Black Tie: HOT Heroes for Hire: Mercenaries: A Black’s Bandits Novel Page 11

  Whoever had readied the house had chosen the room for her when they’d placed the clothes in the closet, but it was the correct room. Small, with one dormer for access, and at the rear of the house. Of course it had been a BDI operative who’d done it. Ian left nothing to chance.

  Brett blew out a breath and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. Tallie was up there now, getting ready for bed. Removing her sweater and bra, perhaps putting on a T-shirt to sleep in. Her breasts would be free beneath the shirt, her nipples rubbing the fabric.

  He could have had his hands on her breasts. His tongue. Hell, he could be balls deep inside her right this minute if he hadn’t gotten all noble about her decision-making ability.

  Brett shook his head and stifled a groan. She’d tasted so sweet. He’d wanted more. But it had only been a few days since her ordeal, and she’d been drinking. What if she woke up in the morning and regretted it?

  He’d had the impression she was doing something to prove to herself she could, not because she really wanted to do it. That wasn’t a reason, in his book. He refused to take advantage of a weak moment, no matter how much his body responded to her.

  What the hell had he been thinking to tell her if she wanted sex tomorrow, he’d give her all the sex she could handle? He didn’t typically sleep with the women he was protecting. It was a bad idea for many reasons, not the least of which was that sex clouded judgement. He didn’t need his judgement clouded. He needed a clear head and he needed to focus on the assignment.

  Heinrich von Kassel was still out there. Paloma Bruni and her kind were still out there. Tallie Grant might be in the clear, but she might not be. They simply didn’t know yet.

  He thought of what she’d said to him about looking like a good time. He’d let that get to him more than he should. She’d been lashing out, he knew that—but it was an uncomfortable echo of something Julia had said to him when he’d told her he was filing for divorce. He’d asked her why the fuck she’d chosen him in the first place since she obviously didn’t care for anyone but herself. She’d shrugged and said that she’d thought he was the kind of guy who could show a girl a good time in bed.

  His entire fucked up marriage summed up in one blithe phrase. And now Tallie had said it to him tonight, and he’d been more pissed than he should have been.

  After one last look at the village, Brett walked back inside and locked the door behind him. Then he banked the fire and threw himself onto the couch, grabbing the remote and turning on the television. He spoke tolerable German, but he surfed around until he found an international news station in English and settled back to watch what was happening in the world.

  Occasionally, he heard Tallie moving around upstairs, but he didn’t think she was really all that tired anyway. She’d slept part of the afternoon away in the car, not to mention all the sleeping she’d been doing while on the drugs, so he figured she was more awake than she’d wanted to admit.

  He hadn’t slept nearly as much as she had and the long day started to get to him, making his eyelids droop. He finally lay back on the couch and let it happen, dropping off into the kind of sleep from which he’d wake quickly if anything happened.

  He’d always been a light sleeper. Something he’d probably learned as a little boy waiting for his mother to come home. He’d lain awake at night, trying to sleep, but unable until she’d come crashing inside at some ungodly hour, either with or without a man in tow.

  Until the night when she’d brought home a man who’d strangled her after he’d had sex with her. Brett would never forget that night. Still saw it in his dreams sometimes. Still felt as helpless as that little boy who’d been freezing his ass off and hoping his mother would wake up even when he’d known she wouldn’t.

  Brett startled awake, sweat breaking out over his body. He lay still and dragged in air, wondering what the hell had triggered that memory. That dream. Because he had been dreaming. About that night.

  About the man who’d killed his mother and then left without closing the door. He hadn’t known Brett was there. What would he have done if he had?

  Killed him too, naturally. Brett sat up, scraping a hand through his hair, and swore. He’d definitely been dreaming about that night. It wasn’t real. Not now. It was long in the past, and nobody was going to strangle him in his sleep.

  “I’m sorry,” a soft voice said. “Did I wake you?”

  Instinct told him to reach for his weapon. Common sense told him he was in a house in Bavaria and the voice belonged to Tallie.

  “It’s okay,” he said, his voice rusty. “I need to find my bed. This couch isn’t going to cut it.”

  “Oh. Of course.”

  It occurred to him that it was strange she’d be there, standing halfway between the stairs and the couch, her body clad in what looked like flannel pajamas—there went his fantasies of thin T-shirts and nipples poking through the fabric. But it wasn’t strange in the sense he needed to draw down and prepare to fight.

  “Is everything okay, Tallie?”

  “Well, actually—no. The radiator in my room seems to have stopped working. It’s getting cold. I was coming down here to sleep on the couch.”

  “You can take my bed,” he said automatically. “I’ll stay here.”

  “But you just said you weren’t comfortable.”

  “Not on the couch. I’ll sack out on the floor. It’ll be fine.”

  Tallie came closer, the glow of the fire illuminating her pale skin. And those pajamas. He saw now that they were Christmas elf pajamas. Somebody in BDI had a sense of humor. It wasn’t that damned close to Christmas. Though on the other hand, it was close enough and the pajamas were probably plentiful in stores.

  Tallie must have noticed him staring because she dropped her gaze. Then she looked at him with a sheepish smile. “They’re warm, even if a bit ridiculous.”

  “They look warm. I wonder if I have any upstairs?” He said it to make her laugh. It worked.

  “Did someone think we were planning a pajama party or what?”

  Brett shrugged. Damn he was tired. Still. “You never know, I guess.”

  “You can’t stay here, Brett. Take your bed. I’m shorter than you are and I can sleep on the couch. No problem.”

  “It would be a problem. I can’t protect you if I’m upstairs and you’re down here near the door. Why do you think I have the room closest to the stairs and you have the one farthest?”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “It’s not your job. But it is mine.” He levered up off the couch. “I’ll have a look at the radiator. Maybe it’s stuck or something. If not, you’ll take my bed and I’ll sleep here.”

  She followed him upstairs. He went into her room and over to the radiator that sat beneath the window. It wasn’t as hot as it should be. In fact, it was growing cold. He twisted the dial, but it was all the way open. Sometimes the valves got stuck, but that was usually when the radiators had been off for a long time. He didn’t think these had been because it wasn’t the first cold day in Bavaria this fall.

  “It’s cooling off,” she said.

  “It is. And I’m not a radiator repairman, so let’s leave it alone for tonight. You take my room. It’s a single night.”

  “I’ll stay downstairs with you.”

  He gaped at her. “Why?”

  She dropped her gaze. “Honestly? I don’t want to be alone. Whenever I close my eyes, I hear things and see things—and I hate it.”

  He stared at her. How could he argue with that? He understood where her fear of being alone came from.

  “You slept alone in the palazzo.”

  “I know. But the room was big, the ceiling tall. I didn’t feel quite as confined. Here… I feel claustrophobic. I can’t help it.”

  She looked around and Brett followed her gaze. The room was small with walls that seemed to close in. With the lights out, it would be worse. Maybe if they’d been in the village, the street lights would help. But it was very dark up above the villa
ge.

  Brett sighed. “All right. Let me see if I have any Christmas elves to wear and we’ll go downstairs. You can have the couch. I’ll take the floor.”

  “You can use your duvet as a mattress. It’s very fluffy.” She grabbed hers off the bed and dragged it with her. She stood outside his bedroom door while he went inside and turned on the light.

  His room was spacious. There was a door that opened onto the balcony, and plentiful windows, though the blinds were down right now. The bed was a queen. He thought about suggesting they share it, but discarded the idea. Better to be on the floor while she was on the couch. Fewer opportunities to make stupid mistakes.

  Brett found sleep pants in the drawer. And damned if they didn’t have Christmas elves on them. He pulled them out with a disbelieving snort. Who the hell had readied this house? Whoever it was, he felt like they were playing a heck of a joke on him.

  He turned to Tallie and held up the pants. She laughed.

  “Oh my God. That’s so cute. It’s like we’re newly married and ridiculously nerdy or something.”

  Brett shoved the drawer closed with a grumble. “Ridiculous is the correct word. Go ahead and go down and I’ll change and grab the duvet.”

  “Okay. Meet you by the fireplace.” She disappeared, but then popped her head back into the opening. “Should we fix cocoa and sing carols or what?”

  She was too cute with her short blonde curls bouncing and the sparkle in her eyes. He had a sudden vision of sitting beside a fire with her, drinking a hot beverage while a Christmas tree sparkled nearby and snow fell outside the windows.

  It was such a cozy, homey scene—and it hurt deep down inside where a little boy who’d never had a decent Christmas in his life ached for the storybook Christmases like they had in movies. His mother could never afford Christmas gifts, much less a tree and lights. When he’d gone into foster care, he’d had such a shit run of foster homes that by the time he got into a decent one, he’d been too old to believe in perfect storybook Christmases. Santa and carols and cocoa were no longer anything he’d thought he needed.

  Tallie’s smile turned to a frown. “I was just kidding, Brett. Don’t look so worried that I’m going to make you sing with me.”

  He cleared his throat and shot her a grin that he didn’t quite feel. “Spike the cocoa and skip the carols and you’ve got a deal.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You can spike yours. I’m not ruining perfectly good chocolate that way.”

  She traipsed down the hall, the duvet dragging behind her. He listened to the sound of her steps as she went down the stairs. His heart still throbbed and his chest ached. What the fuck?

  With a growl, he tugged off his shoes and jeans and changed into the sleep pants. Then he grabbed his holster and extra mags and went downstairs to join the cute blonde who made him ache for reasons that didn’t surprise him—and a few that did.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tallie fixed hot chocolate because she wanted a hot beverage and she didn’t want caffeine. She’d had trouble falling asleep because every time she closed her eyes, she felt like the walls were closing in. She’d left the lamp on, hoping that would help, but it didn’t.

  And then the room started to grow cold. It had taken her a while to realize the radiator wasn’t heating. By the time she’d figured it out, she was more than ready to leave the confines of her room.

  She huddled on the couch, her legs stretched out, and sipped the cocoa. Brett lay on the floor, one arm behind his head, his eyes closed. She didn’t think he was asleep though. His breathing wasn’t deep enough.

  No, he was probably avoiding talking to her. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t over the cocoa and carols. That was such a non-issue. Maybe it was because she’d kissed him and he’d pushed her away.

  Or maybe it was what she’d said about him seeming like a good time.

  “Brett?” she whispered.

  “Yeah?” His answer was immediate, so she knew he wasn’t sleeping.

  “I’m sorry if anything I’ve said at any point today has upset you.”

  He cracked an eye open and fixed it on her. “What?”

  “If I’ve annoyed you or insulted you or something. I’m sorry.”

  Half his face was in shadow. She couldn’t quite tell what kind of expression he had at the moment.

  “You haven’t upset me, Tallie.” He said it quietly, seriously.

  “I hope not. It wasn’t my intention.”

  “You haven’t.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  She hesitated. “Do you want some cocoa? There’s more. And I saw a bottle of brandy in the kitchen, so you could spike it if you really wanted to.”

  “I think I’m fine. But thanks for offering.”

  Tallie stared at the flames. Brett had stoked the fire up again and the logs were glowing. The dark bulk of his gun and holster lay beside him, away from the fire. She’d handled the weapon today, though it’d been a long time since she’d shot a pistol, and she could still feel the weight of it in her hand.

  “Do you think we’re safe here?” she asked him, thinking about the seriousness of that weapon.

  “Safe enough,” he told her. “For now.”

  “That woman. Natasha. Do you think she knows where we are?”

  He blew out a breath. “No, I don’t. But I think if anyone could find out, it’d be her. She’s not after us though. She wants something else.”

  “Something Ian promised her.”

  He was staring at her again. “It’d be best if you forgot everything you heard her say. In fact, forget her face and her name. Forget she exists. She’s dangerous, Tallie. You don’t want anything to do with her.”

  Tallie thought of the woman who’d sat across from them in the restaurant. She’d been pretty with her dark hair and deep blue eyes. And so alone. “She seemed sad to me. And scary. I won’t deny that.”

  “I’m not talking about her so find a new topic. Or go to sleep.”

  “I’m trying. That’s what the cocoa is for. My dad used to fix it for me and Josie when we couldn’t sleep.”

  “That’s counterintuitive. Hot chocolate is full of sugar, which tends to amp kids up.”

  “I know. I don’t think he gave us much, or he made it with low-cal sweetener or something. But he’d make the cocoa and tell us stories. It was something my mother never did—but she was building her business, even then.”

  He stared up at the ceiling. “What did your dad do?”

  “He was a carpenter, but he worked at home building stuff for Mom, so he was the one who spent the most time with us. We’d go to his shop in the back yard and play with wood shavings and stuff. To this day, I love the smell of shavings.”

  “Sounds like you had a nice childhood.” He sounded a little wistful, maybe.

  “I did for the most part. Mom has always been very driven to succeed, so there were times when she chose the business over us. But she did it for us so we’d have a good life. I know that now.”

  “You would have liked more time with her.”

  Tallie frowned. “Yes. I think we all would have. Dad most of all, probably.”

  She often wondered if it was the empty nest after she and Josie had left home, and the fact her mother still worked as hard as ever, that had led to her father’s suicide. Maybe he’d expected a different life by then. Or maybe he’d just lost his way when he no longer had children at home to care for.

  Logically, she knew he’d suffered from depression and that was what caused it in the end. But she still wondered if the changes in his life had finally driven him to it. She would probably always feel some guilt about that.

  About growing up and leaving him.

  “It’s tough to lose a parent so young,” Brett said. “You think they’re going to be there for you for a long time to come.”

  She remembered what he’d told her about his mother. He’d said she was gone, but he hadn’t said when she’d di
ed. “How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  Her heart squeezed tight. “I’m so sorry. That had to be hard for you and your dad both.”

  “I didn’t have a dad.”

  He said it matter-of-factly, but she still felt like the biggest jerk on the planet. She’d made a stupid assumption based on her own life. He’d told her his mother sold her body for money, so what had made her think there was a father in the picture?

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. I don’t know why I did—”

  “It’s fine, Tallie. It’s a natural assumption. But I never knew my father, and my mother was a drug addict as well as a sex worker. When she died, I went into foster care.”

  She imagined him as a little boy, his mother gone, being shuffled into a new home with new people who didn’t know him. She had absolutely no experience with what he’d been through.

  “I shouldn’t be talking about myself so much,” she said. She was feeling the stress of the past few days and it made her chatty. Not to mention the tension between them that had her as jumpy as a cat.

  “I like hearing about your life. Talk all you want.”

  She didn’t know if he was just being polite or if he meant it. Regardless, she felt awkward. “It’s your turn. Tell me about you. How did you get into this profession—whatever this profession is?”

  “It’s not exciting. I joined the Army as soon as I was old enough. Did my time, and then Ian found me. Here I am.”

  “Seriously, that’s all you’re giving me? Your life in two or three sentences?”

  “It’s just not that interesting. I joined the Army because I had no chance of going to college without the tuition assistance a stint in the military would give me. I also wanted out of the system, and I never wanted to go back to Houston. The Army was my ticket.”

  So he was from Houston originally. She hadn’t known that. “Did you go to college?”

  “Night classes and online classes. But yeah, I got my degree, though it took me a lot of years to do it. I did four years in the Army, got my Ranger tab, and thought I was going to re-up. But I met Ian when we were deployed to Iraq, and I knew I wanted to work for him. So that’s what happened.”