Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (9 Novels from Bestselling Authors, plus Bonus Christmas Novella from NY Times Bestselling Author Rebecca York)

by Kaylea Cross

  The wind swept down from the mighty heights above them and funneled through the narrow canyon. The scent of snow tainted the air, reminding her humans were vulnerable and puny among these vast peaks.

  She watched him work, the light from the headlamp casting a yellow glow to his features. A warrior’s face trapped in frozen darkness. Handsome enough if you liked sharp planes and blunt features. She didn’t. She frowned, trying to remember what she did like. He wasn’t her type at all, but he reminded her she’d once had a type, and that was a first in a long time.

  * * *

  Dempsey tore open alcohol swabs and sucked in a breath as he took in the six-inch gashes that raked her skin. Blood streaked her body. Though the injuries were superficial, they must sting like hell.

  He concentrated on her shoulders first, moving the blanket, cleaning each scratch thoroughly, as clinical and professional as an ER doc. He’d done a stint in an ER once. The nurses deserved medals for dealing with all the pinheads that came in. Axelle Dehn wasn’t being a pinhead. She wasn’t making a sound of complaint now he’d finally got her to cooperate. He had to move her bra strap to treat one scratch, and his thumb brushed the petal-soft skin of her collarbone.

  He ignored the pleasure that simple touch gave him. Cleared his throat. “That cat shredded your hide.”

  Some of it would scar. He had the feeling she wouldn’t give a flying fuck about scars.

  He pressed the gauze harder to a welt, and she sucked in a breath.

  “Hold still.” He used his firmest voice, the one that told his soldiers the joking was over and it was time to get down to work. Even half-dazed, she raised a fine brow that told him she wasn’t used to taking orders. He hid a smile.

  One of the cuts on her shoulders was still bleeding. He put on a plaster and continued to clean her up, pretending she was one of the guys and he’d never seen her naked. He smeared antibiotic cream over the cuts.

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry.” He didn’t want to linger over that smooth skin. Maybe he shouldn’t be bothering at all, but he needed this woman on his side. Plus, he liked her. Not in a let’s-get-married-and-have-babies sort of way. But he liked her determination, her grit. You needed a barrel load of both to get in the Regiment. More to stay in it. Her job was as demanding as his, and who could fail to admire someone who dedicated their life to protecting wildlife? Who could fail to be moved by the passion she obviously felt for her snow leopards?

  He shifted position. Passion wasn’t what he should be thinking about with her bare skin beneath his fingers, but it had been a while since he’d touched a woman.

  Back home there were a lot of women who wanted to get off with Special Forces soldiers. SAS groupies who hung around the local bars, getting turned on by the mere whisper of Who Dares Wins. But he hadn’t gone for that type of woman in a long time. He preferred women who weren’t looking to add him as a notch to their bedposts, before they compared notes on his performance with their BFFs. He’d rather face enemy fire than a bunch of drunken women on a hen night back home in Hereford.

  Done with treating Axelle Dehn’s shoulders, he went through his pack, thrust a thermal shirt at her, followed by her fleece and jerkin. When she’d pulled them on, he settled the blanket back around her shoulders.

  Nothing for it. He took a half step back. “Drop your trousers.”

  She didn’t hesitate, and he blinked.

  Something about this woman reminded him of a soldier. Her utilitarian nature. The set of her shoulders, shit, even the way her long, shiny hair was pulled back in that practical ponytail. She pushed the trousers down and he knelt at her side feeling like a perv because he was rapidly revising the way he liked her. The woman had legs. She shouldn’t have looked sexy with her trousers slouched around her ankles. But she did.

  His skin prickled as his body reacted. Who was he trying to kid? He was attracted to every inch of her whether he wanted to be or not.

  A row of five-inch long gashes stood out on her thigh, reminding him she was probably in shock and pain. He was dirt. Dog meat.

  But the situation was achingly intimate as his hair brushed her thigh. She jumped. Jesus. He forced himself to concentrate on the rivulets of blood that ran down her legs, rather than the black cotton panties and elusive feminine scent. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Nice. She was injured and vulnerable. And he was getting turned on.

  You’re a stellar human being, Tyrone Dempsey. His mother would be proud. Except she wouldn’t. Ever.

  He grabbed the tube of antibiotic cream and smoothed it over her skin with clinical precision. Applied butterfly bandages on two cuts.

  Abruptly he stood and turned away. “All done.” He handed her an extra pair of pants to pull over the shredded canvas of hers and added a pair of thick wool socks for her boots. At least they were clean. Which was a frickin’ miracle under the circumstances.

  He shoved his supplies furiously into his pack and turned to find her staring at him with an odd expression on her face, parted lips and high color burning across her brow. He didn’t kid himself that she was feeling lust for his manly body. Fever? He felt her forehead and dug out some Paracetamol and handed them to her along with her canteen.

  “Thank you.”

  He grunted in response.

  She climbed to her feet and eased her other arm into her jerkin and pulled her hat lower over her ears. It was starting to dip from a wee bit nippy to holy-fuck freezing. He found his night-vision goggles, pulled off her headlamp, turning it off before handing it back to her. He took the bits and pieces she’d been carrying and stuffed them in his bergen. He stood, shouldering the weight with ease after years of practice.

  Through his NVGs she had a green tinge and a worried edge. He stuck out his left hand, leaving his right free for his pistol. “The easiest way of doing this is to hold hands.”

  She snorted, then realized he was serious. He watched her hesitate before reaching to take his hand. She didn’t ask for promises to keep her safe. Her long, smooth fingers slid over his palm and then gripped him firmly. She trusted him because she had to. But at least she trusted him.

  This was about survival and the mission. And for this mission to be successful they needed one another. There was a man out there with a hunting scope and the training to use it.

  Dempsey’s target was one of the most ruthless terrorists in the world, a man who’d taught explosives to extremists, knowing exactly the sort of death and mayhem he was going to inspire. Hatred drove these men—hatred and vengeance. Dempsey had a personal relationship with both, and had spent every day since his sister had been murdered trying to make up for the atrocities committed by his father. Catching this old Russian bastard might finally even the score.

  * * *

  Wakhan Corridor, Afghanistan, May 1980

  “Kapitán.”

  Dmitri was already slipping stockinged feet into his boots when the young soldier stuck his head through the tent flap. The fire had gone out and the temperature easily matched a Siberian winter. He shrugged into his greatcoat and pulled his bearskin hat over his burning ears.

  “What is it, Serzhánt?” he asked. He’d been stuck in this valley for four weeks while his Spetsnaz unit protected key facilities from the mujahedeen further west in Badakhshan Province. He’d been in Ishkashim, helping protect a bridge vital to the Soviet supply line, when the former commanding officer of this remote outpost blew himself to pieces playing with what he thought was a dysfunctional butterfly mine. Mudak.

  Dmitri was the only officer who could be spared and that was because he was supposed to be on leave.

  “Your replacement has arrived, Kapitán.”

  “Thank God.” He wasn’t trained for this slow attrition of the enemy. He was used to hitting them hard and fast, and moving on to the next target. Killing women and children was not his idea of warfare. It was cowardice and he’d made sure everyone on this outpost knew it. He pushed out the door and squinted at the pink rays of da
wn as he looked around their fortified position. “Where?”

  “At the lookout.”

  Dmitri was pleased. The man was keen to get on with the job, which meant he’d be free to rejoin his unit, might even be granted the leave as originally promised. He jogged the narrow path and through the tunnel they’d constructed through this part of the mountain to give their men safe passage. He had to duck his head and nodded greetings to sentries who regarded him with wariness. He was used to it. Maybe even proud. Spetsnaz had an almost mystical reputation and Vympel were the premier unit within Spetsnaz.

  Dmitri had discovered years ago that reputation was often enough to win a fight without firing a single shot, which was fine by him.

  He saw a group of serzhánts clustered around an impatient-looking man. He saw the large single star on the man’s field uniform and slowed his step. “Mayór.” He saluted.

  Slowly the man turned and Dmitri felt the first hint of alarm pierce the dawn. The man’s eyes were small and round, a gleam of malice sparking from their black depths.

  “Ah, you must be our famous Vympel Kapitán, Dmitri Volkov, graciously taking care of our infantry.”

  Dmitri ignored the jibe and bowed his head. “No doubt you will do a much better job of it than I, Mayór.” He just wanted to get back to his unit or his wife.

  The mayór eyed him without blinking. Dmitri kept his head bowed. He might be Special Forces but he knew how pissing contests ended in the military.

  The mayór nodded approvingly. Egomaniac. “I am Mayór Valisky. Come with me.”

  Frowning, Dmitri followed the man down the slope of the hill toward the sniper positions dug into the hillside. The man hunched over and cowered from possible enemy bullets. Dmitri walked tall. They were out of range, and death did not scare him.

  He followed the mayór inside one of the bunkers and his eyes widened when the man took one of the long rifles from the starshiná. The major nodded in the direction of the other rifleman. “I hear you are a crack shot? One of the best in Russia?”

  He inclined his head slowly. “I once had that honor but—”

  “Come then, Kapitán.” The major’s voice boomed into the clear quiet dawn. “We will have ourselves a little shooting competition.”

  Dmitri could just make out figures on the opposite side of the Panj River, dark points against the bleak snow. Tiny, they snaked their way down the mountain carrying pots and pans.

  “You have not killed a single mujahedeen rat since you took over the camp.”

  Revulsion moved through Dmitri as the other man sat and sighted his rifle.

  “I’ve captured plenty.”

  “Captured.” Valisky spat. “So now we have to feed the vermin. What kind of soldier are you?”

  Dmitri stood a little straighter and kept his eyes on the wall above the man’s head. “They are only children, Mayór.”

  The man turned to him with indignation. “They are the rats who feed the enemy, who then shoot down our helicopters and kill our troops.”

  Dmitri met his superior’s gaze. “They are children. I will not kill them.”

  “Would you shoot them if they were English spies?”

  Dmitri blinked with sudden understanding.

  A look of satisfaction settled on the mayór’s features. “I’m thinking you’re not such an impressive marksman, eh? Not such an impressive patriot?”

  A core of anger started to burn in Dmitri’s chest. “I serve Mother Russia, Mayór, and no man has ever dared say otherwise.” He stared hard at this man who wanted to grind him into the dirt for no reason.

  Except he knew the reason. The blond cherub of a man he’d captured in the Wakhan last summer had told him he’d make him pay for his humiliation. Dmitri wished he’d put a bullet in the swine before he’d known they were on the same side. Now the bastard was dancing in the shadows and showing Dmitri exactly how much he liked to call the tune.

  “As your superior officer I command you to prove your loyalty by destroying the enemy, otherwise I will have you court-martialed and shot,” Valisky threatened.

  The idea of killing children in cold blood repulsed him. “According to the Geneva Convention”—Dmitri pointed his finger at the valley floor—“they are not soldiers and therefore not the enemy.” Dmitri couldn’t believe what was happening. He’d gone from having a dream about making love to his wife to being fucked by a commanding officer in the space of five minutes.

  The mayór’s cheeks suffused with the color of wrath. “Starshiná! Arrest this man for insubordination and cowardice.”

  No one moved.

  Perhaps they’d felt the wave of fury that moved through Dmitri at the suggestion of cowardice. From this little pig of a man.

  “You have no authority over me.” Even so, Dmitri took the rifle. He had no choice.

  The mayór’s lips peeled back. “You are not leaving this camp until you have shot ten of the little bastards, Kapitán. Or my order for arrest will stand.”

  Ten? His heart imploded. Crumpled to dust and disappeared. Dmitri wanted to close his eyes and howl, but he was a professional soldier and he knew how to do his duty. He knew how to kill.

  This was his punishment for capturing the spy, for spitting on him and making him reveal his true identity. This was his punishment for being better at his job that the other mudak.

  These children meant nothing to Mayór Valisky or the spy. And now they had to mean nothing to him.

  He settled into position. Cleared his mind of the man and became the machine. He no longer saw the big eyes of children who struggled every day to carry a heavy load of water up the steep slope to their starving mothers and siblings. He no longer saw their pitiful rags, which failed to disguise the shivering of their gaunt limbs.

  One—he started shooting—two—faster as they began to scatter behind boulders—three—and run back up the path toward a slow death by starvation. Four, five, six. Scarlet sprayed the pristine snow. He was doing them a favor by putting them out of their misery. Seven, eight, nine…and the last child couldn’t have been more than five years old with bone-thin legs and hollowed-out cheeks. She stopped running and turned toward him. Tears running down her cheeks, she raised her hands to the sky in prayer.

  Ten.

  He swore he saw his soul flying to Heaven along with hers.

  * * *

  British Embassy, Rabat, Morocco

  May 1988

  “Come away from there, Axelle. Quickly now.”

  Axelle knew better than to argue with her mother, but she flashed her a disgruntled look before leaving the fountain in the middle of the heat-baked courtyard. She shook off the water and then wiped her hands on her pink cotton dress. Ugh. Pink. Vomit.

  She’d almost rebelled at wearing it, but her mom had promised her a new book if she did. And finding new children’s books written in English wasn’t easy in Morocco—not when Axelle read a book a day and still had time left over to get in trouble. She winced. Trouble was a bit of a specialty of hers, much to her father’s disapproval, although she was pretty sure her mother liked it when she made her father angry.

  That fact upset her more than her father’s shouting.

  Axelle was scared her parents were going to get a divorce. A tight pain constricted in her chest. She didn’t want them to split up. And she was doing her best to remember not to be naughty anymore.

  Palm trees rustled in the wind that came off the ocean but didn’t alleviate the hot stickiness of the day. She eyed the nearby pool with a sigh of envy and rolled her eyes for good measure as she followed her mother inside the pale square building that was the British embassy in Rabat. God. She huffed out a frustrated breath and kicked the doorway on the way inside.

  When her mother had suggested she skip school that morning, the idea had sounded fun. But it soon became clear that rather than spending the day at the beach as she’d been promised, her mother just didn’t want to be alone on her various errands around the city.

  Axell
e would rather be listening to her grade-five teacher read Charlotte’s Web aloud, than sit down with boring grownups. She yawned and felt her jaw crack. Maybe there’d be cookies—or biscuits as her mother called them. Her stomach rumbled as she remembered she’d missed snack time.

  She ran and caught up to her mother, catching hold of her fingers. “I’m hungry. Why didn’t Daddy come with us?”

  Her mom paused and hefted her leather satchel higher on her shoulder. “Your father was busy.” She pursed her lips, which Axelle recognized as a sign to drop the subject. She hadn’t seen her father for more than a minute all week.

  Axelle gnawed her lip as they climbed the stone stairs. She was tired and hungry and bored. “When are we going to the beach?”

  “Soon.” Her mother smiled and Axelle was struck as always by how beautiful she was. Long, straight, shiny brown hair; light hazel eyes that looked exotic with their black eyeliner; lips deep red from the lipstick she always wore. And when her mom smiled at her like that, Axelle would promise her anything—even to sit quietly in a stuffy room when she could have been at the beach.

  “I have a little surprise I didn’t tell you about.” Her mom’s eyes sparkled from some secret mischief.

  Excitement raced. What could it be? A pony maybe? She’d been begging for a pony for months. Axelle grinned back and tightened her grip on her mother’s fingers. Even though today had been boring, she loved spending time with her mom.

  Maybe there was a TV she could go watch while her mom talked. “Can I have candy?”

  “Remember what the dentist said last time you saw him?”

  “No.” Axelle pulled a face.

  “He said you ate too much candy.”

  Axelle hung her head to hide her mutinous expression. She hadn’t enjoyed having a filling but she still liked candy.

  Their footsteps echoed down the long cool corridors. There was hardly anyone around. Well, only the usual boring men in their dull boring suits. One passed them and eyed her mother like she was candy. Axelle’s held tighter to her mother’s hand. Her mom shot her a grin and they swept on by.