Chapter
Six

Drew tucked Lauren’s arm through his as they entered the embassy ballroom. He would have loved to touch more than her arm; he had wanted to ever since she’d appeared in that dress, but for tonight she was his new stepmother, not the tempting, headstrong bundle of nervous energy who both liked and despised him.

He dipped his head so Lauren could hear him over the buzz of the ballroom. “If we get separated, don’t leave this room with anyone, even if he turns out to be your mysterious Romanian.”

She looked panicked. “You said you’d stay with me.”

“I won’t let you get far, and I won’t take my eyes off you. But he might not approach you if I’m right beside you.” He scanned the crowd for familiar faces. “Do you think you can remember all those people Gerald drilled you on?”

She shook her head firmly. “I don’t think so. Sometimes people don’t look like their photographs—”

“Meg, you sexy devil! I haven’t seen you in ages.” Lauren was whirled from Drew’s arm and into the embrace of a tall, sandy-haired man. “I told you to marry me, but did you listen? No, you married that old coot, instead. He might have more money, sweetheart, but I have more stamina.”

Drew crossed his arms and regarded the man tolerantly. “Hello, Senator Pierson.”

“Drew Creighton! Nice to see you! Where’s that old man of yours? I must challenge him to a duel for the hand of this fair maiden.”

Drew worried for a moment, but Lauren freed herself from Senator Pierson’s embrace and picked up on his hint without hesitation.

“Paul, who are you kidding?” Lauren said, kissing the man’s cheek. “You don’t give a damn about fair maidens. And if you thought I qualified you wouldn’t have your lecherous paws all over me.”

Very good. She’d done better than he hoped.

“Ha! You’re right about that. I like my women bold and experienced. So where is that sly old man of yours? I can’t believe I had to hear about your wedding on the news.”

“He was called away on business,” Drew said.

Pierson’s eyes never left Lauren. “Is that so? Well, it’ll serve that irresponsible son of a bitch right if I steal his woman. Come on, Meg. Let’s do a round on the dance floor before I get too loaded to see straight.”

Lauren allowed herself to be swept off without as much as a backward glance. Drew frowned, grabbed a drink from a passing waiter, and found a spot where he could watch from the sidelines.

She was easy to keep track of on the dance floor. His eyes were drawn to her smooth, flowing movements no matter how many couples came between them. He wasn’t the only one watching, either. Word of Senator Creighton’s new wife passed quickly through the room, and Drew noticed several heads turn her way. Or maybe they were as mesmerized by the attractive, laughing young woman as he was.

She looked more relaxed every second. What had happened to no-nonsense, sensible Lauren? He took a long drink of champagne and clenched his jaw, noting which people seemed most interested in Lauren.

After watching several minutes of close dancing and Senator Pierson’s hand sliding down Lauren’s back to rest irritatingly close to her swaying bottom, Drew left his glass on a table and crossed the dance floor.

“Excuse me, Senator. I’m afraid I promised to stick close to Meg tonight.” He forced his way between Lauren and Pierson, pulling her close and continuing the dance. Senator Pierson acquiesced, but leaned close to Lauren and said, “If you ever get tired of the old man, Meg, you know where to find me. Just be sure to ditch your babysitter here first.” He clicked his tongue twice while winking at Lauren, punched Drew on the arm, and left.

Lauren watched him go with a bemused look. “Are you sure he’s a good friend of your dad’s? He sure put the moves on me.”

“Did he?” Drew aimed a hard stare at Pierson’s back. The man was probably no more than fifty, young and handsome enough to be a serious threat. “He’s probably all talk, but only because he values my dad’s friendship. Otherwise you’d be fair game.”

“But I’m married! That is, Meg’s married—”

“Meg Sutherland!” a woman interrupted. “But I hear it’s Meg Creighton now. How very romantic, the secretary marrying her boss.” Drew turned in time to see the woman give him a head-to-toe glance that could have chilled a blowtorch before addressing Lauren again. “I suppose your husband isn’t able to fulfill his obligations tonight,” she said, leaving no doubt that she was referring to more than accompanying his wife on the dance floor.

Anger gathered inside Drew, but before he could let fly with a nasty retort, Lauren moved closer to Drew and said, “Isn’t it wonderful that my stepson is so willing to help out? He’s such a good—” She hesitated as she fixed Drew with a coy look. “—dancer.”

Just when he thought she was going to be able to pull this off. Drew whirled her away before she could say more.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing? That woman is the president’s chief advisor on domestic affairs,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Really? Good for her. She seems to hate my sister.” Lauren darted evil looks over his shoulder in the woman’s direction. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know. She’s too old to have been one of my dad’s former lovers. Maybe she just hates beautiful, young women like Meg who take a shortcut up the power ladder. Especially if they belong to the other party.” He took a close look at Lauren’s gray-green eyes, still flashing with aggression. “And where the hell did this other side of you come from?”

“I don’t know.” She gave him a bemused smile that made his heart skip a beat. “I was nervous, but then I just started being Meg. My sister has an outgoing personality. Effervescent.”

“I’m sure Paul Pierson found you effervescent. Doris Atherton probably thinks you’re a bitch.”

Lauren shrugged. “She already did. Besides, I kind of like speaking my mind. Where can I get another drink?”

Drew wasn’t sure she needed to loosen her tongue, but he couldn’t complain. For the most part, Lauren was following the script, being conspicuously social and provocative. He just hadn’t expected her to be so good at it. It should have confirmed his suspicion that she was just as phony as all the others, but Lauren’s phoniness had nothing to do with flirting. He was beginning to think the phony part of Lauren was the controlled, practical woman who met all her parents’ expectations. The woman who was engaged to the ever-so-sensible Jeff.

Drew steered them to the side and snagged two champagne flutes. He took a hearty gulp, but Lauren only had time for one genteel sip before a medallion-covered Romanian dignitary demanded an introduction. He appeared to be at least a couple decades older than the man they were looking for, the one Lauren described with an irritating smile as sounding “cultured and sexy.”

“Ahh, Mrs. Creighton,” the man said. “I thought this was you. I saw you and your new husband on the news.”

“Did you?”

Lauren sounded genuinely charmed by the fact that the man watched TV. Drew nearly snorted at her lame attempt to flirt but was surprised to see that she was on target. The man beamed like a full moon. “I must hold such a beautiful woman in my arms, if only for a few short minutes,” he said. “Immediately.”

“Gag me,” Drew muttered, but Lauren smiled at the dignitary. She tossed back the rest of her champagne and handed the empty glass to Drew. “I’ll be right back,” she assured him happily. Drew was left holding two empty glasses as Lauren glided off in an embrace that held her conspicuous cleavage far too close to the Romanian’s chest.

Drew stuffed down hors d’oeuvres and exchanged quick greetings with his father’s friends while keeping an anxious eye on the dance floor. Just when he’d had enough of the Romanian’s snug hold on Lauren, the dance ended and she was appropriated by a handsome, dark-haired man who held her even closer and executed moves that made Lauren’s dress flair and flip alluringly as he spun her across the floor. Drew moved closer. If that was their sexy Romanian, he seemed to have recovered from his concern for Meg. By the time Drew cut in, Lauren’s face was flushed with pleasure and her partner’s was alive with interest.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, surprising the man into releasing Lauren to Drew’s waiting arms. “Thanks for keeping my stepmother entertained,” he told him. “I’ll take over now.” The man offered Lauren a gracious, if confused, bow as Drew danced her away.

He remembered to hold her at a respectful distance, despite the possessive feelings that made him want to crush her to him. He frowned at the sparkle in her eyes and the exposed swell of her breasts that rose and fell with each excited breath. Looking at them, he became a bit excited himself, which only irritated him more.

“Enjoying your new social life?” he asked dryly.

“Very much. Why, aren’t I supposed to?”

“You’re supposed to be getting information, not whisker burns from tangoing cheek-to-cheek with every Don Juan on Embassy Row.”

She laughed. “How can I do that if you keep cutting in? Is my stepson jealous?”

The fact that she’d hit it exactly on the head didn’t make him more cheerful. “Was that him?”

“No, David’s an attaché with the British Embassy, and he’s not a Don Juan, either. He was very sweet.”

Sweet David made his jaw clench. “And I suppose the Romanian field marshal was holding you close so he could whisper state secrets in your ear?”

“His medals were cold,” Lauren giggled. “I thought that long dangling one was going to drop right down my dress.”

“So did I,” Drew grumbled.

“Mrs. Creighton!”

Lauren released him as she turned, and a large, florid man pumped her free hand with both of his own. Draping an arm over Drew’s shoulder, he said, “And you must be Harlan’s son. Glad to meet you, boy.”

Drew tried to step away, but the beefy hand was locked onto his shoulder, while whiskey fumes indicated that somewhere there were drinks more bracing than champagne. “And you are?” Drew prompted.

“Bud Childers. I’ve known your dad for years. We—hey, smile for the camera!”

Drew turned in time to catch the flash straight on. One of the ubiquitous photographers snapped several shots of the three of them while Bud squeezed the group together and beamed at the camera.

“Always good to be seen with a beautiful lady,” he told Lauren. “Gotta run. You be sure to tell Harlan I said hello.”

Drew scowled with annoyance and directed Lauren to a more secluded corner near the orchestra. It was also close to the kitchen door, and Lauren released him as a young man passed by with a tray of champagne.

“I’m so thirsty! It must be all the dancing.” She selected one, then turned to Drew. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.” He waved the man off and waited impatiently while Lauren took a long sip. He started to speak, but stopped as he saw her face pale and her eyes widened with alarm.

“Hello, Meg,” a cool feminine voice said behind him.

Drew turned and nearly bumped into the protruding assets of a beautiful, tall blonde woman. Her low-cut gown barely confined her cleavage, giving him a close-up view of her firmly rounded breasts.

He raised his eyes to meet a frankly curious stare.

“Callista Featherstone?” he guessed.

The woman’s perfectly fringed eyes blinked in surprise, and red lips opened with a childish innocence completely out of character with the rest of her body. “Have we met? Surely I’d remember.”

“No, I haven’t had the honor.” And if he played it right, he wouldn’t have to. Drew took another deliberate look at her suspiciously large mounds and tried to sound sincere. “But I had hoped to meet you. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”

Callista’s chest swelled proudly. At least he’d taken her attention off Lauren.

“I’m already intrigued, Mr…?”

“Oh, let’s not spoil the mystery so soon,” Drew replied, making sure to let his gaze slip again to the obvious invitation she displayed between them. He smiled. “There will be that much more for us to discover about each other. Perhaps you could meet me near the bar in ten minutes? I would love to buy you a drink and,” he slid another lingering look over her curves, “get to know you better.”

Callista’s eyelids lowered in sultry satisfaction as she flicked a glance past him to Lauren. From the corner of his eye Drew saw Lauren lift her glass and take another quick drink, hiding behind the only thing available.

Callista smiled. “I’ll see you there,” she purred. “Come alone.”

Lauren lowered her drink and watched Callista strut away. “Wow. You’re good with sluts. You must get a lot of practice.”

She looked so genuinely impressed he nearly laughed. “Not that much.”

“How are you with good girls?”

His amusement died in a rush of heat, and he took a closer look at her. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the dancing that had raised the pink glow in her face, but he found himself suddenly imagining what it would be like to press his mouth to her flushed skin and lick the champagne off her wet lips. The flirtatious look she was giving him wasn’t making her easier to resist.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered harshly.

“Like what?” The pink tip of her tongue ran over her upper lip and wide eyes blinked innocently at him.

“Like you’re not married to my father!”

“I’m not.” The champagne must have dulled her reactions, because it took a moment for her to wonder aloud, “Exactly how am I doing that?”

Damned if he knew. Maybe it was his overheated imagination, reading something into the lively green eyes—they were definitely green now—that wasn’t really there. He needed to cool off. Fast.

“Come on.” Taking her free hand, he led her behind the orchestra, where French doors opened onto a sheltered patio. Even though the March night was clear and mild, it was still no more than fifty degrees, and the patio was deserted. Perfect. A good dose of cold air might chill his overactive hormones into submission.

Lauren followed willingly, but as soon as the doors closed behind them, she shivered, hugging herself for warmth.

“What are we doing out here? It’s freezing!” She tipped a long gulp of champagne down her throat.

“Alcohol won’t help.” He took the glass from her, setting it on a wide cement ledge. Removing his jacket, he draped it over her bare shoulders and pulled it together in front. Shirtsleeves still felt plenty warm after the heat she’d raised in him.

Lauren stuck her arms into the oversized sleeves and clasped the lapels together. “I don’t see why we have to stand out here,” she complained again.

“We need to reevaluate our plan, and I don’t want to be overheard.” To assure that they weren’t seen either, he led her around a large marble statue of a naked woman garlanded by marble flowers, holding a bowl of marble fruit.

Lauren raised her eyes as they rounded the statue. “Look, even she’s cold. Her nipples are all puckered and hard.” She snickered at her choice of words. “I guess all of her is hard, isn’t it? But her nipples look like they’re frozen stiff.”

Drew peered closely at Lauren. That comment about nipples sounded a little glib for a woman who’d been reluctant to wear a form-fitting strapless gown. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I feel great. I also feel cold. Why are we reevaluating our plan? I thought people were supposed to approach me, and they are.”

“Yes, and you look like you’re enjoying the hell out of it. You’re going to make it look like my father married a little tramp, flirting with half the men in Washington while your new husband is out of town.”

“Oh, phooey,” Lauren said.

“Phooey?”

“Phooey, as in you’re full of it.” She poked his chest with a finger that barely extended beyond the long sleeves of his jacket. “Meg always flirts with men. All men. Old, young, married, and single, in three languages. I can’t do French,” she said, then lowered her voice confidentially, “but if I meet the German ambassador, I know a few risqué phrases that’ll knock his socks off.” She winked at Drew.

Drew leaned closer.

“Lauren, are you drunk?”

“Nooo,” she explained in slow, carefully distinct words. “I keep telling you, I’m cold.” Before he could figure out how that related to not being drunk, she raised her hands to his face and clasped each cheek with icy palms. “See? I’m cold.”

Drew blinked with surprise as she tilted her head and smiled.

“My, you’re nice and warm.” One hand trailed down his shirtfront and nimble fingers flipped a button open. He made a grab for her hand, but her fingers were already plastered against his chest. “Oh, God, are you ever warm,” she murmured.

He shivered from more than her cold hands. Grasping each wrist, he pushed her hands away and held them in front of her. “You are drunk. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

In the space of a second, the innocent eyes grew sultry. “I know exactly what I’m doing,” she purred. “I’m not some silly little schoolgirl, you know.”

The schoolgirl analogy puzzled him, allowing her to take advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration. Slipping her hands from his, she reached for his neck and pulled his head toward her.

“Your upper lip has the sexiest little curve, did you know that?” She whispered the information bare millimeters from his startled mouth, then delicately traced the outline of his lip with her tongue.

Drew’s brain stripped several gears as it came to a full stop. There was something he should do here, quickly, but he couldn’t think what it might be. All he could focus on were those sexy, smiling lips and the pink tip of her wet tongue. This was more than any man could be expected to take. When her mouth moved toward him again, he didn’t hesitate. Capturing her full lower lip between his, he pulled her against his chest and melded his mouth to hers.

Lauren was ready for him. She slipped into his embrace with a hunger seemingly equal to his own, parting her lips and meeting his tongue with a moan.

Drew was nearly staggered by the sensory overload. A hot champagne blow to the head, with undertones of perfume. And cold hands or not, the rest of her was warm and willing. For several incredible seconds, he allowed his entire body to experience the fiery sensations of Lauren’s mouth on his, her body molded against him, and his hand cupping the full roundness of her bottom beneath the maddening folds of her dress.

Their tongue-tangled explorations trailed off to small, lingering kisses before Drew regained enough sense to push her away. He stared at Lauren’s flushed face. She was a temptress. It was all he could do to keep from diving back into another kiss. This was not the time or place, but damn, that had been one hell of a kiss; he was definitely going to find a way to do that again.

Lauren’s dazed eyes focused on his mouth, while her own lips parted in a dreamy smile. “You do that sooo well,” she assured him in tones only the seriously sloshed could manage. “Do it again.”

Lauren’s eyes closed and her mouth aimed at his. Drew’s hands caught her shoulders just in time. “Ask me later,” he said, holding her back and hating himself all the while.

The full lower lip he’d just ravished to perfection pushed itself into a seductive pout. “I’ve waited long enough already. Months and months.” She leaned against his hands, pushing closer and lowering her voice. “Confidentially, it’s been years. I need to be kissed like that again. Right now.”

Now, there was some truly useful information. If sensible old Jeff couldn’t muster enough passion to ignite this sexy little tinderbox, Drew had no qualms about taking his place. But he preferred his women alert and sober.

“This is an interesting side of you, honey, and I’d love to explore it further, but I can’t take advantage while you’re drunk.”

“Pssht.” She waved away his objection with the swish of a hand. “You have my permission.” Her hands pulled at his shirt, bringing her lips closer to their goal, as her eyes fluttered shut.

“Christ, Lauren,” he groaned, taking a step backward. “I’m not made of stone. You have to stop this. If you don’t despise me two hours from now, I’ll be more than happy to kiss you. In fact, I’ll kiss more than your mouth. I’ll kiss the soft spot below your ears, I’ll kiss the tips of your toes, and I’ll kiss places in between that’ll make you blush to the roots of your hair and melt into a pool of wet desire.”

He had her breathless attention. Her eyes blinked once as she considered it, then once again. “You will?”

“I promise.”

“Oooh,” she said, her voice barely audible as she considered the offer. “Okay.”

God, if she remembered this, she was either going to hate him or give him the most memorable night of his life.

Meanwhile, he had to find a warm, quiet place where Lauren could sober up. They didn’t need someone taking a photo of Senator Creighton’s inebriated new wife doing the town while he was away.

Or doing her stepson, either.

*  *  *

Lauren allowed herself to be ushered along the edge of the ballroom, acutely aware of Drew’s hand on the exposed skin of her back. It was as warm and firm as the rest of him, and she wondered what it would feel like against more sensitive parts of her body. Maybe another drink would give her the courage to find out.

She wasn’t drunk yet. Not drunk enough, anyway.

The light buzz from the champagne had been enough to loosen some inhibitions, to free her from her studied propriety. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she’d kissed Drew. She’d known she shouldn’t do it, known she would lose control if she did, and still couldn’t stop herself. Dancing with him, being held in those strong arms, had been wonderful. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

His kiss had ignited a burst of desire that rushed through her body and settled into a wonderful, throbbing heat in her pelvis. Her arousal slammed into her when his hand gripped her bottom and pressed her against him close enough to know that the feeling was mutual. His promise of more intimate kisses had her head spinning far more than the champagne did. If she was drunk, it was on Drew Creighton, not champagne.

He directed her through an archway into a wide passage, strolling casually along it while testing each locked door they passed. The third one opened just as someone ahead of them called, “Drew Creighton! Is that you?”

He pushed her inside and shut the door behind her.

Alone, Lauren blinked at the black room and felt for a light switch. Her hand connected, and a table lamp across the room flared into a soft, yellow glow. She barely had time to take in the small sitting room filled with couches and chairs, when a hand spun her around and pulled her into an embrace.

“Meg! Oh, thank God, you’re safe!”

The voice and the body were distinctly male, and the accent was the same as the man on the phone. Lauren was crushed against the silk lapel of his tuxedo jacket, inhaling the faint spiciness of an unfamiliar aftershave. A hand stroked the back of her head while the other held her tightly against a broad chest. She drew her head back to look at the man’s face, but only caught a glimpse of a straight nose, black eyes, and even blacker hair before he murmured, “Megan, you are driving me crazy,” as his lips closed over hers.

Startled, she made a mmmf sound against his lips and pushed on his shoulders, but he held her fast. Apparently, Meg knew him well enough to kiss him back. Lauren didn’t, and she froze, not knowing whether she should reveal her identity so soon.

The man’s hand cupped her cheek gently, and stroked a soft thumb along her jaw in a distracting, reassuring way. It wasn’t like kissing Drew, but it wasn’t like kissing Jeff, either. This man’s kiss lacked the crackling heat that Drew emitted with every touch, but was still more thorough and tender than any kiss she’d ever had from Jeff. Either the men of Colorado and Romania knew a different technique they weren’t sharing with the rest of the planet, or Jeff was a romantic underachiever. While her fogged mind struggled to figure out which it was, the man’s lips were jerked forcibly from hers.

“Hands off, buddy,” Drew growled.

The transformation from gentle lover to angry combatant was instantaneous. While Lauren steadied herself, the man whirled, throwing a punch at Drew’s face. Miraculously, it didn’t land. Drew dodged, then swung back, a jab that was expertly deflected with a forearm as the man’s right fist darted out.

“Stop!” Lauren yelled, as Drew moved quickly aside, grabbing the man’s arm and twisting.

They stood still in a deadlock, each man trying to leverage the other into letting go.

The Romanian’s handsome face scowled with concern and probably a considerable amount of pain. “Run, Megan!” he ordered.

“She’s with me, you goddamned idiot,” Drew said in a strangled snarl.

Lauren shoved her arm forcibly between the two men, prying them apart as they reluctantly let go of each other. Doubt crept into the Romanian’s face, and he peered closely at Lauren. “Meg? No, it can’t be. Meg’s lips are as full, but her taste is a little more—”

“Watch it,” Drew warned.

“Different.” His face cleared as he stepped back from Drew. “Ahh. Then you must be Lauren.”

“Yes,” she said, surprised. “How do you know my name?”

“Megan told me, of course.” He turned an amazed look on Drew. “Are you Jeff?”

“Hell no,” Drew spat out. “I’m Drew Creighton.”

“The senator’s son? Yes, that makes more sense. From what I’ve heard, I didn’t think Jeff would”—he glanced at Lauren—“be here,” he concluded, which Lauren thought was not what he’d been about to say. “Where is Meg?”

“In the Virgin Islands,” Lauren said. Then, considering the steamy kiss she’d just received, she emphasized, “On her honeymoon.”

He made a negating motion with his hand. “I have heard that rumor. So you don’t know where she really is?”

Lauren frowned at his easy dismissal of Meg’s claim, but before she could question it, Drew said, “Why don’t you tell us why you think she isn’t where she says she is, and why you think she’s in danger. And start with your name.”

“Forgive me. I am Michael Dragos.” He shook hands with Drew, then smiled warmly at Lauren. “I think we have already greeted one another,” he told her.

Drew scowled.

Lauren smiled back self-consciously. It occurred to her that in the past ten minutes she’d been in a passionate clinch with both men, neither of whom was her fiancé. Maybe she really was a bit drunk.

“How do you know Meg?” Drew asked. At least one of them was thinking clearly.

“We have dated for the past two years.”

“Meg has dated several men during the past two years,” Drew told him. “And she married my father.”

Dragos waved Meg’s marriage aside. “No, that is what they want you to believe. She is in love with me.”

Lauren exchanged quick glances with Drew. The man sounded like an obsessed ex-lover. “She never mentioned you,” Lauren told him cautiously.

Dragos nodded, unfazed. “Michael is the Americanized version of my name. Meg would have referred to me by my real name, Mihaly. That is what she calls me.”

“You’re Mihaly?” She turned to Drew. “There is a Mihaly, a guy she keeps going back to between other men. She seemed pretty hung up on him.”

Drew looked at him skeptically. “Doesn’t sound like love to me.”

“Meg is in denial,” Mihaly told them, shaking his head with regret. “She has difficulties with the concept of love but, fortunately for her, I am a patient man. However, she is putting herself in danger, and that is straining my patience.”

Lauren watched him run his hand through his dark hair and decided that her sister was an even bigger idiot than she’d suspected. Meg was skittish about love, but if her sister was risking the devotion of this gorgeous hunk of a man by fooling around with other guys, even rich United States senators, she was out of her mind. Anyone who would tolerate Meg’s flings while patiently waiting out her “difficulties” with commitment was either crazy or truly in love with her.

Lauren decided she trusted Mihaly. She also decided that he would never learn of the photos of Meg and the blond stud.

In a burst of sobriety, Lauren remembered their reason for their meeting. “When you called you told me Meg was in danger. Why do you think that?”

He gestured at the chairs and they all sat, but no one looked comfortable. Mihaly was on the edge of his seat, leaning toward them as he spoke.

“I returned from Bucharest yesterday and discovered that someone had broken into both my embassy office and my apartment. Believe me, these are impressive feats. Nothing was taken, but someone went through all my personal papers—letters, pictures, expense accounts, anything having to do with my personal life. It was a professional job, bypassing alarms and opening deadbolt locks.”

Drew listened impassively. “If nothing was taken, how can you be sure someone broke in?”

Mihaly gave him a direct look. “I know these things.”

Drew narrowed his eyes, and Lauren realized what Mihaly had meant—he had more than a passing acquaintance with espionage.

“I don’t see how breaking into your apartment puts Megan in danger,” she said.

“They disabled the alarms, but they didn’t bother with the security cameras,” Mihaly said, his accent making each word precise. “The man entered with his gun drawn and checked the rooms before he searched the place. He spoke into a wireless microphone and said, in English, ‘She’s not here.’ Before he left, he asked his partner if he’d found anything in the Maxima.”

Lauren bit her lip. “Meg drives a Nissan Maxima.”

Drew seemed not to hear her. “You have security cameras inside your apartment?” he asked. “And audio?”

Mihaly turned an expressionless gaze on him.

Drew stared back, his eyes hard and calculating. “Perhaps the danger to Meg has something to do with your profession,” he said.

“Perhaps,” Mihaly admitted. “But I don’t think so. The man seemed to be interested only in things pertaining to Meg.”

“What did the guy look like?” Lauren asked. “Did he have a large, hawkish nose? Or wear a trench coat?”

Mihaly looked confused. “No, no trench coat. He wore a ski mask, so all I could tell was that he was a tall white man with long hair, possibly blond. Some of it stuck out from beneath the mask.

Her gaze darted to Drew’s in alarm. He shook his head, and she stayed silent, but felt chills creep over her back. If it was the same blond guy who had costarred with Meg in the photos, then they obviously knew about Mihaly and her sister had been set up. Meg might be in more danger than she realized.

Mihlay had reached a similar conclusion. “I didn’t recognize him, but that only means he’s probably not CIA, because I know most of them. Meg is still in danger. And if Lauren is mistaken for Meg,” he paused to look directly at Drew, “she is in danger, too.”

Suddenly, enjoying the Washington social scene while passing as Meg wasn’t as much fun anymore.

Drew apparently had the same thought. “Let’s get you home,” he said, offering his hand.

Mihaly stood too. “You will call me if you hear from Meg?” He offered Drew his card.

“If you’ll do the same,” Drew agreed. “Or if you learn anything about Meg and my father.”

They left Mihaly standing with his hands jammed into his pockets, a worried look creasing his brow and tightening his mouth. His distress seemed sincere; Lauren flashed a sympathetic smile before the door closed. The possibility that her sister might have a future with Mihaly Dragos intrigued Lauren and made Meg’s marriage to Senator Creighton look even more like a lie.

“Do you think Mihaly is a spy?” she asked Drew.

“Ssh, not so loud.” He pulled her against him as they walked through the people mingling in the wide corridor. “The term is intelligence agent, and yes, I think he is. Or was. I don’t know what his position with the embassy is now.” He steered her to the coat check room. “Now that we’ve talked to him, I think we should get out of here. I don’t like the idea of you posing as Meg when those guys have already zeroed in on her connection to Dragos.”

He was being protective again. Since she seemed to need it, she wasn’t about to object.

With a light wool cape over her shoulders, the night didn’t seem as chilly. “Let’s walk to the car,” she suggested.

“In those heels? It’s several blocks.”

“I know. The night air will clear my head.”

He chuckled. “I hope it doesn’t clear everything from your head. I’m interested in pursuing a couple of the thoughts you had back there.”

Uh-oh. Perhaps Lauren had been a little too uninhibited on the embassy patio. She hadn’t meant to offer an open invitation—had she? She tried to move away but Drew tucked her arm firmly against his side as they started down the sidewalk.

He didn’t say anything as they walked, just hummed to himself under his breath. Lauren winced. He thought she’d meant something with that silly little kiss. Well, okay, maybe it was a steaming hot kiss, and it had been fun, but it didn’t mean she wanted more than that. This was exactly why Jeff was right about never veering from a sensible, prudent lifestyle. As soon as you did, someone was bound to misinterpret your harmless intentions.

“Are you warm enough?” Drew took her hand in his as they stepped off the curb at the end of the first block. “Your fingers are cold. Don’t worry, I know how to warm them up.” His smile promised incredible heat.

Oh, damn. If only he wouldn’t look at her like that. His eyes glinted dark blue in the lights from a car pulling out of a parking spot down the street, and his smile had the lopsided, devilish curl of a little kid with a naughty idea. She shouldn’t have met his hungry gaze, because now she couldn’t look away, and her body vibrated with anticipation and her heart pounded, until the roar of blood rushing in her ears drowned out everything else…

Drew’s rough embrace dragged her off her feet. It wasn’t until they were falling sideways that she realized the noise in her head was the roar of an oncoming car, bearing down on their position in the center of the street. Drew’s pull swept her out of its path a mere inch from the blur of metal and tires. The car fishtailed through the intersection, squealed as it laid a strip of burnt rubber, and sped off. The roar died out, along with shouted obscenities from other distant pedestrians, and Lauren was left sitting on her butt beside a parked Land Rover on the dark street, with Drew sprawled motionless beside her.