His Captivating Confidante (Secret Sentinels)

by Lisa Weaver

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2016

  A Kindle Scout selection

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  Contents

  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

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  “Sorry, Jimmy.”

  Stephanie Knight suppressed a shudder as dank, ankle-deep water sloshed over her favorite pair of stilettos. It was the third puddle of questionable origin her expensively shod feet had connected with in as many minutes. Such blatant disregard for Mr. Choo’s artistry would certainly get her blacklisted by the fashionista set.

  But her haute couture transgression was the least of her problems tonight.

  Continuing down the dark alleyway, she bit back an expletive that was as out of character for her prim and proper librarian persona as the racy onyx evening gown she wore. The seductive garment was essential window dressing for her assignment, but she was way out of her comfort zone. The gown’s slitted-to-high-thigh skirt and plunging neckline revealed far more than they concealed.

  She reminded herself that neither her fish-out-of-water discomfort nor the collateral damage her shoes were suffering mattered. What counted was not screwing up this mission the way she had the last. She loved her work with Sentinels, a covert protection agency charged with safeguarding an elite clientele. She’d trained long and hard to earn a promotion from research assistant to one of the firm’s highly coveted field agent spots. She was determined to hold on to that position.

  The graffiti-splattered urban jungle she was traversing was as far removed from the luxurious ballroom where her evening had begun as it was possible to get. She fought the urge to hold her breath as the olfactory insult of stale liquor and rotting garbage assaulted her nostrils. She couldn’t afford to deprive her body of oxygen. She would need every molecule of the stuff to navigate the challenge that lie ahead of her.

  Right at this moment, she would happily trade her prized stiletto collection to be back in the library surrounded by the scent she loved best—the perfume of books. Of course, her assignment could have been carried out entirely within the confines of the upscale hotel she’d left an hour ago, so the blame for this un-scenic side trip fell entirely on her own shoulders.

  Wine had been flowing abundantly at the black-tie charity gala, but since she hadn’t had a drop of anything even remotely inebriating, she couldn’t attribute her misstep to liquor-dulled senses.

  No, the only thing bubbling through her system was lust.

  She wasn’t proud her panting hormones had led her astray, but when it came to a certain sexy ex-CIA agent turned covert bodyguard, all of her willpower went flying out the window. Frank Ireland was far more intoxicating than any alcoholic beverage known to man.

  Sadly, it was a one-sided crush. She and Frank had known each other since childhood, but he only saw her as a buddy—and lately, she wasn’t even sure of that. Their friendship had been strained since Frank had resigned from his post with the CIA to join Sentinels. That’s when he’d learned her work as a librarian was merely a cover for her real job with the covert protection agency.

  He still hadn’t forgiven her for not telling him the truth about her career, so she could only imagine how he’d react if he were to discover the other secret she’d been keeping from him.

  Frank believed she’d long since outgrown her teenage crush on him. In reality, she’d never gotten over the infatuation. If he were to suspect her feelings for him ran deeper than friendship, he’d surely hightail it out of her life faster than a juicy morsel of celebrity gossip hit the tabloids.

  She’d come dangerously close to letting her weakness for him show earlier tonight. Almost as disconcertingly, she’d allowed him to talk her into this excursion.

  But since resisting him under normal circumstances was next to impossible, she hadn’t had a prayer of remaining immune to his tall, dark, and devastating allure after that blasted tango.

  Locked in his embrace, her legs brushing against his muscular thighs with every step of the seductive dance, she hadn’t stood a chance. So here she was—a dance and a dare later—treading through a seedy alleyway. All because she hadn’t been able to say no to Frank Ireland.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  One hour earlier …

  Tamping down his rising impatience, Frank Ireland scoured the ballroom for his best friend. Plowing a hand through his hair, he exhaled a frustrated breath.

  Where in the name of all things holy was Stephanie?

  He had the utmost respect for his boss, but he’d gone through the roof when Liz had clued him in to her plan to dangle Steph under Damon Landers’s nose. He couldn’t comprehend how Liz could possibly think sending a novice to infiltrate the inner circle of a man so deeply entrenched in the underbelly of society was a good idea. It was like sending a kitten into a lion’s den. His kitten.

  Upon hearing Liz’s plan, he’d offered to provide backup on the precarious assignment. She’d vetoed his suggestion, but he’d argued his case until he’d worn her down. Landers was a loose cannon. Someone had to have Steph’s back, and that someone would be him.

  After all, she’d had his.

  His desire to protect Stephanie wasn’t the only reason he’d pushed his boss so hard to get in on this mission. Damon Landers had something he wanted. He hadn’t told Liz infiltrating Landers’s inner sanctum would give him the opportunity to do some intelligence gathering of his own, of course. His business with the man had nothing to do with his work with Sentinels.

  He would have laughed if someone had told him three weeks ago that connecting with the man who could lead him to the iniquitous piece of scum responsible for Pamela’s death hinged on his petite, unassuming librarian buddy. But that was exactly the situation he found himself in.

  It had only taken a phone call to arrange for his and Stephanie’s insertion into Landers’s domain. Now he just needed to find her before she spent any more time alone in the pervert’s company.

  Intent on intercepting Stephanie before she could connect with her unscrupulous target, he was oblivious to the admiring glances he was garnering from the female population of the ballroom—a population that heaved a collective sigh at the masterpiece of masculine perfection sharing the floor with them.

  His laserlike focus on the task at hand was rewarded when he spotted Landers waltzing with an auburn-haired siren in a shadowy corner of the dance floor. The fists he had unconsciously clenched relaxed, and the tension in his shoulders melted away as relief coursed through him.

  Stephanie hadn’t arrived yet. He still had time to head her off.

  While he didn’t have an ounce of respe
ct for Landers, he couldn’t help but appreciate the tycoon’s taste in women. He’d certainly outdone himself with his latest conquest. Glossy curls caressed the beauty’s bare back to flirt with her shoulder blades. He couldn’t see the woman’s face because she was looking the other way, but if the elegant sweep of her neck and the long, shapely expanse of leg revealed by the deep slit of her gown were any indication, she was a knockout.

  Stephanie might not be as flashy as the sexy seductress currently keeping Landers company, but he was certain her fresh, unspoiled beauty would catch the man’s eye all the same. He was just as convinced the serial womanizer wouldn’t rest until he’d added her to his list of conquests.

  There was no way he was going to let that happen.

  He was about to turn away when Landers whirled his partner out of the shadows. The man leaned down to whisper something in the woman’s ear and she laughed, tipping her head up and affording Frank his first look at her face.

  Shock held him frozen in place as recognition plowed into him like an eighteen-wheeler with brake failure.

  Stephanie!

  Although the tortoiseshell-framed eyeglasses that were typically perched on her cute little nose were conspicuously MIA and her hair wasn’t tucked up in its usual neat-and-tidy bun, he’d know the soft curve of those cheeks and the determined jut of that chin anywhere.

  His CIA assignments over the past five years meant he hadn’t seen his friend face-to-face until his recent return stateside. On the few occasions they’d been together since then, she hadn’t dressed like this.

  He’d noticed she’d grown her hair out while he’d been away, but this was the first time he’d seen her with it down. Tonight, freed from its constraints, it cascaded past her shoulder blades in a glorious fall of fiery silk. The dress molded to killer curves, revealing what she’d been concealing under the loose-fitting, casual clothing she favored. It was clear she’d been hiding more than her true vocation from him.

  His kitten was all grown up.

  The surge of possessiveness that washed over him caught him completely off guard. It occurred to him she was doing something with Landers that she’d never done with him.

  How was it that he’d never asked her to dance before?

  And why was he suddenly overcome by the urge to claim her?

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  Waltzing with the target of her mission, Stephanie was surprised when she felt Damon tense in agitation. Following the direction of his gaze, she stared in consternation at what had seized his attention. Or rather whom.

  Frank was striding toward them, deserving eighth-wonder-of-the-world status in the formal wear he wore to perfection. Her blond-haired, green-eyed dance partner was can’t-tear-your-eyes-away gorgeous, but Frank trumped Damon’s allure a thousand times over.

  Frank was sexiness personified in a tuxedo that showcased his athletic build. The exquisitely tailored garment emphasized his broad shoulders and tapered waist to stunning effect. Brilliant blue eyes framed by impossibly long lashes appeared even bolder against the white of his dress shirt. There was a predatory gleam in those eyes. He looked angry. Very angry.

  “Landers,” he clipped out tersely. “That’s my date you’re monopolizing.”

  Registering Frank’s stormy countenance, Damon opted not to argue the assertion. “Ireland,” he replied. The one-word acknowledgement was thickly frosted by the Arctic chill swirling around the two men.

  Flashing her an apologetic smile, Damon promised he’d be in touch. Then he slithered off faster than his hands had made a beeline for her derriere while they’d danced.

  She didn’t have time to respond before Frank drew her to him, resuming the waltz he’d interrupted. His overwhelming masculinity stole her breath from her lungs. He was all hardness to her softness. Even favoring his injured shoulder, he made her feel weak in comparison.

  “What are you doing here?” she queried in a whispered hiss.

  “What? No ‘nice to see you, Frank’?” he drawled in amusement.

  “After that stunt you just pulled? Your date? Are you insane? And what’s with the sudden desire to make like Fred Astaire? You never dance.”

  “Of course I dance.”

  Not with me, she wanted to retort.

  But concern—laced with guilt—temporarily overrode her annoyance, preventing her from voicing the thought. It was her fault he’d been wounded in the line of duty. She’d aced her weapons training. She held the agency record for top score on the shooting range. Unfortunately, that hadn’t prepared her for having her heart thrown in the mix when Frank had been the one in danger.

  The responsibility of safeguarding his life had been hers, and she’d failed him. Terrified that even the slightest miscalculation on her part would mean her bullet would strike him instead of her intended target, she’d frozen instead of taking the shot that would have brought down their assailant.

  “Should you be doing this, with your injury?”

  He shrugged his good shoulder, unconcerned. “It’s fine.”

  His reassurance didn’t assuage her guilt one iota. Her inability to take action during the recent firefight had given rise to the exact consequence she’d sought to avoid. Almost as appallingly, she hadn’t told anyone the truth about her screw-up. Not even Lauren, her best friend and fellow Sentinels agent.

  Lauren—on the scene when the attack had unfolded—had assumed she hadn’t had a chance to get a shot off. Stephanie hadn’t corrected her friend’s conjecture for fear that doing so would get her booted back to her old post. She wasn’t proud that she’d withheld the truth about what had transpired.

  She was pulled from her ponderings when another couple bumped into them on the dance floor, prompting Frank to draw her closer to steady her. Cradled against the solid wall of his chest, all she could think of was how right it felt to be wrapped in his arms.

  She needed to put some space between them, or he’d certainly catch on to the fact that she still harbored feelings for him that went way beyond friendship.

  Attempting to regain a modicum of control over her stampeding emotions, she took a step back. “Well, I shouldn’t be dancing with you,” she asserted. “I’m here on assignment, and you’ve just interfered with it.”

  Technically that was true, even though she’d already accomplished her goal.

  To her surprise, he didn’t appear at all disconcerted by her proclamation.

  “I know. Liz told me what she asked you to do. I’ve already taken care of it.”

  She stared at him, confusion warring with irritation at his presumptiveness. “What do you mean you’ve taken care of it?”

  “I had some business dealings with Damon Landers when I was working undercover for the CIA. I’ve kept in touch with his personal assistant, who has carte blanche on hiring. I spoke with her tonight, and I mentioned I’d heard her employer was looking for a professional to set up his library. I told her I knew a talented librarian who sometime takes on private side projects. The job is yours.”

  Her guilt evaporated as she struggled to tamp down the fury his words ignited. “I can’t believe you did that. Did Liz ask you to back me up? Was she afraid I wouldn’t be able to pull this off on my own?”

  “Of course not. She never doubted you had this covered. I’m the one who was worried about you.”

  “I can take care of myself. You didn’t have to intervene on my behalf.”

  “You’re my friend, Steph. You can’t blame me for wanting to take care of you.”

  No, she couldn’t blame him. That didn’t stop her from wishing he would set aside his sense of responsibility long enough to see her as a woman.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” she bristled, camouflaging her hurt with indignation. “This mission I’m tasked with is well within my capabilities. For your information, Damon offered me the position tonight. Liz was certain if I could attract his attention, engage him in conversation, and steer said conversation to my work as a librarian that he would
enlist my help cataloging his personal book collection, and she was right. I may not have as much field experience under my belt as you do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t carry out a simple assignment.”

  Too bad her show of bravado was all bark and no bite. In reality, she wasn’t at all sure she could handle things. She was trying to convince him of her proficiency when she’d yet to convince herself. After all, she’d failed him.

  “I wasn’t questioning your skill as an operative,” he countered. “It’s just that …”

  “Just what?” she interrupted, needing to give voice to a validation that was as much for her benefit as it was for his. “You just wanted to spare me from failure? Well you’ve wasted your time. I’m perfectly capable of doing my job. I’ve already landed the position.”

  “I know you’re more than capable, but Damon Landers is a shark among sharks and you …” he trailed off, his gaze roaming over her curves in a visual caress that sent an involuntary shiver zinging down her spine. The concern in his gaze was replaced by another, far deeper emotion that darkened his eyes to the color of a stormy night sky. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “I’m what?” she prompted, the words emerging in a husky murmur from a throat that had suddenly gone dry.

  “You’re innocent,” he rasped out. “I wasn’t about to stand by and watch while that pervert had you for dessert.”

  She wanted nothing more than to counter his assertion, but she couldn’t. She would be lying if she did. “I’ve already made it clear to him I’m not on the menu.”

  “You may think you did, but I saw the way he was looking at you. He’s still watching you now, as a matter of fact. Like a hawk.”

  The waltz ended and the band segued to a tango. As the provocative music filled the ballroom, she moved to step out of his arms. He gently tugged her back.

  “Stay,” he commanded. “Dance with me again.”