Red Hot Santa

by Cherry Adair

  “This could be serious,” he heard himself murmur.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t usually bed women I’ve just met.”

  “No?” she asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “Good.”

  Kait slid her hands around him, pulling him on top of her as she’d fantasized about doing from almost the first moment she’d met him. It was a brazen move, but she had a feeling if she didn’t do something fast he might change his mind. He had honor, this man, and she could tell he was about to have an attack of moral conscience. She didn’t want that. Oh, no. Having decided to bed the man, she wanted him. Now.

  Only she wanted to go on kissing him forever, too. Lord help her, she couldn’t get enough of his tongue brushing her own.

  His hand lowered, and she shivered in anticipation as his fingers drifted down her body, pausing near her breast so he could circle her nipple with his thumb. She’d known her breasts were hard, but she’d never felt them so sensitive before, never felt such a keen urge to press into a man’s hand as he began to tease her, his mouth pulling away and then lowering to the sensitized tip. He sucked her into his mouth.

  She arched as his other hand found the spot he’d teased earlier, the spot that made her body heat with sexual excitement. She gasped, spreading her legs apart, wanting him to keep going this time. He did, and Kait lost herself to the pleasure. His mouth teased her nipples, sucking them, nipping at them, his tongue flicking the sensitive tip in the same way his fingers teased her toward an orgasm.

  “Chance,” she moaned, trying to encourage him to slip between her legs, to push his erection inside her. That’s what she wanted. Him. But he didn’t move, and so she did, capturing him in her hand, just like she had in her dream. Only this was better than a dream. He was bigger in life than he’d been in her mind. She glided her hand up his staff. This time he moaned, his mouth moving back to her as he kissed her, his tongue slipping inside her at the same time his fingers slipped inside her down there.

  Yes, she silently moaned, cupping her lips around his tongue, her fingers mimicking her mouth.

  They both groaned. They both grew more and more aroused. But it was perfect, their teasing of each other. So when she felt her climax growing too near, she suddenly pulled away.

  He growled.

  She moved quickly, still holding his erection, her mouth lowering to take the place of her hand. She paused just before taking the engorged tip inside her.

  “Lady, you’re playing with fire,” he warned.

  “I like fire,” she said, slipping her mouth around him.

  He gasped. She cupped him, her hand working him at the same time she sucked him into her mouth.

  “Kait,” he hissed.

  He tasted good. She went back for more. He arched his hips after one or two strokes. She took as much of him as she could, loving the way controlling him made her feel. So utterly female. So perfectly a woman.

  That she could make his big body tremble filled her with power, and need. She wanted him to lose control completely, just as she wanted to lose control. She felt him swell, tasted the salty evidence of his near-release touching the tip of her tongue.

  “Kait,” he gasped.

  She shifted, lowering herself atop him.

  “Condom—”

  “Shh,” she ordered, kissing him. She trusted this man. She didn’t know why, but she did. She loved how he tasted in her mouth. Reveled in the way he kissed her back. Trusted that what they did together was right and that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

  “Kait—”

  She took him all the way in, only to slide back up his shaft. His hands clasped her hips, pushing her back down. She rocked, her breasts thrusting out; Kait caught a glimpse of her hard nipples.

  She wasn’t going to last long.

  Neither was he.

  She lifted, not wanting to climax. Not yet. She wanted to savor her time with him, wanted the moment to go on and on and on.

  He tipped his hips up, finding the core of her, pressing against her in a way that made her whole body tighten with a pleasure so great she thought for sure she’d slip over the edge. She didn’t. Like her, he seemed to know intuitively how to maximize her pleasure. And like her, he knew exactly how much to touch her so that within seconds, she was almost begging him to let her come.

  Jesus Lord, what was this? How could it be so completely perfect with a man she’d only just met? How—?

  And then she came.

  She heard herself cry out, another surprise because she didn’t usually. But she did then, her cries echoing each throb of pleasure. She moaned and rode him, tightening around him right as he began to pulse inside her, his own moans mixing with hers.

  Kait tipped forward, unable to hold herself up. She landed against his chest, the ridges of muscle so hard it felt like resting her cheek against warm marble. Her body continued to contract; so did his, until all that remained was languid satisfaction.

  She didn’t want to move. She never wanted to leave the protection of this man’s arms, but as she held him and stroked him, she noted the myriad of scars on his body.

  “Did they give you these, too?” she asked, still holding him. There was no need to explain who they were. There was only one they in Chance’s life.

  “Some of them,” he said.

  “Bastards.”

  He drew back, a half smile on his face as he said, “I made them pay. When I escaped, none of them were left standing.” And then his smile faded. “I just wish I’d been in time to save my family.”

  “Oh, Chance,” she said, stroking a hank of hair off his face. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s why I do what I do. Why I am who I am. And if I hadn’t been booted out of the Marines, I’d never have started to work for the Agency. I’d have never met you.”

  Her heart melted all over again. Funny how she’d always heard the cliché expression before, but she’d never realized people used the term because it truly did feel as if your heart turned to mush in your chest. That’s the way she felt when she stared into Chance’s eyes.

  “This wasn’t very smart,” he said, stroking a hank of her hair off her face.

  “I know, but I don’t regret it.”

  They looked into each other’s eyes, and in his Kait could see the same wonder she felt.

  “I might have just gotten you pregnant,” he said.

  “Would you marry me if you did?”

  “You know,” he said, swiping a lock of her hair away from her face. “I think I just—”

  The window broke.

  Kait gasped. Chance immediately shoved her aside, protecting her.

  “Don’t breathe,” he told her.

  But Kait didn’t need to be warned. She recognized the sound of spraying gas.

  They’d been found.

  Chapter Six

  SOMEHOW CHANCE SCOOPED UP HIS CLOTHES, GRABBING Kait’s along the way.

  Fucking A—how the hell had they gotten past his security?

  But there was no time to think. He pulled Kait up and toward his closet.

  “Get dressed,” he ordered the minute the door had closed behind them.

  “Chance, what are—?”

  “Shh,” he said, locking the door. And when he’d finished, he pulled on his jeans at the same time he shoved aside a row of suits, finding the crack in the wall with little trouble and pressing against it. He turned back to her right as his secret passage opened.

  “It’ll take them thirty seconds to figure out where we’ve gone,” he whispered. “Less if they’ve got infrared trained on us.”

  Someone kicked at the closet door.

  “They have infrared,” he said. “C’mon.”

  She’d pulled on her jeans and the black T-shirt, inside out. “Where does this lead?”

  He urged her to take the steps two at a time. “Just follow me,” he said, worried that if the bad guys had infrared, they might have a Sonic Ear train
ed on them, too, and he didn’t want them knowing that this led to an underground basement where it would be impossible to see their heat signature. From there they’d exit his house through a tunnel, one that ran beneath his driveway and opened to a path less than a hundred yards away. He only hoped there wouldn’t be men out in the woods, though something told him there would be.

  And they didn’t have shoes.

  He should have been expecting this. And if not expecting it, watching for it. Instead he’d been having sex.

  It made him almost as bad as the major screwup who’d gotten his family killed.

  They hit the basement running, Kait following behind him. He left the light off, but there was enough sunshine filtering in through the narrow windows that they could see the way. Not much farther.

  The tunnel was at the opposite end of the basement. They’d have to squat as they ran through it, and their eyes would be blinded by sudden sunlight when they got to the other side. That would make it hard to see bogies, but it couldn’t be helped.

  He opened another hidden panel, helping Kait through and then closing it behind them.

  “Chance,” Kait cried as they were plunged into darkness, the smell of dank earth filling Chance’s nostrils.

  “I’m right here,” he said, placing a hand against the side of the tunnel, using the other one to pull her forward. He knew the way, had practiced it at least a hundred times. You never knew when bad guys might blow your cover. That moment appeared to be now.

  Would they be waiting? Had the bad guys been here when they’d arrived? Was that why his perimeter alarms hadn’t gone off?

  He could smell fresh pine-scented air long before they got there, the tunnel slanting up on a gradual incline that would take them to a natural outcropping of rock made to look like an animal burrow—a large animal burrow. He’d be able to see the surrounding area once his eyes adjusted, but not the area behind them. And if the others had already infiltrated the tunnel . . .

  He refused to think about that. The temperature went from muggy to cool. He held Kait back, whispering, “Stay here,” as he went to reconnoiter the area.

  So far so good.

  He let his eyes adjust.

  He could hear voices, but they sounded faraway, as if the bad guys were calling out to one another. Searching for them. They’d have to make this quick or else the enemy might spot the motorbike.

  “C’mon,” he ordered Kait. He heard her harsh breaths, knew she followed behind, the occasional “Ouch” thrown in. No shoes. It would make crossing to the dirt bike more difficult. But if he had to, he’d pick her up. Pain could be ignored. They didn’t call him Stonewall for nothing.

  His head was the first thing to emerge, the back of his neck tingling as he listened for a sound that might save his life, such as the cocking of a gun or the snap of a twig. All he heard was the voices in the distance. He motioned Kait forward.

  “Here!” They heard someone yell.

  “Go,” Chance yelled, urging Kait toward the bike. “Go, go, go.”

  Something crashed through the underbrush. Chance didn’t need to look behind him to know what it was. Somehow he flung himself aboard, the two-cylinder engine p-p-popping to life. Kait slipped on behind him and they were off.

  There was a nearly inaudible thud. He felt pressure whiz by his ear. Probes snaked by, their metallic tethers twanging like high-tension wire.

  “Keep down,” Chance called.

  They crashed through underbrush, around pine trees. His bare foot worked the gears, first gear, second—Something black came at them from his right. Chance leaned left just as another pop sounded. One of the pines saved his ass.

  Third gear.

  By now he was having to take the path faster than was safe with two riders. But they were almost away. Almost to the part where the path straightened out.

  Fourth gear.

  “Hold on,” he called out.

  They were going to make it. He took the last turn.

  Fifth gear.

  He heard it before he saw it.

  Helicopter.

  The path opened up. A black PAV-low hovered in front of him.

  Shit!

  Chance swerved off the path, but pine needles made the ground slick, and the bike’s back end pitched wildly. He tried to hold on to it, but with Kait’s weight on the back, there was no hope. He could feel the bike begin to fall, could hear Kait’s gasp. He let go, twisted. Kait fell partly on top of him, and the two of them tumbled across pine needles like a frickin’ rolling pin.

  “Kait,” he said when they finally stopped.

  But she didn’t answer, maybe because she couldn’t hear him over the sound of the chopper. “Kait. We’ve got to get up.”

  “Not so fast, soldier,” a voice called out.

  Chance’s head jerked up.

  Someone stood over him. Someone dressed all in black. Black face paint, black hat, black flak jacket. Someone who looked an awful lot like—

  “Chameleon,” he said, his relief so great he almost bowed his head. Instead he turned to Kait. “You okay?” he asked again.

  “Chameleon?” she asked, eyeing the man with black hair peeking out beneath a black cap.

  “That’s me, ma’am,” Chameleon, aka Rick Santana, said. “I work for the same agency as Stonewall.”

  “How the hell—?” Chance asked.

  “It was all part of the Agency’s plan,” Rick said. “We knew Stonewall would bring you here, but we couldn’t risk telling him without alerting the bad guys. Seems we had a mole.” Rick looked him in the eye. “But we’ve got him now.”

  “You could have told me.”

  “Honestly, we couldn’t trust anybody.” Rick turned to Kait. “Ma’am, you’ll need to come with me. We need Chance’s help mopping up the bad guys. You need to be taken to safety.”

  “But I—” She looked at Chance helplessly.

  “Kait,” Chance said.

  They’d used them as frickin’ bait.

  But he’d dwell on that later. Right now he needed to get her out of here. “Go,” he said. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  “But Chance, I—”

  “Go,” he said again.

  She didn’t move. Chance bent down and kissed her softly, gently, his lips lingering, a part of him wondering if this would be the last time he’d ever see her.

  “Go,” he said after drawing back. “Go for me.”

  She held his gaze the longest time, something in the depths of her eyes making Chance’s heart contract.

  “Okay,” she said.

  He hated to let her go, but he did. Rick caught his eye. And even though he knew it was unprofessional, even though he knew he’d never hear the end of it, he mouthed the words, “Take care of her.”

  To his surprise, Rick mouthed the words, “I will.”

  Chapter Seven

  SHE WAS TAKEN TO A TOP-SECRET MILITARY BASE. KAIT listened with dawning relief as she was debriefed. They’d caught the Libyans and the mole, thanks to their little trap. Kait was free to go home.

  But where was Chance?

  He didn’t meet with her at the military base. Didn’t pick her up as she half-thought he would. Didn’t even call. He must have been held up. Unless he was—

  She asked if he was okay. They reassured her that he was. But then why didn’t he come to her?

  It seemed surreal to be dropped back off at her vet clinic. Everything seemed exactly the same. No broken glass. No dead bodies. All was as it should be, the dogs in her kennel just as glad to see her as they always were.

  Unreal.

  She went home, waiting for Chance. She waited that whole night, and when her worry and fear got the better of her, she called the number on the business card she’d been handed. That was all it was, a phone number—no agency name, no nothing. Just the number.

  Someone answered on the first ring.

  “May I speak with Chance Owens?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry,” a sexy female vo
ice said. “He’s not available.”

  Jealousy reared its ugly head. “Can you tell him Kait Logan called?”

  “Certainly, Dr. Logan.”

  Kait almost hung up, but at the last moment she said, “Wait.”

  “Yes?” the voice replied.

  “Can you tell me . . . Do you mind letting me know . . . Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine, Dr. Logan.”

  Kait sighed in relief, then hung up the phone after an embarrassed good-bye. She wondered if the woman had to deal with calls like hers all the time. Did agents make a habit of jumping into bed with their clients? Was that what she was? A fling. It didn’t feel like a fling, no matter how short a time they’d known each other.

  But he didn’t call.

  One day faded into two. By the third day she was calling herself a fool for jumping into bed with him. Obviously it was all part of the game for him. A little danger. A little excitement. Some woman offering her body. No wonder he rescued women for a living.

  By the fourth day the sting of embarrassment had faded into hurt, because no matter what she told herself, no matter how many times she called herself a fool, she’d felt something for him. And yet he didn’t call.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about him. She couldn’t stop reliving every moment they’d shared, every look, every touch, wondering if she’d succumbed to that mythical thing called love at first sight.

  Lust at first sight, she quickly corrected herself. At least for him.

  But not for her. For her it had been more than that. She didn’t jump into bed with men who turned her on. This had been special. And unique. Only apparently he didn’t feel the same way.

  So she took deep breaths. Eventually the pain faded into a dull throb. She wasn’t pregnant. That was good. And the senator she’d contacted about her research finally returned her call. She learned she’d been given a special grant that would allow her to put her theory into practice next spring. That should’ve lifted her spirits—only it didn’t.

  November turned to December and before she knew it, Kait faced her annual Christmas party. Usually she closed the office down early and met with her half-dozen or so employees at a restaurant. But this year she decided to do something a little different. This year she held a party at her house, throwing herself into the planning as if there was no tomorrow. She did it as a way of forgetting Chance. Only she could never forget Chance. Never.