Hard to Hold Page 3

  “Stop growling my name like that. You know I don’t respond well to reprimand. Do you remember the time I—?”

  “Just. Tell. Me.”

  “Fine. They found the remains of some kind of device.”

  He choked on a mouthful of coffee. “Good God! A bloody bomb.”

  “No! I knew you’d overreact. Some kind of remote-ignition thing to start the fire, and don’t look at me like that. I have a fire-alarm system that is second to none, so the damage was confined to the exterior stairs. Anyway, I suspect the intention was to scare rather than to harm.”

  He needed her to focus on him, not some damned imaginary crumbs she was pretending to brush into her cupped palm. He set his coffee mug on the side to keep from launching it through the wide window at the end of the kitchen, just to get her attention. “Did it work?”

  Her back still to him, she tossed him a cheeky grin across her shoulder. “What do you think?”

  He wasn’t fooled by her bravado, not for a second. Didn’t she know her eyes dulled to the color of storm clouds when she was anxious? Had he ever told her?

  He risked stepping closer. “I think you’re scared but just about irresponsible enough to believe you are invincible and can handle this on your own. What else has happened, Anna?”

  She turned to face him, and a frown immediately creased her brow. Clearly she was less than happy at him closing the gap between them. He didn’t give a shit. Anna was in trouble, and she needed to admit it.

  “Well, Will got all bent out of shape when some boy racer tried to run me off the road… And then someone sent me pizza. I couldn’t eat it because of the anchovies, but Sid nibbled and was pretty sick. I thought we were going to lose him.”

  He pinched the top of his nose and dropped his eyelids for a moment. Jesus, how could he have forgotten? Talking to Anna was like being catapulted into a parallel universe where nothing made sense. “Who the hell is Sid?”

  “The office cat. The vet said he might have ingested some kind of poison. And before you ask, no, Will doesn’t know, either about the pizza or the fire, but the police do. Which reminds me. I’ve a little confession to make, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  His eyes snapped open. “What have you done?”

  She rubbed carelessly at her arms, seemingly chilled despite it being a heavy, humid day. “Well, I had to give them a list of known associates who I may have upset in the past. Your name was on it.”

  Fuck. His boss, the Commander of British Intelligence, was going to love that. “You accused me of trying to kill you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Give me a time frame, Anna.”

  “That was a fortnight ago.”

  Odd. “I haven’t had a visit, which I should have by now.”

  Her hands fluttered in the air, as if searching for answers. “They’ve probably been busy.”

  “That long a list, was it?”

  “Don’t be nasty…but yes, it was. I may be a reformed activist now, but some people have extremely long memories and are very unforgiving. You’re one of them. And you may as well know the police have asked for a second list, specifically naming any disgruntled lovers I may have had.

  “Terrific, now I’ll make it onto both lists and when they cross-reference—”

  “I’ve refused to give them that particular list. I prefer to keep my personal life private,” she interrupted quickly.

  Thank God for that. “Pissing someone off enough for them to try to kill you overrides any desire for privacy. If you don’t want to give the police the list, then give it to me. I’ll do some checking.”

  “I’m still working on it.”

  And the metaphorical knife she’d lodged in his gut twisted again.

  …

  It didn’t bode well for anyone when Nick vibrated like that. Most wouldn’t even detect the miniscule disturbance to the air, but Anna had always been hypersensitive to his moods.

  “If a list of your former, disgruntled lovers needs that much thought—”

  She raised her hand, palm vertical as if to halt his flow. “Don’t go there, Nick. You don’t have the right.” She wasn’t about to share with him the fact that his was the only name to make it onto the second list.

  Unsurprisingly, likely due to the warning edge in her voice, he moved the conversation to slightly more neutral ground. “I’ve watched the CCTV footage of your fall. It’s a moot point as to whether you were pushed.”

  “Well, I sure didn’t trip.”

  “You were wearing the most ridiculous stilettos.”

  She seized the opportunity provided by his censorious comment to take shelter. Shoes, after all, were a subject on which she was an expert. The numerous pairs choking every one of her many closets bore testimony to that. “I know, and they’re ruined. Pity, they were quite unique. Vintage—”

  “Do you think you can focus for one minute?”

  Pretending nonchalance was proving too hard, so she dropped the act. “No. I don’t want to. I don’t much like the idea of someone in a snit with me.”

  “An alleged poisoning, a fire, and last night’s possible attempt to break your neck are a little more serious than a snit.”

  “I know, but I’m hormonal, so I’m having difficulty thinking straight.” Now why did she have to go and let that slip? Nerves tauter than piano wire, she waited for him to call her on it, easing free a relieved breath when he held his silence. But she wished he wouldn’t crease his brow like that. It meant he was thinking, which made him dangerous.

  “What do you mean you’re hormonal? You never were before.”

  Busted!

  She should have known better than to hope her slip of the tongue would escape his notice. But that didn’t mean she had to share the intimate workings of her body with him. He’d given up that privilege five years ago.

  She forced what she hoped was a casual laugh. “Look, I don’t need your prying or your help. I’m already on first-name terms with half the detectives at the local precinct; I’ve even dated a few of them.”

  “I’m not interested in the finer details of your love life, Anna.”

  Yeah, he was. Which was why she’d deliberately dropped that nugget of information. Nick Marshall was fiercely possessive. Always had been. It was his flash point. No one got to take away what was his. Even if he didn’t want it anymore. He’d box it up, lock it down, store it somewhere cold and dark. She should know. That’s what he’d tried to do to her.

  And she’d just lit his fuse deliberately. To get him to leave. The look he gave her was arctic.

  “I’d forgotten how irritatingly blasé you can be about the chaos you wreak.”

  Okay, he wasn’t moving. She could huff at her bangs and fiddle with the ragged ends of her short black bob all she wanted, Nick wasn’t going anywhere without full disclosure. Time to give him more information so he’d have a bone to chew on and might finally leave her alone. “I knew you’d find a way to make this my fault. I didn’t ask to become some schizophrenic’s obsession.”

  He drew his strong brows together in thought, the black-ops agent taking over. Yes. “What do you mean by schizophrenic?”

  She reached for a royal-blue presentation box that had been tucked away in a corner of the counter, under a pile of junk mail, and pushed it toward him. “First, he sends me flowers—always yellow roses which, as you know, I hate—and other extravagant gifts. Then he turns all grim reaper on me, and now we’re back to gifts again.”

  He raised the lid, his eyebrows soaring when he registered the probable cost of the delicate, retro, platinum Rolex. He didn’t say a word as he lifted it clear, his long fingers tan against the impossibly pale precious metal, and flipped it to see the back of the casing.

  With little she could do about the speed of blood chasing through her veins, she held her breath instead.

  “Why the hell’s it got ‘Thank you’ engraved on the back?


  “Beats me.” She shrugged, snatching back the timepiece and slamming home the lid of the box. She could just imagine the nasty suspicions dirtying Nick’s mind. “And that’s all you’re getting. You can be irrational when it comes to someone else trespassing on what you mistakenly consider your territory.”

  “Consider yourself safe then. I gave up any claim over you long ago, and I’m not looking to restake one.”

  “Excellent, because I don’t need two dysfunctional beings messing up my life.”

  Just as in the old days, the combustion was appallingly instant. He’d bruise, she’d scratch right back, leaving the air heavy with waves of hot resentment, swollen with angry accusation and guilt.

  She recognized the familiar danger, and judging by the blue glitter in his eyes, so did he. Once, he’d have had her up against a wall by now, his hands tearing at her clothes. Hers at his. Tempestuous makeup sex that had never solved a damned one of their issues.

  They stared at each other in the long, drawn-out silence, her afraid to breathe—him too, judging by the absolute stillness of his chest, the way his knuckles whitened as his long fingers curled his mug more tightly. Long, talented fingers that had once danced across her skin. Seeking, finding, playing, little wild fires igniting as he trailed his deliberately erratic path. Fingers so fiendishly clever they’d teased her inside and out, until she’d lost all sense of time and self and hadn’t cared.

  She clasped her thighs together and then, swallowing thickly, stepped back a pace, no longer chilled but rather seared bone deep.

  “Looks like some things never change,” he said softly. “You got yourself back under control yet, Anna?”

  Her cheeks heated as if slapped. “Go to hell, Marshall.”

  “Already there, and I prefer Nick. We had an agreement, remember. Christian names only. Our stand against the anonymity of that god-awful foster system.”

  Whether he’d intended it or not, his words tossed her into the past. Suddenly, they were Nick and Anna of old again, two discarded kids defiant against a cold and uncaring world, naively believing that together, they alone held the power to fight back.

  It was a relief to laugh, even shakily. Some of the stiffness ebbed from her spine. She was ready to bet a part of his anatomy wasn’t giving up the fight quite so easily.

  Oh, God, he’d caught her furtive glance, and he wasn’t the slighted bit disconcerted by his telltale bulge. Heat slapped at her cheeks as he slow-grinned at her.

  Flustered, she hooked back into the relative safety of idle banter. “I hadn’t forgotten. Although when we were kids, I once spent a week trying to persuade everyone that in future I was to be called Grace. You undermined my campaign.”

  “Anna Key suited you. You broke every rule, leaving chaos and anarchy in your wake. God, it drove those social workers insane. How many foster homes did you get us chucked out of?”

  “Only two. The other four expulsions were your fault. You caused a riot every time they tried to split us up. Remember?”

  It started with the tiniest of twitches, then, as if he’d concede defeat just this once, he smiled the smile he’d always reserved for her alone. His lips parted naturally rather than just tipping at the corners in a sarcastic grimace, to reveal the strong, even teeth behind them. And it was like watching sunlight advance and shadow retreat. “It’s not something I’d forget, Anna…”

  A warmth she hadn’t felt in an age whispered across her skin. This was the Nick she’d fallen for. With his emotional barricades down, he promised love. Trust that would never waver. An eternity of patience and blame-free forgiveness.

  Believing him, she moved closer.

  “But the truth is, I liked rioting. You just assumed it was because of you.”

  She immediately edged back. “So why’d you calm down when they brought me back?”

  “Exhaustion.”

  Because it sure beat the humiliation of crying, she laughed. His answering half smile, empty of promise this time, tightened her throat. As did the long, searching look he settled on her as if reaching for her soul.

  “What the hell happened to us, Anna?”

  His almost-a-whisper squeezed the air from her lungs. Nick Marshall did not do regret. She let the silence hang before sharing what had taken her years to accept. “Guess we finally worked out we didn’t need one another anymore,” she said with a shrug. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

  Her efforts to resist and get rid of the one man with the power to decimate her completely weren’t going as planned. She was too close to the brink of allowing him to mesmerize her again. To fall for that “something” about him that had captured her imagination as a child and then excited a young woman with nothing on her mind but the need to be up close and intimate with something dangerous.

  “Come on, Anna, for old time’s sake if nothing else, trust me. Tell me the truth about what the hell’s going on and what you think started it.”

  For old time’s sake? Her frown deepened to a scowl. He was playing her. And damn him, he’d always known which string to pluck. But not this time. She was older now and so much wiser when it came to self-preservation.

  The bottom had fallen out of her world when they’d split. Being married to a man all ice on the outside but volatile as all hell underneath had threatened her sanity. But having him love her, and loving him back, had been worth a tango with madness.

  Right up until he’d turned his back and abandoned her.

  She’d reeled from the shock for months, only pulling herself together with a promise that no man, especially Nick-bloody-Marshall, would ever wield that degree of power over her again. No, he could take his sneaky ways of lulling her toward self-destruction and strangle on them.

  And if there was one surefire way to get him to take to his heels, though she might live to regret it when he came back—as she knew he would eventually, even if just to punish her—then what the hell, she’d use it.

  “It started right after I received confirmation that I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter Three

  Anna, pregnant?

  It wasn’t surprise that had driven Nick out of her home without a word. It was appalled disbelief. And he’d bloody near fallen down that ladder of hers in his bid to escape.

  Making the acquaintance of a full bottle of whiskey hadn’t helped a damn. Not when it had meant having to reassure Mrs. Briggs, his weekly cleaner, that no, his normally pristine house hadn’t been ransacked, at least not by home invaders.

  Turning in for work, despite not being rostered to do so, with a hangover from hell the following morning hadn’t been a smart move either. He’d wanted an update on the police investigation and, without finesse, had stomped all over protocol to get a copy of Anna’s case file. A territorial war had broken out, furious complaints had been lodged, and he’d received a dressing-down from the Commander, the likes of which he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Not exactly the first warning he’d ever received, but certainly his last if he wanted to keep his job.

  Jeeeesus H. Christ. Anna, a mother? His palms sweated every time he thought about it. Of her with another man’s kid. A kid that had things—no, had he—been different, should have been his.

  His knuckles ached from where he’d put his fist through the wall after he’d found out.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why the hell he should care. He certainly hadn’t found any answers at the bottom of the bottles he’d drained before pitching that escape route out as a dead loss. And God help him if Anna ever found out he’d called in a private security firm to watch over her. Teutonic plates would shift at the fit she would pitch.

  But the ex-intelligence men employed by Fortress, the civilian security operation owned and run by his former commanding officer, Jack Ballentyne, knew how to be discreet.

  Footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond his office. A curt knock and his door sprung open, no polite wait to be invited in. Will entered, a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “I’
ve heard a little whisper that you’ve put Anna under surveillance—bloody hell!”

  “Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Nick said drily, watching as Will scanned the seven-foot-square, interactive screen displaying the highlights of his investigation to date.

  “The Commander’s gonna have your ass if he catches you running renegade, mate.” He grinned devilishly before sobering and removing his sunglasses. “Need any help?”

  “I’ll let you know if I do. In the meantime…” Nick jerked his head toward the door in an unspoken order for his friend to leave.

  True to form, Will pretended too-stupid-to-live. “Might help if you listed under her personal profile the fact that she’s pregnant as the possible trigger for kick-starting events,” he said, giving a single nod at the screen.

  Nick shot him a filthy look. “You knew?”

  “About her going the AID route, yes. That it had worked, no. At least, not until yesterday when she called.”

  “AID?”

  “Artificial Insemination by Donor. Anonymous in Anna’s case.”

  Nick clenched the muscles in his cheeks to stop his jaw from hitting the floor. Anna was effortlessly gorgeous. She exuded sex appeal the way a permanently erupting volcano spilled lava. He’d automatically assumed…hell, he didn’t know what he’d assumed, but it sure hadn’t involved a scientific procedure. And he refused to even consider the possibility that it was relief body slamming the breath from his body. “You might have told me earlier. I was up half the night digging through her love life trying to ID the father,” he grunted, his voice tight.

  “Then small wonder you’ve stalled. Anna doesn’t do romantic interludes. You put her off for life, and I should know. She shot me down in flames, and you don’t want to know how many other poor buggers littered the ground when I crash-landed.”

  Nick reached for the black palm-held stress ball on his desk.

  “But for what it’s worth,” Will continued, pretending not to notice. “I think she’ll make a great mother.”

  Before he could stop himself, Nick threw the ball against the far wall of his office. It splatted, then dropped to the floor with a soft thud. “You have got to be bloody kidding. The whole idea is ludicrous. Insane. Anna’s the most disorganized, scatterbrained…Christ, she’ll forget she’s got a child and leave it in a supermarket somewhere, and the poor kid will starve. She can’t cook for sh—”