Chapter Seven
The party was at the residence of the British Ambassador which was a freaking gorgeous building that had my mouth hanging open when Tristan pulled the car in front of it.
We stopped in front of the valet stand and I tried to not be self conscious as my door swung open and Tristan helped me out.
I wrestled my mind off my lack of clothing and moved on to my next concern—that in an area where parking was near impossible, it seemed Tristan had carte blanche to pull right up to the front gate, hand the car off to a valet and we could just waltz away from it. No worries. No hike from the public parking blocks away.
I shot him a sideways glance as his gorgeous car got driven away by the valet. "You're not worried?"
"About?" he asked.
Glancing over my shoulder to where we'd left the car I said, "Handing your baby over to a total stranger."
He laughed. "No."
My brows rose of their own accord. "Okay."
Pausing in our walk toward the front entrance, he turned to face me. "You don't approve, I take it."
"I'm just saying, you hand something that valuable over to a complete stranger where I come from, chances are you're never going to see it again."
His lips twitched with a smile. "And from where do you come originally?"
"Jersey."
"Ah, yes. Home of the New Jersey Housewives from television."
My eyes popped wide. "You watch that show?"
He shook his head. "I had the misfortune of being with a woman once upon a time who had a strong affinity for it."
"Is that why you broke it off with her?"
"No, but it was a nice side benefit of the breakup that I'll never have to be subjected to it again. And to address your concerns about the car. I've parked here before for other events without mishap. And the valets aren't exactly strangers to me so you can put your mind at ease. We have more important things to worry about tonight."
He was right about that. The whole hand off and fake engagement was more than enough for me to worry about.
I was nervous as he pressed his hand against my lower back and steered me toward what could only be called a mansion.
Given I was about to strut into a party while wearing my bra as a top, I had to dig deep, pretend I was on a runway, and pull out my aloof model face.
I'd have no problem wearing this outfit in a fashion show.
Hell, I'd strutted my ass up and down in front of a crowd of press, buyers and celebrities in way less clothing than this. Not to mention what revealing shit I’d had to wear at Camelot.
This should be a breeze for me. Somehow, it wasn’t.
I drew in a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh . . . and couldn't help but notice Tristan's gaze drop to my chest as it rose and fell before he yanked his focus back up.
Now that was interesting. I mean, yes, I was wearing a bra for a top, but still, until now he'd acted more like my gay bestie helping me choose an outfit. Not at all like a man looking at a woman.
I liked the change. It gave me the confidence I'd need to pull off both this outfit and this spy stuff. If the other men in the party reacted as he had, I’d be a great distraction. Perfect.
We paused a bit before the entrance. "Ready?" he asked, after clearing his throat.
"I think so."
He turned to face me and moved both hands to grip my forearms. "I need a yes from you. I think so isn't good enough."
I drew in another breath, but this time he controlled himself, his chocolate brown eyes staying glued to mine. "Yes. I'm ready."
"Good." He turned toward the entrance, and then mumbled a very British-sounding curse beneath his breath.
"What's wrong?" My heart rate rocketed into the danger zone.
"Just someone I don't want to talk to." He turned back to me and said, "Follow my lead." Then he hauled me close and crashed his lips into mine.
Pressed up against his hard body, I could feel the fabric of his suit jacket against the bare skin of my chest. I didn't have much brainpower to notice much more than that, because all of my attention was focused on where our mouths met.
He slowly backed me up a few steps. Between the rough cobblestones of the driveway, and my high heels, it was a good thing he was holding on to me so tightly or I would have ended up on my ass.
Unsteady, I grabbed on to his arms with both my hands.
When we finally stopped moving, he raised his palms to cup my face, tipped his head and deepened the on-going kiss.
Drawing in a breath through my nose, I let him take complete possession of my mouth and, for better or worse, I enjoyed it.
It had been a long time since I'd been kissed and Tristan was an excellent kisser.
He stroked his tongue against mine and I couldn't help the tiny sound of pleasure that escaped my throat . . . and then it was over.
From our place in the shadows inside the front gate of the residence, he turned his head and glanced behind him.
"They're gone. Bloody hell that was close." He turned back to me. "Ready to go in?"
My mouth fell open. That was it? No explanation. No apology. No thanks.
I knew enough from the last time he'd asked that question that he didn't want to hear the truth, so I said, "Yes," and then did my best to steady my wobbly legs so I could walk.
He grabbed my hand and laced his fingers through mine, which made my walking both harder and easier. Harder because now I was so conscious of his hand holding mine I couldn't think, but easier because he led me forward in a straight line directly toward the entrance.
"You did well back there." He shot me a sideways glance as we neared the doorway and the next challenge of the evening.
"Thanks."
Maybe we could try it again later when I wasn't scared to death and he wasn't ditching some mysterious person for some unknown reason. If not, then at least I had the memory of our one heated kiss to keep me warm tonight when this thing was over.
And I had to remember that it would be over eventually. Soon, I hoped, because I'd never been so nervous in my life.
While I was hoping, I hoped I wouldn't screw this thing up and get us both arrested—or worse, tortured and killed.
I should have made him tell me more about what we were doing here. What this hand off was. Who we'd be hiding it from.
As it stood all I knew was there was someone here he was avoiding, he was an excellent kisser, and we'd be hauling ass out of this place as soon as possible after he got what he came for.
"Tristan Fairchild and guest." We'd reached the door and I held my breath as Tristan gave his name to the woman with the clipboard.
"Welcome, Mr. Fairchild." The woman with a matching accent to Tristan's nodded and waved us through.
With that hurdle past I felt like I might be able to breathe again, until I got a look at all the people already filling the residence, and they turned and looked at us.
Tristan leaned in toward me. "Smile, love. This is supposed to be fun."
The warmth of his words brushed my ear. That combined with the sound of his voice sent a shiver of desire through me.
I didn't need that kind of distraction right now. Later, but not now. I was too busy waiting for someone to haul us away in handcuffs to be interrogated.
"I'm trying, sweetie."
He smiled. "I've never been a sweetie before. I find I rather like it."
"I'm so glad." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him. I was a nervous wreck and he was enjoying himself. It was maddening.
I saw a waiter go by with a tray of champagne glasses and I regretted his rule number one—no drinking anything because it could be drugged.
If I ever did anything like this again—and God I hoped I didn't have to—I was so bringing a flask. Because I could really use a nice stiff one right about now—drink that was, but the other kind of stiff one wouldn't be so bad later.
That thought sent my mind to bad places and I wondered what Tristan looked like under that suit. Probably completely ripped from going to the gym. All six-pack abs and lean muscles. My last boyfriend had started to get a beer belly from too many six-packs, so I'd really enjoy running my hands over what I imagined would be Tristan's washboard stomach.
As my thoughts bounced between various topics, some more ridiculous than others, we were on the move again.
Tristan pressed his palm against my lower back as he guided me forward, across the large room and into the crowd when I so much would rather head away from it. Like to some nice quiet corner where I could hide and observe without having to be seen.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"The bar."
To get a cocktail I wasn't allowed to drink? I held in a sigh. Yup, definitely the perfect occasion for a flask. I was adding that to my emergency spy kit. Since they didn't even search us at the door, I supposed I could have brought that gun I didn't yet own too. Or at least my pepper spray. Lesson learned.
"Two scotch, neat."
Scotch? I’d never drink that and definitely not without even some ice or water or something in it. But of course, ice in the potted plant after we dumped the drinks we were supposed to be drinking would be too obvious. And there’d be less liquid to dump if it wasn’t mixed with water.
So much to learn. I wondered if there was some sort of book I could study. Spying for Dummies. If there wasn't, somebody should write it.
Tristan turned and handed me one of the two drinks.
He raised his own in a toast and then pressed the glass to his lips as my eyes widened.
I watched him tip the glass, I even saw his throat work as he swallowed, but with as closely as I was watching, I could see he hadn't really consumed any. He only pretended.
This was all too nerve wracking. With my luck I'd end up pouring the scotch down the front of me. Or worse, accidentally drink some and possibly be drugged or poisoned.
"Tristan. Pleasure to see you again."
The sound of someone saying his name had me spinning so fast, the possibly drugged scotch I didn't want anyway splashed over my hand.
Luckily, Tristan was a little cooler in his response.
While I gratefully put the glass down and grabbed a cocktail napkin from the bar, he extended one hand to the man. "Gerald. Pleasure. Let me introduce you to my fiancée, Chelsea. Chelsea, this is Gerald Fitzpatrick, an old acquaintance."
Acquaintance. What did that mean? Was this the hand off? Was Gerald a spy too? An ally or a foe?
The room felt hot suddenly. Was I going to pass out? Jesus, what if I did? I was supposed to act as a distraction. My fainting would certainly be that so maybe it wouldn't mess up everything.
I felt myself sway just as Tristan wrapped one arm around my waist and held me close to his side.
"Chelsea, how nice to meet you. And Tristan, you devil. Engaged and I'm just now hearing of it."
Thank God this Gerald, whoever he was, had moved right from greeting me to focusing on Tristan again.
All I had time to do was force a smile in response, though I no doubt looked like a deer in headlights. I sure as hell felt like one.
"Eh, I'm smart enough to keep my lady far away from you," Tristan joked, though I didn't understand it. Gerald wasn't even handsome. Nothing compared to Tristan's masculine perfection.
Maybe he was rich. Or worse, dangerous. My head felt fuzzy again at that thought.
I needed to stop thinking. It wasn't helping.
In fact, with every question and answering theory that flew though my brain, things seemed worse. Scarier. More impossible.
That was it. No more thinking. I drew in a breath and focused completely on Tristan. His smell—something good and manly. Like the scent of leather and Christmas mixed together. His voice—so sexy and soothing even in its cultured precision.
"Right, love?"
And how he was calling me love. I absolutely loved when British men said that—wait. Shit!
Tristan must have asked me something and I'd missed it. Hoping it was the right answer, I took a shot and said, "Right, sweetie."
He smiled. "She isn't always so agreeable. My American has a mind of her own. She definitely keeps me on my toes."
Gerald let out a bark of a laugh and, shaking his head, said, "They all do, Fairchild. They all do."
"Americans? Or women?" I asked as Gerald's comment rubbed me the wrong way.
He lifted his bushy eyebrows as he moved his gaze from me to Tristan. "I see what you mean."
With my back stiff and my temper spiking, I decided to keep my mouth shut. I didn't need a repeat of the Camelot confrontation that had lost me my job there. This job, with GAPS, I actually liked too much to lose.
A glance at Tristan revealed he was smiling. "It's one of the things that made me fall in love with her."
He ran his hand up my back to cradle the nape of my neck, leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips.
It was quick but man it packed a punch.
The kiss, in conjunction with his talking about love—even if it was all part of our act—had me ready to drag him off to find the coatroom, peel off my pants and his and let him have his way with me.
Gerald cleared his throat and drew my attention off my fantasy. "So, Fairchild, how long you in town for?"
"Just a few days."
Gerald tipped his head to stare at me, just when I'd rather he didn't. "And do you travel with him?"
Stick close to the truth whenever possible. Wasn't that what Tristan had said? I tried to do that without painting us into a corner with my lies. "I haven't been, but now that we're engaged I imagine that will change."
Tristan nodded. "Yes, and certainly once we're married."
"Definitely." I nodded. "Though I will miss the long distance opportunities for phone sex."
As Gerald choked on the swallow of the drink he’d just taken, Tristan stepped forward to slap him on the back.
I knew I was behaving badly, but I could barely contain my smile. This man irritated me and I couldn’t seem to control myself. I only hoped my smart-ass comment didn’t get us in deep shit.
"You all right?" Tristan asked him.
The older man, eyes watering from the coughing fit, raised his gaze to me before saying, "Yes. Quite."
My lips twitched but I decided to be good since I still didn't know who this guy was to Tristan. Judging by how relaxed he was acting around him, he couldn't be a threat.
Of course, Tristan could just be a really good actor. Better than me apparently. I couldn't even keep my attitude in check when we could possibly be in a life and death situation here.
Funny how my nerves had calmed the moment I'd started to get pissed. Interesting. It might be a tactic I could use in the future. It might even help me combat the stage fright I always got right before the curtain.
I'd have to look into it further. Right now, I wrestled my wayward thoughts back to Tristan to watch for clues since I didn't know when this hand off would happen or from who.
"Good talking to you, Fairchild. Pleasure meeting you, miss. I see someone I need to speak with." Gerald was apparently tired of us. That was a relief.
As he made his way across the room, I turned to Tristan. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself."
He broke into a wide smile. "Don't apologize. Gerald can be an ass. And I quite enjoyed seeing you fluster him."
"Good. I was afraid I'd messed up."
"Not at all." With another smile, Tristan laid his hand on my arm. "Ready to go?"
I frowned. "Go?"
"Yes." He nodded while planting his still full glass of scotch on a passing waiter's tray. With both his hands now free, he cupped my elbow and began steering me toward the door with a gentle pressure, which got a bit firmer as I dug my heels into the carpet.
"Wait. But what about . . . you know." I widened my eyes and lowered my voice on the last words.
"Yes, I do know. We're done here." When I still didn't budge, he laughed. "Do you think we can discuss this in the car? Because I really don't want to be here any longer."
It did feel like things had gone too smoothly. I didn't want to tempt fate by staying any longer than we had to. If he said we could go, I was ready to go.
"Okay." Now that I'd made the decision, I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
I strode toward the exit, employing every inch of my long legs until Tristan grasped my hand and slowed me down.
"Chelsea. We're not fleeing. Just leaving," he said as we neared the door.
I forced myself to slow down. That's right. We were just leaving. Nice and casual.
On the way out the door he nodded to the woman who'd checked us in. I held my breath until she smiled and then turned her attention to a couple who'd approached her.
She didn't yell for security even though to me it seemed suspicious we'd come in and then left so quickly.
Still, I kept looking over my shoulder because I expected some gun wielding foreign agents to pursue us at any moment.
Tristan's car was parked at the curb when we arrived.
None of the other cars were there. I frowned at it, and then glanced at him. "How did the valet know to have your car here?"
"Please, Chelsea. Just get in." His tone was pleading and for once, I did as I was told, without question.