Whispered Lies

She went rigid at the disgust in his voice. As if he couldn’t stand the sight of her.

“Move. Now!”

Gabrielle stumbled trying to hurry to the bathroom, but caught her balance. His curse followed her into the room so she slammed the door. Childish, but it still felt good.

Her body was far from perfect, but he didn’t have to act so revolted that he ordered her to get out of his sight. She should be cheered by his lack of interest, not insulted.

The bugger was probably angry she realized he’d become excited lying on her. She refused to feel bad about her body. Other men had found her attractive.

One anyhow. A jerk.

Gabrielle shook her head at the direction of her thoughts. She was a prisoner with more problems than wounded vanity. Turning around, she scoped the bathroom, made of stone, teak, and glass. Slate tiles covered the floor and walls of the shower not encased with glass.

The oversize Jacuzzi tub in white marble with pink and gray veins matched the sink counters. Taupe and gray tiles covered the walls not hidden by teak cabinets.

And a wide-screen television monitor.

Someone with money ran this operation. Who, and what did they want? Trepidation shivered over her skin. Her gaze landed on her backpack, sitting next to the base of the cabinets.

What about her laptop?

Well, if he’d tried to access anything on it last night, he’d have had a nasty surprise.

Gabrielle gave the possibility of escaping through the bathroom a brief evaluation, but even if she had her laptop in hand, the windows were narrow, horizontal jobs with fixed glass.

She rubbed her arms, sca

She leaned her hands on the sink, fighting despair. She could do this. Linette needed her to be strong. Gabrielle had to regroup and plan. Going through everyday actions lent a hand to her confidence, but this was not an average day.

Get showered and dressed first. Find her laptop.

Then be ready to run.

CARLOS STEPPED INTO a pair of jeans, careful as he drew the zipper closed to prevent putting himself into any more pain. He jerked the tank top over his head and snatched up the cotton shirt he’d left on a chair last night, shoving his arms through the short sleeves. He buttoned the front of his shirt on his march to the laundry room.

What was he thinking last night?

That he was a freakin’ ice man?

More like the iron man right now.

Should have locked Gabrielle spread eagle on the bed and slept in another room.

She might not have rested, but he would have.

No, she wouldn’t have. Every time she’d started moaning, he knew a nightmare was tearing her up. All he had to do was take her in his arms to calm her down. She was so exhausted she never even woke each time he’d slide her back onto the bed at his side. By midnight, he couldn’t listen to her cry out in fear again and desperately needed a few hours’ sleep himself so he lifted her over his chest and clipped their wrists.

She slept like a babe the rest of the night.

Better than he had with the lush curves of a warm female draped over him.

Next time he got another brilliant freakin’ idea like that one, he’d just slam a door on his hand. Couldn’t be any more painful than watching her jump up from the bed in all that red silk and lace this morning, knowing he couldn’t touch her. He must have been wiped out last night to think she was just sweet or cute.

That body had been made for hot sex, hours of it.

And he’d been disgusted with his lack of physical control.

She had to think he was a roaring bastard after yelling at her, but goddammit. He’d spent half the night trying not to think about how unbelievably pliable she felt in his arms.

He’d spent the other half of the night not touching her.

She better damn well be smiling the next time he saw her.

Fat chance of that.

Not after snapping at her to get in the bathroom, but every man had his limits.

There she’d stood, wearing sex-on-the-floor red he couldn’t touch and wanted to so bad he doubted his family jewels would ever get over the disappointment.

Gabrielle needed to get dressed and keep all that skin covered up. The minute this op was over, he was taking the leave he’d turned down the last three times.

One long, hot, physically draining week of R and R should trim his baser needs and return the level of discipline he was known for.

Carlos lifted her T-shirt and warm-up pants out of the dryer, where he’d stuck them last night. He’d left the clothes washing while he’d sewn up the gashes in his arm and side. Right before he’d fought for thirty minutes with the freaking e-mail that would not load up and send. He stopped by the office to check, and, no, the e-mail had not gone through.

He hated technology on the best of days. Laying her clothes on the desk, he closed the program, reopened it, and loaded the e-mail, which went through without a hitch. Damn fickle thing.

The coffeemaker he’d set last night gurgled with the last drops of water through the system. He looped her clothes over his arm and walked back to the kitchen. When he stopped at the sink to pour a cup of coffee, Carlos gazed out the windows, facing a serene view from the rear of the house. Fog hovered over trees blanketing the mountain range. The peaceful moment helped him reorient his mind and priorities.

After chugging a couple gulps of coffee, he set the cup on the black granite counter. Exhaustion was as much at fault for his libido breakout as not having a woman in a while, but he was rested and better under control.

So he shouldn’t make the mistake of giving in to his conscience again, which tossed out ideas like kissing her to take the sting out of his words. But she was the reason behind the edge in his voice to begin with, so why was he suffering this stab of guilt?

Because he’d barked at her like a tyrant for not moving all that hot body out of his view when the real problem was that he wanted her and couldn’t have her.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and face. She was not a guest here. Might as well establish their positions from this point on. The worry he’d indulged last night was understandable, the same he’d have felt for any woman who had been through yesterday’s ordeal. And things could have been worse for her if Joe had sent an armed team to haul her off in the middle of the night.

Gabrielle had put herself in the middle of this somehow. Not him. He’d saved her ass. That ought to count for a few points toward forgiveness.

Besides, he was the freakin’ ice man from here on.

She was a prisoner until Joe determined her status.

Carlos paused. Joe and Tee didn’t release any prisoner back into society as a free person. That was standard for anyone who learned the identities of BAD agents, and before this was done, Gabrielle would see more agents than him.

He shook off a twinge of remorse over what would happen to her. He had a duty. American security depended on how well he performed.

And Gabrielle had information on the Anguis that could jeopardize the lives of loved ones he’d spent his life on the run to protect.

Carlos headed to the bedroom, ready to see her as he should-a detainee waiting for interrogation.

A screeching alarm blared as he entered the room. A

As he reached over to hit the off switch, the door to the bathroom opened and Gabrielle rushed out, holding a towel in front of her, not wrapped. Her hair hung in wet links around her shoulders. She looked refreshed. I

Like a rain nymph.

“Clothes?” She squeezed out that one terrified word.