Winter's Fire

by Christie Adams

  “Excuse me for interrupting, sir, but if you need a woman… ah, I mean a female officer… I know I’m not an officer, but could I help at all?”

  Logan looked from his boss to Lucy and back again, expecting Sir Guy to dismiss her. Instead, the other man gave her a contemplative look, almost as if he were actually considering taking her offer seriously, ridiculous though it was.

  “Close the door, Lucy, and take a seat.” He gestured towards the chair beside Logan.

  “With all due respect, sir—”

  “Simmonds, I believe Miss Winter may be about to present us with a way out of our quandary. I think it’s only fair to explain to her what’s required. Once she knows what she could be getting into, she may wish to reconsider her generous offer.”

  ~~*~~

  A short time later, Logan was as close to being a dead man walking as he was ever likely to get. Years of fleecing his buddies at poker enabled him to conceal his reactions in most situations, and that ability had proved to be a godsend during the briefing. He maintained that stoic demeanour as he watched Lucy leave, even though his blood was like ice in his veins, at the same time as his stomach threatened to expel his breakfast with extreme prejudice.

  Sir Guy had ordered Lucy to go home, a decision with which Logan agreed. She needed time to think over what they’d discussed and do some relevant research before their follow-up meeting. Twenty-four hours was all Somerton had given her for that, but it was all they could afford. Their entire course of action depended on whether Lucy was prepared to stand by her suggestion—if she wasn’t, they needed time to come up with an alternative plan, and fast.

  The briefing had brought back every last fucking detail of the darkest period of his life—confirmation once and for all that the past was never going release its death grip on him. His breath solidified in his chest, turning his lungs to solid concrete. He wanted to get the hell out of there and run, run forever, but Sir Guy hadn’t finished with him yet.

  “Come with me. There’s something I need to discuss with you, and I’d rather not have this conversation in front of Lucy.”

  “Sure.” Nausea still thrashing in his gut, Logan followed his CO to the two leather armchairs arranged by a low table.

  His boss sat down and motioned towards the other chair. Logan sat back, propped his left ankle on his right knee, and did his best to appear relaxed.

  “On the off-chance there’s more to this than meets the eye, your cover has to be better than airtight.”

  Ah. That wouldn’t be a problem, but explaining why was an option Logan wasn’t keen to pursue. He hoped assurance rather than explanation would do the trick. “I know enough about the lifestyle to put on a convincing act, sir. You needn’t worry.”

  “I don’t want to have to worry, Simmonds. Given the lifestyle to which the resort caters, faking it could be risky.”

  “I know, sir.” Logan cleared his throat. Looked as if he had no choice but to come clean. “If I may speak in confidence?”

  “Please do.”

  “Playing a Dom won’t be a problem.” Logan paused. A new boulder suddenly lodged itself in his stomach. He was about to out himself to his new boss, a move that could kill his career with the squad stone dead before he’d even had a chance to prove himself properly.

  What the hell. As career options went, working the doors at a nightclub might not hit the high notes, but it’d still pay the bills. He continued. “I’ve been involved in the kink scene since I was old enough to appreciate what it means. I have more than enough experience as a D—top to carry this off.”

  Logan waited for a scandalised reaction, but all Sir Guy did was give a slow, thoughtful nod. “Thank you for telling me—you have my word it’ll go no further. And I’m sure your experience will be invaluable in training Lucy for the mission, should she decide to go ahead.”

  “Sir, about Miss Winter. If I may be frank, I doubt she’s a submissive.”

  To his further surprise, Sir Guy chuckled. “Agreed. Our Miss Winter can be a little… fiery.” He became serious once more. “She may also have saved our bacon with her offer. As I mentioned, Sir Malcolm Carstairs—Diana’s father—is pressing for an immediate start to the investigation.”

  Yeah, that was Sir Malcolm all right. The man had never been reticent when it came to using his title and position to achieve his goals. “Doesn’t he realise we can’t go wheels-up without preparation?”

  “I doubt it. I’ve been able to stall him, citing urgent operational requirements elsewhere, but only until the next flight out there. In practical terms, we’re talking about a window of six days at most.”

  Six days? That was all he had, six bloody days to turn Lucy Winter into a convincing submissive? Sweet Jesus, the mission was well and truly fucked—and six months wouldn’t be enough to accomplish the bloody impossible.

  “If Miss Winter agrees, then I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all any of us can do. We can but hope that Lucy won’t change her mind. If all goes according to plan, I want a daily progress report. And Simmonds?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “At the risk of stating the obvious, if Lucy does accompany you to Nenufar, her safety is paramount.”

  Logan understood where his boss was coming from. Didn’t mean he had to like the implied slur on his sense of responsibility, though. “You can rely on me, sir.”

  With that, the meeting came to a close. As he left Sir Guy’s office, Logan started cataloguing what needed to be done. As the list formed at the front of his mind, the back of his mind came to one inescapable conclusion—without doubt, his life had gone to shit in seconds, a mammoth clusterfuck if ever there was one.

  In need of peace and quiet to put together a plan, he headed back to his apartment, where the extent of his full-scale mental riot became apparent. To quell the chaos, he was going to need every bit of the ability to focus that had been drummed into him during his commando training.

  He toed off his boots and dropped in a full-length sprawl on the black leather sofa. What he’d give for a good stiff drink. This whole situation was crazy as fuck. Problem number one—Lucy Winter didn’t have a submissive bone in her body. Two—just how amenable would she be to taking instruction from someone she regarded as public enemy number one? Three—she had zero experience of working undercover.

  As for four… He’d worry about four if—no, when it happened. The coward in him, engulfed in guilt and self-loathing, was desperate to flee from his past, but if he didn’t face it, another life could be extinguished. That family had already suffered too much.

  All because of him.

  Shame weakened his defences and the images broke through, a sucker punch that caught him without warning. A maelstrom of memories eddied and swirled, bringing with it the gut-churning chill of death.

  The growing sourness of nausea finally made good on its threat. Logan lurched for the bathroom and barely made it before he lost the entire contents of his stomach.

  The retching continued long after there was nothing left to expel.

  Logan dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, grimaced at the foul taste left behind. At the basin, he splashed water over his face, but kept his head bowed. If he looked in the mirror, he’d see not his eyes but hers, dead and sightless, staring up at him through water tainted red with her blood. He’d stuffed it all into a mental box, only to have it busted wide open by a freak set of circumstances.

  Deal with it, Simmonds. You did it before, you can do it again.

  Except… he hadn’t dealt with it then, and it wasn’t going to happen now either—he had other priorities. He needed to extract his head from his arse and get ahead of the game. That meant presenting a concrete plan of action to Sir Guy and getting his buy-in before Lucy arrived for their meeting the next morning. With the boss on board, if Lucy was still minded to go through with this, there was a better chance of her complying with whatever instructions Logan gave her.

  As he emerged from the
bathroom, his thoughts became less amorphous. There was only one way he could see this working. Much though he detested the idea, he’d have to bring her here, to his home, his safe place, and immerse her in an alternative lifestyle. It was the only workable solution if he had any hope of teaching her enough to withstand any scrutiny. A couple of hours here and there wouldn’t pass muster.

  Logan pulled his laptop out of a drawer. By tomorrow, he’d have a plan to put before Sir Guy. With his CO’s agreement, he could then present it to Lucy as an acceptable approach to meet the requirements of the assignment.

  He switched the laptop on, and began to type.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Lucy arrived ahead of schedule for her meeting with Sir Guy. Seeing the middle-aged temp seated at her desk was a little odd. Odder still was being on the receiving end of the invitation to go through—Sir Guy and Mr. Simmonds were waiting for her.

  Drat the man. Certain an early arrival would give her the tactical advantage, she’d hoped to get there first. Never mind. She wouldn’t let that dissuade her from her decision. The man was an arsehole—a hot arsehole, granted, but still an arsehole. Besides, she brought something to the table that no man in the unit ever could.

  Strike that. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say there was a certain something she didn’t bring to the table.

  Lucy knocked on the door and entered Sir Guy’s office. Her bright, confident smile, still riding the crest of humour, dissolved at the sight that met her. Both Sir Guy and Logan stood facing her—Sir Guy was in his usual three-piece suit, as smart and debonair as ever, but Logan… he took her breath away. His appearance delivered a wake-up call to her lady parts that she had no hope of blocking.

  How had he never looked this forbiddingly attractive before? On the face of it, he wasn’t dressed that differently from the previous day. Unbelievable though it was, the seismic effect on her hormones was all down to him wearing a black dress shirt, rather than a white one.

  Or was it how he was wearing the garment, and the different kind of confidence oozing from him with all the treacherous, calorie-laden deliciousness of maple syrup? She’d always found something crazy-sexy about a man with his cuffs turned up, and in Logan’s case, it revealed strong, masculine wrists and forearms that now tempted her to explore them with her fingertips. The open neck drew her eye to the strong column of his throat, and all those intriguing anatomical details, the dips and ridges of a fit male body. For some strange and doubtless idiotic reason, she found it difficult to meet his eyes. Her gaze glued itself to his Adam’s apple.

  “Good morning, Lucy.” Sir Guy’s warm greeting went a long way towards steadying her nerves. “Won’t you sit down and join us?”

  Grateful for the diversion, she switched her attention to her boss. “Thank you, sir.”

  She took the other chair in front of the large desk and deposited her bag on the floor beside her. Out of habit, she tucked her feet under the seat, legs crossed at the ankles, and clasped her hands on her lap. Her boss and the bane of her life resumed their seats.

  Remembering her manners, she turned her gaze on Logan and took a calming breath before forcing her mouth into a rigid, jaw-cracking smile. “Good morning, Mr. Simmonds.”

  “Lucy.” The acknowledgement gave nothing away.

  “How did you sleep last night?”

  “Very well, thank you, Sir Guy.” The nervous knot in her stomach loosened a little when her boss took control of the conversation. “I did the research you recommended—”

  “It didn’t give you nightmares, then?”

  This time, the question came from Logan. A snarky retort hovered on her lips, but it was stayed by the note of genuine concern in the question. She sat up a little straighter—her response would be a matter of pride. “Of course not. I found it quite fascinating, although some of the practices… I have to admit, the attraction escaped me.”

  That was an understatement and a half. Once she’d taken a few minutes to grasp that the opportunity she’d sought was within her grasp, she’d thrown herself into her research. The delights of Nenufar, in most of their glory, had been eye-opening. Had they been on display in all their glory, Lucy was sure her computer would have melted a hole in her desk.

  Then reality had sunk in. If she went there with Logan, she’d have to behave like one of those submissives. And oh lord, he’d be the Dom in their own version of a certain well-known book and film while they tracked down the cabinet minister’s errant daughter. Several groan-inducing puns involving the words “bond” and “bondage” had popped into her mind.

  “What about the ones where it didn’t escape you?”

  The question suggested something that painted intense heat into her cheeks. “I-I didn’t say that—”

  “You implied it.”

  Her face burned like a furnace rigged for tungsten. “That’s not—I don’t believe what you’re alluding to is a suitable subject for discussion here, Mr. Simmonds.”

  To her surprise, the corner of his mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Depending on your decision, we may need to discuss it somewhere, princess.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened at the nickname. She looked to Sir Guy, who was observing their exchange with an expression that looked suspiciously like veiled amusement. She arched an eyebrow. If they were expecting her to back down, they’d be sorely disappointed. “Shall we cut to the chase, gentlemen? You mentioned my decision. When I made the offer… you might have thought it a little rash, and perhaps it was, but it still stands.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, sir.” On more certain ground now, she continued. “If Miss Carstairs is in trouble… I’d like to think, if I were in that position, someone would do something about it. It could all be perfectly innocent, but what if it’s not? There’s no one else you can send with Mr. Simmonds—it has to be me.”

  She met Sir Guy’s steady scrutiny in the irrefutable knowledge she was right. “I can do this, sir.” Her voice was quiet, but it held all the conviction she could muster. “You know my brothers are in various branches of the forces—I’ve learned a lot from them, I can be more than just dead weight on the mission.”

  She sensed a spike in interest to her left. If Logan Simmonds had assumed she could only function as window dressing, he’d better think again.

  “No heroics, Lucy.” Sir Guy was adamant. “You are not to take any chances. No matter what you’ve learned from your brothers, you’re still a civilian. And while I’m extremely grateful for your assistance, you’re there as part of Simmonds’ cover. That’s all. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir Guy.” A distress flare of disappointment incinerated her hopes, but only for a moment. If that was what he wanted, she’d let him believe she agreed, but once they were in the field, all bets were off. According to some of the mission reports she’d read, situations sometimes threw the officers a curve ball, and rules, of necessity, went out of the window.

  “Very well. You’ll leave for the island one week from today—”

  “A week? Shouldn’t we be leaving as soon as possible? If she needs help—”

  “We can’t just parachute in, metaphorically or otherwise.” The interruption came from Logan. “To maintain our cover, we have to arrive like any other guests, and that means—”

  “By boat.” She could butt in just as clumsily as he could. “According to the website, they transfer guests to and from the island on a weekly basis. I should have remembered.”

  Sir Guy continued. “Your travel arrangements have all been made. Until you leave, Lucy, you’re to take your orders from Simmonds.”

  Hell, no. “I’m not sure I understand?” She frowned, glancing between the two men.

  “Do you know how a submissive behaves, Lucy? What her Dom expects of her? How she should act around other members of the community?” The challenging questions came from Logan again.

  “I can do some more research—”

  “Research alone won’t cut it, and you h
ave no undercover experience to help you fake it.” His tone surprised her with its gentleness, yet it still held that stern undercurrent. “Close your eyes. Go on—do it. Imagine we’re already at Nenufar—palm trees, sunshine, blue water, white sand. Everyone around you is a part of the BDSM community. You need to blend in. I’m your Dom, Lucy—how do you behave towards me? Do you know what my expectations of you are, in relation to us and the people around us?”

  “No, but…” Her voice tailed off, and she opened her eyes. She didn’t like the sound of where this was leading, but she gave herself a firm, silent reminder of what she hoped would come of it. Like it or not, she needed Logan’s help to prove she could do the job. “Point taken. What do you need me to do?”

  “Might I suggest the two of you discuss this in private, in the conference room?”

  “Sir.” Logan stood. Lucy was surprised to see his hand extend towards her. With both men’s eyes on her, the atmosphere grew heavy with expectation. She had no option.

  Strong, warm fingers enclosed hers. A little frisson of sensation rippled over her skin. It had nothing to do with feeling cold—how could it when heat radiated from blood flowing thick and hot like lava?

  Lucy rose, her breath snatched away when his grip shifted and his fingers laced with hers. She tried to pull away, but his hold on her tightened. When she opened her mouth to object, he shot a warning look across her bows. Her head wanted to argue, but a more basic response didn’t only silence her—it ignited an inferno of primitive need that was almost terrifying in its intensity.

  ~~*~~

  Logan closed the conference room door. When he turned around, Lucy was standing by one of the chairs arranged around the large oval table. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and if his reading of her body language was correct, describing her as tense and apprehensive would be a massive understatement.