by Julie Leto
“—already been retrieved,” Max replied. “I had the steward leave your bag in your stateroom.”
The boss and his manservant left, closing the door behind them. Frankie crossed his arms and stared at her, as if he expected her to make a decision instantaneously.
“I want in,” she said.
“Of course you do.”
She stretched, wincing when she raised her injured arm too far over her head. “Why do you say that as if you know everything about me?”
“Because I do, Marisela, I know you think you’re a different person now, but you aren’t. You saw that baby and you wanted to scoop her in your arms and play dress-up for three hours.”
“So? I like babies.”
“This one ain’t no baby no more, don’t forget that.”
“She’s still a child stolen from her mother.”
He nodded. “That’s true. But don’t sign on to this mission because you think it’s a good cause. Don’t sign on because you think your life is boring and this is just the thrill you need. And don’t sign on for the money.”
She stepped back, her eyes wide. “Then why the hell should I sign?” she asked, annoyed that he’d figured out her motivations so easily.
A grin spread over his face, a bright curve amid dark, swarthy skin. “So you can be with me for the next two weeks.”
She opened her mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, but realized she’d used that parting shot with him once already, with no discernable affect on his big head and cocky attitude. Instead, she matched his smile, then sidled up to him and slid her good hand around his waist. “Ooh, Frankie. What girl could resist a temptation like you?”
Frankie laughed. “You.”
“Damn straight. And don’t you forget it.”
* * *
“So, Max, think she’s in?”
Ian eased onto the leather couch in his stateroom, giving a cursory glance out the porthole as the crew prepared the Oceanus for voyage. If Marisela Morales didn’t agree to join this mission, there would be no need for a slow trip to Miami so she and Vega could train. In fact, if she didn’t agree, there’d be no mission at all.
The current scheme to inject Marisela and Frankie into Javier Perez’s dark world of violence and retribution had only a sixty-seven percent chance of success, according to his top operatives. The scheme exceeded their normal risk-ratio, but these weren’t normal circumstances. The generous retainer would solve only part of his problem. The profit margin on this operation would be tight, in light of his current financial situation. He needed the million dollars Elise Barton-Ryce had offered to find and retrieve her missing child—and the additional two million she’d extract from her trust only after young Jessica was safe in her mother’s arms.
Ian snorted. Safe wasn’t the word he’d associate with a viper like Elise. The poor kid was probably going from bad to worse—but that wasn’t his concern.
For now, he had only Marisela on his mind.
“She wants to take the offer,” Max said, depositing a glass of iced Scotch on the table beside Ian before beelining for the computer on Ian’s desk. He keyed in a few codes, then waited while a complicated schematic crisscrossed the screen. Max was a man of many talents, but give him something to blow up, he was like a child with a Gameboy. Ian didn’t know if he was reviewing the blueprints to Perez’s jet or triple-checking the controlled explosion Titan would detonate in Miami to further their cause. Either way, he toyed and fiddled every spare moment with every piece of information they’d gathered, upping his knowledge and perspective the way gamers accumulated points and higher levels.
“What makes you so confident about our newest operative?” Ian asked. Even though Max was only a decade older than Ian, the man possessed a wisdom that Ian had come to rely on, as if those ten years between them had been stuffed with a half century of knowledge, experience, and heartbreak.
“Why would she say no?” Max replied, his brow arched as if the answer were so simple, he didn’t know why they were bothering to discuss the matter.
“She might be killed.”
Max shrugged, then slid his finger on the touch screen to change the perspective of the plans he’d been studying for over a week. “She strikes me as a very resourceful woman.”
Ian seized his Scotch. “Resourceful women can die.”
“So can you. So can I. We all make our choices, Mr. Blake. Sometimes, death is beyond our control. Doesn’t matter if you’re in the middle of a war zone or crossing the street.”
Max’s nonchalance came as no surprise. What alarmed Ian was not his assistant’s assessment of Marisela and her courageous nature—he concurred—but that he couldn’t shake a disconcerting sense of dread on the woman’s behalf. Why did he care if she lived or died? He didn’t make a habit of sacrificing his people for the bottom line, but most came out alive. Most, but not all. Still, they knew the potential risks. He imagined that each and every one of Titan’s field agents had signed up precisely for that edge of excitement that challenged Fate to do her worst.
Marisela was the same as the rest.
The same, and yet entirely different.
She wasn’t a former cop. She wasn’t a former spy. And she only had a week to train for an assignment that none of his best people were qualified to handle. And yet, somehow, she’d gotten under his skin.
The woman was a walking testament to temptation. She dressed a little raunchy and swayed her hips with attitude, demonstrating that she could bring any man to his knees, any time. Unlike other females in Ian’s not so distant past, Marisela Morales didn’t hide who she was. She was right there in his face, her sensuality too potent to ignore.
But if he had any sense, he’d turn away right now. Stick to business. Strictly business.
“Are Dionysus and Pan in Miami?” he asked.
“They’ve made contact as directed,” Max answered, his fingertips flying over the keyboard. “Perez expects his assassins in one week.”
Ian nodded. One week. If she agreed. The future of his company once again rested in the hands of a beautiful woman—only this time, Ian would be prepared. He’d learned his lesson with Eris. Betrayal wouldn’t sneak up on him. Not this time. Not ever again.
Nine
“I CAN TAKE you, you know that, right?”
Frankie’s inky gaze pierced Marisela’s from only a few inches away. His lashes captured the sweat dripping down from his hair and her senses swam from the scent—decidedly male and infinitely determined. He had her exactly where he wanted her—and she could blame no one but herself.
“You could try,” Marisela countered brashly, her own skin glistening, the moisture adding a barely perceptible slip to her position on the mat. Her arm, treated by the Titan physician, ached, but the liquid bandage and cloth wrappings held firm. Frankie had her pinned to the mat, her wrists shackled in his iron-banded hands. He’d gotten the drop on her for the first time in three days and the triumphant look in his eye guaranteed he wouldn’t release her any time soon.
He shifted his body so that his trim abs slid over hers, his legs locked across her knees so that she couldn’t move. She supposed she should feel embarrassed about falling victim to his attack, but she wasn’t so sure she didn’t appreciate her position. Frankie Vega might be an arrogant, infuriating prick most of the time, but he pulled the attitude off with such delicious style.
“And now that I have you,” he said, his stare sweeping down her body with pure sexual appreciation, “what am I going to do with you?”
She arched an eyebrow. “You could try to seduce me, but you’d need your hands for that.” She tugged at his hold, but barely managed an eighth-inch of movement.
“I don’t know. My tongue is fairly talented, remember?” He swiped a lick over her lips and an electric current shot straight into her veins. Oh, yeah, she remembered his tongue. Intimately. “Besides, if I let go, you’ll try to kick my ass for dropping you.”
“There’s that ‘try’ again.�
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He chuckled, hot and deep-throated, like the bass undertones of a sensual Spanish ballad, right before the guitarist increased the tempo to a frenetic pace. Baritone and primitive, the sound rippled through her, igniting the tickle in her belly that she’d been fighting since she’d signed on with Titan.
Frankie had warned her that working for Titan wouldn’t be like the movies, but nothing she’d experienced so far convinced her otherwise. She was cruising to Miami on a two hundred-foot luxury yacht with gold-leafed fixtures in the bathroom, feasting on the most delicious, exotic foods she’d ever tasted and training with a man whose sexuality shimmered off him just like his sweat—raw and plentiful.
Besides, the most dangerous thing she’d encountered so far was Frankie and his magnetism. And now that he had her trapped, alone, in a main dining room that had been converted into a world-class gymnasium with sweet sea air teasing her nostrils and the vibrations from the engines and the waves rocking beneath her, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to escape.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, sliding one leg free. “Because I’m getting bored.”
Frankie grinned, then stretched languidly over her, making sure every inch of her body made contact with his and diverting her countermove. What had started as a practice session of kicks and punches had turned from purely physical to innately personal.
Training-wise, Marisela deserved a taste of this prone position for letting her guard down. She knew better, but he’d worn down her resistance. For three days, they’d been together nearly every minute—it wasn’t entirely surprising that their old rhythms had reemerged. In the mornings, they ran laps around the deck, catching up on the gossip from the neighborhood. In the afternoons, they swam in the lap pool, pushing the limits of endurance. After lunch, they punched the bags and weight-trained, awakening muscles Marisela hadn’t used in a while. At night, they studied codes and code names and acquainted themselves with the highly technical gadgets and gizmos dispensed to all Titan operatives. They also memorized the life and times of Javier Perez from the scant information other investigators already in the field had gathered through secondary sources and long-distance observation.
She and Frankie would be the first agents to infiltrate the arms dealer’s organization. Yet despite their intense preparation, the key factors of this mission were still one big fat unknown. With so much going on, could Marisela be blamed for failing to resist a man that she’d found irresistible since puberty?
“I could think of more interesting things to be doing while on top of you,” Frankie mused, writhing against her, “but you aren’t ready yet.” He straddled her and sat up, but didn’t release her hands.
“Not ready?” she asked, disbelieving. “For what? For sex? Try ‘not interested.’ Been there, done that. Last week, as a matter of fact.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said, his voice a throaty growl. “And believe me, vidita, neither have you.”
No, she didn’t suppose she had. “Is this your revenge?”
“Not by a long shot. I’m just taking a breather, wondering how long I can stand to feel you so wild and willing beneath me.”
That did it. Frankie could tease and antagonize her all he wanted, but calling her willing went one step too far.
She bucked once to throw off his balance, then a second time to plant her feet close to her lifted knees. With the power of her hips, she twisted, unlocking her wrist from his grip. She dipped under his arm and threw her weight over his until he was the one with his back to the mat.
Ordinarily, she’d finish this move with a head butt and a knee to the groin. Instead, she kissed him.
Their mouths were salty, their lips tinged with the moisture of perspiration, power drinks, and desire. His tongue slashed into her mouth with hungry power and she matched his ravenous need taste for taste. Though she’d placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, he could have easily moved out of her way. But he hadn’t—and she was glad.
Her spandex workout pants strangled her blood flow as the throbbing between her legs intensified. The telltale trickle of sensual cream seeped from her sex, announcing in no uncertain terms that she wanted Frankie physically even if her heart and her brain ordered her to back down. Ever since that night in the club, she’d experienced a powerful lust she wasn’t sure she wanted to fight anymore. Not when there were so many other things to rail against.
He yanked his face away. “What’s this?”
“A kiss, cabrón.”
“You just said, been there, done that.”
“Don’t you know when I’m just trying to be tough?”
His grin stoked the fire burning deep in her belly. “Yeah, I do.”
She sat up on her haunches and despite the way the sports bra adhered to her skin, she yanked it over her head, freeing her breasts to his appreciative gaze. Her nipples were dark and hard and practically crackled for his touch.
“Let’s go, then,” she said. There was only one way to douse this flame. The old-fashioned way.
Frankie chuckled, but spread his hands benignly over her midsection. Then, in slow, possessive strokes that aroused her at the same time that they kept her at arm’s length, he proved how talented his hands truly were. “Just like that, you want to screw me?”
“Why not? You want me,” she said, leaning slightly forward so her nipples tantalized him from above. “I want you. What’s stopping us?”
“Maybe good sense is stopping us,” he guessed, pulling himself up until they sat face-to-face, legs entwined. “For once.”
His words countered the message of his fingers, which tangled into her ponytail and freed her hair.
Her shoulders melted into her spine as he combed through the heavy strands. The residual soreness from the pounding her muscles had endured faded, replaced by the hazy half-awareness of sexual need. She guessed this might not turn out the way she wanted. Frankie was teasing her mercilessly so that when he pulled back, her frustration level would shoot through the roof.
She knew, but she didn’t care. She had nothing to lose, but one hell of a good time to gain if she turned the tables.
“You’re right,” she murmured. “We shouldn’t.” With a stretch and a shift, she rubbed against his erection, invoking a strangled groan from deep in his chest. “We’re working together now. I suppose it wouldn’t be professional to get involved again after all this time, even just to feed our sexual urges.”
She braced one hand on his shoulder, but with the other traced a tight circle around his nipple. Her nails tangled with the hair curling around the slick, dark knot, flashing red and sharp against his swarthy skin.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he admitted.
“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” She breathed the words against his skin as she traced a path of languid, liquid kisses up his pec to his shoulder, where she nipped him oh-so-lightly.
“You don’t know what you’re starting.”
She continued her exploratory line of kisses across his shoulder to his neck. God, she loved how he tasted—hot with the elemental flavors of salt and skin. “Maybe not, but I know what I’m ending.”
Mouth to mouth, their kiss breathed insatiable need into the desire arcing between them. Tongues clashed and dove and stroked.
He flipped her over and made quick work of removing her pants and thong. She managed a clear thought long enough to snatch her leggings out of the air when he tossed them aside. She’d prepared for this moment. As he stripped out of his tank top and tight biker shorts, she removed a condom from the tiny pocket that had been pressed against her hip all day, a constant reminder for the last twelve hours that she intended to seduce Frankie. Today
With a magician’s skill, he palmed the foil square. “We both had physicals yesterday, ¿sí? You have that patch thing. We don’t need no rubbers. Besides, I’m not quite ready for what you want. Yet.”
He was right about the clean bills of health and her birth control choice, but he was wrong about everything
else—especially her ability to wait. “Think you’re going to be a big tease or something?” She eyed his erection boldly. “You’re ready now.”
He shook his head, crawling across the mat until he was over her again, the muscles in his arms and legs undulating like the sinews of a large, ravenous cat.
“A hard-on is only part of the deal. I can get one of those just from looking at you. You do want me to do more than look, right?”
Flashes of their night together in his room over his mother’s garage played in her mind. Not of how she’d handcuffed him to the bed, but how he’d brought her to orgasm with only his mouth—and left her completely and totally wanting more.
He desired revenge, but he probably didn’t realize that his retribution had been slashing into her ever since she’d turned her back on him and left him to deal with his parents.
Every moment in Frankie’s presence, every touch while sparring, every laugh he’d tricked out of her was like another bite of a delicious, forbidden meal. The time for fasting was over.
“You can do whatever you want to me, Frankie, so long as in the end, you make me come.”
His tilted grin assured her she had nothing to worry about. His first kiss, right between her legs, proved he was a man of his word.
The first orgasm racked her body only seconds after he plied his teeth and tongue to her sensitive labia and thrumming clit. He parted her with his fingers, delving deep into her sex, coaxing her to sensual overload with a dozen dirty phrases, all in Spanish, all speaking to the part of her soul she kept hidden behind a dozen types of armor. He flipped her onto her stomach, massaged her buttocks and spine then slipped his hands beneath her to pluck and arouse her breasts. Addicted to his skill, she lifted onto her hands and knees, desperate to give him more room to ply his trade. He chuckled triumphantly as she moved into what she remembered was his favorite position—and for today, she didn’t care. He could have her any way he wanted her, so long as he didn’t wait any longer.
