The Cinderella Mission

Kelly’s jaw tipped with a defensiveness that spoke louder than her words. “I mean, why not take the warm and willing woman up on her offer? After all, she announced it to a whole room of people.”

How could she see herself as nothing more than a warm and willing body? Who the hell had abused her trust?

Guilt pinched him. Hard. But damn it, her safety depended on her cover’s believability. He had to trust his Aunt Eugenie could pull off her fairy godmother role for him.

Ethan decided not to acknowledge the “warm and willing” comment and rolled out his excuse for getting her out of the office. “We’ll exchange language brush-up lessons for self-defense training.”

Her arms fell to her lap. “Oh.”

“And I don’t live in a ‘bachelor pad,’” he felt compelled to add. “When I’m in town, I live in the family home with my aunt.”

A grin crept over her face. “You live with your aunt?”

She laughed.

He was worrying himself cross-eyed over hurting her feelings and she was laughing at him.

Kelly clapped a hand over her mouth.

Heat inched up the back of his neck for the second time in one day—hell, for the second time in his life—thanks to this woman. “Kelly—”

Her laughter caressed the air with the same husky sensuality of her voice. “The great playboy of the western world lives with his aunt.”

Ethan bristled. “It’s a big house.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“I’m gone a lot. She watches over my stuff.”

“Makes sense.”

Her laughter faded. Silence fell. Kelly fidgeted with the paperweight. The vacuum cleaner silenced and he still hadn’t convinced her. He would have to play dirty. But then rules had never been his strong suit. “I thought you wanted to do whatever it took to get out from behind that desk.”

Her hand clenched around the paperweight. He’d won. He could see it in the sigh lowering her shoulders.

“Your aunt won’t mind a guest for two weeks?” Kelly offered a final token resistance.

Damn it, Kelly had been pushing his buttons left and right while he was trying to be Joe Sensitive. Well, not anymore. He’d maneuver her where he wanted her, damn it, mouthiness and all. He wouldn’t let his rogue feelings get in the way of his quest for that file Hatch had on his parents.

“Aunt Eugenie knows I work for the CIA, just not about ARIES. She doesn’t ask questions. I’ve already spoken to her. Do you want to follow me out there?”

“I don’t have a car. I take the train in—”

“Good.” His mojo was positively humming. “Then I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

“Well, I don’t know—”

“Be ready by seven. I want to get an early start.”

Kelly watched the morning sun creep over the Virginia suburban skyline from the comfort of luxurious leather in Ethan’s vintage Jaguar.

A really messy Jag.

She nudged the gym bag at her feet with her tennis shoe in a vain attempt to make room for herself amidst the piles of books on tape and empty coffee cups.

Over the hills and through the woods to Aunt Eugenie’s house they drove. Ice-laden trees and street signs sped past her window outside, while blues music swirled from the CD player inside.

Ethan had steamrollered her in the office the night before. Sure his plan sounded logical, but she could have come up with an alternative if he hadn’t been hogging all the air. How could a girl think when she could barely breathe? But she’d surrendered rather than risk spending more time alone with him in the intimacy of the darkened office. She’d waited to start her list of alternatives in the solitude of her apartment.

Three hours and two bowls of rocky road ice cream later, she’d decided his plan had merit, even if not for the reasons he thought. Regardless of her rampage in the office, she doubted her ability to work if she couldn’t think whenever he walked into the room. What better way to kill her infatuation than to spend more time with him and uncover his faults?

Ethan stopped for a light. A soda can rolled from under the seat.

Perfect. Her plan was already well under way. A much-needed smile pulled at her.

“What?”

Kelly peered out the windshield at the pristine yards of snow, all viewed over a sludge-covered hood. “Why in the world would someone own a car this expensive and never wash it?”

He adjusted the rearview mirror, an air freshener shaped like a pine tree swaying. “Lesson number one in field craft. Sometimes the simplest tricks are the most effective.”

“Having a car with Wash Me scrawled across the back is field craft?”

“Actually it is.” He turned another corner, downshifting. His legs flexed as he worked the clutch, brake and gas pedal. “Think about it. What happens if someone rubs away those words?”

“It leaves a big smudge,” she answered absently, admiring the impressive play of muscles beneath faded denim.

“And if someone tampers with other parts of the car…”

His words sank in, pulling her attention back to chilling reality. “Their handprints will be noticeable—or smudged.”

“Exactly. Sure, ARIES provides plenty of the high-tech gadgets. But sometimes simple works well, too.”

He existed in a world of constant threats and car bombs, and all for a higher good. How could she not admire him? Even his freshly shorn hair reminded her that every facet of his life bowed to the demands of his job.

Her plan was not going well at all. Time to dig deeper into his real life for those flaws.

“How long have you lived with your aunt?” she asked, envisioning some teenage rebellion that led him to being shuffled to another relative.

“Since elementary school.”

“That young?”

His hands clenched around the steering wheel. “My parents died in a car accident.”

How did she not know this about him? “I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too.”