Denae slowly came awake, but kept her eyes closed. Even without looking around she knew she was no longer in the dark mountain by the clean smell and light hitting her eyelids. Who had found her? And where had they taken her?
After what Matt had divulged, she couldn’t return to MI5. They would kill her one way or another for the information she now knew about the setup of Dreagan and MI5’s interest. She could inform those at Dreagan, if they believed her. Yet, where could she go afterward? The agency would easily track her down.
There was movement around her and a chair squeaked as someone rose to their feet. When the door opened a second later, a male voice spoke in low tones to someone else in the room.
“How is she?”
“The same,” said a deep, gravelly voice close to her. It sounded as if the man hadn’t used it in a long time.
“She’s been sleeping for twelve hours.”
“I know.” The irritation and annoyance practically dripped from his voice.
He didn’t want her there, whoever he was. The other man who came into the room seemed genuinely worried about her, however. If she was lucky, maybe he wasn’t part of MI5.
“Let me know the moment there’s change,” said the first man before the door closed behind him.
The floor creaked as the irritated man walked around her bed. “You can open your eyes now.”
For a split second, Denae thought of staying as she was, but the man knew she was awake. Why pretend? She opened her eyes and found herself looking at a chair covered in a navy-and-red plaid. The chair the man had been sitting in, she mused.
It was close to the bed, giving him access to tend to her? Or to keep watch?
Probably the latter.
Denae turned her head to get a look at the room and found him standing with his back to her as he gazed out the large window opposite her bed. His hair hung down the middle of his back in thick, loose, caramel waves.
He kept shifting his shoulders as if the deep orange tee was confining when it shaped his shoulders, arms, and back to perfection.
His arms hung loose by his sides, but his fingers gripped the windowsill, telling her that being in the room was the last place he wanted to be.
Her gaze lingered on his wide, thick shoulders that tapered to narrow hips. Slung low on those hips was a pair of dark denim jeans, which hugged his bum nicely.
As much as she was enjoying the view, her mission had been compromised. If she survived long enough to leave Dreagan—because there was no doubt that’s exactly where she was—she wouldn’t be alive long enough to pack her bags and get on the first flight back to Texas.
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
Denae tentatively tested her left side before she carefully pulled herself up against the headboard. “It’s minimal.”
The silence lengthened until she thought he’d fallen asleep standing up. Suddenly he turned to face her, and her breath locked in her lungs. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded.
The man before her was as beautiful as a god, as blinding in his anger as the sun. And she couldn’t look away.
His caramel-colored hair was parted on the side and hung in those same waves around a face sculpted from granite. He had high cheekbones and hollow cheeks that gave way to a hard jawline and square chin. His lips were wide and seductively full. His eyes, a startling celadon, held her captive in his intense, almost cruel gaze.
Somehow she pulled away from his eyes and looked down to his chest, which was just as impressive as his back. The tee molded to the thick sinew of his arms and chest.
He was a man who took action, a man who suffered no fools. A man who wouldn’t rest until he had all the answers he wanted.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
She was drawn once more into his pale green eyes. “My name is Denae Lacroix.”
“Well, hello, Denae,” said a voice from the doorway.
Her head snapped to the door to find a tall, commanding man with surfer-boy blond hair and eyes as black as pitch. He was tall and broad of shoulder, and she had a feeling his dress clothes hid a body corded with muscle.
He stood confidently, his control over the house obvious. He was the leader, the one who would determine if she lived or died.
Behind him was a woman holding a tray of food.
How had Denae not known someone was at the door? The hinges popped when it opened. She was usually more aware of her surroundings than that.
She glanced to the man by the window, but he had already looked away. As if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Disappointment settled uncomfortably in her belly. She’d been so drawn to him that the world had simply vanished. It had never happened before, and in her line of work, that could get her killed.
And obviously the attraction was one-sided.
“Do you know where you are?” the man from the doorway asked as he walked into the room.
The woman tsked and hurried to Denae, placing the tray across her legs. “Con, please. She’s injured and most likely starving.”
“She trespassed.”