Terms of Attraction

by Kylie Brant

  Appalled by the totally inappropriate direction of her thoughts, Ava broke the connection by stepping away. Taking a few paces into the room, she strove for steadiness, attempting to rein in her pulse that still rollicked like a runaway mare. “It’s a little fussier than I’m used to, but I’m not inclined to be picky about where I sleep at this point. Even the boardroom was beginning to look good to me earlier.”

  There was a moment of silence, as if Cael was having difficulty deciding whether to follow her into normalcy or pull her back in his arms and convincing her to let passion rule.

  And when his voice sounded normal behind her, she was contrary enough, female enough, to mourn, just a little. “You’re on at seven a.m. Radio Benton and see where to meet them. I don’t know how early a riser de la Reyes will be now that he’s returned home. I’ll hold briefings twice a day about the investigation, so you’ll be updated sometime tomorrow evening. Wear a vest over your clothes. The vest and radio will be delivered to your room before you leave your shift.”

  She turned to look at him, and her lack of enthusiasm must have shown in her expression, because he said firmly, “Yeah, in this heat it’s going to be uncomfortable, but wearing a vest is nonnegotiable when you’re on duty. I’m going to make damn sure you make it safely back to Metro City.”

  His concern for her managed to strengthen the blade of guilt that refused to dissipate. A guilt that had no validity. She had every intention of earning every dollar of the outrageous salary he was paying her. She could do the job for him and still provide a full report to Samuelson. The two tasks weren’t mutually exclusive.

  When an inner voice jeered at the thought, she squelched it firmly. “I’ll wear the vest, of course. But I’ll make it safely home because I’m a professional. I know how to do my job.”

  “If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here.” Cael reached for the knob. And she knew enough about men to recognize the source of the regret in his expression. “Lock your door, Ava.”

  He closed it behind him with a quiet snick. But for a moment she stood, transfixed. Surely it must be lack of sleep that had her senses so highly attuned. She was used to intercepting and deflecting male interest. She wasn’t used to responding to it. Not in a very long time.

  Jerkily, she moved to the door, secured it. It was merely a security precaution. Logically she knew that. They were in an unfamiliar country, surrounded by strangers, any one of whom might be willing to betray their client for the right price. There was no reason, none at all, to believe that Cael had had another meaning for the warning.

  Like locking the door against him.

  She quickly unpacked, neatly placing her meager belongings in drawers in the fancy bureau. Her toiletries sat atop a marbled vanity in the adjoining bathroom, looking functional and forlorn amidst the scroll and gilt that adorned the mirrors above the counter. Ava had never stayed in a room more destined to make her aware of her own femininity. It was fortunate she wouldn’t be spending much time in it.

  She brushed her teeth, then swiftly changed into a camisole and loose-fitting pajama shorts. It wouldn’t do to recall just how much a woman she’d felt only moments earlier. When she’d read the desire on Cael McCabe’s face. Felt a matching emotion. She’d barely dated since her divorce; hadn’t even missed it. But McCabe called to all sorts of long-buried feelings in her, and none of them had anything remotely in common with “dating.”

  Padding back into the bedroom, she crossed to the bed and pulled back the silk comforter. Spying her empty luggage next to the dresser, she paused, recalling the camera pen she’d packed in it. It was probably as safe there as it would be anywhere in the room. But it would be safer still, not to mention more useful, if she concealed it on her person.

  She went and picked up the bag and brought it back across the room. Not for the first time she wished she’d shunned the damn thing, along with all the other espionage gadgets Samuelson had tried to press on her. As if by doing so she could negate the vague feeling of disloyalty she felt to McCabe for her dual purpose here.

  Unzipping the side compartment on the bag, she thrust her hand inside, brought out the notepad. With a hiss of frustration she tried again, her fingers searching the space. Ava’s breathing hitched. Frantically, she pulled the luggage onto her lap so she could spread the pocket wide and peer inside.

  It was empty.

  The high-tech camera pen was missing. Her shoulders slumped as her mind raced. There were only a few plausible scenarios.

  But she was betting on the one where it ended up in McCabe’s hands.

  CHAPTER 4

  Cael leaned on the balcony railing as he stared out into the star-studded night, speaking on his cell to Reynolds. “Do it, then. But I’d feel better if you didn’t go alone.”

  “This guy’s greedy but not totally stupid. He’ll show me the way to the jungle camp, but he’s afraid of Ramirez. Most people around here are. I don’t want to scare him off by bringing someone else along.”

  “Did you suggest a flyover?”

  “He’s okay with that, but from what he describes of the camp’s whereabouts, I think it’s unlikely we’d be able to see anything from the air.”

  Unsurprised, Cael nodded. That kind of camouflage would be exactly what would have led the rebels to hide the camps in the jungle to begin with. They’d carve out a space with machetes, leaving enough of the natural vegetation to still blend in with their surroundings, set up shop for a few weeks, and then move on to another spot. Within a few weeks, the jungle’s encroachment would fill in the deserted camps, making them virtually undetectable again.

  “Go ahead and set it up. I’ll run it by de la Reyes in the morning, but I’m confident he’ll be intrigued enough at the prospect that he’ll authorize the payment. Just watch your back.” It would take a tough individual to believe he could double-cross Reynolds, although Cael was more worried about the guy leading his man into an ambush. But he had enough confidence in Reynolds to know the man could take care of himself. The opportunity for intelligence gathering more than offset the danger.

  When the conversation ended, Cael slipped the cell in his pants pocket and stripped his shirt over his head, laying it across the railing. He didn’t move to reenter the bedroom. He wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not when he was still feeling this restless.

  He leaned his forearms on the railing, broodingly surveying the manicured grounds below. There were lots of details still to be ironed out. Variables to be examined and weighed as he sifted through options. But it wasn’t the particulars of the job his mind was occupied with. It was the woman down the hall.

  He hauled in a breath, caught the scent from the gardens below. And that, too, reminded him of Ava.

  Touching her had been a mistake. A pleasurable one, to be sure, but a mistake all the same. He didn’t mix business with pleasure. Not ever. Especially with a woman in his employ. One he wasn’t even sure he could trust.

  He’d never had a problem compartmentalizing before, adhering to that line that separated the professional from the personal. Granted, females were in a minority in his profession. Amelia Driscoll was the only woman he had on staff, but he trusted her instincts as much as he did any of his male operatives. Of course, Amelia had the voice and build of a drill sergeant, so his strictly business relationship with her wasn’t exactly proof of his lack of bias.

  He’d have to be dead not to notice Ava’s looks, but it was her skill that had led to his initial job offer. That had him setting aside paranoia and allowing her on the team, hedging his bets. If she had nothing to do with Samuelson, he was ahead one solid team member. If she was linked to the man, she was a valuable pawn to be used in the bitter game between Cael and the DHS agent.

  He wouldn’t hesitate to use any man who planned to double-cross him in just that way. So it was particularly discomfiting to identify the emotion swirling through him now.

  Guilt. He moved his shoulders uncomfortably. He had no reason to feel guilty. If Ava was blamel
ess, she’d never have to know the suspicion that he’d harbored even as he’d reached for her. Tasted her.

  And if she wasn’t blameless…he felt something inside him harden. Then God have mercy on her, because he’d show her none.

  The slight breeze cooled his skin, which seemed heated and much too tight. It was time to quit kidding himself. His reaction to Ava Carter had nothing to do with the job. She was a woman he could admire physically and professionally, and that alone made her dangerous. Add in the fact that he actually liked her, liked her attitude, and her wariness and the intriguing hint of vulnerability she’d displayed earlier, and the caution flags were impossible to ignore.

  It wasn’t smart to take unnecessary risks in his line of work, where lives often hung in the balance. And it’d be hazardous indeed to get involved with Ava. How hazardous he didn’t yet know.

  Broodingly, he rested more of his weight against the railing, his gaze blind to the lights winking in the far-off distance. To the swoop of the bats as they pursued their evening meal.

  The only image he saw was that of long dark hair and pale slender limbs against a turquoise pool of silk. Heat flooded his belly at the mental picture.

  He wasn’t a man ruled by his hormones. The folly of that path had been painfully learned his seventeenth year when Liza Watkin’s father’s descent into the basement had outpaced Cael’s dexterity with his zipper. Patience and timing always paid off in the long run.

  But he could know that, accept it and still stand here wishing he hadn’t urged Ava Carter to lock her door.

  * * *

  A tiny sound pricked the deep cocoon of Ava’s unconscious. She fought the binds of sleep sluggishly. It had been hours before she dropped off, and now slumber tugged at her with tiny anchors, slowing her return to awareness.

  Then she felt heaviness settle over her, felt an all too human heat transfer to her skin, and instinct slugged through unconsciousness.

  One hand shot out and up, made contact with flesh and cartilage. She heard a muffled grunt of pain even as she came fully awake, her other hand going unerringly for an eye gouge.

  She was pinned more securely, a heavy weight distributed over her as the man above her battled to grip her hands. And when her eyes flew open, adjusted to the dim early morning light, her body went completely still.

  Cael McCabe stared down at her, his expression menacing. His nose was already red and swelling.

  “What are you doing in here?” she hissed, disbelief mingling with embarrassment. She heaved under him attempting, with a notable lack of success, to dislodge him.

  “Getting the hell beat out of me, apparently.”

  She stared at him, struggling to shake off the sleep-induced cobwebs. He was already dressed, if you could call it that. A black ribbed undershirt clung to his well-defined torso and was tucked into army-green khakis. The shirt left his shoulders and arms bare, and she was supremely aware of the bulk of them, as he lay stretched out atop her. He was unshaven, his dark blond hair still mussed as if he’d been roused by a matter of some urgency.

  “Is it de la Reyes?” she demanded. “Has there been a breach in the security?”

  “You could say that.”

  She stilled, searching his face carefully for his meaning. His eye color was even more startling up close, their pale green a near match for her August birthstone, the name of which she could never recall. She had the belated observation that he’d managed to get a haircut before he’d left the States, although he didn’t wear it military short, as some of his men did.

  And that his position was far too intimate. Hers far too vulnerable. He had her arms stretched out above her head, caught in one hand so she couldn’t follow through with instinct and blind him before she’d figured out who it was. Now that she had she was all too conscious that the sheet was bunched at her waist. And although the camisole covered her decently, she was still far too bare to appear before a man who was her employer.

  Especially this man.

  Ava tugged ineffectually at her wrists. “You can let me go,” she said stiffly. Tiny needles of alarm were firing through her veins, but she fought against revealing the emotion. “Sorry about the punch earlier, but it would have been safer all around to just knock.” Even as she had the thought, her gaze flew over his shoulder to the door behind him. The dead bolt was still engaged. So he hadn’t come in through the door. And he’d yet to release her hands. “Mind telling me how you got in here?”

  “Turns out we have adjoining balconies.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “No. We don’t. The nearest balcony is a good five yards away.” She knew because she’d checked before making the decision to leave one balcony door open to catch the fresh night breeze.

  Although his lips curved, they didn’t soften appreciably. “True. But it also turns out that I’m blessed with catlike dexterity and reflexes.” His voice went lower as he bent his head closer to hers, close enough that she could feel the slight abrasion of whiskers against her jaw. “Some men might construe an open door as an invitation, Ava.” His barely discernible drawl had grown thicker. “Were you issuing an invitation?”

  A quick shiver shimmied down her spine and warmth flushed her system. She was certain he could feel it. “No. A man in your occupation knows there’s always more than one way to read a situation.”

  His head lifted and the glint in his eye had tension shooting through her muscles. “I do.” He gave a slow nod. “I surely do.” Reaching down with one hand, he withdrew something from his pants pocket and held it up so she could see it. “So I’m real interested to hear your explanation for this.”

  A boulder lodged in her throat. He was holding the camera pen. The one Samuelson had pressed on her. The one she’d discovered missing from her luggage last night.

  It took all her effort to manufacture a neutral tone. “You’re here because you found a pen?”

  He cocked his head. “It’s all in the details, isn’t it? I’m here because this pen was found in your luggage. Hell, I’m here because this is more than a pen, isn’t it?” With a flip of his thumb he clicked the stem and held the pen perpendicular to her face. One more click had a tiny light winking at her as the camera engaged.

  He shoved his face closer to hers, his expression forbidding. “I’m here because I’m real interested in how you happen to possess a costly little gadget that’s a couple generations removed from what’s available on the market right now. So start talking, Ava. Because my read of the situation is pretty ugly.”

  When she remained silent, his mouth twisted. “Although I haven’t heard of it, I suppose it’s possible this little item is available on the black market. Trouble with that theory is I can’t see you buying anything that way. Too much a law-and-order kind of gal, aren’t you, Ava?”

  She swallowed hard, wondering what he’d think if he realized her embrace of the justice system came relatively late in her life.

  He gave her a shake, the look in his eyes lethal. “Let’s stop dicking around. Samuelson approached you?”

  She tried again to wrench her hands free, temper spiking when his one-handed grip held. The accuracy of his guess was surprising, but there was no use lying to him, at this point. “Paulus and Samuelson.”

  A terrible stillness came over him at her affirmation. Seeing it, Ava was struck anew by the awful certainty that there was much much more to this assignment than DHS had bothered to reveal to her.

  Because fury pumped off him in waves, the strength of which surrounded her. Squeezed her in an unforgiving vise. It was several moments before he spoke again. And she knew the effort it took for him to keep the judgment from his voice. “So what’d they offer you?”

  Disconcerted, she shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Threaten you with, then. That’s Samuelson’s game, anyway. What’d he have on you?”

  Ava hesitated. Honesty only went so far. She was unwilling to dredge up her past in an effort to pacify McCabe. She doubted it would make a differenc
e to him anyway.

  “He appealed to my sense of patriotism,” she said carefully. “He wanted information on the stability of this government and I agreed that I could supply it without compromising my assignment here. I still believe that.”

  His mouth twisted. “You still believe that, huh? You know what I believe?” He reached over to hook a finger in the thin strap of her camisole, and urge it slowly, inexorably over her shoulder. One tiny expanse of skin at a time. “I believe that you can tell a person’s honor in what they do when they don’t think anyone will find out.” His meaning slipped neatly between her ribs, like a well-placed blade. With a crooked knuckle, he caressed the skin he bared, and she flinched, feeling cheap and humiliated.

  “I believe,” he continued, his voice going lower, rougher, “that a person who will betray me in one area will betray me in all. That little lesson came later in life but it left its mark.”

  His free hand slid up the column of her throat, cupped her chin, his grip just shy of cruel. “And I believe you made the biggest mistake in your life to throw in with Samuelson, Ava Carter. One that’s going to cost you dearly.”

  A trickle of fear crept up her spine, though she refused to lower her gaze. Too late to worry that she didn’t know this man; couldn’t guess what experiences had forged him, or how far he’d go to achieve his ends.

  But from the ruthless expression on his face, she knew she was going to find out.

  “Aren’t you being a little melodramatic?” She jerked her face away from his grasp, suddenly angry at her position. If the agent had allowed her to do this her way, de la Reyes would remain safe, Samuelson would have been provided with the information he wanted and McCabe would be none the wiser. She’d only be wrestling with her conscience, not with one hundred ninety pounds of mean, furious ex-SEAL.

  “Your commitment to your client’s privacy is commendable. And I don’t blame you for being angry with me.” Anger was too tame a word for the dangerous look in those pale green eyes. A look that was a decided contrast to the expression in them the last time they’d been together in this room. “But my providing Samuelson information about the political climate here is hardly going to endanger de la Reyes, or detract from the protection we’re providing him.”