Surlock’s eyes widened. “Why would they do something so crazy as to give up mating?”
“Because of their religious beliefs,” she explained. Okay, he probably wasn’t a monk. Thank God.
“I’m not a monk.” He squared his shoulders and sat straighter.
“No, I didn’t really think you were.” Not the way he kissed. But who was he? “Let me see your hands.”
He stuck them out and she took one. It was warm. His heat quickly transferred to her body. He had strong hands. Darcy could almost feel them caressing her, stroking.
She cleared her throat and her thoughts. She was here to help him, not pounce on his body. It was a sexy body, though.
She ran her hands over his, trying to act like a professional. They were a little rough in places, but the nails were manicured, smooth. His other hand was the same.
“You weren’t raised by wolves,” she murmured.
“Why would you think that?”
When she looked up, she forgot what he had asked. For a moment, she lost herself in his warm whiskey eyes. The gold flecks sparkled in the sunlight. Very unusual. She mentally shook her head.
What had he asked? Oh, yes, why she would think he was raised by wolves. “Because you were with a wolf. At least, there was one in the area when you stepped out from behind the tree. You also look sort of rugged.” In a very sexy way. “You didn’t have any clothes on, either, and you ate with your hands, and you growl at people.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Because you were eating with your hands.” His frown darkened. “I don’t growl at people.”
“The doctor? The tailor?”
“I don’t like being probed, nor did I like the way the tailor measured. Maybe I did growl a few times,” he conceded.
She chuckled. “You can see how I might come to that conclusion,” she said. “All the facts pointed in that direction.”
“What changed your mind?”
“You play the piano beautifully. If you had been raised by wolves, you wouldn’t have learned how to play. Besides, your nails are manicured, and it looks like a professional did them.” She let go of his hands and leaned back against the bench.
“But I still don’t have a clue to who I am.”
“You remember nothing?” When he hesitated, she knew he wasn’t telling her something. She leaned forward, willing him to meet her gaze, and he did, eventually. “How can I discover who you are or where you come from, if you don’t tell me everything?”
“It’s not that I have anything solid. It’s more like a feeling.”
“What?” Still, he didn’t say anything. “It won’t go any further than me.”
He clasped his hands. “I think there’s someone I’m supposed to protect.”
“And?”
“I’m supposed to keep my identity a secret. But I can’t continue from day to day not knowing who I am.”
She sat forward again. “Wow, that sounds very James Bond.”
His eyes widened. “You have already discovered my identity? Is that who I am? This James Bond?”
“I’m sorry,” she quickly told him. “James Bond is a fictional spy, but there are people like him—secret agents. Maybe that’s what you are.”
She studied him for a moment. It actually did make sense. He had the build, the muscles. That was probably why he remembered that he would need to keep his identity a secret. She was pretty sure secret agents had that drilled into them. And, he’d said he needed to protect someone. Definitely secret-agent stuff.
A thrill of excitement swept through her. Her very own sexy secret agent living in the guest house. She wondered if he had all of James Bond’s bedroom moves.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Heat flooded her face. She really had to stop fantasizing. But it was such a good fantasy. She regretfully brought her attention back to the present. “I think we might have just discovered what you do for a living.”
“But I still don’t know what a secret agent is.”
She jumped up and grabbed his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you. My dad is a big Bond fan. He has a media room full of his movies. If that’s what you are, maybe it’ll jog your memory.”
Her father’s addiction to Bond had probably sparked Darcy’s dream of becoming a private investigator. She’d watched every Bond movie at least twice with her father. They’d bonded over Bond.
She was really losing it.
They went into the house and upstairs. When they walked inside the media room, she realized she still held his hand. She quickly dropped it, and went to the DVD player. Holding his hand had felt nice, though. Too nice. The relationship had to stay platonic, professional. Her gaze landed on him and lingered for a moment. At least platonic until she knew his background.
The media room could seat up to twenty people in chocolate-suede covered, oversized recliners. The screen filled one entire wall. There was even a popcorn machine at the back and a small bar where you could get a soda or alcoholic beverage. Not that she had been allowed alcohol until she turned twenty-one, and by then she discovered she preferred soda.
But her favorite part of the media room was the lights. When they were dimmed, the ceiling automatically began to twinkle with thousands of fiber optic lights. The atmosphere created a feeling of being outside under the stars.
She motioned Surlock toward one of the chairs and went to the library cabinets. Her organized father had every movie alphabetized and arranged by genre. She quickly found the Bond movie she wanted and grabbed the remote. Her father had hundreds of movies. Collecting them had gone way beyond the hobby stage and become an obsession.
Darcy inserted the DVD, then took the chair next to Surlock’s. With just the push of a few buttons, the lights dimmed, and the movie started.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Surlock really got into the movie. Halfway through, she realized one thing: All guys were alike. It wasn’t hard to tell that he enjoyed action flicks.
But she’d forgotten about the sexual tension, the love scenes. She shifted in her seat as James Bond became Surlock and she became the female lead. It was Surlock touching her, flirting with his eyes, seducing her.
Darcy was glad when the movie finally ended. She jumped to her feet and turned the lights on, rather than using the remote. She needed to put some distance between them.
“What did you think?” she managed to ask with only a small catch in her voice.
He shifted in his seat until he met her gaze. “Yes, I think I might be a secret agent.”
“You’ve remembered something?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. But being a secret agent feels right.”
Which didn’t really tell her a lot since most guys would like to play the part of James Bond in real life. She was no closer than she had been before they watched the movie. The only thing it had created was more sexual frustration, and confusion about who Surlock might be.
So, how to find out for sure? She thought about it for a moment before coming up with an idea. “We can fingerprint you.”
“What will that do?”
“If you work for the government, your prints might be on file. You could work in intelligence of some kind and not necessarily be a secret agent. There are a lot of possibilities.”
A slow sexy grin curved his lips upward. Her toes curled in response. Damn, the man was devilishly handsome.
“I don’t know, I kind of like the idea of women falling all over themselves to mate with me.”
Her mouth went dry and swallowing was suddenly not an option. The way he looked at her, she had a feeling he wanted to mate with her right here, right now.
What he’d just said finally sank in. “That’s not the first time you’ve referred to sex as mating. I’ve never heard anyone call it mating. That might be a clue to where you’re from.”
“Mating is not correct?”
“It is, but most people refer to it as sex or making love. Mating is usually associated with animals. That’s why I think you’re probably not from around here.”