by Gennita Low
“I suppose you want your kiss,” she said, suddenly very aware of the small space in the car.
His dark eyes glinted back at her. “No suppose about it, lady. I’ve wanted that since you put your hand in my pants.”
“A move not intended to excite,” she explained in a soft, low voice.
“Want to try that move again?” he asked. Somehow he had moved closer.
“Our bet was a kiss,” she reminded him, but allowed her eyes to stray down.
“So it was,” he agreed. “I’ll have to think of another wager next time.”
Did he move closer? She was sure he did. Either that or the car had gotten smaller. She took her eyes off his pants and looked back up. His lips were beautiful. Reaching out, she traced their outline with a finger. They parted slightly.
“I suppose you want it now,” she said.
His lips caressed her finger as he said, “Now is good.”
Her heart was beating a little quicker. A kiss. She must be going out of her mind. Calmly she said, “Let’s see how good you are, then.”
His dark head dipped down even before she finished her sentence.
Lightning. That was the only way to describe his kiss. The first touch of his lips seared every nerve with a current of desire that made her gasp. A mistake. His tongue, like a thief, slipped inside her mouth. And stole away reality.
He kissed her as if he were trying some exotic fruit for the first time. A slow, silky dance of tongues as he took that first taste of her. Apparently liking what he found, the lazy exploration deepened into something more than mere tasting. He slanted his head, nudging her back so he could get more of her. She curled one arm around his neck and ran her fingers through thick, soft hair. He bit her lip softly, and the feverish longing to have him pooled hot and needy in her.
She’d expected casual desire—he was a desirable man, after all—but not this heady need to be taken. She wanted to say yes to everything he was silently asking her as he seduced her into his mouth to taste him. He was like dark chocolate—the kind that wasn’t too sweet, a smooth and bold flavor that was totally masculine. And she wanted more.
It was too much. Losing control over one kiss was not an option. Marlena placed her other hand on his chest and pushed. Not too hard, but just enough to remind herself she was still in charge. She forced her eyes to remain open.
***
Steve felt her hand pushing him away. Her mouth was his, but she didn’t trust him enough to close her eyes. It maddened him. She’d spent the last hour successfully evading his questions; he wasn’t going to let her win this round, too. Not when he was going crazy trying to keep himself from pushing her down on the seat and just having her right then.
He took the offending hand in his and slid it down, all the way, and held it firmly where he wanted it, right between his legs. She made a sound, and he didn’t care whether it was surprise or outrage, he went in for the kill, tilting her head back even more, and gave in to baser needs. No time for exploration anymore. He just wanted her to give in to him.
She tried to squirm her hand away, and the friction had him groaning in her mouth; then she squeezed, and he almost lost it. To his satisfaction, her eyes finally closed. So did his, as her hand kept in rhythm with his tongue.
Steve had no idea how long they would have gone on kissing if some car hadn’t entered the parking garage. They broke apart, instantly alert, breathing heavily. Doors slammed. Footsteps and female chatter faded away.
Her eyes stared back at him, dark blue, like the deepest part of the ocean. Mermaid eyes. The vulnerability in them startled him enough to restore reality. This was Marlena Maxwell, Ste-vo, top-notch assassin. No vulnerable mermaid.
“Can I have my hand back now?” she asked, in that husky voice that had given him images of tangled bedsheets all the way from the bar to here.
He released her. He already had what he wanted for now. “I like it there,” he told her.
“I can tell.” Her voice was whisper-soft, and her hand hadn’t moved a damn inch.
“Are you going to do something about it?”
“Demanding, aren’t you? Not exactly how a lackey should act.”
“Told you I was new at this.”
“We have to practice on this obedience thing, Stash.”
“You want a pet.” He grinned at her. Could be interesting. Besides, he needed to spend as much time with her as possible. He glanced down where her hand still was. The sight of it had him wondering whether a man could die from zipper strain. “I’m...game.”
Much to his disappointment, she didn’t want to pet him anymore, letting go after one last suggestive slide of her hand. Her smile was wicked, knowing. Damn woman was a tease.
“Good boy,” she said, startling with a girlish chuckle when he growled. “Let’s get out of this car, shall we, and see whether we can go on up without any more interruptions.”
Steve thought of the luxury apartment on the twelfth floor. He hadn’t had time to check it out while his team was there setting it up, but that place had enough cameras and bugs to catch a fly buzzing by. He hadn’t thought about it till now. There wouldn’t be any privacy for them.
He mentally shook himself. What the hell was wrong with him? His job was to secure information from the target. This was a matter of life and death, and its import had flown out of his head with the rest of his brain cells when he kissed her. As they walked to the elevator, he told himself that he had to remember what kind of woman he was dealing with here.
He’d started the evening wondering about kissing an assassin and what it would take to get what he wanted. The elevator opened and they stepped in together. He glanced at the woman beside him, who was ignoring him again. Auburn lights glinted in her brown hair. Eyes that saw too much. Lips that had him begging for a bed. And the entire package encased in tempting, figure-hugging black leather. He wanted to unwrap the whole thing for himself.
To get what his agency wanted, he would have to lie to Marlena Maxwell and wait for her to miscalculate, but the last hour with her showed she wasn’t going to be an easy person to persuade. She had brains and plenty of moves. Plus she didn’t trust anyone. It was, he concluded, going to take a lot of man to persuade her.
The elevator came to a stop at their floor and the doors swished open. Steve picked up the small suitcase and gestured the way to the apartment. Her blue eyes were mocking, as if she found his “obedience” amusing. It didn’t take long to think up several interesting ways to persuade. He just had to keep his head while he was doing it.
***
Marlena couldn’t remember the last time she had retreated from a challenge. She peered from under her lashes at the man walking beside her. Lord, but he wasn’t lying when he’d told her he was the best at kissing. Her lips still tingled. Everything was working overtime. Her whole body. Her blood pressure. She made a tiny moue with her lips. Her brain, too. When was the last time she’d kissed like that in public and not cared if it endangered her life? Never.
She leaned a shoulder against the wall as Steve searched for the keys. The dark hair, those almost-black eyes, and that mouth—he was too damn good-looking for a lonely woman. If she weren’t Marlena Maxwell...hell, if she weren’t Marlena Maxwell, the point was moot—she wouldn’t be there.
Steve opened the door to the apartment and stepped back for her to enter first, servile as a butler. Except for the glint in those midnight eyes. And the knowing lift of those lips. She chose to continue to ignore him, sweeping past nonchalantly.
The apartment was spacious and furnished in a modern but expensive airy style. Not too flowery, like her last assignment. That one had given her a headache every morning when she walked out of the bedroom. She crossed the tiled floor to the middle of the living room, turning around slowly. Steve closed the door behind her.
“The kitchen’s smaller than most but it’s stocked per your instructions,” he told her, setting down her things. “There’s the bar. The main bedroom i
s to the left, and over there are some sort of lounge and...a guest bedroom.”
At the slight pause, Marlena gave him a mocking glance, but his expression was properly innocent, except, of course, for those bedroom eyes. She casually unbuttoned the small leather jacket she was wearing as she looked around her again.
“Make me a drink, Stash, please? Whiskey on the rocks with a little lemon.”
Steve thanked the stars she’d asked for a simple drink. He had no idea how to mix complicated concoctions, but whiskey on the rocks—okay, he could handle that. He kept covert watch as he walked to the well-stocked bar and clanged glasses around. The mirror behind the bar helped. He watched her wander in and out of the lounge area, then into the guest bedroom.
The whole apartment had been gone over, bugged to the teeth, with the best micro eyes on the market. Steve wondered briefly whether Marlena was looking for them. The man loaned by the Directorate of Administration had assured them it would be impossible to detect anything, short of tearing the place apart. He almost groaned when Marlena reappeared. Her jacket was undone. Damn, he wished she would take it off. He wanted to see more of her.
“Roomy,” she commented, and headed for the master bedroom.
Steve thought of the big bed he’d seen there earlier. “That’s a big room, too,” he said aloud, as he looked at the bottle of whiskey and the lines of different-sized glasses. Which one did they use for whiskey? That bed was king-sized. He looked in the mirror again, catching the back of her just as she disappeared into the bedroom. He looked down at the whiskey bottle and the glasses again. He pulled out the tallest hanging upside down from the rack. He recalled seeing a sunken marble spa tub in the adjoining bath. He sighed, pouring generously into the glass. There were also strategically placed cameras everywhere. No privacy at all.
Marlena turned on all the lights, admiring the cleverly highlighted expensive sculptures and paintings in each room. The apartment was equipped with all kinds of electronic controls and gadgets. The heavy curtains moved back and forth; the closet doors receded into the wall; soft music came on and off; the TV wardrobe rose from the floor. Pretty cool stuff. The master bath was her favorite place so far—marbled, mirrored, with an inviting tub. Maybe she would try that later. There was even a steam shower big enough for a party.
“Well? Meet with your approval?” Steve asked when she rejoined him. He held out a glass for her.
Marlena took it from him and flopped onto the plush sofa, resting an arm on the back. “It’ll do,” she said, and sniffed the drink. “How many fingers did you measure for this, Stash?”
He shrugged. “Enough to get you drunk, I hope.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the lie. He couldn’t play servile attendant worth a damn, and not for lack of trying. It was just in his demeanor, the way he handled himself. She was getting very curious about this man. She swirled the drink in her hand, still eyeing him. “I’m no fun when I’m drunk,” she told him, tilting her head back as he came nearer. Why would his walking toward her make her heart beat a staccato? “I get mean. I pick fights.”
“I look forward to it.” He stopped in front of her.
She had to tilt further back to look at him. She sipped at her drink and managed not to grimace. He really was a terrible bartender, unless he really was trying to get her drunk. Holding his gaze, she took another sip, then downed the entire glassful.
“Can I sit down? Do I help you unpack? Shall I take off your...shoes?” The tone of his voice was lazy. “Want another drink?”
“Oh, sit down, Stash, your questions are making me dizzy,” Marlena said. The whiskey settled warmly in her tummy. “One thing for sure, no more mixing drinks for you.”
Steve shrugged. His training as a SEAL hadn’t encompassed proper liquor recipes, and he’d added a little more to test her. He wanted to join her on the sofa, but thought better of it. Sitting next to her wasn’t a good idea for conversation. He dropped onto the love seat close by.
Her startlingly blue eyes studied him for a few seconds, her head slanted at an angle. She had this sleepy look that was all too deceptive. He suspected that her mind stayed razor-sharp, even with that alcohol in her.
“Number one, there’s nothing to unpack,” she said, in that lazy come-hither drawl. “Number two, you can take off for the night. Be back here tomorrow morning at nine. Number three, I want another car. The one tonight is obviously a target.”
“Don’t you want me to stay?” Wasn’t that what lackeys did, make themselves constantly available? Steve still had no idea what Marlena Maxwell’s plans were, but he’d hoped—well, he’d hoped for a few things. He looked at the suitcase on the floor. “Surely you brought clothes in there for me to put away for you.”
“None.”
He gave her outfit an overall review. “You’re going to wear that thing all the time?”
Marlena sighed. “Where is my money, Stash?”
“Hmm?” His eyes were still feasting on the small singlet revealed under the unbuttoned leather jacket.
“The twenty grand.”
“In the safe in the bedroom.” Understanding dawned. “Oh, that’s clothes money?”
His heart somersaulted at the slow smile she gave him. “Shopping, one of my various vices,” she confessed.
That wasn’t the kind of info that was going to help. He tried another tactic. “Where are we going at nine in the morning?” Perhaps that would give him and those listening to this conversation some clues to work on tonight.
“Why, shopping of course.”
If there was one thing that could make him lose a hard-on, that was the magic word. Steve looked incredulously at the woman sitting across from him. Please, not shopping.
“For clothes,” he reiterated carefully.
“And shoes.” She just sat there, watching him, a small smile on her lips. “Whatever I fancy. Twenty grand is good shopping money.”
“You’re going shopping,” he repeated. Was his unit going to have some fun with that piece of information! He mentally prepared himself for jibes later. Shopping.
Marlena stood up. “I like a little distraction when I work. Come on, I’ll see you tomorrow then. Give me the combination to the safe before you go. And oh, wait.” She walked to the suitcase and slid a hand into the side pocket. “This is your pager.”
Steve stood up and took it from her, studying it for a moment.
“In case I need you when you’re not around,” she told him.
Not for just shopping, he hoped. “Okay,” he said. His mind was completely blank. The woman had managed to stymie him with this shopping thing. The unit had discussed the money, had speculated that it was probably for her to bribe someone or buy weapons. The darn woman had been thinking of malls and parcels. He almost shuddered.
“I’ll get a new vehicle tomorrow,” he finally continued as he pocketed the pager. Sarcastically he added, “Any particular instructions on that?”
He regretted it immediately because the glint in her eyes promised mischief. “Hmm, a butter-yellow Boxter sounds pretty. I don’t like the current color you picked. I trust you can take care of that better than mixing drinks?”
Steve muttered something under his breath, but nodded. After answering a few more questions, he let himself out and looked thoughtfully at the closed door. Unexpected amusement filled him. He’d never met anyone quite like Marlena. Everything she did challenged him. Okay, so she thought she’d won this round. He turned toward the elevators. At least she would be watched and listened to all night long, in case she used the phone. He’d wanted to be with her, had expected to at least be using that guest room, but obviously she didn’t trust him yet. Better work on that.
He didn’t have far to go. Fifteen minutes later he entered the office where they’d set up to watch Marlena’s actions. Wolf whistles and howls greeted his entrance.
“Yo, Stash! Love the new nickname!”
“You’re losing your touch, man! Shopping!” Male hoots and la
ughter.
Steve shrugged, smiling. “She...wasn’t what I thought she’d be,” he admitted, and recalled that she’d said the same about him.
“Did you clean her teeth, man? Huh, Mr. Kisser of the Millennium?”
“You two sure were down in the parking garage for a loooong time!”
Steve shrugged again. He wasn’t going to share all the details about Marlena Maxwell that weren’t relevant.
“But God, what a looker, huh? Look at them mamas!”
All male eyes turned to the multiple screens on the work-tables, and Steve saw Marlena in the master bedroom, shrugging out of that jacket. He didn’t like it. He’d wanted her to do that, all night, but now, for some reason, he felt a tingle of resentment that the others were watching.
She was wearing a black clingy thing, low cut in the front and back. She started to unbutton her pants.
“This is going to be fun,” Cameron said, cradling the back of his head with his hands.
Steve wanted to turn the screens off. “We don’t have to watch her do this, do we?” he asked.
Foolish request, of course. The other four pairs of eyes turned to him, two of them speculatively, the last pair sharply. Harden was in charge of the operation, and Steve knew he would take note of any display of emotion.
“McMillan, our job is to keep an eye on her. You know her file. She’s very slippery. No one has ever caught her in the act of any crime.”
“Hell, man, the act she’s throwing now is a crime, if you ask me!”
Steve reluctantly returned his attention to the scene. They showed her entering the bathroom, the one with the marble tub. The other men jostled in their chairs for a better view. He clenched his teeth but kept his expression calm. Harden was watching him. Steve knew he couldn’t do a damn thing, and couldn’t understand why the hell it was bothering him. Procedure was procedure—this was done all the time. Yet he didn’t want to share Marlena Maxwell.
He was half ashamed because he couldn’t tear his eyes off the screen, either. She had just stepped out of her black pants, revealing long, luscious legs. Amid the male growls around him, he gripped the back of the chair hard to stop from smashing the screen with it. Turn around, his mind ordered. Yet his eyes remained riveted on her.
