Jayne might wake up and overhear.
“Hughes, my people are on it. You should sleep. You’ll be more alert.”
“Like you sleep?”
The colonel was a well-known workaholic. When they’d all been in school they’d theorized that their headmaster was a robot who didn’t need mere mortal things like sleep. Seemed as if he was always walking the halls, day and night.
Salvatore sighed. “Go spend some time with your wife. Repair you marriage. Put your life back together again.”
“Sir, with all due respect, you saw her back in Monte Carlo. She was pissed.”
“I saw a woman who looked like she’d just been kissed senseless in an elevator.”
“You’re not helping the problem at hand by playing matchmaker.” He’d need more of a miracle worker to untangle the mess he’d made of his life.
“I sincerely hope you and she had a long talk on the airplane about your work with me.”
Just what he needed right now, a damn lecture on all the ways he’d screwed up his marriage. “Thank you for your input, sir. I’ll take that under advisement.”
The colonel laughed darkly. “Still as stubborn as ever, Hughes. Leave the sleuthing to my end this time. Your job is to fly under the radar, keep you and your wife safe. Let me know if you need anything.”
The call disconnected, and Conrad set the phone aside.
Three fruitless hours of database searching later, he slammed the computer shut in frustration. He couldn’t figure out if the clues just weren’t there. Salvatore’s words echoed through his head, about his job being to protect Jayne. The old colonel was right. Conrad wouldn’t be any good to her dead on his feet.
Resigned to surrendering, at least for now, he left the panic room and sealed it up tight again. The sectional sofa looked about as inviting as a bed of nails, but it was the best place to keep an ear out for Jayne—other than sleeping next to her, which didn’t appear to be an option tonight.
And speaking of Jayne, he needed to check on her, to leave her door open a crack so he could hear her even in his sleep. He padded barefoot down the hall to her room and eased her door open.
Bad idea.
Looking at Jayne sleeping was torture. And apparently he was a masochist tonight because he stepped deeper into her room. Her legs were tangled in the sheets, long legs bared since her nightgown had hitched up. Her silky hair splashed over the pillow in a feathery blond curtain.
She slept curled on her side, with a pillow hugged to her chest just the way he remembered. If they’d still been together, he would have curled up behind her, their bodies a perfect fit. He still didn’t understand how something so incredibly good could fall apart like their marriage had.
Tired of torturing himself tonight, he pivoted away and walked back out to the living room. He yanked a blanket off the ladder rack against the wall and grabbed two throw pillows. Even if his mind resisted shutting down, his body demanded that he stretch out and rest. But still his brain churned with thoughts of Jayne and how damn close they’d been to making love again.
If Salvatore hadn’t been waiting for them in the penthouse, they would have ended up in bed. He could still hear her cries of pleasure from the elevator. He could feel the silken texture of her clamping around his fingers.
They may have had their problems communicating, but when it came to sex, they’d always been beyond compatible. And they’d had other things in common, too, damn it. They shared similar taste in books and politics. She enjoyed travel and appreciated the beauty of a sunset anywhere in the world.
And they both enjoyed the opera.
In fact, he’d planned to take her to the opera during their forty-eight hours of romance, back when he’d been enough of an idiot to think he could let her go again. He’d chartered a jet to fly them to Venice for a performance. He’d reserved a plush, private opera box where he could replay their La Bohème date.
He
“Hughes, my people are on it. You should sleep. You’ll be more alert.”
“Like you sleep?”
The colonel was a well-known workaholic. When they’d all been in school they’d theorized that their headmaster was a robot who didn’t need mere mortal things like sleep. Seemed as if he was always walking the halls, day and night.
Salvatore sighed. “Go spend some time with your wife. Repair you marriage. Put your life back together again.”
“Sir, with all due respect, you saw her back in Monte Carlo. She was pissed.”
“I saw a woman who looked like she’d just been kissed senseless in an elevator.”
“You’re not helping the problem at hand by playing matchmaker.” He’d need more of a miracle worker to untangle the mess he’d made of his life.
“I sincerely hope you and she had a long talk on the airplane about your work with me.”
Just what he needed right now, a damn lecture on all the ways he’d screwed up his marriage. “Thank you for your input, sir. I’ll take that under advisement.”
The colonel laughed darkly. “Still as stubborn as ever, Hughes. Leave the sleuthing to my end this time. Your job is to fly under the radar, keep you and your wife safe. Let me know if you need anything.”
The call disconnected, and Conrad set the phone aside.
Three fruitless hours of database searching later, he slammed the computer shut in frustration. He couldn’t figure out if the clues just weren’t there. Salvatore’s words echoed through his head, about his job being to protect Jayne. The old colonel was right. Conrad wouldn’t be any good to her dead on his feet.
Resigned to surrendering, at least for now, he left the panic room and sealed it up tight again. The sectional sofa looked about as inviting as a bed of nails, but it was the best place to keep an ear out for Jayne—other than sleeping next to her, which didn’t appear to be an option tonight.
And speaking of Jayne, he needed to check on her, to leave her door open a crack so he could hear her even in his sleep. He padded barefoot down the hall to her room and eased her door open.
Bad idea.
Looking at Jayne sleeping was torture. And apparently he was a masochist tonight because he stepped deeper into her room. Her legs were tangled in the sheets, long legs bared since her nightgown had hitched up. Her silky hair splashed over the pillow in a feathery blond curtain.
She slept curled on her side, with a pillow hugged to her chest just the way he remembered. If they’d still been together, he would have curled up behind her, their bodies a perfect fit. He still didn’t understand how something so incredibly good could fall apart like their marriage had.
Tired of torturing himself tonight, he pivoted away and walked back out to the living room. He yanked a blanket off the ladder rack against the wall and grabbed two throw pillows. Even if his mind resisted shutting down, his body demanded that he stretch out and rest. But still his brain churned with thoughts of Jayne and how damn close they’d been to making love again.
If Salvatore hadn’t been waiting for them in the penthouse, they would have ended up in bed. He could still hear her cries of pleasure from the elevator. He could feel the silken texture of her clamping around his fingers.
They may have had their problems communicating, but when it came to sex, they’d always been beyond compatible. And they’d had other things in common, too, damn it. They shared similar taste in books and politics. She enjoyed travel and appreciated the beauty of a sunset anywhere in the world.
And they both enjoyed the opera.
In fact, he’d planned to take her to the opera during their forty-eight hours of romance, back when he’d been enough of an idiot to think he could let her go again. He’d chartered a jet to fly them to Venice for a performance. He’d reserved a plush, private opera box where he could replay their La Bohème date.
He
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