With Every Breath (Slow Burn #4) - Maya Banks Page 0,29
gaze that missed nothing. She had the mortifying thought that she needed to cover herself because he had a way of seeing past a front—anyone’s front—and making them feel naked and vulnerable with those all-knowing eyes.
“Don’t think I won’t get even for that, you traitor,” she accused, injecting a note of laughter and amusement she definitely didn’t feel into her voice.
Still, he didn’t smile or even acknowledge her threat with a drawled one of his own. Oh yeah, she was in trouble, and this was going to take the act of her life to convince him that what she was requesting was nothing out of the ordinary. Even if it made her appear vulnerable in front of him, something she’d die before ever allowing any of the men she worked with to see. The hell of it was, appearing vulnerable wouldn’t require any acting whatsoever. She was vulnerable. And it was the worst, goddamn weakest feeling in the world.
He slid into the chair behind his desk and leaned back, still studying her, his stare probing intently like he could see every single secret she was trying so desperately to hide.
“What’s going on, Lizzie?” he asked quietly.
She sighed and threw up her hands. “Only you would make me feel guilty for requesting vacation time.”
His eyes widened in surprise and if it weren’t for the pain slicing through the region of her heart, she would have taken great satisfaction in throwing him off his game for those few seconds.
“Vacation?” he asked incredulously. “That’s what this is all about? For fuck’s sake, Lizzie. You scared the shit out of me. You haven’t been yourself lately and then this morning. You checked out. I doubt you even remember a goddamn thing that was said during that meeting.”
She rolled her eyes. “You mean the same thing said in every single one of those pointless meetings where we’re all reminded of the job we do—jobs we’re damn good at by the way. Dane, I know them by heart. Pardon me for already mentally planning a few weeks on a beach somewhere soaking up as much sun and sand as possible, maybe hooking up with a single hunk and blowing off some steam.”
Dane scowled and Eliza rolled her eyes. “Cut the big brother act, Dane. I don’t lecture you when you’re out fucking women. So far your only redeeming quality is that you don’t have a double standard when it comes to men and women. Don’t ruin it for me now.”
Dane sighed. “You know I have no problem with you taking vacation, Lizzie. God knows I’ve been after you to take some time off for years. But why now? What’s going on with you? And swear to God, if you tell me nothing, I’ll handcuff you to the bed in the guestroom of my house and then I’ll sic Ramie, Ari and Gracie on you. Especially Gracie since she’ll know exactly what that devious mind of yours is plotting.”
It didn’t take as much effort as Eliza had thought to allow her aching vulnerability to show. The pain of the last weeks and that of the weeks to come. Dane must have seen the shadows of remembrance in her eyes because he suddenly cursed and rubbed a hand over his face.
“Christ I’m an asshole. You’re still having a hard time aren’t you, Lizzie?” he asked softly.
She shrugged. And then sighed, allowing the truth to blend with the untruths, or rather the truths of the past, things that even Dane and his ability to find information on anyone no matter how deeply hidden wouldn’t have uncovered.
“I’m tired, Dane,” she said quietly. “I can’t sleep at night. And when I do, I relive every terror-filled moment of what they did. Of what I feared they would do to you. To Ramie, Ari and Gracie. The rest of my team. My family,” she said, grief heavily laced in her voice.
But she’d be damned if she let him see her cry. No one would ever see her cry again. She wasn’t that weak, helpless, idealistic sixteen-year-old girl who believed in fairy tales, princes and happily ever afters.
To her shock, Dane was on his feet and around the desk before she could take a breath and he pulled her to her feet, enfolding her into his tight embrace, hugging her fiercely. Any other time she would be horrified. She’d have a sarcastic, caustic remark about acting like a bunch of fucking wussies and then punch him in the gut. But God, his hug