by Cindy Dees
And then there was the bit about her using her looks to get what she wanted. The more she thought about that little observation, the hotter it made her. Truth be told, MI6 hadn’t had to twist her arm too hard before she’d agreed to let them fly her out here.
She took a deep breath and slid behind the wheel of the golf cart. She had a few things to say to Brady Hathaway. And she really wasn’t doing his mission, now.
“Do you need anything else, ma’am?” one of the pilots asked her.
“No, thanks.”
The men headed for their jet. They’d explained earlier that their orders were to deliver her to Hathaway and then leave immediately. As she guided the cart onto the narrow path, the plane’s engines cranked up behind her.
She briefly considered making for the jungle, but the night sounds emerging from it dissuaded her from going Robinson Crusoe—particularly since she had no idea whatsoever how to take care of herself in the wild. Give her a man-shark infested nightclub, and she was a pro at navigating the dangerous waters. But forests and bugs and wild creatures? Not so much.
The day’s sultry heat was giving way to a pleasant tropical warmth as the path climbed the mountainside. She thought she glimpsed a light up ahead, and her heart raced. Time to face the music—and the monster.
Chapter 2
Brady had just stepped out of the shower when he heard the airplane land. He smiled grimly as he toweled himself dry. Time for round two in his sparring match with Eve Dupont. He wondered if she’d figured out yet that he’d won the first round. Not only was she here, but she didn’t think he’d forced her into it. A win-win for him. As her handler going forward, he would need her to see him as an ally, not the enemy.
He pulled on jeans and a black polo shirt and slipped outside. Might as well establish up front who was in charge around here. He slipped into the shadows as easily as breathing and settled in to wait for her.
It didn’t take long for a golf cart to come into sight as the scream of jet engines rose and winking lights climbed into the black sky overhead. Planning to face him solo, was she? Gutsy girl. He’d have to disabuse her of the notion that she could manage him like all the other men she’d known.
She stopped in front of the veranda stretching across the entire front of the single-story house. Stripes of light shone through the plantation shutters onto her long, silky legs as she swung out of the cart.
His gut tightened as he saw the barely there sundress she wore. Its halter top was held up by little more than a shoelace around her neck, and its hem skimmed the tops of her thighs. The woman oozed pure sex. His instinct to take control of this encounter had been spot on.
He glided out of his hiding place as she climbed the shallow front steps and approached the door. He waited until she reached up to knock and then pounced, shoving her face-first into the wooden panel of the front door.
She let out a startled scream.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled. He registered the long, lush lines of her body pressing against his. Irritated, he beat down his visceral reaction to the feel of her. He was not some rookie to lose himself in lust.
She relaxed between him and the door. “Brady?” she purred throatily.
The sound of her voice was thick and sweet like warm honey dripping over him. “Answer my question,” he gritted, keeping up the furious charade. “What are you doing here?”
She laughed nervously. “It seems your friends at MI6 think I ought to help you with your little project. They told me to work with you or go to jail.” She hesitated fractionally and then continued in a more sober tone of voice. “I’m sorry they forced me to bother you.”
Surprised by what sounded like a genuine apology, he eased up leaning on her. She immediately turned to face him within the cage of his arms. She breathed, “I forgot just how big you are.”
Pleasure erupted in his gut before he managed to check the reaction. He scowled. The woman definitely knew how to work the sex angle. He muttered, “I thought we already established that you can’t do the job.”
“You decided that. MI6 thinks I’m up to the challenge. Are you?”
Their gazes met and held. Her big, green, long-lashed eyes were even more seductive than they had been in the restaurant. With each breath she drew, her chest rubbed the front of his shirt. She seemed fully aware of it and prepared to maintain the blatantly sexual contact. An urge to carry her inside and untie that naughty little dress slammed into him. Damn, she was dangerous.
“I can handle anything you can dish out and then some, sweetheart,” he murmured.
Her hands came up to rest on his forearms, her fingers sliding higher to measure his biceps, and then gliding across his chest and down his belly to his belt. He sucked in an involuntary breath as her hands skimmed the leather barrier.
“Are you sure about that?” she murmured back, eyes sparkling, her voice thick with sexual innuendo.
He leaned in on her, crowding her, forcing her to acknowledge his superior size and power. Her hands slid around his waist to the small of his back, her palms—whether consciously or unconsciously he didn’t know—urging him closer still. He could just imagine her gripping him, pulling him to her, rising up to meet his thrusts as he pumped into her.
His gaze refocused on her face and, dammit, she was smiling archly. He speared a hand into her hair and grabbed a thick handful. He forced her head back, exposing her graceful throat. “Don’t play with me, little girl. You may get more than you bargained for.”
His intent had been to intimidate her, threaten her a little. But damned if her eyes didn’t go dark and hot, her whole body limp with lust against his. Desire rolled off of her like heat waves off a beach in the noonday sun. Liked it a little rough, did she? The knowledge exploded through his brain, along with any number of forbidden possibilities.
“Gahh,” he grunted as he shoved away from her. “Using sex won’t work for this mission. Like I said. You’re going to get yourself—and maybe me—killed. I don’t need a sex kitten. I need a real woman.”
He turned his back on her and strode to the far end of the porch to stare out into the night. He did his damnedest to ignore the blood pounding through his body and roaring in his ears, but he failed. The woman was sin incarnate. But his declaration was true. He didn’t need a high-class hooker wannabe. He needed a terrorist wannabe.
“Try me,” she murmured from right behind him. “Maybe I am a real woman.”
How in the hell had she managed to sneak up on him like that? How was he supposed to train her if she distracted him this much?
He whirled to glare at her. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Even when she wasn’t trying to be sexy, she was. Her mouth formed words and he stared at her lush lips, thinking of all the indecent things he could do with that mouth.
“Grab your bags and come inside,” he growled. “The supply plane won’t be here until day after tomorrow. Until then, you’re stuck on the island.”
He caught her little smile of triumph as she turned to fetch her luggage. His plan had worked to perfection. She thought she’d talked him into letting her stay—at least for long enough to convince him she could do his mission, which she now desperately wanted to do. He ought to feel like he’d delivered the knock-out punch. But instead, he felt like the one who’d just taken a barrage of body blows.
How in the hell was he supposed to keep his hands off her for weeks or even months to come? If she unleashed a full broadside of sex appeal at him, he wasn’t at all sure he would come out the winner—or if he even wanted to come out the winner.
Eve mentally girded herself as she sat down to eat the supper Brady had prepared for them. She had two days to convince him she had what it took to do his mission. It would make her ultimate refusal to help him all that much sweeter revenge. She would be truly nuts to pursue working with this man for real. He’d already told her if she screwed up sh
e might die. And he didn’t strike her as the kind of person to exaggerate.
As Brady plated up the largest prawns she’d ever seen on a bed of pasta and some sort of delicate cream sauce, she studied him closely. He wasn’t intimidating until a person noticed how silently and efficiently he moved. Like a killer. A chill rippled down her spine.
“So, Brady. Can you tell me about your secret mission now that we’re completely alone?”
“I’m going to put you through a little training to see if you’re even capable of pulling it off. If it looks like you could get the job done, then I’ll tell you more about it.”
She leaned back, studying him thoughtfully. “Don’t trust me, huh? Worried I’ll tell on you to my secret terrorist friends?”
“Something like that,” he allowed.
“Fair enough. But for the record, I really did have no idea what dear brother Viktor was up to, and I had no part in his little projects.”
“For the record, I believe you.”
She stared at him in open surprise. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her plate was almost clean when he surprised her by saying without preamble, “I can’t tell you much, but I can tell you this: the mission is dangerous. I would act as your handler, which I hasten to add before you can make any snide comment, merely means that you would be working for me and I would provide whatever support you’d need. If you were to succeed, you would clear your family name once and for all. If you were to fail, you would almost certainly die.”
Clear the family name? The idea broke across her consciousness like an avalanche, sweeping away everything in its path. Was it possible? Was he for real? Then the rest of it sunk in. She would work for him? That could be very interesting indeed. But then there was that whole dying thing to consider—
“I hear your mental wheels turning,” he said quickly. “Don’t get worked up over the prospect of restoring the family name. I’m not kidding. You can’t pull off the mission.”
But if she could…a fresh start in life…doing his mission might just be worth it… “Who do you work for, Mr. Hathaway?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’d like to tell them you’re the worst recruiter I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter. And believe me, I’ve met a whole lot of your type.”
He studied her for long enough that she had to restrain an urge to squirm in her seat. Then he merely leaned forward with a sinfully wicked smile and said, “You want to give it a go then?”
Hell, yes, she wanted to give it a go! She leaned back, feigning casual disdain, and drawled, “I suppose I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Brady let out a careful breath. Why did he feel like he’d just grabbed a tiger by the tail? The woman seated across from him was even more fantastically beautiful in person than she was on film. Her mind worked at lightning speed, and she was as prickly and cynical as they came.
But he could no more let go of the tiger’s tail than he could walk away from the sexual challenge glinting in her green gaze. She was going to be hell on wheels to manage. He had no illusions whatsoever about why she’d agreed to do the mission: she was determined to win the charged sexual battle snapping and sparking between them.
However, he also had faith that the emotional pain pouring off of her in tangible waves was going to be extremely difficult and delicate to manage. He wondered if she had any idea how much pain she radiated.
He was dead serious when he said she was completely unsuited to the mission at hand. How he was going to mold her into any kind of reasonably functional operative, he had no idea. Not to mention the thought of being alone with her made his gut tighten involuntarily.
And now she was officially a mission. Work. Off-limits. He was supposed to be the confirmed woman hater, the man of ice. It was why Jennifer had asked him to handle this particular job. Time to put some of that mental chill to work.
She startled him out of his musings by asking, “So what is this training of yours going to entail?”
“Ever shoot a gun?” he asked.
“No.”
“Wire a bomb?”
“No.”
“Kill someone?”
“No!”
“Well, then,” he said lightly. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.” He blandly turned his attention back to his meal.
Her fork clattered down onto her plate. “You want me to kill someone?” she gasped. “I’d never kill anyone. Not for you. Not for anyone!”
He stared into her horrified eyes and answered quietly, “I will never force you to kill anyone. But there are scenarios where everyone would find themselves willing to take a life. Don’t fool yourself that you’d never do it. In the right circumstances you wouldn’t hesitate.”
“Never,” she declared strongly.
His gaze narrowed. “You’re telling me that if you had a loaded gun in your hand you’d let a criminal kill your husband? Rape your daughter? Torture your baby?”
“That’s not a fair example. Nothing like that will ever happen to me.”
“Never say never, Miss Dupont.”
“Call me Eve,” she snapped.
Good. He had her rattled. She needed to realize a little of what she was getting into. He didn’t need her accusing him later of misleading her. He replied grimly, “Call me Brady. We’re going to be working very closely for the next few months. We might as well dispense with the formalities.”
“Done…Brady.” Triumph glinted in her eyes.
Ha. She thought she’d just manipulated him into agreeing to work with her. He smiled sardonically. Whatever got the job done. And in the meantime, was that a hint of a truce showing on her oh so expressive face?
“Why didn’t you ask if I’d kill you if I had a gun?” she asked sweetly.
So much for a truce. He snorted. “I already know the answer to that one,” he answered grimly.
Eve helped carry the dishes into the kitchen and clean up. After they were done, she couldn’t resist the night breezes drawing her to the porch. She stepped out into the sultry darkness. She felt Brady join her, although she didn’t hear him.
“You should get a good night’s sleep,” he murmured. “We’ll get an early start in the morning and work hard all day.”
“Are you telling me the truth?” she asked. “Is there really a mission?”
“Yes. There really is.”
“Tell me something, Mr. Honesty with a capital H. Do you find me attractive?”
“What makes you think I always tell the truth?”
Avoiding her question, was he? Interesting. Aloud she replied, “Oh, come on. You’ve got a neon sign over your head that says All-American Boy. Of course you always tell the truth. You keep your promises and help little old ladies cross the street, too.”
“I leave little old ladies to the Boy Scouts,” he muttered.
“You dodged my question. Do you find me attractive?”
He stared at her through narrowed eyes. “You’re extremely attractive, but you don’t need me to tell you that.”
“That’s not what I asked.” She turned to face him, and he was wreathed in dark shadows that hid his face. “Do you find me attractive?”
“Such things have no bearing on the mission,” he answered tightly.
“So you do. Why won’t you admit it?”
“We’re going to be working together very closely. Exploring such issues would make things…awkward…between us.”
“Things are pretty awkward already,” she retorted. “I think we should get whatever’s between us out in the open and deal with it like adults rather than letting all this sexual tension just hang in the air as if it’s not there.”
He turned his head slightly, enough for her to see his jaw muscles rippling. Score a bull’s-eye for her.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—” he started.
She stepped close to him. “It may not be a good idea, but you and I both know it’s inevitable.�
��
“Nothing’s inevitable,” he retorted a little more sharply than was necessary.
“Shut up and kiss me,” she breathed.
His arms swept around her and he wrapped her in an embrace that made her feel by turns safe and entirely consumed. And then his mouth closed on hers, and any thought of missions or verbal sparring evaporated. He didn’t kiss her as much as he inhaled her. This was no tentative request for permission to worship her. It was mastery, at once tender and powerful.
Whoa. Wait a minute. The idea was for her to sweep him off his feet. To assert her control in this relationship, not the other way around! But darned if she didn’t urge him closer, her lips clinging hungrily to his, her body pulsing with need.
She didn’t get all hot and bothered by kisses—she was the one who made other people feel that way. But darned if she wasn’t panting for breath, drowning in his strength and already trying to figure out how to get more of him. Her legs actually felt weak as an unfamiliar languor stole through her.
She wanted him to strip off her dress and put his hands on her skin. To carry her down and cover her with his big body. To take her places she’d never thought about going with a man before. Usually boredom was her primary emotion when guys started crawling all over her. But Brady made her feel hungry. Restless. Crud…horny.
He turned her loose so abruptly she staggered before righting herself on wobbly legs. His expression was inscrutable, his posture casual. “All right, then,” he said briskly. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, we can get to work first thing in the morning.”
She stared in disbelief. Surely that kiss had affected him the same way it had affected her! Then why was he studying her like an insect again, one eyebrow cocked in mild disdain. Seriously? That kiss hadn’t rocked his world?
Hurt flashed for an instant before white hot rage exploded inside her. “You son of a bitch!”
“You’re the one who insisted on kissing,” he replied blandly.
And then he actually turned and walked away from her! Just like that. As if kissing her hadn’t been any more interesting than reading obituaries in the newspaper. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was smirking.
