Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart

by Nicole Flockton

  “Is that really what you think?” He was so close. His words were a breath across Leila’s temple.

  “It’s the truth,” she insisted, voice hitching.

  It had to be the truth.

  “You can’t always have the vantage, General.”

  Leila started. She’d never heard him use her code name before—not that she needed one, she wasn’t an asset that required protection. It had been an unsanctioned gift from her team. She tried to regroup. “Maybe so. But no soldier cedes vantage willingly.”

  “What if you receive something in return?”

  “Like what?”

  “An ally.”

  “Allies come and go.”

  “Not this one,” he said, like it was the only truth in the world.

  “What makes this one different?” She whispered the challenge.

  “Loyalty.”

  Sapphire flashed. Loyalty was something Leila understood. Something she valued. But there were few whose loyalty she trusted to match her own.

  “Fidelity.”

  He was speaking her language. Her father was in the Marine Corps. She’d grown up on Semper Fi. Enlisted at eighteen.

  “Devotion.”

  That word carried unexpected connotations.

  “Devotion?” she whispered. An ally who was loyal, faithful and . . . devoted? “What exactly are we talking about here?” Her voice was cautious. Because it did not feel like they were discussing the danger to Valentine.

  “Mitigating risk.”

  “Risk of . . . what?”

  “Someone getting hurt.” His voice was a whisper, and his thumb feathered across her sensitive lower lip. “You . . . getting hurt.”

  Leila’s heart was a hummingbird and her skin, where he touched, burned. She was utterly aware of the way he pressed her against the pillar . . . the length of his body, so close to hers. Her gaze dropped to his strong, masculine lips.

  Valentine’s eyes darkened, and his head lowered.

  Leila’s eyes slipped closed. She wanted this. She wanted it, but…

  “Valentine,” her voice hitched. “Please. Don’t make me do this here.”

  Because he could . . . and she might hate herself if he did.

  8

  Leila was intensely aware of the crowd on the other side of the wide pillar, the shadows that secured them, the soft music seducing her senses, and the Emperor of Sin, demanding things from her that she couldn’t refuse.

  The tension was almost unbearable as she waited, eyes closed, breath thready.

  But nothing happened.

  After long moments, Leila opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, searchingly.

  His thumb glided across her lower lip.

  Leila stared up at him, lost.

  She didn’t know what else to say . . . What he would do . . .

  She never found out.

  At that moment, on the other side of the pillar, the chandeliers once more dimmed and the ballroom went dark. High in the air, in the center of the room, an image appeared.

  A white, winged horse.

  The crowd caught its breath as the holographic Pegasus reared in splendor, pawing the air. Then it soared majestically around the ballroom, dipping and rising, accompanied by the orchestra. When the immortal creature disappeared through the arch at the top of the imperial staircase, a troupe of ballerinas came pirouetting through, dancing down the stairs then leaping into the air to frolic above the crowd, spinning and dancing, long skirts a twirl of light. And so the ethereal reverie continued, as holograms filled the ballroom.

  When the light reached their corner, Valentine pressed close, hiding Leila against the pillar. Her head was tucked beneath his chin, their bodies intimately connected.

  They remained utterly still . . . for what seemed like forever.

  But it couldn’t have been for more than a few dozen seconds.

  As soon as darkness returned to their corner, Valentine stepped back and pulled Leila out her nest of ivy and petals. He tugged her behind him, through the alleyway created by the line of pillars along the northern wall, underneath the balcony where the orchestra played overhead.

  Meanwhile, golden arrows from the god of love rained down on the crowd. A pair of silver swans swam an enchanted dance on a bejeweled lake, and millions of opalescent bubbles floated in the air . . . Seraglio was an immersive ball, and this year, the pièce de résistance was breathtaking.

  But neither Valentine nor Leila stopped to watch.

  When they reached the end of the alleyway, Valentine turned them along the east wall. He led Leila through an arched French doorway, the first of a dozen along that wall. They stepped out onto an empty stone terrace. Everyone had gone inside to watch the spectacle.

  At the edge of the terrace there was a wide flight of fan-shaped steps. They led to a magnificent fountain and, beyond, a paradise of greenery and tropical flowers networked by lantern-lit pathways and hidden gardens.

  The three tiers of the Renaissance fountain glistened as water cascaded into the ornate basin, mist and vapor clinging to the air. A peacock paraded on the lip of the fountain against the backdrop of iridescent waterfalls. It turned, spreading its feathers in a lustrous plume of sapphire and emerald.

  Leila halted, for the first time since he’d led her away from the pillar, as Valentine headed along the terrace towards the steps. “We’re not going down there.” There was more force in her voice than she’d heard in it since he’d first taken her on to the dance floor.

  She looked out over the dark, lush garden, the privacy it offered more dangerous than anything that had come before. He tugged on her wrist but she resisted, digging her golden heels into the terraced stone. “Valentine!”

  Finally, he turned to look at her.

  Whatever he might have said was lost as Leila noticed movement behind him, at the set of French doors ten feet away. The speed of approach indicated intent, and Leila pulled Valentine towards her, spinning their bodies so that she was between him and the danger.

  9

  Leila felt Valentine’s arm wrap around her waist, holding her back, but she broke free.

  She barely had time to register the man approaching before his hand flashed out from behind his back, light glimmering off something sharp.

  “Die, Kincaid, you bastard,” he hissed.

  Leila reacted instantly.

  Like she’d done a thousand times when sparring with Hyun-Woo.

  One hand went to the assailant’s bicep and the other his forearm as she blocked the strike then pushed hard, forcing him back and keeping his arm down to prevent another strike.

  Behind her, she sensed Valentine step forward.

  “Stay back or you’ll get me killed.” Her voice was deadly, and she never took her eyes off her opponent. Valentine would endanger himself to protect her. She knew that unequivocally. But he would also complicate the already lethal situation. Those words might be the one thing that could stop him.

  Leila continued to drive forward, keeping her opponent off balance. That would only work in the first few moments until he regrouped. He was bigger and stronger and full of adrenaline.

  But Leila was military trained with combat experience.

  She also had someone to protect.

  The thought of Valentine dying flashed through her mind.

  It shattered her equilibrium—something that hadn’t happened since basic training. Her heart began to race and her breathing became shallow. She’d been in life and death fights before, but she suddenly realized that the stakes had never been so high.

  The assailant tried to punch Leila with his free arm. His knuckles grazed her skin as she jerked her head aside. Avoidance would only work once—his reach was too long. Her tight skirt prevented her from kneeing him in the gut, so she twisted, spinning her body inside his guard and avoiding the next punch.

  She felt his fetid breath at her ear and the heavy bulk of his chest against her back. Her hair pulled painfully, caught betwee
n them. She pinned his weapon arm against her ribs. He held a long shaft of glass, the jagged stem of a champagne flute. Probably improvised because of the Aşk’s metal detectors. With her other arm, Leila ruthlessly drove her elbow back into his ribs, directly over his liver.

  He howled in pain and stumbled.

  Leila seized the advantage.

  She reversed the arm she’d elbowed him with and slammed her flattened palm against the long glass stem, snapping it at the base.

  She barely noticed the sting on her hand, but she felt the slick of blood.

  Leila pivoted to throw him over her shoulder, but he was standing on her dress. It threw her off balance and she stumbled.

  He attacked while she was vulnerable, but Leila slammed her fist over her shoulder into his throat. Because her back was to him and she still held his weapon arm, the strike wasn’t powerful enough to drop him, but he stumbled, freeing her gown.

  Leila rotated away from his chest until they were shoulder to shoulder, then used a locking technique to imprison his arm while her other hand pushed hard on his nape. She spun, twisting him around her center of axis and throwing him to the ground, face down. Leila followed gracefully, her knees gouging his kidneys as she kept his arm angled painfully upwards, immobilizing him.

  Viciously, she exerted pressure.

  He screamed in pain and dropped the bloodied glass stem.

  Leila’s hand moved from his nape to fist his blonde hair. Then she savagely slammed his head into the stone terrace.

  She only needed to do it once to knock him out cold.

  10

  As Leila scanned the personnel file in front of her, she was aware of members of her security team clustered around a monitor across the room, hopelessly trying to pretend they weren’t watching CCTV footage of the fight.

  She’d watched it herself when the police arrived to arrest the suspect and take her and Valentine’s statement.

  It had lasted 12 seconds.

  Whenever someone new entered Ops, they’d make a beeline for the monitor and pretend to be discussing something innocuous with the analyst seated there while those 12 seconds were replayed over and over, as if she didn’t know what they were doing.

  Leila let it slide.

  She’d be doing the exact same thing in their place.

  “You shouldn’t have been off comms.” Hyun-Woo kept his voice low. He might call her out if he saw a reason, but he’d never undermined her authority.

  He was right, so Leila let him speak. But she only listened with one ear, and not because her earpiece was now firmly in place—which it was, since a full security sweep of the hotel was underway and she wanted to hear the reports as they came in.

  He did not have all her attention for a different reason.

  Leila’s eyes strayed across the room, which looked like a NASA control center with rows of desks and computers and walls of monitors, stopping where Valentine was giving his statement to the responding officers. The assailant had already been arrested and was on his way to lockup.

  Leila forced her gaze down to the file in front of her.

  Troy Anderson.

  That was his name.

  He was an IT and systems security specialist whom Valentine had fired from Seraglio six months ago. Anderson had been planting cameras to spy on female staff members. She’d found one herself when she’d been in the locker room after a sparring session with Hyun-Woo. A criminal case against Anderson was still pending, but Valentine had blacklisted him and he hadn’t been able to get another job. Three days ago he’d been evicted from his apartment. That had been the trigger.

  Her eyes strayed back up to Valentine.

  She read restraint in every line of his body.

  Meanwhile, she was jittery.

  She gripped the file hard, trying to control her trembling hands. Experience didn’t matter jack when it came to the aftereffects of adrenaline. She didn’t think she could stand. She was also having trouble processing the fight.

  Because she’d been scared.

  Not for herself.

  For Valentine.

  It didn’t make sense; she’d known she would win within the first two seconds. Troy Anderson had no training. And even though he was bigger and stronger, and rage was always dangerous, the threat he posed simply didn’t compare to Leila’s skills and experience.

  So that unprecedented rush of bone-deep fear—despite her having experienced far more dangerous situations—hadn’t been logical. Although she’d suppressed her feelings during the fight, she was now uncomfortably grateful for the hours she spent sparring every week—a habit formed when she was a child and Hyun-Woo’s father had taught her Hapkido, drilling them both until the moves were ingrained into their muscles.

  But she wasn’t ready to process why she felt this way.

  “When did Valentine Kincaid become so fascinating?”

  The words startled her, and Leila looked at Hyun-Woo to see he’d been following her gaze.

  She ignored the question. He was clearly done lecturing her, so she set him to work. “I want a full analysis. How did he get into the Aşk? What were his movements? Are there any other potential threats? I also want a full diagnostic. He’s a tech expert with a grudge who knows our systems.”

  “Already got someone working on it.”

  Leila sent him a look.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll go check progress.”

  Her eyes returned to the file as Hyun-Woo walked away. Absently, she unclipped her hair as she read, long curls falling down her back. The fancy hairstyle had not survived the fight. Her attention was hijacked a minute later when Valentine Kincaid sat down next to her.

  The two of them looked out of place, still dressed in their evening wear in a room full of computers and security personnel. He placed a first aid kit on the desk in front of them, opened it and removed several items, placing them on the desk.

  The shallow cut on her hand had stopped bleeding, but there were bloody smudges on the crisp white pages of Anderson’s file.

  Without a word, Valentine took her wrist in his hand, turning her palm face up.

  Instantly, she recalled the other times he’d taken hold of her wrist tonight.

  He didn’t say anything, just cleaned the dried blood away with a sterile saline wipe then snapped open a vial of antiseptic liquid and irrigated the wound.

  His touch was gentle, but it still hurt.

  Leila gritted her teeth and tried to avoid flinching. She could be a bit of a baby when it came to treating her wounds—no matter how much of a badass she was when it came to getting them. Hyun-Woo, who was usually the one cleaning up her scrapes, teased her about it all the time. She must have failed to hide her reaction because Valentine’s thumb softly stroked the back of her hand.

  Hyun-Woo had never done that.

  Leila’s hand jerked in reflex, but Valentine didn’t release his hold.

  Still, the small shock was enough to start her trembling again.

  Penetrating eyes flicked up to hers, saw too much.

  Leila dragged her gaze away, refusing to look at him while she tried to contain her post-fight reaction. She decided to say nothing about the twinge in her ankle.

  Valentine made short work of applying antiseptic cream and soft, non-adhesive gauze to her wound, before wrapping it in a small bandage that left her fingers and thumb free.

  Then he leveled his gaze on her. “You’re done for tonight.”

  No, she wasn’t.

  She had to oversee the sweep and the diagnostic. There was no proof yet that the threat they’d received was from Anderson, however likely the case, which meant Valentine still needed protection. “There are things I have to—”

  “You’re done.”

  Valentine Kincaid had spoken.

  11

  Leila walked into the service lift followed closely by Valentine. Once again, their evening attire was at odds with the utilitarian interior. He pressed the button for the floor
where the executive staff apartments were located, and the metal doors slid shut.

  Neither of them said a word.

  They hadn’t spoken since Valentine had issued his edict and they left Ops.

  They stood with a foot of space between them, staring ahead.

  Leila pushed back a long curl that had fallen over her face.

  Her hair was a mess.

  On top of that, she was annoyed at Valentine. At the same time, she was content to be beside him.

  It was very muddling.

  It didn’t help that she was still processing her feelings post-attack—her fear for his safety.

  “You shouldn’t have taken away my comms.” She broke the silence. “When we were on the terrace, I couldn’t call for backup.”

  Valentine didn’t respond. He just reached up with one hand and pulled on his bow tie, until the ends hung down his chest, then undid his collar button.

  Ignoring his actions, she continued. “What if he’d gotten past me?”

  “That wouldn’t have happened.” His voice was quiet, but certain.

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen you fight.”

  Leila’s head jerked in surprise and she resisted her impulse to look at him. “When?”

  “With Lee Hyun-Woo.”

  The employee gym had a training area for security personnel, and she and Hyun-Woo sparred on the mats. But Hyun-Woo’s skills were on a whole different level.

  “I always lose.” She said it matter of factly. There was no shame in losing to Hyun-Woo.

  “I’ve seen you take him to the floor.”

  “Few and far between.”

  “No one else comes close.”

  They continued to stare at the metal doors as the lift passed the twentieth floor.

  “Then why did you try to stop me?” Leila distinctly recalled his arm at her waist.

  “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” His voice was quiet.

  “You just said you knew I was capable of handling the situation.” Or words to that effect.

  “Knowing you’re capable and standing aside while you’re in danger are two different things.” Logic and instinct colliding. “I found the latter . . . difficult.”