She soon gave up the struggle and hauled herself back onto the mattress. She was damned if she'd let Jack find her flopping around on the floor like a landed trout.
A glance at the clock radio beside the bed showed it was the middle of the night. She'd been out for a solid eight hours. Her fury came to a fresh boil.
Donovan wouldn't live to see the dawn!
Dragging the sheet around her, she punched the pillows up behind her back and got a grip on herself. She'd need a clear head and iced emotions to get the drop on the bastard.
The shower cut off and Jack strolled out of the bathroom a few minutes later, toweling himself off. The light spilling through the open door illuminated his tanned chest and legs. His belly was flat and ridged, his sex loose and pliant between his thighs. Deliberately, Cleo zeroed in on the puckered skin marking the bullet hole in his shoulder.
"I assume you realize I'm going to put another hole in you to match that one, Donovan."
"Why do you think you're wearing plastic?"
"You'll have to cut the cuff sooner or later."
"I'm going for later."
Carelessly, he tossed the damp towel back into the bathroom and dragged a pair of jersey sweatpants from his bag. With the sweats riding low on his hips, he prowled over to the antique armoire housing the entertainment center and minibar.
"I'm starving. What have you got in here?"
Rattling among the bottles and jars in the well-stocked fridge, he popped the top on a Diet Pepsi but passed up the assortment of snacks.
"Peanuts and candy won't hack it. Let's hope room service operates around the clock." He snagged the thick, embossed menu from the desk and gave a grunt of relief. "It does. I'm going for a steak. You want anything?"
"Your head on a platter."
"Sorry, I don't see head on the menu. What's your second choice?"
"Your balls on a skewer."
"No skewered balls, either. You'll have to settle for peppercorn steak with porcini mushrooms." Reaching for the phone, he shot her a quizzical look. "Should I make this call from the other room?"
"I'm not going to scream for help, if that's what you're asking. This is between me and you, Bubba, and only one of us is going to walk away whole."
"That's the way I see it, too."
The tone was amused. The warning buried in the careless reply wasn't.
"By the way," he added as he hit the button for in-room dining, "those boxers are a real turn-on. They kept me awake longer than I would have imagined possible after all those hours on the C-17."
Cleo's eyes narrowed. She and Jack had stripped down to their skivvies before. Several times. She'd been conscious when it had happened, though.
"Speaking of staying awake," she bit out when he'd placed the order, "what did you use on me?"
"It's a new subduing agent developed by the lab at Langley. The spray hasn't been approved yet for use on humans, but the effects on lab rats and attack dogs were so encouraging, I decided to bring a sample with me."
He was baiting her. For all his seeming nonchalance and lazy grin, he was as furious with her as she was with him.
The realization afforded Cleo immense satisfaction. Perversely, it also took some of the edge off her rage.
She knew how the bureaucracy worked. She'd been part of it herself for years. She understood the restraints Jack had to operate with, under and around. Still, he could have found time for one frigging phone call or e-mail. And he sure as hell didn't have to use an experimental agent on her!
"You know," she ground out, "the last I heard we were both on the same side."
"That's what I thought, too, until you jumped a plane to Malta."
Her arms locked over the sheet, she made what she considered a supremely generous offer. "Cut the cuff, and I won't leave you permanently crippled."
"Later. Maybe."
"Now, Donovan. You're not the only one who needs to make a trip to the bathroom."
He strolled over to the bed then, close enough for her to cause harm. The glint in his eyes told her that's exactly what he hoped she'd do. His eight hours of rack time had put the devil back into him, Cleo saw.
"How about this?" he suggested. "I cut the cuff, you hit the bathroom, and we eat before we tussle."
He looked almost disappointed when she agreed. After he dug a disposable cutter out of his bag and sliced through the plastic, though, Cleo was tempted to renege on the deal. One good kick with her heel and he'd be wearing his face backward for a while. But she'd given her word and she never went back on it. Not when the other guy expected her to, anyway, which was exactly what Donovan's wary stance indicated.
Better to catch him off guard.
And make him suffer.
With that goal in mind, she tossed the sheet aside and strolled into the still-steamy bath.
Jack remained on full alert until the door slammed behind her. Even then, the cords in his neck refused to relax. He trusted Cleo to hold to their truce-more or less. In retrospect, though, he Probably should have defined "eat" with more precision. He half expected her to burst out of the bathroom determined to stuff something other than peppercorn steak down his throat.
Christ, he wished she'd try! Now that he'd caught up on his sleep, he was itching for some action. He'd have her out of those crotch-skimming briefs and on her back in five seconds flat. Less if he used the spray, but that wouldn't entail anywhere near as much fun. He'd keep his options open, he decided. Wide open. If Cleo emerged from the bathroom ready to do battle, he'd certainly oblige her.
She reappeared swathed in one of the hotel's terry-cloth robes and apparently prepared to fulfill the terms and conditions of the truce. Room service delivered Jack's order mere moments later.
Smiling at Cleo, the uniformed attendant in a square hat rolled a cart piled with domed dishes into the room. "Shall I set up at the dining table, sir?"
"Just leave it. I'll put the trolley in the hall when we finish."
"Very good. If you'll just sign here, please."
Cleo's sarcastic comment about how things worked in the real world played in Jack's head as he added a hefty tip to the already outrageous room service delivery charge. The waiter tried to be discreet, but his eyes bulged when he got a look at the tab.
"Can I get you anything else, sir?"
"Not right now."
Cleo observed the man's fawning departure with a lift of one brow. "How much did you give him?"
"Enough to make Sloan break out in a cold sweat when he sees your itemized expense account. Let's eat."
Afterward Cleo was never quite sure when her simmering determination to pay Donovan back for the spray and the cuff edged over the line into something more primitive.
She still wanted physical. That didn't change as they worked their way through their middle-of-the-night supper. She'd s
pent hours confined in a stuffy interrogation room, more hours stretched out on a bed, unconscious. Her body craved motion, exercise, action.
And the anger bubbling just below her surface required a vent before it blew her apart. With each bite of the peppercorn steak, though, her fiercely banked emotions took on a different hue, almost like a landscape sent back by one of the Mars rovers. One minute she was red and hot and plotting ways to bounce Jack on his butt. The next, she was envisioning what she'd do with him once she had him there.
The possibilities were endless…and included a few variations so carnal that Cleo's belly tightened. Before she knew quite how it happened, her need for revenge had gotten all mixed up with another kind of desire. Both were churning inside her when she dropped her fork onto the gold-rimmed service plate.
"Do you want to see the Termen?"
The curt question elicited a considering look from Jack. He chewed his mouthful of steak, swallowed and lounged back in his chair. The careless sprawl didn't fool Cleo for a moment. She'd gone into action with this man.
"I've already seen it," he replied. "When I went through your carryall."
So he'd searched the suite and her personal effects while she was out cold. She would have done the same if their positions had been reversed.
"Find anything else of interest?"
"Well, that laser-beam flashlight is pretty awesome. Where did you get that?"
Cleo had forgotten all about the high-intensity super beam Doreen had squeezed into the $1.99 penlight. The last time she'd seen the gadget was when she'd dumped her key ring in the bottom of her purse after parking her vehicle at Love Field.
She wasn't in any mood to enlighten Jack about the source of her equipment, though. Particularly when that source was a stepcousin-in-law with a hyena laugh who spent more hours on her back in front of the TV than she did searching for gainful employment.
"You don't need to know where I found it, but you'd damned well better return it. Along with any other items you purloined."
"There wasn't much to purloin. You traveled light on this trip."
"Unlike you, Donovan, I flew commercial. I didn't have time to work the necessary documentation to get a firearm through Customs."
"Inspector Aruzzo showed me the wooden lance you put into your shooter's throat. Apparently you didn't work the necessary documentation for that, either."
"There are rules, and then there are rules."
Stretching out his legs, he laced his fingers over his bare middle. Someone else might have mistaken the look he slanted her through sun-tipped gold lashes for amusement. Cleo knew better.
"Wasn't that the attitude that got you crosswise of the United States Air Force?"
"That," she answered with a shrug, "and an intense aversion to having my investigations reviewed and critiqued at six different levels of command."
His smile mocking, he fed her back her own line. "That's how it works in the real word, North."
"Not in my world. Not now."
Cleo toyed with one end of the tie belting her terry-cloth robe. "Are you finished with your steak?"
"I'm finished."
His mocking smile deepened. He knew what was coming. Or thought he did.
"Will this be jungle style?" he asked in a drawl. "Or do you want to set some parameters?"
"We'll keep it simple. No blood, no bruises, no broken bones."
"How do we decide the winner?"
"We go three rounds. The winner is the one who walks away."
He hooked a brow. "You're serious about this?" "As a heart attack."
Casually, she tugged on the end of the tie. The knot gave, her robe parted.
"Just how brave are you, Donovan?" "You want to wrestle naked? Oh, sweetheart! Tell me I'm not dreaming."
The fervent plea worked on Cleo in a way she hadn't anticipated. The white-hot edge to her anger cooled even as the almost comical joy on the jerk's face sent heat coiling into her belly.
Her determination to make sure Jack remembered this night for a long, long time didn't waver. She still intended to make him weep. But there wasn't anything that said she couldn't enjoy herself in the process. "You're not dreaming, big guy." Shrugging, she sent the robe sliding down to her elbows. From there it made a quick trip to the floor. Her thumb hooked in the waistband of the lace-trimmed Brazilian Boxers. Cleo had no idea how the packagers had come up with that label, as the bits of silk and lace were manufactured in China and anything but boxy.
The label didn't matter, however. What mattered was the little hiss of Jack's indrawn breath. "Like these briefs, do you?"
"Like doesn't begin to describe how I feel about them."
Deciding to let him suffer a little more, she kept the briefs on and pushed the trolley out of the way Jack didn't alter his slouch when she hooked a knee over his. Or when she settled her weight on his thighs. But his stomach muscles went rigid the instant she reached for the string tie of his sweats. In a short, fierce battle, his instinct for self-preservation gained temporary mastery over the hunger that was already raising a sweat. Locking his hands over hers, he stilled her busy fingers.
Her smile was a scorching brand. "Scared, Donovan?"
"Should I be?" "Oh, yeah."
Jack's stomach muscles gave another involuntary roll. He figured he had exactly two options at this point. He could take Cleo to the floor and engage in the physical tussle she was obviously aching for or let her do her worst.
From this vantage point, he had to admit her worst looked pretty damned good. Those lacy briefs were just loose enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse of dark pubic hair…whenever he could drag his greedy gaze from her breasts.
What the hell. A guy could only die once. Releasing her hands, he dropped his arms to either side of the chair and assumed an air of noble martyrdom. "All right. I admit that subduing agent might have been a little extreme. You're entitled to your revenge, North. Go for it."
The blank look on Cleo's face was worth whatever pain would follow. She hadn't expected him to cave this easily. And, Jack realized with a jolt of wicked delight, she didn't quite know what to do with him now that he had.
His glee took a dive when she set her jaw and yanked on the strings of his sweats, but he maintained his sacrificial pose. There would be no blood, he reminded himself. No bruises. No broken bones.
The mantra replayed in his head as Cleo dragged his sweats down a few inches, and gained considerable urgency when her fist closed around him. He was already semi-erect, no small feat considering the circumstances. But when her hand began to slide and squeeze, he zinged straight to full and hard and aching.
His condition didn't go unnoticed. A feline smile curving her lips, Cleo scooted forward on hi
s thighs and got a better grip.
Sweat popped out on the back of Jack's neck. His mouth went bone-dry. Curling his hands into fists, he managed to keep from reaching for the nipples only a few inches from his chest. All the while Cleo squeezed and stroked and stretched him on the rack.
He could do this, dammit! He could let her have her revenge.
Jesus, who was he kidding? He wanted her to have at him. He would let himself be staked out on an anthill before he admitted it, but the woman's combination of pigheaded stubborness and prickly independence roused a hunger in him that wouldn't quit.
It always had.
He'd felt the stirrings years ago, when some jerk had flashed a lingerie ad featuring the OSI's newest recruit around the office's Net. He hadn't really appreciated the mind behind the face and the body, though, until that botched mission in Honduras.
Cleo's flat refusal to leave him after he'd taken that bullet had infuriated him at the time. It had also saved Jack's ass. He figured that was worth a little suffering now.
Besides which, there was no way Cleo was departing this hotel suite until Jack heard from the Old Man. It was either submit to this torture or zap her with another puff from the spray he'd concealed within easy reach.
Cleo almost naked and awake beat Cleo almost naked and out cold any day. Or so he thought until she scooted up another inch. Her hand was squeezed between their bellies now, her breasts flattened against his chest.
"Are you hurting, Donovan?"
"What do you think?"
She thumbed the tip of his erection.
"I think you're getting there."
THE MIDDLE SIN Page 18
