Our Little Secret Page 14

  Lauren’s eyes closed and her mouth aimed at his. Drew’s hands caught her shoulders just in time. “Ask me later,” he said, holding her back and hating himself all the while.

  The full lower lip he’d just ravished to perfection pushed itself into a seductive pout. “I’ve waited long enough already. Months and months.” She leaned against his hands, pushing closer and lowering her voice. “Confidentially, it’s been years. I need to be kissed like that again. Right now.”

  Now, there was some truly useful information. If sensible old Jeff couldn’t muster enough passion to ignite this sexy little tinderbox, Drew had no qualms about taking his place. But he preferred his women alert and sober.

  “This is an interesting side of you, honey, and I’d love to explore it further, but I can’t take advantage while you’re drunk.”

  “Pssht.” She waved away his objection with the swish of a hand. “You have my permission.” Her hands pulled at his shirt, bringing her lips closer to their goal, as her eyes fluttered shut.

  “Christ, Lauren,” he groaned, taking a step backward. “I’m not made of stone. You have to stop this. If you don’t despise me two hours from now, I’ll be more than happy to kiss you. In fact, I’ll kiss more than your mouth. I’ll kiss the soft spot below your ears, I’ll kiss the tips of your toes, and I’ll kiss places in between that’ll make you blush to the roots of your hair and melt into a pool of wet desire.”

  He had her breathless attention. Her eyes blinked once as she considered it, then once again. “You will?”

  “I promise.”

  “Oooh,” she said, her voice barely audible as she considered the offer. “Okay.”

  God, if she remembered this, she was either going to hate him or give him the most memorable night of his life.

  Meanwhile, he had to find a warm, quiet place where Lauren could sober up. They didn’t need someone taking a photo of Senator Creighton’s inebriated new wife doing the town while he was away.

  Or doing her stepson, either.

  * * *

  Lauren allowed herself to be ushered along the edge of the ballroom, acutely aware of Drew’s hand on the exposed skin of her back. It was as warm and firm as the rest of him, and she wondered what it would feel like against more sensitive parts of her body. Maybe another drink would give her the courage to find out.

  She wasn’t drunk yet. Not drunk enough, anyway.

  The light buzz from the champagne had been enough to loosen some inhibitions, to free her from her studied propriety. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she’d kissed Drew. She’d known she shouldn’t do it, known she would lose control if she did, and still couldn’t stop herself. Dancing with him, being held in those strong arms, had been wonderful. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

  His kiss had ignited a burst of desire that rushed through her body and settled into a wonderful, throbbing heat in her pelvis. Her arousal slammed into her when his hand gripped her bottom and pressed her against him close enough to know that the feeling was mutual. His promise of more intimate kisses had her head spinning far more than the champagne did. If she was drunk, it was on Drew Creighton, not champagne.

  He directed her through an archway into a wide passage, strolling casually along it while testing each locked door they passed. The third one opened just as someone ahead of them called, “Drew Creighton! Is that you?”

  He pushed her inside and shut the door behind her.

  Alone, Lauren blinked at the black room and felt for a light switch. Her hand connected, and a table lamp across the room flared into a soft, yellow glow. She barely had time to take in the small sitting room filled with couches and chairs, when a hand spun her around and pulled her into an embrace.

  “Meg! Oh, thank God, you’re safe!”

  The voice and the body were distinctly male, and the accent was the same as the man on the phone. Lauren was crushed against the silk lapel of his tuxedo jacket, inhaling the faint spiciness of an unfamiliar aftershave. A hand stroked the back of her head while the other held her tightly against a broad chest. She drew her head back to look at the man’s face, but only caught a glimpse of a straight nose, black eyes, and even blacker hair before he murmured, “Megan, you are driving me crazy,” as his lips closed over hers.

  Startled, she made a mmmf sound against his lips and pushed on his shoulders, but he held her fast. Apparently, Meg knew him well enough to kiss him back. Lauren didn’t, and she froze, not knowing whether she should reveal her identity so soon.

  The man’s hand cupped her cheek gently, and stroked a soft thumb along her jaw in a distracting, reassuring way. It wasn’t like kissing Drew, but it wasn’t like kissing Jeff, either. This man’s kiss lacked the crackling heat that Drew emitted with every touch, but was still more thorough and tender than any kiss she’d ever had from Jeff. Either the men of Colorado and Romania knew a different technique they weren’t sharing with the rest of the planet, or Jeff was a romantic underachiever. While her fogged mind struggled to figure out which it was, the man’s lips were jerked forcibly from hers.

  “Hands off, buddy,” Drew growled.

  The transformation from gentle lover to angry combatant was instantaneous. While Lauren steadied herself, the man whirled, throwing a punch at Drew’s face. Miraculously, it didn’t land. Drew dodged, then swung back, a jab that was expertly deflected with a forearm as the man’s right fist darted out.

  “Stop!” Lauren yelled, as Drew moved quickly aside, grabbing the man’s arm and twisting.

  They stood still in a deadlock, each man trying to leverage the other into letting go.

  The Romanian’s handsome face scowled with concern and probably a considerable amount of pain. “Run, Megan!” he ordered.

  “She’s with me, you goddamned idiot,” Drew said in a strangled snarl.

  Lauren shoved her arm forcibly between the two men, prying them apart as they reluctantly let go of each other. Doubt crept into the Romanian’s face, and he peered closely at Lauren. “Meg? No, it can’t be. Meg’s lips are as full, but her taste is a little more—”

  “Watch it,” Drew warned.

  “Different.” His face cleared as he stepped back from Drew. “Ahh. Then you must be Lauren.”

  “Yes,” she said, surprised. “How do you know my name?”

  “Megan told me, of course.” He turned an amazed look on Drew. “Are you Jeff?”

  “Hell no,” Drew spat out. “I’m Drew Creighton.”

  “The senator’s son? Yes, that makes more sense. From what I’ve heard, I didn’t think Jeff would”—he glanced at Lauren—“be here,” he concluded, which Lauren thought was not what he’d been about to say. “Where is Meg?”

  “In the Virgin Islands,” Lauren said. Then, considering the steamy kiss she’d just received, she emphasized, “On her honeymoon.”

  He made a negating motion with his hand. “I have heard that rumor. So you don’t know where she really is?”

  Lauren frowned at his easy dismissal of Meg’s claim, but before she could question it, Drew said, “Why don’t you tell us why you think she isn’t where she says she is, and why you think she’s in danger. And start with your name.”

  “Forgive me. I am Michael Dragos.” He shook hands with Drew, then smiled warmly at Lauren. “I think we have already greeted one another,” he told her.

  Drew scowled.

  Lauren smiled back self-consciously. It occurred to her that in the past ten minutes she’d been in a passionate clinch with both men, neither of whom was her fiancé. Maybe she really was a bit drunk.

  “How do you know Meg?” Drew asked. At least one of them was thinking clearly.

  “We have dated for the past two years.”

  “Meg has dated several men during the past two years,” Drew told him. “And she married my father.”

  Dragos waved Meg’s marriage aside. “No, that is what they want you to believe. She is in love with me.”

  Lauren exchanged quick glances with D
rew. The man sounded like an obsessed ex-lover. “She never mentioned you,” Lauren told him cautiously.

  Dragos nodded, unfazed. “Michael is the Americanized version of my name. Meg would have referred to me by my real name, Mihaly. That is what she calls me.”

  “You’re Mihaly?” She turned to Drew. “There is a Mihaly, a guy she keeps going back to between other men. She seemed pretty hung up on him.”

  Drew looked at him skeptically. “Doesn’t sound like love to me.”

  “Meg is in denial,” Mihaly told them, shaking his head with regret. “She has difficulties with the concept of love but, fortunately for her, I am a patient man. However, she is putting herself in danger, and that is straining my patience.”

  Lauren watched him run his hand through his dark hair and decided that her sister was an even bigger idiot than she’d suspected. Meg was skittish about love, but if her sister was risking the devotion of this gorgeous hunk of a man by fooling around with other guys, even rich United States senators, she was out of her mind. Anyone who would tolerate Meg’s flings while patiently waiting out her “difficulties” with commitment was either crazy or truly in love with her.

  Lauren decided she trusted Mihaly. She also decided that he would never learn of the photos of Meg and the blond stud.

  In a burst of sobriety, Lauren remembered their reason for their meeting. “When you called you told me Meg was in danger. Why do you think that?”

  He gestured at the chairs and they all sat, but no one looked comfortable. Mihaly was on the edge of his seat, leaning toward them as he spoke.

  “I returned from Bucharest yesterday and discovered that someone had broken into both my embassy office and my apartment. Believe me, these are impressive feats. Nothing was taken, but someone went through all my personal papers—letters, pictures, expense accounts, anything having to do with my personal life. It was a professional job, bypassing alarms and opening deadbolt locks.”

  Drew listened impassively. “If nothing was taken, how can you be sure someone broke in?”

  Mihaly gave him a direct look. “I know these things.”

  Drew narrowed his eyes, and Lauren realized what Mihaly had meant—he had more than a passing acquaintance with espionage.

  “I don’t see how breaking into your apartment puts Megan in danger,” she said.

  “They disabled the alarms, but they didn’t bother with the security cameras,” Mihaly said, his accent making each word precise. “The man entered with his gun drawn and checked the rooms before he searched the place. He spoke into a wireless microphone and said, in English, ‘She’s not here.’ Before he left, he asked his partner if he’d found anything in the Maxima.”

  Lauren bit her lip. “Meg drives a Nissan Maxima.”

  Drew seemed not to hear her. “You have security cameras inside your apartment?” he asked. “And audio?”

  Mihaly turned an expressionless gaze on him.

  Drew stared back, his eyes hard and calculating. “Perhaps the danger to Meg has something to do with your profession,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” Mihaly admitted. “But I don’t think so. The man seemed to be interested only in things pertaining to Meg.”

  “What did the guy look like?” Lauren asked. “Did he have a large, hawkish nose? Or wear a trench coat?”

  Mihaly looked confused. “No, no trench coat. He wore a ski mask, so all I could tell was that he was a tall white man with long hair, possibly blond. Some of it stuck out from beneath the mask.

  Her gaze darted to Drew’s in alarm. He shook his head, and she stayed silent, but felt chills creep over her back. If it was the same blond guy who had costarred with Meg in the photos, then they obviously knew about Mihaly and her sister had been set up. Meg might be in more danger than she realized.

  Mihlay had reached a similar conclusion. “I didn’t recognize him, but that only means he’s probably not CIA, because I know most of them. Meg is still in danger. And if Lauren is mistaken for Meg,” he paused to look directly at Drew, “she is in danger, too.”

  Suddenly, enjoying the Washington social scene while passing as Meg wasn’t as much fun anymore.

  Drew apparently had the same thought. “Let’s get you home,” he said, offering his hand.

  Mihaly stood too. “You will call me if you hear from Meg?” He offered Drew his card.

  “If you’ll do the same,” Drew agreed. “Or if you learn anything about Meg and my father.”

  They left Mihaly standing with his hands jammed into his pockets, a worried look creasing his brow and tightening his mouth. His distress seemed sincere; Lauren flashed a sympathetic smile before the door closed. The possibility that her sister might have a future with Mihaly Dragos intrigued Lauren and made Meg’s marriage to Senator Creighton look even more like a lie.

  “Do you think Mihaly is a spy?” she asked Drew.

  “Ssh, not so loud.” He pulled her against him as they walked through the people mingling in the wide corridor. “The term is intelligence agent, and yes, I think he is. Or was. I don’t know what his position with the embassy is now.” He steered her to the coat check room. “Now that we’ve talked to him, I think we should get out of here. I don’t like the idea of you posing as Meg when those guys have already zeroed in on her connection to Dragos.”

  He was being protective again. Since she seemed to need it, she wasn’t about to object.

  With a light wool cape over her shoulders, the night didn’t seem as chilly. “Let’s walk to the car,” she suggested.

  “In those heels? It’s several blocks.”

  “I know. The night air will clear my head.”

  He chuckled. “I hope it doesn’t clear everything from your head. I’m interested in pursuing a couple of the thoughts you had back there.”

  Uh-oh. Perhaps Lauren had been a little too uninhibited on the embassy patio. She hadn’t meant to offer an open invitation—had she? She tried to move away but Drew tucked her arm firmly against his side as they started down the sidewalk.

  He didn’t say anything as they walked, just hummed to himself under his breath. Lauren winced. He thought she’d meant something with that silly little kiss. Well, okay, maybe it was a steaming hot kiss, and it had been fun, but it didn’t mean she wanted more than that. This was exactly why Jeff was right about never veering from a sensible, prudent lifestyle. As soon as you did, someone was bound to misinterpret your harmless intentions.

  “Are you warm enough?” Drew took her hand in his as they stepped off the curb at the end of the first block. “Your fingers are cold. Don’t worry, I know how to warm them up.” His smile promised incredible heat.

  Oh, damn. If only he wouldn’t look at her like that. His eyes glinted dark blue in the lights from a car pulling out of a parking spot down the street, and his smile had the lopsided, devilish curl of a little kid with a naughty idea. She shouldn’t have met his hungry gaze, because now she couldn’t look away, and her body vibrated with anticipation and her heart pounded, until the roar of blood rushing in her ears drowned out everything else…

  Drew’s rough embrace dragged her off her feet. It wasn’t until they were falling sideways that she realized the noise in her head was the roar of an oncoming car, bearing down on their position in the center of the street. Drew’s pull swept her out of its path a mere inch from the blur of metal and tires. The car fishtailed through the intersection, squealed as it laid a strip of burnt rubber, and sped off. The roar died out, along with shouted obscenities from other distant pedestrians, and Lauren was left sitting on her butt beside a parked Land Rover on the dark street, with Drew sprawled motionless beside her.

  Chapter

  Seven

  “Are you all right?”

  They said it together, but Lauren answered first. “I’m fine, just a sore tailbone.” Between dodging cars and falling on slippery sidewalks, that part of her body was getting quite the workout. He hadn’t moved, and she laid her hand on his head, lying still beside her. “Yo
u’re injured,” she said, her voice wavering.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Then why aren’t you moving?”

  “I’m enjoying the view.”

  Lauren looked down. His face was turned toward her, less than a foot from her fully exposed thigh.

  “Stockings and garters.” He sighed. “God, I love an old-fashioned girl.” His hand reached toward her.

  She slapped it, then yanked the full skirt down with a swish. Embarrassment, and maybe something else, gave her a warm flush.

  “Spoilsport.” He sat up, brushed dirt from his jacket, then eyed her critically. “You’re really okay?” He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned close, examining her face by the weak light of the street lamp.