Heart Of The Tiger

A slight grin pulled at Talbot’s sensual mouth. “We’re on your side.”

She frowned. “I’m not so sure about that,” she countered tersely, but she took a fortifying gulp of the drink, gripping the glass with both hands.

Talbot moved with easy grace to sit facing her on the opposite couch. Almost reluctantly, Layne shifted her attention back to Lowell. “Why are you here?”

“We’ve just had an international incident, Layne.”

She took another gulp. “So? I’m just an ordinary American citizen. Do you usually go around asking lowly civilians for help on the international intrigue front?” God, she sounded childish. But she couldn’t help it. The beaded coolness of the glass felt good against her fingertips, and Layne concentrated on that instead of on Chuck’s narrow face.

“Look, I know you’re still grieving for Brad. And we have no business coming to you, Layne. But the incident I refer to needs someone of your qualifications.”

She gave him a round-eyed look. “Specifically what in my background qualifies me for this cloak-and-dagger game?”

“You know Chinese. You were born in Japan and raised in the Far East while your father served at the Air Force bases over there.”

“So? I know you have intelligence people expert in Chinese. Let’s see, if I remember the ‘spouse training’ that the Company so generously supplied me with, you have both division offices and stations or bases for your clandestine affairs. Surely your penetration agents or specialists can get you out of whatever quandary you’re in without my help?”

Chuck held up both hands. “You’re also highly knowledgeable about the South China Sea area.”

“So are your operatives.”

Matt leaned back, assessing Layne’s role in the tense exchange. Her honey-brown eyes had darkened in anger. He mentally reviewed what he remembered of her personnel file and life history. In brief, she was a woman whose sensitivity was balanced by keen intelligence. Chuck Lowell would have to be a magician to get her to agree to his plan, Matt realized. In fact, right now he’d put money on the Hamilton woman to win. His eyes narrowed slightly. Why was she so angry with the Company? And with Lowell? He watched his boss struggle to maintain an air of neutrality beneath her scathing attack. No, she certainly wasn’t the rabbit he’d thought her to be. A slight smile tipped one corner of his mouth.

“Believe me, Layne,” Chuck was saying with fervor, “if we had any choice at all in this matter, we’d go with an operative. It’s not our policy to recruit people off the street to help us get out of a jam.”

Layne shot him a dubious look. “Then what was this man doing in my class? That was an ugly calling card, Chuck. The worst.”

Lowell remained low-key despite the strain in her voice. “I sent Matt over because he wanted to see if you were up to the rigors of this forthcoming mission.”

Layne took another hefty gulp of the drink, then directed her gaze at Talbot. Her lips parted as she saw the tenderness burning in his blue eyes as he met her glare. Why? she wondered, finding her resistance melting. Her eyes filled with hot, scalding tears, blurring Talbot’s face.

Matt eased himself from the chair, sending Lowell a sharp look. “We’ve upset Mrs. Hamilton enough, Chuck. I don’t feel she can do it. Why not leave her with what little peace she has left?”

Layne’s heart wrenched, and she lifted her chin, staring directly into those azure eyes that seemed to understand her. Careful, she told herself. He’s an agent, a robot taught to act and react, both on and off the job, showing no humanity or compassion. Swallowing tears, she choked out, “He’s right, Chuck. Why don’t you just leave? I’ve told you, I want nothing to do with you or your people ever again.”

Lowell shot Talbot a glance, then rose. “All right,” he said stiffly. “We didn’t mean to upset you, Layne. I know it’s been rough on you…”

She bowed her head. “Just leave, Chuck.”

“I’ll drop over and see if you’re feeling differently tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother,” she murmured, not looking up as the door quietly opened and closed. Layne stared numbly at her drink: most of it was gone. Oh, well, she thought. Might as well kill the pain with the rest of it. She lifted the glass to her lips.

“Take it slow,” came Talbot’s husky voice. “That was a double.”

Layne gasped, nearly dropping the glass. He stood by the door, watching her in the explosively charged silence. With a swift stride, he reached her, and his long, slender fingers closed around the drink in her hand. As their fingers met, Layne released the glass instantly, as if burned.

“I told you to leave!”

Talbot gave her a distant smile and set the glass down on the black lacquered coffee table. “You asked Chuck to leave, not me. Besides, I didn’t feel you should be left alone just yet.”

Layne stared up at him in disbelief, startled by the tenderness in his voice and eyes, as unmistakable as it was unexpected. Layne could have dealt with anger or even coldness, but not this kindness. Company men weren’t supposed to show their emotions—ever. She felt warm tears begin to trickle down her cheeks.

Matt crouched down, his hands moving to caress Layne’s raven hair. It felt like thick silk beneath his fingers. As he framed her pale face, he was struck by the pain in her luminous golden eyes. He had thought he was carrying enough of his own anguish around, but now…His brows drew into a slight frown.

She was pale beneath her tan; her skin pulled tautly across her cheekbones. And her lips…he groaned inwardly. Her full mouth could curve into a sunlit smile or tighten as it did now, with agony. Tears slid down to her soft lips, and she licked them away.

Matt opened his arms to her, drawing her forward until she rested against him. “Go ahead,” he whispered thickly against her hair. “Cry. Get it out of your system.”

The shock of seeing Chuck Lowell again had dredged up the shattered past Layne had tried desperately to forget. The instant Matt’s hands had framed her face, she’d begun to cry. His touch was so male and yet so gentle, and his firm, strong body supporting her brought forth deep, wrenching sobs—sobs she’d suppressed for months. But the arms now cradling her against him had released her from her self-made prison of pain.

Matt closed his eyes, resting his head against her ebony hair. He inhaled deeply. She smelled good—like lilac—her body warm and yielding against his hard frame. He murmured endearments to ease her heart, feeling her tremble within his arms. Layne Hamilton was a woman of great sensitivity, he thought as he stroked her hair, burying his face in the fragrant mass and longing…longing…

Layne became aware of the deep, steady beat of Matt’s heart in his taut chest. She gripped his shirtfront, her nails digging into it as her tears dampened the material to a darker shade of burgundy. His male scent was a heady aphrodisiac, awakening her dormant senses. He was, she realized, an intensely sensual man. She buried her head deeper in the hollow between his shoulder and chin as each stroke of his hand upon her hair released a little more of the old hurt from the five years of Brad’s deception.

Another feeling was woven into the remnants of her grief: Matt Talbot cared. She could almost feel an imperceptible trembling of his long, expressive fingers as they grazed the crown of her head. He was still a stranger—one whose appearance had reminded her of five years she’d fought to forget. Yet he had remained behind, somehow realizing that she needed to be held.

“It’s all right, kitten,” he whispered huskily, “you’re going to be all right now…”

A hunger for more than emotional support spread heatedly through her. The touch of his hands, his intoxicating scent and the hard planes of his body against hers unleashed a raw, aching need for closeness, for intimate contact. Unintentionally Layne nuzzled against his jaw, and she heard him draw in a deep, ragged breath. Then, trapping her face between his callused hands, he carefully lifted her mouth upward.

Matt groaned as he guided Layne’s face to meet his descending mouth. God, he shouldn’t be doing this! He knew better. But she was so warm and feminine, drawing him out as effortlessly as spring rain drew forth the first shoots from the cold, freezing earth. Her black lashes, thick with tears, were a sharp contrast to her golden skin. Her lips glistened, parting for his as he leaned down…down to claim them.

Layne uttered a small moan of protest as she felt his mouth settle firmly upon hers. But she knew it was hopeless. All common sense fled, and she folded against him as he molded his mouth hotly to her own, building a fire of longing that sent an aching need through her hungry body. Slowly she began to respond to his gentle exploration of her lips with his tongue. His breath was warm and moist against hers, his fingers imprisoning her face, tipping it to meld his mouth completely to her yielding lips.

“Let me taste you,” he commanded hoarsely.

With a sigh, Layne acquiesced, her arms lifting, sliding about his broad, capable shoulders and drawing him to her. As her breasts brushed the wall of his chest a slight gasp broke from within her. Matt’s tongue coaxed her further, cajoling her into heated participation as he stroked every moist crevice of her mouth.

Gradually Matt made himself draw back. He traced her swollen lips gently with his tongue to soothe any bruises he might have caused. Did she realize how much of an impact she’d had upon him? Her golden eyes were hazy with invitation, and Matt inhaled deeply, trying to get a grip on himself. He eased Layne back onto the chair, and in that heart-stealing moment, she seemed as innocent as a child. She reached her slender fingers up unbelievingly to touch her well-kissed lips.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Matt said, his rough voice laden with desire. She looked so helpless. He could take her to bed; he knew she would come willingly. His body was screaming deep within for her warmth, her humanity, and he was hungry for her touch. But one look into those golden eyes, now filled with confusion, and he knew: He had to do the right thing for both of them.

“We have an old saying in the Air Force for women like you,” he said huskily. A slight smile broke the planes of his lean face. “You’re heady stuff, lady. The kind that dreams are woven from.”

Chapter 2

Blood raced through Layne’s veins, pounding in unison with her heart. Matt was so close, so incredibly virile that she was slightly dizzy. Raising her hand, she touched her brow. Even as she felt him rise away from her, she mourned the loss of contact with him.

“Stay here,” he ordered gruffly, moving toward the bathroom.

Layne lay back against the chair, her eyes closed, experiencing a wild gamut of emotions. She didn’t realize Matt had returned until she felt him press a cool washcloth against her hot, tearstained face.

“Here…let me do that,” she whispered, forcing her eyes to open and taking the cloth from his hand.

Matt rested easily on the back of his heels, watching her in the comfortable silence. “Your mascara ran.”

Layne grimaced, pressing the cold, damp cloth against her aching eyes. “I probably look a sight.”