Two could play the subtle tease, she thought.
"Hmm-pardon me. It's been rather a long day for me," she murmured huskily. "If you don't mind. I think I'd like to take that couch, now. If you'll just throw me a blanket and maybe a pillow…"
"Nonsense," Nikolas said grandly, "what kind of host would I be? You shall have the bed, of course. I'll take the sofa." He slipped past her with the quickness that seemed so unexpected in a big man, touching-apparently casually-her waist as he did so. The sensation of his warm hand on her bare skin sent an entirely involuntary shudder of pleasure coursing through her. "After all-" for a moment his eyes, bright with laughter, stared straight into hers, and for that moment her brain seemed to cease all function "-I do have a certain reputation to maintain…as a gentleman, that is."
My God, she thought, what's the matter with me? I was warned about this man!
"Hold it." Recovering quickly, she caught up with him as he crossed the living room with his long-legged athlete's stride and tapped him on the shoulder. "Not so fast, Your Highness. Don't think for one minute you're going to stick me off in a bedroom behind a closed door and leave you free to slip out and away the second I nod off. This couch right here will do me fine, thank you very much."
Nikolas tilted his head and gazed thoughtfully past her. "Slip out…and away…do you know, it's a pity the idea hadn't occurred to me."
Yes, he was enjoying himself again, but that fact no longer bemused him. He was growing accustomed to the realization that this woman, Corbett Lazlo's crack bounty hunter, stirred his juices as no one had been able to in a very long time. Maybe ever. Since there seemed to be no use fighting it, he reasoned, what else could he do but enjoy it?
"I do see your point. I suppose comfort and good manners must occasionally be sacrificed to duty. All right," he said briskly, "so it's the sofa for you, then. I'll just get that blanket…" He stepped toward the bedroom, then paused and turned back to her. one eyebrow lifted deliberately toward his hairline. "I suppose you're going to tell me you're a light sleeper as well."
She narrowed her eyes, watching him the way he imagined a cat might eye a mouse weighing the merits of a suicide dash across open floor. "Very light."
"Ah. So…there's not much chance I could slip past you in the middle of the night, then, is there?"
She smiled, and it was the same smile he'd seen once before, hovering a warm breath above his, just before she whispered the word. Serendipity.
"Not a chance," she purred.
"Huh." Pasting on a frown to contain the grin he could feel quivering dangerously through his facial muscles. Nikolas went to fetch his unexpected houseguest a pillow and a blanket.
The next few hours, he thought, promised to be entertaining indeed.
Rhia lay awake in the shadowy darkness, listening to the sounds the rain made in the night. For a time there had been the noises Nikolas made as he prepared for bed-footsteps and scufflings, the gush of water running through pipes, and doors opening and closing-but now there was only the rain, swooshing down the window glass, pattering on the balcony floor, rustling in the vines that covered the apartment building's outside walls.
It should have been a recipe for instant slumber, but instead she was wide awake, tense…restless. Not because the couch wasn't comfortable, but because it was. It was too comfortable, that was the problem. She couldn't let herself relax for fear she'd fall asleep. In spite of her arrogant claims, in her exhausted state she was afraid she might sleep soundly enough to allow Donovan to slip away from her. She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said it had been a long day for her; she'd left the Lazlo Group's headquarters long before dawn that morning-only minutes, in fact, after verification of her target's location had come in around 2:00 a.m. Rhia didn't like delays. Once she had the information she needed, she moved and moved quickly. It was just her way.
She needed rest, and badly; she had a feeling it was going to take all her resources, mental and physical, to keep even one step ahead of Nikolas Donovan.
But she couldn't risk letting him escape while she slept. What she needed, she realized, was some kind of alarm.
She threw back the down comforter Nikolas had generously provided and rose from the couch. Ignoring the robe he'd also given her-nice of him, she thought with a wicked inner smile-she felt in the darkness for the belt she always wore on assignments like this one. Her fingers quickly located the pouch containing the items she needed-nail clippers and a small roll of nylon fishing line, nearly invisible, yet strong enough to land a thousand-pound marlin…so useful in so many ways.
By this time her eyes were well adjusted to the semi-darkness. Working without a flashlight and almost soundlessly, she tied a loop of the fishing line around the front door handle, then threaded it carefully around the leg of a small table nearby. It wouldn't go undetected in full light, but if Donovan decided to run, she doubted he'd be turning on any lamps. She did the same to the balcony doors and then, confident nobody was going to exit or enter the apartment without her knowing about it, Rhia lay down once again on the couch and pulled the comforter over herself with a satisfied sigh.
Nikolas, who had been monitoring this activity from the bedroom, heard the sigh and smiled to himself in the darkness. She hasn't lost her resourcefulness, he thought, as his mind flashed back yet again to his first encounter with her on that Paris hotel balcony. Or her sex appeal, his mind wryly added as his body responded predictably to the memory.
She was a worthy adversary. It was going to be fun outwitting her.
Rhia woke up shuddering with sexual arousal, her body scalded, pulses pounding. My God, what a dream. Was it… Nikolas? No-surely not. Somebody who reminds me of Nikolas, though, or-no, wait…I think I remember…
But it was too late, the dream was already slipping away. She remembered a balcony…maybe? Though hazy, it was all she could recall. That, and the same nagging sense of deja vu that had been bothering her all evening.
Exasperated, she once again threw back the comforter and rose, this time putting on the robe her reluctant host had left lying over the arm of the couch. It felt cool and slick on her skin, and smelled of aftershave and masculinity. Just what her overheated senses needed. Like using gasoline to douse a fire, she thought as she made her way through the shadowed room that was already becoming familiar to her.
The rain had stopped. In the quiet even her bare footsteps on the thin carpet seemed loud, but she made no effort to tiptoe. I hope I do wake him, she thought, cranky and jangled from her own interrupted sleep. Serve him right. Though just what it would serve him right for she didn't try to figure out.
In the kitchen she opened the refrigerator and stared hot-eyed into its depths. Where was that damn wine? Ah-yes. She reached for the bottle of rose, now barely a third full, and plucked out the stopper with an audible pop. She raised the bottle to her lips, tilted her head back and swigged down what was left of the wine in noisy unladylike gulps. With a violent shudder-she really did not care for wine-she set the empty bottle and stopper in the sink and made her way back to the couch, managing to stub her toe only once.