she started back down the stairs, only to meet Sly on the way up.
"We can't be here," she told him.
He glanced over her head, assessed the couples and what had brought them to the private spot. Then he grasped hold of her hand and led her back up the stairs.
On the opposite side of the balcony was a small alcove. He took her there, and backed her into it.
Because she was at a loss for words, she raised her glass to her lips and sipped the brandy. As she was lowering the glass, he took it from her, finished it and set the empty glass on a ledge. He stepped into the alcove and backed her up, making it look like they had come to the balcony for the same reason as the other couples.
Eva opened her mouth to protest, but he spoke first. "Since you've had so much experience playing games, you should have no trouble putting your arms around my neck and pretending you can't wait for me to touch you."
She hesitated, and Sly wondered what she was thinking. Then she raised her arms and laced her hands around his neck. The action was stiff and unnatural. Wary.
"How's this?" she asked, looking up at him through her long wispy bangs.
"It'll do," he said, then slid his arm around her waist and brought her lower body against him. "How's the head?"
"All right. The migraines come and go. I might not have one now for a week if I'm lucky."
She avoided his eyes, stared at his chest.
"What's wrong? This doesn't bother you, does it? We've been this close before."
"It was dark in the maze."
"Then close your eyes."
She scowled at him.
"In the cave you slept in my lap."
"That was not my idea."
Sly decided not to examine what had happened, or hadn't happened in the cave. Or examine what had gone through his mind yesterday when he'd followed her to a private beach where she'd stripped off her bikini to lie naked in the sun.
"Where's the Chameleon?" he asked.
"The file first?"
He slid one hand over her hip and rested it there. Her skirt was lightweight and he could feel her through the fabric. Knew she could feel him, too.
She said a little breathlessly, "I thought you didn't like me."
"What makes you think I do?"
He saw her cheeks flush with color. Knew she wasn't going to answer him.
"Oh, that. Don't read too much into it," Sly lied.
"You're just doing your job, is that it? Like me, you know how to play the game."
"That's right."
"A painful job, by the feel of it."
He was in the middle of smiling down at her when he heard voices coming up the stone steps. He sobered, and said, "We're going to have to look a little more convincing in a few minutes. The game has moved to a new level. Kiss me."
He dipped his head and chased her lips as she wrenched back and tried to avoid his mouth. When she ran out of room, his lips slowly descended.
Her whispered protest left her mouth opened and Sly took full advantage, thrusting his tongue inside as he covered her mouth. She squirmed momentarily, then gave in to him with a little moan. He continued to kiss her as he gyrated his hips until the firestorm in his gut was an open blaze.
When he backed off, she opened her mouth to speak, but Sly laid a finger to her lips, then lowered his head and started kissing his way down her neck.
"Please…" she whispered, her hand now on his chest trying to push him away. "Please, stop."
Her voice sounded desperate. Sly slid both hands over her hips to palm her backside and bring her closer against him. "We're just pretending," he whispered, knowing he was full of shit.
For days he had been telling himself that she was the means to an end, just part of the job. But no woman had ever been able to get him this hard and bloodhound ready so damn quick.
She'd been burning a hole inside him since he'd heard her voice on the tape back in Atlanta . Seeing her pictures had only doubled his interest. In the maze she'd bewitched him, and yesterday watching her on the beach had sent him to bed with an ache so big he'd been up all night. And now, tasting her lips
"We can't be here," she told him.
He glanced over her head, assessed the couples and what had brought them to the private spot. Then he grasped hold of her hand and led her back up the stairs.
On the opposite side of the balcony was a small alcove. He took her there, and backed her into it.
Because she was at a loss for words, she raised her glass to her lips and sipped the brandy. As she was lowering the glass, he took it from her, finished it and set the empty glass on a ledge. He stepped into the alcove and backed her up, making it look like they had come to the balcony for the same reason as the other couples.
Eva opened her mouth to protest, but he spoke first. "Since you've had so much experience playing games, you should have no trouble putting your arms around my neck and pretending you can't wait for me to touch you."
She hesitated, and Sly wondered what she was thinking. Then she raised her arms and laced her hands around his neck. The action was stiff and unnatural. Wary.
"How's this?" she asked, looking up at him through her long wispy bangs.
"It'll do," he said, then slid his arm around her waist and brought her lower body against him. "How's the head?"
"All right. The migraines come and go. I might not have one now for a week if I'm lucky."
She avoided his eyes, stared at his chest.
"What's wrong? This doesn't bother you, does it? We've been this close before."
"It was dark in the maze."
"Then close your eyes."
She scowled at him.
"In the cave you slept in my lap."
"That was not my idea."
Sly decided not to examine what had happened, or hadn't happened in the cave. Or examine what had gone through his mind yesterday when he'd followed her to a private beach where she'd stripped off her bikini to lie naked in the sun.
"Where's the Chameleon?" he asked.
"The file first?"
He slid one hand over her hip and rested it there. Her skirt was lightweight and he could feel her through the fabric. Knew she could feel him, too.
She said a little breathlessly, "I thought you didn't like me."
"What makes you think I do?"
He saw her cheeks flush with color. Knew she wasn't going to answer him.
"Oh, that. Don't read too much into it," Sly lied.
"You're just doing your job, is that it? Like me, you know how to play the game."
"That's right."
"A painful job, by the feel of it."
He was in the middle of smiling down at her when he heard voices coming up the stone steps. He sobered, and said, "We're going to have to look a little more convincing in a few minutes. The game has moved to a new level. Kiss me."
He dipped his head and chased her lips as she wrenched back and tried to avoid his mouth. When she ran out of room, his lips slowly descended.
Her whispered protest left her mouth opened and Sly took full advantage, thrusting his tongue inside as he covered her mouth. She squirmed momentarily, then gave in to him with a little moan. He continued to kiss her as he gyrated his hips until the firestorm in his gut was an open blaze.
When he backed off, she opened her mouth to speak, but Sly laid a finger to her lips, then lowered his head and started kissing his way down her neck.
"Please…" she whispered, her hand now on his chest trying to push him away. "Please, stop."
Her voice sounded desperate. Sly slid both hands over her hips to palm her backside and bring her closer against him. "We're just pretending," he whispered, knowing he was full of shit.
For days he had been telling himself that she was the means to an end, just part of the job. But no woman had ever been able to get him this hard and bloodhound ready so damn quick.
She'd been burning a hole inside him since he'd heard her voice on the tape back in Atlanta . Seeing her pictures had only doubled his interest. In the maze she'd bewitched him, and yesterday watching her on the beach had sent him to bed with an ache so big he'd been up all night. And now, tasting her lips
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