Hot Ice (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 7)

by Lynn Raye Harris

  She’d told Brooke this man wouldn’t be interested in her, and she was right.

  And really, wasn’t that the way it was supposed to be? She was not the sort of woman who jumped into bed with a man just because he looked good and smelled good and made her heart race with a sardonic look and a light touch.

  Or a soul-searing kiss.

  No, not at all.

  The bad guys set off an explosion, and the hero and heroine raced to escape the burning building. They made it just in time, jumping into the water and swimming away.

  In the next scene, they were in a hotel room, looking very serious and arguing about what came next. And then the hero kissed the heroine—and all bets were off.

  Clothes flew, and the actors did a very convincing job of playing two people who were desperate for each other. The hero slid down the heroine’s body, burying his face between her legs.

  The actress looked as if she were in ecstasy, biting her lip, moaning and crying out. The scene was erotic and so very hot.

  Grace squirmed, her face heating. She didn’t dare to look over at Garrett. She could see him sitting very still at his end of the couch, a solid block of unmoving stone.

  The scene cut to the characters in bed together, the hero moving frantically over the heroine, his buttocks pumping, her legs wrapped around him, their groans rising with the music in the background. Sweat rolled down their bodies, glistening over her nipples and throat, over his toned chest.

  Grace swallowed hard. Oh my.

  Had it ever been that frantic, that hot, between her and Jeffrey? Her and anyone?

  The characters rolled, and then the heroine was bouncing up and down on top of the hero, her breasts jiggling, her eyes rolling back in her head as she made little mewling noises.

  Garrett rocketed to his feet so fast that Grace let out a little scream.

  He was staring down at her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nostrils flaring.

  “It’s late and I’m tired,” he said, his voice sounding like sandpaper grating over iron. “Don’t leave the house for any reason, got it?”

  She nodded, her heart still pounding as he strode from the room and up the stairs.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GARRETT WAS DOING PUSH-UPS when there was a knock on the bedroom door. He paused, thought about ignoring her, but then decided he couldn’t really do that. What if she needed something?

  He got up and wiped his chest with the T-shirt he’d removed and tossed it on the floor, then strode over in his bare feet and yanked the door open.

  Grace stood there in her baggy T-shirt and black stretchy pants, her hair still piled on her head, her blue eyes widening when she took in his bare chest and all the ink there. Yeah, he’d gone a little crazy with ink, but he liked that his body was a canvas. The pain of the tattoo artist’s needle beat the hell out of punching something when he was pissed off or hung up on something that had happened out in the field.

  It was a kind of therapy for him, at least temporarily.

  “I… um, I wanted to say I was sorry.”

  “For what?”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I’ve clearly upset you somehow. It wasn’t intentional.”

  He dragged in a breath. “Grace, you haven’t upset me.”

  Her eyes met his again. “But the way you left… I, uh, I’ve made you uncomfortable. I should have changed the channel.”

  He could only gape at her. “You think I was uncomfortable because of the movie?”

  “Weren’t you? It was rather, um, suggestive at that point…”

  He couldn’t figure her out. “Wait a minute… You think I was offended or something? That this is like, I dunno, an EEO issue? Sexual harassment?”

  Red tinged her cheeks. “Well, maybe. Why not? This is a job, and you shouldn’t have to put up with suggestive material just because it’s there.”

  He wanted to laugh. Wanted to fucking double over and howl until he couldn’t breathe. But that wouldn’t work, because she’d just think he was insane.

  “Aren’t you the one who wondered if I knew the first thing about sexual harassment earlier today?”

  She wouldn’t look at him. “Well, I…”

  He shook his head. “Go to bed, Grace. Forget it.”

  Because that’s what he was trying to do. Trying like hell to forget the way she’d been squirming during that scene, the way she kept cutting her eyes toward him when she thought he couldn’t see her. She’d been horny—and hell, he’d been horny too. So fucking horny he’d wanted to drag her down on that couch and taste her until they were both so sated they couldn’t stand again.

  But even if he hadn’t been ordered not to get involved with her, it wasn’t a good idea. She was a senator’s daughter, a scientist, and he was a guy with a fucked-up history, an ex-wife who hated him, and a daughter he adored above all else.

  And Grace Campbell wasn’t the kind of woman you fucked and then walked away from after one night. She was too refined for that, too uncertain of herself. He knew that much after her reaction over Jeffrey and the hurt in her voice when she’d told him that Jeffrey had dumped her. She didn’t need his fucked-up shit in her life, even if it was just for one hot night.

  But even that wasn’t possible, because he couldn’t walk away tomorrow. There would be no hitting it and quitting it with this woman, no matter how turned on he was by the juxtaposition of her shyness and the way she’d turned to flame when he’d kissed her.

  Fuck… that had been one ill-advised move. He’d just wanted to make her feel good, wanted to make her ex go away like he’d promised. He hadn’t intended to kiss her the way he had. It was supposed to be for show—but the show had gotten out of control.

  “It’s fine, Grace,” he said when she didn’t respond. “I’m not offended that you didn’t change the channel, okay?”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  And now she sounded all starchy and uptight, like she thought he wasn’t being straight with her. Hell.

  “The pizza was good,” he said. “And the movie was just what I like. But, uh, there’s a line that can’t be crossed between a protector and protectee. It was better I left.”

  She blinked at him, her eyes so wide and surprised as she processed what he was saying. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Does that mean—”

  His phone cut through anything she started to say. Only one person had that ringtone. He turned and grabbed the phone off the table where he’d left it, sliding the bar before putting it to his ear.

  “Cammie, sweetheart, how’s my favorite girl in the whole world?”

  He glanced up, expecting to see Grace still in his doorway. But she was gone. His gut tightened, but he told himself it was for the best. He didn’t need her standing here with her wide eyes and her wounded look, making him feel like shit for not taking her in his arms and holding her close. Making him want to make it better for her when there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do that would.

  He walked over and shut the door, then sat down on the bed and listened to his daughter tell him about her day.

  *

  Ryan Gordon sat on the couch in Georgie Hayes’s house and watched the evening news. Senator Campbell was all over it, along with his daughter and his family. But the media was currently focusing on Grace and her job at the laboratory.

  He watched the video of the protestors and grimaced at the idea of taking her to work anytime soon. But she was going to want to go, and Iceman was going to have his hands full when she did.

  Better Ice than him.

  Who’d have guessed that Iceman had all those fancy manners and shit? Dude could dance a waltz and all that stuff. Put him in a tuxedo, and he looked like a frigging stockbroker or something.

  And there he was, escorting Grace from the hotel tonight. There’d been a few reporters left, but they hadn’t gotten close. Still, they’d clearly been filming. Ice looked like a moody sports star leaving an event with his prim secretary.

&n
bsp; The reporter took that moment to speculate on the relationship between Grace Campbell and the man at her side, and Ryan thought Ice would probably blow a gasket when he saw this. Grace was pretty and all that, but she was way too proper for a dude like Iceman. She looked like she probably liked to have sex in the dark, missionary style and nothing else.

  Considering Ryan had once knocked on Ice’s hotel room door only to find him in bed with two women, Ryan didn’t think vanilla missionary was his style.

  Ryan’s phone dinged and he picked it up. His fingers tightened on the phone when he saw who it was. All thoughts of Ice and Grace Campbell fled.

  He shouldn’t answer her texts, he knew he shouldn’t, but for some reason he couldn’t stop. She felt like he was someone she could talk to. Maybe because he didn’t judge her. Or maybe because he was still very much a stranger to her, and she was still so twisted up about what had happened in her life.

  It had to be hard trying to get your life back after fucking it up so spectacularly.

  You working?

  Yes, he texted back. On a job. How are you?

  Good. Class is going well. Got an A on the last test.

  Excellent. You’ll be a psychologist before you know it.

  Ha, hardly. But it’s challenging and I like it.

  He stared at the screen. There was so much he always wanted to say to her, but it wasn’t possible really. What did you say to a girl who’d had to kill her husband in order to escape with her life? Emily Royal was one of the saddest people he’d ever known—and there was nothing he could do to fix her.

  You still there, Ryan?

  Yeah, I’m here.

  A guy from class asked me out. I don’t know what to do.

  He ignored the kick in his gut. That’s what she needed, really. A nice, normal man to go out with. It’d been months since she’d returned from Qu’rim, and her life was finally settling into something approximating normal. She’d been married to a terrorist, and she’d lived in the camps in Qu’rim—but she didn’t talk about it, and he didn’t know what her life there had been like. All she would say was that Zaran bin Yusuf had been a good man once.

  Do you want to go?

  His screen stayed blank for a long while. And then her answer came.

  I don’t know. Do you think I should?

  Did he think she should? It wasn’t his call.

  I think you should do whatever makes you happy, Emily.

  I don’t know what that is.

  You’ll figure it out. Takes time.

  I guess so. Gotta go. Good night.

  Night.

  Ryan sat and stared at his phone for a long while after it went silent. He’d been the one to take Emily to safety when they’d escaped the Freedom Force’s compound the night Brandy and Victoria were rescued. He’d tended her on the plane, and he’d gone to visit her in the hospital and then later when she’d moved to the Visiting Officer’s Quarters.

  There was something unbearably sweet about Emily. Something tough, too, though he didn’t think many people understood that. She was remarkable in many ways.

  And she was better off going to school, dating college boys, and rebuilding her life. She’d had enough violence and uncertainty to last a lifetime.

  Ryan dropped his phone on the couch and picked up the remote. He suddenly felt like getting drunk, but that wasn’t happening when Ice might need him. Instead, he found a movie filled with explosions and car chases, and settled in to watch.

  *

  Grace felt like an idiot. He had a girlfriend.

  Of course he did.

  A man who looked like Garrett Spencer was not a man who went through life alone. It made her stomach burn—and it made her angry.

  Why on earth would he think it was okay to kiss her when he had a girlfriend? She knew he’d only been chasing Jeffrey away for her, like she asked, but surely he could have thought of another way to do it. He didn’t have to kiss her with such heat and fire that she’d been willing to incinerate herself in his arms with no more provocation than a single kiss.

  Grace slammed around her bathroom, getting dressed for the day, and feeling angrier and angrier as she did so. What a fool she’d been, sitting there during that movie, feeling the burn of attraction deep in her belly, her core, and then when he’d told her there was a line he couldn’t cross, she’d actually thought he meant he was attracted to her as well.

  That he’d wanted her but that he’d left the room because he shouldn’t do anything about it. She’d thought he was being honorable, when in fact he had a girlfriend named Cammie who was his favorite girl in the whole world.

  Grace brushed her hair ruthlessly, then twisted it on her head and pinned it in a bun. She was wearing a pencil skirt and a white blouse, and she put on a pair of tall boots since it was cooler out today than it had been.

  Today she was going to the lab. No ifs, ands, or buts. She was going to work, and she was going to forget the world for a while. Once she had her slides and her research, she could lose herself for hours.

  And that was just what she needed.

  She took her Burberry trench from the closet and marched down the stairs, ready to grab an english muffin and a cup of coffee before informing her bodyguard that she was going to work.

  But when she got downstairs, he was there, sitting at the kitchen island and glancing over the newspaper. He lifted his gaze to hers, and her heart skipped several beats.

  Oh, for the love of God. She’d only met this man yesterday—and he’d promptly pissed her off, so why only twenty-four hours later was she suddenly offended that he had a girlfriend?

  She stopped and lifted her chin. “I’m going to work today. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “All right.”

  Grace blinked. That was it?

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Not the answer you expected?”

  “No.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not my favorite option, but you have a job to do—and so do I. If the intent was to shut you away, that could be accomplished without me.”

  She went over and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. Then she got out a fresh coffee pod and put the mug under the coffeemaker.

  “No one is shutting me away.”

  “I can see that.”

  She got an english muffin out and put it in the toaster. The tips of her ears were hot as she moved around the kitchen. She didn’t quite know what to say, but she was just angry enough to want to say something.

  Not my circus, not my monkeys.

  That was one of Brooke’s favorite phrases, and really, Garrett Spencer was not her problem. She’d gotten a little too wound up over that kiss—no doubt her reaction hadn’t been helped by Brooke and all that silly bodyguard movie talk yesterday—but today was a different day.

  She had a life to lead, and he was only here to make sure the man who’d tried to attack her the other night did not do so again. Once that man was found, Garrett Spencer would go back to wherever he had come from.

  “Something bothering you, Grace?”

  She whirled around and glared at him. “Of course not. What makes you think so?”

  “You’ve been slamming cabinets and slamming dishes down on the counter. I thought you might be pissed. It’s a reasonable conclusion to make when a woman slams things.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Oh, what a lie.

  He got up from the stool and walked toward her. He moved with the grace and stealth of a cat, and she found herself wanting to back away.

  But there was nowhere to go. The counter pressed into her butt.

  “Is this about last night?” he asked when he was right in front of her.

  Crowding her.

  “You said it was nothing. It was nothing.” She hoped she sounded as nonchalant as she was trying to be, but she wasn’t sure she’d pulled it off.

  “That’s right.” His eyes searched hers.

  She turned and reached for her coffee, purposely ignoring him. But his pro
ximity made her skin tingle.

  “Do you ever wear your hair down?”

  She spun, barely keeping the coffee from sloshing over the side and burning her hand as she did so. “I… yes, I do.” Her heart skittered—and her gut tightened with fresh anger. “But you shouldn’t ask me such things. What would Cammie say if she knew you were flirting with another woman?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes darkening. And then he turned away and put distance between them as he went and picked up his own cup. “Cammie is my daughter,” he said over his shoulder. “She’s nine.”

  Grace’s heart throbbed. “Oh.”

  He turned back to her, his eyes flashing. “Yes, oh. You thought I kissed you last night when I had a girlfriend at home, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, heat blooming over her chest, up her neck.

  “I have more integrity than that.”

  The coffee cup felt suddenly heavy and she tightened her grip. She’d let her fingers go lax as she stared at him. He had a nine-year-old daughter. That raised all sorts of new questions in her mind.

  “Not all men do.”

  His expression softened. “Jeffrey?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know for certain, but yes, I think he was seeing someone else at the end.”

  “He’s not a bright man, Grace. You need to get over him.”

  “I am over him.” And she was, but it was still humiliating. In all the months since he’d broken up with her, she’d had no dates. No man had asked her out… until the night her father announced his candidacy and Tim Fitzgerald was suddenly interested in drinks.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I crossed a line when I did that, and it can’t happen again.”

  Her stomach fell just a little bit. She’d known he wasn’t attracted to her, not really. But it had been kind of nice to imagine he was.

  “That’s good,” she said with her mother’s cool voice. “Because I was going to tell you not to do that again. It was… kind of you to make Jeffrey think we were romantic. But it’s not necessary. I’m quite capable of fighting my own battles. I panicked last night when I asked you to keep him away. It won’t happen again.”