one-liners, no fast and sarcastic replies. I want the you that is hidden deep inside.”
“Only if I get truth and the real you in return. Because if you want to talk about masks…” The bed shifted.
She knew he’d leaned closer to her. “A CIA spy has to wear a mask all the time, doesn’t she?
That’s the whole gig. Constantly pretending to be someone else.
” Silence. “Will the real Charlotte Webb stand up? Or, correction, will she speak up?”
“She will.” Whispered. “Five minutes.”
Another rustle of the sheets. The faintest clink of something setting down on…on what? The nightstand?
“I just set the timer on my phone,” Logan told her. “Five minutes of truth, then we sleep.”
Okay. He was really going to do it. This was unsettling. Oddly, Charlotte felt more nervous about these five minutes than she’d been when she chased down a criminal ring in Moscow.
“Why the hell are you in this business?” Logan asked her, apparently deciding to just jump right in with his questions. “Why are you putting yourself in danger to stop this particular killer? Why do you take all the risks that you do?”
Easy enough to answer those questions. “Because someone has to do it.”
“It doesn’t have to be you.”
“Aw, careful, Logan. I’ll start to think you care.” Was there a question hidden in her words? Maybe so. Maybe she was really wondering…Do you care? Could you care? And why did she even need to know that? They’d just met. She’d been forced into his life.
There was a hard silence following her words. He didn’t reply.
“Logan?” Hushed. “Thought we were doing five minutes of truth. Our serious time.”
“You don’t want me to care. That would be dangerous.”
Would it?
“Do you have someone at home, waiting for you?” Logan pressed her. “That the reason you don’t want to fuck me?”
“There is no one at home.” She didn’t even have a real home.
How could she? Charlotte spent most of her time hopping from one global hotspot to another.
“And I do want to fuck you.” Oh, crap. Mistake.
Admitting that had been a mistake, but it had also been the truth. She believed in sticking to her word.
She’d promised him the truth. She’d give it to him.
“Excellent,” Logan murmured. “On both counts. Because if someone had been at home, waiting on you, I might just have to go punch the bastard in the face.”
“Why?” Her turn for a question.
“Because I don’t want you with someone else. I only want you with me.” Total truth rang in his words. So did a dark, compelling desire.
But he did not come over the pillow. He’d told her he wouldn’t and yet…“It would be a mistake,” she heard herself say. “If we became involved that way.”
“Um, who cares? Best mistake ever, guaranteed.”
Her eyes closed. “I try not to make mistakes.”
“Every man loves to be called a mistake, for future reference. Feels incredible. Amazing for the ego.”
“Bad things happen when I make mistakes.” People die.
“What in the world would make you think I ever cared about something bad happening?”
She kept her eyes closed. “I was recruited for the CIA when I was in college.” A soft confession.
“They do that, you see. Get eager kids at college fairs. They look for people who are good with languages, who can pass all their psych exams. And they look for those who have no attachments. Because if you don’t have attachments, then no one will notice when you vanish for long periods of time. ”
Jamar had formed attachments after joining the CIA. His wife. His precious twins. His family was the reason why he wanted out. He didn’t want to be halfway around the world, pretending to be someone else, while his kids grew up with a stranger for a father.
“No attachments?” A careful question from Logan. “That means no family.”
That was exactly what it meant. “My parents are dead. I was an only child. No cousins. No close relatives.”
“I’m sorry.”
Me, too. Some days, she felt so damn lonely. “Enough about me. We aren’t going to use the entire five minutes on my truths. I have questions for you.”
“Fire away.”
Time to dig deep. “What is the worst thing you’ve ever done in your life?”
She heard his swift inhale.
“Cut straight to the heart, do you, Charlotte?”
“I—”
“You want to know so that the CIA can blackmail me some more? Want to know where I’ve buried bodies? What terrible crimes I’ve committed?”
“This isn’t for the CIA.” It wasn’t. “It’s for you and it’s for me.”
“Why?”