Her Secret Agent Man

by Cindy Dees

  The coed grinned. “No problem. I’m always happy to help out a pair of lovebirds.”

  He grabbed Julia’s hand. What in the hell was that electric sensation that shot up his arm and down his spine? He ignored his reaction as they strolled across the lobby in their socks. He chose one of the two hallways a thug probably hadn’t gone down, and as soon as they cleared the crowded main area, he took off running. He saw a sign ahead, and smiled grimly. Perfect. “This way. C’mon.”

  She started to protest, but he overrode her objections with his superior strength. They ducked into the women’s locker room. “They won’t look for us in here right away,” he said over his shoulder.

  A couple half-dressed women uttered startled protests. Julia apologized to them as he dragged her toward a row of private steam rooms. He opened the door of one and peered inside. “Anybody in here?” he asked.

  No answer. He stepped in with her and closed the door behind them. The sauna’s dimness enveloped them. Much better. Being out in the open like a sitting duck made him way jumpy.

  “If they find us here, we’re toast,” she pointed out nervously. “There’s nowhere to run.” She turned and nearly bumped into him. Her sexy scent wafted around him again. Damn, that perfume was practically a lethal weapon.

  He planted a hand on the wall beside her head and leaned toward her. He smiled with cool anticipation and murmured, “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. We’re far from toast. Trust me.”

  For just a second, she leaned into him. Didn’t she know he was here to kill her? Except why was his subconscious straying toward doing something entirely different with her? His gut blazed as the subliminal urge became a conscious thought. His loins surged so powerfully it almost drove him to his knees.

  She leaned back a few inches to look up at him. “I know better than to trust you,” she replied breathlessly.

  He stared at her evenly. It would be so easy to put his hands around her neck and strangle her. Or snap her neck with a quick twist of his wrists. Or pull her body against his, strip off her clothes and savor the sweaty slide of flesh on flesh. An urge to overpower her, to ravish her the way his Viking ancestors would have, broadsided him. The impulse startled him back to reality.

  He demanded grimly, “What do you want from me?”

  Caution ringed her dark gaze. “This isn’t the time or place to talk about it.”

  “Honey, this is the only chance you get. Start talking.”

  She wiped away a trickle of sweat from her temple. “Let’s get out of these heavy ski clothes before we both pass out.”

  Stalling, was she? Okay. He’d play along for a few seconds. He took off his coat and bent down to strip off his ski pants. And came face-to-face with her chest. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  They fumbled around each other in the tight space, trying to disrobe politely. Their elbows bumped, and then she all but fell into him.

  “Tell you what,” he suggested, “you go first.”

  He tried to tuck himself out of the way, but there was just nowhere for his big body to go in the tiny box. He lifted his arms over his head while she squirmed out of her clothes.

  She kept bumping against him awkwardly until he finally growled, “Just lean against me. I won’t bite you.”

  But the idea was damn tempting when her rear end snuggled against his groin a second later as she bent down to pull off her ski pants. And then she shimmied out of her tropical yellow and orange ski sweater. In the moment when her face was hidden in its folds, he allowed himself to glance down. Big mistake.

  She wore a close-fitting, white silk turtleneck beneath the sweater, and nothing else. It clung to her like a wet T-shirt. Her breasts were small and delicately formed. Atop the gentle swells, a rosy hint of her nipples was visible. Blood rushed in his ears, making a beeline for the other end of his body where his flesh throbbed and hardened to the density of the rocks in the steamer beside him.

  His gaze drifted lower. She wore fire-engine-red leggings that hugged her like a second skin. Oh yeah. She definitely worked out. Her thigh muscles were long and lean. They’d grip a guy’s waist like steel while he rode her… Stop that! He yanked his gaze away from her knockout body.

  She emerged from the sweater and gazed at him expectantly. His turn. Crud. His Lycra shorts weren’t nearly tight enough to hide his reaction to her. Ah well, it was either give away his state of arousal or pass out from the heat. He stripped off his sweater and turtleneck, baring his naked chest. A distinct advantage to being a guy in a situation like this. Then he peeled off his ski pants. Her gaze went straight to the bulge in his shorts. He watched in grim amusement as red stained her cheeks.

  The dry air burned his lungs. He turned away sharply and ladled water from a bucket onto the bed of rocks. The water hissed as it struck baking stone. He kept at it until a thick cloud of steam swirled around their heads. Better. Now they wouldn’t have to look directly into each other’s eyes.

  She lifted her long, silky hair up off her neck. The movement thrust her breasts out until they all but begged him to take them into his mouth. His lust roared like a Harley with the throttle wide open. Mesmerized, he reached out with a fingertip and caught a drop of moisture that rolled down the side of her exquisite face. She gazed at him wordlessly, her lips parted, her breathing light and fast. Why did this feel so familiar?

  A movement outside the tiny window of the steam-room door caught his eye. A dark silhouette drawing near the glass to peer inside. Damn, these guys were fast. And thorough. He grabbed her and yanked her down to the floor. He landed on top of her, his elbows braced on either side of her to take his weight. That blasted silk shirt of hers caressed his chest until he thought he was going to embarrass himself on the spot.

  He tried to think about something else, but all that filled his mind was the way her belly cushioned his, the way her thighs cupped his throbbing hardness. A need to be inside her, to feel her wet, tight heat around his flesh, to pump away mindlessly until they both came apart nearly overcame him. It was an act of sheer, desperate will to keep his hips from grinding against hers. He clenched his jaw and held his body perfectly still.

  He wasn’t particularly worried about her pursuer. With Dutch’s size, strength and training, there weren’t too many people he couldn’t take out with his bare hands. But he’d rather avoid a fight until he and Julia talked.

  What little light came through the window went dim as somebody peered inside the sauna. Don’t move, he tried to telegraph silently to her. He let his body sink into hers by fractional degrees, using his weight to hold her still. Ah, sweet God, that felt good. He prayed she wouldn’t wriggle. He was so close to the edge that he’d explode if she even breathed deeply. He fought like a drowning man for control as long seconds ticked by.

  Finally, the dark shape above their heads eased away. A shaft of weak light penetrated the steam again. He did a careful push-up, easing himself off her luscious body. Her eyes were huge and dark as she stared up at him. She looked like a virgin who’d just been deflowered. Hell, that had been about as close as two people could come to sex without doing the deed.

  “Get dressed,” he growled. “It’s time to go.”

  “Why not stay put?” she asked breathlessly. “They’ve already looked here.”

  Other than the fact that if he stayed here much longer he was going to tear off her remaining clothes and finish what they’d started?

  He cleared his throat. “We’d pass out from dehydration and heat exhaustion eventually. Plus, they’ll be back. Next time, their search will be more thorough.”

  She pulled her sweater and ski pants on over her damp undergarments while he did the same. He wiped away the condensation from the tiny glass window and peered outside before he nodded to her.

  “Where to next?” she murmured.

  “My car. We’re getting out of here.”

  “And going where?” she asked.

  “Does it matter?” he asked her darkly.

  She
answered cautiously, “I’m not going anywhere with you until we talk!”

  He whipped his head around to stare narrowly at her. “I don’t recall asking your opinion. I’m calling the shots here.”

  She frowned and opened her mouth, but he stepped out into the locker room before she could argue any more. Being on the move and vulnerable should effectively silence her. Nonetheless, he took her hand lest she try to bolt.

  He murmured, “Let’s go.”

  She didn’t budge. He tugged on her hand and she dug in her heels stubbornly.

  He turned to face her. Women could be such a pain in the butt. He murmured darkly, “Believe me. I can’t wait to hear what you have to say to me. I’m trying to get somewhere safe so we can have a little conversation.”

  She frowned, but the pull against his hand abated.

  Much better. He ducked down one long hallway after another. Good thing he’d memorized a floor plan of the place before he’d hit the slopes.

  He stopped abruptly in front of a door. “Let me know if anybody comes into sight,” he muttered.

  He fished a plastic card key out of his pocket and shoved it into the lock. With a last look both ways, he pushed her quickly into his room. As he slipped in behind her, he glimpsed a dark shape just turning into the hallway. He closed the door quickly and pressed his ear against the wood. Two pairs of ski boots thumped past at an awkwardly fast clip. The noise faded. He took a deep breath and turned around.

  She stood in the middle of his suite, more beautiful than any one woman ought to be. Her chest heaved and her eyes snapped with a fire he could lose himself in forever. He stepped forward into the sunken living room, suddenly aware of a chill across his skin.

  But then a flurry of movement caught his attention, jumping at him from the direction of the bedroom. He spun to face this new threat, but he was too late. He’d let Julia’s beauty distract him.

  He had just enough time to mutter a disgusted curse at himself before something hard slammed into the back of his head. He grabbed for the coffee table that careened into view beside him, but his head slammed into the edge of it. He had no strength to hold back the vast ocean of darkness as unconsciousness consumed him. Julia lurched toward him with her hands outstretched as he fell to the floor.

  He fought the drowning loss of self and reached out for her, but her blurry image slipped through his fingers like water. “Help me,” he whispered.

  And then everything went black.

  Chapter 2

  The black-clad man leaped out the door and disappeared before Dutch had even hit the floor.

  Maybe that guy was in Dutch’s room because of some other operation Dutch was involved in. And maybe not. Could she have already been linked to Dutch, only minutes after meeting him? Was her father that all-knowing? Surely Dutch would have been dead meat if he was.

  She stared at the big man crumpled on the floor, her first impulse to help him. Her second impulse was to flee. To get away before he could follow through on the fatal promise in his icy gaze. He had to listen to her. But what if he didn’t? Panic fluttered like a wounded sparrow in her breast.

  She couldn’t just leave him here, unconscious. Not after what they’d been through together all those years ago. Not after he’d answered her most recent call for help. And not after he’d helped her get away from her father’s men. She knelt beside him and touched his shoulder. It felt like freshly forged steel, hard and hot, even through his thick sweater.

  She shook him gently. “Wake up,” she urged. “We’ve got to get out of here before they all come back.”

  No response. A sick feeling roiled in the pit of her stomach. This was the guy who was supposed to keep her alive long enough to save her sister, and he was face-planted on the floor, out like a light.

  She looked around the masculine suite, with its hardwood floors, rustic furnishings, rough-hewn oak ceiling and massive stone fireplace. The far wall on either side of the fireplace was glass. The window faced the mountain and framed a postcard-perfect view of snow and skiers. A kitchenette opened up off one side of the living room, and a bedroom lay in the other direction.

  She jumped up and raced into the tiny kitchen. She doused a dish towel in cold water, wrung it out and carried it back to Dutch.

  She pushed on his shoulder to roll him over. Lord, he was heavy. As densely muscled as he’d looked in the steam room through the wet haze and her own breathless reaction, he was even more impressive than she remembered. Charlie Squad’s six-man team was renowned for its crazy level of fitness, but he went beyond fit to flat-out gorgeous.

  With a grunt of effort, she managed to turn him on his back. His blue eyes stared up at her glassily under half-closed lids. Ohmigod. Was he dead? Frantically she fumbled at his neck, searching for a pulse. Finally, her fingertips found a strong, steady throbbing under his chin.

  She sagged over him in relief and held back an urge to cry. It was too much. She was so tired of running. So tired of hiding, of constant fear, of never knowing if the next person she saw would be the one there to kill her.

  Utter desperation had driven her to make that phone call two days ago. She had no illusions about how Jim Dutcher would feel about her. He might have saved her life ten years ago, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Problem was, there was no one else for her to call. Nobody left to turn to for help. Her father’s associates were too terrified of him to lift a finger for her. The FBI would arrest her on sight and lock her away for the rest of her life for her part in her father’s crime empire. No matter that she’d been coerced into doing his financial dirty work. Even Charlie Squad, the one enemy her father truly feared, would kill her on sight.

  She’d never wanted to set up Charlie Squad. Had hated being used as bait to trap them. But her father knew what buttons to push. He always got his way. He’d threatened to hurt her little sister, and Julie had caved in like she always did. She couldn’t blame Dutch—all of Charlie Squad for that matter—for wanting her dead. Especially after Dutch’s brother got killed in the ambush she’d led them into.

  She’d give up this fight to finally break away from her father right now if it weren’t for Carina. But her sister’s plight left Julia with no choice. She had to keep going. Had to see this mess through. Carina’s life was on the line now. And that changed everything.

  Julia had raised Carina like her own daughter when their mother died. She’d been eight and Carina two and there’d been no one else to do it. The servants were too frightened to step into a parental role for the children of their violent and vicious employer. Thankfully, Eduardo had never turned that ruthlessness on the two of them. Until now. Until Carina tried to run away and get out from under his heavy thumb.

  It still took Julia’s breath away to think that her father had actually kidnapped Carina. His own daughter! She was twenty-four years old, for goodness sake. He couldn’t control her life forever.

  Her mouth tightened at the bitter taste of irony. Eduardo was still in complete control of her life, and she was thirty years old. But that was over. He’d crossed the line when he’d put Carina in danger. She was getting both herself and her sister out from under his domination once and for all. She’d even stolen thirty million dollars from him as ransom money for Carina.

  All she needed was to trade the money for her sister—and for Dutch to keep her alive that long. She’d planned to buy Dutch’s protection by bribing him with the one thing he wanted more than her head on a platter: her father’s head on a platter. But first, Dutch had to wake up so she could make the offer.

  “Can you hear me?” she asked him with desperate urgency as she pressed the cold towel to his forehead.

  Nothing.

  “Do you need a doctor?” she asked louder.

  Still no response. That guy had knocked him out cold. She pressed her palm against his forehead. No fever. She lifted his eyelids all the way to check his pupils for abnormal or uneven expansion or contraction. She tried to ignore the
fact that his eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, a silver-touched sapphire a girl could positively lose herself in.

  If he was seriously hurt, she ought to get help. But did she dare call someone? Cause the fuss of paramedics and ambulances and risk drawing attention to herself? Her father’s henchmen would spot her in a second.

  What she ought to do was call a halt to her plans and get the heck out of here before he woke up. All her doubts and fears crowded forward. It was, without question, insane to ask protection from a man who had reason and skill enough to kill her. This scenario had disaster written all over it, and that was before he fell down at her feet. Her fight-or-flight instinct was definitely in full flight mode. Every second she lingered here put her, and by extension, Carina, in more danger. But Julia couldn’t walk out on him when he was defenseless. She’d led these guys to him, after all.

  Marshaling her scant courage, she stretched around behind him, groping for the gun she’d seen him reach for in the coatroom. Cool metal met her touch. She pulled out a blocky, heavy pistol. She’d seen plenty of handguns before—how could she not have, growing up around her father?—but she’d rarely touched one. Eduardo had always been adamant that his daughters not handle weapons of any kind. Maybe he’d known the day would come when they’d finally turn on him, and he’d known better than to allow them to learn skills they could use to take him out.

  She sat back on her heels, considering the unconscious man before her. She had to convince him to play ball with her. Convince him not to kill her or hand her over to the FBI. At least not until she’d completed her deal with her father. She must not fail. Her sister’s life depended on her pulling this off. But first she had to wake him up.