by Cindy Dees
All well and good, but this was not the side of Havana in which they would find their quarry. They needed the secret side of the city. The night side. The dark side. To that end, he found them a hotel room near the long strip of nightclubs along the shore, left over from the pre-Castro era. Using Kinsey’s visa, they checked in.
The room looked as if it hadn’t been redecorated since Castro came to power in 1959, but it was clean. And dark. Like any good casino hotel room, it was set up for the occupant to sleep all day in anticipation of gambling all night. Thick, lined velvet curtains blocked out the bright Caribbean sunlight.
“You’d do well to take a nap, Kinsey. We’ll be out late tonight.”
“Doing what?” she asked curiously.
He grinned. “Partying the night away.”
She frowned. “To what end?”
“We’re going hunting. We’re going to catch ourselves a killer.”
Chapter 7
Kinsey frowned at the dress Mitch handed to her. Jennifer Blackfoot had predicted this would be the first dress he would want her to wear when the woman had pulled it off a rack of assorted clothing in the H.O.T. Watch complex. It had looked okay on a hanger, but right now it looked like hardly more than a dish towel. And it was red.
She shimmied into the slinky little sheath in the bathroom and looked at herself critically. It wasn’t something she’d normally dream of choosing for herself, but she had to admit, she didn’t look half-bad in it. The red complemented her newly dark hair, and the short hemline made her legs look a mile long. She plucked a scarlet silk hibiscus out of the flower arrangement on the bathroom counter and tucked it behind her left ear. A dab of perfume and she was ready to go hunting. As it were. She couldn’t fathom what sort of hunting Mitch had in mind with her dressed like this.
She stepped out of the bathroom. Mitch glanced up from the gun he was cleaning. Froze. Looked all the way down to her toes and back up again to her eyes. Unaccountably, she was nervous. Usually, she didn’t give a flip what other people thought of her looks, but she wanted to meet with Mitch’s approval. Silence stretched out between them as he devoured the sight of her.
She finally said, “If you only tell me ‘that’ll do,’ I’m putting my sloppy T-shirt over this thing before we go out.”
He moved so fast she hardly had time to jump. But all of a sudden he loomed before her, his expression blacker than the night and more dangerous than sin. His hands were on her, cupping her derriere, climbing up her back, drawing her against him, then sliding up one vertebra at a time to the nape of her neck.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted back to her eyes. He murmured, his voice a low, tight rumble, “I’m going to spend the entire evening imagining ripping that dress off you, throwing you down and making love to you until you scream.”
And now she was going to spend all evening imagining the very same thing.
She swayed, overcome by the images flashing through her head, igniting her body until it was hotter than her dress. “I can’t believe what you do to me—” she murmured.
And then his mouth was on hers, his body hard and ready against her, vibrating with desire that set her on fire. Sex had always been a rather intellectual thing for her. You meet an intelligent, fascinating man, get to know him, become friends, contemplate enriching the relationship into something more intimate. And then, you allow attraction to build.
But this...
This was primal. Completely unthinking lust. It ripped away all veneer of civilized thought from her mind and left her wanting pure, raw sex. Muscle and bone pounding against her and into her, naked flesh on sweaty, naked flesh. Tongues and tangled legs and rasping breath. She wanted him.
“Mother of—” he groaned into her mouth. “Kinsey, you’re killing me.”
“I’m the one losing my mind here.”
He pressed his forehead against hers and laughed painfully. “No, no. I’m the one going insane.”
“Mmm. Kiss me again, you madman.” She reached up, grabbed his head and tugged his mouth down to her. “I can’t get enough of you.”
“Don’t say that to me,” he growled harshly. “I’m having a hard enough time not picking you up and carrying you over to that bed as we speak.”
“Do it,” she whispered. “Whisk me off my feet and make love to me.”
A fine shudder passed through him. She felt it from his mouth to his knees against her body. He swore under his breath. “You’re officially killing me. We can’t do this. Not now.”
Piercing loss stabbed her. “Later?” she asked between featherlight kisses.
He lifted his head away to look down at her. She’d never seen him more grim. “I’m not good one-night-stand material,” he warned. “Once I get in your head, I’m not going to leave it. When I take you, I’ll take all of you.”
Was that a promise or a threat? He said it as if it was meant to be both. A chill of apprehension chattered through her. She didn’t understand exactly what he was telling her, but she knew she ought to pay attention to it and heed the warning. Except the desire pounding through her from head to foot refused to give her any respite to think. Warning or no, she wanted him.
Regretfully, he stepped back from her, holding her at arm’s length when she would have followed him. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to fix your lipstick.”
She grinned up at him impishly. “But it looks smashing on you.”
He reached up to wipe his mouth, grinning in chagrin while she ducked back into the bathroom to right her hair and makeup. When she emerged, he stood on the far side of the room, over by the door, a study in black. Black slacks, black turtleneck, black hair, black expression. Afraid he couldn’t keep his hands off her, huh? She smiled to herself. She could live with that.
They drove in silence, not toward the strip of casinos, but rather toward the center of Havana. They parked on a deserted street in a business district and Mitch held her door for her as she swung her bare legs out of the car and stood up. She caught the sizzling flash in his eyes as he held a hand out for her. Sheesh. Just touching his hand was sending up her temperature alarmingly.
Offering her his elbow, he turned and started down the uneven sidewalk. Her high heels clicked, but his steps made no sound at all.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“A social club.”
“What sort of club is that?”
“Think part restaurant, part nightclub, part disco. They don’t officially exist, but everyone who’s anyone is a member at one or more of these places.”
“If they’re members-only places, how are we going to get in?”
He grinned over at her. “I belong to several of the best ones.”
She started. “How in the heck did you pull that off?”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been to Cuba. That’s why the boys and girls in the bunker sent me to do this job.”
“And which job are we working on this evening?”
His visage abruptly went grim in the shadows. “Both of them. But I want Camarillo.”
“What’s the plan?”
He shrugged. “Your job is to distract anyone who asks us too many questions. We’ll eat a bit, drink a bit, dance a bit. Circulate.”
“So we’re going to work the room. What do I do if I spot Camarillo?”
“If he’s actually in one of these clubs, duck. He’ll start shooting the moment he lays eyes on us.”
Shocked, she replied, “Won’t he get arrested and go to jail if he shoots someone in downtown Havana?”
“Not him. As a boy, he fought beside Castro in the original revolution and then stepped into the job of being Castro’s personal assassin. He’s a hero of the revolution. Which means he’s got a free ticket to do pretty much whatever he wants. The police would c
over up for him.”
“And what will you do if he starts shooting?”
He glanced over at her blandly. “What do you think? I’ll shoot back.”
“Won’t you end up in jail then?”
“I’m good. I would probably stand about a fifty-fifty chance of escaping the shooting scene.” He shrugged. “As long as Camarillo’s dead and you’re safe, I’ll do the jail time if they catch me. Uncle Sam would get me out in a year or two.”
She blinked, stunned. He’d go to jail for her? She didn’t know whether to think that was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her or whether it crossed the line into psychopathic. The danger of the man beside her struck her anew. He lived by an entirely different code than anything she’d ever encountered before. It was intensely attractive and every bit as frightening at the same time. Being with him was playing with fire. All that remained to be seen was just how badly he could burn her.
Mitch took a quick look up and down the deserted sidewalk and swerved without warning into a narrow alley. They picked their way past puddles and overflowing trash cans toward a single lightbulb dangling far in the bowels of the alley.
“The best social clubs in town, eh?” she muttered.
He grinned. “Patience, princess.”
She followed him doubtfully to an unmarked door that looked made of solid steel. A totally clichéd little window slid open at eye level, and part of a man’s face stared out at them. “¿Sí?” the guy grunted.
Mitch replied in rapid, fluent Cuban. Wow. Apparently he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d been here before.
The little window closed and the sound of bolts being thrown came from behind the door. It swung open on a burst of color and music. Mitch’s hand came to rest in the small of her back, sending lightning bolts shooting up and down her body. So distracted she could barely walk, she allowed him to guide her inside.
It was like stepping into a different world. The club’s decor was tropical, full of greenery and vibrant colors. It was as unlike the city outside as a place could be. Live macaws perched on stands around the walls, lush palms and draped vines gave the place a jungle atmosphere, and the driving beat of a Latin band pulsed in the air.
Her Spanish was adequate to follow the conversation between Mitch and the maître d’. The Cuban was asking what their pleasure would be this evening.
“We’ll be dining,” Mitch replied. “Then maybe a little dancing.”
The man nodded and led them through giant ferns and hanging bougainvilleas, past a dance floor full of bronze, gyrating flesh and to a separate dining room. Mitch indicated a table off to one side but still in plain view of the other guests.
She slid into her seat and was startled when Mitch ordered rapidly for them without bothering to see a menu. Apparently he not only belonged to this place, but was a regular. The waiter nodded efficiently and left them alone.
“If you’re worried about Camarillo shooting us, you couldn’t have put us out in plainer sight for him to target,” she murmured.
Mitch leaned across the glow of the candle, his face beautiful, his eyes deadly. He grasped her fingers and murmured back, “He would never show himself at a place like this. Most of the customers have mob or drug connections. If you take a casual look around, you’ll see big, beefy guys at regular intervals all around the place. They’re the house security staff. If anyone flashes a weapon in here, you’d better believe those guys would take them down before the first bullet flew.”
“Then why are we here, if Camarillo wouldn’t come here?”
“Because his friends would come here. If we show ourselves publicly enough, word will get back to him.” A pause, and then he added, “This way we let him know we’re here without direct danger to you.”
She frowned. “Isn’t going public with your presence in Cuba going to interfere with your main job of protecting Za—”
He pressed a finger against her lips. Smiling seductively for anyone who might be watching, he murmured, “Don’t say it in here.”
She nodded and smiled back her understanding.
He leaned back in his seat, playing with the stem of his wineglass. “It’s a trade-off. You or You-Know-Who.”
“But I’m not your job!” she exclaimed under her breath.
His mouth curved up. “Ahh, but you are. You’re—” he glanced around quickly “—an important man’s daughter, and you’re in danger. It’s definitely my job to protect you. Every last delicious inch of you.”
Her breath caught at the sensual slide of his voice across her skin. She struggled to form rational thought. “But—” she frowned “—I’m supposed to be here to help you, not get in your way.”
His golden gaze clouded over. “You’re here to act as bait and leave as soon as we flush out our quarry. You’re not a trained operative and I’m not about to put you in harm’s way by expecting you to act like one.”
“But I want to go in harm’s way.”
His fingers tightened almost painfully on hers. “Why’s that? You’ve mentioned something to that effect before. What are you looking to get out of this?”
She mulled that one over for a moment and was saved from answering by the arrival of spinach, mango and strawberry salads. But as soon as she pushed her plate aside, Mitch’s penetrating gaze was upon her again, pressing, probing, demanding answers.
“Well?” he prompted.
Persistent guy, darn it. She sighed. “I guess I’m looking for a little self-respect. I’m sick of being useless arm fluff.”
His eyebrows shot up. He toyed with his wineglass again, twirling its delicate stem deftly between his strong fingers. “Seems to me that self-respect’s not the problem,” he finally commented.
“What do you mean?” It was her turn to stare at him, silently demanding answers.
He spoke carefully. “You strike me as having plenty of self-esteem. I think your self-image is just fine. Which leads me to believe you’re mainly interested in gaining someone else’s respect. Who are you trying to impress?”
She squirmed beneath his all-too-seeing gaze. Who indeed?
“Your father?”
She scowled. “I gave up on impressing him a long time ago. He’ll always see me as his helpless little girl and there’s not a thing I can do about it.”
Mitch nodded contemplatively. “The ex-fiancé, then?”
Kinsey gasped, stunned. He knew about that? She’d so hoped her humiliation would fade away, eclipsed by some other celebrity scandal. Mitch was an undercover agent for goodness’ sake! How had he come across those damned pictures? Her face heated up. She was probably the same color as her dress.
Mitch frowned. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. You’re not the one who put the pictures on the web. Your ex should be ashamed of himself. And if I do say so myself, you’re an incredibly beautiful woman. I suspect you photograph a whole lot better than most celebrities who get caught topless.”
“Yeah, but it pretty much blows me ever being the kind of girl a nice guy wants to bring home to meet the parents. Nothing like doing a Google search of the girlfriend and having her pop up on the internet in all her glory.”
“Is that what you’re upset about? You think nice guys won’t be interested in you anymore?”
She frowned. When he put it like that, it did sound kind of lame.
“Any decent guy would understand that you were taken advantage of. He wouldn’t blame you.”
“Would you want a girl who millions of men had seen topless?” she accused.
“As long as she was loyal to me, I wouldn’t care.
The human body is no big deal. But cheating on someone—” He broke off, his expression blacker than she’d ever seen it before.
Into his heavy silence, she murmured pleasantly, “Your casual attitude about nudity i
s refreshingly...European.” She wasn’t entirely sure she believed him, though. What man didn’t get possessive of his woman? Especially an aggressively alpha male like Mitch? She spied the murderous look in his eye and nodded to herself. Yup, his expression was at distinct odds with his words.
Or perhaps that murderous look in his eyes had something to do with his remark about cheating women? Had someone cheated on him? What woman in her right mind would step out on a man like Mitch Perovski if they’d actually landed him? The idea of Mitch giving her his unreserved affection took her breath away, as improbable as it was captivating to imagine.
As she turned over possible ways to probe him about his past love life without him growling her off the subject, Mitch seemed to shake off his grim thoughts and took a sip of his wine. He grinned over at her, back to his usual careless self. “Who wants a nice guy, anyway? We rogues are more fun.”
She met his smiling gaze with a teasing one of her own. “I’m a spoiled jet-set baby, you know. I’ve partied with some pretty hard-core fun-seekers in my day. Are you sure you can cut it with me?”
He leaned forward, blatantly looking down her dress. “I’ll do my best.”
Her chest abruptly felt as if it was on fire, throbbing and swollen beneath his incendiary gaze. Her nipples puckered up hard and sensitive, her dress rubbing almost painfully against them.
His gaze lifted to hers, knowing. Satisfied. Smug. She laughed helplessly. “You’re incorrigible.”
Grinning, he lifted his glass to her in silent toast.
The meal was as spicy and colorful as the club, and Kinsey savored every bite. Of course, part of the seasoning was the nonverbal exchange between her and Mitch as he watched her eat. She’d never thought of it as a particularly sexual experience to eat in front of a man, but she was abruptly aware of the smooth slide of the silverware against her lips, the texture and bite of the food on her tongue, the smoky heat of her prime rib and the tingly chill of the champagne. The chocolate mousse he ordered for their dessert was like sex on a spoon, smooth and rich and sensual. She’d eaten at some of the best restaurants on earth in her day, but never had she enjoyed a meal as much as this one.
