by Judy Jarvie
She slowly brushes her thumb over my cheek. Her hand drifts over my face. Not touching the wound, but gently stroking around it. The merest of touches. But wow, the spot zings. My cock is now fully ready for intervention. “Why are you doing that, Kate?” My dick screams at me not to interfere. It’s willing me to let it be soothed by her attentions. Let it go with the moment. Traitor dick needs its license revoked.
“Please let me kiss you,” she asks, and pushes so boldly against my chest her tits autograph me with a sensual promise. “Why not?”
“Can’t—job. It’s how I roll. Protect and serve. Focus to the max.”
Almost can’t believe I’m resisting this. She’s über hot. I must be crazy.
But I’m lying here because I’m already under her spell. Inside my head, as her lips meet mine, I’m yelling, see—you were right to be nervous of this. Of her. This attraction should not be let loose. You’ll regret it and you clearly can’t trust yourself with this magnetizing minx.
Her hands are on my shoulders and her lips travel to mine like warmed, honeyed wine. Her tongue opens my lips, and I welcome her in without a search warrant—or complaint. I’m frisking her fully with my crazy energized mouth as soon as she’s inside. Wow, if this is kissing, then any previous attempts with other women have failed by a mile.
And that makes me need to investigate further. The detective info-seeking urge goes deep.
I kiss her with a ferocity that nearly lands us both on our asses. Kissing hard and fast, and my hands are all over that tight, sweet, warm body. Her breasts are divine. Hot and tight. The memory of that body at mambo and in the airport fires me further.
“You’re in the danger zone, honey. You’re sucking me in too.”
“Maybe it feels safer than anywhere else,” she whispers, while creating alchemy, involving lips and entwined bodies. Her hands steal around my shoulders and her blanket slips. It’s probably in the water, but neither of us care. I ease off the leather and she blows my brain cells inside out when she starts unbuttoning her shirt. Then the jacket is tossed.
“Kate…take a moment.” My buddies would not believe this resistance ethic—nor condone it.
But she doesn’t answer or halt her strategic strip tease. Even the lightness of her breathing and gentle moans as we kiss have me craving more. So much for back-off orders. Am I really this easy? More to the point, is she? What’s this about?
I kiss her with fervor, touching her peaking nipples through fabric, and moments later, I’ve a handful of her breast, encased in white lace bra. Can’t see her nipples through the peek-a-boo ‘cause it’s too dark, but hell—getting a holy smoke reaction without further details. I simply don’t want this kissing to stop. I want her areolas in my mouth. My dick inside her.
It’s hot, she’s so warm and welcoming, with a body made for sin, and I haven’t even had a chance to fully ogle that perfect, gym-work honed chassis. She’s too addictive to resist. My dick is on fire for the first time since Mexico, and it wants to take the lucky ticket home and celebrate.
She’s the sex candy piñata. My stick’s up for damage.
But something makes me tense. In fact this feeling has the power to negate the action—raw instinct. I heard something outside. A crack and a click. Two simple sounds and I’m primed.
“Stop.” I halt her mid-kiss, with hands on each side of her head. “Wait!”
I stare at Kate as I process what’s wrong here and she stares at me, prone. She knows something’s amiss and we’re in sync. But this has the acrid stench of not-right on the air.
My gun in is my hand in a heartbeat.
“What is it…?” Kate whispers, but I shush her with my finger on her lips. The need for silence is paramount. I keep the finger pressed there, and her eyes widen more.
I mouth, “Trust me,” against her cheek.
She backs up as if in a trance. The best sexual promise of my life is on hold now. That raw electric charge moment passed as swiftly as it began, and she’s shaking. Kate stoops for her jacket, shirt and blanket as I grip her arm and push her to the nearest boat. She’s half-dressed by the time I watch her jump on the boat, then follow her on board. In a few fast moves I push her face-down inside the hull, then shake the blanket to cover her head to toe. Squeezing her arm in a silent promise, I jump out and creep, ninja silent and hugging the wall, to the steps.
My semi-automatic is ready to be fired when a brittle crack sounds starkly—a branch underfoot. An interloper’s found our hideout. We’re headed for a stand-off—could it be a gang? I suck in a breath, summon energy. We’ve unwelcome company and the party’s about to be crashed.
Chapter Five
Kate
Dark, creeping fear chills my bones with foreboding and leaves me both tight as a high wire and spent with exhaustion. I hate it—but I hate Santorini more.
Dan’s left me here alone, in the dark, under a blanket on the bare hull of a boat that is cold and hard. While he takes on a gang single-handed, gets killed and God only knows what.
It’s not so easy to stay quiet as the grave when your teeth chatter from fear like wind-up joke shop toy teeth. I force mine together so hard my jaws ache. All is silent for an eternity.
There’s no sound to suggest a gun-fight. The only things I’m aware of are my discomfort, my beating heart and my growing need to indulge in a long, misery-sating pee. We went so fast from crazy kissing—was I mad, am I still in shock?—to action movie antics resumed. It’s exhausting for my fried nerves.
“So. You guys. What took ya?” I hear the words distinctly. Everything slows as I crane to hear.
I move slightly to alleviate my beach-ball bladder plight when I hear talking. Male voices. I stiffen and can’t decipher more of what’s said. I discern the men are close by. I want to scream full tilt. Or run for my life—and the jumping up and running thing is attractive while I’m lying here so vulnerable and soon to be in a pool of my own urine.
I count down in my head. One minute and I’ll run. A slow counted minute. If they get nearer I’ll spring and go. But then I hear a voice that’s definitely Dan. It doesn’t sound like a siege.
“You didn’t think to warn us of this rescue? Where’s the boat, I didn’t hear it? Coulda called.”
“Boat’s nearby, came the last part on foot. Erred on the side of caution. You guys mighta been captive. Or dead. Where’s our thanks for the rescue, Sir?”
They called him ‘sir’. Is Dan top brass in this? Am I again at the foot of the facts stairs?
And with that nice, rousing, cheery thought, I begin to breathe fast under my blanket. Hyperventilating, I think it’s called. Relief? Panic? Desperation? Confusion. Not sure.
My orb of a bladder is so buoyed at the thought of being rescued instead of perforated with bullets I almost let go. Dr. Kegels would so not be proud of my muscle control.
Dan’s voice says. “Glad you’re here, bud. Situation back at the villa controlled?” Then a pause and I feel the boat rock as somebody climbs aboard.
I also hear the words, “Tavi is dead. Killed outright, man.”
“Hey, Kate. Come out, the rescue squad’s here for show-time,” Dan commands from above and whips away the blanket edge.
I’m greeted by bright light. Our previously dark cave is filled to spectacular effect and has me blinking and squinting. Like waking up in Narnia. I’m slightly confused but embracing that the threat’s gone. My hairdo likely looks like it was styled in a bog village by the blind hairdresser everyone avoids.
“We’re rescued?” I test my voice. It’s croaky.
“Yup. Meet the team. Operation Mountain Goat Interpol Sex Crimes Agents, to be exact.”
“S’okay. I can wait for proper introductions when my eyes can re-focus. I feel like I’ve just had laser surgery.” I’m squinting as my eyes adjust, but there are four blurred figures distinguishable now. Four black-clothed, gunned-up, movie set typecast figures. Two Tom Cruise clones, an Italian Stallion and Angelina Jolie with mo
re muscles. Each as gung-ho-action primed and cool as the next. Plus Dan.
They must be agents. They look like agents. They’re more agent-ish than CSI meets Hawaii Five-0 investigating a spy play and solving it in five seconds flat like a junior word search. But I’m still in a state of shock. So I sit there shaking and don’t get up. I think the shock has immobilized me.
They must know one another, because I’m not even introduced. Bastards. To say I loathe this situation, like a leech with leprosy that’s had a swim in a reeking cesspit of spew, is putting it mildly.
I’ve had the crap scared out of me too often in too few hours, and this lot waltz in all movie-set fresh and start water cooler banter while I’m a shivering wreck.
Then Dan spies me over his shoulder and approaches, hunkers down and re-wraps me in the blanket. Rubs my back. It seems he did the ‘civilian pacification’ module of his crime cracker course.
“Okay?”
I nod.
“Let me talk to the guys, then we’re outta here soon as, ‘kay?” He gives me a weak smile, then returns to his colleagues.
“So what’s Redman’s take?” Dan asks.
“Full debrief on return. We’re not yet sure it’s related to Katsaros. Might be a rogue coincidence? There’s been a spate of shootings for valuables. Word could have leaked that the girl has connections. There’s stuff gone from the villa.”
“Didn’t feel like a jewel or tech raid to me,” says Dan. “Big gun for a busted burglary. Big holes in Tavi, for beginners.”
I can listen in no more. I’m wishing I wasn’t here or tied up in this. I knew my doomed honeymoon should have been a warning sign clue to prep me for shit to follow, and I should’ve point blank closed down Mel’s plan or called in sick. Avoided Santorini and witnessing cold-blooded murder with Crazyhead Crimecracker Draven and his team of arsehole agents.
They’re all talking too fast and in such techno jargon I can’t keep up. One of them is doing things to a gun that makes me need smelling salts to watch. But a part of me cannot stay silent for longer.
I clear my throat and rise unsteadily. “Hi. Can I go to the bathroom? I think I’m going to either faint, wet myself or be sick.”
“Ah, so this is our civilian friend,” says the woman in a voice that says she’s as happy to see me as an arachnophobic finding the tarantula family at a petting zoo.
The trio of black ops agents turn as a man and look at me as if they’ve trodden in better quagmires. None utter a word. The woman gawps, horrified, and one guy scuffs his boots as his expression reads ‘how low can you go’.
I’m desperate or I wouldn’t push. “I haven’t had a pee since Athens. I really need to go.”
It’s as if Dan wakes up from a dream. To a reality where he’s stuck with a civilian with a potty mouth and pathetic wuss running through the middle of her like Blackpool rock.
“Sure. Gotta code for the bunk room, guys? C’mon, get to it. Lady needs the rest room,” Dan chivvies and one of the agents goes to tackle this fresh assignment.
“Baby needs a diaper,” the woman adds. She’s staring at me like mad, big hungry owls stare at tiny shrews in the corner of a barn—I’m feeling a sense of foreboding that I’m Mama Owl’s next rodent taco.
So much for me thinking I might get a girl on my side. This sister’s clearly gonna have to do it for herself. For that I’m going to nickname her Aretha. She really should know better and bust out to the Eurythmics when there’s only two ladeez in this togetha! Has she learned nothing from Destiny’s Child?
But the boys haven’t figured out the keypad. I walk up, still wearing my blanket like a shroud. It’s slightly galling they can’t suss it, as it means I’ve over-estimated Interpol prowess. Surely if they can handle international crime at the highest level they should manage a few passcode numbers.
“C’mon, Rocco. Man. You got shit for brains—thank fuck we weren’t down here needin’ real action,” says Dan surprising me with his alpha-twatish-ness. But then he is the leader in the mix—once a boss, always a boss.
Rocco does death stare eyes back. “Right man. Big FBI Interpol thing called prick ego always knows better huh?”
“You’re a big freakin’ shade o’ funny ya know that? Plannin’ to take me on?” Dan answers.
Shit. Will they fight? Is this what happens when there’s no action on an assignment? They just punch shit out of one another instead?
I can wait no longer and if fighting’s going to go down I want to just sit it out in the WC. “Effing stop it! Now that you’re all nicely reacquainted, can we keep the ruckus for later—is it too much to ask to use a ruddy loo?” I shout. I really am about to embarrass myself.
The male trying to sort the code quips at Dan—he’s tall and as Italian-looking as a leaning tower and a square of pizzerias—“Caught yourself a choice one, Bullet Man. Nice and riled. Is she always like this or have you worked her over especially just so she’s out of control? Cozy in here just two of you, I’m thinkin’, did we break up a private party?”
Dan—he of the handsome chiseled jaw, tight butt, washboard pecs discernible through the T-shirt, fancy police credentials and James Bond moves—just stares. Yes. Him. He doesn’t even wise-crack his buddy. Bastard.
“Thanks for sticking up for me,” I say.
Only now do I remember that we were almost at intercourse only half an hour before. Almost. I flaming well stripped off ready and willing like a poodle at a primp parlor about to be blow-dried.
And if his kisses and moves hadn’t been stellar enough to give me a total wake-up call, I might just be holding it all totally against him. Unfortunately for me, I sense he’ll be brilliant at sex crimes. As well as solving them.
“She’s always like this, Rocco. Maybe just up a couple of octaves,” Dan answers. He flicks me a sassy grin. “That’s what happens when girls have to piss. Camels for the most part, then kamikaze when the time comes.”
I snark, “He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know me. He’s a fake and a fraud and he got me here under false pretenses. After I have a pee and get the strength up I’m going to whip his ass. You see if I don’t!”
“Woo, Bullet. You’ve so met your match,” says Italiano Rocco. I’d quite like to slap his face too.
I narrow my eyes at Dan. “Is the nickname because you’re easily fired? Or lotsa noise and mess but not much conversation?”
“Licensed to kill, babe. Nobody takes me down,” Dan answers, but I see his cheek twitch. He’d either like to laugh or kill me. He’s definitely pissed I’ve called him out in front of his hard-ass friends.
Then the woman of the team comes close so she’s standing beside me. She fixes me with her cool blue gaze. “I’m Havana. Havana Martinez.” I note she doesn’t hold out a friendly hand. “Let’s get this straight. He may be a dickwad but he’s one of my best partners and we’re kinda relying on his pulling this mission off. So the next time you dis him you’ll have me to deal with. I never play nice. Got that? Civilian or no civilian—we don’t dis Sir.”
I’m doing so very well today.
“Can’t I plead special privileges?”
She grins. Then her jaws snap down like a shark. “Shouldn’t’a played hard ball, missy pants.”
Now all I need is to lose control of my urine stream and my life’s officially in meltdown.
I say nothing in case she beats me up. But I’m huffy as a room of thirteen year olds with full hormones on parade. Normally I’d swear and get lippy but I sense this woman definitely knows martial arts at expert level, and could probably stop me breathing using only one finger such are her badassery smarts.
“Nice. Touching. When’s the wedding? You having sumo wrestling as a theme? Grenades as a center-piece?”
I do always lose it when I need a wee.
In a matter of seconds something vice-like is around my neck and I’m seeing stars. Havana’s eyes are way too close to mine. The squeeze thing gets tighter.
I hear the words, “Eas
y there, Hav. She’s only pushing buttons.”
“See how she likes her freakin’ buttons being twisted, huh?” says Bananas Havana. Nice that I won’t need to call her Aretha—when Bananas Havana is so much better for such a finessed lady. Probably went to finishing school in Switzerland with nunchucks. Followed by High Security Prison executive suite.
Dan takes control. “Havana, put Kate down. Stop it, Kate. You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
“Robocop in a bra!” I answer.
I can’t reply more because of the breathing thing. I’m hauling in air like a deck-bound dolphin. Not pretty.
“Yey! Knew I’d crack the bastard,” says Rocco, and the door to the bunk room springs wide.
I stagger in. Holding my throat and gulping air. Then I start to run for it, knowing that it’s going to be a close call if I make it. I bolt the door in case Bananas enters to finish me off.
Five blissful minutes later I have to walk back out to meet the squad with a raging red face and a deflated bladder.
“So let’s not wait around here. Get her covered up. Grab the bags.”
I don’t know who’s saying it. But Dan’s got me by the arm, and by this time, I’m letting life pass me by as I’m treated like a priority criminal being smuggled out with press waiting.
I’m almost getting my lungs working by the time they bundle me along, two agents carrying me somewhere. Eventually, I’m laid down on my behind. It’s in a boat because after my boat-hiding thing I’m now a nautical expert. I can feel the motion—smell the water. I hear the loud, vibrating zoom of a speedboat motor to confirm it. I wonder if I’m going to further mar my day by getting sea-sick in a boat under a blanket.
“Can I take off the cover?” I ask whoever cares to listen.
Dan answers. “Hunker down.”
“Might be sick if I don’t.”
“Realizing you like your body functions, don’t ya, Katie?”
I’m still pissed off and raging so I can’t stem the retort. “I’ve even been known to bite men’s tongues out. Shame I didn’t think of that earlier, you fucking bastard shit.” The hiss feels therapeutic.
