by Tess Summers
Combustion
Ensenada Heat, Book Two
Tess Summers
Seasons Press LLC
Copyright 2019 Tess Summers
Published: 2019
Published by Seasons Press LLC.
Copyright © 2019, Tess Summers.
Edited by Elayne Morgan, Serenity Editing Services.
Cover by OliviaProDesign.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations within critical reviews and otherwise as permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
This book is for mature readers. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language that may be considered offensive by some.
All sexually active characters in this work are eighteen years of age or older.
Combustion
She was meant to be mine—I knew it the moment we met. Too bad I’m about to kidnap her.
Mason Hughes
As a decorated CIA agent, I know better than to kidnap a former colleague’s sister and hold her hostage on a ship in the middle of the ocean. The agency tends to frown on that sort of behavior. But desperate times call for desperate measures; I have my reasons, and they’re good ones. I’ll be forgiven with a slap to the wrist—at least for that part of the mission.
Until I tie Reagan Jones up and can’t resist her when she presses her tight little body against mine. That’s probably not so forgivable.
Then there’s the issue of falling in love with her and refusing to let her go once the mission is over. Definitely not forgivable.
I have no idea what I’m thinking—we can’t be together; it’s not safe for her. I’m a spy, and she’s a feisty art instructor from Fargo. Not exactly the perfect match.
Or is it?
Dedication
To my readers—thank you letting me share my stories with you.
Acknowledgements
Elayne Morgan—thank you for being such an incredible editor. The care and effort you put into this book is so appreciated.
OliviaProDesigns—thank you for another amazing cover.
Mr. Summers—thanks for taking such good care of me.
Janece Ellers—thank you for continuing to be the best beta reader ev-ah! You’ve been with me since Ava and Travis, and I can’t thank you enough for your valuable feedback.
JM—your feedback on each and every book is so appreciated. Thank you for always encouraging me.
My mom, aunties, grandma, and cousins—you’re the best tribe a girl could ask for. Thanks for always being there.
My writing friends—thank you for letting me be a part of your amazing, talented group. Your energy is contagious.
Ric fuckin’ Casper and Brian Kurtz—thanks for volunteering to have characters named after you. I hope you like them!
Table of Contents
Copyright 2019 Tess Summers
Combustion
Dedication/Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Epilogue
Chapter One
Reagan Jones
The Ensenada humidity and Reagan’s hair were currently at odds with each other as she finished getting ready for her niece’s baptism rehearsal, and the humidity was winning. Since Reagan was godmother to little Madison Belle Guzman, the petite redhead thought she should at least try to look presentable, but her curly red hair was not cooperating so now she was running late. The actual baptism was taking place on Sunday, two days from now, and it seemed like it was pretty straightforward, so why on earth there needed to be a practice run was beyond her. But her big sister had asked, and there was no way Reagan was going to tell Kennedy no. Besides, the godfather provided some delicious eye candy, so it wasn’t like this was going to be torture.
After putting the finishing touches on her makeup, she took a step back to look in the mirror at her reflection in a pastel green sleeveless sundress and strappy heels. Seeing the opulent Mexican furniture in the background, Reagan took a deep breath and smiled.
She was a long way from her little life in Fargo, North Dakota, where she taught painting at the community center and graphic design at the local college. She wasn’t making millions, but she was paying the bills and living on her own without having to rely on anyone else—and that was all that mattered.
Of course, it was a far cry from her older sister’s rich and glamorous life. Kennedy Jones, now known as Bella Guzman, was happy with her new husband and baby girl. Granted, Bella had to live under a new identity, so any get-togethers with her family had to be coordinated and clandestine, like this week’s carefully orchestrated trip with Reagan and her mother.
Reagan stepped out of the villa walls, past the watchful eyes of the guards, and down the steps into the back seat of the waiting black car with tinted-out windows. A long way from Fargo, she thought again. She’d had a driver with her at all times this week, and she was never allowed to go out exploring on her own. It was stifling, and Reagan felt like she was being babysat every time she walked out the beautiful double wooden doors of the villa her new brother-in-law had rented for her and her mother. There were guards at the palatial gates where she was staying, but there were at least triple that at her destination, the mansion her brother-in-law owned. Her brother-in-law owned the estate, but his best friend—and Madison’s godfather—John had been living there while Kennedy and Dante stayed in California so her niece could be born in the United States.
The more Reagan learned, the more she swore her sister was living a real-life telenovela. Who had the energy for that drama? Not this Midwestern girl.
It wasn’t until they drove out the gates that she noticed her driver was new. With his linebacker shoulders under his charcoal grey suit and short, dark blond crew cut, he looked more like a farm boy from North Dakota than a Mexican security guard. And when he tried to answer the question she posed to him in Spanish, his response was awkward and stilted.
Definitely not a native speaker
. Maybe her farm-boy assessment wasn’t that far off.
“What’s your name?” she asked in English.
He looked at her in the rearview mirror through his aviator glasses, the corners of his mouth lifting.
“Mason.”
“Mason, I’m detecting an East Coast accent, and I don’t mean Veracruz, Mexico-east coast.”
His smile got broader, revealing a dimple on his handsome, tanned baby-face.
“You’d be correct, ma’am. Massachusetts, born and raised.”
“You did not just ma’am me. How old are you?”
“Thirty-three, and it’s just part of my upbringing. I certainly didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Well, since I’m a year younger than you, you’re not allowed to call me ma’am. Reagan will do just fine.”
That elicited a chuckle.
“Very well, Reagan. I won’t do it again.”
“So what’s a nice Massachusetts boy doing working security in Sinaloa, Mexico? I mean, you obviously have the physique for it.” Boy, did he, from what she could tell by his broad shoulders and arms. “But this is an awfully long way to go for a job.”
“I’m only here temporarily. I came to solicit some help from an expert in the area, and managed to pick up this gig in the meantime.”
They chatted so much during the drive, she didn’t pay attention to the route. So when they pulled into the marina and slowed to a stop near the docks. Reagan looked around, confused, not moving when Mason opened her door.
“Are we picking someone else up?”
Offering her his hand, he nonchalantly answered, “Oh, no. Dante decided to move things to the yacht at the last minute. He thought everyone would enjoy the fresh ocean air. I think we’re probably the first ones here.”
Now, you’d think that, given the warnings her sister had been hammering into her, alarm bells should have been going off in her head. Red flags waving, neon signs flashing, that kind of thing.
Nope.
None of it. Not with the handsome, blond American holding her hand as he escorted her down the dock and chatted hockey with her while helping her onto the most luxurious ship she’d ever been on.
Which wasn’t really saying a lot, since her boating days consisted of drinking and tanning on Ricky Hansen’s parents’ pontoon boat in the middle of Pelican Lake during her summers in high school.
Mason walked on board like he was familiar with the vessel, while she lagged behind, admiring every detail.
“Wow, this is beautiful,” she whispered in awe when she stepped down into the living area with its shiny, dark veneer wood and muted gray furniture, complete with a corner bar with a top that appeared to be made of granite. The ceiling with recessed lighting was higher than she’d expected. Until four days ago, she’d had no idea people really lived like this. Now, this was her sister’s fairytale life.
But it came at a cost.
Reagan didn’t know the details of her sister’s life as an ex-CIA agent; she just knew Kennedy was presumed dead by her agency, and that was a good thing because they wanted her that way. Her family was under strict instructions to never reveal she was alive or going by the name Bella Guzman. Reagan didn’t know much about her new brother-in-law, Dante, other than that he made her sister happy. Frankly, she didn’t want or need to know anything else. Ignorance was bliss.
Mason offered her a mimosa.
“While you wait,” he said with a panty-dropping smile. Damn, he was hot.
She felt so luxurious, sitting on a yacht with a champagne flute in her hand while a gorgeous blond man with blue eyes and adorable dimple watched over her to make sure she was safe. If her friends in Fargo could see her now!
That was the shitty part of this experience. She couldn’t even tell anyone about it, much less post pictures on social media of her living the high life. The adage of pictures or it didn’t happen definitely applied. It was though she was living her life as if it belonged to someone else.
Mason was on the phone, glancing her way, so she walked around the space, glass in hand, and took small sips while examining the art on the wall. I’m on a ship that has art on the wall. Reagan couldn’t help but giggle.
Her handsome driver/guard/babysitter disconnected the call and came to stand by her side, drinking a bottle of water.
“That was security from Dante’s estate. They had a late start; I guess the baby was being fussy, so they’re on their way now. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat while you wait? Another mimosa?”
She drained the contents of her glass and walked over to the sink to rinse it out.
“They have people to do that, you know,” he said with a smirk.
“I know, but I don’t at home, so it just feels natural to clean up after myself.”
“So I’m assuming that’s a no on another mimosa?” His adorable smirk was still intact. She had a sudden urge to suck on his dimple.
Whoa, drunk hussy. Calm your hormones.
“No, I think it was a bad idea to drink one without eating yet today. I’m feeling a little woozy.”
“Come on, let’s get you something to eat,” he said, offering her his hand, which she readily accepted. She liked it when he held her hand.
How sad was her life that the most action she’d seen in a year was having the bodyguard hold her hand while he escorted her to the galley? And he was only offering it to make sure she didn’t trip.
She sat at the small kitchen island while he pulled a platter of hors d'oeuvres from the refrigerator.
“Do you think we should be eating those? I’m sure they’re for the guests.”
“You’re a guest, aren’t you?” he replied with a wink as he removed the plastic wrap.
Oh damn, the matching wink to the adorable dimple. And he’s feeding me. I think I might be in love.
“So, how long are you planning on staying in Ensenada?” She tried to sound casual while plucking a cucumber slice with cream cheese and diced tomatoes off the tray.
Mason handed her a small plate and napkin.
“Not long. As soon as I get the expert to buy in on assisting me with my next project, I’ll be leaving.”
Hopefully he’d be here until she went home. How scandalous would it be if she had an affair with her driver?
She popped the entire snack in her mouth and instantly regretted it as she tried to chew in a ladylike fashion with her mouth stuffed full of cucumber and cream cheese. If he noticed her chipmunk cheeks, he didn’t mention it.
Finally, she swallowed and took a sip of the glass of orange juice he had poured for her.
“What’s your project? If you don’t mind my asking?”
At least that’s what she intended to ask him, but suddenly she felt like she couldn’t form words. Her brain was telling her mouth to move, but it wouldn’t work. Same with her limbs.
She heard him say, “Relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” as his arms came around her.
And that was the last thing she remembered until waking up hours later in the middle of the ocean on a beautiful yacht with a man who, turns out, didn’t really have her best interests at heart after all.
Chapter Two
Mason Hughes
Goddammit, he wasn’t supposed to like this woman. She was supposed to be a means to Agent Jones, and that was it. She was supposed to be disposable should things not go as planned.
Then out walked a knock-out with red hair… why did it have to be red? That was his fucking weakness. Although, given who her sister was, he should have been expecting it. But she hadn’t been anything like Kennedy—or any woman he’d ever met. She was enthusiastic about everything and so goddamn genuine it made him want to hug her. Or fuck her. Okay, both.
Looking at her passed out on the bed in the master suite, her pale green dress inching up her creamy thighs, red hair fanned out around her delicate features, he realized she might be hard for him to simply dispose of should the need arise. This was not how the plan was supposed to go.<
br />
Shit, shit, shit.
His team had held her sister on this very ship after extracting her via helicopter from Dante Guzman’s estate. They had waited in the servant’s quarters for further instructions on what to do with Agent Jones. Something about that whole assignment had felt off. He’d read her file before the mission; it was exemplary, so he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly when the orders came to terminate her. It didn’t sit well with him, but someone with a higher pay grade was making that call. His job was to carry out orders.
Then dipshit Robinson decided to try and get his dick wet, and she got the drop on him. He’d told everyone he shot her and she fell overboard, but unfortunately for Agent Dipshit, Mason had been watching the security feed and saw what really happened.
But Mason Hughes was smart and knew an opportunity when he saw one, so he shut his mouth and tucked away the knowledge that Special Agent Kennedy Jones was alive and well until he needed it for a rainy day.
Well, it was more than raining right now; it was a goddamn hurricane. And he needed Kennedy’s help, or her husband’s money, or both.
Getting the real driver for Reagan to give him the gig was a piece of cake. Way cheaper than it should have been, frankly. But Mason hadn’t expected a freaking knockout to walk out of the gates, and he definitely hadn’t expected to think she was the most adorable creature on the planet within thirty minutes of meeting her. He suddenly understood how Kennedy Jones might have found herself on the agency’s hit list. The heart wants what the heart wants and all that bullshit.
He wasn’t sure if it was heart or his dick that wanted Reagan Jones, but it was something. And these next four days sailing to Colombia with her, alone except for the small crew, were going to be an exercise of his willpower.
Fortunately, she was going to hate him when she woke up, so that would probably help curb her adorableness. It wasn’t going to do anything about her tight little body though. Why couldn’t Agent Jones have had an ugly, hairy brother to kidnap instead of this sexy nymph?
