The answer would have to suffice. For now.
“And me? What’s your greatest risk with me?” she pushed.
Leveling his gaze at her, Ian answered, “That you’ll be the reason he screws everything up and gets himself killed.”
For a heart-stopping moment, the world ceased to have color. Sound. Scent. Jenny crossed the room to Günter and squared off with him. “You have to teach me.”
“What makes you think one sleepless night is going to change my mind?” he asked, scanning her face, obviously taking in the damage her tears had wrought.
“Even you said it, I’m just a job. This is just a job.” She turned to Ian. “And doesn’t Bengal make you horny as hell?”
“She’s right,” the agent said. “Unless you want her dry humping Jakes, there’s nobody to play the role of her stud.”
Günter made a low sound in the back of his throat that seemed suspiciously like a growl. Jenny faced him again.
“I’m ready to do this,” she said. “I can handle it. Whatever it takes.”
She saw him search for an argument and come up empty. Silence surrounded them, cushioned their world as Günter fought some private battle. And lost.
“Think you’re ready for this?” he asked.
Warm fingers, lightly calloused, surrounded her jaw. Using that one hand, he pushed her backward until the concrete wall abraded her back. Forced her chin up and brought his lips down in a crushing kiss. Slanting his mouth sideways, he held her immobile though he didn’t have to. This kiss—this man—ruled her as he plunged into her open mouth, slaking the moisture from her tongue and stealing the breath from her lungs.
Jenny’s knees went weak. Refused to hold her up past the first few moments. If it weren’t for the heated hand at her throat she would have crumpled to a hyperventilating heap on the floor. One booted foot kicked her ankles apart and she gasped—a little shriek of breath, almost a sob—as the solid length of Günter’s thigh pushed between her legs.
Lifting his head, he looked down into her eyes—a foreign hardness gleaming in his gaze. Phantom fingers ran down her spine, lingering on each vertebra until she shuddered at the icy sensation. Günter Faust smelled like musk and warm flannel. The man who held her now smelled like acid-etched danger and smoke-curled sin. Palm still at her throat, he traced one thumb along the line of her jaw, dipped his gaze to her heaving breasts.
Simon cleared his throat.
“They’re watching,” Jenny whispered, now conscious of their companions.
Günter’s hand tightened infinitesimally, reminding her of the game she’d started—one she didn’t really want to end.
“It’s just a kiss.” He issued his statement with a nudge of his leg along the seam of her jeans.
She whimpered at the jump of sensation in her pussy.
“Look at what it’s made you,” he said, pressing harder against her folds.
She cried out, on the verge of a void she wanted nothing more than to hurtle herself into.
“You think you can handle me?” He growled the question into her ear and rocked her hard against his thigh. “You think you can handle this?”
When he finished, she was no more than a puddle at his feet. He stared down at her as she tried to catch her breath and quell her shaking limbs.
“No,” he said. “I don’t believe you can handle me at all.”
She closed her eyes against the heat that crept up her cheeks.
The door to the firing range thudded shut. A few minutes later she jumped at the report of a weapon fired beyond the safety glass. Hands braced on her thighs, she looked up, the curtain of her hair only partially concealing what she knew was a stunned expression. She caught Simon’s stare and her gaze skittered to a point beyond his shoulder.
Spying a water cooler on the other side of the room, she crossed to it and poured herself a plastic cupful with shaking hands. As she drank, some of the cold liquid dribbled down her chin and under her blouse where it pooled between her breasts, cooling her skin and clearing her mind.
She might not be a real spy, but she had a real job to do. It was dangerous but it was important. She’d hone her skills over the next two weeks—get it and her role down right. Learn everything required of her. And she’d be damned if Günter Faust would kiss her that way and call her just a job. She’d felt him—as hard for her as she was wet for him.
Peering into the next room, she saw the three men standing in separate alleys, aiming and firing at paper targets in the distance. A curl of smoke accompanied the snapping boom of the bullets as they ejected from the weapons. So many details she’d never thought of—had never seen with guns fired on television or in the movies.
Each man wore a navy baseball cap. As the shell casings bounced off the brims, she realized the hats protected against the errant projectile leavings. Safety glasses afforded a measure of security from the flying metal as well. And even through the partition she could tell it was essential to have hearing protection from the explosive sound waves.
Günter had laid out the same safety equipment for her on the table. Fingering the cap, she looked over her shoulder at his rigid muscles and broad back as he fired his weapon. A little thrill went through her at the idea of all that power in her hands, and she didn’t know if it was in response to him or the lethal weapon.
“Only one way to find out.”
As she stepped into the range, it became a threshold between her old life and her new. Somehow, when this was all over, no matter the outcome, she knew she’d never go back to being plain old Jenny Ainsley again.
* * * * *
Günter’s hands came around her shoulders and Jenny shuddered.
“Pull back on the slide like this to chamber the round.” His voice rumbled in her ear with all the rich decadence of dark chocolate. “Careful of the skin between your thumb and forefinger. Hurts like a bitch when you pinch it.”
“Okay.”
She did as he’d demonstrated, tugging on the black matte metal strip at the top of the gun and releasing it with a solid snick. The gun weighed heavy in her hands, the checking on its solid grip grating just enough to remind her this was no toy she aimed at the bull’s-eye target halfway down the range.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, stepping back.
Jenny nodded and applied pressure to the trigger. When the gun went off, its weight kicked hard in her hands, the blast a physical force against the skin of her face. The shock wave came as the biggest surprise. That she hit the target at all came as the next. A hole appeared in the paper at seven o’clock, two lines shy of the bull’s-eye. The smell of gunpowder tickled her nostrils.
“Guns really do smoke,” she said, shocked at the raw reality of the experience.
“Bend your elbows a little more this time,” he instructed. “Widen your stance and use the shelf to steady your aim if need be.”
Again, she aimed and fired. The bullet shredded a neat hole just shy of the red center and she let out a whoop.
“Empty the magazine,” he said and jerked his chin toward the target.
He stepped back to lean against the wall, arms folded. A respectable hole appeared about the size of the side of her fist as she fired repeatedly.
“Nice work,” Simon called.
Jenny grinned at him, glad to have the praise, then reloaded.
Günter stepped in front of Simon, cutting off his view of the alley. The grim line of his mouth told her he was about to teach her another lesson.
He flicked a switch and the paper target came forward on a wire. Replacing it with a new one, he sent the clip zipping away again. When the target sailed past the middle of the alley and kept going to the back wall, Jenny looked at Günter in consternation. She couldn’t hit something that far away. For Pete’s sake, she could barely see the thing.
He stepped back, expression stern, and said, “Don’t get cocky. It’ll get you killed.”
Determined to meet his challenge, she steadied her aim and f
ired. Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire. Until she pulled the trigger and nothing happened. Günter reached over her head to the switch and the target zoomed back to her, waving in the breeze, as pristine as when she’d begun.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
“Nice mouth,” Günter said and she glared at him.
“It’s not possible,” she spat.
He gave a sardonic lift of his brow and plucked the weapon from her still vibrating hands. Jenny crossed her arms over her chest and watched as the target sailed to the end of the alley with a mechanical whir. Rolling his head, he loosened the tension in his neck before grounding his stance. The position tightened his ass to perfection in his jeans, showcasing taut muscle she wanted to reach out and squeeze.
The report of the gun sounded, simultaneous with the dancing of the target. Again and again the shock wave of the gun blast hit Jenny’s face, and she saw a black hole begin to appear in the target’s center. The gun jammed and Günter cursed before racking the slide to chamber a bullet, but he’d proven his point.
Brow arched, he looked at her, the picture of male arrogance and she couldn’t keep herself from issuing a challenge to all that testosterone.
“What do I get if I hit it?” she asked, nodding at the tattered paper as it completed its journey from the other end of the range.
“Sorry?” Günter shook his head and frowned.
“If I can hit the target at that distance by the end of the week, what do I get?”
“You’re not going to hit that by the end of the week.” His lips twitched. “Not even two.”
“If I do it? In two?” Jenny stepped in close to him, so close her chest almost brushed his abs. “You sleep with me.”
Two blinks—one rapid, the next a slow reveal of the banked fires in his eyes. Holy crap. Did she really just say that?
“Do you agree?” she asked, frantic to know his answer when he simply stared at her.
“Sure.” He lifted his palms and let them drop with a slap against his thighs. “Why not?”
“Really?” The question came out as a breathy squeal that made her clear her throat and repeat, “Really?”
“Sure. On a few conditions.”
She licked her lips and nodded, already planning her morning and evening training sessions at the range, telling herself she’d only made the bet so she could ensure their cover was believable.
“You have to cluster your hits. They can’t be random, and it can’t be just one hit.”
“That’s fair,” she agreed, and gave him a little smirk of triumph before turning away to lift the weapon from the shelf and resume her practice.
“I’m not finished,” he said and she looked over her shoulder. He nodded at the weapon. “Put the gun down and hear me out.”
She did as he asked and crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay. What?”
He ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, pulling it into an approximation of a pout. His eyes darkened. “I get to choose the time and place.”
Swallowing against the uptick in her pulse, she said, “All right,” then thought to add a stipulation of her own. “As long as it’s before we go down to London.”
He nodded and she grinned, triumph a heady drug.
“But Ms. Ainsley?” he asked as he dipped his head and lifted her hearing protection.
“Mmm-hmm?” The sound purred from her throat as she arched her neck to give him better access to her ear.
“You’re not going to hit the target.”
Chapter Nine
“You promised we’d have the day off.” Jenny’s thighs and arms still burned from the previous two days’ training sessions as she trotted to keep up with Günter.
His reflection frowned at her in yet another shop window. “Women love shopping.”
Jenny snorted. “You are such a chauvinist.”
Günter merely shrugged and crossed the street to one of the more expensive places. Fancy New Year’s dresses and beaded clutches winked at her from behind the glass. When he held the door open for her she gaped at him.
“I’m not buying my gangsta-wear in there,” she said. “This stuff is too…too…conspicuous. Besides, it’s like nothing I’ve ever been photographed in.”
“What do you think David Tallis’ sister is supposed to wear when she parties?” he asked. “Flannel nighties and gingham frocks?”
Her fists balled. She didn’t wear such matronly things.
“We don’t have all day, Ms. Ainsley,” he said.
Jenny curled her lip at him and stalked away.
He caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “You can’t be a tweaked-out tramp and dress like a nun.”
“I do not dress like a nun,” she argued, and it was true. She had low-cut sweaters and tight jeans aplenty.
“Fuzzy sweaters do not count,” he answered, reading her thoughts. “Now, are you coming along, or do you want a public row? Because I guarantee you’ll be in that shop inside of three minutes if I have to carry you myself.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said through clenched teeth.
He merely arched a brow. The image of herself flung over his shoulder had her glaring at him before she stomped back to the shop. They entered and he stood like a sentry by the door while she looked at tags.
“Too expensive,” she murmured, then, “Nothing’s in my size. Why do tall people get all the nice clothes?”
“You’d try the patience of a saint,” he said, pushing away from the door.
He stalked through the store, whipping items off racks until a sales lady descended to stop his reckless handling of her wares.
“I’ll take those and start a room for your wife,” she said with a pasted-on smile before Günter could mash any more of her finery into a ball.
Pursing her lips against a wicked grin, Jenny sashayed past Günter.
“Yes, darling, would you help me undress?” she purred and batted her eyelashes at him.
Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, he growled at her—actually growled at her—but followed. Spying a satin-tufted chair outside the dressing area, he sprawled himself onto its small frame.
Jenny giggled at the absurd picture he presented—his stature completely overwhelming a piece of furniture that could have passed for a wedding cake.
The sales lady fluttered around, adding clothes to the pile along with matching shoes and accessories. After an interminable wait, she closed the door to the dressing room for the final time, leaving Jenny and Günter alone.
He looked around as if seeing their surroundings for the first time. There was no screen for her to change behind, and the room sported four mirrors that guaranteed he’d see her no matter where he looked. Now that she was about to get naked in front of him, she could see Günter’s crumbling shields, even as he scrambled to shore them up.
Jenny faced him and slowly undid her jeans. He blew out a breath and looked away. Standing, he slid off his jacket and loosened his collar before sitting once more. Jacket draped over his crossed arms, he leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes as if taking a nap.
Letting the denim rustle over her body, Jenny kicked off her jeans so they landed on his feet. Günter opened his eyes and looked down at her trousers before snapping his lids shut again.
Jenny bit back a laugh.
Next came her shirt—a royal-blue turtleneck she slid over her head and tossed in a perfect arc so it landed on Günter’s face. She knew her scent clung to it, and had a moment of satisfaction when he took his time removing it. When he kept his eyes resolutely shut, she sighed.
Damn, but he was a difficult man to love. The idea hit her hard and she stared at him, realizing she was falling fast—too fast—for a man who, while he was obviously attracted to her, considered her off-limits for whatever reason.
While she’d had no luck over the past several days, if she could just hit that damn target, she knew he’d make love to her. Once that happened, she knew she could find her way into that steely heart of his. Or at least sh
e hoped she could because something told her if she couldn’t, she’d be suffering the effects of a broken heart for a long time to come.
Turning to grab a dress, she caught a glimpse of her bottom in the opposing mirror. He’d threatened in the SUV, and again in the kitchen, to spank her. What would it be like to have his hands—so intimate and firm—on her flesh? Chewing her bottom lip, she glanced up and caught Günter’s stare. Arousal flared his nostrils and darkened his expression with desire. She mesmerized him with fingertips that lightly caressed the rounded flesh of her bottom.
“Cover yourself,” he croaked when he finally met her eyes.
“And if I don’t?” she asked, letting a smile play about her lips.
“Jenny…” he pleaded.
In that moment she saw a lost boy, afraid of some shadow from his past. She almost relented, but intuition told her to press on.
“Tell you what,” she said, hiking up the line of her panties to expose more flesh. “You talk to me. Tell me why you don’t want to sleep with me…and I’ll get dressed—buy all of these things, and more.”
“I can’t—”
She slipped her bra strap off her shoulder.
“All right then,” he shouted and stood to pace the small space. He ran a hand down his face.
“Not here,” she said, reading his expression as she pulled on her jeans. “Take me to the bar around the corner. It’ll be loud enough no one will hear.”
He nodded and slammed out of the room.
Jenny looked at her watch. It was close to eight p.m. The shop would be closing soon. She’d have them hold her purchases and retrieve them tomorrow. Fingering a black mini-dress shot with silver thread, she decided to change into something more alluring than jeans. Unless she missed her guess, Günter was going to need some cheering up after this conversation, and she knew just the way to lift his mood.
* * * * *
“You have the advantage over me, Mr. MI-5,” Jenny complained to him. “It’s time you gave a little in return. And don’t give me any top-secret rubbish.”
Günter glanced around, gauging the distance between their table and the next occupied one.
Undercover Lover Page 11
