Exposure Read online

  Now, however, it seemed she had a more pressing reason.

  Ed Wyland, her handler, had called a few hours earlier with instructions that she was to meet a Brit at the party, Mata Hari style, and brief him on her investigation. It seemed harmless enough, but she hadn't told her sister about her dual existence and hated the idea that she could be forced to lie to Alicia in order to escape and meet with her contact.

  The details were sketchy, but basically it boiled down to finding a tall, dark man with a mustache and an English accent Not exactly a hardship assignment. She twirled for the mirror again, then stopped as her eyes met her sister's.

  "Something's up." She turned to face Alicia, searching her face, the telltale quirk of a smile indicating her sister had a secret.

  Alicia ducked her head, then looked up again, all hints of regality making way for an impishly crooked grin. "I'm pregnant."

  "Oh, my God." Melissa let out a whoop and pulled her sister into a bear hug, mindless of the gowns they wore. "A baby?"

  Alicia and Aaron had been trying for a long time with no success, making the news all that much sweeter.

  "How far along?" She eyed her sister's still-trim figure.

  "Almost three months. I wanted to wait to tell you until we got the doctor's okay."

  "And everything's fine?"

  Her sister nodded, and the two of them embraced again, Melissa surprised to feel a little twinge of jealousy. She'd never wanted to settle down. In truth, she couldn't. Not and keep up the hectic schedule she maintained between her photography and her work for the CIA. But, sometimes the idea held appeal.

  Sometimes.

  Alicia pulled back with a smile. "We're going to ruin our makeup. Not to mention our dresses." As always Alicia focused on the practical.

  Melissa laughed. "I'll bet Aaron is over the moon."

  "I am." Alicia's husband stood in the doorway, his genial face wreathed in a smile. "But I'm also worried that we're going to be late." Shooting a significant look at his watch, Aaron stepped aside and gestured toward the door. "Ladies..."

  Together, they headed out for the party, Aaron wrapping an arm around his wife, pulling her close. Their joy was almost palpable, and for the first time in a long time, Melissa found herself wondering if the price of playing Mata Hari might not be a little too high.

  THE PARTY WAS CROWDED, and thanks to an overzealous heating system, it was also hot. Nigel tugged at his bow tie, cursing again his agreement to come to the affair. The only bright spot in the evening was Gabe's return.

  His friend had been working in California when the call from Cullen had come in, and he'd had to tie up a few loose ends before flying to New York. Looking at him, however, one would never know he'd just flown across the country. When Gabe was with Madison, his whole countenance softened, as if her mere presence soothed his soul.

  A poetic thought, surely. Nigel shook his head and reached out for a drink as a livery-clad waiter passed by with a silver tray. Downing it in two swallows, he let the warmth seep through him as he searched the crowd for the woman he was supposed to meet.

  There were any number of candidates, most of them well over the age of fifty and all of them clad in a myriad of jewelry that was too gaudy to be anything but real. A dowager with faintly blue hair approached, and he resisted the urge to turn away.

  "I couldn't help noticing you," the woman gushed, her gaze following the lines of his tux from head to toes in a way that was decidedly hungry "You're easily the most handsome man in the room."

  As a come-on it was laughable, but considering the woman delivering it was old enough to be his grandmother it bordered on ridiculous. Yet somehow, the woman managed to make it seem like nothing more than an offhand compliment. There was definite admiration in her eyes, but there was also a hint of humor, as if she were in on the joke. And despite himself, Nigel smiled and held out his hand. "Nigel Ferris."

  "Charlotte Northrup." She took his hand in both of hers, diamonds twinkling on her fingers. "I was just telling my friend Willie how bored I was, and then I spotted you." Her smile was warm, and just the slightest bit wicked.

  "Nigel, sorry to interrupt," Gabe said as he sidled to the rescue, his lips twitching in a suppressed grin, "but Madison's father wants a word." Nigel had never even met Phillip Merrick, but just at the moment he'd have gladly kissed the man's feet.

  "I'm afraid I have to go." Nigel squeezed Charlotte's plump hands and released them. "Perhaps another time."

  She nodded, her smile sagging just the slightest bit.

  Nigel leaned closer, his whisper conspiratorial. "I'd much rather spend time with a woman as lovely as you, but I'm afraid duty calls."

  "I understand." Charlotte was beaming again, already sizing up a distinguished gentleman across the room decked out in full military regalia.

  Nigel took his leave, following Gabe to where Madison was standing with her father. After a brief introduction, Phillip Merrick excused himself, crossing the room to converse with the Swiss ambassador.

  "Thanks for bailing me out," Nigel said, turning to face the two of them. "I'm afraid Miss Northrup was rather intent on commandeering me for the evening."

  "Charlotte's harmless, I assure you," Madison said with a laugh. "She's just a bit man crazy. She sits on one of my father's boards and, according to him, makes eyes at all the male board members. So at least you can take heart in the fact that you're only one of many."

  "Apparently." Nigel nodded toward the woman, who was now busy chatting up the military man. His response was much more enthusiastic, however, and Nigel found himself hoping Charlotte had found someone worthy of her flirtation.

  "Any luck locating your contact?" Madison asked.

  "Not so far." Nigel shook his head. "It's such a crush in here I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to find her."

  "Well, if I understand things correctly, it's not so much about you finding her as it is her finding you."

  "Which could be the fatal flaw in the whole plan," Nigel offered. "It's not as if I'm one of a kind. Without a flashing arrow over their head, I've no idea how anyone finds anyone in this crowd."

  "Cullen said she had a description." Madison shrugged. "Just give it a little time. She'll show."

  "Right, she'll just walk right up and ask about the weather." He sounded petulant, but damn it all to hell, he hated this sort of thing. He was much better at hunting down arms dealers and drug lords.

  "Considering your lineage, I'd have thought you'd be a natural at affairs like this one." Gabe's remark was meant to be teasing, but it hit home with an accuracy his friend couldn't possibly understand.

  "Being born a peer doesn't guarantee much of anything these days except a great deal of debt and an antiquated notion of one's status in society. And unfortunately, despite my father's every effort, I never cared much about either."

  Gabe's dark brows drew together in a frown, his expression regretful. "I'm sorry, Nigel, I didn't mean..."

  "I know." Nigel forced a smile. "It's just old baggage. Nothing to worry about."

  "Well, we like you just the way you are." Madison reached over to squeeze his hand.

  "Warts and all?" Nigel laughed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pressure in his gut. His father had been dead for years, but his disappointment with his son seemed to have a life of its own, rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune times.

  "Exactly," Gabe said, sliding an arm around his wife. "Now what do you say we try and figure out which of the women here is your contact?"

  Nigel nodded, relieved at the change of conversation. He trusted Madison and Gabe with his life, but that didn't mean he wanted to bare his soul for them.

  He turned away, surveying the crowd. There was honestly no way to determine who it was he was supposed to be meeting. But standing with his friends in the corner wasn't going to help. So with a sigh, he moved toward another group of partygoers, working up the initiative to break into their conversation.

  Before he reached them,
however, the crowd near the salon door shifted to make room for new arrivals. A man ushered two women into the room, both of them beautiful, but it was the one on the right who captured his attention.

  In a word, she was magnificent. Auburn hair tumbled in loose curls down her back, set off by the glittering gold of her dress. The material clung to her with mouthwatering clarity, and Nigel felt his body respond to the mere sight of her—and then she stepped into the room, her face illuminated in the chandelier's light.

  His heart stutter-stepped, his mind refusing to accept the information his brain was intent on telegraphing. Melissa. Dear God, it was Melissa.

  "ARE YOU COMING IN? Or are you going to put down roots right here in the doorway?" Alicia's voice was teasing, but at the moment that's exactly what Melissa wanted to do. Or more accurately, she wanted to dig a hole in the floor and let it swallow her up. "Melissa, are you all right?" Her sister's expression was worried now, and Melissa forced a smile she absolutely did not feel.

  "I'm fine. Just a little case of the jitters. You know how I loathe these things."

  Alicia searched her face, clearly unconvinced, but Aaron had already crossed the room to greet some colleagues, and was looking askance at his wife.

  "Go on," Melissa urged her sister. "Really. I'll join you in a moment."

  Alicia nodded and moved off in the direction of her husband, stopping to chat with several people on her way. Melissa watched as Aaron pulled her into his embrace, and then she stared down at the floor, willing her pulse back into something resembling normalcy. Surely her mind had simply been playing tricks on her.

  She hadn't seen Nigel Ferris. Not here. Not after all this time. Surely even God wouldn't play that big of a joke. Her heart was pounding, seemingly oblivious to the fifteen-year gap between the past and the present.

  She sucked in a breath, physically working to calm her racing pulse. It was a mistake. A man who resembled Nigel, nothing more. She'd been thinking about relationships earlier, envying her sister's happiness. It was only natural that her brain would conjure an image of Nigel.

  "Melissa?" His voice hadn't changed. The same deep husky whisper, the same wonderfully clipped accent. It had excited her then, and it excited her now, despite the fact that she'd sworn off the man all those years ago. "It is you, isn't it?"

  She lifted her eyes, her gaze colliding with the liquid brown of his. God, he hadn't changed at all. Well, maybe there were a few more lines around the corners of his eyes, and the mustache was certainly new. But his hair still flopped over his right eye in the exact same way that had always made her want to straighten it. And he still smelled of some exotic English aftershave.

  "It's me." The words came out breathy, almost giddy, and she clamped her mouth shut on the off chance that more inane responses were in the offing.

  Nigel's hand closed around her elbow and he steered her backward through the salon door and down the hallway, until they reached a small paneled study. He pushed her inside, then followed, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

  They paused for a moment, and then with a groan he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Not a how-do-you-do-haven't-seen-you-in-a-while kiss, but a take-no-prisoners-I'd-like-to-fuck-your-brains-out kiss, and she reveled in the remembered feel of him. The taste of his lips, the strength of his arms, the texture of his skin brushing against hers. It was delightful and frightening all at once, her insides fusing together in a way she'd completely forgotten.

  It was heaven.

  It was insane.

  With a sigh, she pushed back, her breathing still coming in gasps. Nigel, to his credit, looked equally shaken.

  "I'm sorry." He held up a hand as if to ward her off. "I don't know what I was thinking. It's just that seeing you there like that, I.. .it was like..." He stopped, still searching for words.

  "Like sliding backward in time," she finished for him, her stomach still doing the tango.

  "And then some." His smile was endearingly crooked, the mustache adding a rakish touch.

  "I like the mustache," she said, the words coming out on a more or less even note.

  "Really?" He ran his fingers over it, then grinned. "I grew it just after leaving Special Forces. I thought it made me look older. Although now I don't suppose I really need the help."

  They stood looking at each other for another moment, and Melissa had to fight the urge to throw herself back into his arms. "So what do you do now that you're no longer in the military?" As casual conversation it was better than "what's your sign," but considering the fact that they'd just exchanged a ridiculously passionate kiss it seemed a little stilted.

  "I work for the government." A shadow flickered across his face, one that Melissa recognized. Whatever he did, he wasn't going to share it with her. Which was fine, all things considered, since she couldn't be honest with him, either. "I know you're still taking photographs. I see your byline from time to time."

  She felt absurdly flattered that he'd been following her career. "It's a living." Again with the brilliant conversation. But then what did one say to a man that could have been the one all those years ago? That is if Melissa had been the type to want or need commitment.

  "A good one, I'd imagine. Although I'd assume it means placing yourself in harm's way more often than not." There was real concern in his voice, and Melissa let the sentiment wash over her like a warm summer breeze.

  "Well, at least at the moment, I'm safer than not. I'm shooting photographs for a book about the UN."

  "Sounds interesting." His words were perfunctory, but there was an entirely different conversation going on at pheromonal levels, her body practically singing out its need.

  "It is. Most of the time." She wondered what he'd say if she told him why she was really here, and then suddenly everything clicked into place. Almost involuntarily she took a step closer, her focus on his mouth, on the mustache.

  "So—" she licked her lips, her breath sticking in her throat "—how are you liking the weather in New York?"

  "Actually," he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he, too, took a step forward, the distance between them now only inches, "it's much colder than Spain."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "YOU'RE CIA." NIGEL stepped back, feeling a lot like he'd just fallen into a fun-park house of mirrors. "How long?"

  Melissa frowned and took a step back, too, the distance between them symbolizing a whole lot more than just physical-ity. "Since before I knew you."

  "So you lied to me." The words came of their own volition, his mind trotting out a picture of Payton's first wife. Mar-iam, also a journalist, had lied about her involvement in espionage as well, the end result being five dead, including Payton's brother.

  "No." Melissa shook her head, her expression cool. "I am a photojournalist—I've got the awards and scars to prove it." She indicated the remnant of a jagged cut on her arm. "And I wouldn't be very good at my other job if I spilled my guts every time I wound up between the sheets."

  She was angry, and he supposed she had a right. She wasn't Mariam, but the revelation, if anything, had reminded him firmly of why he never allowed his emotions to become entangled. The past was just that—the past. And although in this case he remembered it with occasional longing, the fact changed nothing.

  "I shouldn't have said that. I just reacted without thinking. Forgive me." The words were the right ones, but there was little emotion behind them, and her eyes narrowed as she studied him.

  "If you're standing here discussing Spain with me, you must have a few secrets of your own."

  "I'm with British intelligence." He owed her that much. Besides, she was right—the fact that they were standing here made them allies of sorts. "I've been with MI6 since I left the military."

  Her frown deepened. "I thought this was an American operation?"

  "It is, more or less." He smiled, attempting to lessen the tension stretching between them. "A task force called Last Chance. We're a ragtag bunch of recruits, actually. CIA, FBI, AT
F.. .you name it, they're probably involved in some way."

  "That still doesn't explain you." She crossed her arms defensively, but the tension seemed to have eased a little.

  "There's no explaining me, really." He grinned ruefully. "But in truth, I'm here because two of the task force's chief operatives, Gabe and Payton, are my friends."

  "I see." She nodded even though there was absolutely no way she could possibly understand. Their affair had ended long before he'd been assigned to Gabe's unit. Before they'd been betrayed. Before Kevin and the others had died.

  He shook his head, dispelling the shadows that had haunted him for so many years. "The point is that, at least for the moment, we seem to be working on the same side of the fence. And according to Cullen, you've got information we need."

  "That's what my handler said." She was frowning again. "Something to do with missing nerve agent?"

  "Exactly. It was stolen from Russia several days ago, and we believe it's in transit to the U.S. Intel seems to indicate that your mark might be helping ours."

  "I don't have a mark. Just a list of suspects as long as my arm." She sat down on a brocade chair, the rich material a perfect backdrop for her guttering gold gown. She wasn't beautiful in a peaches-and-cream kind of way. Instead, she had an almost Renaissance air with her pale skin and burnished hair. Her eyes were neither green nor blue but a curious mix of both, tilting slightly upward at the corners as if perpetually crinkled in laughter.

  Her mouth, however, was the thing Nigel had always loved the most. Incongraent with the rest of her delicate features, her lips were full and lusty. Made for a man to kiss. In fact, just the thought of her mouth beneath his sent shards of pleasure slicing through him.

  He ignored the sensation, however, pushing away his attraction. It was nothing more than a distraction and there were far more pressing matters at hand. "I understand. But it still might help if you tell me what you do know."