Kiss Me While I Sleep

Paris

Lily tilted her head and smiled at her companion, Salvatore Nervi, as the ma ' tre d ' silently and with grace seated her at the best table in the restaurant; her smile, at least, was genuine, though almost nothing else about her was. The pale arctic blue of her eyes was warmed to a hazel brown by colored contact lenses; her blond hair had been darkened to a rich mink brown, then subtly streaked with lighter shades. She touched up the roots every few days, so no telltale blond showed. To Salvatore Nervi she was Denise Morel, which was a common enough surname for there to be plenty of Morels in France, but not so common that the name set off subconscious alarms. Salvatore Nervi was suspicious by nature, a fact that had saved his life so many times he probably didn ' t remember all of the occasions. But if everything worked right tonight, at last he was caught ' by his dick, as it were. How ironic.

Her manufactured background was only a few layers deep; she hadn ' t had time to prepare more. She had gambled that he wouldn ' t have his people dig any deeper than that, that he would run out of the patience required to wait for the answers before he made a move on her. Normally if a background was required, Langley prepared it for her, but she was on her own this time. She ' d done the best she could in the time she had. Probably Rodrigo, Salvatore ' s oldest son and number two in the Nervi organization, was still digging; her time was limited before he found out that this particular Denise Morel had appeared out of thin air only a few months before.

' Ah! ' Salvatore settled in his chair with a contented sigh, returning her smile. He was a handsome man in his early fifties; his looks were classic Italian, with glossy dark hair and liquid dark eyes, and a sensuous mouth. He made a point of keeping himself in shape, and his hair hadn ' t yet started to gray ' either that or he was as skilled as she at touch-ups. ' You look especially lovely tonight; have I told you that yet '

He also had the classic Italian charm. Too bad he was a cold-blooded killer. Well, so was she. In that they were well-matched, though she hoped they weren ' t an exact match. She needed an edge, however small.

' You have, ' she said, but her gaze was warm. Her accent was Parisian; she had trained long and hard to acquire it. ' Thank you again. '

The restaurant manager, M. Durand, approached the table and gave a deferential bow. ' It is so nice to see you again, monsieur. I have good news: we have procured a bottle of Ch ' teau Maximilien eighty-two. It arrived just yesterday, and when I saw your name, I put it aside for you. '

' Excellent! ' Salvatore said, beaming. The Bordeaux was an exceptional vintage, and very few bottles remained. Those that did commanded premium prices. Salvatore was a wine connoisseur and was willing to pay any price to acquire a rare wine. More than that, he loved wine. He didn ' t acquire bottles just to have them; he drank the wine, enjoyed it, waxed poetic about the different flavors and aromas. He turned that beaming smile on Lily. ' This wine is ambrosia; you will see. '