Chapter Fourteen
NATALIE HAD ALMOST been disappointed that Ford chose to get dressed rather than ravish her on the nearby sofa, but—lucky her—he still looked distractingly handsome in a gray tee and jeans, his feet casually bare.
More than anything, his somehow sexy feet underscored the intimacy of their current situation, and her heart sent out a little gasp of desire.
She shushed it immediately. Ford didn’t want her like that.
She was a distraction, a bit of fun in a dismal time, a temporary partner in solving the puzzle. Nothing more.
And don’t forget it.
All of their playfulness in exchanging his ridiculous nicknames for her far-too-serious real ones had ended when she mentioned Harrison Wallace.
Ford sat up in his chair, and when she confirmed that she was talking about the asshole behind one of the most heinous failures of the clinical trial system in history—and dozens more dirty dealings the Night Herons had been unable to prove—Ford had looked sick.
“You know him?” she asked.
Ford let loose a long breath. “Not personally. But he’s a B&A client.”
She recoiled. Wallace was scum of the earth, far worse than even his fraudulent activity made plain. “Your company works for people like that?”
Ford grimaced. “Sometimes. Not everyone with the money to pay our fees is someone I like.”
“Seems to me you can choose who you do business with.”
He sighed, tapping his fingertips several times against the table.
“Within the offices under my purview, I attempt to be discerning about our clientele, but I don’t control the entire company.
My father makes decisions for US operations, and he doesn’t really care what I have to say about it.
To his mind, anyone who can pay deserves protection.
And sometimes those clients visit Europe and become my responsibility.
” He shrugged. “That’s just how it works. ”
“But that affects your reputation too. Why not disaffiliate and open your own shop here?”
“I’d prefer not to alienate my family, thank you very much.
Besides, it’s not that simple. Wallace isn’t the only one getting death threats.
Would you deny his innocent children security?
His wife?” His piercing gaze made her feel exposed.
“Not everything is black and white in my world. I don’t think it is in yours either. ”
Okay, he had her there. “Fair enough.” She gave him a coy smile that would fool no one. “Since you’re so comfortable operating in the gray zone… How would you feel about using your connections to Wallace to figure out if he’s linked to the man trying to track me down?”
“Shit.” Ford laughed lightly, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen that coming.”
Natalie closed her laptop. “You don’t have to decide now.
” It was late, she wasn’t due to check in with Dallas for five more hours, and her eyes hurt.
She wasn’t exactly an early riser, but she didn’t often stay up past midnight, even when in the best of health.
As much as she could ignore the bullet wound in her shoulder for hours at a time, her body and mind were still trying to heal from the physical and mental trauma of the last month.
Luckily, Ford had recently received an update on Henri, who’d made it through surgery and was in stable condition.
Alone, and probably lonely, but alive. Ford’s contact assured him the older man was safe for now, and expected to make a full recovery, thankfully.
Nat had only known Henri for a few weeks, but the thought of losing him made it hard to breathe.
She barely resisted the urge to place her forehead on the table, but God, she was so tired.
Tired of running, tired of waiting, tired of wearing a heavy cloak of fear for herself and her loved ones.
She no longer had the energy to push Ford.
Verbally or otherwise. Nor did she want to use their physical relationship to sway him.
As a Night Heron, there was little she wouldn’t do to get the evidence she needed.
But she drew the line at using her body as a bargaining chip, especially with this man.
He deserved better. “Whatever you choose, it changes nothing between us. And I’ll still do everything in my power to help you bring down Deschamps. ”
One of Ford’s dark eyebrows lifted. “You mean you won’t withhold sex even if I refuse to help you.”
A delicious shiver passed through her. “Exactly.” She tossed her head for drama, forgetting that her hair was short. “Maybe for other reasons, but not that one.”
He laughed, his handsome face transformed into something otherworldly. Damn, he was sexy. Even exhausted as she was, she wanted to jump him right there on the dining chair.
Before she could move, he pushed back his seat and rose from the table, his gaze locked onto her face. She held her breath as he leaned over her, their noses mere inches apart, and said in a low voice, “Don’t underestimate the power you have over me, Natalie.”
What? Her stomach swooped and flew like an acrobat. What did he mean? Was he asking her to influence his decision to help her?
No, he wasn’t that cowardly. He was far too principled to take the easy way out or blame someone else for his choices.
If anything, he went too far to the other extreme, taking on responsibility for things that weren’t—at least, not fully—his fault.
Like allowing Tim Marinelli to get within striking distance, and probably for whatever had happened with his brother.
She took a deep breath to fortify herself, inhaling his familiar scent. “Oh, yeah?” she asked, unable to think of anything more clever as Ford pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingertips creating a cascade of sensation across her skin. “How much power, exactly?”
Suddenly very wide awake, and needing to feel more like the potent woman he claimed she was, she lightly scraped her fingernails along the nape of his neck.
With a growl, he palmed her cheeks and kissed her. Hard. But also soft, reverent, curious. Like an explorer sent to map every erogenous zone on her face, brushing, pressing, tasting, biting, working hard to elicit the little moans she couldn’t hold back.
Her fingers twitched with the desire to touch more of him, and she wished she had full use of both hands.
Settling for one, she caressed his powerful neck and shoulders, dipping her fingers beneath the collar of his shirt.
Annoyed by the cloth barrier, she changed tack, slipping beneath the hem.
Touching him only made her want more, and she found herself eager to explore the smooth skin, hard muscles, and soft hair that dusted his abs.
Beneath her roving touch, his body tensed and their kisses turned deeper, faster, less finessed. He groaned into her mouth and palmed her breast through her shirt, his thumb stroking her nipple to a peak. She arched into his hand, moaning her approval and seeking more…everything.
If she had any power over him—and the current evidence was strong—it was an even trade, because he could ask her for just about anything right now and she’d happily deliver.
Dangerous as that was, she couldn’t summon an iota of concern.
Not with him using his foot to slide her chair back from the table, lifting her into his arms so her legs wrapped around his waist, and walking backwards with her until he sat hard on the couch, bouncing her on his lap.
Not when he managed to divest her of her pants, pushed his own down just far enough, produced a condom from somewhere—sheer force of desire, maybe—and lowered her carefully, until he filled her completely and they both gasped for air.
Not when he reached between them, never breaking his rhythm and stroked her clit, the stark ecstasy on his gorgeous face pulling her over the edge just seconds behind him.
Even as she lay spent against his chest, catching her breath while her body floated, she knew being with Ford like this meant trouble. Their time together had a deadline, unknown but very real.
And, yet, life had a deadline, didn’t it? They both understood that the future held no guarantees. What was the point of living if all one did was dwell on pain and misery, and fear of what may come?
Pleasure was fleeting. She’d rather grasp its tail and hold on for as long as possible, enjoying every second of the ride.
Ford woke later than usual on Tuesday morning—nearly eight—Blitz’s wet nose nudging his hand. Bright sunlight streamed in through the small window in the sloped ceiling of the bedroom, bathing the bed he and Natalie shared in a golden glow.
Natalie.
Patting Blitz’s head, Ford rolled to his side and found Nat lying on her back, breath coming heavy and slow, looking almost angelic with her eyes closed.
What would it be like to wake to her like this every day of his life? To see her gorgeous smile each morning. To anticipate the joy she would find in some random moment. To learn the truth of her layer by layer for the next fifty years. Incredible.
Impossible. Jesus, what the hell was he thinking? The wall around his heart was there for a reason, and he wouldn’t tear it down for anyone. Not even Natalie.
Angry with himself, he ignored his desire to stare at her peaceful face or kiss her softly, instead rolling out of bed and slipping on his clothes in a rush.
Five minutes later, he and Blitz headed down the stairs and out the building toward the long park that divided the quaint alleys of Vieux Nice from Nice proper.
Humidity made the air thick, and the remnants of an early morning rain gilded the cobbled streets. Blitz tried to drink out of a puddle and Ford tugged the leash sharply to distract her.
Being recognized didn’t worry him much. With the possible exception of government agencies, it was unlikely anyone could locate him via street cams without first knowing where to look.
Even then.