“You said you’d answer questions.”
“I did, didn’t I?” He sounded faintly disgruntled.
“So let’s start with the most obvious one. Exactly who and what are you?” She
made it sound like he was an alien artifact or a lost species of snake, which
wasn’t far from the truth.
“I think we’d better get some ground rules established. If you think I’m going to
while away the next five hours telling you the story of my life and a whole lot
of the kind of secrets I’d need to kill you for, you’re mistaken. I didn’t go
this far to protect you only to have to turn around and cap you myself. I’ll give
you … let’s say five questions, which I’ll answer to the best of my ability, as
long as it won’t put you in more jeopardy.”
She stared at him, his elegant profile so familiar and yet so different without
that mop of dark hair. His short blond hair was growing out a bit, and the roots
were darker, but not the mahogany shade his hair had been in Italy, and his
scruffy beard was brown and flecked with bits of gray, which shocked her.
“Exactly what color is your hair?” she demanded. “Your eyes, for that matter?
Sometimes you look like a complete stranger, and other times I know you far too
well.”
“My real hair, last time I saw it, was a sandy brown and I’m not wearing contacts
right now. What you see is what you get. That's two.”
“Two what?” Of course he’d end up having gorgeous eyes. The deep ocean blue of
them was almost unbelievable, but she’d somehow know they were the real thing.
“Two questions, Angel. You’ve got three more.”
“That’s not fair!” she said, outraged.
He shrugged. “You still have three questions. You aren’t going to have that
chance again, so you’d better take advantage of it while I’m still in such a
cooperative mood.”
“All right. But I don’t want you answering until I tell you it’s one of my
questions. I need to think about this.”
“Take your time,” he said affably. “We’ve got miles of highway between us and our
next destination, and your company is, as always, delightful.”
She didn’t give into temptation and call him a nasty name, mainly because she
believe, in a strange sort of way, he actually meant it. Or maybe she was just
telling herself that, but she didn’t care.
“I want to know who and what you are.”
“That’s two…”
“I told you, no answers until I tell you what my actual question is. I want to
know who James Bishop is. Who do you work for, and what in God’s name your job is
that you’d know how to kill people? Are you CIA, FBI?” She realized her first
guesses would immediately make him one of the good guys, and she quickly added,
“Or are you a criminal, which seems more than likely. Don’t answer!”
He took another drink of beer, then draped his strong, beautiful hands
comfortably on the steering wheel as they headed into the infinite flatness of
the empty countryside. His eyes seemed to be on the road but she knew he was
somehow managing to watch her. Maybe he had fabulous peripheral vision or hidden
mirrors; somehow he was acutely aware of her every expression. Which meant she
had to be more circumspect, or he’d catch her looking at him like a love-starved
kitten…
Where the hell had that idea come from? Too much beer--probably because she’d had
so little to eat in the last few days. There was no place to set the bottle, but
she needed to be careful, not let maudlin emotions interfere.
“Tell me who you work for,” she said abruptly.
Anne Stuart is a grand master of the genre, a winner of Romance Writers of
America’s prestigious Lifetime Achievement Award, and a survivor of more than
forty years in the romance business. And she still just keeps getting better. Her
first novel was Barrett’s Hill, a gothic romance published by Ballantine in 1974,
when Anne had just turned twenty-five. Since then, she’s written more gothics,
Regencies, romantic suspense, romantic adventure, series romance, suspense,
historical romance, paranormal, and mainstream contemporary romance.
She’s won numerous awards and appeared on most bestseller lists, and she speaks
all over the country. Her general outrageousness has gotten her on Entertainment
Tonight, as well as in Vogue, People, USA Today, Woman’s Day, and countless other
national newspapers and magazines.
She’s celebrating her fortieth wedding anniversary with her luscious husband, and
she lives by a lake in northern Vermont, where she enjoys an empty nest, fabulous
grandchildren, and overacting in local theater. She has so many books she still
wants to write that she plans to live forever.
Anne-Stuart.com | Facebook |
Twitter | Anne Stuart on Goodreads
Evangeline Morrissey remembers the last time she saw her husband: it was
during their honeymoon, right before he stole her elderly aunt's earrings and
abandoned her. Now, five years later, the enigmatic man who’d broken her heart
and destroyed her trust is back. But she’s not the same naive young woman who
fell for him so easily.
Marrying Evangeline and letting her think he was nothing but a common thief had
been James Bishop’s plan all along. As an assassin for the Committee, a covert
agency dedicated to stamping out international crime, he had no business even
thinking about marriage. But it was the only way to protect Evangeline after
she’d unwittingly wandered into his operation against a group of human
traffickers, placing herself in grave danger. And now that James’s vigilant watch
over Evangeline’s life has revealed to his enemies that she’s his one true
weakness, he must set out to have, to hold, and—above all—to protect his bride.
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