What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(48)

“Yes.”

They both fell silent as they considered the thought of Lawrence coldly plotting the murder of his niece, then Carmen pulled away from him to wander toward the window.

“God. He would have to be sick,” she breathed.

He moved to stand behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. He desperately wanted to comfort her.

“Greed can be a form of sickness,” he said. “I’ve met people who would lie, cheat, and sell their own mother for money.”

She shuddered beneath his hands. “How long will it take to get the information you need?”

“It could take hours,” he said, then he grimaced. If Lawrence was truly clever, he probably had several layers of bullshit that Griff would have to dig through to get to the pertinent details of his business dealings. “Even days.”

“What should we do until then?”

Heat scorched through his veins, hardening his body with a painful need.

“I have a few ideas,” he assured her, lowering his head to nuzzle the side of her neck.

She stiffened before she released a soft sigh and melted against his chest. He parted his lips, allowing his tongue to touch her soft skin.

A hint of citrus and warm woman exploded in his mouth. Delicious. His hands skimmed down her arms before he grabbed her hips and tugged her even closer.

Although she was inches shorter than him, she fit against him perfectly.

His lips moved to the hollow just beneath her ear, his arousal pressed against her lower back. He could stand there all day. Just holding her in his arms.

She angled her head, allowing him greater access. His arms tightened, his lips skimming to the base of her neck. Okay, holding her was fantastic, but there was a bed just through the nearby door....

A low purr interrupted the silence, and Griff swore beneath his breath as Carmen instantly pulled out of his embrace.

“What’s that?” she demanded, turning to glance around the room.

“The worst timing in the history of the world,” he muttered as he crossed the floor to snatch up the hotel phone.

He didn’t know why the front desk would be contacting them, but he assumed it had to be important. A minute later he’d replaced the phone and turned to meet Carmen’s curious gaze.

“Well?” she demanded.

“It seems we have a guest waiting for us downstairs,” he told her.

She frowned. “Who?”

“Your cousin. Baylor Jacobs.”





Chapter Thirteen


Carmen concentrated on their surroundings as they stepped off the elevator.

The hotel truly was lovely. Built in the English Renaissance style, it had long, arched arcades and towering ceilings with hand-painted plaster reliefs. She could easily imagine long-ago travelers in elegant clothes as they moved across the marble floor.

At her side, Griff placed a hand on her lower back as they walked down the second-floor gallery. The heat of his skin seared through the fabric of her skirt, offering a welcome reminder that for the first time in a very long time, she wasn’t alone.

The fuzzy sensation was destroyed the second she caught sight of the man seated at a table near the arched opening that overlooked the lobby below.

Baylor Jacobs. Her cousin.

He’d changed. It’d been fourteen years since she’d last seen him, after all, and the pudgy teenager with an overbite and a constant scowl had thinned down, while the protruding teeth had been modified until they were barely noticeable. The wonders of the modern orthodontist.

His dark brown hair was sternly slicked back and he wore an expensive suit that was designed to convey the impression of success. His eyes, however, remained the same.

They were a pale hazel, with a cold, flat stare that had always reminded Carmen of a snake.

That hadn’t changed.

An unreasonable anger speared through her as she watched him rise to his feet at her approach, his lips pressed into a flat line.

She was a part of his family that had been estranged for years. Surely, most normal people would at least pretend to be pleased at the opportunity to be reunited with her?

Instead, his expression was hard with blatant suspicion.

He wasn’t looking at her as if she was his long-lost cousin. He was looking at her as if she was the enemy.

A strange, corrosive disappointment joined her anger in a toxic brew that bubbled in the pit of her stomach.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Griff sharply turning his head to study her tense profile. As if he could sense her emotional turmoil. No surprise. From the beginning he seemed to possess an uncanny ability to read her moods.

In contrast, Baylor Jacobs was holding out his hand, completely impervious to her chilly expression.

“Carrie,” he said, his lips stretching even farther.

Definitely snakelike.

“Carmen,” she corrected, ignoring his hand.

“Carmen, of course.” He lowered his hand, turning to study her companion. “And you must be Griffin Archer.”

“I am.”

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.” Baylor waved his hands toward the small table near the scrolled iron banister. Griff moved to pull out her chair, giving her shoulder a light squeeze as she sat down before he took his seat beside her. Baylor settled across from them, nodding toward the glossy menu. “Drink?”