Airborne Emergency. Olivia GatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
it or not, you’re the only one I ever played those tricks on.”
By way of explanation or peace-offering, that stank.
Those impressive eyebrows rose again, made it clear he agreed with her thoughts. “Oh, I’m honored. But just in case you feel tempted to pull this kind of trick on someone else, remember—most men wouldn’t just let it go.”
Was he telling her he would? She met his steel eyes. He was. She noticed something else, which had been niggling at her since she’d first laid eyes on him again. Beyond the magnificent looks and the innate power, there was that...depletion, that dimming. He’d said he wasn’t back to normal, had been coughing, mentioned resistant strains. He’d been sick, seriously so.
Suddenly the agitated resentment that had had her in its grip since she’d realized his new superior position in her life evaporated. She felt sick with the drain, sick at her behavior. Her behavior had been inexcusable, even before she’d known the full truth. She was being childish now.
It was pure defense. Instinctive, unreasoning. His very nearness fried her self-restraint. Memories of his lips tapping her lifeforce, drinking deep, buzzed in a loop in her mind, scrambling her logic pathways. And she’d thought she’d been laying a trap for Vidal. He’d climbed out unscathed.
What had she been thinking? Why had she done it? To punish him—for what? Betraying every ethic and value and tie she held dear? Using his gifts not to benefit humanity but to amass wealth and power? Being indiscriminately promiscuous? Hurting her father, the man who’d snatched him out of hell? Or was it for his continuing hold over her father’s heart and, worse, his faith, when Vidal had never done anything to earn them, let alone keep them?
Well, here he was, seemingly doing his bit for humanity. His sex life had nothing to do with her. And her father was capable of settling his own scores, and free to love and believe in anyone he pleased—her approval wasn’t required.
No matter what she thought of Vidal, personally or professionally, leading him on had been stupid, not to mention bitchy. If she’d had time to think about it, if she’d been capable of one clear and rational thought back then, she would have probably backed off.
No matter now. It was time to start again. At least try to.
He was getting up, ending this.
“Vidal...” She grabbed his arm. His sculpted, hair-roughened arm. He sagged back heavily and she jerked her hand away.
Stop being ridiculous. Just get this over with.
She took a deep breath. “I was out of line. I should have told you who I was the moment I recognized you. Believe it or not, I didn’t recognize you at first either.”
His eyes narrowed on her face. This must be how it felt to be hooked up to a lie detector. “You didn’t?” She shook her head, mute. His probing deepened. “Then when did you?”
“After you came back from talking to...Miguel, was it? Anyway, what I mean to say is that I am sorry. It was stupid and on the spur of the moment, and I would take it back if I could.”
Her apology brought something fierce flaring again in his distant eyes. He had every right to be angry. Was he? No anger emanated from him, just...just... Oh, she didn’t know. He was too confusing, too opaque.
A long moment later, he lowered his eyes, exhaled and fell silent.
Vidal kept his eyes on his arm, searching with every iota of concentration for the burn mark he was certain her touch had left on his flesh. He had to. Or else he’d haul her into his arms and pick up where they’d left off.
He’d been keeping his senses focused just off her, shutting out the memories.
Then she’d had to go and tell him that.
So it hadn’t been an act. Every second, every sensation, starting with their eyes colliding, connecting across the cafeteria, during saving the little boy, as he’d rushed back to her afterwards. All real. She’d recognized something in him, known they’d connected on a fundamental level. Up until the moment she’d identified him.
And then? She’d teased and taunted him, hid her identity, led him on, to toss his weakness in his face later. But her eyes, her heat, her scent, her tremors had still revealed her real response. The reactions her mind couldn’t override, her will couldn’t hide.
Dios, he didn’t need to know that.
How could he convince himself now that his helpless reaction was just a misinterpretation of his sense of recognition, too?
Yet maybe the overpowering mutual attraction had been just that, their subconscious minds telling them they knew one another, shared a long, involved history filled with turbulent emotions.
Si, ciertamente. If that was it, he should be sitting straight in his chair now. Just the memory of the wild girl who’d given Arthur, and him, nightmares as she’d been growing up should have frozen his libido solid. He shouldn’t even have a libido where she was concerned. He never should have.
Maybe he was suffering from his prolonged abstinence? But he hadn’t been abstaining voluntarily. He’d just lost interest. Until he’d wondered if he’d ever have urges again, had almost forgotten what it felt like to have them.
So, was he having a backlash of uncontrollable lust now? But why should she be the one to resurrect his desires? Resurrect? He’d never had it nearly this bad. All his life women had told him he was one cold son of a bitch, on all counts.
It had to be artificial, this new fire. It was the weirdness of the situation. Or maybe he’d caught her fire. No doubt it would soon be extinguished, as fast as it had been ignited.
It had better!
Until it did, he just had to keep it neutral, force himself to cool down, forget. Grit his teeth and walk through the hell of the next three months.
A self-deprecating sneer almost escaped at that. He’d grown soft. This hell should be a breeze compared to the one that used to be his reality, his home.
But he’d escaped his home. There was no escape this time. This was a sentence he had to serve.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Vidal took a deep breath. His lungs itched with the lingering infection that had almost killed him. A lungful of her scent didn’t help.
Get it done. Accept her apology, start afresh. Was that possible? They had to try.
“Cassandra, no apologies needed or expected. No more pranks either. Let’s just get on with our jobs. I’m determined to make this mission a success. I’m sure you are, too.”
“Why?”
What?
His focus sharpened on her face again. Damn. He’d intended to get up, end this right now. It had been a lousy idea, sitting this close to her. Dangerous. This close up, she was overwhelming. Cream and carmine and turquoise. Every line of feature and body detailed in an elegance and voluptuousness the masters had only tried to imitate, and failed. Whatever had happened to the pink-haired, black-eyed, covered-in-freckles, scrawny livewire? Though she’d stirred him even then, so much he’d... Oh, hell!
She’d asked something. Better use the distraction. “What do you mean—why?”
“Why—everything?” Her lids were half-closed, making her eyes thoughtful, curious, their luminescence undiminished by the horrible lighting of the plane. Something fizzed inside his brain. “Why are you here, doing this? Is this some sort of propaganda campaign? A grand philanthropic gesture to add to the Vidal Arro— Vidal Santiago legend?”
“Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. That’s why I’m asking.”
“It’s clearly what you want to think. Go ahead, make yourself comfortable. Believe