Page 13 of One Secret

Fiori is smiling but there's nothing friendly in his expression as a whole. His eyes are cold and his expression is stiff. As if everything below his nose is somehow detached from the rest of his face.

'That way,' he continues, 'he can meet the both of you at once and we'll be saved a deeper search into her background. You understand due diligence, I'm sure, but such investigations always leave a sour taste in the mouth. Especially for new couples.' Again with that icy smile. 'No one likes sharing their skeletons too early in a relationship. Far better to just wine, dine, and spoil your lady for a few days on a beautiful island, wouldn't you say?'

I glance from Fiori to Darcy. Despite being too far away to hear him, she's scrutinizing us from behind the bar as she wipes over one of the ale taps.

The idea of taking the woman I occasionally screw on some kind of espionage work retreat is laughable. Least of all because it's hard to book a plane ticket for someone whose last name you don't know.

But, with the bill now paid, I'm ready to quit this meeting while I'm ahead. So, I try to hurry Fiori back to his state of imminent leave-taking by simply telling him what he wants to hear.

'Sure,' I promise. 'If she's free, I'll bring her. Anything for the boss.'

'Good man.' Fiori nods, attending again to his suit as he gets to his feet.

'It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Russo. I dare say we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the future.'

I pull my cheeks back, likely in a semblance of Fiori's deadened grin.

'I guarantee it.'

Looking only a little perturbed under a stare I've been told before is "menacing"—a hint that he might be braver than his flamboyant feathers suggest—Fiori heads for the exit with his two brutish bodyguards. Passing the bar, he affords an appreciative stare over Darcy that then morphs into a leer of warning when he throws it back in my direction.

I can read him loud and clear. Even in the pale light of the lounge. The man has all the subtlety of a king cobra.

A fluorescent pink king cobra.

Avoiding the supervising eye of the woman in the green dress, I head for the men's room to decompress, take a leak, and ponder my sudden change in plans.

Spiriting off to a Greek island for a few days would require moving some things around but attending Felix Caruso's summer shindig shouldn't be a problem. Especially if it gets me close to Gabriel.

I'm just going to have to adjust to a new working environment for a few days, I muse. Instead of dark alleys, rooftops, and shadows, I'll be dealing with the sun, sea, and piña coladas.

Yippee.

I wash up and apply a paper towel to my hands and wrists with more force than is strictly necessary to work out some of my tension. Dunking the crushed sheets into a shiny silver bin that kind of looks like an upright dick, I push open the washroom door… and nearly truck right over Darcy.

She'd been waiting for me in the hall. Her arms are folded. And she looks pissed.

3

'Were you planning on telling me what that was all about or were you just going to leave without a word?' I ask.

It galls me that I have to look up so high to confront Cyrus. I'm no short-stack but the man in front of me is well over six feet. Beyond that, Cyrus has a cool and calm authority to him; a derisive attitude of superiority that makes him appear all the bigger. The gravity of his presence grows by shrinking the worth of the world around him.

Adding to the problem is my physical reaction to the man.

It's hard to compose an air of condemnation when all you can think about is how good he looks and how amazing he smells.

Damn but I've missed him...

Determined not to melt, I deludedly blame my weaknesses on hormones and keep my arms folded defensively across my chest. I plant my feet. No doubt looking for all the world like a small and inconsequential obstacle in the path of an oncoming force. A speed bump before a monster truck. A meerkat before a lion.

No… not a lion.

True, Cyrus possesses all the traits of a man who dominates: the height, the self-assurance, and a wide-shoulder to narrow-hip ratio so prominent it's almost creepily unnatural. Not to mention he's a good-looking guy.

Despite all this, however, he doesn't take up the space of an alpha male. He doesn't demand notice. He bathes himself in more mystique than he does regal pomp and circumstance.

Arrogant, authoritative mystique.

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