Dance with the Devil

By Cherry Adair

HARLEQUIN®

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

CHAPTER ONE

Mia Rossi paused in the doorway of her town house, a long-stemmed yellow rose in her hand. Narrowed-eyed, she looked down at the black limo purring at the curb, a plume of white exhaust billowing from it into the wintry night air.

Her blind date had correctly guessed her favorite color of rose, but apparently couldn't be bothered to walk the six steps to her front door. instead, he'd dispatched his driver.

He was either working hard to flaunt the appearance of status or he was too lazy—or disinterested— to walk twenty feet. Either way, it didn't bode well for the evening.

The driver, who'd handed her the rose with a flourish and a self-conscious half smile, turned to look up as Mia hesitated to follow his down the stairs. ''Ms. Rossi?''

The car just missed the pool of pale yellow light cast from a nearby streetlamp. The windows were tinted darkly enough to be impenetrable. Davis

Sloan hadn't sounded either mysterious or sinister the half-dozen times Mia had spoken to him on the phone. He'd sounded sexy, straightforward and amusing. His French accent had been subtle, yet intriguing—enough so that Mia had agreed to yet another one of her mother's fix-ups. But now she wondered exactly what she'd gotten herself into.

Her mom, God help Mia, labored under the misconception that her only daughter desperately needed to work things out with Jack. And, as if to prove how right Jack Ryan had been for her, her mother provided a string of blind dates for comparison.

Sallye Rossi worked for the Federal Attorney's office here in DC, and tended to fix her up with men she met at work. And while Mia didn't have anything against attorneys per se, the idea of dating one still made her nervous. Not as nervous, say, as dating a cop, but nervous nevertheless. Attorneys had a way of asking questions she'd much rather not answer, although in her line of work—ex line of work—sleeping with a criminal attorney might just have its advantages.

Just in case a miracle occurred tonight, she'd shaved her legs, and put on her most seductive thong underwear and matching sheer black demi-bra underneath her little black dress. She'd never slept with a man on a first date in her life. But this was an emergency. she needed medicinal sex to get rid of the memory of Jack Ryan.

Mia shivered in the icy February night air. She refused to think about Jack. Not tonight. Not a breath of wind stirred, and the moon hid behind a thick cloud cover. she had high hopes for this blind date. The long-sleeved, bias-cut silk dress was conservative enough that if her instincts were wrong she wouldn't feel as though she was sending out any mixed signals.

she'd promised her mother, and herself, she'd accept these blind dates with an open mind. she'd been on a dozen or more blind dates in the eight months since she and Jack had broken up, and generally speaking, she'd been pretty fortunate. None of them had been run-screaming-into-the-hills atrocious. In fact, some had even been quite pleasant. Pleasant being the operative word.

Not one of them had that special... She reined in that thought. None of them had rung her chimes. Until Davis. She'd been intrigued by him over the course of the past two weeks. He'd been everything Jack was not. For one thing he'd been open about his past. of course it had been late at night, and he'd sounded exhausted when he'd called and woken her. Mia had lain there in the dark, and listened as he'd talked with disarming candor about his childhood. It hadn't been pretty. But he was neither bitter nor did he dwell on it. He'd been raised in a series of foster homes. He'd grown up never knowing his parents and getting into more than his fair share of trouble. But he'd put himself through college and made something of the boy who hadn't had much of a future.

Mia admired him for that. Some of his stories had brought empathetic tears to her eyes. She hadn't wanted him to know she was crying for that lonely child, and had changed the subject happily when he'd moved on to something else.

He'd faced the odds and become the man he wanted to be with no one's help but his own. And he'd been open enough to share that part of his past with her. Jack had always said, "Don't live in the past, darling. It's today that counts." Jack hadn't cared enough to let her in. Davis Sloan did. A pleasant change.

She was relieved to be out of the cloak-and-dagger business. Both professionally and socially.

Mia had known Jack for two years and the only information she had on him was his name and age. Jack Ryan. Thirty-four. Worked for the same alphabet soup acronym, government agency that she had. Big whoop. Jack had clearly taken a vow of silence long before they'd met. Too bad he hadn't taken a vow of celibacy as well. They'd been like smoke and lightning together. Like a pair of minks... Damn it. Mia shut off the memory with a mental steel door. Locked it. Barred it. And painted it with mental invisible ink. A girl liked to know a little more about her lover than just his name and age.

Jack Ryan was her past. Perhaps Davis Sloan was her future.

Too bad he had to get a demerit before the evening even began.

With a small niggle of misgiving, Mia closed the door and followed the driver down to the sidewalk. She touched the slight lump of the .22 in her purse. She'd never shot anyone in her life, but there was always a first time. A girl had to be prepared. It was odd, if not downright rude, for her date not to come to the front door himself. of course there may be a perfectly good explanation—

''Did Mr. Sloan break a leg?'' Lord, was he missing his legs? A paraplegic? Oh God. If he'd told her about his childhood, wouldn't he have mentioned if he were disabled?

Mia felt a flush ride her cheeks. That was something that hadn't occurred to her. Davis Sloan had sounded so...vital on the phone. Not that it would make any difference if he was handicapped, but it would've been a good thing to know up front.

The driver, bundled in a heavy wool overcoat, paused as he reached for the handle of the rear door. He frowned as he answered, ''He's fighting fit as far as I can tell.'' He opened the door for her.

If Mia hadn't been pondering another possible excuse for his rudeness, she would've noticed the absence of the interior light as she slid into the back seat. The door snicked closed behind her.

The supple leather felt warm under her, indicating Davis had been sitting on her side of the car. Had he watched her come down the stairs from her apartment? Had he liked what he'd seen?

In the thick darkness, Mia jumped at the unexpected touch of his hand on hers. A bolt of white-hot lightning shot up her arm and sent a buzz zinging through her. Hot damn! A good start after all.

The limo slid away from the curb and picked up speed. ''You look stunning,'' a husky voice said out of the darkness.

That voice.

Oh no, oh no, oh freaking no! ''Damn it to hell, Jack!'' Tethered to him or not, Mia threw the rose at him and lunged for the door.

Damn. Damn. Damn! She'd recognize Jack Ryan if she were blindfolded in a pitch-dark room.

Something cool and hard brushed the wrist he was holding. She tugged harder. ''What the hell do you...'' A metallic click cut her off midrant.

Handcuffs?

The bastard.

She remembered then that Jack had eyes like a cat. She could practically feel his gaze on her exposed skin. Nerve endings she'd almost forgotten she had prickled back to life with a vengeance. ''You son of a bitch. Unlock these things this instant.''

''Hear me out, Mia. Just give me five.'' There was a faint threat of menace in his tone despite the conciliatory words.

Mia bristled. ''I already wasted five months of my time. Thanks, but no thanks.'' With her right hand, she fumbled in her small clutch beside her, searching for her cell phone. Or the .22. At the moment, she didn't care which she found first. The fact that she'd automatically packed the .22 for this particular blind date should've given her a clue. A psychic premonition?

''Darling, you're not going to call the cops.'' Jack's warm hand brushed hers as he shifted his long legs more comfortably in his seat. He was too close. Too familiar. Too damn annoying for Mia to even glance his way. Not that it would've helped.

The inside of the limo was as dark as a crypt. She could feel him though. Hot. His body had always been like a furnace. He was sitting too close. Much too close.

She grabbed the phone, lucky for him, and hit number two speed dial on her phone. There was no number one anymore. Jack damn-him-to-hell-for-breaking-her-heart Ryan had filled that slot, and she'd erased him finally. Once and for all.

''Worse,'' she snapped. She didn't bother trying to tug her hand free. The s.o.b. had her left wrist handcuffed to his right, both hands resting in her lap. His palm felt hot on her thigh, but she refused to give in to the immediate chemical reaction of once again being touched by him. She pretended, to both of them, that she didn't notice.

''I'm calling your partner in crime— Sallye? No, you're no longer Mom to me. You are so busted. How could you?'' Mia glared at Jack in a darkness that even the faint streetlights flashing barely penetrated.

She tugged uselessly at her shackled wrist. ''My blind date has me handcuffed to his wrist, you traitor.'' Mia rolled her eyes. ''No, Mother, that is not sweet, nor is it romantic. Yes, I know how you feel about J— No, I don't want to listen to why he— If you'd stop interrupting, I would make sense.''

Beside her, Jack was stupid enough to chuckle. Mia yanked at the cuffs, the chain jangled and he shut up.

Oh Lord, she didn't stand a chance between Steamroller Sallye Rossi and Jack The Pitbull Ryan. ''No, I will not tell him that.'' Mia snorted when her mother yelled, ''Tell Jack I still love him.'' ''Love you too, Sallye,'' Jack yelled back. Mia jerked at the cuffs on her wrist again and cut her mother off in the middle of the love fest. It was hell on wheels having her mother and the man she'd dumped still like each other. Where was the motherly concern? Where was the loyalty? Where was the key to these silver bracelets?

''You low-down, no good, lying, son of a—'' she said bitterly. ''Stop the car this instant.'' She sensed his feral smile. ''Not a chance.'' Mia yanked hard at their cuffed wrists, wincing as the clasp dug into the tender skin of her inner wrist. ''I'm not kidding, Jack. Have your driver turn around. Right. Now.''

''Here.'' Jack pressed something small and round into her hand.

''What's this?'' Mia demanded, her fingers automatically closing around the pill. ''Planning on drugging me into submission?''

''Nothing's that strong,'' Jack said under his breath, then more audibly, ''Antacid.''

''I don't need it.'' Her stomach burned like the fiery depths of hell. Jack Ryan hell.

''Suit yourself.''

''Thank you. Don't mind if I do.'' Mia glanced out the window, squinting to see better, and slipped the antacid into her mouth to let it melt on her tongue. If he didn't always give her indigestion, he wouldn't have to carry around the remedy.

''Are we really going to the South African ambassador's party, or was that also a lie?''

''I didn't lie to you.''

''Right. When was it you changed your name from Jack Ryan to Davis Sloan?''

''Okay,'' he conceded with a half shrug. ''One small lie. Otherwise you never would've talked to me.''

''Damn straight. So instead you made up a whole person?''

''I didn't lie.''

''You didn't grow up in foster care, Jack,'' Mia said, tiredly leaning her head back against the plush seat. Jack had always enjoyed the finer things in life. He had a magnificent condo overlooking the city, hot and cold running domestic help and several very nice cars.

Even in something as important as money they'd been opposites. He spent it like water, she hoarded and invested it.

''You grew up in Beverly Hills,'' she said, her voice flat. ''Remember Gloria and Samuel Ryan, your loving, wealthy parents? I got a card from them last Christmas. Won't they be hurt to know you're dismissing them out of hand just so you can make points with a woman?''

''All fabrication. There aren't any parents, Mia. Loving or otherwise.'' ''Oh, Jack.''

''I'm telling you the truth.'' ''Who sent me that sweet Christmas card? And the flowers for my birthday last year?'' ''I did.''

Mia stomach knotted when she realized that once again he was all smoke and mirrors. Everyone knew of or about Jack Ryan. If nothing else the fact that his name was that of a fictional action hero was enough to have people talking. Some people jokingly called him Harrison. His status as one of DC's eligible bachelors, his wealth, his old money back-ground...all of it was public record. Countless articles had been written about him. He'd even been People Magazine's Bachelor of the Year two years in a row.

''So poor little you grew up in a series of foster homes?'' Mia said, annoyed either way. If it was true, she was furious that he'd lied to her before. If it was a lie, she was furious that he was lying to her now. ''And just to make it even more poignant, you were arrested at thirteen for breaking and entering and stuck in juvie because there was no one who cared enough to bail you out. And then you worked your way through college and turned your life around? Right?' ''Yes.''

Mia glared at him in the dark. She must have been getting used to the dim light. She could almost make out his eyes. Narrowed, boring into her with the strength of a power drill. ''All of that was true?'' ''I said so, didn't I?''

He sounded sincere. Mia didn't know what to make of this information. Or if she should make anything of it at all. Of course, if he'd finally told her some small truths about himself...

No. It was too little too late. ''And I'm supposed to believe you?'' He sighed. ''Do what you want. You usually do.'' ''Damn it, Jack, I'm not the bad guy in this.'' ''Why does there have to be a bad guy?'' he demanded. ''You used to bug me for information. Now you know why I never told you.''

Mia sat back, leaning into the butter-soft leather and staring at him in fascination. ''You're saying you never told me the truth because I couldn't take it?''

''Because you wouldn't believe it.''

The way I felt about you then, I'd have believed anything and everything you could've told me, Jack. Maybe if you'd tried telling me the truth then— ''Well, why would I? All you've ever done is lie to me.''

Jack shook his head. ''Not always, darling.'' His voice caressed her like a mink glove against warm, bare skin.

''You should have told me it was you I've been talking to for the past two weeks.''

''You should've recognized it was me.'' He actually sounded hurt. Mia snorted. Yeah, right. ''How could I? You sounded normal and charming.''

''I am normal and charming.'' ''No, Jack, you aren't.'' He wasn't even close to normal. Jack Ryan wasn't just a large man, he was larger than life. He was a flesh-and-blood comic book hero. Thank God she'd managed to dump him,

and her job, before one or both of them had killed her.

It hadn't been easy. She'd missed the adrenaline rush.

''I'm charming when I need to be.'' That voice of his went deeper, darker.

''Believe it or not, that's not a positive character trait.''

''You never minded before.''

There were a lot of things she hadn't minded— or pretended not to mind—because the thought of living without Jack had been unthinkable. Well, that was then, this was now. ''This is not amusing. I want to go home.''

''You were going to have sex with Sloan, weren't you?''

She sorta kinda had, and the thought that Jack knew her that well made her face hot and her temper rise. ''Since you and Sloan are one and the same, I think it's safe to say I've changed my mind.''

His other hand slid under their bound wrists before she realized what he was doing. He ran his warm palms over her hip. ''You were going to sleep with the guy. Damn it, Mia. How could you?''

''That guy was you. Jack, how could you?'' She never realized how cold she was until Jack put his hands on her. Then she'd always wanted to curl into the furnacelike heat of him. Not now. Not tonight. Not ever again. She tried to shift out of reach. But it was impossible. Mia gritted her teeth. The limo had to stop sometime.

''You're wearing my lucky thong, aren't you?'' Ah, that thong. They'd both gotten lucky every time she'd worn it.

''No, Jack,'' Mia said coolly while her blood heated and accelerated through her veins. Could a person die if their internal body temperature went over two hundred degrees? The thin silk over her hipbone where Jack's hand rested heated up as if under a solar blanket. ''These are my unlucky panties. Get your hand off me.''

''Jesus darling, my body's hardly cold and you're ready to sleep with somebody else?'' ''It's been eight months.'' ''Feels like longer.''

Yes, it did. ''I asked you very nicely to leave me alone. I wish you had.''

His fingers tightened briefly on her thigh, as though staking his claim. ''This is business, Mia.'' ''That makes the subterfuge even worse. And how did you get my mother to help you set me up?'' ''I told her your country needed you one more time.''

''I quit.''

''You've been reinstated for this job.'' A flush of interest, even excitement, swept through her, but she squashed it fast. ''I don't want to be reinstated. I want to go back home, take a nice warm bath and grab an early night.''

''This despite donning your lucky panties?'' Mia sighed. Jack Ryan was like a junkyard dog with a bone. He was the most annoyingly persistent man she'd ever had the misfortune of falling in l— of ever knowing. ''What do you want, Jackson?''

The car crossed the bridge and turned onto a traffic-clogged avenue. A couple in a red sports car pulled up beside them at the light. As the dark-haired girl leaned her head on her boyfriend's shoulder, he wrapped a beefy arm about her and dropped a kiss on her waiting mouth. The car behind them honked a split second after the light changed. She and Jack had been like that once. They hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. One time a bum in the park had yelled at them to get a room for Chrissake. But that was a long time ago. ''I don't work for Uncle Sam anymore, Jack, remember? I'm a translator.'' She worked for Dysart International Bank. A nice quiet, uneventful job. Jack didn't need to know that she was bored out of her ever-loving mind every day from 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. And lonely from 5:05 p.m. to 8:55 a.m. She was just starting to kick the lethal Jack Ryan habit.

She'd gone cold turkey, and had been doing just fine, thank you very much, without him.

''Yeah, I know,'' he said, sliding his thumb back and forth on her thigh in an absentminded and annoying caress. ''But I—we—need you for this job, Mia. You're the best. Nobody can—''

''Too bad.'' Mia shoved at his marauding hand. It didn't budge. Fine. Stroke away. It didn't affect her in the slightest anymore. She relaxed against the plush leather seat. Outside she projected calm, inside mooshy, adrenaline racing. With annoyance, she reminded herself. ''My cat-burgling, safecracking days are over,'' she told him flatly.

''You're back in, darling, whether you like it or not. Orders from the top. We go in, get the disk and leave. You'll be back home in no time. Tops.''

''What disk?'' Mia demanded. Hell, she couldn't even keep herself from asking. She felt the familiar rush of anticipation. Damn it. Damn him. She had to remind herself that it wasn't Jack who needed her tonight. This was for her country, she had to remind herself. She felt the zing of energy she'd always felt when she was embarking on a gray ops

assignment. As partners, she and Jack had been unbeatable.

''You ready to listen?''

No. Mia sighed. ''Brief me. And make it...brief.''

CHAPTER TWO

Jack unlocked the cuffs as the limo pulled up in front of the embassy. They'd been to several parties here in the past. Knowing the layout of the house made tonight's job that much easier. Too easy, Mia thought suspiciously, shooting Jack a glance.

The disk they were there to retrieve was probably in the safe in the library. First floor, and just beyond the downstairs bathrooms. They'd never heisted anything from here before, but they'd certainly scoped out what was where. Just in case.

Their job description was—had been—gray ops retrieval. If something needed to be copied, or replaced, Jack and Mia were sent in to do the job. If specific information was required, Jack could set up a program to trap key strokes and send the info back to the agency's computers without the user being any the wiser.

While Mia's nimble fingers could open just about anything locked, Jack's expertise was anything computer related. He was brilliant. He could ferret around to his heart's content, change, tweak or copy without leaving a whisper of a fingerprint, not a breath of evidence that he'd tromped all over their hard drive.

But this job was nothing that intrusive or complicated. In this case they were to retrieve a disk with the names and addresses of the people funding the arms race in one of the ever name changing nations north of South Africa.

It was suspected that not only were there thousands of wealthy individuals contributing, but also a good number of American corporations. And of course millions of dollars in funding was being funneled to the cause from certain weapons manufacturers who benefited from the continuing war.

American weapons were killing thousands of American soldiers sent there to protect the nation's citizens from the bad guys. Anyone possessing the list of contributors was in the position to halt the war. Or escalate it.

They were there to retrieve the disk.

Piece of cake, Mia thought as she waited for Jack to round the car to her side and then for the driver to pull away to a predesignated spot in case they had to make a hasty departure.

And she would be hasty. She'd be in and out in ten minutes or less.

And this blind date from hell would be over.

Ten minutes with Jack, using their usual cover, was about all she'd be able to take.

With any luck at all, tonight wouldn't even be a blip in her memory this time tomorrow.

She took a deep breath of cold night air. It hadn't snowed in the past couple of days, and gray sludge was banked against the shrubs lining the driveway. She'd be home before the arrival of the predicted snow flurries.

''Still don't bother to wear a coat. Stubborn woman.'' He didn't remove his own thick, black wool overcoat because he knew from experience she'd never wear it. Not even for the few minutes it took to traverse the driveway and climb the front steps.

She was allergic to wool, wouldn't wear fur and hated to be in anything bulky in case she needed to run like hell. ''I'm warm-blooded.'' She made a grab for the wrought-iron banister as her foot slipped on the ice-crusted sidewalk.

Jack rested his hand on the small of her back to steady her. The heat of his touch sizzled right through the flimsy fabric of her dress and just for one, tiny, ridiculously small, infinitesimal, eensy moment, she enjoyed the feel of his hand on her again.

God help her.

''Hot-blooded, you mean,'' Jack murmured in her ear.

He was right. She was hot-blooded. Ordinarily, she could ignore the cold, but somehow she couldn't quite manage to ignore Jack. He was the matchstick to her dynamite. The gas to her flame. The—oh, stop it, she thought crossly.

Jack hadn't needed a cover. He was a wealthy playboy dilettante who couldn't stand a too bright light shone on his activities. He had an...edge to him that was irresistible. Women dropped at his feet like flies and men were intrigued by just a hint of deep, dark secrets behind his midnight eyes. Men and women alike wanted to stand close to Jack's dangerous flame. He was invited everywhere the rich, famous and powerful of DC gathered.

Jack Ryan had never been the right man for her, Mia reminded herself grimly. No matter what her body told her, he was not the right man for her. He was commitment-phobic for one thing, and for another he had no respect for hard-earned money. And she'd always know that there was something he wasn't telling her. She'd always been waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.

While she'd never starved, or been homeless, she had a healthy respect for the security of a decent bank balance. Her father had split when she was six. The classic—gone out for cigarettes and never come back. She'd seen just how her mom had struggled to support herself and two kids.

Mia wasn't prepared to jeopardize her own hard-earned savings, or the stability and happiness of her future children, on a man who threw his money away, and kept secrets.

She'd kept her head, and systematically gone about searching for the father of those children for years before she'd met Jack.

And for several months she'd lost what was left of her brain.

She'd worked in intelligence at the agency for five years before they'd agreed to put her in the field. Her first assignment with Jack, heisting a briefcase from a foreign diplomat at Grand Central station, had been a onetime thing.

The job had gone so well, her nimble fingers so quick, the agency had made them a team. Jack had guarded her back and planned the jobs. Mia had been his ''hands.'' Her long, magic fingers could caress open any lock in less time than it took to say Uncle Sam. All those years in the trailer park playing marbles and, later, five card stud had given her dexterity. It had also given her a mistrust of the wealthy, and a healthy respect for her own self-preservation.

They'd never discussed their pasts, Mia had realized when it was all over. They'd both thought their lives had started the first time they'd been intimate. A clean slate, a new start, a fresh beginning. For both of them. Boy, had she been wrong.

She was already working at the bank, her cover, when she finally quit the agency. The transition had been relativity painless. Relatively.

Light spilled from the open front door down the snow-cleared steps. The house was enormous, imposing and filled with the creme de la creme of Washington, DC society, many of whom Jack and Mia knew from the round of social events they'd been invited to over the past couple of years. Washington was unlike any other city. Power was the ticket here, not money. A five-term senator had more clout than a five-generation family fortune. Because the Washington power brokers all lived on expense accounts, money had long ago become subservient to position and connection.

The foyer was crowded, filled with the fragrances of expensive hothouse flowers, pricey perfume and the scrumptious smells of the savory hors d'oeuvres waiters carried discreetly through the crowd of party guests.

''I have to use the rest room,'' Mia told him quietly, stepping away from the warmth of his palm, which was resting possessively on the small of her back. ''Will you wai—''

He stepped in closer, divested himself of his overcoat to the coat check girl, and wrapped a muscled, implacable arm about her waist, all without missing a beat. ''Not yet. You know the game.''

Of course he'd known immediately she wanted to go in after the disk alone. Annoying man. ''Just let me get on with this.''

''Not on your life. It's too soon and you know it.''

''The sooner the better as far as I'm concerned.'' ''Liar,'' he said with a knowing smile. ''Your blood's pumping. Hot and fast.'' ''It is not.''

''You can't fool me, Mia. You never could.'' His hand slid up and down her arm and tongues of flame danced on her bare skin. ''I know you too well. You love the game. The excitement. The danger. That rush of adrenaline that jolts your system.''

She really did. Which was just another reason why she'd had to leave the business. Loving the danger was as unhealthy as loving Jack. ''Maybe I've changed.'' ''Yeah? And maybe I'm a priest.''

She laughed in spite of the situation. The very thought of blatantly sexual Jack Ryan being a priest was enough to make a statue break out in a grin.

''It's good to have you back, darling.''

She stiffened against his casual assumption and then forced herself to smile at the deputy mayor and his wife as they passed. Jack dipped his head and whispered in her ear and she tried her best not to turn into a gooey puddle. His warm breath fanned her skin and it didn't seem to matter that all he was talking about was business. Her blood pumped and she was suddenly, acutely aware of the tiny thong she wore beneath her dress. For an outing with a blind date, it had felt naughty, a little dangerous. For an outing with Jack, it was an invitation to disaster.

Deliberately, she shifted away from him, but didn't get far. He stayed glued to her side. She used her elbow to shove him away. Useless of course. The man was as immovable as a mountain.

Her stomach growled.

''Too nervous with anticipation to eat before your date?'' he whispered in her ear. ''Didn't I always tell you to at least eat a piece of cheese to settle that stomach of yours.''

''So suggests the rat.'' He'd insisted on feeding her soup and half a sandwich before they'd gone out on every job. It occurred to Mia that she hadn't had indigestion since she and Jack had broken up.

''Half an hour of making nice and we can slip away,'' he assured her.

''As long as it isn't you I have to be nice t— Sandy!'' Mia smiled, pleased to see the other woman who was a regular at the most ''in'' parties in the city. They air kissed exuberantly.

Sandra Kilstrom grabbed Mia's hands and held open her arms, raking her eyes down Mia from head to toe.

Clearly disgusted, she scowled. ''Damn it. Tell me you starve from Monday through Friday to keep this body or I'm going to have to kill you.''

Mia smiled. ''I watch every stingy morsel I put into my mouth and repent at the gym four times a week.''

Sandy hugged her. ''Oh! It's so good to have you back, honey. Everyone has missed you.''

Jack tightened his arm about Mia's waist and pulled her close. Damn, the position was so familiar so comfortable, that for several seconds she forgot she was over him. She tried to subtly shift out of reach, but he held her more firmly against him and rubbed his palm up and down her bare arm. ''She watches what she eats, and I watch her,'' Jack told Sandy smoothly.

''God, it's great to see you two back together.'' The older woman smiled at both of them while sidestepping a couple heading for the dance floor.

''We're n—''

''We're in the way of the dancers,'' Jack inserted smoothly. Then winking at Sandy, said, ''See you later, beautiful. Put me on your dance card for something slow and sexy.''

Sandra stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on Jack's chin—the only place she could reach. ''I'm going to hold you to that, Jack Ryan, and hunt you down like the dog you are if you don't come looking for me.''

''Too bad I'm a one-woman man,'' he said, charming as ever. ''I'm too crazy about Mia to stray. But if she ever dumps me, you'll be the first to know.''

Sandy giggled and Mia mentally rolled her eyes. If he'd loved her maybe, just maybe she might have stayed. With or without a commitment from him. But he'd never given her more of himself than she'd needed to know for the next assignment. He'd kept her shut out of his life beyond the bedroom. Jack loved excitement. He loved danger. He loved the chase. She'd wanted hearth and home—stability. He thrived on the unknown. And she wanted to wake up to see the same face on the pillow beside her every morning. Basically, she wanted predictable and safe.

They were miles apart in every way that counted.

The fact that she'd had predictable and safe for the past eight months and had been bored out of her mind had nothing at all do with anything.

She wasn't the first woman to go all weak-kneed and melt into a puddle of goo over one of his sexy smiles. Jack had that effect on any female. Damn it.

Patting his broad chest with her fingertips, Sandy shook her head, ''You are such a charming liar, Jack, it's no wonder every woman here adores you.''

I don't, Mia thought. She may have learned the hard way, but she did, eventually, learn. And when dealing with Jack Ryan, it would pay to remember all those hard-won lessons.

She glanced at him. Tall, dark and dangerous, he was the kind of man who fueled hot sweaty dreams. She should know.

She smiled at Sandy. ''Oh honey, you're so sweet to try to make Jack feel better.''

''Better about what?'' Sandy gave Jack a speculative glance.

Mia playfully punched Jack's arm and managed to get a good pinch in while she was at it. ''He's always been a charmer and now that he's losing his hair, well, he's a little self-conscious.''

Jack's attention was on Mia's mouth. Mia paid no attention and leaned into Sandy. ''He's in denial.''

''I'll tell you what I am,'' he said mildly, meeting her gaze with a dangerous glint in his blue eyes and a crocodile smile showing brilliantly white teeth.

''Oh honey...I'm sure Sandy doesn't mind hearing about your...problems."

''There's more?'' Sandy gasped, eyes twinkling.

''No,'' Jack took hold of Mia's arm. ''See you later, beautiful.'' He dragged her off through the crowd. ''What was that about?'' he asked smoothing his thumb up her back in a subtle caress. ''Jealousy?''

She snorted softly. ''Just trying to remind you that we are not the couple of the social set anymore.'' She shrugged Jack's hand from around her waist. ''Don't pet me, don't stroke me. We are not together—not now, not ever again. Keep your mind on the job. Got it?''

A muscle in his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed into slits that shot fire. ''Got it.''

''I'm serious, Jack.''

''So am I, darling. So am I. Want something to eat?''

He wasn't losing his hair. Or his appeal, damn it all to hell. One smile from Jack and she was tempted to forget his lack of commitment. One touch of his arm on any part of her body and she was willing to cancel out a future for the promise of a great here and now.

He still had it. In spades. And she was probably in very deep trouble here. So the best thing to do would be to get the job done and get gone. But meanwhile...

''Yes, I'm hungry. Too bad I'm not in that nice restaurant with the ever so charming Davis Sloan. I should've known better, shouldn't I? Nobody is that sensitive, amusing and in tune with someone other than himself.''

''I told you I didn't lie to you. Everything Davis Sloan said came direct from me."

He again rested his hand lightly on the small of her back to cross the room to the buffet table.

She wished she could believe him. He'd said so many...nice things in the past couple of weeks. She'd actually reached the point where she'd lunged for the phone when it rang, hoping it would be Davis—Jack. But painful experience warned against trusting him again. Although...as she thought about some of the things he'd said, she looked at him a little differently. Had he really been that lonely little

boy, growing up knowing no one wanted him? She refused to be swayed by a vulnerability he no longer possessed. ''Why Jack? Why bother playing this elaborate game? Why not just call me and say, hey, we need you for a job?'' ''You would've said no.'' ''Exactly my point. Freedom of choice.'' ''You're the best.'' ''Was the best.''

''Still are, darling.'' He dipped his head and whispered in her ear. ''Together we were unstoppable, in every way, and you know it.''

Pride and pleasure slid down her spine. Probably not a good sign.

''Anyway,'' Jack said briskly, ''we're here now. Are you going to bitch all night?''

She cocked her head as if giving it some thought. ''I might.''

He almost smiled. ''Fair enough. Do this and you can bitch to your heart's content.''

''Gee, thanks. Since when we're finished, you won't be around to hear me.''

They were briefly separated by a laughing foursome, but Mia distinctly heard him mutter, ''Don't bank on it, sweetheart. Don't bank on it.''

Fine. Jack always had his own agenda. Just because she'd once loved his agendas and everything else about him, didn't mean she still did. She was immune now. Eight months of celibacy had been just what the doctor ordered. Regular sex with Jack had clouded her mind.

Damned if she didn't miss that cloud sometimes.

''They have that imported smoked salmon you like,'' he said scanning the long table.

''I don't eat it anymore. Makes me break out.'' Mia grabbed a gold-rimmed plate and started loading it with roast beef and small mushrooms. The last time she'd eaten salmon Jack had fed it to her between long bouts of insanely acrobatic lovemak-ing on the beach one hot summer night. Salmon made her break out with regret. Very bad for her mental health.

There were too many people to make a private conversation possible or advisable and they were forced to greet dozens of people while they searched for somewhere to sit. ''There?'' he asked, indicating a wide window seat just vacated.

''Sure.'' She wanted a glass of South African wine, maybe two—three would be better. She wanted to be in a well-lit restaurant with Davis Sloan, the man she'd thought she was seeing—Stop it, Mia. Just get over it. While Jack's methods sucked, and her mother was going to be blackballed for quite a while, the reason Mia was here was valid.

She was the best.

She'd do this one last job with her old partner and then she'd be done.

There was no need to talk. They'd worked together enough times to know the drill. As much as she didn't want to be here, her natural instincts had come back into sharp focus—almost as if she'd never left the agency. As if she and Ryan were still the best team in undercover work.

The house was overflowing with guests. The doors, conveniently left open wide to dispel the body heat, also made it much easier to do a little second-story work. The converted mansions that comprised Embassy Row dated to the turn of the twentieth century. They were similarly laid out and Mia knew the floor plans as well as she knew her way around the local Hecht's Department store. Tuxedo-clad undercover agents guarded the entrances and exits to the building, mandatory in the terrorist climate of the times. But she knew that the security force was there to keep people out, not monitor people within.

Mia slid her plate onto a half-round table against the wall.

''Ready?''

He gave her a heavy-lidded look. ''Always.''

CHAPTER THREE

Being so well connected proved to be a curse and a blessing. It was easy to maneuver the maze of guests with the comfortable ease of familiarity. However, they couldn't move two feet without being stopped. Everyone wanted to chat.

Jack wasn't the only one to have missed Mia in the past eight months. She was well liked. And God only knew Jack loved to watch her interact with people. Even though her face was the first thing he imagined in the morning, and the last thing he imagined every night, the reality of Mia Rossi couldn't be replicated—even in his fertile imagination.

She was the only woman there not wearing a fortune in gems. A serviceable gold-plated watch, and a pair of quarter carat diamond studs she'd bought with her first dividend check, were all she wore with the understated black dress. And she still looked more beautiful, more elegant, than any woman in the room.

Jack had bought Mia a fortune in jewelry during their time together. He'd tried it all. Diamonds, emeralds, gold and silver. Made no difference. She'd returned everything with a smile and a no thank you. She'd refused to accept expensive presents from him. He couldn't, wouldn't give her what she wanted most.

The sound of her musical laughter, the sparkle of amusement in her big brown eyes, the habit she had of absently tucking a short strand of dark hair behind her ear as she listened, head half-cocked, to a long story by the terminally boring senator from Arkansas. Everything about her was achingly familiar, comfortable. And so tempting. He had never felt this kind of completeness with anyone. Even though it felt right, somehow things had gone terribly, terribly wrong for them. Jack mentally cursed. This was not the path his brain should be on. It was too dangerous on too many levels.

Mia Rossi was a complete pain in his ass. Opinionated. Stubborn. Unyielding. And worst of all, unforgiving.

She wanted nothing to do with him. Yet he wanted to do everything with her. To her.

Hell.

Beautiful. Courageous. Sexy as hell. He fanned his fingers out on the small of her back and felt a visceral jolt as her skin warmed under his touch and she unconsciously shifted under his hand. She'd always been responsive to the smallest of his touches.

Just as he was responding to the knowledge that under that sleek little dress she wore that amazing thong. The thong he still had dreams about. The thong she'd wear whenever she wanted to drive him crazy.

Man. He had it bad.

It took almost twenty minutes to cruise from one side of the enormous reception room to the other. Jack kept his arm around Mia's slender waist, his hand intimately brushing her hip. Her active little brain might be as annoyed as hell at him, but her lush body responded as it always had. Her skin felt hot beneath his palm, and her eyes held that fiery glint that promised either retribution or mind-blowing sex. Tonight he knew it would be retribution.

There were a few groups of people standing around chatting in the wide corridor, which led to the library cum study and to the rest rooms available to the guests. Jack backed Mia against the inlaid mahogany paneling.

''Wha—''

He leaned into her and crushed his mouth down on hers. He dove into the kiss like a man with heatstroke diving into the cool aqua waters of a swimming pool.

Her mouth tasted achingly familiar. Slick, wet from the wine she'd drunk. God. Mia... Jack wasn't going to waste this. He ignored her nails digging into his forearms through his shirt and jacket. Ignored the strength of her grip. He wrapped his arms around her slender body, leaned into her and drank from her mouth until he was dizzy with want, blazing with need.

He slid one hand up her back to cup the nape of her neck. His other palm slipped down to cup her bottom. She murmured against his marauding lips. Jack wasn't sure if it was a protest or compliance and he was very close to that state where he didn't much care. Knowing Mia, her brain was complaining and her body had already started softening. At least, he hoped so. It wasn't possible to even think that she wasn't feeling this. It was too intense, too encompassing. Too... huge.

Acutely aware that people milled around them, Jack kept his attention on Mia's mouth. The feel of her peaked nipples were hidden against his shirtfront, and for his pleasure alone.

Her lips, once soft, were now avid against his. She might believe—hell, he wanted her to believe— that this was all part of his game plan. God only knew they'd done it before. Appeared about to rip each other's clothes off and snuck into a dark library, office or locked room to heist something for Uncle Sam.

For Jack this was far more than a game plan to get them into the privacy of the library. Reluctantly, he eased his mouth from hers, lifting his head to look at her. Her eyes were glazed and slightly unfocused. He brushed moisture from her mouth with the side of his thumb. ''Ready?''

''A-absolutely.'' She straightened away from the wall. When he didn't automatically step back, she scowled and shoved at his chest with her palms.

''Don't push your luck, Ryan,'' she said in a husky whisper.

If observed from more than three feet away they would appear to be nothing other than two lovers engaged in intimate conversation. He wrapped his arm about her slender waist.

''Let's do it.'' He guided her toward the closed double doors of the library. ''Hope to hell there's no one in here,'' Jack said in a stage whisper.

Mia, as good as she ever was, played right along. ''Oh, honey...do you really think we should?''

Jack shoved open the door with an impatient hand, almost dragged her inside and slammed the door, knowing what everyone on the other side would think.

The second the door closed, Mia turned and twisted the lock.

''You didn't have to paint my tonsils, Jack,'' she complained. The heavy, dark green velvet drapes were open to the night. Without a doubt, security guards were perambulating on the wide patio beyond the French doors. ''Close the drapes and let's just get this over with.''

Jack started walking past her to cross the room. He felt eyes on them and used the opportunity to touch her cheek. ''I've missed you.''

''Good, you're well-practiced then. You won't have a hard time adjusting when you miss me again.'' The daggers in her eyes met their mark. In fact, her marksmanship was a legend at the agency. Legendarily bad. She couldn't hit a barn door at high noon.

''Let's get this farce on the road.'' She put a slender hand, palm down on his chest. With the other hand she reached behind her for the long zipper that curved up her back.

He wished it was real and not staged for their unseen audience. ''I'll get the drapes.''

''Make it snappy.'' The dress parted revealing slender, creamy pale shoulders. Jack yanked at the drapes, but kept his eyes on the woman pretending to strip.

''Stop ogling. I'm doing this for the benefit of those guys outside, not for you,'' Mia said impatiently. ''Hurry up and close the drapes, would you?''

Honest to God, looking at her face anyone would be forgiven for believing she was as hot for him as he was for her. But Jack knew that look in her eyes too well. It wasn't lust—it was blood lust. Big difference.

And he was as hard as a pistol despite knowing that Mia was stripping only for the benefit of the job. ''The pull's on the left side.''

He used the pull and the heavy drapes slowly slid closed, blocking out the square black eyes of the French doors.

All business now, Mia pulled the dress back up over her shoulders and struggled with the zipper as she moved swiftly to the painting on the far wall. ''Just for the record, a Hollywood kiss would have done the job.''

''You know I strive for authenticity,'' he told her, handing her a pair of thin latex gloves from his pocket. He leaned against the door and observed her slender, gloved fingers feel around the perimeter of the painting, studying the frame for any creative security feature.

''Anything?'' he asked quietly. ''Hand me my purse.''

He dug the small clutch out of his pocket and opened it.

His lips twitched. A .22, a wedge of folded tissues, a credit card, lip gloss, twenty dollars and... ''God damn it, Mia!'' She spun around. ''What?'' ''You have rubbers in here.'' She lifted a brow. ''And your point is?'' ''You have three rubbers in here.'' ''You know, Jack,'' Mia said mildly, ''this is absolutely the perfect time to be discussing the items in my purse—while we're breaking and entering an ambassador's personal safe. Your timing, as usual, is impeccable.''

''Davis would've brought his own rubbers.'' ''As it turns out, Davis—that would be you—can inflate the rubbers and float them to the moon for all I care. Hand me the compact of pressed powder.'' She shot him a glare. ''Please.''

She took the everyday object and turned it into a trick of the trade. Jack noted that after loosening some of the face powder, she brought the silver compact close to her lips. His body reacted with more than just admiration as she pursed her mouth and blew the smallest stream of flesh-colored dust around the painting.

''No lasers,'' she said, more to herself than to him, he was sure. Mia was so focused he doubted she even remembered he was in the room. She yanked a hair from her scalp, rubbed the spot absently, then, on tiptoes, slipped the hair a few inches around and under the painting.

A painting which, Jack thought, was a monstrosity of flowers that looked suspiciously like a woman's vulva.

Mia dropped the strand of hair and slid her finger beneath the bottom edge. He heard a quick but distinct click. Then the painting hinged open to reveal a small, black, older model wall safe trimmed in gold.

''Can you—?''

Mia made a small dismissive noise. ''Please. Don't insult me.''

Jack, ears tuned to the hum of conversation outside the door, watched as she cocked her head and her nimble fingers moved with precision around the old-fashioned dial.

She twisted the knob to the left, then the right, then left again. ''Too bad I don't have my—''

He laid a small black velvet pouch on the cre-denza in front of her. Her custom-made tools. Mia shot him a frowning glance. ''How'd you

ge—''

''Left them on your desk your last day.'' The day she'd walked away from both the job she'd loved—and him.

Jack straightened as someone rattled the door handle. Mia reached for her loaded handbag and Jack touched the butt of his own weapon hidden beneath his jacket. He held his breath, and after a few seconds, heard them move off down the corridor.

Mia returned to the safe. They each had their job to do. ''Damn.'' ''What?''

She frowned. ''Got any C4 on you?'' ''Oh, Jesus. It's not going to open?'' Mia grinned. ''Hell, yeah. It's only a TRTL-30.'' A burglary performance rating of thirty minutes max to open it by common hand tools or mechanical tools—such as a grinder or drill. Mia had the best tool of all. Excellent hearing and perfect pitch. She could hear the internal tumblers as they fell into place. She stepped aside and the door swung open a few inches. ''Just kidding, Jack. Geez, where's your sense of humor?''

He wasn't amused, didn't appreciate her moment of levity. ''Grab the disk and let's book.'' Other than seeing Mia tonight, he had a bad feeling about this too simple job. Something didn't feel right, hadn't right from the beginning. Something felt... off.

''No disk in here,'' Mia said softly, after she riffled through the contents of the safe.

''Be sure.'' He didn't leave his post at the door. He kept one ear tuned to the party outside the thick doors, the music, the ebb and flow of voices, footsteps moving down the carpeted corridor outside.

She was efficient and methodical. After a few more seconds, she said quietly. ''Definitely not here. Upstairs safe?''

''Must be.''

''How long have we been in here?'' They'd been in some tight spots together in their partnership. They may have redefined passion together, and had an eight-month lapse, but as thieves their association was still magical.

''Long enough,'' he told her grimly, as she replaced the contents of the safe and shut the door.

He didn't budge as she moved to avoid the swing of the painting, stepping back into him. Her silky dark hair brushed his chin. The smell of her skin made him dizzy with longing.

As soon as the picture was back in place, Mia took a step forward, away from him. ''Open the door, Jack. You conned me here to help you do a job. Let's just do it, okay?''

He unlocked the door. This was neither the time nor the place. ''I'm going to have to kiss you again.''

She sighed and tilted up her face. ''Fine. Get it over with.''

He bracketed her face, then ran his fingers through her hair to muss it up. She stood still beneath his hands, her eyes hard, her soft mouth grim. When they'd done this before it had been part of the fun of the game. Now it was purely business.

''Not even a spark?'' Jack asked, keeping his hands on either side of her face. ''Not a glimmer.'' ''Liar.''

She snorted. ''I'm not the one carrying a rifle in my pocket.'' He grinned. ''Wanna see if it's loaded?'' She kept her expression impassive and shrugged. ''Open the door and let's wrap this up.''

He opened the door. The noise of the party washed over them, an assault to his senses after being alone in the library with her. They weren't going to be able to emerge from the library and immediately go upstairs. People probably assumed they'd just had wild monkey sex on good old Johannes's desk.

''Dance?'' Jack suggested when they reached the reception room.

It would get them across the large space and closer to the stairs. But Mia didn't want to be held by him. Not again. She might be able to fool herself a while longer, but she'd never be able to convince Jack that she wasn't turned on and raring to go— not if he was holding her close on a dance floor.

Mia didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be anywhere near Jack Ryan. He was temptation in a suit. The devil incarnate. The serpent with the apple.

Just call me Eve, she thought, stepping into his arms.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jack folded her into his arms. Her hair smelled of orange blossoms and nostalgic summer nights. The crowded dance floor worked to his advantage.

He smiled secretly, knowing she wasn't going anywhere. He felt the press of her slender body and the brush of her long legs against his, sanctioned by their status as a hot couple.

She used her elbow, strategically pressed to his midriff, to put a few millimeters of space between them. Their faces were close enough for him to count individual eyelashes. Close enough for him to feel the soft caress of her breath against his throat. His eyes tracked from the small wedge of a frown between her brows to the soft curve of her bare mouth. He'd nibbled off her lipstick and, atypically, she'd forgotten to reapply it.

Tuned into every sensuous move of her body, he tucked her much smaller hand into his and held it between them where he could feel the brush of her breasts against the back of his hand and she could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart.

''God, this feels great,'' he said easily. He'd danced with her before, countless times. Both in public and in private. The memory of dancing naked with Mia in his arms forced him to bite back a groan.

''Maybe you should cozy up to the notion that I'm not interested,'' she said with asperity. ''It should give the expression 'talk to the hand' new meaning for you.''

''Christ, Mia, when did you become so tough?'' She tossed her hair back and smiled up at him, keeping up the pretense of cozy lovebirds even while her tone sharpened to a sword's edge. ''Gee, let me think. Could it've been when you refused to make any kind of commitment?'' ''I told you—''

''And I told you I didn't care. Don't waste any more of my time rehashing the past Jack. Those days are long gone. I'm here under false pretenses, so don't make it harder than it has to be.''

The live band and sensuous music beckoned everyone onto the dance floor, crowding them even closer together. Her thigh brushed his as he turned her out of the way of an exuberant couple. His hand dipped into her cleavage and she shot him a fulminating glance.

Shafts of desire shot through him causing pleasure, causing pain. How the hell had they gone so horribly wrong?

She'd loved who she'd believed he was. Enough said. If he'd told her the truth, he'd have been a different Jack Ryan in her eyes altogether. He hadn't been willing to take the chance. By the time Jack had known it was time to tell her the truth, it had been too late. Each day had found him falling a little more in love with her, and each day had made the lie harder to admit.

Hell, he'd been too scared to take the risk of losing her.

Yet he'd lost her in the end anyway.

While he'd been trying to figure out a way to tell her the truth, while maintaining their relationship, she'd read it as a refusal to make a commitment. While Jack had used his nonverbal skills to hold her, Mia had read those messages all wrong.

The truth hadn't hit him until months after she'd told him to go to hell. Mia Rossi hadn't cared about his money, his status or his acquisitions. By the time that penny had dropped she'd refused to talk to him. Tonight was his shot at making restitution.

And right now Mia's verbal thrashing wasn't making it easy to keep up the cover of being adoring lovers. And she was being just as uncooperative physically. It wasn't possible for Mia to pull her body any farther away, so she'd gathered herself inside her own skin. Her eyes telegraphed her displeasure while her nipples were hard and peaked against the back of his hand. She was a neon flash of mixed signals. If he was reading her correctly, her brain was resisting, but her body was reacting to his touch as if it was as natural to her as breathing. He hoped the desire he sensed could obliterate her brain's convictions.

He wanted to cup the familiar weight of her breasts in his hands, to feel her bare skin against his fingertips. He wanted to taste her again. Wanted the remembered heat of burying himself deep inside her—

She tugged at their joined hands, drawing his away from where it had been happily nestled against the sweet curve of her breasts. ''Spoilsport.''

''Opportunist.'' She smiled, all teeth. ''How long do we have to do this?''

''Almost there.'' He easily replaced their joined hands where his would be happiest and steered her expertly through the throng. They moved well together, in bed and out. Dangerously well. The slip-slide of silk over Mia's smooth skin

made him ache. He was definitely aroused by her familiar fragrance, the feel of her in his arms. Jack felt sweat in the small of his back from the effort not to grab her into his arms and kiss her with all the feelings he'd been suppressing for the past eight months.

He danced her across the crowded ballroom with the ease and nonchalant grace of Fred Astaire. Mia's jaw ached. Other places ached as well, but she willed herself to ignore all her body parts from the chin down.

He was using the back of his hand and wrist to devastating effect, and the devious devil knew it. His eyes sparkled with the knowledge and with the flash of fire she remembered so well. Just feeling his touch burning into her skin was enough to make her knees weak and her brain forget all about the need for self-preservation. Mia felt like a ripe peach about to burst from her skin. Through the fine Egyptian cotton of his shirt she felt his hot skin beneath her palm. His heart beat a steady, heavy pulse in his broad chest as he manipulated them across the dance floor with sublime confidence and ease.

She had no problem maintaining the rhythm of the dance. Nope. Her failure was in maintaining her hard-won conviction that Jack was part of her past. It seemed cruel that the acceptance that had taken months of tears and tirades to achieve was draining from her as if there was a leak in her spine. She needed to be strong. She needed to be levelheaded and realistic.

Jack could not give her what she wanted. That was the simple truth. It didn't matter how badly she wanted it. Her leopard was never going to change his spots.

So much for her conviction that she was over him! Perhaps a few more decades might make that a reality.

He kept her hand captured between then as he negotiated the other couples dancing around them. Jack was an excellent dancer. As good on the dance floor as he'd been in the bedroom— Damn. Mia closed her eyes to block out her view of his strong jaw and mouth made for sin. But the slide of their bodies, the memory of other dances, other close encounters when their naked skin had been pressed together made her eyes pop open again. Lord, it was hot in here. Hot and close and dangerous as hell.

She wanted to be home with her cat, her three dead houseplants and a large apple-tini, in the worst way.

Honestly, she wanted Jack Ryan all to herself. She wanted cool sheets in a dimly lit room. She wanted to rub herself over his body like a purring cat—

Mia shut off the carnal thoughts as they approached the foot of the stairs leading to the private rooms above.

The last time they'd been here, they'd found a secluded and dark balcony overlooking the grounds. And while a party had gone on two stories beneath them, she and Jack had discovered a whole new use for balcony railings.

''Last time we were here it was summer.'' He released her with one arm, but kept her tethered to him with the other. ''Remember?''

''No.''

''Liar.'' He glanced around casually, and Mia knew he, like herself, was marking everyone's location in the room, possible exits, security personnel and camera locations.

She faked a furtive glance around, then grabbed his hand and started up the stairs. Just pretending to be unbearably hot for Jack made her hot. Actually, hotter was more accurate. If someone shoved a thermometer in her mouth right now, she'd blow the end off. Trying to suppress it was useless. The best she could do was make sure Jack wasn't aware of how she felt.

At the top of the stairs, she dropped his hand like a hot potato and preceded him into the west bedroom wing. Her pace was almost as fast as her erratic heart. She didn't care; she was hoping to walk off some of her need for Jack.

How could she focus when, with every step, her aching center pulsed with new need, reminding her that release was only an arm's reach away? No, she thought. Be strong. Be brave. Don't give into the dark side.

Luck was with them and they didn't pass anyone else on the upstairs landing. They slipped into the master suite and closed the door.

''Safe's probably in her closet.'' Mia strode toward one of the half-closed doors on the far side of the spacious bedroom, Jack right behind her.

''Bathroom. Wrong door.'' Mia opened the next louvered mahogany door. ''Jackpot. Oh, man,'' she said reverently, ''look at her shoes.''

''Hard to pack a pair of those under that dress.'' ''I can afford my own shoes,'' she told him mildly, listening to her own tone to be sure she didn't sound defensive. Forget the spoon. Jack had been born with a silver serving tray in his mouth. All that nonsense he'd been sprouting to gain her sympathy was garbage. No, Jack came from a wealthy family. And he spent money like it would dry up tomorrow if every dime wasn't blown today.

She'd been born with a plastic spoon in hers. Disposable. Sallye never had liked doing dishes. They hadn't been poor, exactly, but Sallye's paycheck had only covered the basics, no extras.

Mia had hated watching her mother work two jobs to make ends meet. Hated seeing her mom bent over the bills every month trying to figure out which to pay first. Mia had vowed she and her mom and sister would never have to worry about money again. No more living from paycheck to paycheck.

Mia had money now. Hell, she had fifty percent of every paycheck she'd ever earned stashed in a money market account, slowly multiplying at a pretty decent rate. She hoarded her money, saved and invested it prudently and wisely. She made every penny beg for mercy before she reluctantly spent it. And now that she could, she made sure her mom had a few of those ''extras'' she'd always lacked before.

Well, up until now. Now that Sallye had sold out her oldest daughter to the man who could tear her heart in two with a flick of his wrist, there was no more Godiva for her.

''I was kidding about the shoes.''

''I wasn't,'' Mia said shortly. ''Just look for the safe.''

The closet smelled of Chanel and cigarette smoke. Carpeted in the same thick plush ecru-colored carpeting as the bedroom, it felt close and claustrophobic with the sartorial ghosts of past events hanging from their padded satin hangers. Furs brushed Mia's head as she crouched down low and reached to the back to feel along the wall while Jack did the same on the other side.

Their legs brushed several times, sending electrical charges along each of Mia's nerve endings. She worked faster. Where the hell was the damn safe? Somewhere reasonably convenient because the lady of the house would want easy access to her jewels.

''Got it,'' Jack said, already standing to push aside the pantsuits hanging in front of the safe.

Mia rose to her feet, keeping a foot of space between them. It was still far too close for comfort. Who knew a walk-in closet could feel so tiny?

She checked out the safe. ''It won't take me a moment.'' She inspected the safe and recognized it wasn't half as secure as the safes in all the convenience stores on all the corners of the world. ''Hell, you could've done this by yourself. You didn't need me.''

''That's a matter of opinion.''

''Would you mind giving me a little room here?'' She shoved him back a step with her elbow. ''You're breathing down my neck.''

In deference to their hostess's silks, the lighting in the closet was soft and muted. There was plenty of light coming through the double doors leading from the bedroom, however. The walk-in closet was a small room with racks of designer clothing, from ceiling to floor and two rods deep, with an automated dry-cleaner-type mechanical rack for finding things quickly. Mia had serious closet envy.

One entire wall was made up of a rainbow of shoes organized by color. It was more than the sight of those hundreds of pairs of Manolo Blahnik's that had Mia's heart picking up speed. Ignoring the effect of Jack's proximity as best she could, she slipped on the thin rubber gloves he handed her and got to work.

Unlike the safe downstairs, this was a Conex. On the safecracking scale of one-to-ten, this was about a three. She concentrated on the far-too-loud sound of the tumblers rotating behind the steel door. That was the chink in the Conex—the tumblers made so much noise that the safe might as well have shouted out the combination.

''How's your love life?'' ''Hotter than a pistol thank you very much.'' ''Is that so?'' He looked suspiciously happy about it.

Mia frowned. ''You're pleased I'm having hot sex with someone else?''

''Hell, no,'' Jack said with a grin. ''I'm pleased as hell that you feel you have to lie about it.'' ''I'm not ly—''

''Still hunting for a husband?'' he taunted. He folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. How appropriate that the louvers in the door painted tiger stripes across his face and body.

''Your source is my loose-lipped mother, who considers it a hunt. I, on the other hand, consider it to be more like holding auditions. I'm sure I'll find what I'm looking for,'' Mia said. The devil had refused to make a commitment. In a fit of anger, Mia had told him she'd be married this summer—either to him or someone else. She was thirty-two. She wanted to start the rest of her life now, while she still had all her working parts. Pinning Jack down to a commitment had been like trying to hold Jell-O in her fist.

''Did you think Davis was going to be the one?'' ''He had potential,'' she admitted, glancing at him for a split second, just long enough to make sure he knew she was still pissed. ''I hope you had fun playing me like that. It was childish, Jack. Beneath you.''

He'd used his knowledge of her to create the perfect man. And she had fallen for it. Hook, line and sinker.

''The only thing that was a lie was the name.'' She shot him a skeptical glance over her shoulder and shook her head, ''Sure, you already said that. And I already told you I don't believe it.'' Damn it, why was this safe so stubborn?

''I wasn't ready for a commitment.'' ''I noticed.''

''We were terrific together, Mia. Admit it.'' ''Sure we were. Unfortunately you took the low road while I took the high road. And never the twain shall meet.''

''Why's it so important to you to get married? The sex was outstanding, we're compatible as

hell.... Why blow something that amazing for some pie in the sky license? What does a bit of paper matter anyway?''

She flashed him a quick look over her shoulder. ''See Jack? That piece of paper means the world to me. You don't get it? Fine. I'm looking for someone who will get it.''

''Why isn't it enough to have someone—me— who wants to be with you?''

''Because I want forever, not just today.'' ''You know as well as I do,'' he said, his voice

a tight cord of need, mingled with frustration, ''in our business, there isn't always a forever.''

''God, Jack,'' she said on a sigh as she leaned her forehead on the still closed safe, ''no one gets a guarantee. An accountant could wake up fine and be dead by sunset. What I want is the commitment to try for forever.''

''Darling...'' He trailed one finger down her bare back and Mia shivered from both his touch and the endearment she'd missed for eight long months. ''You know I...'' His voice trailed off.

She laughed shortly, quietly, heartbreak coloring the sound. ''You can't even say it.''

''Fine,'' he snapped. ''I'm a dog. What are you going to do? Pick one of your blind dates and ask him to marry you?'' ''Why not?''

''Aren't you running out of guys?'' ''DC's a big place, I haven't even gotten started. Thanks to urban sprawl, I can work my way from Metro Center out to Crystal City. If that doesn't work, I can head up the 270 corridor all the way to Pennsylvania if necessary. I have time.''

''Thought you were getting married this summer?''

''Plenty of time.'' Mia said shortly. Four, five months should be plenty of time. Plenty of time to

get Jack Ryan out of her system, meet a new man and arrange the wedding. Who was she trying to fool? Herself? Or Jack? ''So you'd choose some as yet unknown blind date over me and amazing sex?''

''See, Jack? That's why you earn the big bucks. Because you're so clever. Now be quiet and let me get this thing open and this night over with.'' ''By all means, go for it.'' The last tumbler fell into place and Mia swung the door open. How nice of the lady of the house to be so neat and organized. Her jewelry was in slender black leather cases, each labeled clearly with its contents. Her emeralds had a shelf all their own.

A few papers had been slipped sideways next to the boxes. Mia withdrew them, careful to keep everything in the same order. The disk was tucked into a legal envelope marked Insurance. ''Got it. Here.'' She shoved the disk into his hand. ''Thanks for a lovely evening. Don't call me, I'll call you. Bye— Uh-oh!'' she whispered. ''Someone's coming. Hit the li—''

The small room went charcoal-gray as Jack simultaneously hit the light switch and pulled the double doors shut.

Bars of light sliced across them from the bedroom. While the closet was large, it wouldn't be large enough to hide two adults if someone decided to open the doors.

Mia glared at Jack. ''Didn't you lock the door?'' she mouthed silently.

Looking through the slats of the door, he nodded, then jerked his head to indicate the man and woman who'd entered the bedroom. The couple, holding onto each other like shipwreck victims in a storm tossed sea, still took the time to relock the door behind them. They had a key.

Mia's eyes widened. A married senator from California and her young—good Lord! very young— boyfriend. This couldn't be happening! Surely they weren't going to... Oh crap! They were!

The couple didn't so much flow together as they attacked each other like wild animals, falling onto the velvet bedspread with muffled groans and whimpers of unbridled lust. Arms and legs tangled as they tried to rip off each other's clothes in a frenzy.

No way, Mia thought with growing horror. She took a step back and came up hard against Jack's chest. He caught her by the upper arms, presumably to prevent them from crashing to the floor. His strong fingers dug into her tender skin as the other couple thrashed about on the bed.

Her heartbeat manic, Mia squeezed her eyes shut. Oh no, no, no!

CHAPTER FIVE

The young guy was all hands and speed. Lord, he was pistol-hot and in an all fired hurry. Mia tried not to watch the couple rolling around on the bed. She forced her eyes shut and swallowed hard. Maybe, she told herself, if she kept her eyes tightly closed, and stood very, very still, it would be over in a few minutes. They'd leave and no one would be any the wiser.

Unfortunately the way her luck was running tonight, Boy-toy probably had the staying power of a Don Juan.

In the darkness behind her closed lids the animal panting and half-choked groans from the couple a few feet away made sweat pop out on her brow and her center prickle with empathetic longing. Wasn't it bad enough that she'd been on the razor edge of arousal since she'd realized Jack was her blind date for the evening?

This was not helping matters.

Mia opened one eye a slit. Hell, they were so busy ripping each other's clothes off she could probably dash right past them and make a clean getaway.

She was tempted to do just that as Jack slid strong hands down her arms and she found herself leaning against him weakly. Her legs weren't going to carry her anywhere. Not right now anyway.

She tried to ignore the thrill of excitement swiftly running through her veins, fast and hot, as Jack rocked against her slowly. His erection fitted against her like the missing piece in a jigsaw puzzle. Mia shivered, but shifted out of range. Not that there was a lot of room to maneuver. One wrong move and she and Jack would explode through the doors and end up sprawling out at the foot of the bed with the horny couple.

''Is this shocking your Puritan sensibilities, my sweet, precious darling?'' Jack whispered in her ear easily pulling her back to where he wanted her.

It would've been nice if she could form a coherent word. Unfortunately she couldn't even form a coherent thought. Mia found that her eyes were open.

She frowned. She shouldn't be watching this. They shouldn't be watching this. Everyone would be much happier if nobody was watching this, she thought hysterically. Sex wasn't supposed to be a spectator sport. Fortunately, making love felt a lot better than it looked.

The young stud managed to get the senator's dress off. He was having bit of a problem with her bra however. Impatient, he shoved it up on her chest and bent his head to give it enthusiastic attention.

Mia's nipples ached in response.

No fair.

Her head fell back against Jack's chest. She watched the other couple with an intensity that should've worried her, but somehow didn't.

In the darkness, she and Jack were cradled in a net of silence and shadow. On the bed in front of them, the mindless couple performed like actors on a stage. It was a private moment—for all four of them.

The senator ripped off her stud's shirt. Buttons flew. Now that was going to be hard to explain downstairs. Neither of them seemed to care. The older woman's hands looked startlingly white on the young man's smooth, tanned skin. Her long red nails lethal as she scored his skin from nipples to belly. The boy-toy's back arched as the woman went for his belt and zipper with an intensity that she'd never shown on Capitol Hill.

When Don Juan had been divested of all the clothes below his waist, the senator smiled and, with hands and mouth, went to work on what had been revealed. The young man hissed in a breath, threw his head back and moaned tightly.

Everything in Mia went hot and still. That ache that had been haunting her all night suddenly pulsed into life, making her bones shake and quiver. She watched, unable to look away, caught and mesmerized by the actions just a few feet from her. Then Jack covered her breasts with his hands, cupping then squeezing gently. Mia locked her jaw tight to keep from moaning. She pressed her palms over the back of his much larger hands, and pressed down. Showing him wordlessly what she needed.

His fingers tightened on her aching breasts. Rough, greedy. Rubbing, coaxing her nipples to hard painful points. Showing none of the restraint he'd show her moments before.

Thank God. Gentle wouldn't do it now. She wanted more. Needed more. She almost keened with the intensity of sensation as Jack manipulated her nipples through the sheer fabric of bra and silk dress. Her hands dropped to her sides and her head fell back, baring her throat.

He bent his head to kiss the side of her neck, a particularly sensitive spot, and he went right to it. Mia arched her throat to give him better access, and used her own hand to guide his between the layers of fabric so he could touch her bare skin. Her womb clenched as if he was already inside her.

She stifled a moan at the piercingly sweet sensation of Jake's callused fingers caressing her feverish skin. As busy as the other couple were, another sound might alert them to the voyeurs in the closet. Mia bit her lip.

To ease her own heat she ground her bottom against Jack. He was as hard as she'd ever felt him. And furnace hot. A jolt of lust as pure and sharp as white lightning zinged through her from neck to groin. She managed not to scream his name only by sinking her teeth even harder into her lower lip.

Jack had always had the unnerving knack of knowing exactly how to make her shudder and moan while keeping her teetering on the very brink, then drawing back just enough to keep her simmering.

Boil. Simmer. Boil. Simmer. Explode.

His hot breath stirred the fine hairs on her nape, making her shiver. The devil bit the side of her neck. It wasn't a gentle nip either—she felt the sharp edge of his teeth on the tense cords of her throat. The fine tremors became a shudder that shook her whole body. He kissed the sting. Succulent, wet kisses, down the side of her throat, around to her nape. He licked her skin to cool it, then heated her flesh with more sharp hot nibbles. Mia's knees buckled.

Only his strong hands kept her upright. Her entire body throbbed and pulsed. Her goose bumps had goose bumps. Everything inside her turned to churning, seething, hot, molten liquid.

And then his hand left her breast.

Mia scowled in the tiger-striped darkness. She stared out the slits in the closet door at the couple still wrapped up in each other. In the brightly lit bedroom Don Juan had his pants around his hairy ankles and the senator was still busy in the area of his lap. The woman lifted her head—Mia could only see her from the back, thank God—and pulled her lover's face down to hers for a hungry kiss.

Mia's breasts ached fiercely. She fumbled behind her, wanting Jack's hand on her. He grabbed her hands and placed them on her own breasts. Shocked, she felt the hard points of her own aroused nipples. Pressing them hard against her chest helped, but she'd rather have Jack's hands—Oh!

He was bunching her dress up to her waist, his hands skimming up her legs and past the edge of her thigh-highs—and hadn't that been a good choice?—to touch bare skin.

''God,'' he breathed hoarsely against her ear. ''Feels just the same.''

Mia didn't give a damn if he meant he recognized, by feel, the thong, or if he was referring to her butt cheeks, which he was reverently caressing.

''Hold this,'' he instructed on an urgent breath, shoving a handful of fabric at her. Mia grabbed a few yards of silk dress and hung on as his hand slid across her belly and down.

She shuddered as his fingers slipped under the edge of her panties to encounter wet heat. He slid two fingers deep inside her, pulling her tightly against him.

Through the slats of the door she watched with glazed eyes as the young stud lay back against the pillow. She felt the steel-hard press of Jack's erection nuzzling against her.

Her muscles clenched and tightened against his hand as he pressed the heel of his palm hard against her aching heat at the same time that he bit the back of her neck.

On the bed, the senator hiked up her skirt past her thighs and clambered onto the mattress. The stud reached for her with a hungry smile.

Please. Please. Please. Mia chanted in her head as Jack's fingers worked her body into a mindless symphony of sensation. He pushed her higher, higher, and still it wasn't enough. She wanted more

than his fingers inside her. She wanted him inside

her now.

The senator flung her leg over her young lover's hip and sank down on him slowly. The guy was panting in earnest now. Mia knew just how he felt. She couldn't look away. Couldn't stop watching.

She let go of the silk fabric and fumbled behind her, forcing a hand between their bodies, struggling to pull down Jack's zipper. An almost impossible task considering how erect he was.

At her touch, he stiffened, his whole body coiled as tight as a spring. Mia kept her gaze fixed on the tableau in front of them, while she diligently worked to free Jack. Don Juan's hands clutched the senator's hips as she moved over him.

Jack finally helped her with the recalcitrant zipper. Mia braced one arm on the doorjamb to keep them both upright, even while bending slightly. Her stomach swirled, her blood pumped. So dangerous. So exciting. So...frustrating! This wasn't going to work.

The other couple was moaning and panting. Mia wanted to scream.

Jack's zipper was staggering down. Mia bit back a groan. A little more, more—tooth, by damn metal tooth.

Hurry. Hurry.

Their hands bumped and fumbled together, in too much of a rush to be coordinated.

Hurry!

Finally he put an implacable hand on her back and gently pushed her forward. She went willingly, bracing one arm on the doorjamb, bending enough that he could enter her.

Now, now, now, her mind screamed. She couldn't stop watching the couple on the bed, and while she watched them, Jack slid into her slick heat like a train going through a tunnel at full speed.

Bliss.

He made a low raw, primitive sound as he filled her, moving until she could swear she felt him touch the bottom of her heart. And still, it wasn't enough. She wanted more. Wanted him to be so deep within that he'd never find his way out again. In that wild half second when all she could feel was his length, she knew that that was all she'd ever really need.

He gripped her hips and held her dead still. The sensation of their joining so intense, so sharp, neither dared move.

The couple on the bed didn't have the same problem. Their bodies slick with sweat, their groans melding into one long song of need, their bodies heaved together noisily.

Jack started to move. He kept pace with the couple on the bed. In the shadows, their lower bodies slammed together at fever pitch. Mia's skin felt on fire, her body arched and bucked against Jack's.

She watched the couple in front of her, racing toward the same conclusion she and Jack had nearly reached.

How they remained standing she had no idea.

His breath harsh, he returned his fingers to her slick heat, bringing her close, so close...

''Let go,'' he whispered in her ear. ''Come for me, sweetheart.''

Mia didn't have a choice. The climax crashed over her with such force she almost passed out. Her body arched and bucked in unison with Jack's. Her fingers clutched at the doorjamb. In front of her, the couple on the bed reached their climax and the noise covered the soft moan Mia allowed escape from her throat.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to make him stop. She wanted it to last forever.

Too much. She was going to shatter and break apart.

He continued to rock his body into hers. He prolonged her multiple orgasm beyond endurance. Mia's body shuddered and quaked under the onslaught as he let one climax roll into the next and then the next.

She didn't know where his body ended and hers began. Any second now she was going to shatter into a gazillion pieces and, come morning, Mrs. Ambassador would find Mia bits all over her closet.

''Finish,'' Mia begged.

''I'll never be finished with you,'' Jack muttered. ''Come again.''

''N—'' Yes! Sparklers and rainbows. Shooting stars and fiery waterfalls. Jack could still make Mia's earth move.

She came again, riding that last blast of sensation along with Jack, who finally surrendered and gave himself up to his own climax.

A moment later, she struggled to steal a breath, to regain her equilibrium. He held her, just held her against him, as her rioting nerves settled to a simmer and her brain went back on line.

Jack petted her breasts and stroked the sensitive skin on her belly until she managed to find a little breath and her legs could support her. A shiver ran up her spine as the silk of her dress slithered down her legs.

She blinked. The couple on the bed were dressing. Good old Don Juan had livid red scratches on his chest and his shirt bunched in his hand.

Where was he going to find something to wear—

Mia froze.

CHAPTER SIX

''We're in her closet. Remember?'' Jack whispered against her ear, guessing her thoughts. The guy walked by their hiding place and opened the door of the gentleman's closet on the far side of the bathroom door.

He felt the tremors that still shook Mia's body. Good. He pulled her against him and she rested her head weakly against his chest. If they were in bed now, she'd curl into him, her arms and legs tangled with his.

After sex with Mia had always been better than sex with any other woman. He stroked a hand up her arm, then cupped her hot cheek in his hand. She bowed her head and he felt the featherlight kiss she deposited in his palm, all the way to his toes. A shudder of animalistic, male pride wracked his body. It mattered that Mia was satisfied. No, more than satisfied—spent. Shot. Satiated.

He'd risked his future happiness getting Mia to come with him tonight. Sallye, bless her devious romantic heart, had been terrific in setting up this blind date.

Hell, he had needed Mia to get into the safe. But there were other operatives at the agency who could've done the job. It was neither difficult, nor dangerous, so any of them would have done. Except none of them was Mia.

Damn it, he ached from missing her. Everything about her. Not just the spectacular sex. He missed her quick, pithy retorts and her bone-deep sense of fair play. He missed how tight she was with money, and how generous she was to those she loved. God. He'd missed the entire Mia Rossi package.

Hell, he even got on great with her mother and her sister, Domino. Family was everything to Mia. That had to count for something.

Life with Mia had been perfect. But perfect scared him. Emotional crap scared him. Anything he wanted as badly as he wanted Mia could be taken away from him in a heartbeat. Every cell he possessed seemed confident that Mia was the one woman designed specifically for him. It was right, it was honest. Correction—she was honest. He was—what? A living lie? A man made up of half-truths and wishful thinking?

Jack tightened his arms about her, feeling the unsteady beat at the base of her throat slow back to normal. They weren't going anywhere until the other couple left the room, but Jack didn't give a damn. Now, for these few quiet, precious moments, he could hold her in his arms. Could inhale the subtle orange blossom scent of her hair, and delight again at the feel of her soft silky hair brushing his chin.

Had she believed him when he'd told her about his real past? Was that dirt-poor screwup someone she could love? And more important, if she could, would she choose to stay? It was a risk he'd been loathe to take the first time around. But this was his last chance to catch the gold ring.

In a few minutes he'd check the all important disk, and then he and Mia would straighten themselves up and go downstairs. They'd have a pleasant dinner, a little dancing, and then he'd take her home. Home to his place. His stomach clenched at the thought of convincing Mia that he truly had been that foster kid before becoming the Jack Ryan she thought she knew. He'd given her a little of the information on the phone when he was pretending to be Davis Sloan—and she'd changed the subject. Jack was tempted— No. He wouldn't lie to her. Not this time.

He'd filled his bedroom with dozens and dozens of the pale yellow roses Mia loved, and had placed groupings of slender white candles around the room. A bottle of her favorite French chardonnay was chilling on ice, and he'd stocked up on chocolate-covered strawberries, hideously expensive and out of season, but one of Mia's favorites. She'd bitch about the expense, but she'd be happy, too.

Jack appreciated the finer things in life. Contrary to his bio, nothing had been handed to him on a plate. He'd had to work hard for what he had. Had to struggle to maintain the lifestyle while he clawed his way to the top of the financial heap. Money was to be spent, and he did. He wasn't going to apologize for enjoying the finer things in life. And he didn't have to divulge his real background if he didn't need to. That part of his life had been buried. Obliterated. Thanks to Uncle Sam. And penny-pinching Mia, who had often gotten on his case at the way he'd spent his money, would've felt a whole lot different if he'd ever admitted that he'd been even poor as a kid. But he hadn't wanted her

pity.

There'd never been any reason for him to dig up the corpse of who he'd once been.

Until now.

He glanced at his watch. Barely nine. They'd be home, hopefully in bed, by eleven.

The small closet was warm, redolent with their lovemaking. He'd never forget this moment. They were on the cusp of something big. Something wonderful.

It was almost a shock to hear someone speaking not three feet from where he and Mia stood.

''Can't we hang around longer?'' Don Juan asked in a sulky voice as he came out of the other closet pulling on one of his host's shirts.

''No. Hurry up, for heaven's sake! My husband thinks I went out for a smoke!''

''We sure were smokin', weren't we, baby?'' He slung a cocky arm around the woman's shoulders.

Before he could dive in for another kiss, she shoved him away. ''You forget yourself.'' She finished buttoning her dress and turned to fix her hair in the mirror over the dressing table. ''Go down and warm up the car,'' she told him without turning around. ''I'm ready to leave now.''

''Will I see you later?''

''Yes. You'll be driving me and my husband home. Other than that, I'll let you know when it's convenient.'' She walked over to the window and pulled aside the heavy velvet drape. ''Damn. It's started to snow. Go down now. I'll follow in a few minutes.''

Jack tracked the guy across the room, watched him unlock the door, then open and close it. One down, one to go.

''Lunkhead,'' the woman said in a fond voice as she straightened the bedspread, then fluffed the pillows. With one last tweak to the dust-skirt, she seemed satisfied and she, too, left the room.

Silence throbbed around them for several seconds after the door closed behind her. He used those seconds to hold Mia, but dropped his arms the moment she stepped away.

She pushed open the doors and stepped into the brighter light of the bedroom. ''I'll use the bathroom while you check the disk. Then we can split.''

''Yeah,'' he said easily. ''Sure.'' You're not getting rid of me quite that easily, precious. Hang on, it's going to be one helluva ride.

At the door to the bathroom she paused to look at him over her shoulder. ''What just happened between us, didn't prove—or change—anything.''

Jack found that slitty, snake-eyed look of hers sexy as hell. He had it bad. ''Then you're deaf, dumb and blind, darling,'' he told her with silky menace. ''That proved everything."

''That's always been your problem, Jack. You honest to God believe that sex is the answer to everything. Purse?'' She held out her hand. Jack slapped the small clutch he'd stuffed in his pocket earlier into her palm. ''You're too obtuse even to know there's a question.''

He walked over and locked the bedroom door again. This time he shoved a chair under it. ''I know the question, sweetheart.'' He turned back to face her across the room. ''I'm just not sure you can take the answer.''

''Neither am I,'' she said quietly as she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

For a second Mia leaned against the bathroom door without turning on the light. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What on earth had she been thinking? Sex with Jack Ryan? In a closet of all places? She shook her head, then pushed herself away from the door and fumbled in the dark for the switch.

Soft, flattering lighting flooded the opulent bathroom. It wasn't particularly flattering to her. Her hair stood up like a startled cockatoo, her blush was completely off one cheek, and her mascara had run, making her look like a raccoon. Most attractive.

Mia conducted an intense monologue under her breath as she straightened her clothing. First things first. She had to remove her bra and put it on again. How the hell had it been turned inside out while she was wearing it? Her unlucky thong was gone. Better check the floor of the closet. She didn't even remember Jack removing it. She met her own eyes in the mirror as she combed her hair. She looked, as though she'd had wild, wonderful sex, for God's sake!

''Are you out of your mind?'' she asked her reflection. Apparently yes, she was. She'd not only allowed Jack to make love to her—but she'd enjoyed it. And oh boy, how she'd enjoyed it. Staring at the rumpled woman in the mirror, Mia let her mind drift to those last few moments in the shadows when Mrs. Whozit and her trained stud had been setting the rhythm that she and Jack had followed. To those few shining moments when the whole world had been wrapped around her and buried within her. To the flash of rightness she'd felt as Jack's climax echoed her own.

''Oh, man.'' She glared at the ceiling and told herself she was the Champion Moron of the Century. ''Wonder if there's a trophy?''

She used the facilities, then dug in her small clutch for emergency cosmetics to make herself halfway presentable. Not for Jack, of course. She didn't care if she looked like a startled raccoon for Jack. After all, he was the designer of her dishabille. But she did have to exit through the party guests downstairs.

She had to wipe off the smudged mess she'd made of her lip gloss and reapply it. She realized her hand was shaking.

He made her nuts. Crazy. Insane.

Her body ached. She wanted him again. Worse. She was tempted to take him back on his terms— hell, any terms. How was that for pathetic? Or maybe she'd move up her wedding timetable. Get married in spring instead of midsummer. Date more often. Two blind dates a day—maybe three.

She'd find someone—anyone—who could light up her insides and make her laugh. Someone like Jack.

There was no one like Jack.

There never would be.

Glancing around the bathroom hoping to find another exit, Mia spotted the window. It was a nice big picture window covered in swaths of silky voile— Oh, she was tempted. Climb out of the window, just as she and her sister had done as teenagers when Sallye had grounded them. Nothing to it.

She gave it a moment's consideration. Clambering up onto the side of the tub, she looked outside. Sure they were two stories up, but there was a balcony, sort of. She could probably make the jump down without breaking anything vital.

Nah, it was snowing out there.

Breaking a leg was one thing. Lying in the snow in agony until someone found her frozen corpse was something else altogether.

She pushed open the bathroom door to find Jack standing in the middle of the room, holding a small, handheld computer. He didn't look anything like a mess. He looked as suave, sophisticated and handsome as he had half an hour ago when they'd slipped into the closet.

Another annoying thing about him, Mia thought sourly. Perhaps she should move to Alaska. Or Siberia. She'd miss her mom and Domino, but on the plus side there'd be no Jack—

''Please tell me that's the disk we were supposed to find,'' she said as she walked into the room, her brain still playing with possible escape routes. Maybe Tahiti? Bora Bora? Somewhere hot. Yes, somewhere hot and sultry.

Jack was hot and sultry.

Damn.

It all came back to Jack.

''Yeah, this is it.'' He held up the innocent looking, but highly sophisticated, custom-built PDA to show her the list of names and numbers on the display, then closed it and tucked it into his breast pocket. ''In fact, I do believe we have something even more compelling here than we first suspected.''

''Good,'' Mia said briskly. She didn't work for Uncle Sam anymore, but she was happy they had what Jack had come for. Now she was ready, more than ready, to split. ''Let's get the hell out of Dodge.''

''Mind if I use the bathroom first?'' Jack asked laconically.

''Be my guest. I'll go downstairs and say my goodb—''

''Running, Mia?'' That stopped her. ''I don't run.'' ''You always run. You ran the first time we had a minor disagreement. You ran like hell when you realized what we had.''

''And what was that?'' she asked tightly, forgetting the trivial and zooming in on the crux of the matter. ''Interesting sex? A job we could do together?''

''That and a whole hell of a lot more. Let me go in here, and then we can trot downstairs for a little champagne, a waltz or two—''

She folded her arms. ''You got what you came for. Leave it at that.''

''No, Mia. I didn't get what I came for. Not yet. Stay put. I'll be right back.'' And he shut the door.

Mia pulled a face at the closed bathroom door. ''I do not always run,'' she told the clothes in the closet as she searched the floor for her thong. ''Like any rational woman, I walk away quietly and with dignity when I know things have gone to hell in a handbasket— Where the hell is my underwear?''

Maybe Jack had picked it up when she'd gone into the bathroom. She heard the toilet flush and water running. Good. About time. She went over and removed the chair from under the bedroom door handle, then went and stood in the middle of the room to wait for him. Just to show him that she didn't run. ''Come on, Jackson! Get the lead out.'' ''That's my girl, always anxious for me,'' he said as he stepped out.

Yes, indeedy she was. ''Dream on, Romeo. Come on. Let's— Someone's coming again. Good God. This bedroom is like a railway station!''

They heard soft footfalls outside the door and turned as one for the bathroom. The bathroom with an emergency escape route. Too late. As the door started to open, they zipped back into the closet, which was closer.

Trapped again. In a tiny room that was starting to feel way too much like home.

If this was another tryst, Mia didn't want to hang around to see what acrobatics these two might have planned. She shot a glance at Jack, and almost laughed out loud at the expression on his face. Because two men had come into the bedroom.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Fortunately, or unfortunately—depending on how one looked at it—these two weren't lovers. There was no doubt that they were muscle, despite the formal black suits, white shirts and ties they wore. They spoke in rapid Afrikaans, and it was clear to Jack the latest arrivals were in the bedroom searching for someone.

It wasn't going to take the goons long to spring the closet door and find the two someones they were searching for standing there like hookers in church.

Now, how to explain what the hell they were doing in the closet when there was a perfectly good bed not twenty feet away?

Jack grabbed her hand, pushed open the closet door, and walked into the bedroom. ''Come on, honey,'' he told her in a coaxing voice. ''Embarrassed or not, these guys were going to find us in there.''

It was a toss-up as to who was more surprised by their sudden emergence from the nether regions of the closet—Mia or the two goons who spun around, weapons drawn.

''Whoa!'' Jack said, putting up his hands even as he took the step necessary to block Mia's body. The fact that they weren't already bleeding was a good sign. It showed that these guys either wanted information, or they were actually considering his lame excuse. Mia's stunned expression was helping in that department.

The other possibility, he quickly realized, was that they might want to avoid the messy evidence of two bleeding bodies. It couldn't be because they were afraid of someone hearing the shots. There were silencers affixed to the muzzles ensuring that no one outside of this room would hear a thing if they did decide to use their weapons.

''What're you two doing in here?'' the one on the left demanded in a thick accent. The unibrow was a nice touch for muscle. The Heckler & Kotch USP pistols gripped in their hamlike fists gave Jack pause. These two didn't even have to be good shots to blow him and Mia to kingdom come.

Jack's own custom Smith & Wesson 1911 with its Hogue grip rested comfortably in the small of his back. Mia's .22 was in the purse she held clutched in one hand. They wouldn't even clear leather if these two decided to open fire.

So, since he couldn't shoot his way out of this mess, Jack did what he did best—talked. And hoped to hell Mia would chime in like she always had. They hadn't been called the best team in the business for nothing.

''Come on, guys. A little slap and tickle isn't grounds for getting shot, is it?'' he asked easily. The two men stood between them and the exit. Behind Jack and Mia were the three doors. The closet doors, and the one leading into the bathroom.

''Oh,'' Mia moaned, leaning into Jack even as she pulled her purse, with the gun inside, closer to her shooting hand. She managed to look slightly embarrassed. ''Can we get out of here now, Jack? I'm...not really in the mood anymore.'' She shot him a fulminating glance. ''I told you we'd get caught.''

''Relax, honey. They won't tell.'' The second man, greasy yellow hair in a bouf-fant-on-top-long-on-the-bottom mullet, waved Mia away from Jack. ''Stand over there, lady. Keep your hands where we can see them.''

''Good grief,'' Mia said sweetly. ''Afraid I'm going to smack you with my little ol' purse?'' But she obediently moved a few feet away from Jack and kept her hands up. ''My mother always said some day the Sex Police would come. I guess she was right.''

Jack noticed with approval that she'd managed to unsnap the little pearl clip on the small purse for easy access to her weapon. Hell, she could reach inside and fire right through her purse. The hell with pulling it out.

''That's up to these two guys, darling. Well, fellas, what do you say? Now that you've caught us in flagrante delicto, may we go?''

Both men kept a wary eye on Jack, clearly believing Mia to be no trouble. Jack resisted smiling. Mia in a temper was a sight to behold. They had absolutely no idea that she was the really dangerous part of this team. He kept his expression bland, and mildly respectful. These guys were obviously low on the food chain. He didn't want to do anything to set them off.

''Gimme the disk.''

''Disk?'' Mia asked, feigning puzzlement.

Unibrow waved his H&K at Jack. ''The disk you took outta the safe in the wardrobe.'' He waved his weapon wildly in the direction of the closet behind them.

How the hell did they know that anything had been removed from the safe? Jack wondered. While he and Mia had been voyeurs had someone been watching them? Not that that little detail mattered right now.

Jack shrugged and said, ''Didn't see a safe in there, pal. We just dashed in there to avoid being caught in an embarrassing position. Hey, man, can we put our hands down now? This is—''

He saw the punch coming and moved his head in time to avoid it, at the same time he brought his raised hands down in a neat chop to the guy's gun hand.

The gun stayed clenched in the meaty fist, and the guy swayed but didn't fall. Jack sharply jerked up his knee, knocking out a few of UniBrow's teeth in the process. Damn. The dry cleaner was going to bitch about the blood on his fine wool pants come Monday morning.

In one continuous motion, Jack grabbed the guy by the hair, pulling him upright. Unibrow came surging up like a monolithic tidal wave, grabbed Jack's throat with both hands and shook him like a rat. Blood poured from the guy's mouth and the missing teeth made him look like a demented seven-year-old on steroids.

Jack bit his tongue a couple of times before he managed to seize his opponent's right elbow from underneath and turn rapidly to release the guy's hold. He followed that with a chop to the man's bull-like neck.

Uni rocked back on his heels like a drunk trying to look sober, and it was only quick thinking on Jack's part that he stepped away before Uni grabbed a leg and turned him over like a frigging turtle.

Mia used her long legs to kick Mullet-head in the jaw with full force while he was watching the stuffing being beaten out of Uni. He crashed onto the edge of the bed with a very surprised expression on his face.

''See what I mean, Jack?'' she said, only slightly out of breath. ''You're a crappy liar.'' She removed the .22 from her purse and got a solid two-handed grip on it. ''And everyone knows it—'' Weapon raised, she spun on Mullet-head who'd immediately staggered to his feet, his weapon aimed at her heart. ''Would you quit pointing that thing at me? It's damn rude.''

They stood there like cartoon characters. Four pissed off people, four weapons. Eight steady hands.

Who was going to yell chicken first?

''Tell you what, guys,'' Jack said, knowing the odds, and knowing he wouldn't risk Mia. Not even for his country. ''Let's all just put our toys down and call it a draw, huh? Whaddya say?'' His prime directive was to get this disk to HQ. More important was getting Mia out of the mix.

''Give us the computer disk,'' Mullet-head snarled, ''and you can go.''

Yeah, right. The good news was the ambassador apparently wasn't in on this. The bad news was they were standing here at gunpoint.

''If we only had the disk,'' Mia said, ''we'd be happy to oblige. As it is...'' She shrugged.

Jack glanced at Mia, noticed she suddenly looked shorter, and realized she'd kicked off her shoes. She wanted to be barefoot for the five-yard dash to the closed bedroom door. Only problem was, she'd get shot in the back before she made it. He gave her a warning look.

''Remember when we went to that cute cabin in the Poconos for the weekend last year?'' Mia asked in a dreamy voice. Scary when she was standing there, feet braced a shoulder's-width apart, arms extended, and holding a fully loaded weapon aimed at a man's balls.

Cabin? Yeah, he remembered. They'd fought like two hellcats in a bag over her wanting to get married, and him wanting things just the way they were. Pissed, and with nowhere to run to, Mia had locked herself into the bathroom. And hadn't been able to unlock the door. Opting not to break it down at midnight, she'd had to...climb out the window.

No way. They were on the second floor. Snow was flurrying out there. They weren't dressed for the weather—

''Yeah,'' he warned. ''You were stupid.'' Her beautiful eyes widened. ''Stupid?'' she asked dangerously.

''Stop dickin' around,'' Mullet-head snarled, taking a step closer. ''You two are pissing me off. Give us the disk. Now."

''Do you have a disk?'' Jack asked Mia.

''Nope. You?''

''Na-ah.''

''We don't have this disk you want. Sorry.'' Mia took a step back. Since both men were watching Jack with eyes like raptors, she took another. These two weren't likely to chase them down the stairs and through the house. Not in front of hundreds of witnesses. There were only two ways out. She preferred to do it through the nice warm house with lots of people around. They could dump the disk and retrieve it later— ''Look,'' she said into the thick silence, ''this is really freaking me out. Why don't you call the ambassador or his wife? They've both known us for years. They'll vouch for us.''

''Don't know them. Don't care. I'm givin' you to three to hand it over. One. T—'' Lying bastard. He shot Jack on two.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jack flew backward, crashing into the wall behind Mia with such force his head bounced twice before he slid down to the floor in a boneless heap. Stunned, unable to catch his breath, he sprawled with his head on the wall and his body stretched out on the floor, beside the bathroom. What in the hell had just happened?

He blinked to clear his vision. Other than the screaming pain in the back of his head, his arm felt arctic cold and the breath was knocked out of him. He still couldn't figure out quite what had—oh, christ! That hurt!

The pain from the bullet wound in his left shoulder suddenly hit and he gasped like a fish out of water with the shock of it. But the white-hot agony in his upper arm wasn't what concerned him.

Mia. Where the hell was Mia? Struggling to rise, he fell back, dizzy and still incapable of dragging in a lungful of air.

Then the fog in his brain lifted and he heard her yelling. He smiled in brief celebration that she was all right, then rolled his head enough to see Mia and the two men. The men had their backs to him— apparently, they no longer considered him a threat. Thanks for the vote of confidence! He watched Mia's face as she berated them. She was on a tear.

And while she kept them occupied— Where was his own weapon?

''Low-life, lying pieces of crap! When you say you're going to count to three, you're supposed to count to three. Or maybe you can't count— Is that it?

''Shut up, lady.''

She paid no attention. ''Let me show you. One, two—'' She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.

There was a pop followed by a shrill scream of agony. Jesus Christ! She'd blown out Mullet's knee cap!

Nobody was more surprised than Mia.

She'd never been a big fan of guns, though she'd been trained and coached on the range until she was a decent, if not always accurate shot. But as far as he knew, she'd never pulled the trigger on a human target. He looked at her with new respect.

''Oh my God,'' she said big eyed and stared at Mullet who—after catching sight of his own blood— grabbed his leg, which required him to drop his weapon. The gun skittered behind Jack as Mullet collapsed on the floor with a bellow in a tangle of bedspread and bright red blood.

''My bad!'' she said unsympathetically. ''I was never very good with firearms.''

Jack had to get to Mia before the Unibrow got over his surprise and started shooting back. Ignoring vertigo and nausea, he pressed a hand over his own sticky wound and crawled to his pistol a few feet away. He tried to pick up the gun with his right. He couldn't get a good grip. Damn it to hell. He tried again. His hand was red, slippery with his own blood, his grip iffy. He scrubbed his palm on the carpet, got a better grip and staggered to his feet. When he'd started this little adventure it was to prove to Mia that they were made for each other. It wasn't supposed to be a dangerous assignment. Just a prelude to what he wanted to do and say later at his apartment.

''Stop moaning,'' Mia ordered the guy clutching his shattered kneecap. ''You started this, remember? I always did find it hard to judge the amount of pressure to put on the trigger.'' Then she lifted her gun and focused on the wounded man's partner. ''You better not make me nervous,'' she warned. ''If I'm nervous, there's no telling what I might do and you already shot Jack and that doesn't exactly make me like you, you know.''

''Shut up!'' Uni yelled, his cheeks puffing in time with his angered breathing.

''Being rude is not going to improve my mood,'' she chided. ''I'm still not finished punishing you for shooting my fr—''

''Shut up!'' he tried again. ''Shut the hell up!'' Uni scratched his temple with the butt of his weapon in sheer frustration. Jack knew how the man felt.

Mia was having none of it. She continued to berate the guy as if the guns were mere props.

Unibrow tried to shut her up by talking over her. He'd shoot a man without provocation, but apparently was loathe to shoot a woman. Or so Jack hoped. Keep him talking, sweetheart.

Stealthily Jack walked up behind the man, then quickly struck him sharply on the back of the head with the butt of the pistol still clutched in his right hand. Unconscious, the man went down like a sack of potatoes.

''About time, I was running out of nonsense,'' Mia said briskly. ''What can I do to help?'' She talked a good game, but her skin was pearly white, her eyes worried, as she scanned his bloody arm without seeming to.

''Two choices,'' Jack told her, retrieving Uni's weapon from his limp fingers then straightening with difficulty.

''The first one being I check that wound,'' Mia told him briskly. She pulled back the lapel of his jacket to see the damage and whistled. ''Ow.''

Jack gave her a lopsided smile. ''Slight understatement, but yeah. We aren't hanging around here though. These two are going to wake up pretty soon. When they do we've got to be across town.''

''First let me just find something to dam up the bleeding, okay?''

''No time. Come on.''

She shook her head, already headed for the closet. ''I'm not coming to identify your body in the morgue, Jack. Half a minute won't make any difference. Keep an eye on those two while I find something.''

''Make it snappy.''

She disappeared back into the closet. Jack glanced at the two lumps of lard on the floor. Not a lot of action from these two, although Uni looked as though he was thinking about waking up soon— ''Get the lead out, sweetheart. Grab whatever it is you— Geez, not again! Bathroom. Now!''

The footsteps approaching were heavy, in motion, and close. Odds were, this time it was the good guys coming in response to the noise. And, by the sounds of it, excited party guests followed in hot pursuit.

This was not where they wanted to be seen, nor something they could be associated with. Time to split.

Jack grabbed Mia by the arm with his good hand and hauled her helter-skelter out of the closet, then whipped her into the bathroom. He slammed the door behind them, locking it just as he heard men's voices at the door to the bedroom.

Mullet was stretched across the doorway. His presence would give the arriving cavalry pause, at least for a bit of time.

''Your wish is my command.'' Jack raced to the sunken tub, clambered in, slipping on the slick, pale pink marble, and shoved aside the sheer, miles-long draperies concealing the window.

''I was kidding, Jack! Kidding. We're two stories up.''

He grabbed her hand and hauled her in after him. Not the kind of romantic after-dinner soak he'd anticipated. He shoved open the window. Half the fairy fabric of the drapes fluttered out and drifted on the night breeze. The air coming in was arctic cold.

A shoulder slammed into the bathroom door with a loud thud. The lock was flimsy, wouldn't hold long. Another thud. A foot this time by the sound of it. Jack grabbed Mia by the waist and pushed her toward the window. She hooked a leg over the sill and slipped from view. He held his breath and hoped to God he wouldn't hear a thud as her body hit the patio below.

''There's a ledge about six feet under the window. What are you waiting for?'' she growled, out of sight.

Indeed. Jack slung his legs over and dropped. He hated heights. Heights in the pitch-dark when it was snowing, and when he had a bullet in his shoulder, he hated even more.

Mia grabbed his hand as he joined her on the narrow, snow-dusted ledge. ''Don't look down.''

No problem.

Her fingers, gripping his tightly enough to cut off circulation, felt warm and steady and so damn right.

''Shuffle about ten feet to our left,'' she said, through chattering teeth. ''There's a balcony over there. I think if we climb up—''

Suddenly a chunk of stone flew off the facade of the house right beside Jack's ear. Someone was firing at them. At least their assailant couldn't see them any better than they could see him.

But their assailant was standing inside a nice warm room. Not balancing on tiptoes on a fourteen-inch ledge dusted with snow.

It was pitch-dark. Snow fell softly against his face. He pressed his back against the wall behind him and placed one foot firmly on the ledge before he picked up the other one. Mia was moving across their narrow balance beam at the speed of light.

''Not afraid of heights, are you?'' Jack whispered as their feet slid in a strange kind of shuffle dance across the narrow ledge. ''Uh-uh. You?''

He swallowed hard. Not just yeah, but hell yeah. He managed to keep his tone even. ''can you see the balcony?''

''No, but I remember where it is from last time. How's the bleeding?'' Nice and warm.. ''Okay.'' ''Okay you're bleeding to death, or okay it's stopped?''

''Okay, can we please climb up that balcony and get inside?''

''Tell me if it gets bad. Don't lie to me ever again, Jack.'' ''I won't.'' ''Promise?'' ''Yes.''

Silence as they shuffled sideways several feet, the only sound the crunch of their feet and their breathing. ''Were you really in the system?'' Mia asked very softly.

''Yes.''

''Why didn't you just tell me all that before, Jack?''

''Because you were falling in love with the man you believed me to be. I didn't want to jeopardize that.''

''You were afraid that I wouldn't accept who you really are?'' She sighed. ''Oh, Jack.''

''Mia?''

''What?''

''Much as I want to finish this all-important con-versation...have you noticed that we're precariously perched on an inch-wide piece of building twenty-five feet off the ground in the pitch freaking dark?''

There was a long pause. ''The balcony isn't here.''

''What? You said—''

''I think it's on the east side of the house. This must be the south.''

Jack squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment. ''We have to go around a corner.'' It wasn't a question.

A chunk of the building fell with an ominous thud, to the ground far below them. Jack froze. The

scrape of feet. Heavy breathing. He held his breath. Nope. Not his own breathing. crap.

Someone else was on the ledge with them.

CHAPTER NINE

Mia's stockinged feet were numb with cold, but impending frostbite was the least of her problems. She cast a worried glance to her right where she could hear, but not see, Jack beside her. His breathing was labored. His footsteps unsteady.

This was completely insane. What were they thinking climbing out of the window like that? Jack was bleeding like a stuck pig, and neither of them was dressed appropriately for scaling the side of a house.

Snow began to blow around them in a blinding rush. Thick, fluffy blobs of icy white fell faster and faster.

To make it worse, there was at least one someone else on the ledge with them. Left hand on the rough, cold stone wall, Mia took small, shuffling sideways steps and wracked her brain for a solution to their dilemma.

In the snow-blanketed garden below them prowled the ambassador's security force, as yet unaware of the drama being played out directly above their heads. But they'd likely wise up soon. Then how long before they joined their pals up here on the roof?

Even if they could figure out a way to slide down a drainpipe, or swing down on a nonexistent vine, that would be a bad idea. Hard to look innocent and innocuous if they landed bleeding to death in the garden.

The solution would be to find a window—unlocked of course—and climb inside. Then they'd slip out a back way somehow.

While the answer seemed simple enough, Mia knew nothing in life was that simple. It was winter. Windows would not be left open on a night like this. Besides, nobody left windows unlocked anymore.

And the simple truth was, she was terrified Jack would bleed to death up here on the ledge while they went around and around the upper floor of the house like moons orbiting Jupiter.

When she'd pulled back his jacket to gauge the damage of the bullet wound she'd been alarmed at the amount of blood staining his nicely starched white shirt. She shied away from thinking about the hole in Jack that lurked behind that stain. He needed to be in a hospital, and he needed to be there now. Between climbing, teetering and balancing in the snow, she was certain his condition was deteriorating right along with the weather.

What to do?

A bullet gave answer to that question. There was no sound beyond a muffled whoosh from the silencer. The shot went wild, thank God, but the shooter, pinpointed by the muzzle flash, was too close for comfort.

They needed to haul ass. But to where? And how?

''Don't return fire,'' Jack warned in a low voice. ''Our only advantage right now is they can't see us, while we have at least a vague sense of where they are.'' His fingers felt along the wall between them for her hand. ''How're you holding up, sweetheart?''

He was close enough for Mia to feel the heat off his body and to smell the hot metallic scent of his blood.

''Been better.'' She paused as three more wild shots were fired in rapid succession. Terrifying in the darkness to see those ominous flashes, hear the whispered ricochet of a bullet pinging off the snow-covered roof. If this kept up, the ambassador's roof would be leaking come spring. ''What are our options here, Jack?'' she demanded urgently.

He grunted in pain. ''Much as I'm enjoying our togetherness, I'd prefer to do it at my place. Let's not keep circling. So that leaves in, up or down. First option calls it. Speed it up though. This guy's going to be tripping over us PDQ.'' The first available option was up. ''I don't t-think so, Jack.'' Mia said through chattering teeth. She gripped the narrow metal bar of a ladder in one hand. The ladder was attached to the side of the house and went from where they were standing on the ledge...up. How far up, she had no idea. She cautiously felt down below the ledge with her foot, while hanging on for dear life. But there was no corresponding escape route snaking down to the ground below them. ''If we go on the roof there might not be a way down,'' she felt compelled to point out.

''Like there's a way now?" he demanded. ''Yeah, fine. But in the movies, the idiot heroine always goes up when she should be running away.'' He chuckled and, despite her fear, it was good to hear him laugh. ''But the heroine always lives, doesn't she, darling?''

''Good point. But how will you manage with your shoulder?'' ''I'll manage.''

A flurry of shots lit up the area. Mia could actually see the guy's face as he realigned the muzzle in the right direction.

Shouts from below. Slender flashlight beams aimed toward the facade of the house. crisscrossing. Searching. Scanning. Not reaching this high. But people below were coming out of the house now. Voices. Shouting. The crunch of booted feet on gravel.

''Jesus,'' Jack hissed. ''It's a three-ring circus down there. Fire escape ladder. Go. Go. Go!"

Mia went. She could practically feel Jack's hot breath on her feet as she climbed. His hand gripped the next bar before her feet left it.

She clambered up onto the flat roof, Jack a heartbeat behind her. His breath sounded ragged. She couldn't begin to imagine the pain he was enduring. Snow reflected a little light. Not much, but enough to see various dark shapes of household systems lying on the rooftop like the humps of prehistoric beasts. ''Now what?'' she whispered, rubbing her arms uselessly. God it was cold. The snow was falling faster now. Soft and icy on her face. ''Jack?''

''Yeah. I heard you.'' He wasn't shivering, Mia noticed. That wasn't a good sign. ''Hang on a sec.'' He turned and kicked at the top of the ladder. He kicked again. Hard. And again. Harder. Once more, and the top of the ladder detached from its moorings with a screech. It didn't fall, but arced three feet away from the rooftop. No one was going to be coming up that way.

''Good thinking.''

Jack staggered as he came back to her side. Mia wrapped her arm about his waist, her mouth dry with fear as she got more of his weight than she'd bargained for. She too staggered before she braced herself.

''Let's double back to the bedroom.''

''What if the guy I shot is still there?''

''If he's stupid enough to still be hanging around, you can shoot him again. I have his weapon, remember?''

''Fine. Okay. Let's go.'' She didn't care where or how, just that she had to get Jack downstairs and to a hospital. If it meant spending the rest of her natural life in a jail cell convicted of espionage to accomplish that goal, so be it.

The noise of activities far below muffled their footsteps as did the snow. Their long legs were in sync as they ran back the way they'd come.

''About here?'' Mia paused on the edge of the roof.

''Farther.''

They ran. The roof, icy slick, made their progress dangerous and painstaking slow. The ground security forces were well behind them now, still searching the side of the building they'd been on moments before. Or possibly already on their way up to the roof. The bad guys who'd been a lot closer would find a way up here soon.

Heart in her throat, Mia saw the bathroom vent sticking up at the same time Jack did. ''Bingo. Hold onto me for a sec—'' When Jack grasped her arm with his good one, she leaned precariously over the side for a look.

She pulled herself upright. ''The window's still open. It's about eight feet down. I think if we lower ourselves, we can stand on the frame and swing into the bathroom. Ready?''

''You are, aren't you?'' he asked, his voice thick. ''Are what?''

''Ready,'' he repeated. ''You're ready and rarin' to go.''

''Uh, yeah,'' she said. ''So what's the holdup?'' ''Just one thing before we head back in.'' ''Jack,'' Mia shot a glance at the ground below. ''Now really isn't the time for a chat.''

''It's the perfect time for one of our chats, darling.'' He grinned, then winced as he shifted to take hold of her despite the wound in his shoulder.

''Jack...'' She tossed another quick look behind them.

''Mia, marry me.''

She almost got whiplash turning back to him. ''What?'' ''You heard me.'' ''You're proposing now?" Jack stared at her and his heart kicked into a wild gallop. He'd been afraid of saying the words for so long and now that he'd said them, they felt... right. He loved her. He'd missed her every damn minute she'd been out of his life. Even the action was no fun without her.

But God only knew, he was braced for her to shoot him down in flames. He lost all feeling in his body as he prepared himself for the worst. What the hell could he say to convince her? How could he beg her to stay? What would make her stay? ''I love you, Mia.''

''Careful. I may fall off the roof.'' ''I'll dive right after you.'' She stared at him for a long minute, brushing falling snow out of her eyes. ''You're only asking because you think we're going to die and you won't have to go through with a wedding, aren't you?''

''No. I'm proposing now because I'm ready to live. I'm asking because without you, I might as well let that unibrow guy shoot me stone dead. I love you, darling, and God only knows I need you.

Hell, even the job is no fun without you beside me, keeping me on my toes.''

''You're serious.''

''Damn straight.''

He pulled her hard against him with the arm wrapped about her waist, then he crushed his mouth down on hers. His mouth was a liquid furnace. Hot, savage, hungry. A bolt of fire shot through her body as she stood up on her frozen toes to kiss him back with everything that was in her. Jack could take her from frozen to flashpoint in two-seconds flat.

He slid his hand up the back of her neck and tunneled his fingers through her damp hair. She wanted to curl into his warmth, stay in his arms forever—

''Jack,'' she murmured against his mouth, ''I love you—''

''How perfect is that?'' His voice was whisper soft as he nibbled her lower lip. Hungry little nips that caused her body to respond instinctively. Her hands tightened about his neck. Against her midriff she felt the hot seep of Jack's blood soaking through the thin silk of her dress.

''Just one more—''

''Stay right where you are,'' a rough voice said out of the darkness.

Mia froze, her mouth still locked with Jack's. The muzzle of a pistol ground into her temple. Wouldn't you know it? He'd finally proposed and she was going to die before she could say yes.

She'd always known Jack would be the death of her.

CHAPTER TEN

''Hand over the disk, or I'll shoot the girl.'' The man's voice was thick and guttural. And horribly familiar. ''This time I'm not gonna give you the courtesy of countin'.''

''You're going down,'' Jack snarled. To Mia, not Uni. He hoped to God she got it, because before either she or the man with the gun at her head knew what was happening, Jack pushed Mia out of the way and spun around. In a lightning-fast move, he grabbed the guy's beefy right shoulder with his left, weakest, hand. Then Jack jerked Uni off his feet with the other arm around his thick neck and pulled him down to the snow-crusted rooftop.

They both went down hard. Jack saw sparkles as he fell on his bad shoulder. His wound screamed. Before the other man could recover, Jack straddled the bastard with his weapon in the man's face. Uni didn't make a peep.

Though he would have enjoyed putting a bullet into the guy, he settled for the alternate use of his weapon. Jack popped him one on the side of the head and the guy went limp beneath him for the second time that night.

A good thing since reinforcements were thundering across the flat rooftop like wildebeest on the Savannah. ''Go. Go. Go!" Jack yelled to Mia.

He grabbed her by the arm. Damn it, what was taking her so long? ''Brace yourself!'' he shouted and swung her over the edge of the roof, still gripping her arm.

Mia bent her knees and then dropped over the side of the building. She dangled as she felt for the edge of the open window with her foot. She was grateful for how tightly Jack was gripping her wrist, and very glad she couldn't see the ground. Where the hell was that window? Her entire body swung like a slow-moving pendulum from side to side.

Side...to...side.

The skin around her wrist stretched painfully and she knew Jack was holding her full weight while lying prone on the very edge of the roof above her. This must be hurting him a hundred times worse than it was hurting her. Come on, damn it. Where was the—

There! She released the breath she'd been holding and brought both feet to rest on the solid frame of the window ledge. ''Got it,'' she whispered up to Jack as she steadied herself on the precarious perch.

''Then get in and get out of my way— Damn!"

Mia heard the shots the same time Jack did, followed by heavy, muffled footsteps of several people running toward their position full speed, weapons blazing. Nice and subtle. Not.

''Move it, Jack! You're not getting out of marrying me this easily. Get down here!'' With more haste than skill, Mia swung herself into the open window, then turned to lean out and help him.

His feet came in first, followed by his long body. With the propulsion of a guy being shot out of a cannon, he landed with more enthusiasm than finesse. His trajectory sent them crashing and sliding into the pale pink marble tub like beached whales. Arms and legs tangled.

But they were alive.

Jack looked up from his position of head smashed between her boobs. His face was sweaty, his skin parchment-pale, eyes shadowed with pain. But he grinned as he stroked a finger down her cheek. ''Hello, darling. Come here often?''

Mia laughed, and boy, it felt good to laugh with Jack again. ''Idiot. Come on. Let's get the hell out of here before everyone comes flying through that window.''

They untangled their limbs and got out of the tub with some difficulty. Compared to their run across the rooftop under fire, this was a piece of cake. Mia closed the window firmly, locking it, while Jack went to scope out the bedroom.

Empty. Their friends had taken their toys and disappeared. There was a blossom of a bloodstain on the carpet right in front of the door. Mia shivered and averted her gaze.

She found a white shirt for Jack and helped him into it; his own shirt was soaked with dark red blood. The wound in his shoulder still seeped at an alarming rate, and he was sweating, while Mia still couldn't feel her extremities from the cold.

She tucked a small, folded hand towel against the wound, helped him button the shirt, then slipped his jacket back on.

''What's the plan?'' she asked, slipping on the shoes she'd kicked off what seemed like days ago. She winced and worried her frozen toes would snap off.

''First we find a convenient bedroom to muss up—just in case we have to explain our absence. Preferably something on the other side of the house. Then we saunter downstairs as if nothing happened and walk out.''

He talked a good game, but she wondered if he'd be able to walk down the hall, let alone ''saunter.'' Then she remembered that this was Jack Ryan, a man who wouldn't know the meaning of ''quit.'' ''That easy?''

''You bet.'' He opened the door with a decidedly shaky hand. ''Let's do it.''

''I'm not going to have to carry you, am I?'' she asked, trying not to show just how concerned she was.

He gave her a crooked smile. ''Maybe over the threshold later.'' Threshold. Wedding. Marriage. She grinned at him. ''Stay put,'' she told him casually. ''I'll go find another room to muss and come back for you.'' She expected him to protest. It worried her even more when he didn't. ''Don't be long.''

Mia flew down the landing. Hearing the chatter of party guests and the clinking of glasses from the floor below was surreal. She forced herself to slow her steps and go as far down the private corridor as her nerves could stand before opening a bedroom door. It only took a moment to rumple the bedspread and punch the pillows. Then she raced back down the corridor to where she'd left Jack.

She found him slumped in the chair near the door. He was clearly struggling to stay conscious, but he opened glassy eyes as she stepped in and closed the door behind her.

''Ready to rock?'' she asked, helping him stand with difficulty.

''Call, Robert. Have him come upst—'' Oh, God. He wanted his driver. This was bad. Really bad. ''Phone?''

''Inside p-pocket. Speed d—eigh—eighteen.'' He fell back into the chair and closed his eyes.

Mia knelt between his spread legs and patted his pockets looking for his cell phone. Her fingers were clumsy with panic, but she found the tiny phone, flipped it open and hit 1 8. It rang. And rang. And rang. ''As long as you're kneeling there...'' He lifted one eyebrow. Mia shook her head. ''You're impossible.'' ''Insatiable,'' Jack licked dry lips. ''Help me up.'' He slung his arm around her neck. ''Whoa! Steady t-there.''

Mia staggered on her high heels under his weight. ''You outweigh me by eighty pounds, pal.'' ''All muscle.''

''Yeah, between your ears.'' She wanted to distract him from what must be nearly mind-numbing pain. She kept him teasing as she guided him down the hall to the stairs.

''Is that any way to talk to your future husband?'' ''Mom always said to bend a man's twig in the direction you want him to grow.''

He chuckled. ''Twig bending? Sounds pornographic.''

''Then you should love it.'' ''Wanna see my twig?'' ''It's my twig now, buster.'' ''True. My twig is your twig.'' They made it down the stairs. Barely. Jack's hard head was the only thing keeping him upright. And they still had to get across the large room to the front door.

''And where have you two lovebirds been?'' Sandy asked archly. She was standing right at the foot of the stairs, a finger of brandy in her glass and a plate of canapes in her other hand. ''Where's that dance you promised me, you rat?''

''Rain check, beautiful,'' Jack gave her a sleepy grin. ''I have to get my girl home before she turns into a pumpkin.''

Sandy grinned. ''Is your sweetie a little smashed?''

Mia gave the other woman a meaningful look and wrapped her arm more tightly around Jack's waist making sure his side was tucked against hers.

''Drunk on love, Sandy. I'll call you in a couple of days.''

''One more dance before we go,'' Jack insisted, wrapping both arms around her. It took all Mia's strength to hold him up.

''We'll dance at home, honey.'' She refused to let him stay here where he could bleed to death on the polished parquet floor.

By the time they reached the front door, her dress was saturated with Jack's blood and her arms were screaming for mercy. Fortunately they looked the epitome of a romantic couple as they clung to each other wordlessly. Thank God no one stopped to talk.

''Don't you dare die on me, Jack Ryan,'' Mia growled as someone let the front door swing open in their wake. ''Don't you dare." The door closed leaving the two of them standing under the portico. A limo, several yards away, flashed its lights.

Robert. Thank God.

''You're marrying me,'' she told Jack sternly. ''I want the whole nine yards. Flowers, preacher, music, bunny hop, everything. Besides, I have about sixty-five years of flack to give you for this blind date from hell. So don't take the easy way—'' He sagged against her. ''Oh, thank God,'' Mia breathed a sigh of relief as Jack's driver stepped up and grabbed him from the other side. ''I think he fainted.''

''Passed out, darling. Passed out. Men don't faint, for God's sake. And I haven't,'' Jack muttered as Mia and his driver folded him into the back seat of the car. ''You're going to remind me about tonight every year on our anniversary, aren't you?'' Jack asked as the car flew down Massachusetts Avenue and away from Embassy Row.

''And twice on Sundays,'' Mia told him sweetly, cradling his head on her lap and brushing back his hair.

Jack sighed. ''Good.'' Eyes closed, he stroked her leg. ''I have candles at my place. And champagne on ice. I wanted to do the whole proposal thing right—''

So he'd known he was going to propose before their evening had even started. ''Are you kidding?'' she asked. ''A proposal in the snow, with bullets flying and bad guys chasing us across rooftops? What could be more romantic than that?''

He smiled against her thigh as Robert stepped on the gas and headed for the hospital at illegal speeds. ''I always knew you were my woman, Mia.''

He rose up awkwardly to kiss her. Mia bent her head to meet him halfway. ''And don't you forget it.'' Their lips met with aching tenderness.

''Gonna pass out now,'' Jack warned as his head dropped back to her lap and his eyes drifted shut. ''Don' go, 'K? Love you...all my life.''

''I love you, too, you impossible man. Rest now. I'll be right there when you wake up.'' And she was. As Jack had known she would be.