Hot as Hell

by Monette Michaels

  “That’s the basic plan. We’ll adapt, as needed. Get some sleep, people,” Ren ordered. “There are files on your tablets on Benrabi, his people, and the layouts of the Aruban resort/casino and MacLean’s estate. Study them on the flight to Aruba tomorrow. Conn and Dawn will take a separate private charter and enter Aruba through regular Customs. The rest of us will fly into the Dutch Air Force base and be met by our Dutch liaison Captain Hoffmann, who has already been fully briefed.”

  Sam liked how SSI did things and knew as long as Petriv didn’t try to kill him when they met—and they’d meet eventually—he’d really like to work for SSI.

  Chapter 6

  Later that night

  Dawn rummaged through the massive refrigerator and found some cheese and an open bottle of white wine. If she could find some crackers, she’d have a nice snack.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Sam’s low, gravelly tones came from behind her.

  She turned and found him leaning a shoulder against the door frame. He looked far too attractive in a T-shirt with its sleeves cut out and loose sweat pants that hung low on his hips. The look in his eyes was warm, almost tender, as his gaze swept over her body from her bare feet with the bright pink polish she’d just applied, up her equally bare legs, and over Ren’s T-shirt Keely had loaned her to act as a robe, and finally settling on her face.

  She was very conscious she wore only a sheer, short nightgown and no knickers underneath the dark cotton. Thank God, the T-shirt covered her to right above her knees. Why hadn’t she thrown on some real clothes before she’d come downstairs?

  Flustered by his continued scrutiny, she stuttered out, “Y-y-eah.” She coughed to clear her suddenly tight throat and then held up the wine bottle. “Want some? I’m having cheese and crackers, if I can find them.”

  Sam ambled farther into the kitchen. No, ambled was too tame. His movement was more akin to the prowl of a big cat. A big, hungry, stalking cat.

  “I’ll grab the crackers and some glasses. Sit,” he ordered. “You look beat.”

  “Thanks. A girl always loves to hear she’s looking less than her best.”

  Obviously she didn’t move fast enough to suit Sam, because before she’d even gotten her last word out, he swooped, picked her up, and placed her on a stool.

  Dawn set the wine bottle onto the island with a distinctive thud, then proceeded to hack slices of cheese off the hunk of white cheddar. It was better than laying into the dictatorial male in the room, who thought he had the right to order her around.

  “I think you couldn’t be anything else but beautiful…”

  And then he goes and says something sweet.

  Sam placed two wine glasses and a box of crackers on the island and then sat on the stool next to hers. “…you’re just looking a bit tired.” Flicking a finger at the soft cotton sleeve of the T-shirt, he frowned. “That’s a man’s T-shirt, not some nightshirt. Whose is it?” His voice was low and rough like the deep, harsh growl of the leopards she’d heard in the Belizean jungle. “It can’t be the asshole Lloyd’s, you’d never give that douchebag the time of day. So, little cat, do you have some man back in England, missing his shirt? Missing you in his bed?”

  Little cat? At least that was better than little Brit.

  Sam’s new pet name for her sounded awfully possessive. She’d known he was attracted to her, the kiss in the hallway had conveyed that concept loudly and clearly. He sounded jealous. But how could he be? They barely knew one another.

  It happens that way sometimes, Dawn. It did with your parents. Don’t tick the large alpha-male off. Answer the man—honestly.

  “No… there’s no one.” She concentrated on carefully slicing the cheese. Berto had very sharp knives and her hand was shaking. Sam was hell on her nerves. He was everything the men in her past were not. He was a hunky, sex-on-a-stick-hot, uber-macho, dominant male. He liked her snark and gave it back as good as she dealt it out. Most importantly, he didn’t seem to be threatened by her skills or intelligence. Yes, he tended to be bossy where her safety was concerned, but his over-protectiveness was an integral part of the whole package.

  If she took on a man like Sam, she’d have to accept every aspect of the package. Men, as her so-wise mother had once told her, were not trainable after the age of five, but they might be led.

  And she so wanted to take Sam on… to jump his bones to see if the promise of him was real. But the timing sucked. She didn’t need this out-of-control attraction right before an op. Especially a mission in which she had to play a dumb bimbo. She needed to be on her A-game, because shit happened no matter how well thought out the mission was and how much backup an operative had.

  “Then whose shirt is it? Was I wrong and it belongs to that asshole Lloyd?” Sam snarled. “He lied to me when I tried to find you after what went down in Belize. Said you were unavailable. You two have a thing?”

  “Fuck no.” She tossed a piece of cheese at him, hitting his chest. “I can’t stand the wanker. Ron had aspirations… unrealized aspirations. Besides the man wouldn’t be caught dead in a T-shirt unless it were a silk Armani.”

  “Then who in the fuck’s shirt is it?” Sam gritted out.

  If she didn’t satisfy his curiosity, assuage his jealousy, he’d be at her all night for his answer, and she really would like to get some sleep.

  Exasperated, she sighed. “It’s Ren’s. I forgot to buy a robe.”

  Sam stood, plucked her off the stool, set her gently on her feet, and then stripped the shirt off her before she could protest. He inhaled sharply and ate her up with his hot, sensual gaze. “Nice nightie.”

  His expression tightened and his nostrils flared. She sensed he was fighting a battle—his fierce need versus her need for rest. He blew out a shuddering breath, then took off his T-shirt with its U.S. Marine logo, pulled it over her head, and helped her pull her arms through the arm holes. “There, that’s better.”

  Struck speechless, Dawn trembled as he smoothed the shirt over her body. The look in his silver-grey eyes was both tender and sexual. His citrus-musk scent had grown stronger as the air around them heated. He dropped his hands from her body and shifted his gaze to the floor, breaking the intense attraction which threatened to consume them both.

  This man had control, and that was very sexy indeed.

  Sam bent and picked up Ren’s shirt. “I’ll make sure the boss gets this back.” He leaned in and placed a light kiss on her parted lips. Picking her up, he placed her back on the stool and held a piece of cheese to her lips. “Eat.”

  Dawn ate—and drank the wine from the glass he held to her lips and then from which he took a sip.

  For the next few minutes, Sam fed her and shared the wine. All the stress that had served to keep her awake melted away in the cozy cocoon Sam had woven around the two of them. Even the sounds of the ice maker coming on, the hum of the air conditioning, and the distant call of birds from outside the house dimmed as Sam cared for her needs over his.

  For only the second time in her life, Dawn was struck dumb by a man… by his actions and words.

  The first time had been in a Belizean jungle when she’d met Sam. She’d wandered around the night-time jungle, avoiding O’Riley’s security people and worrying about snakes and predatory animals, and not sure she’d find the mysterious Crocker in time to help DJ and Tweeter. And then suddenly Sam had appeared in front of her, sliding out of the undergrowth like a jungle cat. He’d been as impressive then as now, an air of competence and command about him that both impressed and ticked her off. He’d been the ace in the hole the SSI team had needed to win the day.

  Sam wasn’t a Nancy-boy like most of the men she’d dated. In truth, men—all types—had always been easy for her to handle. She’d grown up with four brothers, was used to the military men who guarded the embassies she’d lived in, and had competed with males in her educational and professional life. But Sam was different than all of those males. He was an outlier of the male species—or, at least, he was for
her.

  She licked her lips and swallowed hard. Sam’s eyes heated until she swore she saw flames in their deep grey depths.

  “That did it.” His rumbled words shot a frisson of awareness down her spine right before he pulled her into his arms and took her mouth in a heated kiss. Unlike the earlier kiss in the hallway, this one went from zero to the speed of sound instantly. He’d loosened the reins on his desire.

  Sam groaned into her mouth and the vibrations traveled throughout her body, sparking every nerve-ending into a higher level of excitation. He stroked her body with calloused fingertips and then slid his large hands under her clothing and grabbed one naked arse-cheek in each hand and squeezed gently.

  She moaned and he swallowed the sound—took her breath and then gave her his.

  He muttered as he ate at her lips. “Sweet… so… fucking… sweet. I just wanna eat you up.” He thrust his tongue into her mouth, engaging hers in a battle for ultimate pleasure. It was a war where neither side lost.

  Mewling deep in her throat, she opened wider to his avid, seeking mouth even as she melted against his large, warm body. Rubbing her aching breasts over his tanned, cut chest, she felt the roughness of his dark chest hair through the thin layers of her clothing. Her nipples pebbled and begged to be touched—no, suckled—by this man’s marvelously talented lips and tongue.

  When Sam moved one of his hands to the aching apex of her thighs, a warning siren in her head wailed. Red Alert! Mission. Tomorrow. Early departure.

  Bloody buggering hell. She wanted this man—had never wanted another man as much as she wanted Sam right now, right this minute, on the floor, on the counter, or against the bleeding wall.

  But the timing sucked.

  Mentally whining, Dawn placed her hands on his all-too-inviting chest and gently shoved. Breaking off the kiss, she mumbled against his lips, “Can’t do this now.”

  Sam moved away just enough to look at her. A concerned frown creased his forehead and turned down his luscious lips swollen from their kissing.

  She lifted a hand and traced his mouth with the tip of one finger. “So sorry. I want to… really, really want to… but…”

  Nodding, he blew out a breath. “Sorry. All my fault. Wrong time. Wrong place. When you licked your lips, I… sorry.”

  When he pulled even farther away, she smoothed her hands over his shoulders—such broad, strong shoulders—halting him. She wasn’t ready to lose his touch, his heat. “Not your fault. Not even the wrong place. If we didn’t have to leave so early tomorrow morning, we’d be upstairs, in bed, with me taking you inside me right now.”

  “Fuck yeah.” Sam pulled her lower body against his and held her there with one hand on her arse. With the other, he caressed her back with long, slow strokes. So soothing, but exciting at the same time. “So… I wasn’t moving too fast for you?”

  “No. I want you…” She inhaled his clean male musk and the light citrus aftershave he used. Moving closer to his chest, she nuzzled the base of his throat and then lightly licked the pulse beating there. “…very much.”

  Holding her more tightly against him, he inhaled, a harsh sound, almost a groan, and then muttered, “Sweet Jesus… don’t tempt me, little cat. I want you badly. I want to make love to you until my scent and touch are imprinted on you.”

  Love, he called it making love—not fucking as most men would. Whether his choice of wording was conscious or not, it still struck an emotional chord.

  Dawn was elated. Deep in her gut, the same instincts that had kept her alive in dangerous situations over the years and had warned her away from all the wrong types of men told her Sam was “it” for her. So, him describing the sex act as making love was good; it meant he was invested in her more than merely physically.

  She rubbed her cheek over his chest, loving how the hair tickled her skin and added to her awareness of him.

  “I’d love that. Unfortunately,” she yawned so widely her jaw cracked, “I need to finish eating and catch some sleep. If we made love, I know neither one of us would get a wink of sleep.”

  Brushing a kiss over her hair, Sam smiled. “Yeah. Rain check?”

  “Definitely.” Stealing a few more seconds of closeness, she rested her head on his chest, breathed him in, and listened to the steady, strong beat of his heart. “Just so you know… I’ve been wildly attracted to you ever since I first saw you in the jungle. I want to investigate whatever this is between us.” She angled her head until she could see his eyes. “Do you want that, too?”

  His grey eyes darkened to molten pewter. “Yeah.”

  “Good, that’s good.” She patted his chest. “While I finish eating—and we share another glass of wine—you can tell me all about Sam Crocker, former Marine.”

  Her Marine.

  “Not much to tell.” He picked her up by the waist and placed her on the stool, then pulled his stool closer so his knees aligned along the outside of hers. “I was born in—”

  While sipping the wine Sam shared with her and eating the crackers and cheese snacks he fed her, she listened to his life story related in his whiskey-smooth baritone. His voice lulled her into a state of drowsiness. She was barely aware of him carrying her to bed and was sure she was dreaming when she was gathered against a hard, warm surface that emitted a slow, rhythmic, soothing thud, thud, thud.

  When she awoke the next morning, his scent and the remnants of his warmth were imprinted next to her in her bed. She let out a joyous laugh and hugged herself. He’d chastely guarded her the whole night, proving he was a man of honor and had tremendous strength of will. Attributes she’d never consciously looked for in a man, but now realized had been missing in all her previous male acquaintances.

  It was the best night’s sleep she’d had in years.

  Chapter 7

  11 a.m., March 3rd, Palm Plaza Resort and Casino, Aruba

  Sam slid onto a bar stool next to Conn. He caught the eye of the bartender and pointed at Conn’s almost empty bottle of beer and signaled two more. The bartender grinned and nodded.

  Conn turned to face him and frowned. “What the fuck you doin’ here?”

  “Buying you a beer?” Sam took the dewy bottle of beer and slid the bartender a fifty. “Get me a club sandwich, please, and you can keep the change.”

  The bartender smiled, “Yes, sir.”

  Sam waited until the bartender was out of earshot. “According to Ren and Keely, MacLean’s just arrived at his estate, so no worries about him catching sight of me for the moment. I’m taking over Dawn-duty for a few hours so you can catch a battle nap before your guard duty this evening.”

  Conn took a long swallow from the fresh bottle of beer. “I’m not a fucking toddler and don’t need a nap. However, I do need to find something to wear. The casino requires a sports coat. I hate fucking sports coats. It’s too fucking hot to wear a jacket.”

  “Hey, look at it this way—” Sam scanned the pool area, looking for Dawn. “You can wear your shoulder holster, a much easier draw than a back or calf rig.”

  “There is that.” Conn took another sip of beer. “She’s in the cabana straight across from the bar. Our girl does not like direct sun.”

  “My girl.” Sam’s narrowed gaze zeroed in on the shelter. Dawn lounged in the shadows, wearing—“What the—that’s not a bathing suit. It’s just strips of cloth.”

  Brilliant turquoise-colored fabric criss-crossed her petite curves and covered the essentials and very little else. The bright color set off her porcelain skin and dark hair, drawing all eyes to her, an exotic bloom among common daisies. She was all too desirable—and he wanted to poke the eyes out of every man staring at her.

  “You should see the back view. Your”—Conn had gotten Sam’s not-so-subtle message—“woman must exercise the hell out of her glutes.”

  Conn chuckled, a low, throaty sound that made Sam want to throat-punch him. “She’s been hit on a lot since she claimed that spot about two hours ago.”

  “Hit on? And you le
t it happen?” Sam grabbed Conn’s arm and pulled his friend around to face him. “You’re supposed to protect her.”

  Conn shrugged Sam’s hand off. “Dawn’s job is getting noticed so fucking Benrabi hears about the beautiful Lady Wilson holding court by the pool. So get over the territorial shit and get with the program.” Conn blew out a harsh breath. “Besides, Dawn has proven she is the queen of letting men down easy while still stroking their egos. Check out this guy.” He angled his head at a man, a drink in his hand, currently approaching Dawn’s cabana. “Turn on your receiver and listen. She’s a pro. Don’t fuck this up by underestimating her.”

  “I’m not going to fuck up the mission.” Sam used his smart watch and turned on his ear bud, which had been pre-set to the mission channel. SSI had the best toys.

  “Of course you won’t fuck up the mission. I meant don’t fuck up your budding relationship, asshat.” Conn slapped him on the back. “I’ve never seen you this way over a woman before. She could be the one to put an end to your bachelor days.”

  Sam grunted. “Could be. Do me a favor and keep your eyes and thoughts off her ass.” Conn had been a connoisseur of women’s asses since the two men went through boot camp together.

  He adjusted the volume for his ear bud through the RF connection on his watch so he could hear Dawn’s conversation with the drink-bearing fucker.

  “A drink? For me?” There was a little chirrup to Dawn’s voice. She sounded like a perky cheerleader on steroids. He might’ve been the only southern Georgia teenage boy who didn’t like cheerleaders. “What a lovely offer. But I’m sorry, I don’t accept drinks from men I don’t know.”

  Damn right she doesn’t. And if he ever caught her doing so, he’d swat that sweet ass.

  “Please, my lady. My employer will be most displeased.” The button mike in Dawn’s nipple ring clearly picked up the man’s words—so clearly that Sam could hear the drink pimp’s fear.