The Espionage Effect(28)

Oddly, the earlier nervous flutter had vanished. I’d had few friends in my life. Had only ever allowed Anna to get close enough to know a portion of the real me. But inside of a few short hours strung between a couple of days, I found myself considering the man holding my hand a friend.

The easygoing vibe between us relaxed me enough to ask another question without filter. “You’re not a citizen of Mexico?” His growing up here didn’t seem quite right.

We reached the foot-shower at the base of the sidewalk, and he rested his bag atop the granite pillar. “No.” He turned on the faucet for me. “I’m a citizen of Spain and the United States.”

Surprised, my mouth fell open. “How are you both?” Military came to mind. But with the way he talked about his parents, what I’d imagined didn’t fit.

“My father was Spain’s ambassador to the United Nations. My mother met him in New York on one of his trips to the US.”

Wow. “Is that why the organization ‘found’ you?” I uttered the question under my breath, as if someone might overhear us talking about his employer.

When he didn’t immediately reply, I grasped hold of his hand, balanced, then extended one foot under the water spray. Then I stepped on the edge of the wet stone with my clean foot and rinsed the other.

“Probably,” he replied, sounding thoughtful. “They never said why at the time. And I was seventeen and didn’t care. They wanted to offer me a job where I could steal, spy, and kill for a decent cause? I signed up, no questions asked.”

“When you said you were on the streets…where did you…” Halfway through my blurted question, I realized I’d treaded on sensitive ground again. He’d gotten so quiet earlier in the car when he’d shared the loss of his parents.

But he answered without intonation or hesitation. “A town on the outskirts of Madrid.” Leaning down, he turned the faucet off, then grasped me under my arms, as if I weighed nothing, and swung me onto a higher and sand-free stone step.

Comfortable silence followed as we walked hand in hand again along the stone pathway beside a softly glowing blue-tiled rectangular pool. The meandering pathways, bordered by flickering candles nestled within small glass holders, led toward the abandoned spa in one direction and through the manicured-jungle grounds alongside buildings of the resort in another. We turned right, down a short secluded path that ended at my building. An illuminated staircase curved upward in front of us.

He slowed his pace, allowing me to take the lead and guide us up. With the building now sheltering us from the ocean breezes, the air grew heavy and warm.

And had the tension around us thickened again?

My pulse began to beat faster with every footfall placed on the next tiled step upward. Sandals still dangling from my free hand, I touched the white stucco wall with two fingers every so often, steadying myself as we climbed. His fingers that held my other hand relaxed between mine, then tightened, securing his supportive hold on me.

I clasped his hand harder in reply. I wanted this. And I wanted there to be no doubt in his mind that I did.

When we reached the tiled landing at the top, we crossed the short distance to my hotel suite in silence. I released his hand, then retrieved my room’s key card from my dress pocket. My hand trembled slightly as I raised the key and inserted it into the slot.

His hand covered mine as the light flashed from dull red to bright green. When I glanced up, warmth and desire radiated in his gaze.

Assured by the sense that he continued to follow my lead, that he only remained because I wanted him to, I gave him a genuine smile that fell into a lopsided smirk when I dropped my hand from under his and depressed the door handle.

“So…” I pushed the door open, dropped my sandals off to the side, then stood beside the nightstand as I propped my hands on my hips. “I’m only asking this one last time. What’s in the bag?”

He ran his tongue along his teeth, holding my gaze as he stepped inside and let the door slam shut. Without answering my question, he dropped the bag onto the floor. Then he removed his boots and lined them up beyond it, along the wall. “What are your thoughts about protection?”

“Condoms?” So we were diving right into the nuts and bolts of things.

He gave me a nod.

“I’m a fan.”

So that’s what’s in the bag? A year’s supply of condoms you’re carting around?

“Any desire to go without?” His penetrating gaze held mine.

I frowned. The suggestion threw me. On a wild fling, with an unknown man, I hadn’t expected anything but. Yet I knew I was clean.

“I am on birth control pills,” I hedged. “Haven’t had sex in a while…”

“How long is ‘a while’?” His words softened.

“Almost two years.”

His eyes narrowed for a split second. “Good.” He turned and crossed the room, stepping down into the sitting area. “Shutters open or closed?”

“Wait!” I followed, shaking my head. “You can’t just move on to lighting. We haven’t finished with condoms yet.”

“I’m clean. Get full medicals every six months: agency protocol. Use condoms religiously.”

Confused, certain I missed something, I tilted my head. “Then why would you suggest going condomless with me?”