Tease Me: A Stark International Security Novel

by J. Kenner

  “I don’t know. I hope not. Most likely we’re approaching the river.” If so, then the reduced speed made sense. If not…well, that very well could mean danger.

  He glanced out the window again but couldn’t see far enough. Then the track curved, and he breathed more easily, relief flowing through him like the water ahead. “It is the river. I can see the bridge up ahead.”

  Her smile lit her face, temporarily erasing the now-familiar lines of worry that hadn’t faded even when she slept. “So we’re still safe. And it’s almost over.”

  “Almost,” he confirmed. “But not yet.” He leaned forward, taking her hands in his. “We can’t get sloppy now. Tell me. Just like you’ll tell them when we reach the checkpoint.”

  She squared her shoulders. “My name is Felicia Cartwright Hunter. I work for my father’s company, and I came here to discuss a joint business venture with Mikal Safar. There were rumors that we were involved, but that was ridiculous.”

  She gave an imperious sniff, as if in disdain. “I have no interest in the political climate here, and certainly none in Mr. Safar. If I had, why would I have brought my fiancé with me, much less married him when we saw how lovely the setting was on the coastline?”

  She leaned back, releasing his hands and studying him. “Was that okay?”

  “Perfect.” He only hoped it worked. Foreigners who had entered the country for recreation were, for the most part, being ushered across the checkpoint to safety. The question was going to be whether or not their marriage passed muster. And that was why Ryan—a man who’d never expected to marry anyone—was now legally wed to a woman he barely knew. A woman he would consensually divorce once they were back in London.

  He studied her, smiling despite the circumstances. She was pretty and terrified, and on their wedding night, they’d shared a room and a bed. Both because there was no way he’d leave her alone, but also because they had to feed the illusion. Spies were everywhere, and Felicia was definitely being watched.

  She’d been terrified and sad, and he’d held her close, soothing her and promising he’d do whatever was necessary in order to get her out safely. But that wasn’t the kind of comfort she’d wanted or needed. She’d curled against him, her curves as enticing as the warmth of her body under the thin gown she’d worn to bed. She’d taken his hand, then pressed it to her lower belly. And all she’d said was please.

  That was all it took. He had no girlfriend, no one he saw regularly. But he wasn’t a monk. Not by a long shot. He’d taken what she offered, giving back as much as he could, wanting her to feel safe. Hell, just wanting her to feel. They were both scared. Both uncertain. But at least in bed they could forget.

  It had started slow and sweet, but by the end, her fingernails had dug into his flesh and he’d held her close as the orgasm ripped through her.

  After, she’d snuggled against him, thanked him for marrying her, thanked him for protecting her, and thanked him for fucking her.

  She’d fallen asleep then, and he’d lain there for at least an hour, looking down at the woman who was, for the time being, his wife. And, yes, he would take care of her in whatever way she needed. He’d sworn an oath, and he took that vow as seriously as his oath as a professional. He would protect her with his life if that’s what it came to. And he would damn sure do whatever was necessary to get her safely out of this war-torn area.

  “Will it work?” she asked now. Her eyes were wide and earnest. “Will they believe us? There were photographs of me and Mikal…”

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But it’s the best chance we’ve got.”

  The corner of her mouth trembled, and she blinked as a single tear spilled down her cheek. “I’m okay. Promise. Just scared. And—well, no matter what, at least I can always say that my first husband was one hell of a good-looking man.”

  “And my first wife was the bravest woman I—fuck!”

  The curse was ripped from him, the sound of it buried under Felicia’s scream as a surreal orange light filled the rail car, along with the ear-splitting blast of a nearby bomb’s detonation.

  Ryan stood, then reached for Felicia, only to be slammed back into his seat when the train lurched forward as it picked up speed.

  “We’re going toward the bomb?” Fear laced her voice, her eyes reflecting her terror.

  “We’re almost to the bridge,” he said, his voice tight. He’d flinched against the sun-bright blast, but when he’d opened his eyes, some light still lingered, and he saw that they were closer to the bridge than he’d realized. There was still a chance. Assuming they hadn’t been boarded. Assuming the blast was an attempt to derail them—an attempt that had failed. “The crew wants over the border as much as we do. They’ll try for the bridge.”

  “And get us killed.”

  He shook his head. “If we haven’t been boarded, we might make it.”

  “Have we been?”

  “I don’t know. But the train never fully stopped. Hopefully that means we haven’t been.”

  But that promising possibility was shot down—literally—by a spray of automatic weapon fire that riddled the ceiling. Ryan yanked her to the floor, covering her body with his. He was unarmed, having been searched three times before boarding the train. Smuggling a weapon hadn’t been an option. He’d wished at the time that there’d been another way. He wished that even more fervently now as at least a dozen men in full combat garb rushed toward them.

  “Move,” the burliest of the group said, his English heavily accented.

  Ryan shifted position and lifted his hands, revealing his own gold band. “Please don’t harm my wife. We’re newlyweds. We came here for a vacation mixed with some business. We’re trying to get back home.”

  The man raised his rifle, then aimed it right at Ryan’s chest. “Move,” he repeated. “Or your blood will stain the woman before we kill her, too.” A malicious smile slithered over his face. “But first we shall enjoy her, no?”

  Ryan heard Felicia’s whimper. It didn’t take long to calculate his odds. All things considered, he had exactly zero in his favor. Without a choice, he nodded, hoping that the thug’s superior would be more reasonable.

  With Felicia walking on trembling legs in front of him, they were ushered through the next carriage. It was a freight car, with the sliding doors open. The night loomed beyond the car, and the river churned beneath them, dark and ominous, and altogether too far away for Ryan to be sure of survival.

  Felicia stopped, her hand seeking his. He took it, knowing immediately what had made her halt. In front of them, he could see a cluster of passengers through the doors connecting their car to the next—and each and every person was writhing as bullets from unseen assailants riddled their bodies and they collapsed out of sight, dying ignobly on the hard, cold floor of the freighter.

  “Mikal Safar,” the burly man said from behind them as Ryan took a step closer to Felicia, the icy burn of his training warring with hot, liquid fear. “The girl is his,” the man growled. “And he is scum.”

  The dissident’s rifle pressed into Ryan’s lower back, pushing him closer to Felicia. “We’re jumping. Be ready.” Ryan’s whisper was little more than breath, and he hoped she’d heard and understood.

  Another hard push of the barrel, powerful enough to bruise Ryan’s spine, as the other men around him laughed and crowed. “And you, pig, are nothing but meat.”

  Ryan forced himself not to shudder as he gathered his strength, a split second of time seeming to pass like minutes. He hoped she understood the risk he was taking. Hoped she knew it was the only way. They probably wouldn’t survive the fall, but at least they would have a chance. At least they would be choosing. If they stayed in the car, they’d be dead within minutes at these bastards’ hands. Probably seconds.

  He didn’t count to three, just launched himself sideways, grabbing Felicia by the arm as he threw both of them toward the open doorway. At the same time, he twisted his body away from the gun, his muscles crying ou
t in protest against a maneuver that even all of his training and hours in the gym couldn’t have anticipated.

  He felt the cool rush of air on his face as they neared the door, then the stabbing pain and liquid heat from the blood that poured out of his side. He’d moved enough to save his spine, but not to escape the bullet.

  Still, if they could just get through that freight door…

  The thought was still in his head as he felt the slam of the hard, hot surface of the carriage floor beneath him. And then the shooting pain of a metal-toed boot landing hard against his ribs before crushing down on his wrist, forcing him to release the death-grip on Felicia’s arm.

  She lay beside him, a bubble of blood on her mouth, her hands pressed to a gaping wound in her gut. Another wave of pain cut through him. Not physical this time. The pain of loss. The pain of knowing that he’d failed her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the word cracked and barely audible, but echoing his thoughts with perfect clarity. “Should… never… have… come.”

  He struggled, trying to move, the world growing dim around him, his arm screaming from the pain of the heavy boot holding him down. And then it was him screaming, too, his throat raw from the sound of his agonized protests as three of the men hauled Felicia to her feet, the wound gushing so much blood he knew she would never survive the injury. At that point, though, it didn’t matter. Whether it was the wound or the river, he knew that she was dead. His mission. His responsibility.

  His wife.

  As the gray cloud of unconsciousness settled over him, he watched them push her off the train and into the dark, forbidding water of the river.

  Chapter One

  Many Years Later

  “This is Jamie Archer,” I say, after tapping the ear bud to connect the phone that’s tucked away inside my purse on the far side of the room.

  “Your professional name?” Even over the phone, I can hear the surprise in Nikki’s voice. I understand why, too. After all, I’d told her what I had in mind for tonight, and there’s not a shred of work on the agenda. “Does this mean you abandoned your plan?”

  I hear the hope and bite back a frown as I shimmy into the red silk dress I’ve bought for this evening. “Hardly. It means I’ve been playing phone tag with Carson Donnelly and didn’t check caller ID.”

  “Let me guess. That’s somebody big in Hollywood.”

  “Do you hear that thudding sound? That’s me banging my head against a wall. Honestly, Nik,” I continue over her laughter, “considering you’re friends with some of the biggest stars in LA—not to mention the city’s hottest entertainment reporter—you have to start paying more attention.” As billionaire Damien Stark’s wife, Nikki rubs shoulders with movers and shakers in all industries, including mine. But except for projects that her friends work on, her knowledge of Hollywood caps off about the time that Hitchcock was directing Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo.

  It’s a massive character flaw in my best friend, but I’ve learned to live with it.

  “Why should I work at paying attention when the city’s hottest entertainment reporter tells me everything I need to know? Like who Carson Donnelly is.”

  “He, my ignorant friend, is currently the most celebrated director in town. And I interviewed him for that special I’m producing. We ended up hitting it off, and he’s seriously considering casting one former actress turned entertainment reporter—initials JAH—in his next movie.”

  “No way!”

  “Way,” I say, then actually giggle. Which is pathetic because I am so not the giggling type. “I love my job, but acting is still on my bucket list. And think of the access it would give me for more interviews.”

  “Like you need more access. You’re already the hottest entertainment reporter in town, which means every actor and director is banging down your door for an interview.”

  “I am awesome, aren’t I?” I zip the dress and slip my feet into the waiting sandals with four-inch heels. Then I examine myself critically in the full-length mirror, and I’m pretty damn pleased with what I see.

  I woke from a long nap less than an hour ago, and the puffiness that had lingered under my eyes has faded. Now I’m freshly showered, my hair falling in gleaming waves and my makeup so perfect I could audition for a Maybelline commercial. Most important for my evening plan, the dress clings provocatively in all the right places, boasts a neckline deep enough to ensure easy access to my breasts, and features a slit high enough to allow anyone sitting next to me a chance to explore parts south. Assuming, of course, that I’ll let him.

  I’ve never been one for false modesty, and as I twist and turn in front of the mirror, checking myself from all angles, I can honestly say that I look hotter than hell. Which is good, as hell-fire hot is exactly what I’m going for. I want him panting for me. I want to be that long drink of water he needs so badly it feels as if having me isn’t a matter of want, but of absolute survival.

  I buff my nails on my chest and realize I’m smiling. Which, considering that this extremely long day started with me stumbling under a ton of crushing worry and doubt, is a pretty terrific turn of events.

  “Helloooo. Earth to Jamie.”

  “Oh! Hey. Sorry.” I cringe, realizing I’d zoned out and completely missed everything that Nikki’s been saying. “What did you say?”

  “I agreed that you’re awesome. And that under the circumstances, Ryan will totally forgive you for ditching his last name. Although Jamie Hunter does have a certain ring to it.”

  “It’s tops on my list,” I admit.

  “But I’m worried about you, James,” she continues without missing a beat. And the fact that she’s using the nicknames we gave each other back when we were kids only underscores her concern. “Are you sure this is the best plan? You have to admit it’s over the top, even for you. It could backfire big time.”

  “I better be sure. I’ve already set it in motion.”

  “So you’re really going through with it.” It’s a statement, because Nikki knows me better than anyone. And I’m sure she can tell that my mind’s made up.

  “Yup.” I draw a breath, feeling my bare nipples rub against the soft silk as my chest rises and falls. I think about my husband, and about how strangely distant he seemed the last time we spoke.

  Ryan Hunter is more than my husband. He’s my life. My soulmate. My other half. I might have been scared of the whole marriage thing once upon a time, but I was never scared of being with him. And I will happily claw the face off of anyone who tries to pry him away from me.

  Bottom line, I can’t imagine my life without him. More than that, I know him. Something’s wrong. And I’m terrified that it has to do with me.

  “Jamie.”

  “I need to stir things up.” I’d made that decision after the last time I talked to him. He’d been distracted, and not just in the normal buried-in-work way. There was something else. Something that made my entire world tilt on its axis. And when he told me that he’d seen someone he once knew…well, the edge in his voice had done a number on me.

  I don’t understand it, but I know that it scared me. And it takes one hell of a lot to make me get scared about what’s between Ryan and me.

  On the other end of the line, Nikki sighs.

  “If it were Damien and he was acting weird…” I trail off, leaving the idea hanging out there for her to take and run with.

  “We both know what my answer is,” she says. “Of course I’d do whatever it took to figure out what was going on and to fix it. I’m just not sure that what you have planned is—oh, hell, James. I only want you to be realistic. Are you sure you know what you’re doing? I mean, he’s out of the country for work. He’s busy. It just seems—”

  “I’m sure.” I nod to myself, as if cementing my resolve. I have a plan, and my plan is good. Because sometimes you have to push the envelope.

  There’s a pause, during which I can imagine my best friend running through every possible argument in her head. But I guess none
are persuasive enough because she says, “All right, then. Call me tomorrow? Or at least text me that everything’s okay.”

  “Will do. Swear.”

  “That’s really the best I’m going to get out of you?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I can picture her exasperation. Her classically pretty face scrunched in frustration as she rolls her blue-green eyes. “Fine. I’ll let you go.”

  “Okay, bye—oh. I forgot to tell you. Guess who I bumped into outside the hotel?”

  “That is not telling me,” Nikki protests.

  “Huh?”

  “You said you forgot to tell me something. No fair making me guess. Besides, I already know. Gabby Anderson. Right?”

  “How the hell did you know that?”

  Gabby Anderson had come to the University of Texas for research on her graduate thesis. Something to do with medieval books. Nikki and I had been freshmen at the time, and Gabby lived in the apartment above the piece of shit place we shared. We all did laundry late at night, and that turned into drinking and talking sessions by the pool while we waited out spin cycles. I’d been bummed when she’d moved on, and though I’d genuinely meant to stay in touch, it never happened.

  “She tracked me down,” Nikki explains. “And said she was hoping to get together with both of us when she’s back in the States. She’s teaching at UT now, did you know?”

  “The University of Texas is in the States,” I point out.

  “Funny. I guess she’s in London on a sabbatical or something. She wasn’t clear. Anyway, I told her you were on your way to London right then, and she was ridiculously excited.”

  “So you gave her my flight info and told her where I was staying.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Are you kidding? No. I always loved Gabby. But if you were trying to distract me from The Plan, it didn’t work.”

  Nikki scoffs. “Have you made any plans with her?”