Double Vision (Unknown Identities #2) by Regan Black Page B

card, he slid the watch into the hidden pocket of his jacket for safekeeping. "How come this didn't end up in your purse? Deliberately double-crossing Galloway doesn't end well."
    "I'm more than aware he's dangerous." She walked toward the tall counter that separated the front room from the kitchen, pulling the band from her hair. "I cooperated to help Renata. It was supposed to be a trade, but he wasn't waiting with her at the showroom when we got there."
    His blood heated as she finger-combed the pale waves over her shoulders. "What color is your hair?"
    "Is that supposed to be a joke?"
    "No." He desperately wanted the answer. Almost more than he wanted his revenge on Galloway.
    She turned, cocking that ripe curve of her hip.
    Forget the hair , he thought, determined to get back on track. Galloway wouldn't give up until he had what he needed. "Why make it look like a robbery?"
    She tossed that glorious, pale mane over her shoulder and glared at him. "I didn't mean to. I went up there through the front door, completely legit."
    "To water the plants."
    She shrugged at the lie. "That is my job when she travels. The power was out and I knew the place well enough I didn't think it would matter. But I didn't feel anything like a Rolex in her jewelry box. Thinking it was a nervous mistake, I dumped all of her watches into my purse and went for the emergency flashlight to be sure I had the one Galloway wanted."
    "But someone else snatched the purse."
    "It's like you were there," she said, eyes wide with a false innocence. Giving him her back, she opened the refrigerator. "Want anything?"
    She wasn't offering what he really wanted – her body hot and willing under his. Adam closed his eyes and scrubbed at his face. He was like a moth to flame with this woman. Adrenaline didn't explain it. No, the attraction probably stemmed from watching her for the past week. Except he'd logged enough field experience to recognize the justification as false. Something about this woman mesmerized him as no one had done before.
    "Selena."
    She turned around, a pitcher of water in her hand. He saw her mouth move, but he didn't hear the words. Telling himself he was a fool, he stalked over and pushed his hands through her hair. It was heavy as velvet, soft and luxurious as silk as it slipped between his fingers. He brought it forward over her shoulders and she pulled a face.
    "I smell terrible."
    Not to him. This close, he could still pinpoint the floral scents of her perfume. "What color?"
    " What's wrong with your vision?" She studied him closely. Too closely. "Something made you struggle when we were in the club."
    He shrugged that off as irrelevant. " I see what I need to see." He was looking at her hair, the curve of her ear, high cheekbones models would envy, the sweet fullness of her lips. Oh, he was looking at her, hungry for her. Too damned hungry to mask his need. He let it show, let her make the next move.
    "I see you." He'd been watching her, learning the little nuances of her, of her personality long before they'd met tonight. "You are independent and talented. Brave and loyal."
    "Blond." Her tongue slid across her lips. "It's a golden blond."
    He closed his eyes, filling his hands with her tresses, struggling to remember what that looked like. "Like honey?"
    "I guess so," she whispered. "Yes," she said with more confidence when he opened his eyes and met her gaze. "You weren't always colorblind."
    "No."
    Her fingers fluttered against his cheek, then up to push the hair back from his face. He wanted to lean in to the touch.
    "What happened?"
    "Galloway." It was the simplest explanation. "He pinned an intel breach on me. It was prison or –" He wouldn't jeopardize her by sharing too much of the UI program. "Or a secret research kind of thing."
    "Are you happy with the choice you made?" She stroked a fingertip across his jaw.
    What an odd question. He couldn't recall a time when anyone cared about his happiness. Not even him.
    "Usually,