Man Killer

by Misty Evans

  She was drunk, and he laughed. “Far from it, I imagine. But hey, you never know. Maybe I'll get a book deal when I get back.”

  “I have some experience with intellectual property, so I can negotiate the contract for you, if you want.”

  He’d been joking, but he patted her leg. “Absolutely. You're stuck with me now. Every time I need a lawyer, I'm calling you.”

  Raising her face, she smiled at him. “You are?”

  He looked into her eyes and was glad the bowl of popcorn hid what was going on below his waist. A part of him melted right into those eyes. “Of course. I don't want anyone else representing me.”

  Her smile made him feel like Christmas morning, and before he could breathe, she leaned over and kissed him.

  It was quick, light, but then her lips lingered a few centimeters from his. “You…you're amazing. What you do—what you've done—for your country. You're a real hero, Mick. I would be honored to represent you.”

  He kept his hands on the bowl because if he didn't, he was going to reach for her, and they were going to end up prone on this couch again.

  His mouth, however, had a mind of its own. He leaned forward and caught hers. The kiss wasn't brief or light this time. He kissed her hard and deep, parting her lips with his tongue.

  She sucked in a breath, her fingers going to his hair and pulling him closer. She pressed against him and, popcorn flying to the floor, he grabbed for her.

  In the space of a heartbeat, she flung a leg over him, straddling his lap. “Oh, Mick,” she breathed. “I don't want this to be our last night together.”

  She's drunk, he reminded himself. In the morning, this little episode would make her blush. She would regret it, that line between professionalism and personal crossed once again.

  He couldn't do it, couldn't take advantage of her. His body hated him for it.

  Her fingers clumsily unbuttoned his shirt, her lips trailing hot kisses down his neck and onto his chest.

  On the other hand, why couldn't he let her take full advantage of him, even if she was drunk? No man in his right mind would turn this opportunity down.

  He was almost over that fine edge, and if he didn't do something immediately, he’d give into that devil on his shoulder.

  Tomorrow morning's regret seemed far, far away.

  Gently grabbing her wrists, he did the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life. Nothing, not making it through BUD/S, not surviving terrorists, not living in prison, compared to the pain of this.

  Gently, but forcibly, he pushed her back.

  “What’s the matter?” she breathed.

  Everything in him screamed to give her what she wanted, a fierce battle raging within. He was no hero, just a man trying to survive. Right now, that man wanted everything she was willing to give.

  And more.

  He allowed himself one more kiss, drawing it out as long as he could. He wanted to remember it always, especially if he ended up in some dank, dark prison cell again. But even if he was safely at home in a warm bed in America, he would remember this night, her sweetness, this kiss.

  Finally, she grew fidgety, twisting her wrists in his grip, trying to break free. He held tight, carefully setting her off of his lap and onto the couch, cursing himself for being such a gentleman.

  “What are you doing?” Her eyelids were at half-mast, one leg still trailing over his hard erection.

  He smiled without humor and brushed hair from her face. Being a hero, the voice inside him mocked.

  “Saving you from being another notch on my bedpost, sweetheart. Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

  8

  Anticipate potential outcomes and prepare for each one

  * * *

  Cassandra woke with a splitting headache and a warm body curled around hers.

  It was still dark outside, the glow from the alarm clock numbers reading four a.m. illuminating a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand.

  She would've been more worried about the body pressed up against her back except for the inherent knowledge that it was Mick, and she was safe in her bed with all her clothes on.

  She set a hand on her throbbing temple and struggled to rise, but she was engulfed in that warm male smell of his, the feel of his strong body, and nearly drifted back off to sleep.

  The memory of a few glasses of wine floated through her brain, and on the heels of that, the spectacle she’d made of herself with him.

  Worse, the memory of him rejecting her made her groan softly.

  He'd hustled her upstairs, practically carrying her, and she remembered holding on to his arm, insisting he not leave once he deposited her on the bed. Why, she wasn't sure, especially after he'd made it clear he wasn't interested. But she’d needed him to stay close, worries about the party and her role in getting Dr. Epstein and Nathaniel out safely, preying on her.

  Even now, the thought of what would go down in a few hours made her stomach cramp. Her bravado after receiving the invite had not been entirely an act—she had felt confident she could aid in the mission. So confident, in fact, and so pleased that she had played an important role in securing those invites, she became emboldened with Mick.

  Especially when she realized the mission was nearly over.

  He was sexy and wild, and she’d gotten caught up in it, making her brazen. She’d wanted to know what it was like to share Mick’s wildness, his utter boldness, only for a night. It would be her last chance.

  Of course, she'd needed a couple glasses of wine to let down her guard and risk taking him up on his offer. Liquid courage, wasn't that what they called it?

  “You’re kind of a lightweight, you know that, Donovan?” His voice rumbled against her back. “Take the pain relievers and drink the water. I need you in top form come sunrise.”

  Good thing he couldn't see the embarrassment that rose up her neck and into her face. Lifting her head required tremendous effort and she bit her bottom lip to keep back a groan. She managed to get the pills down and finish the water before laying her head back on the pillow.

  The bed shifted as Mick rolled off, footsteps heading for the door.

  Her voice came out rough, gravelly. “Where you going?” Dumb question, but she could blame it on her pounding head. It was tough to make intellectual conversation at four in the morning when you were dealing with a hangover.

  His footsteps stopped. She faced away from him, but she could imagine him looking back at her. The quietness of the night hung suspended between them and it seemed filled with something she couldn't quite name—something heady.

  “You want me to stay?”

  Seductiveness, that’s what hung in the darkness. His voice matched the night’s quietness, as if he feared that his normal tone might break the spell.

  “I'm worried.” It wasn't a lie, and the next words tumbled out of her mouth before her brain even thought them. “Can you stay and talk to me? It might help me fall back to sleep.”

  His response was to climb into bed with her, but he kept to his side. Her backside felt chilly without him and she rolled over flat, staring up at the ceiling. “Are you looking forward to seeing your family?”

  Another inane question, but he didn't seem to mind. He cleared his throat. “My stepsister, Becky, mostly, but my parents too. Becky's married and has two daughters. I've missed them so much.”

  “I'm sure they've missed you too. Where do they live?”

  “Monterey. Mom and my stepdad do as well. My dad never remarried. He's in San Francisco. I miss California, the ocean, the weather. It's all I’ve thought about…getting back, rejoining the world. Hunter says it's more challenging than I realize, and I'm sure he's right, but anything beats wasting away in a jail cell.”

  “I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

  His fingers found hers and twined with them. “I signed up for it, I take the responsibility. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make, I just didn't think the US would leave me to rot there for so long.�
�

  “I’d like to believe they planned to pull you out before much longer, but this is one of the reasons I stopped working for the NSA. I've seen and heard too much. There are people who've sacrificed everything to have our government treat them like disposable napkins, throwing them away without a care.”

  “NSA, huh? You continue to surprise me, partner. Do I want to know what you did for them?”

  She chuckled softly, the vibration making her skull hurt. His fingers were warm and solid and she tightened her grip ever so slightly. “Nothing sexy, I assure you. Legal counsel for various high-ranking people walking the edge of the law. I knew I needed to get out almost as soon as I got in, but the money was good and I thought I was making a difference by helping those who protect our nation. The lines started blurring for me, things got messy, and soon I questioned if I was doing the right thing. When Beatrice offered me a position with her company, I jumped at the chance. One day, my dream is to have my own firm, but for now, this is enough.”

  “Your own law firm. Sounds amazing.”

  Sounded amazing to her too, and a little scary. “I’ve never worked for a traditional law firm, so setting one up is daunting. Plus, I have no idea where to get clients. I can't poach my previous ones from the NSA, obviously, nor do I think I want any of them hiring my services, but there are so many private firms. Big ones. The competition will be steep.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “I'll be your first client.”

  She squeezed back, the flicker of hope in her chest. “I would like that.”

  They lay side-by-side for a long time in the dark. Her worry over the coming party and the extraction of the doctor and her son lessened. She closed her eyes and felt her breathing slow. The painkillers had kicked in and were starting to do some good.

  “What was your childhood like?” Her voice was soft, sleep tickling at the edges of consciousness.

  “Pretty nice,” he said. “The divorce was hard to get through. I was sixteen and pretty wild, if you can believe it. I went a little crazy, got kicked out of school, made my parents nuts. My dad wouldn't give up on me, though. I was such a brat, but he kept working on me, trying to reach me. Eventually, we became friends again. Mom remarried right before my eighteenth birthday, and luckily, my stepdad is cool. Becky and I hit it off right away, and we've stayed close as adults. How about you? Are you close with your sister?”

  She curled onto her side to face him. “We have a typical sister relationship—we fight, but we love each other. I was a geek in school, got picked on a lot, and Mandy was always there to defend me. I think that's one of the reasons I wanted to go into law. To be like her—stick up for people, help them find justice, just not with my fists. Before I got to do that, the NSA recruited me, and here we are.” She sighed deeply. “Amanda is also the reason I have a life plan.”

  “A life plan? Sounds ominous.”

  To him, it probably did. “My sister got pregnant at seventeen, had the baby at eighteen, and married the father at nineteen. Ten years later, they’re still together and have a beautiful daughter with another on the way. She’s happy, but it’s been challenging. When she was going through all of that, I just…” She shuddered. “I knew I wanted something different. I laid out a life plan—get a degree, pay off student loans, buy a nice car, and get a house. The American Dream, right? Then, and only then, would I be ready to have a family. Mandy is always teasing me, telling me to stop trying to control everything, but I like my life.”

  He shifted to bring their faces only inches apart. “I've met some pretty interesting people in my life, but you take the cake, Cass.”

  “I do?”

  “You’re brilliant, beautiful, and definitely one of the most incredible women I've ever met.”

  “What about your girlfriend? I assume you have at least one, or maybe dozens—one in every port, right, sailor? You probably can't wait to get back and see them.”

  And yep, there was yet another stupid question.

  Pinpricks of light from the alarm clock danced in his eyes. From his shadowy face, she saw them scanning her features, searching for something. “Would you be jealous if I did?”

  She wiggled her toes under the covers, trying to think of a snarky comeback. Her head hurt less, but it seemed her brain was still a muddled mess. “That’s not why I was asking. I was just…curious.”

  “Is that so?” They were still holding hands. He grinned and tickled her palm with his fingers. “Well, just so you know, I didn't leave a girlfriend behind before the last mission. Even if I had, I doubt she’d be waiting for me after this long. The real question is, why don't you have a boyfriend?”

  “How do you know I don't?”

  “You’re not the type to cheat, even if you're drunk.”

  He had her there. “I apologize for my behavior. It was inappropriate.”

  He flicked the end of her nose with a finger. “I like it when you're inappropriate. You should do that more.”

  She reached over and teased the skin at the top of his shirt, everything in her feeling brazen again. “You think so?”

  The air between them became charged once more with that heady, seductive energy. Mick caught her finger and brought it to his lips, kissing it. “Yeah, I do.”

  “I'm not drunk anymore, and you're in my bed.”

  “And?”

  He knew what she was offering, and yet, he apparently wanted to make sure she was clear about her invitation. “I've never been wild and crazy, never done anything risky, until this mission. When I go back home, I have to return to being Cassandra Donovan, an uptight lawyer. Maybe my sister is right—I need to loosen up.”

  He rose on one elbow to stare down at her. “Oh, you definitely need to listen and be inappropriate, unprofessional, and pursuing lots of risky behavior. As long as it's with me.”

  “I'm scared.”

  “Of what, having fun?”

  Of losing you.

  But she was more scared of never having him in the first place.

  Laughing, Cassandra pulled him on top of her.

  * * *

  The big coup

  * * *

  As a SEAL, Mick had always had an iron will. One that kept him on point, doing his job in the worst of circumstances. Once he made up his mind, knew his mission, he didn’t question it. Misgivings were shoved aside, trust in himself paramount.

  Cassandra Donovan should be off-limits, plain and simple. Somehow, she’d gotten under his skin, made him think in a different way. He’d set out to seduce her and then backed off when she’d made it clear she wasn't interested, only to now find himself on top of her.

  Iron will was one thing, but he wasn't a fool. When a sexy woman—stone cold sober, no less—wanted him to make love to her when he’d been lusting after her for days, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  She was the warmest, softest thing he’d felt in over two years, and his body melted on top of hers. She was wearing too many clothes; he wanted his skin on hers. Now.

  She kissed him, and he parted her lips with his tongue, going deep. He probed and teased, and as he did so, his fingers worked at getting her naked.

  He came up for a breath of air and locked eyes with her. He had her pants past her hips already, and she was helping. “Are you sure?”

  She knew what he was asking, and she stopped wiggling for a brief second. His heart plummeted, afraid she might change her mind.

  Then she smiled at him. “I don't know what will happen at the party, and I'm afraid for both of us, but there's one thing I do know. If for some reason this is our last time alone together, I want it to be amazing, just like you.”

  He chuckled, relief spreading through his veins. He was on fire for her. “I’ll protect you, you don't have to worry about that. And you know you can stay here. It’d be a hell of a lot safer.”

  “And let you take all the glory for saving the doctor and stopping that woman? I don't think so, Lieutenant Ranger.”

  He la
ughed at her bravado, still wishing she’d stay behind, but now wasn't the time to argue. “Let me get a condom.”

  “You have condoms?”

  “There’s a stash in the bathroom closet.” And thank God for that.

  When he returned, she was fully naked. Seconds were all he needed to shed his clothes and join her.

  The skin-to-skin contact was so exquisite, he held her immobile for several heartbeats, pinned under him. He closed his eyes and savored the moment

  Freedom. He’d been enjoying it the whole week, even though he was under contract to complete the mission, but nothing—not the food, the bed, the promise of going home—held a candle to her. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.

  “For what?” she whispered back.

  “This.”

  He trailed kisses along her neck to her collarbone, then suckled and massaged each of her breasts, celebrating the feast. He splayed his hands on her sides, sliding them from ribs to hips, memorizing every curve.

  His tongue found its way to her flat stomach then her pubic bone, tracing those beautiful feminine lines before dipping lower.

  She gasped, purred his name, and as he kissed and tongued her sensitive folds, begged him for more.

  Happy to accommodate, he added his fingers to the mix.

  Her first orgasm hit with the speed and power of a freight train, surprising him, her cry of passion loud enough to shake the rafters.

  Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d been celibate for a while. Come daylight, she’d be embarrassed when she had to face Hunter and the others. The thought made him smile.

  The next orgasm he teased out, thoroughly ravishing her from top to bottom. Her nipples were extremely sensitive, so he worked them over with his mouth, his fingers buried between her legs building a new rhythm. She moved with it, eager and willing. As her lust coiled and peaked, he caught her next cry of pleasure.

  She whimpered as she came down from the climax and he placed delicate kisses along her hairline and across her chin. She smelled like flowers, sex, and his aftershave, and he wanted to keep making her come for him for hours.