Page 56 of Between Love and Honor

“Nope,” he said before popping the top on the beer and taking a long pull. He extended the bottle to her. She shook her head.

“I don’t understand. Then why did you restore it? What do you do here?”

He studied her for a long moment before answering, his face still hard and his eyes unreadable. “I come here to think. That’s why it’s called the Think Tank.”

“You think? Here?” She bit back a laugh when he didn’t so much as move a facial muscle. Clearly, he wasn’t joking.

“All by yourself?” Her heart ached at the thought. “Don’t you get lonely?” she asked before thinking better of it.

“It’s my job.”

The pieces began to click together in Quinn’s mind.

This place. His connections. She’d sensed he was more than he said he was. But what exactly? And why?

“Who are you?” she demanded, her heart beginning to race for a very different reason now.

He heaved a sigh before picking up the plate of sandwiches. “It’s probably easier to show you.”

Her curiosity piqued, Quinn slipped off the barstool, grabbed the wedding cake samples Marin had given her, and followed Ben upstairs. He hesitated in front of the steel door leading to the torch room, seeming to have a silent argument with himself.

“Ben,” she coaxed. “You know all my secrets. The least you could do is share this one with me.”

A slow, wolfish grin spread over his lips as his face finally relaxed. “I doubt I know all your secrets, Brit.” He leaned in closer. “But I do know the one about you preferring to be on top.”

His huskily uttered words brought a flush to her cheeks. He was right, though; he didn’t know all her secrets. Because if he did, there was no possible way he’d be staring at her with desire in his eyes.

“I don’t have to be on top every time. And stop trying to change the subject.”

He donned an if-you-say-so look as he punched a code into the keypad beside the door before leaning in to have his retina scanned. The door lock clicked open. Ben glanced at her warily, but he still didn’t reach for the door handle.

“Are we going to stand here all night?”

He shook his head but the move seemed to be more of an answer to the inner voices he was battling than to her question.

“The secretary had better be right about your credentials,” he mumbled.

Quinn didn’t have time to ponder that little tidbit because Ben opened the door and gestured for her to enter first. A wall of thick windows circled the tower. The night stars shimmered off the ocean while the moon played peekaboo behind the wispy clouds, its beams providing the room with its only light. The image would make a spectacular photograph. Her fingers itched for her camera.

As she moved deeper inside, she heard the hum of computer monitors tucked behind a low wall where a worn leather desk chair sat empty in front of them. A futon and a tray table that looked like it had been salvaged from a college dorm were the only other pieces of furniture occupying the space. She set the cake on the small table and wandered over to the bank of computers.

“It looks like you do more than think up here.”

“Mmm,” was all he said before slumping down on the futon.

“And there’s as much security in this lighthouse as we have at Secret Intelligence Service headquarters in Vauxhall Cross.” She traced her fingers along windows that had to be six inches thick. “These are one-way glass with reflective mirrors if I had to guess.”

“Exactly what one would expect for a lighthouse.”

“Or the studio of a cyber-spy,” she countered.

He arched an eyebrow, but he didn’t seem too surprised at her conclusion. “I prefer the term provocateur.”

She snorted as she sat on the futon beside him.

“I repeat my question. Who are you? And, more importantly, how did you discover who I work for?”

Ben handed her a sandwich. “I have a close relationship with the Secretary of Homeland. She might have mentioned it.”

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