by Gennita Low
“What if we don’t win?”
She knew she had to tell the truth. And she didn’t want to hurt him. “There’s a chance they won’t honor our agreement if I fail to deliver,” she said, then shrugged. “I’ve never thought beyond the promise of us. It’s up to you now. Do you want to take the chance?”
She glanced up quickly and found his dark eyes still focused intently on her.
“I’ve always wanted you, Kel, and I don’t intend to let you go. I want to get to know you again. Things have changed; we’ve changed. That I still want you might not be enough. You’re going to be the Queen. Excuse me while I take some time to process the shock.”
“The most important thing for me is whether you want to stay with me this time.”
“If you were a man…no. Fuck their manipulative game.”
“Then let’s leave this decision till we’ve finished the assignment,” Kel suggested. He wanted her. She could make him love her again. “No promises until you’re sure. That’s all I’m asking, John.”
She let the hope shine from her eyes. She wanted him to see how much this meant to her
Time with him. Time to explain. Time to heal. Second chances were so rare and she was going to grasp at hers like a drowning woman after a lifeline.
“You’re so lucky you’re not a man, Mrs. Dallas.”
Her heart thundered at his soft words. The look in his eyes made her weak in the knees. Come what may, she’d always treasure this moment.
“So, since I’m not a man, why are you still talking and not kissing me?”
His eyes narrowed. “Good question,” he murmured, and dipped his head.
THE END
Dear Reader,
Thank you for buying my books. I’m starting this series of individual short stories so I can add different accounts of spy adventures, including vignettes of the earlier life of the popular Jed McNeil’s (Number Nine from the Commando series) and hero of Virtually His and Virtually Hers.
About the Author
Gennita Low writes sexy military and techno spy-fi romance. She also co-owns a roof construction business and knows 600 ways to kill with roofing tools as well as yell at her workers in five languages. A three-time Golden Heart finalist, her first book, Into Danger, about a SEAL out-of-water, won the Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award for Best Romantic Intrigue. Besides her love for SEALs, she works with an Airborne Ranger who taught her all about mental toughness and physical endurance. Gennita lives in Florida with her mutant poms and one chubby squirrel.
To learn more about Gennita, visit www.Gennita-Low.com, www.rooferauthor.blogspot.com and www.facebook.com/gennita
Other Books by Gennita Low
BIG BAD WOLF
~ ~ Crossfire Series ~ ~
PROTECTOR
HUNTER
SLEEPER
HER SECRET PIRATE (short story in SEAL of my Dreams)
~ ~ Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) ~ ~
INTO DANGER
FACING FEAR
TEMPTING TROUBLE
~.~.Super Soldier Spy ~ ~
VIRTUALLY HIS
VIRTUALLY HERS
~ ~ Children’s books as “Gennita” ~ ~
A SQUIRREL CAME TO STAY
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Excerpt from TEMPTING TROUBLE
Grace moaned. Something was doing horribly erotic things to her ear, darting in and out, exploring, swirling, seducing. She tried to twist away from its sexual probing, but found she couldn’t move. Hands moved over her body, lips seared her skin. He was good, she thought, fighting off sleep, so clever with that tongue, so strong and tender and—she let out a scream—horribly wet. Cold water dripped down her back and legs. She forced her eyes open, still half asleep, expecting to confront some nightmarish creature frothing at the mouth, dripping all over her.
She was close. It was Lance Mercy in her bed, on her, holding her down. And he was wet from head to toe. His eyes were blazing like those of a wild beast on the attack.
Grace closed her eyes and opened them again, willing her nightmare to go away. It wasn’t one. He was still there in person. She shrieked again, trying to sit up. “How did you get in here?” Her panicked voice was hushed, husky from alcohol and sleep.
Lance sat astride her, studying her wakening horror with renewed amusement. He did like getting back at her for making him feel jealous. “Some doors can’t be dead-bolted, sweetheart,” he drawled.
She frowned, then remembered her sliding door. She called him an extremely unflattering name.
“Tsk, tsk, such language from that pretty mouth,” he chided.
“You’re wet!” She squirmed. “Get off, you…oaf!”
“I’m sorry. Here, let me get out of these wet clothes.”
Grace’s eyes widened, as she slowly comprehended his meaning. Her mouth tasted like cotton as she watched him pull his wet shirt off and toss it carelessly over his shoulder. His chest muscles were taut, revealing his mood, the movement of his bare arms tense and deliberate. She started to tremble when his hands reached for the buttons of his pants. She tried to speak but her tongue seemed to have disappeared, her eyes wildly following his hands. Finally, she just shook her head at him.
But Lance wasn’t in the mood. “You got wet from my clothes, sweetheart. Let me help you take them off.” He held on to the front of her maroon outfit and with one savage tug, tore it down almost to her waist.
Grace came alive, rearing up and catching him by surprise, pushing him off. Rolling off the bed, she scrambled out of the room, almost killing herself with only one high heel on. He hopped off and followed closely.
“Don’t think you’re going to come in here and find me soft and pliant after the way you acted out there!” Grace fumed, hobbling backwards from him.
“You didn’t expect me to be in the best of moods after the act you pulled at the function, did you?” He stalked her as she used the sofa as a buffer between them. “Did you?”
“Did I do anything you told me not to?” she challenged.
“Yes!” he hissed, walking around the sofa. She half-ran, half-stumbled to the nearby chaise lounge. “I told you not to interfere.”
“You told me to stay out of the way,” she corrected, “which I did. I kept my bloody word, so stop glaring at me! What, do you have any complaints? Didn’t you accomplish your mission?”
Using one arm, Lance vaulted over the sofa. Grace hastily retreated away from the chaise, trying to think of a way to calm a savage beast. Half-naked, his hair darkened by the rain, eyes blazing, he didn’t look anything like the suave deputy advisor to the Council of Asian Trade. Her heart thumped against her throat at the dangerous look in his eyes.
“You’re right, I did accomplish my mission,” he informed her, his eyes level, “and now I’ve come to accomplish my other one.”
She swallowed. “What’s that?” She stared at him as he kept advancing.
“I told you we would celebrate tonight.” He indicated the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Seems like you started without me.”
Grace’s back bumped into the sliding door that led to the balcony. “I wanted to be alone,” she told him, still defiant.
“And I told you I would be back later.” He was close enough to grab her. “Did you have any doubts I would?”
“Yes! I don’t want you here!” She turned, slid open the glass door, and ran out into the rain.
She was dead meat. Lance followed her, cornering her against the banister. Rain half-blinded her as he twined his fingers in her wet hair, pulling her face up to meet his.
“You have a hearing problem, love. I also told you,” he said over the drumming of the rain around them, “that game time is over, Grace. I meant it.”
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