INTO DANGER (Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) Book 1)

by Gennita Low

  She wished he was still in a rage, because the lazy smile that settled on his sensuous lips now gave her heart strange butterfly flutters. His mouth was a mere breath away from hers.

  “Oh yeah? You forgot to read the rest of the label.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It also says, ‘Made in heaven.’”

  She blinked, caught between amusement and desire. It must be the cocky charm, she decided, that kept her off balance. “What do they do in heaven to clean up?” she drawled. “Surely heavenly beings look a lot less...” She paused to find a substitution. No need to let him know she thought him dangerous. “...disastrous.”

  Steve sniffed. Smart ass. “I brought my things in the backpack. I figure I can use the spare room here.” He canted a brow. “Unless, of course, you want me to use the other bathroom. I can be persuaded.”

  “I bet.” Her answering smile was wry, suspicious. “Why didn’t you do it at your own place? All you had to do was call in late.”

  “I overslept,” Steve lied. He hadn’t slept at all. He’d spent most of the night after debriefing going through Marlena’s file, rereading it, trying to fill the holes. “Instead of being late, I just came here as is.”

  She laughed. “As is,” she repeated, wrinkling her nose. “Now you sound like some damaged goods off the rack.”

  “Want to check for damage?” Steve invited, straightening up. He lifted his arms out voluntarily. “You can hardly see it.”

  He almost choked at the place she was staring at. Did she think he was damaged there? On second thought, the last few days’ zipper frustration probably exacted some kind of injury.

  “Are you sure I can hardly see it?”

  “Nothing you can’t easily repair,” he assured her. He backed up, giving her some space. Or maybe it was he who needed breathing room. Anger. He needed some kind of negative emotion to keep his mind on her, not on his needs. He added, for good measure, “And it shouldn’t take that long.”

  The speculative gleam in her eyes curled his toes. Raised his blood pressure in the wrong place. Her look suggested what she had in mind was going to take a long, long time. He felt an answering nudge, nodding in eager agreement. Traitor. More zipper damage in the future.

  ***

  Marlena looked up at the electronic surveillance device she’d left intact in the kitchen. She stuck her tongue out at it. “It’s all your fault,” she scolded out loud, even though there were no microphones. “I hold you fully responsible for my doing this.”

  “This” was something Marlena Maxwell hadn’t done in a long time. “This” was standing at the kitchen stove with an apron on, cooking a meal for two. It was unfamiliar territory, this domestic intimacy. And the horrible thing was, she was actually enjoying it. Preparing a meal for two was a lot different from opening the fridge and picking out things to eat. It held all the promises she wasn’t able to make to any man. Dedication. Commitment. Compromise. Nor had any man ever been able to make the same promises to her.

  So why was she even doing this? Let him make himself a sandwich. Let him serve her. Yet here she was, humming a tune and fixing some omelets. She popped a piece from the frying pan into her mouth and licked her fingers thoughtfully. More salt? Pepper. She frowned at the spice racks. Or maybe a little bit of everything else. She shrugged, then chose paprika, and shook it into the bowl. A dash of this. A dash of that.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” Steve asked from the doorway. He’d been watching her for a few minutes, feeling more amazed by the second. Maybe he’d fallen asleep back at his apartment and this was just a strange dream. He raked a hand through his hair and found it damp from the shower he’d just taken. Nope, he was definitely awake for this.

  He could just imagine what the boys were saying on the other side of the electronic eye. Doubtless this domestic scene was going to generate more snickers on his behalf. He, Steve McMillan, had gotten the notorious Marlena Maxwell to don an apron and cook. He was thankful they couldn’t hear her singing softly, in a low contralto, “He said ‘either.’ I said ‘eye-ther.’ He said ‘neither.’ I said ‘neye-ther’...” He wondered whether she deliberately chose that song to egg him.

  Then he saw the omelets. Oh yeah, she was definitely egging him on all right. Did the woman ever do anything without making a point? He’d better stop her sudden desire to “spice up” his life.

  “What? You don’t trust me?” she asked, wide-eyed, in mid-shake of yet another spice.

  Steve sighed. “I just thought that was enough of whatever you’re adding to the poor omelets. Really, when you mix them up like that, it will taste...strange.”

  “Don’t eat it then,” Marlena told him and turned back to the stove.

  Her shoulders were hunched defensively. Something told him not to make another comment about her cooking. He set the kitchen table and then sat down obediently when she plaintively waved away his silent offer to help. When she finally served him his plate with a little flourish, he warily eyed the weirdly shaped omelet, wondering whether he should be polite and wait for her to eat hers first. It had a strange green tint. He sniffed it and almost sneezed. It smelled spicy.

  Marlena put down a tall glass of juice with a loud thud, then sat down across the table from him. There was a glittery challenge in her gaze across the few feet separating them, daring him to make a comment.

  Steve calmly picked up his fork. So did she. He cut into the greenish substance and was relieved to find some kind of meat inside. Poking around, he slowly lifted a small portion to his mouth. It was kind of gooey, almost falling off his fork. He lifted his gaze. She was watching him intently. Without batting an eye, he put the food in his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed.

  Marlena’s eyes narrowed. “How is it?”

  “Mmm,” he said, chewing.

  She picked up a forkful. It sure was kind of runny. And the green color looked sickly. She peeked at Steve from beneath her lashes. His eyes never left her face, so she would be damned if she was going to show him any emotion, either. Stone-faced, she ate the greenish, gooey omelet with relish. There were people watching, and one thing she was good at was living a lie. She chewed the omelet slowly and swallowed. Clucked her tongue to make a show of considering the taste.

  “Just the way I wanted it,” she declared.

  She plunged her fork into another piece of omelet. She arched her brows in challenge. He met her eyes and did the same, and they both put the food into their mouths simultaneously. She couldn’t help but admire the way his freshly showered hair was drying into natural waves over his forehead. She wanted to run her hand over that smooth, newly shaven face. He looked so good across the breakfast table she wouldn’t mind...She blinked. She’d almost admitted she wanted to see him across the breakfast table like this every day. Hoping to hide her shock and dismay, she looked down at the sorry-looking excuse for an omelet she’d cooked.

  The silence that followed was broken intermittently only by the clanking of utensils. Steve noted that they were staring each other down as if they were dueling, which was ridiculous, since he wasn’t going to say a word. Not one. Uh-uh. When she stood up to get something from the fridge, the moment her head ducked behind the door, he took a long swallow of his drink, barely keeping down a sigh as the icy liquid put out the flames in his mouth for a few seconds. God, he was going to cook next time.

  Marlena heard his sigh as she pulled out the dessert. She sniffed. It didn’t taste that bad, she told herself, although it didn’t taste like any omelet she ever had before. Too much of that bottle of green curry, that’s all. Next time she would try another one of those pretty bottles.

  “Tiramisu for dessert,” she announced.

  “Dessert at breakfast? Fine, what’s one more unusual thing to eat?”

  “It’s not that tough to make. I’ll make us some if I have time.”

  Steve took another long swallow of juice, using it as an excuse not to answer her. She had a mulish look on her face, as if she susp
ected his evasive tactic, but hey, he’d been good. He hadn’t said one word. He probably couldn’t, anyhow; he felt as if he had a raw fillet of meat for a tongue at the moment.

  She stood beside him, waving a small plate of the dark, sweet dessert in front of his face. “Did you like the omelet?” she asked.

  Her smile was radiant, and Steve noticed she had very white little teeth. Sometimes a woman asked very difficult questions. “Am I overweight?” “Do I look good in this dress?” “Did you notice that pretty woman walking by?” “Did you like the omelet?” Same type of double-edged-sword queries. He picked up his glass and found it empty. Staring at the tiramisu as if it were a life preserver, he nodded. Not a word, he repeated silently. One word and she’d pounce.

  “Not too spicy? Not too yucky?” she pushed. She spooned half the tiramisu onto his plate and began to eat the rest herself.

  Steve shook his head and attacked the dessert. He needed something sweet to counter the fiery taste in his mouth. The fluffy concoction of chocolate, cream, and brandy was soothing comfort. He finished his plate in two mouthfuls and wished for more.

  “Well, I’ll just have to remember how you like your omelet next time,” she murmured.

  Steve grunted some nonverbal reply. He was going to play this safe. Next time he would eat the stale pancakes and day-old peach muffins. Next time he would eat her for breakfast. Damn, why did he have to think of that again? He thought he’d taken care of the “problem” in the shower, but all Marlena had to do to prove him wrong was stand close and he wanted to pull her onto his lap and kiss her again. Unfortunately she would taste of green spicy omelet. He grimaced. Better let her down more of that sweet tiramisu first.

  She offered him a spoonful of the dessert. He obediently opened his mouth for her.

  “Why so silent?” she asked as she licked the spoon clean.

  Steve eyed the little tongue at work. “You’re so hard to please. I say something, and you complain about my talking too much. I try to be obedient, and now I’m too quiet.”

  She contemplated this as she ate another mouthful, then started to lick the spoon again, just as before. Steve tried not to imagine her licking somewhere else with such dedication. At this rate he was going to need another shower.

  “So it’s not because your mouth is on fire and you’d rather have a glass of ice water?” She arched her brows, mischief in her eyes.

  He would rather die a hundred fiery deaths than admit that. “Now that you mention it, the dessert has made me thirsty.” And just to annoy her, he added, “Can you fetch me something to drink, please?” Then he sat back, ready to enjoy some fireworks.

  Her blue eyes narrowed a fraction. “Fetch?”

  “Yeah. You make a good serving wench.”

  “You’re asking for it, Stash.” She held up her own filled glass threateningly.

  “Do that and you won’t like what I’ll do.” Not trusting she wouldn’t carry out her threat, his hand shot out to grasp the other side of her glass. Her answering smile was so innocuous he had to grin at her. The woman just couldn’t leave a challenge alone.

  She stared at his lips for a few seconds, then looked up. There was silence again because he didn’t have anything else to say. There was an intimacy in the moment he couldn’t explain—in the teasing manner she looked at him, in the way her body tilted slightly toward him, in the half-opened lips that seemed to promise a sensual interlude. He knew she felt it, too. There was a softness in her eyes, a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

  Her voice, whispery soft, sent shivers down his spine. “Sure I won’t like what you’ll do?”

  Steve was about to reply when the sharp ring of the phone on the kitchen counter jerked them apart like guilty teenagers caught by their parents. Water splattered out of the glass Marlena still had in her hand, wetting the tablecloth. She blinked, and the dreamy expression disappeared, as she seemed to count the number of rings. She walked over to the phone after the ringing stopped. Almost immediately, it started again, and she picked it up.

  “Yes?” she said, her gaze still on Steve.

  There was a different kind of alertness in her eyes and stance now. Steve realized he’d become second fiddle to whatever that phone call meant. He also knew this was the beginning of his assignment. And the end of a very special interlude.

  ***

  He’d deliberately placed the call then to interrupt those two. That homey scene was disturbing to watch. A sudden thrill shot through him at the sound of her voice. He’d so looked forward to this. His grip on the receiver tightened.

  “Miss Maxwell, I believe you’ve been waiting for my call. Please listen carefully since I don’t have a whole lot of time.” He paused, glancing up at the television screen. “No, no, of course not. D.C. is a fun city, and I’m sure you found plenty to do.”

  He pulled a folder from the inbox on top of his office desk and opened it. “Plans have changed, Miss Maxwell. I’m sure you’ll understand, what with the interest you’ve been generating lately. I really can’t afford being seen with you. Not yet, anyway. People recognize me in this town.”

  Picking up his pen, he idly drew a big mustache onto the photograph in the folder. The man, he mused, was much too good-looking. No wonder the inimitable Miss Maxwell was distracted into domestic play.

  “Oh, we’ll meet, not to worry,” he continued on the phone, as he added more flourish to the mustache he’d been drawing, curling the tips outward into exaggerated swirls. “It’s just too dangerous right now. I’ll get what I promised to you, but you have to do things my way.”

  He glanced up at the screen again and almost laughed out loud. Everything he’d heard about Marlena Maxwell seemed to hold true. The woman was incredibly sexy, with exceptional control over her talents. Without any apparent effort, she was simultaneously able to hold a business conversation and seduce another man, as she was doing now, waggling a come-hither finger to her victim. Poor man, he didn’t stand a chance with the wily lady.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find everything exactly as I promised. Your buyer will be pleased with what I have, and I expect my payment once you sell it. No, no, I understand the terms.”

  Her sassy reply amused him. He was really enjoying this conversation. Maybe one day they would do more than talk. He felt a little tingle of excitement at the thought of meeting her in person and touching her. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’d imagine that apartment has very little privacy.”

  His smile became bigger. After all, he was responsible for intercepting the real middleman and putting his boys there now. He wanted a personal viewing of the woman herself. Leaning a hip on the oak desk, he studied the screen again, then punched a few more buttons on the keyboard nearby. Ah, close up, she looked even more appealing. He’d always had a soft spot for auburn hair. And there was the tiniest mole above the right corner of her generous mouth. No, left, he corrected, since the camera reversed everything. “Oh, they won’t trace me, but thank you for your concern. This call is directed through several locations in the country.”

  He frowned. His view was being blocked. He didn’t like it when another man interfered with his pleasure, even though he’d deliberately allowed this to happen. Right now one wouldn’t think there was even a phone conversation going on, the way those two were touching each other. His frown deepened. Did they think what they were doing didn’t have any repercussions? There was a certain disrespect in the way they flaunted their attraction for each other, and he didn’t like the way Marlena was treating him so casually.

  Enough of this nonsense. His voice hardened. “A package is on the way today, special delivery. If you follow the instructions in it, everything else will fall into place. And oh, Miss Maxwell? I trust no one, not even you. If you double-cross me, I’ll kill you.”

  He smiled again, pleased that he’d regained the upper hand. “Please, don’t see this as a threat. When this is over, and if we’re both successful, I’ll buy you...breakfast.”

&nbs
p; He hung up and laughed. He wondered whether she was smart enough to catch his joke. Breakfast. He laughed again. When he finally shared breakfast with the delectable Marlena, he’d make sure it was after a night in which she’d forget that man she had her arms around now. Standing up, he stretched lazily, checking his watch for the time. Another few hours and the package would be at her door, and then everything should go according to plan.

  He thought of having a cigarette, then shrugged off the temptation. He had quit, but once in a while he enjoyed one, for old time’s sake. Addiction was too dangerous for his profession and he really loved cigarettes too much at one time, but right now thinking of Marlena Maxwell in leather—and out of it—was so stimulating, he wanted a good, satisfying smoke.

  Maybe he would have an entire pack as a celebratory present. Taking the folder off the desk, he sank down into the leather chair and lifted his legs to rest them on the desk. He flipped through the papers again, reading the classified information with mild curiosity.

  It was a smart move, putting someone from outside his circle into TIARA. The admiral must have some suspicion to send one of his precious water cowboys to D.C. to replace Sorvino. Damn Sorvino. He’d thought he had him under control, but the foolish man thought he could outsmart him. From the files, he had been the most ambitious, the most eager to move ahead, but it was all an act. It was easy enough to arrange an accident.

  The man gave a disdainful sniff. He hadn’t accounted for some unforeseen roadblocks, that was all. He’d taken care of Sorvino. Now he had to deal with this water cowboy.

  A nasty little smile settled on his lips. The admiral had also made a smart move, getting his man in. But he was way ahead of the game. The new man he sent didn’t stand a chance against him. Already, with a little help, he’d made work life a little uncomfortable for him. He’d made sure he didn’t fit in, made sure to exploit the natural action-oriented nature of a man used to attacking rather than talking, although from the looks of it, he seemed to enjoy talking with Marlena a lot.