Playing For Keeps (Montana Men)

by Jaydyn Chelcee

  “You still think he’s behind her assassination?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Duel asked.

  “What?”

  “That you were a virgin.”

  She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “Would you have believed me?”

  “Yes.” Duel dropped his head as though ashamed. “No” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t have believed you.” He lifted his head and gazed at her. “I’m sorry for that. I wish I had known.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…God, do you have any idea how I feel? I thought you were experienced. Fuck! I feel as if I raped you. If I’d known…” He drew a deep breath, slowly exhaled and started again. “If I’d known, I’d have gone slower, sweetheart. I’d have been gentler.”

  “I didn’t want you to go slow or be gentle. I wanted you, the man you are. I wanted you to take me the way you needed to take me. Don’t you see? It had to be perfect. I wanted it to be real, for both of us. And it was.”

  “Oh, it was real all right, maybe a bit too real.”

  “Why?” She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “I did something, Flayme, something I never do. I don’t take risks, sweetheart, and I did…with you.”

  “Risk?” Heat warmed her face. “Oh. I see.” She licked her dry lips. “Is that a bad thing?”

  Duel walked the distance that separated them and stopped in front of her. Gently, he brushed a curl behind her ear. “No. It isn’t a bad thing,” he said huskily, “not if you don’t mind the chance we just took, and it was only once. There isn’t likely to be any consequences from one time. I could have protected you, but I…to be honest, I didn’t want to. I needed to feel your heat around me.” He pressed a kiss to her eyelids, then leaned back. “I can be careful next time…if you prefer, and I will, but I don’t care if we don’t.”

  “I don’t care if we don’t either,” she said, smiling through her tears.

  “I’ve never in my life felt for another woman what I feel for you.” His gaze was steady and searching. “I’m not playing games with you, Flayme,” he said, his voice hoarse with need. “I’m playing for keeps. I never want to lose you.”

  The tears that had been threatening spilled over. “If that’s a marriage proposal—”

  “It is,” he said gruffly, kissing her mouth. “Not so great, I know. I didn’t have time to rehearse, so my only excuse is it’s my first.”

  “And last,” she stated. “I’m not playing games either, cowboy. The answer’s yes, I’ll marry you.” She splayed a hand across her flat stomach. “I hope you aren’t planning on a long engagement.”

  “Nope.” Duel lifted her into his arms, carrying her the few steps to the rug. “What I’m planning is to take a few more risks, since you agree. Besides, I don’t believe in long engagements. It’s not the cowboy way, little lady. Sweep ‘em off their feet’s my motto. This time, I’m going to ride you the way a cowboy oughta ride his lady.”

  Flayme caught her breath at the heated look on his face. “You are?” she whispered.

  “Uh-huh.” Slowly, he lowered her to the rug and stepped back. Duel fiddled with the row of metal buttons until the last one popped free of its slot. His eyes, intensely green, burned with promise. He kicked off his jeans and tossed them aside. “I’m going to ride you nice and easy, long and slow and deep, until you beg for mercy, then I’ll start all over again.” A flush stained his face. His mouth looked sensual. His lids heavy.

  Flayme slid her gaze up and down the length of his thick cock. “You look like you have the right equipment for the job, cowboy.”

  “Oh, I do, ma’am, but it’s going to take me the rest of the morning to explore every inch of your body.”

  “Oh yeah? You better get started, cowboy.”

  “I will, doll baby,” he drawled, his eyes hot with promise. “I will.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Assassins and presidents invite the same basic question—Just who do you think you are?

  ~Sarah Vowell

  Denver International Airport

  Denver, Colorado

  February 19, Thursday

  Fifty-eight hours after the assassination…

  Zaden, assassin for hire, grabbed the expensive black leather suitcase off the carousel and headed for the taxi line. He figured when people looked at him, they saw a dapper man dressed neat and one who looked elegant in a pricey white suit and a matching Panama hat.

  Tall, slender, and olive skinned, he maneuvered through the crowd wasting little time. A ridge of thick dark brows hovered above his narrow eyes, eyes the color of raisins, eyes he knew if one looked close enough saw nothing but the cold deepest depths of the sea.

  Zaden sported a thin, dark moustache that hugged his upper lip. He had a habit of embellishing his European accent. He called it hiding in plain sight. No one would ever suspect a man who earned his living killing people would dress up to be noticed, instead of dressing down.

  First on his to do list was locating a chic hotel, a delicious meal, because airline food sucked worse than lemons, and a contact to purchase a gun. He might be a mercenary, but he was a classy one. He didn’t come cheap, and he was careful.

  After he settled in his room, he’d call Kane and clear up the arrangements for the money transfer into his Swiss account. Zaden didn’t like flying to the States to do a job. Kane knew it, so he figured if the other mercenary requested his help, then he was in hot water, or more profoundly—deep shit.

  Kane didn’t often require assistance to finish a job. In this case, with the two hits split, and one very personal, Zaden understood the necessity. But it was still going to cost Kane for pulling him from his comfort zone.

  The targets were close. He knew it. Felt it. His palms itched with excitement. His heart pumped like a piston, the rush of adrenaline, the ultimate high before the kill. A man. A woman. Easy. He enjoyed taking out women. There was something about their fragility that gave him a hard-on.

  Maybe it was because he wasn’t a merciful man and liked to play with his prey. Hell, he didn’t know, didn’t care. He only knew from the moment Kane contacted him and told him there were two women and one was Jayla Ross, his groin tightened and his dick jerked to attention. When Kane promised him Jayla, the ache settled in his balls like an old friend. It wouldn’t leave until he finished her.

  His targets?

  A man? He’d get him out of the way first.

  A woman? Mmmm—he felt a fucking coming on—that is, if the woman wasn’t a dog. If she was, then he’d simply put a bullet in her head and forget it.

  “Brooks Tower Hotel,” Zaden said to the driver and climbed into the taxi. Brooks Tower—a four stars plus, one he’d stayed at once before. The service and food were good and the beds nice and soft.

  Once Zaden settled into his room, he plugged in his cell phone and let it charge for an hour while he showered, ordered a meal, and contacted the gun dealer. That all behind him, he placed one last call.

  “Hello?”

  “Kane? Where are you?”

  Kane grunted. Zaden grinned. Wherever Kane was, he didn’t sound too happy, or maybe he wasn’t in a nice warm spot.

  “Montana, some little Podunk town called Rimrock, barely has a motel, and the diner’s specialty is buffalo burgers. Lord God, I’m gaggin’ at the thought. I’ve never seen so damn much friggin’ snow in all my life, thirteen feet in places. You in the States, yet?”

  “Denver as we speak, and lucky to be here, the weather and all.”

  “It was fast though.”

  “I got lucky, caught a Red Eye out of London between blizzards, but had some layovers along the way or I’d have been here sooner. What can you tell me?”

  “The first lady was assassinated by an as yet unidentified assailant.” He snickered. “After this many hours, the trail’s bound to be cold as last night’s dinner.”

  Zaden paused in his pacing long enough to admire his profile in
the mirror. When he smiled, a gold crown flashed next to his eye tooth. Heavy gold rings of assorted shapes and designs adorned each finger on his left hand. He kept his right hand free of impediments, saved to pull the trigger or use whatever weapon he deemed necessary during a kill and not risk losing a finger in the process.

  “The woman’s name is Flayme Jansen, a real looker,” Kane continued, “nice ass, nicer tits. The agent’s Duel Remington. I want them both dead.”

  “Duel?” Zaden felt his blood turn to slush.

  “Yeah. You know him?”

  “We tangoed in Paris once…a long time ago. Best damn man with a knife I ever crossed. Too bad we’ve always fought on opposite sides. He’s the one who gave me this scar across my left cheek. I promise you, he’s a dead man. Hell, I’ll do him for free.”

  “Good. Besides the Spanish Ambassador, I left a body behind in Annandale. I didn’t have time to dispose it. Friggin’ agents crawled out of the woodworks as soon as news broke about Molly’s death.”

  Zaden stiffened. He didn’t like leaving a string of bodies in his wake. There were too many risks, the more bodies, and the higher possibility of leaving DNA. “Who did you kill?”

  “Neil Turner, a whiny, weak-livered agent who was into getting his rocks off by touching women’s underwear. I went to the woman’s house to see if I could find a lead on where Remington might have taken her and found Neil in her bedroom stroking his meat.”

  “I see. You killed him in her bedroom?”

  “Bathroom. Killed him in the bathtub and washed away the evidence. Hell, I had time to wash and dry his clothes and plant him in a different room. It’ll take ages for them to figure out where the kill took place. There was blood in the kitchen and outside.”

  “What? Whose blood?”

  “No idea, but it’ll cloudy the waters for us. We’re in the clear.”

  “Good. Now tell me where this fucker’s hiding the bitch,” Zaden said. “I’m getting a hard-on and I have plans for this…Flayme…is it?”

  “Yeah. Save a piece for me. As soon as I get rid of Jayla, I’ll join you in Denver, so take things slow with the woman.”

  “I thought you said Jayla was mine?”

  “You can have her, my friend, as soon as I’m finished with her, so don’t rush with Flayme. I intend to take my time with Jayla.”

  Zaden laughed. “I’ll try, but you know how I am when I get started.”

  “Ah well, if you just can’t control yourself fuck her once or twice for me.”

  Laughing, Zaden ended the call and rubbed his straining cock. He wasn’t kidding about the hard-on. Flayme. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman—a real looker, Kane had said. Nice ass and nice tits. She sounded mysterious and full of fire and just what he needed to help him relax and enjoy his time in the States.

  She wouldn’t be so beautiful when he got done with her.

  After he finished with a woman, he preferred a long-bladed stiletto. He knew exactly how to stick it between the ribs to do the most damage, and he knew how to make the process of dying last a long, long time.

  He’d have to speak to the gun dealer, add a fine blade to the deal. Ahh. He felt better already.

  * * * *

  McLean, Virginia

  CIA Headquarters

  February 19, Thursday

  Fifty-eight hours after the assassination…

  Travis entered Sam’s office and slammed the door behind him with enough force to jar the hangings on the wall. Keeping her expression composed, Sam looked up from the papers she was reading. “You’re late.”

  “Yeah?” he bit out, obviously struggling to control his temper. His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened with fury. “That’s what happens when you leave without a word and I have to coax a taxi company to send a cab to get me. Was our night together so bad you had to run away while I was in the fucking shower?”

  “Yes,” she said, making her voice as frigid as his. “It was a mistake, Travis. You know it. I know it. Place your resignation on my desk and I’ll sign it. I think it’d be best for both of us if you moved on to another department as we previously discussed.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You want the easy way out, just like before. If that’s the way you feel, I guess—”

  “It’s exactly the way I feel,” she gritted. “I want you to go away and stay out of my life, stay out of Hayley’s.”

  Travis nodded slowly and placed a balled fist on his hip. “I don’t think I want to make it that easy for you again.”

  “What? You’re not transferring?” Sam’s hands shook. “You have to,” she said on a note of hysteria. “We can’t work together anymore. What if I’m pregnant?”

  “Like I said, I guess we’ll have a problem.”

  “I think you should think about this.”

  Travis snorted. For a moment, he stood there looking down. When he looked back up, Sam thought his eyes, always such a fierce blue, had lost every bit of spark in them. In place of the fierceness, anger combined with emptiness as he stared back at her.

  “I never thought you were such a coward,” he said quietly. “I was wrong.” He shrugged. “Okay, Sam, you win. I’ll leave, but understand, if you let me walk away, I won’t come back…ever.”

  “I know.” She shuffled the papers with unsteady hands.

  Travis drew a deep, shuddering breath and slowly released it. “I’ll have it on your desk by four this evening.”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned and left, closing the door with controlled force. Sam burst into tears and was thankful he didn’t look back through the windows to see her crying. It was for the best, she told herself, it had to be, because if it wasn’t, then she’d just made the worst mistake of her life.

  * * * *

  West of Denver

  Duel’s Cabin

  February 19, Thursday

  Sixty hours after the assassination…

  “My battery needs charging,” Duel said on a long sigh.

  Flayme glanced at the soft length of his penis nestled over the spongy twin nuggets and grinned. “I can work on it if you’d like?”

  He laughed, pulling her on top of him. His large hands cupped her breasts, squeezing gently. “Did I tell you I love these ladies?”

  She giggled. “No, you didn’t tell me that.”

  He looked up from blowing on her tight nipples, his green eyes dancing and wicked. “I will…later.”

  “And here I thought it was me you loved.”

  “You want me to prove it again?” His lips quirked with amusement, but his gaze was steady. “Give me a little time here, sweetheart, and I’ll be up to the task again.”

  “I’ll give you all the time you need, as long as you make the wait worth my while,” she teased.

  “I could get used to your demands to prove my love.”

  “Could you?” she asked half seriously.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice somber, and she knew then he understood she’d had very little love in her life. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Right now, we’ve got to get our asses moving.”

  “Oh?” she questioned sounding mischievous.

  “Not that way,” he grunted, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “I wanna teach you how to use the crossbow, then we need to take a little trip.”

  “Where to? Ooh!” Flayme moaned at the teasing nudge where the head of his cock slid against her clit. “Uhh…I…” She caught her breath on a sharp note. The feather light strokes of Duel’s thumb tips rubbing her nipples sent a spasm of heat licking along her spine to settle low in her womb. “Oh, God,” she whimpered. “Do that again.”

  “What? This?” He nudged her entrance, a partial penetration, then pulled back.

  “Mmm, yes. That. Again.” She dug her fingers in his shoulders. “Again,” she pleaded.

  His cock stretched and stabbed impatiently at her feminine sheath. “Maybe we can spare one more hour,” he drawled, entering her slowly, inch-by-inch, pushing past the layers of sen
sitive tissue until he settled deep within her.

  “Only one?” she asked on a breathless note, groaning as he set a slow rhythm meant to drive her crazy. Duel trailed a string of tender kisses down her chin, licked a path between her breasts, and paused to tease her nipples with his tongue. Flayme wiggled her hips, rising to take his penis as deep as she could manage. “Only one?” she gasped, repeating her question. She thrust her fingers through the sides of his dark hair and drew his mouth to hers.

  He rolled with her, settling her beneath him, sucking on her lower lip, before moving to her breasts. Duel buried his hard shaft, pushing deep. “Lock your legs around my waist,” he whispered.

  Flayme lifted her hips, meeting his hard thrusts, kissing the sides of his face, searching desperately for his mouth. God, his kisses had a way of turning her inside out. Hadn’t she fallen desperately in love with him from the very first kiss this cowboy gave her? Oh yes, his kisses were pure magic. She thought they’d probably always have the power to melt her insides.

  He cupped the back of her head and brought her mouth to his. “Maybe two,” he whispered against her lips, moaning. “Maybe we can spare two more hours.”

  * * * *

  Sixty-two hours after the assassination…

  Flayme sat on the edge of the king-sized bed admiring Duel’s firm ass covered in denim as he pulled a long-sleeved red and black flannel shirt off a hangar. “I’m no expert, but I think I handled the bow well enough.”

  Duel looked up from fastening the row of metal buttons on his jeans and grinned. “You did fine, sweetheart.” He’d spent an hour teaching her the rudimentary of using the crossbow, how to line up the target through the scope and murder the red dot. After she killed it five times in a row, he was satisfied she had a steady hand. “If you stay calm, you can bring down anything,” he said, “and it’s quiet. Stealth is the best defense and won’t give away your hiding place. Always keep a clear head. It might mean the difference between living and dying.”