by Dana Marton
He took her hands. “How about you let them take some of that responsibility? I think you’ve punished yourself long enough.”
She shook her head. “You sound like Grace.”
“You have some damn smart people in your life. You should start listening to them,” he said, making her smile.
A moment of silence passed between them.
“Have you ever heard from your mother?” He reached under her chin and lifted it.
She couldn’t bear looking at him as she confessed, “A few years later she was beaten to death by a violent boyfriend.” She swallowed hard. “If I didn’t run her off—”
“No.” He shook his head. “Your parents made their own choices. None of it was your fault. You were a kid.”
His complete lack of judgment lightened some of the old heaviness inside her.
He rubbed his thumbs over her hands in a comforting gesture, then gave her a searching look, as if measuring her up for something. “I’m moving out to the ranch. I don’t want you out here alone.”
“Grace is alone.”
“Ryder is with her as much as he can be. And Grace is an Army veteran. I want to be with you, and not just for your protection. But make no mistake, I will be protecting you. I don’t think you’re helpless, but I can’t see you and Logan in danger. I’m just not made that way.”
She stared at him.
“And I’m not coming just to protect you. I want to be with you.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. “People will think I’m a total hussy if I shack up with you after barely knowing each other.”
“People will extend us all courtesy, I believe.”
Ha! “Why would they?”
“I’m about to become the town’s favorite son. You’ll be hosting social functions at my side. Can you handle the society pages?”
She had a hard time picturing herself anyplace else but in the gossip column at best. “I don’t understand.”
“I just talked my brother into building his new factory in Hullett. The town is about to see some seriously improved employment, I believe.”
Her chin dropped. “You did that? Why?”
“I told you, I love you. I want to settle down here. What do you have to say about that?”
She swallowed. “The mind boggles.”
* * *
HE GRINNED AT HER. “Not exactly what I wanted to hear. Let’s try this again. I love you, Molly Rogers. What do you have to say about that?”
“I love you back,” she said at last.
Warmth spread through his chest.
“Much better.” He leaned forward and pulled her head to his.
But she held back. “What happens when you leave? I don’t even know how long you’ll be staying.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Hope filled her eyes. “What about that next level, the career move you wanted?”
“My father’s dream. Here is the thing...” He rubbed his chin. “I see how you are with Logan. You just want him to be happy. When it comes right down to it, I think my father would have wanted that for me, too.” He’d wanted to join the CIA to make his father’s dream come true. While his father, if he was alive, would probably have wanted Mo’s dream to come true.
And Mo’s dream was Molly and a life with her and her son. “All I want is right here,” he said. And then came the tricky part. “What I do... What if I can’t really ever tell you about it?” Secrets could kill a relationship. He’d seen that in his line of business.
“Then I’ll trust you that you have a good reason.”
“Just like that?”
“I know you’re working to stop people like Kenny. That’s enough for me.”
“You liked him. I’m sorry he betrayed you.”
“He was only nice to me to be able to come and go at the ranch. He was hoping he could find the drugs without having to resort to drastic measures.”
“You went on a date with him.” A wave of cold jealousy washed over him even as he said the words.
“Worst date ever. I was thinking about you the whole time.”
He kissed her.
If he lived to a hundred he wouldn’t get tired of kissing her lips. He savored her thoroughly, distracted her from everything else. She might have fantasized about this, but it still made her nervous. First he made sure she was comfortable, then worked his way up to mindless passion.
He began unbuttoning her shirt, button by button, claiming with his lips every newly discovered inch of skin. Then the shirt disappeared. Her simple cotton bra made him smile. She wasn’t given to vanity. But she was mind-blowingly sexy even without accessories.
Right now, even the cotton bra seemed like too much, in fact. He reached around and unhooked it with more finesse than the last time, then bared her to his hungry gaze.
He covered one amazing breast with his hand, the other with his mouth. Her head dipped back, her lips slightly parting from pleasure. Nothing in the whole world was better than this.
She reached out to unbutton his shirt, timidly at first, then more boldly. Her fingers splayed over his chest. She seemed to enjoy touching him. Good. Because he suddenly felt as if he’d die if she took her hands away.
She stroked his heated skin gently, then more insistently, her soft core rocking against his hardness as she straddled him. He wanted to drag out the moment, the pleasure that nearly bordered on pain, and he did, but only for a few minutes before he reached the point where he needed more, where he needed it all.
He reached for the button on her jeans and she reached for his. A flurry of activity followed, which left them both breathing hard and naked. When he grabbed a foil pocket from his back pocket and took care of that, he drew her onto his lap again so she straddled him like before, but then he stayed still, letting her lower herself onto him when she was ready, wanting to let her set the pace even if it killed him.
When her moist opening touched against him, the searing pleasure stole his breath. But yet he held still. She braced her hands on his shoulders, her slim fingers kneading his flesh. Her perfect breasts, the most tempting fruit in the world, jutted forward inches from his face, the nipples hard pebbles.
She lowered herself slow inch by slow inch, while all he could do was hang on to her hips and drown in the pleasure she was gifting him. When he was fully sheathed, she stopped, looked into his eyes, hers wide with wonder. And then he gently rocked against her, smiling when her breath caught from the sensation.
He felt it, too, the building pressure.
She moved a little faster. So did he.
Then her hands tightened on his shoulders, her head falling back, a low, sexy groan escaping her throat. He leaned forward and took her hard nipple into his mouth, drew on it sharply while rolling her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He had no idea where he got that kind of coordination. His brain was pretty much melted.
But she appreciated the effort and with a cry went over the edge, tightening and pulsing around him. Which sent him flying.
Later, when they were trying to catch their breath, leaning against each other, he pushed the hair back from her face and kissed her.
“You’re right,” he said. “If I move to the ranch, town tongues will be wagging. I have a solution.”
“You do?” she asked weakly, her face still glowing with pleasure, the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
He brushed his lips over her swollen mouth gently, then whis
pered the question in her ear. “Molly Rogers, would you marry me?”
* * * * *
HQ: TEXAS is just heating up!
Look for Dana Marton’s next book, MY SPY,
on sale in October 2013. You’ll find it
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Chapter One
Denver International Airport,
Thursday, October 16, 3:21 p.m.
“I don’t know how the pilot managed, but we landed safely.” Thomas Casey relaxed his grip on his cell phone and drew in his first deep breath since the pilot had announced a sudden winter storm had hit Denver only minutes before their scheduled landing. The storm had descended rapidly and with the same ferocity as the Bronco Blizzard from another mid-October day a few decades ago.
According to the weather update Thomas had caught on a local newscast since his flight arrived, the forecast called for at least a foot of snow in the coming twenty-four hours. The temperature had dropped dramatically in the past hour, icing the streets of the city and threatening to shut down every form of transportation.
“Any chance you’re getting out of there this afternoon?” Lucas Camp, Thomas’s longtime friend and colleague, asked, hope in his tone.
As soon as he’d gotten off that damned plane, Thomas had put through a call to Lucas. His old friend and his wife, Victoria Colby-Camp, were already ensconced in the small village resort where the wedding would take place.
Despite being a twenty-year veteran of black ops, Thomas felt his knees weaken just a little. He’d never been married nor had children of his own. Casey Manning, his niece, was like a daughter to him. When she’d asked him to give her away at her wedding, he’d choked up so damned bad he could scarcely cough out an answer. Casey was his sister, Cecelia’s, only child. Cecelia’s husband had passed away suddenly just a year ago. Standing in was the least Thomas could do.
If he could get out of this damned airport.
“It’ll take a hell of a lot more than a little snow to keep me away from that wedding,” Thomas promised. “You tell my niece I’ll be there.”
The village was only two hours from Denver, half the distance from here to Aspen. He’d crawled across deserts in the Middle East and scaled mountains in the dead of winter in Eastern Europe. How hard could it be to manage a hundred or so snow-covered miles in Colorado?
“The rehearsal dinner isn’t until tomorrow night,” Lucas reminded him. “Tonight’s reception is just a casual affair. Stay in the city until morning if the roads are too hazardous for safe travel.”
Thomas grinned. “I think you’re getting soft, Lucas.” The next thing he’d be telling Thomas was to be sure to wear his seat belt—which he did anyway. “Ordinarily you’d be suggesting I find myself a pair of cross-country skis and hoof it on over to your location.”
A belly laugh boomed across the connection. “I can see you’ve never been a member of a wedding party, old friend. Once wedding plans are in place, God help the unfortunate soul who throws a wrench in the works. The sweetest young woman will become bridezilla in a heartbeat. I’m not worried about you, Thomas. It’s those of us already here with the bride-to-be who have to worry.”
“I’ll be there, Lucas.” Thomas ended the call and tucked his cell into his pocket. He picked up his carry-on and followed the signs to the lower level and ground transportation.
* * *
JOHARA DEROSSI’S HEART was still lodged in her throat. The way the storm had dropped on the city, she’d been convinced Thomas Casey’s plane would ice up and tumble to the runway like a radio-controlled toy with no battery life. While that might have put a convenient end to her task here, it wasn’t at all how Thomas Casey should leave this world.
The enigmatic director of Mission Recovery owed his country an explanation—her, too, if she was being honest. But her questions were not the priority.
Having disguised herself as one of the many flight attendants from a nearby airline milling about deciding how and where to wait out the storm, she’d cloned his cell phone. Now, listening in on her target’s phone call, she silently thanked Lucas Camp for helping her cause. If the wedding party wasn’t expecting him to arrive until tomorrow, she had a head start.
As Thomas left the gate area for the lower levels, she trailed at a respectable distance, but kept him in sight. He couldn’t be crazy enough to try to pick up his rental car in this weather. She had to presume he’d call a hotel for availability and then pick up a ride on a courtesy shuttle.
It really didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to make it that far anyway.
What did matter was that her window of opportunity was closing fast, the already tight schedule accelerated by the storm. Good thing she thrived on pressure or she’d need serious medication about now.
As a member of the Initiative committee, the small group charged with the oversight of ultra-covert teams like Casey’s Mission Recovery Specialists, her life was rarely dull.
When his name had crossed her desk, along with the report listing the privileged information that had roused the suspicions against him, she had immediate and mixed reactions.
She didn’t want to believe it. Men weren’t built any more dedicated or patriotic than Thomas Casey. The idea that he may be guilty of treason—or worse—made her stomach churn. As an investigator, she knew better than to prejudge an operative or a situation, but Thomas was different. She didn’t want to go digging into his past, but more important, she didn’t want anyone else digging into it.
On some level she recognized just how screwed up that was.
Be that as it may, having served with him on a mission near the time period in question, she was eminently qualified. With that in mind, she’d checked his schedule and counted it good fortune that she would be able to deal with this away from the prying eyes in Washington, D.C.
She walked by him as Thomas paused near the rental car lines and pulled out his phone. Listening in again, she was pleased by his predictable behavior as he made his first call to a nearby hotel. Smart man, she thought, as he booked the room without blinking at the storm-inflated price. The hotel clerk promised the next shuttle would be at the appropriately marked stand within ten minutes.
Adjusting her timetable for the shuttle and the road conditions, Jo started for the parking garage. It took all her control not to skid to a stop when she spotted another familiar face among so many strangers.
Specialist Jason Grant, one of Thomas Casey’s rising stars, was coming down the escalator. Though his eyes were shadowed by dark glasses, she knew his gaze was sweeping the crowd.
Damn it. She’d checked the itineraries for all of Thomas’s team over the next week. Grant wasn’t slated to attend the wedding. According to her information, he should have been working recon on a new case in Vegas. With one conversation, he could ruin her plans for a clean capture. She had only seconds to head him off.
Well, that’s what plan B was for, she mused. Jo popped open one more button on her blouse and rushed back toward
Thomas. “Excuse me, sir? Seat A2, right?”
His brow puckered and she knew he was trying to place her from the airplane. “I worked coach,” she explained. “But I spotted this in your seat on my way out.”
She flashed an overly bright smile and handed him a passport. “That’s you, right?”
He opened it and, startled, gazed up at her. “Who are you?”
“You know me,” she murmured, leaning closer. “Thomas.”
His eyes went wide as he recognized her voice under the disguise.
“I need you.” The words were out, full of more truth than she cared to admit regarding their past, present and quite possibly their immediate future.
He nodded once, all business, and fell in beside her as she headed toward an employee access. She refused to look back, though she could feel Grant closing in as the door locked behind them.
“This way.”
“Tell me what’s going on, Jo.”
She ignored the ripple of awareness that followed his using her given name. It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Thomas always treated everyone with efficient professionalism. Except for that one notable, extremely personal, incident years ago.
“I’ll tell you everything just as soon as we’re out of here.” She checked her watch. They had less than five minutes before the cabbie she’d paid to wait left in search of another fare. In this weather they’d never find another taxi. “Keep up. We have to get out of the area before the roads are closed.” She’d taken precautions, given herself options, but no one could prepare for a freak blizzard.
“Are you in trouble?”
“Yes.” On one too many levels, she realized. But it was too late to back out now. If she didn’t follow through, someone more objective would take over the investigation. Based on what she’d seen, she didn’t think that was a good idea.
