His performance was met with an unblinking stare.
He pulled some bills from his pocket and put them on the counter. The clerk palmed the bills and tossed him a key marked 204.
Matthew climbed the stairs. Went down a long, dim corridor to the corresponding door. Put his ear to the thin panel of wood and heard nothing.
Slowly he slid the key into the lock. Turned it. Eased open the door.
Mia wasn’t there, but a woman’s things were. A purse. A small suitcase, sitting opened on a chair. Clothes, laid out on the bed.
He could smell her scent, too. He’d noticed it in her bedroom at the villa. A softly feminine fragrance that made him think of a field of white flowers stretching to a pale blue horizon.
Matthew closed the door.
There wasn’t much in the suitcase. No package of coke. Just a couple of T-shirts with the tags still on. The same for a pair of white cotton trousers. Some underwear. Lingerie, she’d probably call it. Plain white cotton panties. An equally plain white bra.
Was that how Hamilton liked to see her? Or was it how she wanted him to see her?
A muscle danced in Matthew’s jaw.
If she were his woman, he’d keep her in silk. Pale rose. Ivory. Shades to complement her dark hair and eyes. Silk thongs, to show off the curve of her hips. Silk bras, the kind that cupped a woman’s breasts and made them an offering to her lover. Or ones that were sheer, so he could see the shadows of her nipples.
Matthew felt himself turn hard.
Hell, this was just what he needed. A men’s magazine fantasy, doing its thing in his head over a woman who’d run away and left her lover to wonder if she were dead or alive. He didn’t like Hamilton, his arrogance, his forced sincerity, but no man deserved to be treated like that.
Quickly he stripped the bed, checked it, checked under the mattress, checked the floor. He opened the dresser drawers. Empty. The same for the single drawer in the rickety nightstand. There was no closet, only a shelf, and all it held was a supersized spider.
If Mia Palmieri had dope, it was either on her or in her car. Okay. He’d check the car, then sit in his truck and wait for—
Footsteps were coming down the hall.
He went to the door and locked it. Then he flattened himself against the wall.
The footsteps came closer. Stopped, just outside. A key turned in the lock. The door swung open.
Matthew, lithe as a panther, had the door closed and locked, and his quarry trapped in his arms before she had time to react.
God oh God oh God…
Mia’s breath rushed from her lungs.
A man’s powerful arms closed around her from behind and lifted her into the air. She tried to scream but his hand clamped down over her lips. He put mouth to her ear and said something, but she was too terrified to understand it.
She was in a fight for her life.
They lurched around the room together, her feet dangling twelve inches above the floor. Writhing, twisting, she jabbed her elbow into his belly. Nothing. She tried again. Two jabs this time and though he grunted, his hold on her didn’t loosen.
She kicked out, caught the table a glancing blow. A lamp clattered to the floor but it wouldn’t be enough to bring anybody running, not in a place like this.
Another kick. Her heel connected with his shin. With his knee. That wrung another grunt and a hiss of pain from him.
All it got her was the swift tightening of his hard arms around her.
She jerked against that unholy embrace and they banged into the iron frame of the bed.
“Goddammit,” the man growled, and just the sound of that one word sent her terror into overdrive.
His accent was North American. That meant there was no chance he was a local thief.
He was the man sent to kill her.
Mia caught the heel of his hand between her teeth and bit.
The man cursed. She bit him again, tasted blood, and he put his knee at the base of her spine, pulled her back against him so that her body arched. He spread his hand over both her nose and her mouth.
“Stop it! I’m not going to hurt you.”
No. He wasn’t going to hurt her. That was why he’d followed her from Cartagena, broken into her room, hidden behind the door and jumped her. Why his moves were those of a professional killer.
If he’d thought his assurance would make her docile, he was wrong. Her struggles grew more frantic.
His hand came down harder. The room started to gray.
She clamped her hands around his arm. Struggled for one last breath.
His hand lifted and she gulped a few precious breaths before he cut off her air again.
“Your choice, baby,” he said, his mouth at her ear. “You want to live or you want to die? Either way, I can accommodate you.”
He was lying. She’d die, no matter what, once he’d finished with her. Still, if she played along, she could buy some time.
Mia nodded.
“Smart girl,” he said, and let go.
She collapsed like a marionette severed from its strings, slid to the floor and let her head fall back against the wall. Breathing was all that mattered. After a while, when she’d stopped gasping, she looked up at the man who’d been sent to find her.
He’d moved to the window where he stood, arms folded, legs spread apart. Morning sunlight shone in her eyes. She couldn’t see him very well. All she knew was that he was big and strong.
Much bigger, much stronger than she was.
“You okay?”
Was she okay? She wanted to laugh, considering that he’d almost killed her. Except, he hadn’t. She was no use to anybody, dead. She had to remember that. He’d do whatever it took to control her, to keep her alive until he delivered her to his employer.
She didn’t answer. He studied her for a few seconds. Then he went to the cracked sink in the corner, filled a glass with water and brought it to her.
“Drink this.”
She wanted to tell him what he could do with the glass but defying him instead of helping herself would have been stupid. She took the glass and drained it, then held it out to him.
She’d play at being passive. Maybe that would give her an edge.
His fingers brushed hers as he took the glass. His skin was warm. Almost hot to the touch. She was freezing but then, that was what happened when you came down from an adrenaline high. And all she was wearing was a thin cotton robe.
Did he know that? Probably, considering how tightly he’d been holding her.
Mia shuddered and pulled the robe more closely around her. He’d be capable of anything. Anything.
“So,” he said, his tone soft and almost lazy, “you want to tell me about it?”
She looked up. He was at the window again, still limned in light.
“About what?”
“Come on, Mia. Let’s not waste time playing games. Why’d you fake your own abduction?”
“Fake my own…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your boyfriend’s upset.”
Douglas. Yes. She’d be surprised if he wasn’t.
“He thought something had happened to you and all the time, what happened was that you decided to run out on him. The only question now is, where is it?”
Her heart bumped into her throat. She forced herself not to react with any kind of body language.
“Mia. Playing dumb isn’t going to help. I asked you a question. Where is it?”
“I’m not playing anything. I don’t understand the question.” Carefully, not wanting to do anything that might make him come at her again, she sat a little straighter.
“It’ll go easier if you tell me.”
Easier? She almost laughed. Once he got the list from her, her usefulness to him would be over.
“I told you,” she said carefully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He stepped away from the window and came toward her. God, he was so big! Six-
three, six-four. And she was down here, huddled on the floor. She had to even the odds, at least psychologically. Passive was one thing. Submissive was another.
Slowly, her eyes locked to his still-shadowy figure, she rose to her feet.
“I have to get dressed.”
His gaze flickered over her, lingering on the thrust of her breasts. She decided to sound a little more assertive.
“Did you hear me? I want to get dressed. I’m cold.”
“This is Colombia. We’re practically sitting on the equator. It’s never cold here.”
There was no point in telling him he was wrong. She had the feeling he knew it, that he was trying to bait her. Instead she drew the edges of the robe together.
“I just took a shower. The water was cold and the towels were thin, and I’m—”
“Wet,” he said.
His voice had changed. Gone lower. Rougher. Her breath caught. Mentioning the shower had been a bad idea. She could tell by the way he sounded, the way his gaze moved over her.
She glanced down, saw the clear thrust of her nipples beneath the robe. Fear skittered down her spine. She had to defuse things. Personalize the enemy. Wasn’t that one of the things you were supposed to do? Her training had been brutally short, but she’d learned some things, at least.
“You didn’t…you didn’t tell me your name.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. It matters.” Forget submissive. Forget passive. You met force with force, just as she had when he’d jumped her. Mia tossed back her wet hair. “You break into my room, go through my things, accuse me of—of who knows what—”
“And you,” he said softly, “don’t even ask why. Interesting, don’t you think?”
She could see him clearly now. He was lean. Hard-bodied. His shoulders, encased in a navy cotton T-shirt, were broad. His belly was washboard-flat. His hips were narrow, his legs long in the confines of softly faded jeans.
He had the kind of body that graced ads for high-powered, expensive cars.
Her eyes lifted to his face. It was hard not to react. She’d expected a monster. Instead she saw masculine beauty. Thick black hair. Deep green eyes. A long, elegant blade of a nose. A chiseled mouth, a lightly clefted chin.
She suppressed a bubble of hysterical laughter. No ugly hired assassin for her. She rated the kind of man who could break hearts as well as necks.
She had to come up with an idea, and fast.
“You really had Hamilton fooled.”
Mia raised her eyebrows. “Who?”
“What did I tell you, baby? Don’t play dumb. It just ticks me off.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “But you didn’t fool me. I figured you, right from the start. You skipped out with a little something to sweeten the trip.”
Her heartbeat stumbled again. She’d been so careful, copying the list. Putting the original back where she’d found it. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he was fishing.
“You’re wrong,” she said, her voice so calm it amazed her. “I didn’t take anything. I—I left Douglas because—because he—he wouldn’t let me break things off.”
“Ah. Suddenly you know who old Dougie is.”
“Did you expect me to admit it right away? You broke into my room, you attacked me—”
“Mia, Mia, what am I going to do with you? You’re lying. If you’d ditched your boyfriend, you’d be in the States by now. You’d have taken the first plane home.”
Think, she told herself frantically. Think.
“He’d have had them watch the airports.”
“He’s a colonel. He isn’t God.”
She almost laughed. “Try telling that to him.”
“To tell you the truth, Mia, I don’t give a damn about your feelings for the man. I want what you stole. You going to tell me where it is?”
“Where what is?” she said calmly.
His eyes went flat. “Fine. We’ll do it the hard way. Get dressed. And be quick about it. I want to get this over with.”
She didn’t. As soon as they were alone somewhere…
“Well? I don’t have all day.”
She stepped away from the door. “I’ll get dressed. You wait outside.”
His smile curved his mouth again. “Nice try, baby, but it won’t work.”
She felt heat rise in her face. “I’m not getting dressed with you here.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice taking on that roughness again, “you are.”
He reached for her. She jerked back but the wall was behind her. Eyes locked to hers, he reached for the sash of her robe. She slapped at him. He grabbed her wrists, tugged her arms high over her head with one hand and undid the sash with the other.
Any second, she was going to scream.
Matthew knew it. The woman was like a wildcat, fighting, struggling, refusing to admit she was caught.
“You make a sound,” he growled, “you’ll regret it.”
“Let go. Let—go! Damn you, let—”
He silenced her the only way he could.
With his mouth.
She cried out against his lips, tried to twist away from him. He moved closer, tightened his grip on her wrists and kissed her harder.
She was frantic now, whimpering into his mouth, her heart racing against his. She was terrified and she damned well should be, pulling a stunt that had driven Hamilton half-crazy, stealing dope, driving into these bandit-infested hills.
She was the kind of woman who did whatever she pleased and to hell with morality, who used her looks to get what she wanted.
How could she taste like heaven?
Reality blurred. He captured both her wrists in one hand. Cupped her face with the other. Changed the angle of the kiss. Nipped at her bottom lip and when she cried out at the tiny pain, he used the moment to slip his tongue into her mouth.
She gasped. Struggled.
And then—and then, she made the faintest whisper of sound.
The sound a woman makes when she gives herself to a man.
Matthew let go of her wrists and thrust his hands into her hair. He tilted her face up to his and he took the kiss deeper, deeper, deeper…
Mia exploded into action. Beat at him with her fists. Raised her knee, aimed for his most vulnerable spot and would have done damage if he hadn’t reacted quickly, grabbed her hands, pinned them to the wall and pinned her body to it, too, with the weight of his.
They stared at each other for a long minute, both breathing hard. Then, slowly, still holding her hands, Matthew took a step back.
Her robe had opened during the struggle.
He dropped his eyes to see what he’d uncovered.
High, creamy breasts with pale pink nipples. A taut navel. A delicate blur of dark, silky curls.
He fought not to let anything show in his face, though she’d have been blind not to see that he was hard as stone, his erection straining for release against his fly.
He thought of taking her. Here. Right here, against the wall. No matter how she’d try to deny it, she’d felt the same swift rush of desire. He’d tasted it in her kiss, heard it in her whispered response. Could still see it now, in her passion-blurred eyes. In the taut budding of her nipples.
All he had to do was unzip his jeans, cup her bottom, lift her onto the urgency of his straining, swollen flesh. If she protested, it would last only seconds, only until she took all of him deep inside, until he thrust into her, until she gave a high, keening cry and came…
Sweet Jesus, had he lost his mind?
This was a job. A job he hadn’t wanted. She was running dope or she’d stolen it from whoever supplied her, and he’d spent years of his life hating people like her.
On top of all that, she was another man’s woman. She could say what she wanted about Hamilton but that didn’t change the fact that she belonged to the man.
The hell with her little moans. A woman could fake that. This one could, and did, all the time.
It was probably how she’d worked Hamilton.<
br />
Matthew’s eyes darkened with distaste. For himself, and for the all-but-naked woman in front of him.
“Is this how you kept poor Dougie blind to what you were doing?” he said coldly. “Letting him think you’d let him have this someday?”
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