“What’s the rest of the poem?” he demanded. “Think, Kate.”
She couldn’t think. Her ass was against his crotch, his arms were thick and strong, and he smelled…good. How could she—
“Can you grab my throat?”
She couldn’t possibly raise either hand higher than her chest. “No.”
“What’s the easiest soft target open to you?”
She lifted her foot to stomp his, but he deftly moved and she missed.
“The groin,” he reminded her. “You can step to the left and use your right hand to punch, grab, twist, and pull. I can’t stop you without letting go of you.”
“Is that why you’re so insistent we do this now? A groin grab?” As she asked the question, she inched to the side and lowered her hand, landing right on the bulge in his pants. And stroking once.
“No!” He whisked her off the ground and flipped her to the other side of him, spinning around, his eyes sparking. “That’s the last thing you do, Kate.”
It was the only thing she wanted to do. She stared at him, the rejection stinging. “Why are you doing this?”
“For your protection.”
“You told me the other day it could be worse, not better, for me.”
“And you’re proving my point, Kate.” He shook his hands out, something she’d noticed he did a lot when he was mad or frustrated. “Listen, I’m serious now.”
Yep, something was definitely different and weird. Was it because they’d fooled around on the beach? Because Luke McBain had essentially “caught” them? “Why now? Why not before?”
He shook his head. “Just pay attention and let’s work on—”
“What changed?” she demanded, knowing instantly from the tiny spark in his eyes that something had for sure. And it wasn’t good. “Did you see someone? Find something out?”
“No, I just want you to be safe if…if I’m not here.”
Her heart dropped a little. No, a lot. Too much, in fact, to be a normal reaction to him leaving. “Why would you not be here?”
“I’m going to have to leave eventually. And you might…stay.”
She could feel the blood draining from her face, hating that her body betrayed her emotions like that. “That’ll be interesting to explain to the staffers who think we’re newlyweds.”
He rocked back on his heels. “I guess they’ll tell them you’re hanging out while I travel on business or something.”
“You have talked to someone!”
His eyes flickered, and she silently thanked that moot-court mentor who’d taught her to look for the shuttered-eyes tell. “Let’s just keep doing this, Kate. You need to know at least three foolproof ways to escape an attacker. Also, how to get out of duct tape, a locked trunk, or a moving vehicle.”
“When are you leaving?” she asked, hating the way the question almost strangled her. Good God, what was wrong with her? A few days ago she’d have killed to have been rid of him. And now…
Maybe it was Stockholm syndrome.
“Eventually,” he said.
“But so am I,” she replied. “I’m sure Gabe could time it so that happened around the same time.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Let’s talk about setting your feet. That’s part of your problem, you know. You’re off-balance.”
“You do that to me.” She met his gaze while she made the admission. “And it scares me.”
He shook his hands at his sides, then became like a statue. “What should scare you is—”
“We’re going to sleep together. You know we are.”
He let out a breath. “That.”
“It doesn’t scare me,” she announced. “But I have to know more about you before I do. The inside stuff. The real you. I can’t sleep with you until I do.”
He looked like he was having a hard time swallowing, let alone coming up with a good answer. “That’s good,” he finally said.
“What do you mean?”
“You shouldn’t sleep with someone you don’t know. So that’s good.” Not only did he sound unconvinced, the way he said it pissed her off.
“How is that good?” she pressed.
“It’s smart.”
“But you would sleep with me even if you didn’t know anything about me.”
“I wouldn’t…” At her notched eyebrow, he dipped his head. “I shouldn’t.”
“But you would. I guess you’re a guy, and a fuck’s a fuck, even if—”
“Stop it.” He ground out the words and got right in her face, grabbing her arm for emphasis. “I’m not telling you more about myself for your own protection, the same reason I’m doing everything. Watching over you, ready to kill for you, making sure you stay safe.”
She stared up at him, her pulse pounding, the air crackling, his eyes narrowing as if…he wanted to kiss her. And she took the opportunity of his intense concentration to grab one of his fingers and bend it in the wrong direction, forcing him to release her.
He barely flinched at what she knew had to hurt. “Awesome, Kate. You were listening.”
“Where the finger goes, the hand has to follow,” she said, echoing one of the first things he’d taught her. “And I earned coffee.” Before he could even think about stopping her, she shot toward the kitchen and pounced on the coffeemaker, staring at the machine as it brewed, her back to the patio and Alec.
“Do you think I’m taking advantage of you?”
The question startled her, along with his quiet entrance. Then she thought about what he was asking and laughed softly. “I think we can be honest about who’s driving the sex situation here. Like I said, you make me lose my balance.” She gave a dry laugh. “In fact, you make me lose a lot of things, like my common sense and sanity and my hard-won belief that I need to be completely alone to be safe and that I will never, ever, ever, ever depend on a man for anything, because I hate how they control me…” Pausing for a much-needed breath, she finished, “All that stuff, just poof.” She snapped her fingers. “Gone at the sight of a big man who would…kill for me.”
He’d stayed still through the whole speech and finally lifted one hand and placed it on her cheek, the touch so incredibly light and gentle and tender that her legs almost buckled.
“What did he do to you to make you that angry?”
“He…he…” She nuzzled her cheek against his palm, like a kitten desperate for affection. “He never touched me like this.” She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the pity in his.
“Then he’s an idiot.”
She smiled. “Sadly, he’s anything but. He’s a shrewd, conniving bastard.” She put her hand over his, stroking it and pressing it harder to her cheek. “Your hands…” She sighed again. “So different…from his.”
“Did he hurt you, Kate?”
“He never hit me, if that’s what you mean. But, you know, he made decisions for me, he suffocated me, and he oppressed me, and, God, he put me down. And before you ask why I allowed that to happen, just understand that of the five years I was married, four and change were spent knowing I had to extricate myself from the situation, which was no mean feat with that man.”
He stroked her chin and jaw, studying her. “How’d you finally manage to do that?”
“My dad helped a lot, once he finally realized Steven was not all he’d dreamed for a son-in-law. He pushed things through the court system when Steven did everything to delay our divorce and protract the legalities. It just took Dad a long time to see through Steven. Everybody falls for his charm,” she said. “But when you get to know him…” She shuddered. “He is so full of hate. I didn’t see that, though. I was completely fooled.”
She looked up and blinked, a tear she hadn’t realized she’d shed dribbling down her cheek until it was brushed away by a large, but incredibly tender, thumb.
“As soon as we were married, the real Steven emerged.” The words rushed out, like they’d been pent up for too long. “He overpowered me mentally and emotionally. He made every choice for me
, held every purse string, issued every order, and maintained complete control. I was forced to do everything.”
His eyes widened in horror.
“Not that,” she added. “Never that.” And another dry laugh. “He hated…” God, this was hard, but she had to tell him. She didn’t know why, but she had to let it out.
“Tell me, Kate.”
“He hated sex,” she finally admitted. “The times we were together, it was perfunctory, dark, quick, more to shut me up than anything. He was like an asexual man who got off on money and power, but really didn’t care about anything emotional or…physical. And I guess it was another way to control me, because I wanted a normal, healthy, sexual relationship with my husband.”
She closed her hands over his arms, needing his strength right then, his solid, masculine power that propped her up. “I guess that’s why I seem so hard up.”
“You aren’t hard up. You’re…” He stroked her face again, two hands now, clasping her cheeks like she was precious, but he didn’t finish his sentence.
“Lonely? Horny? Starved for affection? Go ahead, I can take it.”
He just smiled. “You’re the word lady. I was going for something more like…worthy. Yeah.” He nodded. “You’re worthy of so much better than being controlled and ignored.”
With a long, pained sigh, she slipped her arms around him and let herself be pulled into his chest. An achy comfort warmed her, making her feel completely safe and secure.
“Come on, Smarty-Pants. Get your coffee, and then I’m going to teach you some foolproof escape methods, and we still have more soft targets to master.”
But her softest target was the one in her chest and, right that minute, it felt like Alec Petrov was moving toward ownership of it.
There was no foolproof escape for that, was there?
Chapter Twenty
Gabe had his cover set up flawlessly, as he always did going into a situation like this. It had taken some research, a few trips to the Casa Blanca administrative offices to flirt with the pretty brunette in sales, and hours of combing through the Radio and TV Martí Web site for English transcripts. Now, he was ready.
Nailing an appointment with someone at the Miami-based broadcasting network was almost as difficult as slipping into Cuba itself; security was serious. But that wasn’t Gabe’s concern. He had an appointment, a bulletproof ID package, and a goal for his meeting. He just wasn’t sure he had the right person.
Amber Martinez was a low-level administrative assistant in the IT department of the news conglomerate, not a high-profile reporter who might have real information for him. But Gabe had worked hundreds of informants in his day, and he knew they lurked in the most unexpected places.
And he couldn’t go barging in demanding to meet her. This took finesse, and finesse was Gabe’s middle fucking name.
Actually, today his name was William James Bishkoff, executive public relations director for Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, seeking promotional coverage for his hotel property.
The Miami sun kicked his ass as Gabe crossed the parking lot, but he kept the uncomfortable suit jacket buttoned and his tie tight. The dress shoes squeezed feet that had been bare more than anything for the past few weeks, and his face still stung from the morning’s razor. But Bill Bishkoff would never go to a meeting with a client unshaven or underdressed.
He sailed through the metal detector, showed his ID to the front desk, and waited for his contact from the features department to greet him in the lobby. As he waited, he watched the monitors that lined the wall, all of the major news stations running silent with Spanish subtitles, the last monitor on TV Martí, blaring its audio in Spanish.
It took him back. Back to—
“Mr. Bishkoff?” A young man, fresh out of college at best, hustled toward him and held out his hand. “Welcome to Martí. I’m John Ramirez, an intern in features.”
An intern? So, not even out of college. Should make things easy. “John, thanks for taking the time to see me.”
“I’m sorry the features editor is in a meeting this morning, but if you have a press kit or something, I’ll take it in and we can get back to you.”
Not a chance he’d be put off that easily. “I do, but it’s all on my tablet, and I’d like to walk you through it. Do you have five minutes?”
The intern gave a fake smile. “Could you e-mail it to me? We get a lot of information for features, which”—he gestured toward the serious newsman spewing angry Spanish on the TV—“as you can see, aren’t the highest priority around here. But of course we’ll look at your material. For a resort, right? We’ll consider it for our new travel segment.”
“I would imagine that part of your news is heating up right now. Soon enough, the last barricade will be down, and tourists will be going both ways to and from Cuba.”
“That’s happening,” he agreed. “Which will be great.”
“And when they do, we want the Cuban vacationers to find their way to our resort.”
He nodded, clearly not interested in the pitch, probably hungry for lunch and pissed that his boss couldn’t be bothered to meet the resort PR person hawking American sunshine and villas that only about one percent of Cubans could afford—if and when the country opened up.
Gabe got that. “Listen, why don’t we download my presentation onto a flash drive and you can be on your way?”
John’s youthful features lit up at the way out of an actual meeting. “Go ahead and do that.”
“Okay, hang on for a sec.” Gabe started patting his pockets, then reached inside his jacket, swearing softly. “Have you ever been to any of the little islands off the Gulf Coast, John?” he asked, feigning frustration as he looked for a jump drive he knew he didn’t have. At least, not one he’d use…yet.
“Just Sanibel, but I stay local,” he said.
“The resort is something,” Gabe said, moving to his laptop case and looking in every crook and cranny. “I could set you up with a full comp weekend for you and a friend. You have a girlfriend?” He rechecked every pocket.
“Uh, yeah, I do.”
“Would you like to take her to a villa on the beach, all expenses paid?”
“Are you trying to bribe me?”
Gabe laughed heartily. “Dude, you have a lot to learn about how PR works. That’s what we do. It’s called a press comp. I’ll arrange one in your name, if you could just”—he gave up the search—“let me borrow a jump drive?”
“Sure,” he said, eyeing Gabe. “You could really do that? I’m only an intern, you know.”
“And I bet you make plenty of decisions about which products and places actually get a coveted spot on that new travel segment.”
He gave a modest shrug. “Some. We’re probably going to start taking advertising, and that’s what I’d really like to do.”
They’d take advertising because federal funds for the station would go bone dry when Cuba opened up to American travel and TV. “You can count on my company for that.” Which would probably help his little résumé. “Where can I get that jump drive? Or do you want me to wait?”
“No, no. Come with me to IT. If there’s one thing we have, it’s flash drives.”
“That’s how a lot of your news gets delivered, right? Since the Cuban government jams your transmissions so much?” He hoped against hope that Amber Martinez was indeed who Mal meant when he’d mentioned Amber Bock beer in their conversation. Otherwise, this was just another lap in the wild-goose chase he’d been on for a long time.
But he’d never stop until he found that goose.
“Usually, yes,” John replied.
“How do you get the flash drives into Cuba?” Gabe asked as they went through a set of steel doors.
John gave him a look and chuckled. “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”
Gabe almost laughed out loud at the cliché that he used himself—and meant—so often. “But all that’s going to change soon, right?”
“From what I understand,
it’s a slow process, and the people who work here are really dedicated to getting news from the free world to their families and countrymen.” His little speech sounded canned, like he’d heard his boss say it a thousand times.
“I already know there’s an underground group of volunteers who distribute the flash drives,” Gabe said.
“That’s no secret,” John said, stopping at the last door in the hall. “But who they are is. This is IT. They should have a drive we can borrow.”
Gabe would have to work smart and fast. “Great,” he said, scanning the office cubicles inside, the fluorescent lights off, but each individual area lit by computer screens. The hum of conversation and the general buzz of business hovered over the cubes as they walked past a few.
“Hey, can I borrow an empty flash drive?” John asked the first person they came upon who wasn’t on the phone or wearing headphones.
He gave a shake of his head. “None empty. Talk to Joella or Amber.”
Amber. Bingo. Gabe stayed close on John’s heels, acting like he was just so flat-out fascinated by the tech department, but his brain was whirring with possibilities. Amber had some connection…he hoped.
“What up, Johnny?” A young woman stood in a tiny, messy cubicle, her spiky dark hair reminding Gabe of a twenty-five-year-old version of his cousin Vivi back in her skater-girl days.
“I need a clean flash drive, Amber.”
This was his target. “Hi, Amber. I’m Bill.” He slid just a little in front of John and gave his deadliest smile. “The flash-drive borrower.”
She did a little double take, as if she’d been ready to dismiss him, then changed her mind. “Hi, Bill The Flash-Drive Borrower. What’s your deal?”
Gabe kept his smile. “I’m giving away free weekends in paradise. You want one?”
She lifted a dark brow, playful and pretty. “Really?”
“He’s in PR with a resort over near Naples.”
“Which one? My granny lives there.”
Barefoot With a Bodyguard (Barefoot Bay Undercover) (Volume 1) Page 18
