Her Unforgettable Royal Lover(38)

She spotted another scar higher on his chest, this one a tight, round pucker of flesh.

“And this?”

“A parting gift from an Albanian boat captain after Interpol intercepted the cargo of girls he was transporting to Algeria.”

He said it with a careless shrug, as if knife wounds and kidnappings were routine occurrences in the career of a secret agent. Which they probably were, Natalie thought with a swallow. Suddenly the whole James Bond thing didn’t seem quite so romantic.

“Your employer’s brother-in-law took part in that op,” Dom was saying. “Gina’s husband, Jack Harris.”

“He’s undercover, too?”

“No, he’s a career diplomat. He was part of a UN investigation into child prostitution at the time.”

“Have I met him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hmm.”

It was hard to work up an interest in her employer’s brother-in-law while she was stretched out hip-to-naked-hip with Dominic St. Sebastian. Aching for the insults done to his body, she kissed the puckered scar on his shoulder.

One kiss led to another, then another, as she traced a path down his chest. When she laved her tongue along the scar bisecting his stomach, his belly hollowed and his sex sprang to attention again. Natalie drew a nail lightly along its length and would have explored the smooth satin further but Dom inhaled sharply and jerked away from her touch.

“Sorry! I want you too much.”

She started to tell him there was no need for apologies, but he was already reaching for one of the condoms he’d left so conveniently close at hand. Heat coiled low in her belly and then, when he turned back to her, raced through her in quick, electric jolts. On fire for him, she took his weight and welcomed him eagerly into her body.

There was no slow climb to pleasure this time. No delicious heightening of the senses. He drove into her, and all too soon Natalie felt another climax rushing at her. She tried desperately to contain it, then sobbed with relief and sheer, undiluted pleasure when he pushed both her and himself over the edge.

* * *

She sprawled in naked abandon while the world slowly stopped spinning. Dom lay next to her, his eyes closed and one arm bent under his head. As she stared at his profile in the dim light of the moon, a dozen different emotions bounced between her heart and her head.

She acknowledged the satisfaction, the worry, the delight and just the tiniest frisson of fear. She hardly knew this man, yet she felt so close to him. Too close. How could she tell how much of that was real or the by-product of being too emotionally dependent on him?

As if to underscore her doubts, she glanced over his shoulder at the open window. Silhouetted against a midnight-­blue sky were the ruins that had brought her to Hungary and to Dom.

Somehow.

The need to find the missing pieces of the puzzle put a serious dent in the sensual satisfaction of just lazing next to him. She bit her lip and shifted her attention to the desk tucked in the alcove under the eaves. Her briefcase lay atop the desk, right where she’d placed it. Anticipation tap-danced along her nerves at the thought of attacking those fat files and getting into her laptop.

Dom picked up on her quiver of impatience and opened his eyes. “Are you cold?”

“A little,” she admitted but stopped him before he could drag up the down-filled featherbed tangled at their feet. “It’s early yet. I’d like to go through my briefcase before we call it a night.”

Amusement colored his voice. “Do you think we’re done for the night?”

“Aren’t we?”

“Ah, Natushka, we’ve barely begun. But we’ll take a break while you look through your files.” He rolled out of bed with the controlled grace of a panther and pulled on his clothes. “I’ll go down and get us some coffee, yes?”

“Coffee would be good.”

While he was gone she made a quick trip to the bathroom, then dug into her suitcase. She scrambled into clean panties but didn’t bother with a bra. Or with either of the starched blouses folded atop a beige linen jumper that had all the grace and style of a burlap sack. Frowning, she checked the tag and saw the jumper was two sizes larger than the clothes she’d bought in Budapest.

Was Dom right? Had she deliberately tried to disguise her real self in these awful clothes? Was there something in her past that made her wary of showing her true colors? If so, she might find a clue to whatever it was in the briefcase. Impatient to get to it, she stuffed the jumper back in the case and slipped on the soccer shirt she’d appropriated from Dom to use as a sleep shirt. It hung below her hips but felt soft and smooth against her thighs.

She lifted the files out of her briefcase and arranged them in neat stacks. She was flipping through one page by page when Dom returned with two mugs of foaming latte.