“Jaime called from the front gate. Ren’s here.” Berto shot a smirky smile at Sam. “When Ren heard you were here, he started cursing. His Spanish is very fluent.”
“Shit. I think I fucked up, buddy.” Conn turned to look at Sam. “I didn’t tell him you were here. Figured it might be better as a surprise. Guess I was wrong.”
Sam waved Conn off. “I don’t need you to make this easier on me. We all knew Maddox and Petriv have issues with me.” He stood and forcibly relaxed suddenly tense muscles. “I’ll meet him outside in the forecourt so if things go to shit, I’ll have room to maneuver.”
Conn stood. “I’ll go with you and make sure things don’t get out of hand. We have an op to plan—and the enemy’s already on the move. SSI sources in Rio reported that Oraio… fuck, let’s just call him who he is… that MacLean and Armando Rossi, the brother of the guy DJ killed in Belize, flew out of a private airport three hours ago. The flight plan filed indicated Aruba as their destination.”
He and Conn moved into the main hallway that bisected the house from the front to the back where the kitchen and hearth room were located. “Does NSA still have eyes on the container ship that left MacLean’s island?”
Satellite photos had showed that as many as one hundred girls had been placed on the ship. Word in the Dark Net was they were to be sold as sex slaves to someone from the Middle East.
“Yeah. It’s on a course that would take it just off the coast of Venezuela, so Aruba makes sense.” Conn blew out a disgusted breath. “We have to stop MacLean. Selling women, no, not even women… selling young girls is almost as bad as treason.”
“I’d say it’s worse,” Sam muttered.
Sam eyed the front door and took another deep breath, oxygenating his blood for a fight. He’d let Maddox take some swipes. The man had a legitimate beef—his wife had been threatened.
But Sam refused to let it get to the point of any real damage to either one of them. After all, he’d only been doing his job to take out MacLean, a traitor to the United States—and also a danger to SSI.
He exited the house just as a Mercedes SUV pulled up. The driver was Ren Maddox. The front passenger seat held a short blonde woman. He recognized her from the photos in her CIA file. Maddox brought his little wife on an op? What the fuck was wrong with the man?
There was another short person in the backseat that also looked to be female. Had the former Navy SEAL lost his fucking mind? Bringing two women on an op?
Sam had no time to discover who the other woman was because Maddox was suddenly there in his face.
“Crocker!” Maddox yelled. “You motherfucking son of a bitch.”
Maddox threw a fist. Sam danced out of the way, just avoiding the punch that would’ve broken his nose.
Throwing up an arm, Sam blocked the uppercut that followed the jab and used a front kick to give himself some room.
“Ren…” Conn began as he moved to get between the two.
“Get the fuck back, Conn,” Maddox snarled as he circled around Sam. “Or consider yourself fired.”
“Get back, buddy. Don’t risk your job for me,” Sam said. “The man wants his pound of flesh.” But he didn’t intend to make it easy on the man who might eventually become his employer.
“Besides”—he shot an evil grin at Conn—“I have to uphold the honor of all Marines. If I can’t go toe-to-toe with a skinny, weakling SEAL, I might as well hang it up.”
Maddox growled. “Skinny? Weakling? Fuck you, Crocker. I’ll wipe the ground with you.”
For several minutes, the two danced around each other, throwing punches and kicks, feeling each other out. The only sounds in the sunny forecourt were harsh breathing and grunts when one or the other of them managed a solid connection.
Sweating, Sam’s heart pounding as adrenaline poured into his bloodstream, he just managed to block Maddox’s side kick to his junk by grabbing the former SEAL’s foot and shoving him away, putting his opponent dangerously off-balance.
But Sam didn’t follow up and finish the fight. Maddox needed to get over his anger, needed to exorcize his demons.
Sam knew all about demons, plus he hadn’t had a good fight in a while.
“Fuck.” Maddox surged to his feet. “Almost had you.”
“Not even close.” Sam grinned as Maddox switched to Krav Maga, a street-wise form of martial arts developed by the Israelis. The man wanted to get down and dirty, did he? Unfortunately for Maddox, Sam excelled at more than one martial arts form, and Krav Maga played to his strengths. And since Maddox had Sam’s service records, the SSI owner was well aware of that fact. The man wanted to work off some steam—and Sam was happy to oblige.
Smiling evilly, Maddox connected with a round kick to Sam’s right side. The pain was sharp for a split-second, taking his breath, then dulled.
He barely managed to spin away from Maddox’s continuation move of a back hand to Sam’s ribs. The blow glanced off him.
Letting out a roar, Sam then flowed into a combination of kicks—side, back, then a high round house kick to Maddox’s shoulder.
“Fuck.” Maddox rotated the shoulder as he circled back and around. “Good move, jarhead.”
Maddox’s lips twisted in an evil grin. He moved swiftly forward using a blazing combination of punches, jabs, and kicks. Several connected before Sam, sweat stinging his eyes, caught Maddox’s foot once again and upended him. The man landed on his ass with a resounding thud and a loud oof coming out of his mouth.
But in the next second, Maddox was back on his feet and on the attack once again.
Sam moved backward, playing defense for the moment, waiting, conserving his energy, until Maddox got tired of pursuing and left Sam an opening to end the battle.
*
Dawn got out of the back seat and moved to stand beside Keely. “Men!”
Keely turned to look at Dawn and gave a little snort. “Yeah.”
They both giggled as they directed their gazes back to the fight. Within minutes of meeting Ren’s wife at the Cartagena charter terminal, Dawn quickly realized they shared the same sense of humor and would become fast friends. And after they’d finished a marathon shopping spree in the boutiques of Cartagena, with a not-so-silently suffering Ren as their bag carrier, she’d decided she and Keely were twins separated at birth.
Ren had remarked upon that very thing at lunch when Dawn began to comment on a table of Latino men who eyed her and Keely in a salacious manner. Keely soon joined in by providing commentary of her own, and they proceeded to trade snarky quips about the men’s parentage and manners, practically finishing each other’s sentences. By the time the men left the restaurant, Ren was chuckling at the women’s repartee. Keely then had firmly cemented their new friendship by sharing the most decadent lemon creme cake Dawn had ever eaten.
“You never mentioned that Crock-of-shit was going to be here.”
“Crock-of-shit?” Keely asked.
“You had to have been there. He pissed me off.” Dawn eyed the man’s arse and strongly muscled thighs as he grappled with Ren on the stone-paved driveway. Crocker’s strength and grace as he fought had her mouth drying up and her pussy getting wet. She sighed. Now that was a man.
Dawn winced as Ren threw Crocker off him. He landed on the ground—hard—on that so fine arse, followed by a thunk of his head. But he got up quickly.
Good to know, the Marine had a hard head.
“We didn’t know Sam would be here.” Keely closed her eyes briefly as Ren was shoved into the thick shrubbery. Crocker followed him in.
“So? Why are they fighting?” Dawn frowned. “Please tell me this isn’t one of those inter-military rivalries. The Marines versus the Navy.”
“Wish it were that stupid.” Keely pulled Dawn out of the way as the two men proceeded to expand their fight zone to the whole forecourt. “Sam was undercover for the CIA’s Clandestine Service on a black ops mission to investigate MacLean who worked as a general’s aide at the DIA. Sam’s cover was as a m
erc who’d do anything. MacLean hired him to kill me and as many other SSI agents as he could.”
“Ahh. I see. Ren’s fighting for your honor.” Dawn frowned. “But MacCrocker was only doing his job. He’d never kill an innocent. The man might be thick-headed and irritating”—yeah, protest all you want, you’re attracted to the man—“but he’s honorable. Your hubby sounds almost as thick-headed as MacCrocker.”
“MacCrocker?” Keely giggled.
“You really had to have been there.”
Keely wiggled her fingers in a give-me-more gesture.
Dawn sighed. “He was bossy, insisted on taking the lead in the Belizean jungle when I was the one who knew where DJ and your brother were. Men and their stupid need to be in charge of everything.”
“Yeah.” Keely bit her lip and muttered “frick-fracking hell” as Ren flew several feet across the breadth of the driveway. “When Tweetie and DJ recommended we make Sam an offer of employment, Ren ranted for almost an hour.” She sighed. “It took a blow job and acrobatic sex to get him to stop cursing and to admit that he would’ve done the same thing Sam had.”
Dawn laughed. “Ahh, appealing to the little brain, always a good move.” She grimaced as Crocker took a ferocious punch to the gut. A very nice gut it looked to be, but now it would be bruised. “Ouch, now that had to hurt. Shouldn’t we stop this? We’ve got a mission to plan, right?”
“Yeah.” Keely looked at her. “I’ll grab my man. You grab yours.”
“Mine? Crock-of-shit isn’t mine.”
Keely laughed and threw over her shoulder, “That’s not what DJ told me.”
Shit! Had she been that obvious?
Dawn shrugged and followed Keely who took advantage of Ren being thrown toward her. She threw herself against her husband’s chest and circled his waist with her arms.
Ducking a punch Crocker threw at Ren, Dawn mirrored Keely’s moves and then buried her face against Crocker’s chest. She took a deep breath and barely held back a moan. He smelled so damn good. All clean male sweat with a hint of a citrus-musk that made her dry mouth water and her girly parts tingle.
Shit, the man hits all my sensory buttons.
“What the fuck? Dawn?” Crocker circled her body with his arms and swung her away from any potential offensive maneuvers from Ren. He ran his hands up and down her body—and didn’t that feel bloody good?
“Are you nuts?” He tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes, then rubbed a thumb over her lower lip.
She was sorely tempted to nip the calloused pad then suck it into her mouth, but managed to rein in the insane reaction at the last second.
“No, I’m perfectly sane.” Maybe. She moved her hands to his chest and shoved. “You can let me go now.” You need to let me go before I start biting and licking you all over.
God, when had she become such a hussy?
Less than a week ago in a Belizean jungle.
“No.” He shifted her to his side and anchored her there with a firm and immovable arm around her waist.
“No? Why in the hell not?” She grasped the arm wrapped around her and tried to pull it off her. No luck. It was like trying to move a lorry with a feather.
“Because…” He muttered an obscenity then exhaled through his nose like an angry bull. “What… the… ever-loving… fuck did you think you were doing diving into the middle of a fight? You could’ve gotten badly hurt.” His arm squeezed her in a convulsive move.
She squeaked, and he immediately loosened his hold, but not enough for her to wiggle away. And she tried. Lord, did she try. His closeness, his heat, his fucking glorious chest were setting her senses aflame. He scared the blooming crap out of her.
“Hold still, little cat. Don’t…”
He cuddled her closer—yes, it was a cuddle this time and not a pissed-off squeeze. The man wasn’t playing fair at all. How in the hell did he know she loved to be cuddled? Maybe he cuddled all the ladies? And didn’t that thought piss her off.
“…move away from me. Now answer the damn question.”
“Keely and I were stopping a stupid macho display of hubris.” She pinched his hairy forearm—or tried to—the man was solid muscle. No loose skin on his arm at all. So she pulled the hair instead. She really needed to get away from all his far-too-attractive masculinity before she did something stupid and embarrassing.
“Ow!” He glared down at her, his grey eyes flashing silver fire. She angled her head and returned the look. Man, he was so bloody tall. The top of her head hit him mid-chest. “Why are you pulling my arm hair?”
“I’m showing my displeasure at being held captive, Crock-of-shit.” She wiggled. “Let go. I don’t like it.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Okay, so she lied. Yes, Crocker did it for her. He ticked all her boxes on what an ideal man should be. He was not a cover model pretty boy. He was one hundred percent man from top to bottom and everywhere in between. She felt a bulge poking at her stomach. The spit dried up in her mouth—again. He was aroused as hell, and just thinking of taking his large cock inside her made her knees weak. She sagged against him for a second, then immediately stiffened her traitorous knees and her resolve.
Yeah, she was attracted—but she was not easy.
Of course you’re not, but then you’ve never met a man like Sam before.
Plus, now was not the time nor the place to explore … whatever this was between her and the man now rubbing her side in soothing strokes.
Oh bloody fucking hell, who was she kidding? She wanted to let him carry her away and stroke her all over—but her new employer, his wife, Conn, and another man were staring at the two of them as if she and Crocker were a South American telenovela.
“Crocker!” Ren shouted. Keely was clasped to his side as closely as Crocker held Dawn.
Ren and Crocker were men created in the same crucible of battle and life experiences. Did women ever have a chance at fighting off such dominant masculinity?
“Call me Sam.” The man holding her so gently now grinned at the man he’d tried to beat bloody mere minutes ago. Men, totally illogical creatures. “I think we need to bury the past seeing that we’re evenly matched and are equally burdened with fool-hardy midgets who’d sacrifice their precious little bodies to stop us from killing each other.”
Ren laughed as he placed a kiss on the top of Keely’s head. “The past was buried once I knew you were CIA.”
“You never told me that, big guy.” Keely glared at her husband who said nothing and leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose.
“Then why were you two idiots fighting?” Dawn asked, wondering if Sam—and he would always be Sam in her head now, since thinking of him as Crocker had been her way of distancing herself, a plan that had been doomed from the start—would ever want to kiss the tip of her nose.
“It’s a guy thing,” Ren replied.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed with a stupid smirk on his face.
“Well, it’s a dumb arse thing,” Dawn said.
“What she said,” grumbled Keely. “Now, can we go inside and sit? My feet hurt from all that shopping.”
“I can take care of that, sprite.” Ren swung his wife into his arms and carried her into the house.
“Well, little cat, you must’ve shopped with her, so—”
“MacCrocker, don’t you fucking—”
Dawn screeched like a scalded cat as Sam tightened his grip on her waist and placed his other arm under her knees and then swung her up against his chest. She put one arm around his neck and slapped at his chest with the other hand as he followed Ren into the mansion.
Conn who’d stood silently while all the fighting and aftermath played out grinned at her antics.
She scowled at the tall blond Viking look-a-like. “Well, Conn, don’t just stand there grinning like a loony. Go get the shopping bags out of the SUV. I’ve worn this outfit for over twenty-four hours. I need a shower and fresh clothes.”
“Gotcha, Dawn. Welcome to SSI-Cartagena.”
Conn saluted her and moved toward the SUV.
“Want help with the shower?” Sam’s eyes sparkled with mischief—and heat.
“No.” Liar. She gave him her best lady-of-the-manor glare, the one her mother used on maids who hadn’t dusted properly or had forgotten to iron the sheets before making the bed.
“You don’t know what you’re missing, little cat.” He stopped in the middle of a grand entrance hall and captured her mouth with his.
Bloody fucking hell, what a kiss it was. This was no gentle, getting-to-know-you peck on the lips, but an all-out sensual assault. Tongue was involved, lots of it, both his and hers. By the time he was through, he’d claimed every bleeding millimeter of her mouth and had her gasping for breath.
“Think about that while you’re alone in the shower,” he whispered against her mouth.
They made the rest of the trip to join the others in complete silence—his felt smug; hers was full of shock and awe. No man had ever kissed her that way, as if he breathed his soul into her and took hers in return.
She was in deep trouble—bottom of the ocean deep trouble.
Chapter 5
Sam sat at the end of the granite-topped kitchen island and stared at Dawn who’d scrambled away and taken a stool as far from him as possible. She refused to look at him and had energetically engaged Berto in a conversation about the chicken, rice, and bean dish he was preparing for supper.
He could kick his own ass for kissing her in the hallway. It had been too soon. Dawn was attracted; her reaction to the kiss had proven that much—his wasn’t the only tongue dueling during the all too brief, but volcanic kiss. Plus, his little cat had defensive skills and wasn’t the type to put up with unwanted attentions. So, yeah, she was drawn to him, but, by distancing herself from him, she’d demonstrated she was still not one hundred percent sure about him.
Hell, he couldn’t blame her for being cautious. They’d only known each other for a short—but intense—period of time. She’d soon figure out he’d rather cut off his dick than hurt her.
For his part, he’d been blind-sided by his overwhelming reaction to Dawn. She affected him in ways no other woman ever had. When she’d come to him in Belize for help to back up DJ Poe in rescuing Tweeter Walsh, every bit of him—mentally, physically and emotionally—had instantly engaged. It was as if his very soul had connected with hers. That reaction had been why he’d immediately returned to the resort to find her after reporting in to his handler and why he’d vowed to track her down when she hadn’t been there.
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