Crossing the National Mall, he walked through the glass doors, and wandered through the first floor of the National Air and Space Museum. He had a soft spot for aviation. As a child, he had one goal in life—to be a fighter pilot. That dream lasted until he decided college wasn't really his thing, joined the Navy right out of high school, and discovered what he was truly meant to be. There was no "plan B" for Ben. He was going to be a SEAL. Period. End of story.
In the jet aviation room, he stared at the FH-1 Phantom, imagining what it would've been like to fly the first Navy fighter jet. Every summer, his grandfather would take him to the airfield when the Blue Angels would put on an aerial show. Lying on the blanket in the grass, watching the skies fill with jets zooming past at speeds so fast, sound couldn't even keep up with them. The love of speed, the adrenaline rush he sought out in everything he did, was still present. These days, the rush came from being dropped into war zones. It was physical and dirty, but still forced him to use his head.
But the love of soaring the endless blue skies never died. Times like these always sent a swirl of enthusiasm through his gut, and he allowed his mind to wander into the realm of "what if." What if he had gone to the Academy instead of enlisting? What if he had followed his first love and become a Navy pilot? It was a fun game to play, but he never felt regret. Flying would've been a kick in the pants, but being a SEAL was what he was born to be.
The hair on the nape of his neck stood. Someone had eyes on him. He slid his gaze from left to right without lifting his head. No one seemed to be taking an interest in him. He turned toward the next exhibit. His heart stopped beating for a second, and then jackhammered. The Russian woman from the bar the previous night stood a few feet away. She glanced at him and smiled.
Well, fuck me running.
"Ben," she said, drawing his name out with her accent. "I did not expect to see you again so soon."
Bullshit. This was no coincidence. Whether or not it was a set up by the feds was a question he couldn't answer. Didn't matter. He was going to report the two run-ins with the woman as soon as he could high-tail it out of there without looking obvious. If she was KGB, no good would come from spooking her into hiding or letting her slip through the CIA's fingertips. If she was just an innocent that happened to find Ben totally irresistible, then no harm, no foul for giving the feds a heads up.
And if it was a test, he would pass it, and maybe move onto the next step in joining The 13.
"Didn't take you for a tourist, Alina."
Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head to the side. "I am not a tourist. What would make you think that?"
"Well, if you live here, I would expect you to be working," he said, and then lowered his voice and leaned closer. "Or are you working?"
A smile slid across her face, and she snickered. "You amuse me, Ben. I am here on my lunch break—that is all."
Ben wrapped his arms across his chest and stared at the woman. Lunch break, my ass. "What is it you do for a living?"
Her attention was on the H-1 Lula Belle exhibit. "Hmm…what is that cliche? I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you?"
He had no doubt about that. When she looked at him, there was a gleam in her eyes.
"Besides, I am mad at you." Her lips turned pouty. Normally that would've been a turn on, but suddenly, Ben's thoughts drifted to Mia's lips. Now, if she went all pouty on him, he would kiss her until her she was breathless.
What was it about Mia that had Ben wanting to kiss her? He had spent a total of ten minutes with the woman…
"And why is that?" He asked, and forced back visions of other places he would like to kiss Mia that would make her breathless.
"You left me in quite a state. It's not nice to tease a woman and then leave her wanting." She stepped closer to him and Ben had to force his feet to stay put. The last thing he wanted was Alina to molest him in the middle of the Air and Space Museum. Little kids were around.
"I'm sure you managed to get over it."
She waved her hand in the air. "The man I found to replace you was mediocre, at best." Her voice dropped to a husky seductiveness. "He was not a challenge. No fire in his gut. No curiosity. You—" she moved in close enough that her hot breath burned his skin. "I sense you are a demanding lover. Raw. Dangerous."
"I'm not interested in your kind of danger, lady."
Her hand splayed across his chest, slowly inching lower to his abdomen. "And why is that?" Her fingers slid under the waistband of his jeans.
Grasping her wrist, he stopped her from going any further into his pants. "I like breathing too much." He stepped back, thrusting her hand away from his nether regions. Time to get the hell out of there. Turning on his heel, he stalked toward the exit.
"See you around, Ben," she called after him.
He slowed at her words, but didn't stop or look back at her. Checking his watch, he gauged how much time he had before he had to meet Mia for dinner. Three hours. That should be enough time to get over to CIA headquarters and let them know about the lecherous Alina.
There was no way he could afford for her last statement to come true. Especially if Mia was around him when Alina showed up next. Hopefully, the feds would be able to identify Alina. Then she'd be their problem.
"Shit." Identifying her would be impossible without a photo. Which he didn't have. He glanced around the sidewalk. A food truck was selling tacos. He ducked behind it, peered around the corner, and waited to see if Alina would come out.
He didn't have to wait long. Within a couple of minutes, Ben watched her walk down the front steps and look around. Was she looking for him?
Who the fuck cares?
He held the button on the camera and let it burst for a few seconds until Alina turned and walked away. He went through the pictures, praying they were clear enough to run through photo recognition software and find a match. Decent shots. If she was on the feds radar, they should be able to find out who she was.
And why was she was so interested in Ben.
***
Ben sat in the conference room with Special Agent Mike Donahue. Lancelot entered, closed the door behind him, and took a seat just down from Ben.
"So, the hottie at the bar wasn't looking for a hook-up, huh?" Lance's lips curled into a shit-eating grin. "I thought she was a bit out of your pay grade."
Ben shrugged. "Well, I guess I could've played it safe and gone after the jail bait sitting on your lap."
Lance tossed his head back and laughed. "Fuck you."
"Get in line," Ben smirked. "Apparently, everyone wants to."
SA Donahue cleared his throat. "If you two are done wagging your dicks, can we get back to the issue?"
Ben and Lance nodded.
Spooks—they have no sense of humor.
Donahue slid a file across the table. "The woman is Alina Sokolov. Claims to be former Russian Foreign Intelligence Service. Sought asylum here about two years ago."
Ben lifted an eyebrow. "And you let her stay?"
"Keep your enemies closer…She's been instrumental in providing us with a few turncoats—unbeknownst to her, of course."
"So, what does she want with me?" Ben asked.
Donahue leaned back in his chair, and scrubbed at his jaw. "As far as we can tell, she really does just want to have sex with you. Wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility that she followed you today for another shot at making something happen between the two of you. She's a bit singular in her focus, which is why I think she wanted to come here. Word from sources in Moscow is that she was not the greatest spy to come from the Kremlin. They may have been looking to neutralize her before her defection." Standing, Donahue gathered up the papers in the file, and tucked it under his arm. "That said, you probably shouldn't fuck her."
Ben lifted his hands in surrender. "No problem there." He had no interest in Alina, even with her "no holds barred" persona. No amount of kinky sex would be worth losing his career—or his life.
Donahue left the room and Lance
swiveled his chair around so he was facing Ben. "So, what's on the agenda tonight?"
Ben looked at his watch. He had to get moving. Being late for his date with Mia would just look like an adolescent snub. "Gotta date."
"Not with—"
"No. Friend of Wolf's who lives out here." Small Navy world meant an even smaller SEAL community—most everyone knew each other. Ben stood and pushed his chair under the table. "What about you?"
Lance shrugged, one side of his mouth curling into a smile. "I'll find someone to do."
Ben fist bumped him. "Don't play in the rain without wearing your rubbers."
"Preaching to the choir, brother."
5
Mia walked into the bar and glanced around. What were the chances she had made it to the restaurant before Ben? She tried to leave work even earlier than originally planned so she could be waiting at the bar when he walked in. If he even showed up at all.
A guy with his back to her turned, and deep blue eyes locked onto her. A shiver ran through Mia. Not the kind that leaves you wary and cold. No, this one sent a streak of white hot lightning straight through her belly and into her toes. Ben Wells was the hottest SEAL she had ever seen—and that was saying a lot, since she used to hang around a few when she lived in Virginia Beach.
His mouth quirked up on one side. He must have guessed by the way she was ogling at him, not making a single attempt to walk over to the bar where he sat, that he was having a profoundly erotic effect on her.
Well, that's embarrassing…
Few women wouldn't succumb to the broad shoulders, muscular chest that strained against his shirt, and the way the man could fill out a pair of jeans. Mia's entire body hummed as she took a step towards him, testing her legs to make sure her knees didn't buckle under her.
Ben met her halfway across the bar, and swept his arms wide open. "You made it." The huge grin plastered across his face provided a boyish charm to him, and made it impossible for Mia to be offended.
"Oh, good, I was worried you wouldn't be a smart ass and take advantage of my obvious embarrassment from earlier today." She stepped in front of him and stopped, unsure if she should hug him. His arms were open, and it wasn't like she didn't want to feel his body against hers—but was it appropriate after their awkward meeting this afternoon? Shaking his hand seemed like an obvious slight, and one she didn't want to give.
Saving her from the dilemma she struggled with in her head, Ben wrapped his arm loosely around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. It was a friendly hug, and as much as Mia had wanted more, she was happy he handled the situation.
"So, are we staying in the bar and having a liquid dinner?" Ben asked.
"No," she said, twirled away from him, and sauntered toward the hostess station. "I made reservations for us."
Standing behind her, his head just over her shoulder, his voice dropped to a sexy tone that had her heart pumping like a bicyclist in the tour de France. "Aww, does this mean you like me?"
She turned her head enough to catch his eye. A woodsy, spicy scent swirled around her head. She wanted to take a deep inhale and savor his essence. "Are you always so…confident?"
"Usually." A smile slid across his handsome face. "But you rocked that this afternoon when you stood me up. Now, I'm just trying to save a piece of my dignity." His eyes drooped at the corners, but his smile never faltered.
"Ha! You're so full of shit."
"Not the first time I've heard that," he said, chuckling.
The hostess grabbed two menus from a stack behind her and ushered them to a table next to the window. The waiter wasted no time taking their drink and food orders. Mia sipped from the sweating water glass and glanced at Ben. He had the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow. The stubble was dark and matched the ink black of his hair, making him look edgy—almost dangerous. Her fingers itched to scratch it. She placed her water glass on the table and put her hands in her lap before her fingers took on a mind of their own. How many different ways could Mia embarrass herself in front of this man?
Probably best not to ask that question.
"So, Ben, are you ready for the obvious line of questions?"
Lifting the water glass to his lips, he stared at her over the rim. "Shoot."
"Why'd you become a SEAL?" Mia asked in her best news reporter voice.
"Well, Mia," he responded, playing along, "being a SEAL was not a life long dream of mine."
"Really? I thought SEALs were born to be SEALs."
"They are." He paused and took another drink of water. "I was a confused SEAL for most of my life. I thought I was going to be a jet pilot. Had my entire life planned to make sure the dream became a reality."
"Wash out of pilot training?"
Ben threw his head back and laughed, sending a warm shiver through Mia. What a great laugh… "No, but thanks for the vote of confidence. I figured out my true path before it got to that point."
Mia nodded. The waiter returned with their drinks from the bar, and set a basket of bread and butter in front of them.
"But," Ben said, tore off a hunk of his roll, and slathered a generous dollop of butter on it. "I would've rocked pilot training—" he popped the bread in his mouth, chewed it a couple of times and swallowed it.
Mia was mesmerized by the movement of his throat. So sensuous…and strong. Every primal sexual instinct was at attention, and her body seemed in tune with every movement Ben made—even the most mundane of actions—like swallowing. And breathing. It was a moment before she realized he had stopped talking.
"Mia?"
Snapping her eyes back up to his, a warm flush hit her cheeks. "Sorry?"
"I said, 'your turn.' What made you decide to become an accountant?"
Mia giggled, and Ben quirked up an eyebrow. "It's sort of ridiculous, don't you think? You tell me about how your life goals were to become either a fighter pilot or a Navy SEAL. And now, I have to follow that with my exciting career as an accountant." She sighed. "Please spare me the humiliation."
"Not a fair comparison. My job sounds like one adventure after another—and it can be—but there is a lot about it that I didn't realize when I jumped in with both feet."
"Like what?" Mia asked, more than happy to keep the spotlight on him. She wanted to delay the inevitable fact that she was as boring and unadventurous as slug after the rain.
"There's very little time away from being a SEAL—you know what I mean? I don't have the type of job that gets shed at the end of the day when I leave the office. I'm always on call. I'm always a SEAL. And personal relationships are not just difficult, but near impossible to maintain." Ben dropped his gaze. "Takes a really strong person to be committed to a SEAL."
Whoa. Mia shifted in her seat, a little uncomfortable with the sudden seriousness of the conversation. She hadn't had a lot of relationships, but the ones she'd had were nothing to brag about. "Yes, well, believe it or not—the life of a CPA is quite exotic and intriguing. As far as the long term relationship statistics are concerned, I'll have to get back to you on that. Some of us can be very adverse to serious relationships that could lead to marriage." Ben lifted his head, his eyes narrowed. She leaned in and lowered her voice. "Don't spread that around. We try to come off as very dependable, stable people—but you'd be amazed at some of the parties we've thrown."
A wink from Mia, and the smile she had already decided was one of her favorite things about the man sitting across from her, returned and brightened the bubble they had created around themselves in the busy restaurant.
"Intriguing…so, you're secretly a party girl. What other dangers lurk in the world of accounting?" Ben asked.
"Dangers? I would hardly use that term." She said, and sipped her martini.
"Your clients aren't dangerous?"
Mia's thoughts drifted to the mysterious file she hid in her father's storage unit. Did it have hidden dangers? If the rumors were true, Riordan was murdered—most likely for whatever information was buried in the financial statement
s. She shrugged and took another—longer—drink. The vodka burned down her throat. "Everyone in this town is dangerous."
Ben's gaze wandered to a couple who had just passed their table. Mia tracked his eyes as they travelled up and down the blonde woman's long legs. Once the couple had been seated a few tables away, he continued to stare.
Seriously? Mia had never been a raging beauty guys fell over themselves to get to know, but did Ben have to make it so damn obvious that he wasn't interested in her?
Her "fuck you very much" look must have come through loud and clear because when Ben glanced back at her, his face paled.
"Sorry," he said, "hazard of the job—I notice people."
"So do I. I'm just not as obvious about it."
Ben winced and Mia had a mental image of her words stabbing into his heart and twisting. He deserved it.
"I can assure you I would much rather look at you, than an overly made-up, plastic woman."
"With the mile long legs—"
"Probably has cellulite all over her thighs."
She snorted. Attractive, Mia.
"The point is—don't assume that just because a guy is looking at a woman, it necessarily means he is interested in her. He might be comparing her to you, and discovering the other woman is woefully inadequate."
"Nice save." Mia shook her head and smiled.
"Thanks, but I mean it. A woman like that is eye candy for a man who feels inadequate. You're the total package—looks, brains, you seem to have a good career so not in need of a sugar daddy…" Ben throws his thumb toward the blonde, and wagged his eyebrows. "You know it's true."
Mia glanced at the woman, and then at the older man she was sitting with. "I'm thinking that might not be the only thing she does to make that man feel less inadequate."
"Nice, that mental picture is going to be with me a while."
Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Mia (Kindle Worlds) Page 4
