Medusa Seduction

by Cindy Dees

  He smiled. “Or something. We’re Special Forces soldiers if that’s what you’re driving at.”

  “But you do dangerous stuff. Scary stuff.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you get frightened?”

  He frowned. “We’re trained to manage our physical and psychological reactions to high-stress situations. To channel them effectively. We acknowledge that the body reacts auto-nomically to dangerous or threatening situations, but with proper training and mindset, the hormone bursts and disrupted thought patterns can be contained and controlled.”

  She stopped. Turned to stare up at him incredulously. “What the heck did you just say?”

  He froze. Felt an odd bubbling sensation rise up in his gut. Was that laughter? Tamping it down with some of the same control he’d just referenced, he replied, “I said we’re taught not to feel fear. Or, if we do feel it, to ignore it.”

  “I don’t think I could do that.”

  “Sure you could. It’s all a matter of the right training and some self-discipline.”

  She spun away and resumed walking, shaking her head in the negative. “Not for me.”

  He frowned for a moment at her retreating back then hustled to catch up with her. “What frightens you?” he asked gently. For as sure as God made little green apples, some phobia lurked in her gut that had her convinced she’d never conquer fear.

  She whirled to stare up at him. “Don’t you think that’s a little personal?”

  A wave rolled in higher than the others, drenching their ankles in icy water. The tide was turning. Neither of them budged as they stared at one another. A zephyr of night breeze teased a strand of hair out of her ponytail and across her face. He reached up and tucked it behind her ear, his fingertip running lightly around the sensitive shell of her ear. The shudder that ran through her also ripped through him. Now that was personal.

  “If you agree to do this mission with us, I’ve been assigned to be your personal trainer. And trust me, I’ll invade your privacy a whole lot more than that before we’re through. I’ll know more about what makes you tick than you do. I’ll know everything about you….”

  He stopped abruptly. His nostrils flared and his body roared to full attention at the arresting thought. A need to absorb her into him, to become one with her slammed into him like a tsunami.

  Crap.

  He’d just said it himself. He was supposed to be her instructor. No way in hell was he about to take advantage of her while in a position of power. But to learn everything about her—No! His ethics were ironclad. He would never compromise those. He’d watched more than one guy tank a promising career all for the sake of a female. And the hell of it was that the relationships didn’t work out as often as not. No way was he going down that road. Not even for this woman.

  Sophie’s sharp intake of breath yanked him back to the moment.

  He tried to mask his flash of irritation over her apparent horror at the idea of him training her, but probably wasn’t entirely successful. “What?” he ground out.

  “What would this training entail?”

  Aww, hell. Did she have to sound so breathless all of a sudden? Like maybe she was actually aflutter over the idea of him working so closely with her?

  He shrugged. “We’d do a fair bit of fitness training to make sure you’re strong enough to handle anything that comes along. You’d have to learn about weapons—firearms, knives, a few other useful gadgets. You’d need to pick up miscellaneous skills like lock picking and offensive driving. Then there’d be the covert-ops stuff. Insertion. Extraction…” Damned if images of inserting and extracting himself from Sophie’s lush, welcoming body didn’t flash through his head. His voice caught. He cleared his throat and plowed on grimly. “Surveillance techniques. I’d have to teach you those. And of course, we’d have to get your Bhoukari back up to speed.”

  “That’s an awful lot of stuff. What sort of time frame are we looking at here?”

  “I don’t know. At least a few weeks. Ideally, several months. But we don’t know if young Freddie will give us that kind of time. It will mostly depend on him.”

  “What are the odds of my succeeding?”

  “Reasonable, I should think. Particularly if we can exploit your closeness to Grandma Sollem. I think Freddie won’t immediately freak out if you enter the compound ostensibly to see Grandma and not Freddie directly.”

  He held his breath. Please let her not ask the other question. The obvious one. The one where she questioned her chances of getting out of this mission alive. She turned around to head back for the beach house. He let out a careful breath. Thank God. She didn’t go there. Not yet. But soon. She was too smart not to.

  “Where would we do this training?”

  “Right here. All the facilities and equipment we’ll need are here. Time permitting at the very end of your training, we’ll take a field trip out into the desert to give you some practical experience.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then you and I will fly over to Bhoukar and join the surveillance team that’s already on the ground. And you’ll do your thing.”

  The beach house came into view, its welcoming lights glowing golden and warm across the sand. In the far distance, a cluster of green lights winked on suddenly in the ocean, bobbing in the waves not far from shore.

  “What’re those?” Sophie asked, startled.

  He grinned. “The SEALs are swimming.”

  “At night?”

  “They do their best work in the dark.”

  “The possible comebacks to that line beggar the mind,” she retorted dryly.

  He chuckled. “And the SEALs would relish every one. But don’t tell Lucas I said that. He’d kick my butt.”

  “Are you admitting he’s tougher than you?” she replied jokingly.

  Brian grinned. “I’m just a pretty boy. All looks and no substance.”

  She snorted. “You forget I’ve seen you with your shirt off.”

  The observation hung heavy between them. Intimate. Suddenly sexual. Memory rocked him of how turned on he’d been when she demanded that he strip off his shirt. She’d drunk in the sight of him unabashedly. Greedily. Like a starving woman at a feast. It had been all he could do to sit there and just let her look. He’d wanted her to taste, to touch—hell, to inhale him. To pleasure them both, to rub her body against his, to purr like he knew she wanted to.

  She asked another question and it took him a moment to replay and process the words in his lust-fogged brain. What had she said? “That’s why you wanted to know about my knee, isn’t it? You wanted to know if it would hold up for that sort of training.”

  He nodded belatedly. No use denying it.

  She sounded a little embarrassed when she answered, “I don’t know what it will take. I haven’t ever really tested it.”

  “We can take care of that. I’ll have one of our docs look at it tomorrow. We’ve got some of the best orthopedic guys in the business here. Knees and backs are what always give out on S.F. guys.”

  “S.F.—Special Forces, right?”

  He grinned. “I give it two weeks before you’ll be talking in acronyms with the best of us. Wait till you’re FUBARed because you got a little too FIGMOed and a SNAFU blew your ROEs.”

  She laughed. “I have no idea what you just said.”

  “Just as well. Most of it’s not fit for a lady’s ears anyway.”

  “For the record, I don’t faint at the occasional swear word. When I smash my thumb with a hammer, I don’t let out a hearty gee whiz.”

  He laughed. “Good to know. Still. My mother taught me to mind my mouth in front of ladies. Old habits are hard to break.”

  “Far be it from me to undo your mother’s training.”

  His mother had nothing to do with the improper thoughts that crossed his mind as Sophie bent over to brush the sand off her feet. Her derriere was a curvaceous affair that looked imminently suited to his hands. Perfect for gripping tight and rocking back and forth
on top of him—

  Jeez. He was losing his mind.

  He held the sliding glass door for her and surreptitiously breathed in her fragrance as she brushed past. Oh yeah. Sultry Southern summers and heated nights. Crickets singing and honeysuckle sweetness hanging in the air.

  Stop. That.

  She paused, staring at him with those big, dark eyes of hers in something akin to shock. It was as if she’d plucked the thoughts directly out of his head. Slowly, slowly, her shock gave way to something alluring, something that invited him to come hither. He started to step forward, started to wrap his arms around her, to seek and find the very soul of her.

  He had to get away from her. Except the two of them were trapped in this tiny damned house together until she made her decision. With his subtle nudging to get her to make the right choice, of course.

  He cleared his throat and tried to think sober thoughts. Something intellectual. Distracting. Anything not to watch the way her sweater stretched taut across her breasts as she waved her arms around to release tension in her shoulder blades. With every passing second, his shorts got tighter and he was abjectly grateful for the Lycra sports briefs he’d happened to don that morning. No boxers for him with this lady around, thank you very much. Not unless he wanted to embarrass the hell out of both of them. As it was, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to walk upright across the room.

  “Uhh, I’m gonna turn in,” he mumbled. “It’s been a long day.”

  Sophie nodded absently, her thoughts elsewhere. “Is there more tea in the kitchen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think I’ll brew myself a cup before I come up to bed.”

  The loft was split into two bedrooms, each with its own attached bathroom. “I’m in the room on the left. You’re on the right.” Although if she wanted to walk on the wild side, she could feel free to join him. He sure as hell wouldn’t say no.

  Except, if she said yes to the mission, he’d have to keep his hands strictly off her. How he was going to manage that, he didn’t want to even think about. Cold showers. Long swims in the frigid ocean. And self-discipline. Buckets of it, dammit.

  He limped up the stairs and prayed she didn’t notice the stilted way he was walking. Hell, he almost wished she’d turn down the op so he could pay her a late-night visit and ease this ache tearing him in two. Too uncomfortable to even think about sleep, he headed for his shower and opted for enlightened self-relief rather than the ubiquitous cold shower. The physical release wasn’t the least bit satisfying, however, and within minutes of stretching out across his bed, he was in nearly as bad a shape as he had been before. The woman was a fire in his blood.

  Please God, let her say no. He couldn’t do this for the next couple of months. She’d kill him for sure.

  Chapter 5

  Sophie couldn’t sleep. But that was no surprise. It wasn’t everyday a hunky commando swept a girl onto a private jet, whisked her off to a hideaway and invited her on a secret mission with him. She had no illusions about what Brian and company were asking her to do. Finding and marking Freddie Sollem would be dangerous at best and suicidal at worst. She didn’t want to become a soldier! But to spend weeks on end with Brian Riley—it was almost enough to make a girl consider the proposal.

  It had all happened so fast her head was awhirl. Images of six-pack abs, jogging SEALs and grainy photos of terrorists swam in her mind. And then there was Brian himself. So much sex appeal poured off him she all but drowned in it. One look into those bright blue eyes and she was lost, adrift in a sea of sexual promise without any anchor to call her back. He was the only solid object in the vast expanse of pounding blood and throbbing need that yawned between them.

  There was always a chance she was imagining it all. But she thought not. Okay, she hoped not. If she was feeling all this rampaging lust and he didn’t reciprocate at least a little, she stood in grave danger of making a complete and utter fool of herself. As it was, she was far too restless to even think about going to sleep.

  Brian had asked her to think about her decision, but not for too long. Was she willing to attempt a secret mission that sounded insanely risky, that she didn’t see any possible way to adequately prepare for and which stood a more than decent chance of getting her killed? And for what? Vague assurances that she was the only one who could do it? That her country needed her? We the people and liberty and justice for all?

  She paced the living room for a while. Stood out on the deck until she was so cold her teeth chattered. Came back inside and paced some more. And all the while, the question and the man who’d asked it tangled in her head until she was so confused she could hardly recall her own name.

  It must have been three o’clock when yet again, she came inside, chilled to the bone, and stood staring out the living room’s big picture window. The tide was coming in and the wind—and waves—had picked up. The breakers were several feet tall now, curling over with muffled crashes onto the beach, sending up silver spray in the moonlight. The rhythmic pounding was mesmerizing. Something deep within her responded to the primal sound, aching with need.

  All of a sudden, she got a feeling she wasn’t alone. She whirled around, her hands flying up defensively.

  Brian.

  Looming no more than three feet behind her. And she’d never heard him coming. How did he do that? Was that predatory silence part of the training he was offering her? Jeans hung low on his hips and he was bare-chested. His hair was just messy enough to make him look like a male poster model in the faint moonlight.

  “Trouble sleeping?” he murmured, his voice husky.

  Oh, my. His voice slid across her skin like the best sex she’d ever imagined. “Uhh, yeah. I’ve never been this close to an ocean. I’m not used to the sound of it.”

  “You get used to it after a while. I find it soothing.”

  She rubbed her arms to chase away the goose bumps raised by the sight of his brawny, centerfold sex appeal. Her palms itched to glide over every inch of that yummy chest. To hook her fingers in the waistband of his jeans and tug them lower. Her breathing hitched.

  His eyes were black pits in his shadowed face. Unfathomable. Unreadable.

  “Been thinking?” he queried.

  Yes. About you. About rolling around in a tangle of sheets with him. About straddling him and riding him until they both exploded. About him picking her up in those strong arms and driving into her until she was too weak and sated to stand. About breathing him in, becoming part of him.

  She shrugged, her throat too tight to speak.

  “Do you have any more questions for me or the guys?”

  Crud. He wanted to talk about the mission. He didn’t return her interest in the least. And what kind of a head case did that make her? A lonely legal secretary entering her thirties without any prospects of finding a man. She’d latched on to the first decent-looking guy who’d come along who gave her the time of day. She’d managed in approximately twelve hours to become completely obsessed with him. Sheesh.

  The mission. Right. She dragged her sluggish brain away from improper thoughts of Brian Riley.

  “Do you seriously think I can do this job? That I can find Freddie and mark him for you?”

  “I think you can do anything you put your mind to.”

  A warm tingle whispered up her spine, but a cold wash of dread traveled back down it. She couldn’t possibly live up to his expectations. “I think you’re delusional.”

  He laughed softly. “I’ve seen the most unlikely people do the most amazing things. Mothers really do pick up two-ton cars off their kids. Nothing’s impossible if you put your mind to it.”

  “How impossible is this situation?”

  “Freddie Sollem has the potential to kill thousands or even millions of innocent people if he’s not stopped. Case in point, his recent plan to attack nuclear power plants. Had we not gotten wind of it, and had he actually managed to breach an operating reactor, there’s no telling how much radiation he could have released.
Or what if he gets his hands on a nuclear device—which we have intel that he’s trying to do? What if he explodes it in New York City or London?”

  Even the cold chill of Brian’s words wasn’t enough to entirely extinguish the heat low in her belly. The idea that this man was willing to stand in the gap, to fight a man like Freddie on Sollem’s own terms was incredible. And sexy as heck. Lord, she was a mess! A shiver rattled through her.

  Brian stepped forward as fast and silent as a cougar. “Are you cold?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not. I see the goose bumps on your arms.” He whirled away and headed for the big sofa, returning in a moment with an afghan. He draped it around her from behind, his big hands gentle. They lingered on her shoulders, needlessly tucking the blanket higher about her, the backs of his fingers brushing against her neck just below her ears. A tremor raced through her in response, fizzling out somewhere below her knees, leaving them wobbly.

  He took a step closer behind her. “Are you sure you’re okay? I threw a bunch at you today. It’s a lot to take in.”

  His tenderness was almost more than she could stand. Her eyes started to burn suspiciously. “It’s not that….”

  “Then what?”

  His voice was barely a murmur, a baritone caress that promised power and glory that would sweep her completely away.

  “I…” She turned to face him in frustration. There were no words for it. And even if she did have the words, she wasn’t brave enough to tell him what he did to her. The things he made her think of. The images her brain conjured when he stood this close.

  His chest was no more than six inches from hers. Her nipples budded up tight and hard, straining against her bra, irritated by the lace rubbing against them.

  The mission, darn it! Business! The $64,000 question.

  In desperation she blurted, “Answer me this. If I do this, am I going to die?”

  Something intense built behind his eyes. Tightly leashed, but wild. Straining to get out. It reached out between them and wrapped around her almost violently. He ground out between gritted teeth, “It’s a possibility.”