Danger and Desire: Ten Full-Length Steamy Romantic Suspense Novels

by Pamela Clare

  Another wave drove into her thighs and rolled up to her waist. With her back to Emilio, she pulled the jeweled pin out of her cleavage and carefully brought it to her lips. “Billabong, this is Switchfoot. Initiating beach cleanup in three. I repeat, initiating beach cleanup in three. Over.”

  She had no way to know if Cooper received her message clearly over the sound of the waves, but he was nearby along with the rest of the cleanup crew. They’d been waiting for her. Cooper had shown himself at the traffic light to let her know everything was a go. She hadn’t talked to him in almost a month, only received small signs here and there that he and his taskforce of agents from the Southern California Violent Crimes Division were getting her packages and watching her back. Her assignment had been straightforward: Get the proof needed to put Emilio and his cartel out of business for good. Bring him in alive.

  And don’t get killed.

  Like that wasn’t obvious.

  A rookie Feebie, known in FBI vernacular as the FNG or “fucking new guy”, Celina had joined Cooper’s elite group of agents before a random encounter with Enrique Londano’s girlfriend had landed her inside the mafia the SCVC and Mexican officials had been trying to infiltrate for four years.

  Celina had stumbled into their private circle quite literally by accident. Danita, the girlfriend of Emilio’s twin brother, Enrique, had found Special Agent Celina Davenport photographing whales, her hobby, on a whale-sighting expedition and asked Celina to photograph her and her group of friends. The situation had given Celina the chance to buddy up with the young, naïve woman whose picture was contained in a blue folder on Celina’s desk at FBI headquarters in Carlsbad. It hadn’t taken more than a few compliments for Celina to convince Danita she was destined to be a model. Celina Mendez, the photographer, found herself the newest member of Danita’s social club before the boat returned to shore. Emilio and Enrique ran an art gallery that covertly laundered money and was always looking for fresh, cutting edge artists to fill its walls. Within days Celina had attracted Emilio’s attention.

  And the entire Southern California task force working on the San Diego Mafia case had cheered.

  Cooper had been both pleased and worried. She could either nail this guy and prove his taskforce’s worth or completely ruin their chances of ever stopping the elusive Londanos.

  Wanting more than anything to prove her value to the team and to Cooper, Celina threw herself into the assignment. She would end Emilio’s cartel, and in the process, impress the hell out of Cooper.

  With her phones bugged, her email monitored, and one of Londano’s men watching her day and night, Celina had become ultra paranoid. She’d only risked delivering evidence against Emilio to Cooper twice, packaging the proof they needed in pictures sent to fictitious customers, but apparently it was enough. She’d gotten the go ahead to arrest Emilio in the form of a red surf board appearing in the window of the local surf shop by her apartment. That was her signal from Cooper to bring it home.

  Celina took a step deeper into the water. Dominic Quarters, her FBI superior on assignment with her for this sting, had insisted on a verbal confession tonight, but Celina knew they didn’t need one to nail Emilio, and he was too suspicious of everyone and everything. No way was she blowing this mission. Not only would the Londano operation get off scot-free, the taskforce would never get close to the brothers again. Any type of leading question about their black market business was sure to tip Emilio off and blow the takedown.

  Time to take the plunge. The salt water would cripple the mic and make the dress stick to her breasts, but there was no backing out now. This was the moment she’d been planning for two months. This arrest would rocket her into FBI stardom and secure her place on Cooper’s team. The poor little girl from Miami was about to show everyone exactly what she was made of and what she could do.

  Running the next minute through her head, Celina walked further into the ocean and braced herself against the sharp push and pull of the cold water. The water and sky blended into one immense black wall, dotted only with stars. The full moon hung low, its shadow reflecting in the ripples of the ocean.

  Still conscious of her audience, Celina raised her arms to the sky, dropped her head back, and let the ocean carry her on the next wave. God it was cold.

  But she was tough. Too tough to let a little cold water get in the way of her plans. Too tough to let Londano see her shaking, not from the frigid Pacific Ocean but from nerves.

  Sufficiently wet, the dress clung to her breasts. Celina made her way back to the shore.

  She had no gun, no weapon. Emilio was a black-belt in karate and carried his gun at all times, although he rarely used violence himself. He was wearing his suit jacket to conceal the weapon hanging under his left arm. The muscles he constantly worked in his private gym gave him a seventy-pound advantage.

  But Celina had the element of surprise and could win a wet T-shirt contest hands down. As the water turned loose its hold on her legs, she scanned the beach that was still empty before locking her sights on her quarry. Under the moonlight, his heavy gaze rested on her breasts. Emilio was thinking with his dick at that moment instead of his calculating brain, and that’s exactly what she was waiting for.

  Conjuring up Cooper once more from the depths of her imagination, she smiled at the man in front of her and moved slowly and seductively into his waiting arms.

  With his lips forcing hers to part, Celina opened her mouth, and, at the same time, ran her hands over his shoulders, pushing his jacket off and down his arms. It dropped to the sand behind him. Then she slid her hands down his chest and stomach, tugging his shirt free from his waistband. Emilio’s hands found her breasts, and shit! She couldn’t stand him touching her so intimately.

  Shrugging out of his grasp, she laughed seductively, teasing him. He chuckled low and deep, his hands on her upper arms, dragging her back to him, lips assaulting hers once more.

  Pushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders, Emilio once again went for her breasts. In one swift movement, Celina shoved at his chest with one hand and grabbed the heavy Glock from his shoulder holster with the other. Glocks. She’d qualified with the standard .22 but went on to qualify with an assortment of others as well. She knew the lovely Glock family as well as she did her own.

  Taking two steps back, she pointed the gun at his chest. “Emilio Paloma-Londano, you are under arrest by the United States government for charges relating to the organization and running of the San Diego Mafia.” She took a deep breath and one more step back as she watched Emilio’s face transform from utter confusion to pure anger. “Drop to your stomach and put your hands behind your head.”

  He stood stock still, effectively refusing to lie down on the ground, but all hell broke loose around them. FBI, DEA, and local police officers emerged from the nearby lifeguard house and descended from the boardwalk. Spotlights came on, illuminating Emilio, still standing, and Celina, who managed to return her dress straps to her shoulders while never moving the gun sight from Emilio’s heart. Their eyes locked on each other and though he didn’t move or say a word, Celina felt the intensity of his hatred penetrating every cell of her body.

  Special Agent Quarters came up beside her and took the Glock from her grip while she watched two police officers force Emilio face down in the sand. Within seconds, his hands were cuffed and his rights read. She stood there shaking, teeth chattering, arms crossed over her very wet, cold breasts. The officers raised Emilio back to a standing position, and again the dark eyes she knew well snapped to hers. Again she saw the depth of his anger. And then he took her by surprise.

  He ignored Quarters and spoke to someone behind Celina. “Give her my jacket so she can cover herself.”

  As Celina watched Emilio be led away, a soft warmth fell over her shoulders and enveloped her. Instinctively she pulled it closer, stuffed her arms into the sleeves. It was not Emilio’s jacket, but a red Billabong sweatshirt.

  She smiled as she turned to face Cooper. “Than
k you,” she said, forgetting the past few months of fear and manipulation the moment she saw his face.

  It was a beautiful face. Not in the pretty L.A. boy actor way. Those types of faces she saw all the time and they were fake. No, Cooper’s was a rugged beauty, deeply tanned and handsome. It was the controlled face of a man who lived with danger every day for several decades.

  His gaze was as serious as always as he stared down at her. “You all right?”

  “Better than fine.” Now that you’re here. Every time she stood next to the DEA agent, she felt like she’d just downed a triple mocha latte with whipped cream. Warm, buzzed, and ready for seconds. “How’d I do?”

  He was silent for a moment, studying her. “You went off the rez and we need to talk about that, but…you did okay, kid.”

  Celina’s smile faltered. Kid? Kid? “I’m not a kid, Cooper. I’m twenty-four years old.” She held his stern gaze. “I did better than okay and you know it. I just nailed Emilio Londano.”

  Said out loud, those words seemed to vibrate in the air. The moon smiled down at her and she drew her first fearless breath in months. She felt a sudden hot rush in her veins, a tingling sensation shooting through every cell of her body.

  Letting her head fall back on her shoulders, she let it come, this rush of accomplishment instead of fear. It roared through her.

  Laughing up at the sky, she sang out, “I did it! I arrested the Lord of the Cartel World!” She took a few steps back, staring at the sky, and held out her arms. Twirling, she let her herself enjoy the sweet tingle of relief and success racing through her body.

  God, she was beautiful.

  And young, Cooper reminded himself for the hundredth, possibly thousandth, time since she’d joined his team. Too young. For him anyway.

  But as he watched the beautiful agent twirl herself around in unabashed joy on the sand, with the spotlight on and an audience of horny males watching her, Cooper would have sold his vintage Fender guitar collection to be even five years younger.

  And not her boss.

  Celina was so alive and so beautiful and so completely crushing on him, it made him want to turn in his badge and chuck his very last moral into the garbage can just so he could touch her. Just once. He would touch that smooth, soft, creamy skin, take her full bottom lip between his and…

  Die.

  Die and go to heaven.

  Hypnotized by her blissful twirling and the idea of a heaven filled with her, Cooper let himself feel what she was feeling. Pure rush. Total adrenaline. Joy. He’d felt it with his first major bust too. A long time ago, when he was still fresh and eager and hungry. The rush of taking out a bad guy was a drug, making the hunger intensify. That hunger had added a lot of notches to his DEA belt and catapulted him to his current position, but he’d had an epiphany on this last assignment. He was worn out.

  At thirty-eight, he still loved his job. Loved protecting his country and meting out justice to assholes like Emilio Londano. His taskforce was the best in the country, a machine, just like him, apprehending cartel leaders that trafficked drugs, weapons, and people. In the past year, they’d extended their reach. He and Thomas had gone to Colombia back in the fall, trying to figure out Londano’s operation in the Southern Hemisphere in order to help them deal with this one in the Northern.

  Thomas and a couple of the other guys on the taskforce had been with him since the early years, taking out several large drug rings while always trying to get the Londano operation that stayed consistently out of their reach. But when the latest addition to his team, this twirling rookie Fed, was handed a personal invitation into the Londano den of lions, Cooper almost pulled the plug on the whole operation.

  She’d turned him. A couple of months with his group and she’d made him feel less like the cartel-eating machine he’d made himself into and more like a human. A man.

  A man who wanted her.

  A man who realized that if she walked into the den of lions, he couldn’t keep her safe.

  Celina stopped and walked toward him, off balance and laughing. An unbidden smile crept to his lips—after all she was safe now and Londano was headed to federal prison—but then she was standing right in front of him and looking like she was about to throw her arms around him, and whoa –

  She threw her arms around him and kissed him. Right on the lips.

  Her lips were so soft and she smelled like the ocean and, holy mother. Cooper jerked his head back, pulled her arms from around his neck, and stepped back.

  Quarters, the fucker, cleared his throat, looking displeased and jealous at the same time. Celina dropped her arms, the happiness fading from her face and replaced with fear as it dawned on her that they were spotlighted on the beach with a significant audience, some of whom were now clapping and whistling.

  Quarters, eat your heart out.

  “Sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  It hurt to watch her lose that carefree joy and Cooper averted his eyes to the water, regaining his own balance. Best to pretend that hadn’t happened. “Go change your clothes, Switchfoot, and meet me at headquarters. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about your experience with Londano.”

  “I don’t drink plain coffee.” Celina scanned his face, trying to read him. Read what he was thinking. “At least I don’t mainline it like you do. But Starbucks opens in an hour.” She smiled, hope in her eyes now. “You can take me to my apartment, I’ll shower and change my clothes, and we’ll be their first customers.”

  Her recovery was quick. And she was ignoring Quarters as effectively as he was.

  Score one for The Beast.

  She was so bold, Cooper almost chuckled. She’d invited him six times—now seven, not that he was counting—up to her apartment. Wish I could shove that in Quarters’ face.

  If the situation were different, he would take her up on her offer. The real one she was hiding between shower and clothes. He’d peel that dress off her beautiful body and mainline her instead of his favorite dark roast.

  The thought made him dizzy, especially after that kiss, and he shook his head, more to clear it than to tell her no. “I have to follow the uniforms. Make sure they don’t inadvertently screw up Londano’s booking. Can’t have him getting off on a technicality after all your hard work.” He put his thumb and his pinky between his lips and whistled, signaled to Thomas up on the boardwalk, and waved him down. “T-man’ll run you home so you can change.”

  Celina piqued one eyebrow at him as Thomas ran down the boardwalk steps toward them, nearly tripping over his feet. “Gee, thanks,” she said, so totally not thankful Cooper again had to stifle a chuckle.

  He picked up her high heels from the sand and handed them to her. Damn things had heels long enough to skewer a steak. “As soon as you’re cleaned up, meet me at headquarters. I want to debrief you before the upper echelon chiefs get their hooks into you.”

  Quarters cleared his throat in that demanding way he had. “I will be in charge of debriefing Celina.” He held out a hand to her. “Congratulations, SA Davenport. I’ll be happy to escort you home so you can change.”

  Ignoring the man and his outstretched hand, Celina put her hands on her curvy hips. “What about Starbucks?”

  Cooper’s last moral hovered an inch above his mental trash can. Coffee at the local and very public coffee house wouldn’t be that bad. Screwing over Quarters would be a bonus.

  But looking at Celina wrapped in his sweatshirt, and remembering the soft touch of her lips against his, sent his libido into overdrive. Which sent a clear message to his brain.

  You cannot lead her on in any way, shape or form.

  Could not, would not, lead himself on. She was too young and she was in his care as a new agent. He’d already risked her life by letting her go undercover to trick Londano. He would not risk her career or his because of a silly, school-girl crush. “I don’t do Starbucks, Celina, and even if I did, there’s no Starbucks in our future.”

/>   Message sent.

  Celina’s mouth curved down and she started to say something, but Thomas arrived, accidentally kicking sand on her. She sent Cooper a please, don’t leave me with him look as Cooper took her elbow and handed her off to his buddy. “Take her home, T.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, all smiles at Celina. She didn’t smile back, didn’t even glance at Thomas. Instead she shot daggers at Cooper. “Where’s Bobby? Why can’t he take me home?”

  Quarters sighed over the noisy crashing waves. Cooper almost sighed with him. Celina constantly used Bobby Dyer to worm her way around Cooper’s resistance. Dyer was Cooper’s best friend and second in charge of the SCVC taskforce. “Dyer’s in L.A., covering a few things there. I’m sure he’ll want to hear all about your takedown as soon as he gets back.”

  He left her standing there, hands on hips, but she still had to get in the last word.

  “I’ll meet you in your office in one hour,” she called to his back as he crossed the sandy beach toward the boardwalk. “And I’ll bring the Starbucks.”

  Cooper, head down, let go of the chuckle he’d been suppressing, glad it was muffled by the sound of the waves. “Plain, black and hot,” he called over his shoulder, and then he added, “kid”, emphasizing it just to make sure he pissed her off royally.

  Message dittoed.

  Chapter Four

  Six months later

  Des Moines, Iowa

  Cooper Harris put his eye to the sniper scope in the upstairs bedroom window of 1621 Boylston Avenue and looked up the street to a pigeon-gray duplex he was surveilling. The house was a mirror image of the one he was standing in except the perp’s girlfriend’s needed a new front stoop. The concrete steps were crumbling and beginning to sag from the landing. The wrought iron railings on each side of the stairs leaned out like a pair of woman’s legs. He would have to remember to watch his footing when he and his teammates rushed the house.