by Taylor Lee
In their place was a silver sheathe that skimmed her sensational body. Cut low in the front, it revealed the upper swell of her spectacular breasts. The shimmering material clung to her curvy hips and stopped scant inches below her rounded ass. Five-inch stiletto heels made her already sensational legs a work of art. Not to be outdone by her outfit, her glorious bright red hair was piled high on her head in a mass of fiery curls. Unruly tendrils curled seductively around her face and neck. Brady took a breath but wasn’t sure how useful it was given how tight his chest was.
The Asian man smiled, his dark eyes lit with genuine amusement. When he spoke, he nodded to Tiffany.
“She is beautiful, is she not?”
Brady was impressed that his response sounded relatively normal
“That she is.”
The seated man nodded. “But then, you know that, do you not? After all, she is the person who has connected us.”
Brady shrugged. “Connections that did not involve us knowing one another. But I am delighted to know that our conduit is as beautiful as she is accomplished.”
Shin Lee motioned to the chair across from him.
“Please, join me. Let us conclude our business and then I have a proposal for you to consider.”
Brady moved to sit across from the cultured man. His adversary’s eyes were dark, as hard as granite. Knowing the man’s reputation, Brady was glad that he had both a Sig and three knives secured on his person. He made a point of avoiding Tiffany’s eyes.
At some invisible signal, a manservant stepped forward placing an iPad between the two men. Tapping the external keyboard he held in his hand a split screen appeared on the iPad. On one side was the warehouse where the weapons were stored and on the other a series of numbers related to Shin Lee’s bank account and Brady’s false account. In response to a slight nod, Brady’s contact’s voice came over the transmission, confirming that the weapon cache was as agreed. Shin Lee’s man concurred. With a nod, Shin Lee signaled that the monies were to be transferred. The manservant handed the keyboard to Brady. He punched in a code. In minutes the account they’d contrived showed that a $15 million deposit had been made.
Brady nodded to the mafia leader.
“A pleasure doing business with you.” As he rose to his feet, the Asian man held up his hand.
“Please. Wait. I have an additional proposal. I understand from those who know you that you share my proclivities for shall we say ‘“unusual’ sexual experiences.”
Brady managed a slight smile and shrugged, knowing that the real Matthew Corrigan was a decided pervert and enjoyed rough sex with men and women—of all ages.
“I’ve been known to indulge in a variety of experiences. Why do you ask?”
Shin Lee nodded to Tiffany.
“I intend to break in this woman tonight and thought you might like to join me.” He gave a delicate shrug. “Your choice. You may participate or merely watch if you prefer. I have discovered in the past that nothing cements a business relationship like shared intimacy.”
Brady snorted. “Particularly if that intimacy is documented? The better to blackmail one another?”
The Asian man nodded pleasantly. “Indeed.”
Buying time for the team listening in to respond, Brady nodded to Tiffany.
“And our lovely conduit is in agreement, Mr. Lee?”
The use of the hideous man’s full name was the signal for the back-up team to storm the building.
Eyeing the smiling man, Brady heard Tiffany gasp. At the sound he turned to see the manservant standing behind her had a Glock 9mm firmly pressed against the base of her skull.
Again, Shin Lee shrugged dismissively.
“She is now.”
He added, “In the event, you choose not to participate, Ms. Morgan will meet an untimely—and messy—death.”
Gratified that at least her cover was intact, Brady raised his hands in acknowledgement of the situation. Although his heart was racing at breakneck speed, he shrugged as though considering the proposal.
“You mentioned ‘breaking in’ Ms. Morgan. Can you be more specific?”
“Of course.” He turned to glare at Tiffany, who was frozen in place. “But first, Ms. Morgan, take off your dress.”
Brady kept his gaze firmly on Tiffany’s face, willing his expression to be bland. To his relief, Tiffany did the same and held his gaze, as though he was a life raft in a stormy sea. Without moving away from the goon pressing the gun in her neck, she asked in a slightly breathy voice, “But, Mr. Lee. If I do, will your servant shoot me?”
Her composure nearly shattered Brady’s. They’d agreed that Tiffany couldn’t risk carrying a weapon given that she would be alone with the Korean men before Brady arrived and likely would have to undergo a search. In addition, her martial arts skills were the equivalent of
an arsenal of weapons. However no one could ignore the power of a Glock buried at the base of her skull.
Shin Lee turned to her with an ingratiating smile. Nodding to the porcelain faced woman standing to the side, he said, “Soo Yun will assist you my dear, but Woo-jin will keep his weapon firmly in place until Mr. Corrigan and I have agreed upon our pleasures.”
Soo Yun stepped forward and slipped her hand between the gunman and Tiffany’s back. In seconds she unzipped the miniscule covering, and with a whispery sigh of silk the dress sunk to the floor, pooling at Tiffany’s feet.
Brady’s wasn’t the only gasp that shattered the silence. Tiffany stood before them dressed in a lacy white bra that barely contained her ample breasts. A miniscule triangle of white lace covered her mound, the silken ties at her hips implied that her thong was backless. Thigh high lace-topped silk stockings and her stiletto shoes were the sum total of her remaining clothing. A faint flush stained her cheeks. It was the only sign she gave of the embarrassment she felt.
Brady reached out to her the only way he could, holding her gaze firmly, he smiled as if pleased at her near naked body, and chatted pleasantly, doing his best to give the assault team time to arrive.
“Ah, Mr. Lee, now that I see that our conduit is even lovelier than I could have imagined, I agree. By all means, let us begin. What did you have in mind?”
Soo Yun had left the room and returned pushing a rolling cart. The dark haired witch was now actually smiling. On the cart, a variety of whips, restraints and vicious-looking sexual toys were arranged in neat rows.
Shin Lee’s eyes gleamed at the wealth of tortuous items in front of them. Nodding to Brady, he asked in a voice husky with suppressed excitement, “What is your pleasure, Mr. Corrigan? After all, you are the guest in my house.”
Brady cautiously moved forward. He said in an aggrieved tone, “Much as I choose not to broadcast all of my ‘proclivities’ as you so discreetly described them, I note that there are no fewer than seven men in the room with us. At some point in time, will we have the pleasure of man on man sex? As well as watching all seven of these well-endowed men take the delectable Ms. Morgan?”
Shin Lee’s eyes narrowed, and he literally licked his lips.
“Indeed. Shall we begin?”
“By all means.”
Brady screamed the fearsome kiyap, the battle cry of the Kkangpae warriors. Confused by the sound of the warrior yell, the men surrounding them lost precious seconds as Brady shouted, “Now, Tiffany!”
His order was unnecessary. Even before he yelled, Tiffany ducked and drove her elbow into the gut of the gunman behind her. The blast of the gun and scream from the man the bullet struck was a welcome sound.
“Six to go, darlin’!” Brady hollered.
Tiffany yelled back, “Don’t forget the bitch!” as she drove the steel-tipped point of her stiletto into the throat of an oncoming fighter, who dropped to the ground, blood pouring from the gash in his neck. But Brady couldn’t get to Soo Yun before Tiffany did. With a vicious kick to the woman’s jaw, Tiffany followed up with a roundhouse kick to the side of her head. The woman crumpled in a heap, blood spurti
ng from her broken nose and jaw. To Brady’s surprise, Tiffany kicked off her shoes, which in his view were violent weapons in their own right—until he saw what she did with her bare feet. Brady had seen Tiffany in action three years before but hadn’t seen her full capabilities. Virtually naked she was the consummate picture of the Amazonian female warriors of old. Too late, Brady saw Shin Lee pull a knife from his boot and slash at Tiffany’s bare midriff. The sight of blood pouring from the wound distracted him for a split second until she screamed “Focus!”
He turned just in time to see a Kkangpae warrior come barreling through the doorway. His forward motion propelled him onto the knife Brady yanked from his boot. The attacker’s dying scream was music to Brady’s ears.
Seeing Shin Lee slinking toward the exit, Brady drew his Sig and nailed the bastard in the back of his neck. At the sight of their leader dropping to the floor and the shouts of the oncoming flood of American soldiers, the three remaining Kkangpae fighters threw up their hands in defeat.
Brady saw Tiffany sink to her knees, her hands pressed against the gash on her abdomen, blood slowly seeping from between her fingers. He was at her side in seconds. Grabbing her discarded dress from the floor, he pressed it against her wound.
Although her face contorted with pain, she scowled at him. “Dammit, Brady. That dress cost nearly as much as I make in a month.”
He managed to choke out, “I’ll buy you a dozen just like it, sugar.”
Stripping off his jacket, he wrapped it around her shivering body. Knowing that Tiffany’s chill was likely shock setting in, he shouted, “Medic! Here, now!”
She shoved his hands away and glared at the medics who reached for her. She whirled on them and snapped, “Dammit! When will you chauvinistic assholes ever learn? I can take care of myself!”
Brady quirked an eyebrow and eased toward her, “Hmm. I know you can, sugar. But how about you let someone else take care of you—at least until we can get you bandaged up?”
“I… I don’t need bandages.” Glancing down at her bloodied cocktail dress, her face paled dramatically. She gasped and promptly fainted. She would’ve fallen to the floor if Brady hadn’t caught her.
Chapter 6
Brady paced the corridor, thinking how much he hated hospitals. In a hideous way he actually preferred battlefield injuries. At least with those you could be by your friends not shunted off like troublesome children out to spoil the important work of the adults. Even though he knew her injuries weren’t serious, Tiffany had lost a lot of blood, and hell, they were transfusing her now. His gut clenched at the memory of her face, the color of alabaster, as she sunk to the floor.
But it was more than that. He needed these officious people to understand. It wasn’t just anyone in there, it was his woman. He stepped back in shock, not recognizing the feeling. He’d never felt this way about anyone, much less a woman. Oh sure, he’d gone nuts when Lexie was hurt, but more than anything he’d comforted Jake. Seeing a chubby nurse bustle out of the treatment room, he rushed to her.
“Captain Anderson. How is she? Is she awake, conscious? Is she asking for anyone?”
He was surprised to hear his voice shake as his questions tumbled out.
The nurse frowned. “Are you family?”
Brady shook his head and stammered, “Uh, not exactly, but I was with her when she was hurt. Please, Ma’am. I need to see her. I’m Colonel—”
The guard dog in the starched white nurse’s uniform reared up and said with a barely suppressed sneer, “Family is the only rank that cuts it here, soldier.”
Turning on her heels, the stocky tyrant marched into the treatment room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Brady stepped back, stunned that the low animal growl he heard came from him.
To keep from storming into the treatment room, he forced himself to look for the cafeteria. It was a mistake. He waited in line for what seemed an interminable amount of time while the non-coms in front of him debated between chocolate or lemon pie. For God’s sake he wanted to shout, ‘Don’t you idiots know that both pies come from Jello boxes? Decide, dammit!”
Growling impatiently, he threw up his hands, deciding the last thing he needed was caffeine. Marching out of the busy cafeteria, he heard the damnable Christmas music, only in this song some fucker was mounting a helpless reindeer or something to that effect. Glad that his Sig was safely ensconced in his ankle sheathe, he double-timed it upstairs. Foregoing the elevator, he took the steps three at a time.
To his horror, he saw Marty and his aide, standing in the hallway outside of the treatment room.
He tried to swallow, but the spit had long since fled his mouth. Instead he croaked, “Is something wrong, Marty? Dammit, is Tiffany okay?”
A giant claw gripped his chest when his friend frowned and shook his head.
“Sorry, Brady. But she insisted on being discharged. Said she’d leave against doctor’s orders if she had to. But—”
“What?!” Brady virtually screamed. “What the hell, Marty? You let her go? Let her what? Just mosey her little butt out of a hospital bed and trot out of here?”
Brady didn’t know when he had been more upset.
Col. Marion grimaced. “Obviously you don’t know Tiffany, Brady. No one tells her what she can and can’t do.”
Brady’s voice was harsher than he intended but the anger roiling his gut made it impossible to speak in a civil tone.
“And, Marty, I don’t know you as well as I thought I did if you’d let an injured soldier just sashay out of the hospital…”
Marty put up his hand. “Brady I didn’t have a choice. She gave me none. When the attending physician okayed it, I had no recourse. He gave her some damn pain pills and told her to get lots of rest. Hell, she wouldn’t even let me drive her home. Insisted that she take a cab.”
Brady was shaking with fury. His voice dropped to a dangerous level.
“What’s her address?”
Marty sighed. “I can’t tell you that, Brady.”
Brady’s voice was coated in silk. “You don’t know where your lead undercover agent lives, Colonel?”
Marty waved an impatient hand. “Of course I do. But Tiffany gave me specific instructions. She doesn’t want anyone to know where she lives. She insisted. She wants to be alone.”
The older man hesitated, and brushed a weary hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry, Brady, damned sorry. But, man, that order includes you.”
~~~
Tiffany grimaced at her reflection in the full length mirror. Amazing that even when you felt like crap, you could still look good. Must be her genes. The last thing she wanted to do was go to the annual Christmas party, but Col. Marion was adamant. He’d damn well ordered her to make an appearance. He’d said that three days off work was more than enough. He taunted her. Said that, since she insisted her injuries were minor, there was no reason she couldn’t come to work. And he reminded her that the annual Christmas party at the officer’s club was a command performance. The only good thing about it was that in Korea you didn’t have to wear dress blues.
Though she rarely admitted it, Tiffany was a bit of a clothes horse. Even as a little girl, she’d loved to dress up. She was still annoyed that her gorgeous silver dress was ruined. The Korean drycleaners had tskd, and said there was no hope. The blood stains would never come out. Too bad Shin Lee was dead or she’d send him a bill. Maybe she’d send one anyway. He had to have an estate or something…
She twirled in front of the mirror and glanced appreciatively over her shoulder at her curvy bottom. The dress was so tight it all but showed the crack between her butt cheeks and the strapless top was cut dangerously low. She grinned, good thing her boobs were so big or her top might fall down. The dress was white, sprinkled with tiny iridescent beads that sparkled in the light. Matching white satin stiletto slippers and lace topped silk stocking completed her holiday finery. Catching sight of her reflection, Tiffany’s grin widened. White? Sparkles? But, hardly innocent.
She chided herself, why not be a little racy? Most of the officers were married, but that hadn’t stopped them from hitting on her. She’d brushed them all aside, never considering interfering in their marriages. But from the hate-filled glances the angry Army wives spewed on her, you’d think that she took a different one of their husbands every day of the week. Tucking a glitter covered white orchid in the fiery mass of curls piled on top of her head, she tugged a few wispy curls around her face. Pulling her white fur evening wrap around her shoulders, she gave her reflection a saucy wave and headed into the night.
As she got closer to the base, she could no longer avoid the memories swirling in her brain. She’d fastidiously avoided thinking about Brady—at least as much as she could. She’d turned off her phone, unwilling to acknowledge the countless calls Brady had made. At least in the first two days. Then the calls stopped abruptly. Certain that he’d left for anther mission, she turned her phone on. The silence that greeted her confirmed that she’d been successful. She’d driven him out of her life.
Tiffany knew she was being unkind. Thoughtless. Rude. He was a friend, after all, and he had saved her life. The least she could have done was thank him. But she’d decided to write him a note, and have Marty get it to him. It was better this way. There was no future with him—that was certain. Why torment either one of them?
But in unguarded moments she remembered the way he’d held her with his eyes. How he gave her courage. How he wouldn’t let her look away. His fierce gaze told her he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. That somehow, together, they would survive the night. And they did. She couldn’t have made it without him. Her injury was little more than a scratch and given the new Dermabond, what the doctor laughingly called medical superglue, she didn’t even need stitches. She sighed. Too bad the hurt in her heart wouldn’t heal that easily.
As she drove through the snowy streets, the city seemed quieter somehow. Softer, prettier. She realized with a start that it was Christmas Eve, and most of the shops and stores must have closed early. Pulling into the driveway leading to the Officer’s Club, she hopped out and handed the valet her keys.
