ALIAS SMITH AND JONES

by Kylie Brant

  The pleasure careened and collided inside her. Nothing else existed. There were only his slick muscles beneath her fingers, flexing and releasing with his every movement; his hard chest pressed against hers, his harsh breathing as it mingled with her own; the tight grip he had on her hips and the incredible full sensation of being possessed by him.

  With every surge he seemed to seat himself more deeply inside her. Her desire was honed to a rapier edge as she moved with him, felt the bite of his fingers as he set the motion faster, harder, hotter. Her head fell back, too heavy for her neck, and the dazzling passion whirled faster.

  His hand went between them and he stroked her where she was open and vulnerable, tapped the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden there. She tensed, something unfamiliar just out of reach. He urged her on, his dark words working their own sensual magic. "Let go, Annie. Let go now."

  And then sensation surrounded her as he bent and took her nipple in his mouth, biting down gently. His clever fingers stroked and smoothed her quivering flesh while he kept her locked against him, surging faster and faster into her. And when he bent her back, slammed his hips against hers in a wild shuddering lunge, the sudden implosion of her climax seized her, the release spinning into endless aftershocks of pleasure.

  She reached for him, her only anchor in the violent culmination of pleasure, and felt him tense, thrust wildly, and groan her name as the passion took him, too.

  * * *

  She'd never realized that being dressed by a man could take on almost the same intimacy as being undressed by one. Ana would like to believe she could have managed on her own. Okay, her legs were shaky and weak. She throbbed in places she had never, ever throbbed before. There was a delicious afterglow affecting her movements, making them seem slow and lethargic. But she was still certain that donning her bra wasn't beyond her.

  "Let me."

  She stopped trying to bat his hands away and allowed him to fasten the clasp between her breasts. "It occurs to me that you're a little too familiar with the way these things work."

  Something suspiciously close to a smile sounded in his voice. "I like working with my hands."

  She refrained from pointing out that he was extremely accomplished in that area. His ego didn't need inflating. "I think I can finish on my own."

  Reluctantly he moved away. "If you insist." In the time it had taken her to draw on her panties and slip into her bra, he'd gotten fully dressed again, with the exception of his socks and boots.

  There was a slight frown on his face as he regarded her. "I didn't use protection."

  She stilled. Not out of fear for the risk they'd taken, but because his words summoned a vivid, erotic memory. Clearing her throat, she assured him, "It's not the right time." It was difficult to maintain eye contact during the intimate conversation. But he merely nodded. She reached for her tunic.

  "By the way, Smith, if I forgot to mention it…"

  A flash of something close to anxiety flickered to the surface, to fade when met with his wicked grin.

  "…you have a truly excellent ass." He seemed to take pleasure in the hot tide of color that surged to her face. "Makes it hard to understand why you wanted to mar perfection with that tiny little penguin you had tattooed to your right cheek."

  Her brows shot up, and one hand streaked behind her to cover the cheek in question. Feeling fabric beneath her fingers, she glowered at him. He must have glimpsed it sometime while they … well, sometime recently. And it was a bit disconcerting that he'd noticed every tiny detail about her when she'd been awash in indescribable sensation. "It was a dare," she finally mumbled.

  His teeth flashed. "Don't be embarrassed. It's kind of cute."

  He was looking entirely too pleased with himself. She stooped to grab her tunic and pulled it over her head. "I was wondering—" her voice was muffled by the garment she was wiggling into "—after what we've shared here…" She let her words trail off suggestively, watched his grin fade into a more familiar mask of wariness. "…do you think I could call you … Gus?"

  His expression was pained. "Not unless you want to be tossed down on that cute little penguin of yours."

  Pleased with herself, she took her time drawing on her pants as he shoved his feet into his socks and boots.

  A few moments later he straightened. "I need to go out ahead, scout around. I found some plantains and nuts. They're up by the tent. Think you can have everything packed up when I get back?"

  His return to the jungle survivalist was a bit disconcerting, given the time they'd just spent in each other's arms. She nodded, giving more attention than was necessary to; tucking in her top and drawing the baggy trousers tight. Not for a moment was she going to let him know how momentous the act had been for her. She could be as nonchalant as a man. She just needed more practice at it, was all.

  She gasped as he drew her against him. She hadn't even, seen him move. He tipped her chin up with his hand, gazing down at her with eyes that saw too much. The kiss he pressed on her mouth was bruising. "Next time in a bed. All night. No distractions."

  He released her and, grabbing the gun and binoculars, strode away. The whole moment was over in an instant, which was probably fortunate, because Ana wasn't exactly well versed in witty sexual repartee. As it was she could only touch the lips he'd so recently kissed and replay his words in her head. Next time. Her mouth curved in a tiny smile. Oh, yes, there was definitely going to be a next time.

  She lost no time getting things picked up and packed away. There wasn't much. Only the wet socks to roll up and stow, the mosquito netting and small tent. While she munched on a plantain, she drew her bag out of his backpack and rearranged the remaining items, so they could be replaced inside taking the smallest amount of space possible.

  Not for the first time, she marveled at the contents of the bag. Night-vision goggles and high-powered binoculars weren't picked up in the local department stores. Neither were cables like the one he'd used to enter the government building the other night.

  With a swift glance around, she noted that Jones was nowhere within sight and began to go through the endless pockets of the bag. In one she found a set of finely wrought tools she could only figure were picks. The kind used on locks that weren't being opened the old-fashioned way. That explained how he'd entered the rooms in the capitol once he'd gained entrance to them.

  She also discovered more ammunition for his gun, the one he'd taken with him, and the radio he'd used to contact Pappy. Their water bottles were there, nearly empty. If it rained this afternoon they'd have to try and catch some fresh water.

  Poking into the next pocket she heard the telltale crumple of paper, and curiously drew it out. White and standard size, the letterhead was embossed with the stamp for the Laconos government. The body was covered with odd combinations of letters, symbols and numbers that made no sense.

  It was encryption of some kind.

  Mind whirling, she stared hard at it. Where had it come from? Had Jones stolen it from one of the offices? The questions faded in significance, as one thing became apparent. She needed to decode it.

  It wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Despite what she admitted to Jones, she had a few more talents than whistling and dirty dancing. Designing encryption/decryption software was her job. Tremaine Technologies handled some of the United States government's most sensitive orders.

  And she couldn't allow an opportunity like this to pass by. It might have something to do with Sam. With his assignment. Or information that would help sink Bunei's bid for more power in the trade organization.

  She had a feeling this stolen sheet wasn't something Jones had planned to share with her. The realization brought a sick wash to her stomach. Digging into her bag, she withdrew her notebook. She wasn't being dishonest, not really. Even as she copied the symbols down in her notebook, a part of her was attempting to rationalize away her actions. A couple days ago it wouldn't have occurred to her to even try. But now things were different. And yet so very much
the same.

  Because despite making love with Jones, despite the closeness she thought was growing between them, in some ways they continued to be as far apart as ever.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  «^»

  With a sense of déjà vu Jones led the way through the jungle, with Annie close behind him. They had at least five miles to cover today, and if they kept up the pace they'd set yesterday they would have no problem hitting the north shore by dark. They'd veered quite a bit closer to the shore than he'd originally planned, but as long as the jungle provided cover, they weren't risking exposure to anyone at the shoreline or beyond.

  The cover of darkness would actually serve them well. He could use the short-wave hand radio to summon Ranachek, and if the old reprobate wasn't stinking drunk by that time, they could get off this island. He didn't have any doubt that Pappy had convinced the man to do as Jones had asked. Ranachek would sell his sainted mother for the right fee.

  He wouldn't be unhappy to put most of this experience behind him. Squinting through the dim green gloom of the jungle, he used the machete on the vines strangling their path, ignoring the luminous green tree constrictor twined around a trunk near them. Dodging bullets and dabbling in espionage brought back memories that were still much too close to the surface, regardless of the efforts he made to bury them.

  There was, however, one part of this experience that he wasn't in a hurry to see end. He turned his head, checking on Annie's progress. She sent him a brilliant smile, one that caught him hard in the chest. You'd think the woman was on a vacation junket in the Ozarks. That she hadn't just given herself to a man who'd forfeited his job, his honor, and nearly his life in return for the simple pleasure of being left alone.

  Of course, she couldn't know what kind of man he was. Grimly he faced forward again. He did a damn fine job of hiding, had made it his life's work for the past three years. There hadn't been a moment's regret in that entire time for the choices he'd made.

  Guilt, an ugly fanged creature, raised its evil head. He hadn't spent the past few years denying himself any particular comforts, so there should have been no hesitation about taking what Annie was offering. There would have been no hesitation if he'd been able to convince himself it was just sex. Just about the moment. But of all the lies he'd told in his life, when dishonesty had been a tool of his job, he'd never once lied to himself. With Annie, sex was all of it. And none of it.

  He reached back to help her through the opening he'd cleared and dropped her hand again as soon as she'd moved through it. He hadn't wanted this—any of it. The resentment welling in him was almost a relief. He'd never again wanted to feel this violent surge of emotion for anything. For anybody. Not for a woman. Not for his job. Not for his country. And he resented fiercely that this tiny woman with her shock of bright hair and mixture of secrets and innocence should jolt him out of his comfortable pattern.

  "Oh, did you see that!"

  He stopped to follow the direction of her pointed finger, watching the small lizard fold its skin back against its sides after it safely changed branches. "It's a flying dragon."

  Her expression was disbelieving. "It looks like a lizard to me."

  "It is a lizard. At least it's in that family. And it doesn't really fly, either. It uses that extra skin to help it glide from one branch to another."

  "I know what I saw, ace. And it was definitely flying."

  His lips twitched. "Okay, it was flying."

  His easy agreement seemed to please her. "I knew you'd see things my way." They walked on in silence for a few more minutes. "Do you think the military is searching for us again?"

  "Probably. If the team in the village is able to communicate to others, they'll get reinforcements to cover that whole area. But they don't know we detoured down that ravine. We're a good two miles west of the direction we were heading before."

  Something in her silence alerted him. He glanced back to see the comprehension on her face. If there were other reinforcements in the area, two miles wasn't much of a safety net. But instead of giving voice to the thought, she said, "Whatever comes … we won't regret what happened between us, Jones."

  It was half promise, half plea. And it called to an answering elemental instinct. "No." As much as he'd like to deny the truth he couldn't now with this woman. Couldn't deny it to himself. "We won't regret it."

  They made fairly good time the rest of the day, despite a late-morning rainstorm that slowed their progress and made them both miserable. It gave them an opportunity to replenish their water supply, however, which had gotten dangerously low.

  The soggy ground grew stickier and slippery in the afternoon heat. Once they happened upon another ridge, much like the one that had rimmed the village, but not nearly as steep. When they'd attempted to scrabble down it, Annie had lost her footing and slid, rolling several yards before he'd grabbed ahold of her shirt, stopping her descent. His rescue hadn't come in time to save her from contact with several large rocks along the way.

  The abrasions she'd suffered had needed immediate care. Left unattended, injuries could rapidly develop infection in this environment. Despite a game effort on her part, they made slow progress the last couple of miles. It was late afternoon before the jungle began to grow rockier, hinting at an upcoming change of terrain.

  Jones stopped, sliding his arms out of the backpack to withdraw a directional navigator.

  Annie stopped, too, breathing heavily as she watched him punch in their approximate longitude and latitude. "How do you know the right coordinates?"

  "After three years, I know the waters around these islands pretty well."

  "Three years? That's how long you've been running a charter service? What did you do before that?"

  There was nothing in her tone but honest curiosity. It shouldn't be responsible for this vise squeezing his chest His answer, when it came, was purposefully vague. "I was in … research."

  "Research?" She wiped her face on the edge of her tunic while he kept his gaze trained intently on the navigator. "Like science? Marketing?"

  "Not exactly." He slipped the instrument back in his pack. "I'm going to go up ahead. I think the forest comes to an end close by up here, and using the glasses, I ought to be able to see if our ride is here."

  "Then I'm coming with you," she said determinedly. "I don't want to stay in this damn jungle one single instant longer than I have to."

  If she expected an argument, he wasn't about to give her one. At least she'd dropped her earlier line of questioning. But a half hour later, after they hacked their way out of the dense growth around the jungle's perimeter and he used the glasses to look out to sea, her earlier questions paled in significance.

  Jaw clenched, he studied the horizon and silently swore a blue streak.

  "Well, is he out there? Has he come yet?" When she would have tugged the binoculars from his hand, he refused to relinquish his grasp on them. "I'm calling first dibs on the shower when we get onboard. Of course, being the sweet-natured person that I am, I'm willing to share."

  When her offer failed to elicit a response, her voice became more cautious. "Jones? Isn't Ranachek there yet?"

  "He's there," he said flatly. He took the strap off his neck and handed her the binoculars. "Unfortunately, he's got company."

  He gave her time to look for herself, to see Ranachek's red-and-white ship anchored peacefully at sea in the distance.

  With two Laconos government cutters cruising nearby.

  She swallowed hard as she lowered the glasses. "Maybe you could radio him … tell him to move to another site…"

  Jones shook his head. "The government will be covering the frequency just waiting for any kind of communication to make their move. Ranachek can't convince him he's fishing or dolphin watching forever. By tomorrow he'll have to head back to Bontilla. They'll be covering any ship or plane that could get us off the island."

  "Then we'll find another way." Her tone had determination layering over the bl
eakness. She handed him back the glasses, and he raised them again. Something else caught his eye, and an idea began to form.

  "Maybe there's another way, after all," he said slowly. When she looked up at him quizzically, he lowered the glasses to look at her. "How do you feel about another hike?"

  * * *

  "You stink, Jones. No, I mean it. You really stink." She ducked when he would have come closer. "And what's worse, I stink. You don't have enough hot water on your ship to get rid of this smell. I think it's in my pores." Ana strode as quickly as she could to where the Nefarious was rocking at the Bontilla dock, breathing through her mouth. It was safer that way.

  "You know, I expected a little more gratitude," he said mildly. "I did get you safely back to Bontilla, away from the Laconos government, at no little risk to myself. Most women would thank me for that."

  She stopped in her tracks. "Do I seem ungrateful? Well, let me just write you a little thank-you note right now." She pulled the notebook from her bag, found a pen and scribbled furiously. Ripping out the sheet she handed it to him with a flourish, fire in her eye.

  He looked at it, then at her. "There's no F in thank," he pointed out.

  "Read between the lines." She turned and marched to the ship, dodging his help when he would have given it and nearly falling over the side of the ship in the process.

  "Be reasonable, Annie. The circumstances called for desperate measures." He jumped nimbly aboard ship and followed her down the companionway.

  "A garbage scow? That's pretty desperate, Jones. As a matter of fact, as rescues go, that's about the bottom of the barrel."

  "It got us back to Bontilla, didn't it?"

  "It did." She nodded grimly. "And in only eighteen hours, spent inhaling the putrefying stench of a country's accumulated garbage."

  "Better than the alternative," he said bluntly.

  The fact that he was right didn't improve her mood. Events of the past several days would put a sizable dent in anyone's disposition. "Remember my offer to share the shower? Well, you're uninvited."