"It's the waiter," she said, patiently.

"All right, all right." Wilder put the gun back in the holster as he went back toward the window. Lucy signed the check and thanked the waiter, and when Wilder fumbled for his wallet, she said, "I tipped him on the check."

Damn. He'd have to learn how to do room service. Lucy tied the sash on her robe tighter and smiled at him. It wasn't the warmest smile she'd ever given him, but it was a smile.

Lots of room service, he thought.

As the door shut, Lucy turned over two cups on the tray and poured them each some coffee from the large white carafe. "You're better with your gun than your wallet."

"I told you, I never had room service before."

"Where have you been staying? Under a rock?"

"Almost. Afghanistan. Iraq. Kuwait. Thailand. Other places. No room service." The coffee was good, Wilder thought as he drained the tiny cup in one gulp.

"I can just give you the pot and you can drink from there." This time her smile was better.

"So we okay?" he asked, and her smile faded.

"Yeah."

Damn. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my two ex-wives, but you have to trust me."

"I do," she said, not meeting his eyes as she picked up her cup.

"No, you don't,' he said. "And that's going to be a problem."

"Tonight?" She shook her head. "I'm not stupid, I'll do what you tell me."

"Not just tonight. After tonight."

"There is no after tonight." She sipped her coffee, staring out the window. "I think you made that pretty clear."

"No, I didn't," he said, exasperated. "I said we had to take it slow."

"Well, I'm leaving tomorrow." She turned back to him, her brows snapping together. "You take it slow, and I'll wave to you from New York."

Fuck. "Lucy-"

"I'm sorry," she said, putting down the cup. "I know we don't have time for this. Look, I'm mad, and I know that's dumb. I trust you not to lie to me. I'll do what you tell me to. But I know that if it comes down to me or the mission, it'll be the mission. That's just who you are. This is a professional relationship, not-"

"No," Wilder said and meant it.

"It was out there with Finnegan. You were all business out there."

He shook his head. "I honestly believe you and everybody else will be safe tonight. It would work against Finnegan to hurt anybody. He doesn't want cops and medics and firefighters on that bridge. He just wants his helicopter in the air with the movie shooting so he can fly over the swamp without anybody getting suspicious."

"The swamp." Lucy nodded. "That's where Nash is picking up Finnegan?"

"I'm guessing in the Wildlife Refuge. That's why we shot those helicopter scenes there." And why Karen was programming her GPS with waypoints.

"So that's it? Nash gets on the helicopter and flies off with Karen to pick up Finnegan?"

"With Karen and Doc. To pick up Finnegan and his goons and the art. Yeah. And then to wherever Letsky is. And the rest of us go home. They have no reason to hurt anybody, Lucy, and lots of reasons not to."

She nodded, and then came over and sat down beside him on the bed, which pretty much wrecked that train of thought. A strand of her hair slipped over her shoulder and caught on the terrycloth of the robe. He wanted to reach out and stroke it back, but he wasn't sure. Wait.

"That makes sense," she said. "But if something goes wrong-"

"Then it's over. We evacuate the bridge and everybody goes home." He felt a chill. She'd go back to New York, just like she'd said. That was something they'd have to work out. He wasn't sure what his future held, but with her sitting close, he was suddenly damn sure it held Lucy.

"Okay." She smiled at him weakly. "I trust you." She lifted her chin and kissed him, and he closed his eyes and thought, No, you don't. "I'm sorry I was so bitchy about the ex-wives," she said softly. "You're right, I moved too fast and didn't give you any time. Hell, I stalked you in the swamp. So I'm sorry about that-"

"I'm not," Wilder said, alarmed.

"-And about moving too fast and thinking this is more than it is, which is two healthy people enjoying a quick fling."

"Lucy," he said, "that's not-"

"And now here we are," she said brightly, "all alone in a hotel room with a perfectly good bed and a couple of hours to kill. And I have to tell you, last night was good. So I don't think we should waste this, do you? Nothing beyond right now, no future, just this for right now." Lucy-

"Do you want me?"

"God, yes," Wilder said.

"Well, then." Lucy began to untie the belt to her robe.

He stopped her. "Wait a minute."

Her strained smile evaporated. "Don't tell me. No sex before the big game." She retied her belt. "Fine."

"You don't trust me," he said. "And you're not the kind of woman who's going to be happy having sex with somebody she doesn't trust."

Lucy looked exasperated. "I told you-"

"Prove it," he said.

"What?"

He got up and went to her duffel bag and looked through it until he found her WonderWear and under that her gold-painted Lasso of Truth.

"Uh, J.T.?" she said. "You're not going to be one of those guys who can only get it up if I'm in costume, are you?"

He dropped the WonderWear back in her bag and picked up the rope. Then he crooked his ringer at her.

"Oh." She cleared her throat. "Well, it's not that I'm not, you know, interested." She looked at the rope in his hand with grave doubt. "Well, actually, I'm not."

"Do you trust me?" he said.

"Yes. But…"

He held out his hand and after a moment she stood and took it, and he pulled her to him, closing his eyes as she sank against him, soft and warm. "I said we should take it slow, Lucy. I never said it was a one-night stand or that we didn't have a future. We have a future."

"Oh." She swallowed. "So where does the rope come in our future?"

He gently pressed her toward the window, drawing shut the heavy curtain with one hand as he did so. "I do my best work in the dark."

"Well," she said, her voice going higher, "that was certainly true last night, but-"

"Shh." Wilder kissed her again, biting her lip softly as he felt her relax against him. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I really do. But this-"

He dropped the lasso on the table beside them, and she relaxed a little. Then he pulled a long piece of mesh camouflage out of his pocket and doubled, then tripled it, and she tensed again.

"Uh, J.T.-"

"You trust me?"

Lucy looked at the camouflage, uncertain. "Yes, but-"

Wilder placed the cloth across her eyes.

"Um-"

"No buts," he said. "You either trust me or you don't." He wrapped the cloth around to the back of her head and tied a simple knot. "I got this cloth in Denmark. Combat Swim School. We used it to cover our faces when we-"

"Tell me this is not your idea of talking dirty," she said, and he smiled.

With one hand he pulled her wrists over her head and with the other retrieved the rope from the table. "The Lasso of Truth, babe," he whispered in her ear and made her shiver as he looped it around her wrists.

"Well," Lucy said, but she didn't resist, biting her lip instead. He tied a loose knot, then tossed the other end over the curtain rod, looping it over the tie-back by the window frame.

Lucy said, "You know, there is a bed and it's-"

He tugged on the lasso ever so slightly, and Lucy sucked in her breath as her arms were drawn tighter. He lowered his head, still holding one end of the lasso, and kissed her in the hollow of her throat.

"Oh, God," she said and grabbed on to the curtain, bunching it above her head where the rope held her hands.

"You can trust me," he said. "I will never hurt you, I will never betray you, and I will always get you where you need to go."

He tied off the rope on the curtain tie-back and then loosened her belt, and her robe parted as he slid his tongue lower, tracing the inner curve of her right breast. Her body tightened under his hands as he lightly nibbled and kissed her nipple, and he felt her tremble against him, making little noises in the back of her throat. Then he went down to his knees and lowered his head and made her gasp again, and she tasted fresh and clean as he went between her legs, his hands sliding around her hips to grasp her ass tightly, not allowing her to move.

He tuned in to her breathing, soft and rapid, his tongue tasting her, moving inside her as her breaths changed to shallow sobs. After several minutes, she breathed, "Oh, God, stop," and he ignored her, focusing on what he felt from her, not what he heard, the rhythm of her gasps, the quiver of her muscles. Then he felt her tense and shudder, crying out as she jerked hard against him, and the rod broke, and the curtain tumbled down, covering both of them as she collapsed and he caught her.

He laughed, her body hot on top of his, the thick curtain covering both of them. She was breathing hard, and he rolled her to one side and held her in his arms, resting his head against her long, powerful thighs, catching his breath, too.

"Wow," Lucy said and he laughed again.

Then he threw the curtain off and the late afternoon light cast a glow over her, magic, as she pulled the blindfold off and smiled at him, drowsy with satisfaction. He got to his feet, pulling her up warm into his arms. He tugged her toward the bed and tripped over the Lasso of Truth so that they tumbled onto the mattress in a heap with him on top.

Wilder began laughing again and pulled the lasso from her wrists, leaving traces of gold paint there, markings he'd put on her, but she caught it before he could toss it away, propping herself up on her elbows under him, her mouth almost on his, her eyes half closed and dark.

"Lasso of Truth, Captain Wilder?" she said, her voice soft with heat. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Wilder said with a smile.

"We'll see about that," she said and rolled so that he was under her, reaching for his wrists.

And then he forgot the CIA, Finnegan, the Russian mob, and everything else on earth but Lucy.

Chapter 17

Three hours later, Wilder woke up, tangled in warm bedclothes and a warmer Lucy. He didn't want to move. Ever. If he could just stay there forever, he'd give anything. He looked down at Lucy, her head resting on his chest, her breathing slow and steady, with the slightest hint of a snore now and then, which made him smile.

This trust thing. It was good. And the distant future, that was looking pretty good, too.

But the clock on the side of the bed was ticking. The sun was going down and shooting would begin soon-film shooting only, hopefully. He thought about rousing Lucy, but he didn't want to. She was so sweet when she was asleep. So soft.

So not busting his chops for making her risk the lives of people she cared about to shill for the CIA.

Well, hell, that was his duty. That's what he did, he answered the call of duty.

Lucy stirred next to him, nestling closer.

Maybe it was time for duty to shut the fuck up.

Of course, Crawford hadn't ordered him to do anything. He'd planted the bug. That should be enough. But Wilder did not trust Finnegan and Nash. Or Crawford, for that matter. And the duty that was calling now was to the woman he had his arms wrapped around, whose head rested on his chest. He had to cover her, protect her from Murphy, that little fucking Irish gremlin that was going to screw things up because Finnegan and Nash were shifty, double-crossing bastards, both of them.

Her cell phone rang, breaking the warm silence with its ugly sound.

Lucy stirred and then sat up as the phone rang again, yawning, the covers falling off so that she was naked to the waist. Exquisite.

"What?" she said, still groggy.

God, you're beautiful.

She frowned at him, still half asleep, and fumbled for her phone. "'Hello?" Then she pulled it away from her ear. "Stop shouting." She listened again, frowning harder, waking up. "No. I did not cancel the cargo net."

Wilder froze.

"Nash, the only thing I want to cancel is the shoot. I did not call the rental place and cancel your damn net. Now leave me alone." She punched the button to turn the phone off and then dropped it on the bedside table. "He's just getting crazier and crazier."