Soldier's Last Stand

by Cindy Dees

  Her hands balled into fists that ached to bury themselves in his smug expression. He’d played her like a freaking violin! He thought he could kiss her and get her all worked up and then turn and walk away all superior and unaffected, did he? Well she had news for him. He wouldn’t know which way was up when she was done with him. She wouldn’t have him begging at her feet; she’d have him groveling at her feet before she was done with him. He wanted a war of the sexes? Then war it would be. Her mouth curved up into an anticipatory smile. Brady Hathaway wasn’t going to know what had hit him.

  Chapter 3

  “This is a pistol,” Brady lectured. “This is a bullet. Individually, neither is dangerous. But put one inside the other, and together, they form a lethal combination.”

  He caught Eve’s gaze snapping to his, searching for a double meaning. Satisfaction reverberated in his gut. She wanted to run around tempting and teasing him? Two could play that game. He continued his lesson as he disassembled the weapon and showed her its interior workings.

  “So far, so good,” Eve murmured.

  “Okay. Your turn.” He passed her the weapon and she made a sound of surprise at its weight that sent a shiver down his spine. Yet again, she wasn’t trying to be sexy, but oh, how she was. Or maybe that was just him overreacting.

  “So how do I shoot this thing?” she asked.

  “First you spread your legs.”

  Her gaze shot to his in minor shock.

  “For stability in your stance, of course,” he explained. “Arms straight out in front of you at shoulder height.” He added slyly, “Grip the butt tightly. Hold on no matter what it does in your hands. It’ll buck hard, but don’t let go. Got it?”

  Her sage-green eyes went so hot and bothered he barely managed not to laugh. He continued gravely, “Don’t do anything jerky with your hands. It throws off the weapon’s aim, and that can get messy.”

  She all but choked at that graphic imagery while he all but choked on his amusement. “Ready to give it a go?” he purred. “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

  “Um, sure.”

  Ha. She sounded rattled. Off balance. He spoke low, his voice charged. “Squeeze smooth and slow. Once you start your stroke, go all the way. Don’t pull back or stop part way. Go until you feel the trigger guard.”

  She looked strangely overheated as she swallowed hard, aimed and fired.

  The weapon in her hand made a mighty explosion of light and sound. But instead of letting it kick up into the air, Eve fought the recoil and tried to hold the gun level. In retaliation, the weapon sent its energy backward instead of up. It knocked her, in no uncertain terms, on her bum.

  Brady burst out laughing.

  “Ow!” Eve glared up at him. “You could’ve warned me it was going to do that.”

  “Welcome to Sir Isaac Newton’s first law of motion: for every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction.” Sort of like the two of them. She pushed, he pushed back. She flirted, he flirted back. Yep. Just nature taking its inevitable course.

  He reached a hand down to her. Their palms met. Intense anticipation passed through him, not unlike when he kissed her last night. He tugged her to her feet, grinning down at her for an instant before turning her loose.

  She demanded indignantly, “How is anyone supposed to control a beast like that and actually hit anything with it?”

  He whipped his own pistol out of its holster and into a firing position and proceeded to plant five rounds in the target twenty-five yards away in a tight cluster the size of a quarter. “Like that,” he replied blandly.

  “Show off.”

  Maybe a little. He shrugged. “It’s all a matter of practice and focus. Although it helps that I’m a man and stronger than you.”

  She harrumphed under her breath and tipped her chin at the target with its tattered hole in the middle of the bull’s-eye. “How did you do that?”

  Aah. Her competitive impulses were kicking in. These he could work with. “You’re at a disadvantage because of your lack of upper body strength compared to mine.” As he’d expected, her brows came together at that comment. She focused intently as he explained how to sight and aim. Clearly, she intended to show him a girl could be just as good at this as a boy. She really was too easy to manipulate.

  She fired at the target paper and peppered shots all over the target. She swore under her breath in French and reloaded her weapon. Again, her shots went wild.

  “What am I doing wrong?” she demanded.

  He moved around behind her. “Take your shooting stance.”

  He stepped close behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, his hands closing over her fists as she held the weapon. If he wasn’t mistaken, a fine trembling passed through her.

  Grinning, he murmured, “Spread your legs a little more. Brace your hips.” He nudged her pelvis with his. “Feel how you have to stiffen up against me to keep your balance?”

  She made a choked sound he’d take as a yes.

  “Now, feel how I’m pushing with my weapon hand and pulling with my off hand?” She nodded, and a fresh floral scent rose off her hair. He was tempted to bury his face in it. “It’s the push-pull that makes the whole thing work.”

  Yep. Women and guns. They were just alike. Complex, beautiful and dangerous.

  “Now you try it,” he directed.

  She breathed out, her body going still and relaxed against his, her hands tensed within his. Her index finger flexed. Bang! The impact flung her back against him.

  “Um, sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Are you closing your eyes just before you pull the trigger?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Try again, but concentrate on keeping your eyes open.”

  This time the weapon remained steady in her hands and she hit the black ring between the nine and ten circles. “It worked!” she cried.

  “Funny how watching when you do something makes it better.”

  She commented absently as she lined up another shot, “I’ve always found that to be true with sex, too.”

  His hands tightened convulsively around hers and her shot went wide. “Hey! That was your fault. You jerked my hands.”

  “You’re the one who brought up sex. Your fault the shot went wild.”

  She glanced sidelong at him over her shoulder. “You haven’t even begun to see wild…yet.”

  And just like that, the scales were even, sexual tension vibrating through both of them, as stifling as the tropical humidity.

  He stepped back, his arms falling away from her. “Try it by yourself.”

  “But I don’t like doing it alone,” she pouted. “It’s more fun with a partner.”

  His gaze narrowed. Laughing, she turned to face the target. She fired until she was wincing and shaking her hand and he made her stop.

  Next, she needed to learn how to handle explosives. He explained the basic mechanism of wiring and detonation, and Eve grasped the concept lightning fast. She had a natural gift for bomb-making. In less than an hour, she knew how to make several basic improvised explosive devices.

  As she finished wiring a timer device to a block of training C-4—mostly inert putty with only a tiny amount of the actual explosive embedded within it—she asked, “When do we get to blow up something?”

  “Who’d have guessed you’re such a pyromaniac?”

  “That’s me. I’m all about fireworks.”

  Their laughing gazes met, and the humor drained quickly from the moment, replaced by simmering heat. Ice, dammit. He tore his gaze away from hers and said, “These aren’t real explosives, but they’ll give you an idea what the concussion of high explosives are like. Unwind that reel of det cord and lay a line of it over there to that fallen tree. We’ll take cover behind it.”

  She followed his directions, and in a few moments they crouched behind the big log.

  “Would you like to do the honors?” he asked. She smiled eagerly and he passed her the remote control. “Wheneve
r you’re ready, push the red button.”

  Her eyes lit up with pleasure and something unfamiliar tugged at his heart. He liked making her happy. Before he could consider the implications of that, a tremendous blast of sound and heat slammed into them.

  She lurched violently, banging into his side. “My God,” she breathed. “Let’s do it again.”

  His gut clenched so hard it hurt. He could thing of several things he’d like to do with her repeatedly. She needed to stop saying things like that or else he was going to be tempted to act on the invitation in her voice.

  He spoke evenly, but it cost him a lot to control his tone. “Tomorrow I’ll show you how to daisy chain multiple detonations, and we’ll blow up some more stuff.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” he answered firmly. Who’d have guessed the high-fashion blonde would be such a bomb freak? She might just pull off this mission, after all. Assuming he could keep his hands off of her long enough to train her. If the original Eve had been half this attractive, no wonder Adam had fallen for her charms.

  After lunch, Eve changed into an airy white gauze dress for the afternoon’s academic session. She was glad to stay in the air conditioning and avoid the intense heat outside. Although she couldn’t imagine what Brady had to teach her about death and destruction from a textbook.

  He was seated on the sofa when she came into the living room, wearing crisply pressed khakis and a white polo shirt.

  “Do you ever look messy?” she asked curiously.

  “It’s not uncommon for me to be covered in mud, leaves and camouflage paint during a mission.”

  “Am I going to have to do that?” she asked.

  “I doubt it. You’re more likely to have to blend in on an expensive beach in the Cayman Islands.”

  “Aah, well. I’m pretty good at beaches.”

  His eyes went hot and turbulent. “I know. I’ve seen a picture of you in a skimpy bikini.”

  Amusement flashed through her. And maybe that explained a bit of his tension around her. Although the two of them were generating plenty of sparks without any skimpy bikinis in sight. “So what’s on the agenda this afternoon, Professor Death?”

  He gestured for her to sit. She ignored the chair across from him and instead chose the far end of the sofa he sat on. His jaw tightened and she chalked up another score for her in the battle of the sexes. He’d gotten in a few excellent shots this morning, and she had some getting even to do. Recollection of his powerful arms around her as he taught her how to shoot sent a strange little shiver through her.

  It really was odd how she reacted to him. She wasn’t a big fan of men in general, and particularly not of sex with them. People assumed that because she was beautiful and sultry-looking that she lived and died for sex, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. But around Brady…she actually was experiencing an unfamiliar flare of interest.

  She blinked, focusing on the man a few feet away. He was leaning back, watching her intently, his eyes a stormy shade of gray this afternoon. “What?” she asked.

  “Care to share what was on your mind just then?”

  “Why do you ask?” She was curious to know what he thought he’d seen.

  “That was an interesting sequence of facial expressions. I don’t know how to interpret them,” he replied.

  “Just as well you not know.”

  That sent one dark eyebrow slashing up. “Here’s the thing, Eve. You and I are going to be working very closely together, potentially in some very high stress situations. We need to be able to trust each other, possibly with our lives. If you want to do this, you’re going to have to open up to me. I’ll certainly keep any personal information you reveal to myself. But secrets aren’t going to cut it between us.”

  No secrets, huh? Apprehension shouted like an alarm clock in her gut. “Then we have a small problem,” she retorted. “My life is all about secrets. I don’t let anybody inside my guard.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” He leaned forward. “You have a decision to make, then. Do you want this bad enough to let me in?”

  “I don’t even know that this is,” she snapped.

  He shrugged. “It’s redemption. A clean slate for you. Your life given back to you.”

  She closed her eyes. How was it he knew exactly what bait to dangle to most tempt her? “But I didn’t do anything wrong,” she whispered.

  “Your name is Dupont. How many people believe you when you say that?”

  She smacked her hand down on the coffee table. “But I didn’t do anything, dammit!”

  “I know that. You know that. I’m offering you a chance to prove it to everyone else.”

  They both knew she wouldn’t say no to the offer. Couldn’t say no. Damn Viktor anyway, she thought tiredly. He and this man before her had both trapped her as neatly as any rabbit in a snare. She looked up at Brady bleakly. “I hate being forced into anything.”

  He leaned back, his expression closed. “I’m not forcing you. I’m offering you an opportunity. Your choice.”

  “You know as well as I do that I have no choice at all. MI6 twisting my arm or not, I had to come here. I have to do this.”

  He nodded, smiling slowly. “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

  “What wasn’t?”

  “Being honest with me. The sky didn’t fall, and I don’t think any worse of you.”

  Why did she get the feeling he’d just manipulated her into saying exactly what he wanted her to say?

  He reached down beside the sofa and laid a very large, very scary looking weapon on the coffee table. “This is a sniper gun. A small one, but probably about as big as you can handle with your limited upper body strength.”

  He commenced lecturing her on how it worked and how to disassemble and reassemble it. Before long, the thing lay in pieces all over the coffee table while he quizzed her about what each part did and where it went.

  No secrets between them? Her mind kept circling back to that one. That could be tough. She’d never known anyone with whom she could be completely honest. Maybe if Victor had lived past her teens they might have become confidants. But she’d just been coming into herself when he’d been killed. By men like Brady Hathaway.

  Her mother had lost herself in gin after Viktor died. No maternal shoulder to share her secrets with there. The police, the media, their friends and neighbors—everyone had been sure she’d known what Viktor was up to. Her mother might have had some clue, but not her. Never her. It turned out he’d had as many secrets as she had.

  “Earth to Eve, come in.”

  Startled, she glanced up. “Did I mess something up?”

  “Not at all. Which is impressive, given how distracted you were. Whenever you’re around a lethal weapon, safety demands that you keep your total attention on it.”

  She sighed. “Sorry.”

  “How about we get out of here? Go for a swim?”

  “That sounds great.” Her body was nearly as restless as her mind this afternoon.

  She changed into one of her skimpy bikinis, smirking. He might get inside her head, but she knew exactly how to get inside his, too. Mr. Hathaway had an Achilles’ heel of his own—he was a red-blooded male and couldn’t quite stop himself from reacting to her as one.

  He was waiting for her in the golf cart when she stepped outside. His jaw clenched with an entirely satisfying ripple when he saw her. He drove to the beach in silence, which she would interpret as a win for her. Pleased with how the battle of the sexes was unfolding, she sat back to enjoy the view…of both the island and the man beside her.

  Brady gripped the steering wheel so hard he must be leaving dents in it. The woman radiated smugness, and with good reason. How could any man see her in a few scraps of cloth and string and not think about torrid sex? He sent distinctly homicidal thoughts in Jennifer Blackfoot’s direction.

  He parked at the edge of the small, white sand beach on the north end of the island. Eve squealed in delight and took off runni
ng for the water. She splashed out into the surf and when she was thigh-deep knifed into the water in a running dive. She swam out to sea with long, efficient strokes. Yep. A natural in the water.

  He followed more slowly. He frankly could use a little distance from her to catch his breath. She’d swum off to his left, paralleling the beach, and he followed after her. She eventually turned around to head back and he did the same. They swam side-by-side for the nearly half-mile back to the beach. She waded ashore, panting, and flopped into the sand under a palm tree.

  He sat down beside her, resting an elbow on a bent knee and staring out to sea.

  “What’s on your mind?” she asked, surprising him. He glanced down at her and she added, “Trust is a two-way street, right? If you want me to tell you my secrets, surely I have a right to expect the same from you.”

  He wasn’t crazy about baring his soul to this mercurial woman he barely knew. Hell, he wouldn’t bare his soul to some woman he knew inside and out. Females were chaotic creatures who made for messy entanglements. He much preferred the life he’d built for himself without women in it—orderly, predictable and quiet.

  She nodded knowingly. “That’s what I thought. What’s good for the goose isn’t all right for the gander.”

  “I’m your handler, not your boyfriend.”

  She jerked back looking stung. “Is that what this is about? Sleeping with me?”

  It was his turn to jerk. “Not at all. I have no intention of sleeping with you.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  His gaze snapped to hers. Contemplating a thing and acting upon it were two entirely separate matters. What was that in her voice, anyway? It certainly wasn’t a note of seduction. Cynicism, maybe? “Is it so hard for you to believe a man might be able to keep his hands off you?”

  She shrugged. “You haven’t kept your hands off me.”

  “You kissed me,” he flared up. “I only kissed you back.”

  “And if I kiss you again? Would you kiss me back and then call the whole thing my fault?”