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

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “Yes, sir.” He pressed the thumb and forefinger of one hand against his temples and rubbed.

  “I understand you’ve been discussing Dr. Campbell’s work.”

  “She told me what she’s been doing. I find it… worrisome.” That was a nice way of fucking putting it.

  “It damn sure is. And that’s why we’re involved.”

  “What about Ian Black, sir?”

  “Black’s return is definitely interesting. We’re watching him. We may have to make a move soon, but until then, stay with Dr. Campbell—and keep her safe.”

  “Copy, sir.”

  After the call with Mendez, Garrett clicked through the website where the photo of him and Grace resided. There were no other pictures, thank goodness.

  There wasn’t anything on this earth as fun as having your ass reamed by your commanding officer. Not.

  But that kiss was kinda worth it, he thought, as he flipped the laptop closed. And didn’t that just make him one crazy-ass motherfucker?

  A couple of hours went by, and it grew dark. He hadn’t heard a word from Grace, but he knew she was still in her room because he heard her walking every once in a while. Then he heard her come downstairs. He got up and went into the kitchen to see if she was all right.

  She was unscrewing a cap from a bottle of wine. She looked up as he walked in.

  “A screw cap, princess?”

  She gave the cap another twist and then poured red wine into a glass. “Are you a wine snob, Garrett?”

  “Maybe a little bit,” he said, thinking of his mother and her obsession with everything classy.

  She grabbed another glass and poured, then shoved the drink toward him. “Try it.”

  “Not supposed to drink on duty. Screws with my aim.”

  She rolled her eyes and lifted her own glass to her mouth. “Just have one sip then.”

  He lifted the glass and swirled it. Then he smelled the bouquet and took a sip. He chewed the wine, letting air flow over it before swallowing. He could have spit, but it seemed rude since this wasn’t exactly a tasting.

  “Not bad,” he told her.

  She took a gulp of hers. “Told you. But even if it was bad, I don’t think I’d care tonight so long as it gets the job done.”

  He frowned. “I really have to say that I’d prefer you not get shit-faced, Grace. It’s a whole lot harder to look out for a woman who needs to hang her head over the toilet.”

  She laughed. “I won’t get shit-faced, I promise. I just need to mellow out a little bit.”

  “And you think wine is the way to go?”

  “Well, since sex is out…”

  Fuck. He’d set himself up for that one, hadn’t he?

  “You don’t want to have sex with me. You’re just pissed that Godfrey got to you today.”

  She looked like he’d slapped her. He didn’t like the way that made him feel inside.

  But then she grinned and gave him a salute with the glass. “It’s Jeffrey, as you well know, and he didn’t get to me. Well, not much anyway. It was just a nice helping of shit on top of shit.”

  Garrett leaned against the island and snorted. “Why, Dr. Campbell, I do believe hanging around with me is affecting your vocabulary. What was that you said about there being so many better words to use?”

  “Bite me.” She pushed her hair behind her ear and bit her lip as if she was trying not to laugh.

  “You better slow down on that glass, girlie. I’m not carrying your ass up those stairs.”

  She took another gulp as if to say screw you. And then she laughed. “Lazy fucker.”

  Something inside him tightened when she said fuck. Quite possibly because she sounded so damn prim and proper—and the word definitely wasn’t. What would it be like to have her whisper it in his ear while he slid deep inside her?

  “Geez, Grace, if you don’t stop swearing, I’m going to end up losing my job when this is over. Because you’ll be ruined for all public appearances, and I’ll get the blame.”

  “Aw, poor baby.” She sniffed and straightened, trying to look serious. But then she giggled again. “Maybe I’ll hire you full time. You can be my bodyguard-slash-pool-boy.”

  “You don’t have a pool.”

  “Then I’ll have to get one.” She finished her glass and then took the one she’d poured for him and started on that one. “I bet you’d look great in a Speedo.”

  He snorted. “Not happening, cupcake. No way in hell am I sticking my junk in a banana hammock and parading around in public.”

  She burst out laughing. “Banana hammock? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before.”

  “It’s not that funny, Grace.”

  She was starting to wheeze. She nodded her head and reached into a drawer, taking out a dish towel so she could mop her face. He had no idea why she found it so amusing, but he was kind of glad she did. Had to take her mind off Jeffrey and her job, at least for a few minutes.

  He liked the sound of her laugh. It made him grin, even though he was trying to be stern with her. He didn’t really think she was all that drunk, but the alcohol had definitely taken a little of the starch out of her.

  “Imagining you…” She gasped before having another fit of giggles.

  He didn’t want to know what she was imagining. Him and bananas. Or worse.

  “Oh my God,” she finally said when the giggles stopped. She was still grinning, and her face was wet where she’d been crying from laughing so hard. “Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome.” He wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms, and kiss her until they both forgot their names. She was so damn pretty when she was happy. And sweet. There was just something innocently sweet about Grace Campbell.

  She sucked in a breath and picked up her glass and the bottle. “I think I’m going to take a bath now.”

  He eyed the wine. “Don’t drown, Grace. Your father won’t be happy with me if you do.”

  “I’ll be fine, banana man.”

  Then she sashayed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He shook his head and cleaned up the wine drops she’d spilled on the white marble counter. He heard the water running upstairs, and then it stopped and he forced the image of a naked Grace sinking into the tub from his mind.

  Not very successfully, it turned out, as his dick started to harden. Maybe he should go to his room and get reacquainted with his hand. Or maybe he should ignore the urge and go watch the football game.

  He was still trying to decide what to do for the evening when Grace screamed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  GARRETT TOOK THE STAIRS TWO at a time, reaching for his gun and yanking it from the holster as he did so. He burst into Grace’s room, gun up and ready. There was no one there. Her windows were intact and no one had broken in. She wasn’t screaming any longer, but he heard a lot of cussing coming from the bathroom. The door was unlocked and he shoved it open, gun still raised just in case.

  Grace’s head snapped up. She was sitting on the tile floor beside the bathtub, completely naked. The wine bottle had been knocked over and her glass was nowhere to be found. He rushed to her side and grabbed her arms, tugging her up and away from the tub.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded, scanning her for cuts and bruises and trying like hell not to notice the dusky tips of her breasts, the indent of her waist, the flare of her hips—or the dark patch of silky curls at the juncture of her thighs. That patch was small, groomed—

  No.

  She swayed into him, and he caught her close, uncaring that her wet body was pressing against his clothing.

  “Spider,” she gasped.

  Garrett blinked. “Spider? What?”

  He peered over her head and into the tub. Sure enough, a giant wolf spider floated there, its legs kicking frantically as it tried to skate to a firmer surface.

  “It fell on me—” She shuddered. “I hate spiders. I freaked.”

  The wineglass was also in the tub, the wine staining the wate
r pink. The cap was on the bottle at least, so there was no wine on her white floor. He didn’t imagine that would do good things for the grout.

  Seriously? You’re thinking of grout?

  He suppressed a groan. Yes, goddammit, he was thinking of grout. Anything but the fact Grace Campbell was naked in his arms.

  He reached for a towel and wrapped it around her, blessedly hiding her body from his view. But his cock had definitely noticed. He was currently about as hard as the tile on her floor. And almost as mindless as he considered how good it would feel to sweep her up and carry her to the bed.

  Garrett pulled the plug on the bath, grabbed the wineglass, and scooped the spider into it. Then he flushed it down the toilet.

  Grace toddled over to the mirrored vanity with the built-in seat and plunked down. Her hair was piled on top of her head, dark curls escaping to stick against her neck and cheeks. She was bedraggled—but fucking sexy as hell.

  How had he ever thought her average?

  “What a mess,” she said, and he looked down at the water under his feet.

  He grabbed a couple of more towels from the stack nearby and dropped them on the floor. “Not a big deal. I’ll fix it in no time.”

  Her lower lip trembled, and he hated that she seemed so sad and upset after she’d been laughing just a little while ago.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was small and quiet.

  “It’s just water, Grace.”

  “I know.” She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red, but he didn’t know if she’d been laughing or crying at this point. She’d been laughing when she left him in the kitchen, but she could have gotten up here and gone all maudlin. Alcohol and seclusion did that sometimes. “God, I look awful. No wonder Jeffrey didn’t want me.”

  Garrett mopped up the water and threw the towels into the now-empty tub. They landed with a splat, and Grace jumped, her gaze turning to meet his.

  “What did I tell you about fishing for compliments, cupcake?”

  He knew she was doing no such thing, but he wasn’t going to let her sit there and feel sorry for herself. He wanted her angry and feisty. Self-assured, the way she was with her work.

  Her jaw fell open, her lips so pink and moist. He really wanted to taste those lips again.

  “I…I’m not!”

  “You’re sexier than hell, and you know it. You sit there all wrapped up in a towel, your gorgeous skin pink and wet and fucking naked under there, and act like your entire self-worth is wrapped up in one man’s opinion of you?” He shook his head as he stalked over and pulled her up. “No, I don’t buy it. You want me to say what I just said. So there, happy?”

  Her eyes were wide as she stared up at him. “You think I’m sexy?”

  He knew he needed to stop this right now. He needed to push away from her and leave her to stew in her own feelings of inadequacy, but his brain didn’t work so well when his dick got involved. Besides, she was sexy—and he didn’t think she really believed it.

  He cupped her ass in both hands and pulled her against his cock. She gasped, her hands coming up to grip his biceps.

  “What do you think, Grace?”

  “Oh.”

  He wanted to kiss her so badly. Wanted to strip the towel away and suck her nipples before licking his way down to her pussy and showing her just how sexy he thought she was.

  But she was tipsy and vulnerable, and he wasn’t the kind of guy who took advantage of that. Carefully, he set her away from him, his cock aching, his blood roaring through his veins, throbbing in his throat and ears.

  He tucked her towel in firmer, making sure it wasn’t about to come undone, and gripped her shoulders. “You’re sexy, Grace. If this wasn’t a job, if you weren’t someone I have to protect—which means keeping a clear head—I’d make you forget all about Godfrey and his little dick.”

  She sniffed. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

  His gaze slid over her body, and his gut clenched. “Yeah, sweet. That’s me, cupcake. So fucking sweet I’m going to walk out of this room now.” He reached down and swiped the bottle of wine from the floor. He thought about taking it with him, but instead he set it on the counter behind her. “Get drunk if you want, but do not start crying about nobody wanting you. You’re too smart for that shit. And I’m not telling you how sexy you are a second time.”

  *

  Grace slept badly. She didn’t wake up with a headache, thankfully, but she did wake up in the middle of the night, her ears straining to hear any sound. After Garrett had left her, she’d dried off and put on her pajamas, then climbed into bed and turned on HGTV. It was that or Lifetime, and she didn’t think a sappy romance movie would help with the state she was in.

  So Jeffrey was marrying someone else and going to work for her father. It didn’t hurt as much as it had only a few hours ago. She could admit to herself that it was her pride that smarted more than anything. Her sisters would see Jeffrey again, but he wouldn’t be with her. Her father obviously trusted him, and she knew he was a good guy to have in an election cycle. He was a lawyer and a speechwriter, and he really knew how to turn a phrase. She didn’t blame her father for hiring him, necessarily.

  But it was all so humiliating, especially since he was getting married to someone else and everyone would know it.

  Grace lay there in the dark and stared up at the ceiling. She’d been sent home from work because she was a PR nightmare, Jeffrey had showed up and rocked her already rocky world, and then a spider had fallen onto her during her bath.

  Seriously, what a day.

  And then there was Garrett. She couldn’t figure him out—and she couldn’t figure out her reaction to him. He was big and tough and hot—and she wanted him in ways she didn’t think she’d ever wanted anyone. She was a scientist, ruled by logic and planning. She was not impulsive. She did not do impulsive. She took her time and deliberated carefully.

  But with Garrett, she found herself wanting to leap off the edge of logic and fall headlong into the kind of hedonism she’d never known. When he’d tugged her against his body, his hard penis pressing into her, she’d wanted to drop to her knees and take him in her mouth. She’d wanted to lick his beautiful body until he lost control, and then she’d wanted to do it all over again.

  That was very unlike her.

  Seriously, because she lay in the dark where no one could see her and her cheeks were blazing. She could feel them. But there was something else too.

  Need. Want that set up an aching in her belly and her sex. Her nipples tightened and her clit swelled. She let her hand drift down her body, beneath the edge of her pajama bottoms, and into the slick heat of her core. Her finger skated over her clit, which responded by sending tingles of sensation streaking through her body.

  She heard a thump and a curse and her heart shot into her throat. She bolted upright, throwing off the covers and jumping from the bed. Her door crashed open a second later.

  “It’s me,” Garrett said, moving toward her in the darkness like a giant wave of inevitability.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He came over and grabbed her arm. “We have to go.”

  “What? What do you mean, go?”

  “Now, Grace. No arguing.”

  Her pulse raced and her blood ran cold. “My computer,” she gasped as he hustled her toward the door. “I can’t leave it.”

  He let her go. “No, definitely not.” The screen of his phone lit up for a second. “Grab it and let’s go.”

  She hurried to the chair where she’d left her computer case. Thankfully, she always put it away when she was finished, so it was zipped and ready. “Can I at least get dressed?”

  “No time, but if you can put your hands on something fast, grab that too.”

  She had a workout bag that had yoga pants, a T-shirt, panties, and a bra. She kept it packed just in case she wanted to go meet Brooke for yoga. She grabbed that and slung it over her shoulder. Then she slipped her feet into her tennis shoes. She
didn’t bother to tie them before she ran to his side.

  Garrett had his hand on his holster as he hustled her through the hallway and down the stairs. The house was quiet. It seemed very odd to be running away when nothing was happening.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  She stopped dead, dragging against his arm where he held her tight. “Garrett.”

  He tugged her. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder, princess, if I have to. Keep moving.”

  “Tell me what’s going on!” But she moved.

  There was a noise on the street, the slamming of car doors. Nothing out of the ordinary, perhaps—but it was after two in the morning, and her street was usually quiet at that time. It could be tourists who’d been to one of the bars a couple of streets over, or it could just be a businessman or woman leaving early for the airport. It could be anything, and yet Garrett was moving her through the house as if it was someone coming for her.

  “No time,” he growled as they reached the back door. He stopped and listened for a second—and then he yanked the door open and went through first. They hurried down the stairs and through the back garden.

  Someone shouted, and she turned to see a man standing in her door, yelling at them. Or not at them since he was speaking in a different language…

  “Fuck,” Garrett said beneath his breath.

  And then he turned and drew his weapon as the man pounded down the stairs and fired at them. Grace gasped at the noise—and then there was a boom as Garrett returned fire. His gun sounded like a cannon, probably because it was so close.

  She didn’t see what happened as Garrett pushed her toward the gate. Lights came on in a couple of houses, and dogs barked.

  Garrett yanked open the gate and shoved her through. The Escalade sat nearby, but he didn’t take it. He tugged her down the street and then stopped as a car’s lights blinked and the alarm beeped as it deactivated. It took her a second to realize he’d produced a key, because he yanked open the door and told her to get inside.

  He took her things and threw them into the backseat, then got in and started the car. It was a Camaro, she realized as the interior lit up and illuminated the dash.