by Bruhns, Nina
Both?
One could only hope.
“Okay,” she murmured, taking a deep breath. “Marc made it to the other side.”
Thank you, Jesus.
Bobby Lee straightened his jacket, joining her where she leaned her back against the cool wall. He was breathing hard, his body thrumming with need. Damn, he wanted her.
“So, are you always this creative in your operations?” he asked, pitching his voice to barely audible. Suddenly he was insanely jealous of all the other operators she might have done this with in her short but no doubt illustrious spook career.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” she said.
Oh, he doubted it.
“But it seems to me you’re the one who took it up a notch,” she pointed out.
Possibly.
He looked at her. Wondering. Was this personal? “You didn’t seem to object.” He shrugged, playing it cool. “Got the job done.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “It did.”
He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets so he wouldn’t grab her again. “By the way, you’re one hell of a kisser.”
She smiled. “I know.”
He barked a humorless laugh. “That mouth of yours is gonna get you in real trouble someday.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Okay.” He made a quarter turn to face her, dead serious. “When they fire you tomorrow, come work for me.”
She blinked and stared at him. “Don’t be absurd. They won’t fire me.”
“Maybe not tomorrow. But I’ll bet you a thousand bucks that within two weeks you’ll be suddenly transferred. To somewhere not nearly as glamorous as Istanbul. They’re gonna ask you to do things you won’t want to do.” He hoped to hell she didn’t want to do them. “When that happens, give me a call.”
“I’ll take that bet,” she said. “Because you’re crazy.”
“Maybe. But I’ve been in this game a long time, sugar. I know how your bosses operate.”
Her look turned incredulous. “All this because I let you kiss me?”
“Hell, no. It was the way you let me kiss you.”
She obviously didn’t understand. And he had to know.
He stepped in close, as though whispering licentious suggestions in her ear. “My kissing you had nothing to do with this job. You and I both know that. But they don’t. They won’t understand that I’m an irresistibly sexy guy and you want me naked. They’ll think you’d do this with anyone they order you to.”
He held his breath, waiting for her reaction.
“Oh, my God.” Her mouth went crooked. “You really are insane.”
Fuck.
“Just remember, STORM Corps. We’re in the D.C. book.”
“Look. I appreciate the—”
But he didn’t give her the chance to finish the thought. He cut her off and in an instant was back to business.
“It’s Marc. He’s back on the landing, giving the signal that he has the package. We better do something quick.”
DARCY banked her amazement at the sheer massive ego of the STORM operator and prepared herself to continue their mock-seduction-slash-pantomime diversion. But apparently the provocative but fairly harmless kissing she’d expected was not what Bobby Lee Quinn had in mind. Now, there was a shock. The man was simply unpredictable.
They were still leaning with shoulders against the wall, face-to-face, when he suddenly grabbed her and pushed her right into the nearest alcove.
She yelped. “What are you—”
His mouth crashed onto hers.
Taken by surprise, she didn’t have the presence of mind to resist. And after about three seconds, okay, call her fickle, but resisting was the last thing on her mind.
Sometimes unpredictable was good.
Good Lord, what a kiss.
Everything about the man was hard. His body was hard against hers. His muscles were hard where they pressed into her. His lips and tongue were hard as they took her mouth in a blinding, grinding assault. His cock was huge and hard as it rocked into her belly, telling her it wanted her now. He practically vibrated with sexual power and virility.
Did she say mock seduction? If this was acting, Bobby Lee Quinn deserved a freaking Oscar.
She moaned, unable to stop her body from responding to the onslaught. Her nipples tightened. Her pulsed throbbed. Her limbs weakened—along with her mental capacity.
He might have an ego the size of Canada, but he was ridiculously, totally to-die-for sexy. In college she would have done Quinn in a hot second. She’d like to think she had more sense now, having managed to avoid men altogether since her last disastrous relationship. Talk about a train wreck. That one had actually had the audacity to propose marriage and babies while seeing someone else on the side.
But this man . . . This man made her stomach zing, and that sweet spot between her legs ache with a breathtaking need for his touch.
She might just have to let him have her.
She completely melted under his hands as they claimed her, touching her body. Caressing her breasts. Then they yanked the top of her gown down to her waist.
Sweet Jesus. “Quinn!”
“Distraction,” he muttered.
She sucked in the cry of utter protest that leapt to her lips. But his fingers found her bare breasts, then her nipples, and squeezed, hard, and she cried out loud, for real.
Except it didn’t sound like her. The cries sounded male. But not Quinn’s. His mouth was still too busy kissing her.
She ripped her lips from his.
The guards. It was the guards shouting. At them.
For the second time that night, she forced herself to break out of Quinn’s sensual web. How did he keep doing that to her?
Vainly she attempted to yank her top back up, but the guards were on them too fast. Yelling. Waving guns. Pulling them apart. Dragging them out into the public foyer.
“Damn it, let me go!” she screamed at them.
His expression appalled, Quinn struggled to get free, to get to her. Apparently not what he’d had in mind. That was a relief.
“Leave the lady alone! For chrissakes let her cover herself!” he shouted. Among other choice, anatomically difficult suggestions.
As a diversion it was pretty damn good.
She was half naked. Quinn’s vocabulary was amazingly imaginative. Deadly AK-47s were pointing at their heads. Everyone in the place was mesmerized with shock.
Except the third guard.
This was the night in her fledgling career that Darcy Zimmerman learned an important lesson: There’s one in every crowd—the inevitable one member of the enemy camp who is actually alert and good at his job.
The third guard wasn’t staring at her bare breasts. Or aiming his weapon at Quinn. Even though he was standing in the middle of the melee, he was watching the stairs like he was supposed to be doing. Which was where he spotted Lafayette. Sneaking down them. She cursed under her breath. Where was Marc’s kaffiyeh and agal? He must have decided to take a shortcut and try blending into the crowd.
“Halt!” the guard shouted, rushing over to intercept him before he jumped the banister and got away. “Stop or I will shoot you!”
The sound of a half-dozen guns being locked and loaded echoed like shots off the marble.
Lafayette froze. And was instantly surrounded by three more guards.
Darcy’s stomach plummeted.
Oh, fuck.
They were so screwed.
