Soldier of Fortune. Diana Palmer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ lifted his chin. “How old are you?”

      “Twenty-three.”

      He shook his head, studying the chignon, the glasses she used for close reading and now had perched on top of her head, the stylish white linen suit she was wearing, the length of her slender legs. “You don’t look it.”

      “In about twenty years could you repeat that?” she asked. “By then I’ll probably appreciate it.”

      “What do you want to be?” he asked, persisting as he leaned back in the seat. His vested gray silk suit emphasized the sheer size of him. He was so close she could even feel the warmth of his body, and she found it oddly disturbing.

      “Oh, I don’t know,” she murmured, glancing out the window at the clouds. “A secret agent, maybe. A daring industrial spy. A flagpole sitter.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Of course, those jobs would seem very dull after working for you, boss. And do I ever get to know where we’re going?”

      “To Italy, of course,” he replied.

      “Yes, sir, I know that. Where in Italy?”

      “Aren’t you curious, though?” he mused, lifting one shaggy eyebrow. “We’re going to Rome. To rescue my sister.”

      “Yes, sir, of course we are,” she said. It was better to agree with maniacs, she told herself. He’d finally snapped. It was even predictable, considering the way he’d been pushing himself.

      “Humoring me, Miss Darwin?” he asked. He leaned deliberately past her to place the now-empty coffee cup on the tray table that was open in front of her. His face was so close that she could smell the spicy cologne he wore, feel the warm, smoky scent of his breath. As his fingers left the cup, he turned his head.

      That look caused her the wildest shock she’d ever felt. It was like an earth tremor that worked its way from her eyes to the tips of her toes and made them want to curl up. She hadn’t realized how vulnerable she was with him until her heart started racing and her breath strangled in her throat.

      “I hesitated about taking you with me,” he said quietly. “I’d rather have left you behind. But there was no one else I could trust, and this is a very delicate situation.”

      She tried to act normally. “You do realize that what you’re thinking about could get her killed?”

      “Yes,” he said simply. “But not to act could get her killed quicker. You know what usually happens in these cases, don’t you?”

      “Yes, I do,” she admitted. Her gaze moved down to his broad mouth with its lips that seemed sculpted from stone and back up again to his dark eyes. He looked different so close up.

      “I’m doing what I think is best,” he said. His fingers nudged a wisp of hair back into place at her neck, and she felt trembly all over from the touch. “We’re not sure that the kidnappers still have Martina in Italy. Roberto thinks he knows one of them—the son of an acquaintance, who also happens to own land in Central America. I don’t have to tell you what a hell of a mess this could turn into if they take Martina there, do I?”

      She felt weak all over. “But how are they dealing with Roberto?”

      “One of the group, and there is a group, is still in Italy, to arrange the handling of the money,” he answered. He let his eyes fall to the jacket of her suit, and he studied it absently with disturbing concentration. “We may do some traveling before this is all over.”

      “But first we’re going to Italy,” she murmured dazedly.

      “Yes. To meet some old friends of mine,” he said, his chiseled mouth smiling faintly. “They owe me a favor from years past. I’m calling in the debt.”

      “We’re taking a team?” she asked, eyebrows shooting up. It was getting more exciting by the minute.

      “My, how your eyes light up when you speak of working with a team, Miss Darwin,” he mused.

      “It’s so gung ho,” she replied self-consciously. “Kind of like that program I watch on TV every week, about the group that goes around the world fighting evil?”

      “The Soldiers of Fortune?” he asked.

      “The very one.” She grinned. “I never miss a single episode.”

      “In real life, Miss Darwin,” he reminded her, “it’s a brutal, dangerous occupation. And most mercenaries don’t make it to any ripe old age. They either get killed or wind up in some foreign prison. Their lives are overromanticized.”

      She glowered at him. “And what would you know about it, Mr. Criminal Attorney?” she challenged.

      “Oh, I have a friend who used to sell his services abroad,” he replied as he sat back in his seat. “He could tell you some hair-raising stories about life on the run.”

      “You know a real ex-merc?” she asked, eyes widening. She sat straight up in her seat. “Would he talk to me?”

      He shook his head. “Darwin.” He sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

      “It’s your fault. You corrupted me. I used to lead a dull life and never even knew it. Would he?”

      “I suppose he would.” His dark eyes wandered slowly over her. “You might not like what you found out.”

      “I’ll take my chances, thanks. He, uh, wouldn’t be one of the old friends you’re meeting in Rome?” she asked.

      “That would be telling. Fasten your seat belt, Darwin, we’re approaching the airport now,” he said as the flight attendant collected his cup and put the tray table up before moving on.

      Her eyes lingered on his dark, unfathomable face as she complied with J.D.’s curt order to put her seat belt on. “Mr. Brettman, why did you bring me along?” she asked softly.

      “You’re my cover, honey,” he said, and smiled sideways at her. “We’re lovers off on a holiday.”

      “The way I look?” she chided.

      He reached over and took the pins out of her coiffure, loosening her hair. His fingers lifted the glasses from their perch atop her head, folded them, and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. He reached over again and flicked open the buttons of her blouse all the way down to the cleft between her high breasts.

      “Mr. Brettman!” she burst out, pushing at his fingers.

      “Stop blushing, call me Jacob, and don’t start fighting me in public,” he said gruffly. “If you can remember all that, we’ll do fine.”

      “Jacob?” she asked, her fingers abandoning their futile efforts to rebutton her buttons.

      “Jacob. Or Dane, my middle name. Whichever you prefer, Gabby.”

      He made her name sound like bowers of pink roses in bud, like the softness of a spring rain on grass. She stared up at him.

      “Jacob, then,” she murmured.

      He СКАЧАТЬ