Spy Candy

by Gina Robinson

  “You mean the Surely Temptini?” He winked and reached for a drink shaker from an assorted collection on the shelf next to him. I always imagined James collected martini shakers, so I wasn’t at all disappointed that Torq did.

  I raised a brow and crossed my legs, letting my sarong fall back to reveal my legs from my toes to midthigh as I watched him work. Two could play at temptini. “As long as it’s surely nonalcoholic. I’m the designated walker tonight. Shaken, not stirred, of course.”

  “Of course. Coming right up.” He poured pineapple and cranberry juice over ice in a silver penguin-shaped shaker, added a squeeze of fresh lime, and shook it up. Then he muddled a few raspberries in the bottom of a cocktail glass, poured the juice blend over them, topped it with 7-Up, and garnished it with a sprig of mint.

  He finished making his own drink, brought mine over, and settled dangerously near me on the couch. I say dangerously, because I felt my heart pulsing toward that darn dog mode again. Only this time it had a distinct sexual edge to it, so maybe you could say it headed toward bitch-in-heat mode.

  “Cheers.” He raised his glass toward mine and we clinked.

  I took a sip of my drink. “Almost better than Hal’s alcoholic version,” I said and licked my lips. A bad, nervous habit, I know, but Torq seemed to like it.

  “Thanks. I graduated from mixology school.”

  When I gave him a surprised, questioning look, he laughed. “Did an undercover stint as a bartender once.” He reached for a chip, then settled back, examining me and my freshly licked lips.

  “Devious.” I took a chip myself. “That confirms the stories I’ve heard about secret-stealing agents hanging out in bars. I just always assumed the spies were on the other side of the counter. Glad to know our government is twisting the stereotype on its ear. Did you enjoy it?” I asked. “Or was it not a real-you thing?” I didn’t try to keep the barb out of my voice. He deserved a dig for setting me up with that “wanting to be the real me” line.

  He grinned sheepishly like he knew I’d just zinged him. “The tips were good. Loved the hours. The sob stories sucked.”

  “It’s easy to become jaded, I suppose,” I sympathized. “You didn’t answer my second question.”

  “That’s classified information.” He was cute when he smiled enigmatically.

  “Is that like taking the Fifth? Anything you don’t want to say is classified?” I spoke lightly, but with enough of an edge to let him know I wasn’t your ordinary cream puff.

  “Something like that.”

  We reached for a chip in unison. Our fingers grazed, lingering flirtatiously. My Domino bikini gave me surprising confidence.

  When I called his bluff and didn’t withdraw mine from his or the bowl, he reached for his drink instead, saying, “Why talk about me when we can discuss something interesting?”

  “Why do I have the feeling you have a specific something interesting in mind?” I finished off my chip and took another sip of my zero-proof beverage, hoping it had miraculously morphed into something strong enough to cure my case of nerves.

  He laughed in a totally flattering, charming way, like I was the most entertaining and delightful woman he knew. Witty. Vibrant. Totally engrossing. “Dom, you are one intriguing and perceptive woman.”

  He set his drink down and leaned back against the sofa, sprawling his arm along the back so close to my bare shoulders that I could feel his body heat and smell the spicy scent of that pheromone-packed cologne of his. “How about that fire alarm caper you pulled this morning? I find that interesting and very clever. Feel free to brag openly. I’m all ears.” He watched me with an amused look in his eyes. “I’m dying to know what you got from Rockford’s office.”

  My bravado faltered. The man knew how to flirt and charm. Damn him. He also knew how to feign every expression and emotion known to mankind. I could probably trust him just about as far as I could toss his heavily muscled six-foot-plus frame. We already knew that was zero. just how did he know it was me? And, more important, did Rockford know? I opened my mouth to avow my innocence, but Torq cut me off.

  “Don’t even try protesting.” Torq’s eyes danced with a combination of amusement, appreciation, and the thrill of interrogation—predatory, searching, alert. “Your involuntary micro expressions give you away, babe.”

  I set my drink down and shrugged slightly, like I thought he was all washed up. “You’re just guessing. And bluffing.”

  He shook his head no. “Give it up. I know you and Emma did the job. I planted the idea in your head at Hal’s by telling you Rockford kept the plans there, didn’t I? I’m just doing you the honor of confronting you directly with the truth.”

  He paused, studying me like he enjoyed it. “Looks like I’ve taught you something. Your poker face is improving.” He grabbed my wrist unexpectedly and felt for my pulse. “But your pulse is racing, you pretty little liar.” He stroked the back of my wrist with his thumb. “Much faster and you won’t be able to think straight …”

  He had that right. I slowly removed my wrist from his grip. “You don’t know anything for sure.”

  “I know for sure, Dom. I wasn’t in the CIA for nothing.”

  Unfortunately, I believed him. He knew. There wasn’t any reason to keep protesting, but I wasn’t ready to come totally clean. “What does Rockford know?”

  “He knows nothing.” Torq laughed at my attempt at subterfuge and then calmly sipped his drink. “Rockford’s an ace warrior, terrific on the battlefield. As a spy, he has limitations. Rockford has no idea anyone was even in his office.”

  I tread carefully with my response. “Are you saying someone did a good job?”

  “Passable.” He grinned. “Fooled Rockford. He thinks the fire alarm was just a prank. Nice trick with the packing tape, by the way.”

  I paused, trying to figure Torq out. What did he want? Just toying with me? Having a little fun? “I guess the question is, will Rockford find out?”

  “Depends"—Torq laughed—"on if I get what I want.”

  “And that would be?” I cocked my head as my heart fluttered out of control.

  “Mutual gratification.” His arm slid around my shoulders.

  I felt myself flush. I was supposed to be the one using sex appeal to get my way, not the other way around. My mouth went dry.

  “Why don’t we help each other out?” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and whispered breathily, like he meant his words as a seduction, “Technically, you’re guilty of breaking and entering. Rockford’s office is monitored by a security camera. I saw the footage, but Rockford hasn’t. That’s not to say he wouldn’t take a look if tipped off….”

  Stunned, I dropped my guard. “But Fry went over the surveillance footage—”

  “Yeah—of the hallway by the alarm. I’m the only one who thought to check the tape of Rock’s office. Clever, aren’t I?” Torq traced a circle on my shoulder.

  Goose bumps pilled on my arms. I shivered, thinking over the chain of events, torn between recoiling and curling into him. “I don’t know….”

  “You want proof?” He pulled me close and tipped my face to look him directly in the eye. “You wore Ethan’s pot leaf shirt and panty hose over your head. Disposable kitchen gloves on your hands. But you made the mistake of wearing your own jeans.” He stroked my cheek. “Which show off your cute little ass and gave your identity away.” His hand slid to my hip, where it rested warm and heavy.

  “Ethan has a pretty nice butt himself,” I said.

  “That may be.” Torq grinned. “But I’ve never noticed.” He slid his hand up to my waist and squeezed. “But he sure as hell doesn’t have hips like these.”

  I swallowed hard and leaned in to Torq. “Keep talking. What else did I supposedly do?”

  Torq grinned and leaned in, too, meeting me halfway. Mere inches separated our lips.

  “You went directly to Rockford’s desk and looked in both his inbox and outbox. You removed the second sheet from his desk blotter an
d notepad. You looked in his wastebasket. Tried the safe.

  “Then you tried the file cabinet drawers and looked in his desk drawer. And then, just as you were ready to leave, you spotted a piece of paper tucked under the file cabinet. You read it, and put it back where you’d found it.”

  We were so close I felt the whisper of his breath against my lips as he spoke. And his fingers at my waist performed the most gentle, sensual, mesmerizing massage.

  “Sound about right?” he asked.

  “About.” To the minute detail. Like I was going to admit that. “So you wanted to know?”

  He whispered in my ear. “What that paper said.”

  “In exchange for?” I brushed against him with my cleavage, hoping it was doing as much for him as it was doing for me.

  “You get my silence.” He nuzzled my neck, kissing it gently. “This perfume gives me ideas.”

  “Mmmmmm.” I took a ragged breath and whispered into his thick, deep-brown hair, “Not good enough. I want more.” Yeah, I wanted a lot more of everything at that point, especially him.

  I steeled myself, trying to gain control over my raging hormones and my involuntary Kegel contractions and think semi-straight for a minute.

  How much to divulge? I didn’t see the harm in telling him what was on that slip of paper. And truthfully, with his lips on my neck, I probably would have told him anything he wanted to hear as long as he promised not to stop. So he knew that someone had been to Vegas, so what? Maybe he knew already anyway. But I wasn’t showing my hand until I got something significant in return.

  He nibbled my neck. “Yes?”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m paranoid or a conspiracy nut.”

  “Too late.” He was sucking now.

  I gave him a playful shove. “You have to promise to hear me out without judgment.”

  Wrong thing to say. He removed his lips from my neck, and stared into my eyes. I told him about Max and my theory that someone was trying to kill him as Torq stole an occasional glance at my silicone-enhanced cleavage. “Max says not. That no one would be trying to kill him. But he’s currently in possession of one hundred and fifty million reasons.”

  Torq listened in silence. “No one’s trying to kill

  Max.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Like a stupid dropout from seduction school, I was killing the moment. “What about him ‘falling'"—I made a quote-mark gesture—"off that ledge?”

  “We’ve been over that. He was into the adrenaline rush of the game and not looking where he was going. He saw a snake and panicked.” Torq shrugged. “Didn’t pay attention and went over. It’s a good thing, too. Otherwise, we might never have found Davie.”

  The mention of Davie shut us both up.

  Remembering the scene, I shuddered, feeling glad to be alive. “Poor Davie.” I paused again. “I can’t help wondering if the attempts on Max and Davie’s death are connected.” To be honest, the thought had just occurred to me. But it made a warped kind of sense.

  Torq gave me a skeptical look. I ignored it. “Did Davie have any enemies?”

  “Not that I know of,” Torq said. “He was a likeable guy.”

  I nodded my agreement, remembering my driving lesson with him. “Max doesn’t seem to have any special connection to him. Do you think someone mistook him for Max and killed him by mistake?”

  “You have a one-track mind.” His tone wasn’t complimentary. “Just forget about someone trying to kill Max.” He paused, frowning. “The two look nothing alike. They’d be hard to mistake for each other. They’re not even close to the same height or build.”

  I sighed. He was right. Actually, Torq and Davie had similar builds. “Will you keep an eye on Max? That’s all I’m asking.”

  Torq put his hand around the back of my head and pulled me toward him. “Anything for you, babe. Now let’s forget about this nasty business for tonight. Can we talk about something more interesting?”

  Be still my heart!

  I gave into temptation and ran my fingers through Torq’s hair. “Gladly.”

  “What was on that slip of paper?” he whispered before nuzzling my neck again.

  I wondered vaguely if this was another camp test. If I told him would I pass or fail? At this point, I didn’t care about anything other than his hot mouth on my neck. “Now who has a one-track mind?”

  “Well?”

  “A printout of an itinerary.” I stroked his hair. “Of someone’s trip to Vegas last month. There was no name. It was torn off.” I pulled back and watched his face for any show of emotion. I thought I saw the tiniest tick in his cheek, like he wasn’t happy. Without all that mind-reading training I wouldn’t have seen it at all.

  “And?” he said in a leading tone that left no wiggle room for me to deny knowing more.

  Damn, he was good. “That’s it.” I made a cross-my-heart motion. “Honest.”

  “Did you tell anyone else about the itinerary and note?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No.”

  “Not even Emma?” He stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers. I’d give him exactly forever to cut that out.

  “Not on your life.”

  He grinned again and the tick disappeared, replaced by a healthy dose of lust. “You’re one hell of a spy, babe. It’s a pleasure doing business with you. If we don’t stop now, it could definitely be more of a pleasure …”

  He leaned forward, closing the tiny gap between us, and touched his lips to mine. Gently at first, then more insistently. “A nightlong pleasure,” he whispered between kisses.

  “Nightlong?” I murmured, so totally entranced by the thing his tongue was doing in my ear that I could barely think.

  “Absolutely. For your own safety.”

  “My safety?”

  “You’ve had too much Temptini.” He was nuzzling and kissing my neck.

  “What about your safety? You don’t even know my real name.” I threw my head back so he could kiss my neck with all the reckless abandon he could muster. “Dangerous business sleeping with an unknown.”

  “I thrive on danger.” He sucked on my neck.

  I was going to have a big old hickey in the morning, but I couldn’t have cared less ‘cause right now my body was thriving on its response to him.

  “Do you know that Bond’s slept with a total of forty-four women in his movies …”

  “Is that right?”

  “And three-fourths of them later tried to kill him.”

  “Once a woman has slept with me,” Torq whispered with a tease and a smile in his voice, “the last thing she wants to do is kill me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Torq kissed me slowly and fully as he eased me back on the couch exactly the way a Bond-type lover should, bringing out my secret longings, intriguing me with his overwhelming passion, all the while tasting deliciously of martini.

  His kisses chased away my insecurities and reserve. I became Domino, uninhibited and free. A seductress. At least for the moment. My reserve and insecurities were too ingrained in my personality to be permanently banished so easily. But wrapped around him on the couch, who cared?

  We kissed. And caressed. Kissed some more. Nibbled. Rubbed against each other. Stroked. Petted. Teased. All fully clothed. Building excitement. Building tension so taut I thought I’d snap.

  When we finally came up for air, I stole a glance at the clock. We’d been kissing for nearly an hour, yet it felt like only minutes.

  “Are you thirsty? Can I get you something?” He leaned down and nibbled my ear, whispering with hot breath, “Another Temptini, perhaps?”

  My first inclination was to take the offer at face value and decline the drink. Then I recognized the flirt in his voice and realized what he was really asking. Heart thumping wildly away, I hesitated. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  Clearly he hadn’t been expecting that answer. He pulled back and looked at me.

  I smiled uncertainly back up at him, suddenly tentative a
nd cautious. I just didn’t have the Bond girl, no-commitment-at-all mentality. “This isn’t another test, is it? Like at the bar? Tomorrow I won’t hear Rockford—”

  He put a finger to my lips. “That was the other thing I wanted to talk about. That was never a test.” How could a man sound so sincere? “That was only about you and me.”

  I couldn’t help blushing and grinning.

  “We’ll skip the drinks, then?” He flashed a wicked grin and glanced toward the bedroom.

  “Do you have a gun on the nightstand and satin sheets and champagne cooling by the bed?” I said, following his line of sight.

  “You mean like Bond?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I’ve always had a Bond fantasy, and you are a spy.”

  “Nope. Four hundred thread-count percale cotton. But they’re clean. Maybe a half-drunk, flat Coke on the nightstand. No gun. But I promise to share the Coke.”

  I sealed the deal with a smile. He scooped me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom.

  I don’t know how Torq managed it with me in his arms, but somehow along the way to the bedroom the ties to my teeny-weenie pink bikini top came loose and the top fell open. But then, he’s a spy; he’s capable of a lot of things I can’t comprehend.

  I felt a momentary lapse of confidence as the real me was exposed and nearly clamped my arms over my small, real breasts. But Torq’s eyes shone with appreciation as he looked at them, smiling.

  “Um, I sort of enhanced them,” I said, blushing and pulling at my bikini top. “This part is fake.”

  He was still staring at my real breasts as if they were the eighth wonder of the world. I can’t say I wasn’t totally flattered by that.

  “I know.” Yeah, and I believed he did. What didn’t he know? That was the problem with spies. “But this part is real … and beautiful.” His words were a sigh of appreciation as he laid me down on the bed and kissed them until my whole body shuddered with delight.

  Our clothes fell away and he made love to me in such a loving, erotic, Bond way, I can’t begin to describe it more than to say he took me around the world … more than once. Oh, and one more confession—I’d never been a screamer … until then.