Swain picked up his room key. “I’m going down to the lobby to pick up some newspapers. Do you want anything?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
He let himself out. Lily waited to a count of thirty, then got up and swiftly went through his things. His underwear was neatly stacked in a drawer, with nothing hidden between the folded boxer-style briefs. She patted the pockets of everything he had hanging in the closet, finding nothing. There wasn’t a briefcase, but she pulled out his leather duffel bag and searched it. There didn’t seem to be any hidden pockets or a false bottom to it; his Heckler and Koch nine-millimeter weapon was there, neatly holstered. The bedside table yielded a thriller that was dog-eared at about the halfway point She fanned the pages, but nothing had been slipped between them.
She ran her hand under the mattress, all the way around, and looked under the bed. His leather blazer was lying on the bed where he’d thrown it. She searched his pockets, and found his passport in a zippered inside pocket, but she’d already seen it, so she didn’t take it out.
There was nothing to indicate he was anything other than what he’d told her. Relieved, she returned to the sofa and resumed reading.
He let himself back in five minutes later, carrying two thick newspapers and a small plastic bag. “I had a vasectomy after my second kid was born,” he said, “but I bought some condoms, anyway, in case they’ll make you feel more secure.”
His concern touched her. “Have you done anything risky? Sexually, I mean.”
“I did it standing up in a hammock once, but that was when I was seventeen.”
“You did not. Hammock maybe, standing up a definite no.”
He grinned. “Actually, the hammock dumped me out on my ass, and I haven’t tried that again. It did a real number on the mood. I didn’t get laid that day, after all.”
“I can imagine. She must have laughed herself silly.”
“No, she screamed. I was the one laughing. Even a seventeen-year-old can’t keep it up when he’s doing belly laughs. Not to mention I looked like an idiot, and girls that age are real sensitive about image and things like that. She decided I was very uncool and went off in a huff.”
She should have known he’d be the one laughing. Smiling, she propped her chin in her palm. “Anything else risky?”
He settled in the chair closest to her and stretched out his legs, propping his feet on the coffee table. “Let’s see. Right after that is when Amy and I started going together, and I was faithful to her from day one until we got divorced. I’ve had a few close friends since then, relationships lasting from a couple of months to two years, but nothing casual. I’ve mostly been in places where there was no wild nightlife, unless you count the four-legged kind. Whenever I was in a civilized area, I didn’t want to spend my time nightclubbing.”
“For someone who’s been in the wilds most of his adult life, you’re very sophisticated,” she murmured, suddenly uneasy as that discordant detail registered with her. She should have noticed before, but she wasn’t greatly alarmed because she knew his weapon was in his duffel in the closet-and hers wasn’t
“Because I speak French and stay in luxury hotels? I stay in places like this when I can, because there’ve been times when all I had between me and the sky was air. I like driving fancy cars because sometimes I’ve had to get around on horseback-and that’s assuming there were even horses.”
“I wouldn’t think French was very common in South America, though.”
“You’d be surprised. I learned most of it from a French expatriate in Colombia. Now, my Spanish is much better than my French, and I also speak Portuguese, plus a smattering of German.“ He gave her a crooked smile. ”Mercenaries are a polyglot group by necessity.“
He’d never actually come right out before and said he was a mercenary, though of course she’d understood he was either that or something close to it. People hired him to make things happen was what he’d said, and she hadn’t for one minute thought he was talking about corporate takeovers. Her uneasiness faded; of course he would speak several languages.
“Being married to you must have been hell,” she said, thinking of his ex-wife at home with two little kids, not knowing where he was or what he was doing, if he’d ever return or die in some remote region and his body never be found.
“Thanks a lot,” he said, starting to grin. His blue eyes twinkled at her. “I’m a lot of fun when I’m around, though.”
There was no doubt about that. On impulse she got up and deposited herself on his lap, slipping her hand inside the collar of his shirt and cupping the back of his neck as she leaned into him. His skin was warm, his neck hard with muscle. He supported her with his left arm behind her back, while his right hand immediately began stroking her thigh and hip. She kissed the underside of his jaw, feeling the stubble of his beard rough against her lips and inhaling his scent, man mixed with the faint remnants of the aftershave he’d used that morning.
“What’s this for?” he asked, though he didn’t wait for the answer before giving her one of those slow, deep kisses that made her feel as if her bones were melting.
“For being a lot of fun,” she murmured when he lifted his mouth; then she went back for seconds. His lips were more forceful this time, his tongue more demanding. His hand shaped her waist, slid under her shirt and up to her breasts. She caught her breath as he pushed her bra up and molded her bare breast with his palm. His hand was hot on her cool skin, his thumb gentle on her nipple.