Hot Property

by Susan Johnson

  “Wait till you see my new radar. It’s French, still experimental, and megasweet. We’ll set it up in the house,” Alan said. “We’re about done here,” he added, picking up two black metal cases the size of small suitcases. “Now, show me your lady. I admit a certain curiosity if Harry sent her.”

  “If he did, we’ll find out pretty quick. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the lovely Miss Chandler and you can give me your take on her.”

  Twenty-seven

  Seeing the men walking around to the back of the cabin, Zoe went out on the kitchen porch to greet them.

  Wow—Harry knows how to pick ’em, Alan thought, if indeed she’s been sent. Not that a beautiful blonde with a killer body isn’t from spy-world central casting. But his expression gave nothing away when Nick made introductions.

  “And before you ask,” Nick added, “Al says Mandy’s safe. Her security is in place and so far not a sign she’s even being watched.”

  “Might Willerby have been bluffing?”

  “Could be. Or maybe Tony put the fear of God into his advance men and they talked Willerby out of doing something stupid.” Tony can always be counted on to do his duty for the family.

  Zoe shot Nick a puzzled look. “Fear of God?”

  “It’s an expression.” Turning to Alan, he deliberately changed the subject. “How about some lunch?”

  “Sounds good. Ginny packed me a lunch, but I ate it about an hour out of Vancouver.”

  “Need a drink, a beer, something more interesting?” Nick offered, holding the door open for Zoe and Alan.

  “A beer, thanks.”

  After following his two companions into the kitchen, Nick waved Alan toward a table set under the window. “Make yourself at home.”

  “Everything looks the same,” Alan murmured, setting down the suitcases and glancing around the kitchen. “Peaceful as usual.”

  “That’s the point of being isolated.” Nick shot a glance over his shoulder as he took two beers from the fridge. “Or maybe semi-isolated.”

  “We’ll find out,” Alan said, taking a seat. “Not that you don’t have a great defensive position here.”

  “Yeah—it’s prime.” Nick set two Labatt Blues on the table, took a seat, and casually said, “With that high ground behind the cabin, if anyone approaches from any direction, we have a clear shot.”

  Zoe looked up, the plate she was placing before Alan arrested midway to the table. “Talk of clear shots is making me nervous.”

  Alan and Nick exchanged a glance.

  “Sorry, babe. It’s only a remote possibility anyway,” Nick added. “With luck, no one will find us.” And with that kind of luck, I’m sure to win the next Powerball lottery and live happily ever after in a land of milk and honey.

  “That’s better.” Zoe set the plate down. “I prefer denial if you don’t mind. I’d like to enjoy the rest of my lunch.”

  “Nick’s right,” Alan observed, lying through his teeth. “This place is pretty far off the beaten path. I doubt anyone can find you.” He smiled. “Nick tells me you’re writing a book.”

  “I was until I was interrupted by some big-city lawyers who had been sent out to threaten me.” Zoe sat down and picked up her napkin. “Apparently the subject of my book took issue with my exposé.”

  Alan half smiled. “You can’t blame him, I suppose.”

  “I guess. Call me naive though—I was surprised at the style of his reprisal. Please, help yourself.” Zoe indicated a bowl of pasta with red sauce. “Nick made it; I heated it up a minute ago.”

  “Zoe made the biscuits,” Nick offered. “And we both worked on the salad,” he added with a smile for Zoe.

  The intimacy of Nick’s smile as well as Zoe’s was intriguing, Alan decided. He’d never seen an affectionate side to Nick, and when he’d first met him, Nick had been married, although the marriage had been in need of resuscitation by that point. While Nick was in Kosovo, his wife decided she wanted to live in L.A. and took a job teaching Slavic history at UCLA. He’d been pissed at her unilateral decision, but stuck halfway across the world wasn’t in a position to alter the circumstances. Then he’d gotten Trish’s Dear John, we’ve grown apart letter. She’d added the classic, it’s not you, it’s me, and him and him and him Nick had found out later. Anyway, it would be nice if Zoe Chandler hadn’t been sent by Harry considering the obvious warmth of their relationship.

  But if she had been, Nick would deal with it.

  You didn’t share life-threatening adventures without knowing the capacity for violence in the man who watched your back. Nick could be merciless if the occasion demanded.

  Such grim thoughts were out of place in the current atmosphere of cloudless well-being, however. Alan refocused his attention on the conversation.

  Nick spoke of their recent canoe trip to the rapids emptying into Loon Haunt and the repairs his old canoe required after their bumpy white-water ride. Zoe brought up their berry-picking excursion behind the cabin and they both cheerfully argued about who had picked the most blueberries. The loser apparently was obligated to make a pie.

  Later, when Zoe asked, Alan explained how he and Nick had met and smoothly lied about the circumstances.

  “Alan and I would rather forget we’d ever been in Kosovo,” Nick remarked. “Not that it wasn’t a good cause, but the day-to-day execution of the mission left a lot to be desired.”

  “Amen to that and changing the subject,” Alan interjected with a grin. “Tell me when the sauna is going to be heated up for me.”

  Nick glanced at his watch. “I’ll fire it up as soon as we’re finished eating, so say, four hours from now it should be hot enough for you. Alan likes skin-scalding heat,” Nick added, smiling at Zoe.

  “Then I’ll take second shift since I prefer comfort.”

  “Why don’t you show me your security while the sauna’s heating,” Alan suggested. “Then we’ll find a spot for my new toy,” he added with a nod toward the black cases.

  “You two go do your thing,” Zoe offered. “I’ll clean up here and work on my book.”

  “Thanks, babe. Come on Al. I’ll show you the right way to start a sauna fire.”

  Zoe watched the men walk down the hill toward the sauna. Both were tall and toned, dark-haired, swarthy. Modern-day pirates , she fancifully reflected. Neither looked like they’d back down in a fight. But Alan had a sparkle in his eyes.

  While no one had mentioned that Alan dealt in arms, she was pretty certain he did. The wooden boxes unloaded from Alan’s plane looked like those in the movies—drab military green with white stenciled labels. The two official-looking black metal suitcases by the door also appeared to have been appropriated from some government warehouse.

  Not that she cared to speculate about Nick’s need for serious armaments. She was sticking with her denial plan. It was less nerve-racking. In fact, she panicked each time she let herself think about them being on the run. Or worse . . . that their pursuers would find them.

  Her only consolation was that she had the most gratifying and sexually satisfying personal bodyguard on duty twenty-four seven. Not that world-class sex could completely mitigate the serious hazards facing them, but it went a long way in calming her heebie-jeebies.

  “Whaddya think of her—beyond the obvious,” Nick asked, squatting down in front of the sauna stove, opening the cast-iron door and tossing in some kindling.

  “The obvious is she’s A-class centerfold material. Which makes me slightly suspicious. Harry would likely employ a gorgeous babe like her to get your attention.”

  “Agreed. And? Hand me those two logs on top.” Nick pointed through the open door to a wood box in the small changing room.

  “And otherwise, you seem to like her and vice versa.” Alan came back with the two split logs and handed them to Nick. “You’re right though—you’re gonna have to watch her.” He smiled. “Which isn’t bad duty.”

  “Not for long. If Harry’s confirmation hearing is next week, we should expect co
mpany real soon.” Carefully placing the two pine logs on top of the kindling, Nick struck a match on the concrete stove base and lit the fire. He watched it for a moment until the flame caught, then shut the door, opened the flue wide, and came to his feet. “We’ll add more wood in ten minutes or so. Let me quickly show you my perimeter line. I added a few new man traps since you were here. Then we can set up your new toy.”

  Twenty-eight

  Tony left a message on the local radio program that transmitted personal notices into the telephone-free boundary waters from nine to ten every day.

  Nick. Your New York visitors went back home. Tony.

  Zoe and the men were finishing breakfast the following morning when they heard the announcement. It was sandwiched between Kathy, Joe will be over tonight to play cards. Do you have enough coffee? and The fishing party ill be at the Straw Lake portage at two tomorrow. Meet them. Lou.

  “I’ll have to send Tony a thank-you,” Nick said.

  “Add my thanks to yours,” Zoe murmured, exhaling softly. “What a relief.”

  “They might have an act two somewhere down the line,” Nick cautioned.

  “I expect they will. But right now, they can’t get at me. I can write with a freer mind. My creativity doesn’t function well when I’m being threatened.”

  “Do you have much left on your book?” Alan asked, thinking the threat level was probably going to get worse before it got better.

  “A couple of weeks of hard work and I should finish my first draft.”

  “I should probably leave you alone then,” Nick said with a grin.

  “Actually, some things enhance my creativity,” Zoe replied ever so softly.

  “Maybe we should take a short break before we start working.” Nick’s voice was low and heated, his dark gaze covetous. “You know, recharge our batteries.”

  Her smile was tantalizing. “Is there time?”

  “No problem.” Whisper-soft and sexually explicit.

  “Don’t let me interrupt this licentious moment,” Alan said drily.

  “As if you could,” Nick drawled, coming to his feet. “If you’ll excuse us.”

  “While you two are ignoring the world, I’ll check on the progress in Washington.”

  Nick picked up Zoe from her chair and swung her up in his arms. “Give our regards to Ginny.”

  “Will do.” Alan tapped his wristwatch. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Nick grinned. “Lucky I can deal with pressure.”

  As Nick walked from the kitchen, Zoe murmured, “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Nick casually replied. “Alan is risk averse, that’s all.”

  “Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be, too.”

  “I am, okay? I just don’t happen to be right this second.”

  “Because you’re focused on sex.”

  “Oh, yeah.” His grin flashed. “Once we’re alone, I’ll show you how focused I can be.”

  Alan regarded the departing couple with a speculative gaze. If Nick was watching his back with the lovely Miss Chandler, he sure as hell didn’t show it. He was careless, headstrong, letting his cock call the shots. If Zoe was Harry’s agent, Nick might be looking at some deadly sex. But short of becoming a voyeur, he’d have to rely on Nick’s instincts and whatever restraint was still operating beneath his hotspur need to fuck.

  Nick set Zoe down once they reached his bedroom, then quickly turned and shut and locked the door. “Just in case Alan decides break time is over before we do,” he said, swiveling back around.

  “He’s not going to be angry, is he? Or think us impolite?” Zoe murmured, her mouth faintly pursed.

  “Are you saying you don’t want to come?”

  “Well . . . no—I mean . . . that is—”

  He smiled. “Same here. And seriously,” he said, beginning to quickly unbutton her shirt, “don’t worry about being polite”—his brows flickered—“unless it’s to me.” Sliding her plaid camp shirt down her arms, he let it drop. “Although, I’m so horny even politeness isn’t a requirement.” He unhooked her bra with a flick of his fingers, slipped it off, unzipped her jeans with one quick pull, and dropped to one knee to divest her of her jeans and panties.

  “I hope you’re not planning on wham, bam, thank you ma’am sex,” she said, drolly.

  He glanced up, his gaze sardonic. “This from the babe who comes so fast, I have to sprint to keep up?”

  “That must be why we get along so well,” she said with a grin, lifting one foot, then the other so he could pull off her remaining clothes. “Although we’re operating under time constraints this morning.”

  “The only time constraints we’re operating under is when you decide to cry uncle.” Rising to his feet, he brushed a fingertip down her fine, straight nose. “So you just let me know when you’ve had enough.” He jerked his T-shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

  “Arrogant man.”

  “You’re hotter than hell—what can I say?” Taking a light weight CZ 100 handgun from his pocket, he tossed it on the bedside table, unsnapped and unzipped his shorts, and let them slide to the floor.

  “Speaking of temptation,” Zoe whispered, her gaze suddenly avaricious, thinking if ever a man shouldn’t wear underwear, he was the perfect candidate.

  “Me or this?” he said, with a glance at her favorite toy. Silly question. “Hey, babe.” He snapped his fingers. “Look at me.”

  Her gaze lifted, affront in her eyes. “I don’t take orders.”

  “Sometimes you take orders.”

  “Only if they turn me on.”

  “So I should reword my statement?”

  “It might be wise.”

  “Or what?”

  “Don’t be a prick.”

  “I don’t take orders either,” he brusquely countered.

  For a moment they stood motionless, taut with lust, willful and edgy. Then in a flash, he picked her up, dropped her on the bed, followed her down in a smooth, controlled flow of muscled strength, and shoving her legs apart, settled between her thighs. Resting on his forearms, he pinned her to the bed— although lightly, his weight no more than a hovering presence. “Now, let’s make sure I word this properly,” he murmured, his dark eyes close as he nudged her slick, cushiony cleft with the swollen crest of his erection. “I wouldn’t want to piss you off.”

  “Too late,” she hissed.

  “I don’t think so,” he whispered, knowing any cunt as wet as hers was more than ready for action.

  She should have yelled, I’m not listening to anything you say! Get off me this instant! and if he wasn’t hung like a horse and seconds away from giving her the pleasure her greedy, overwrought senses craved, she might have. So much for principles up against unbridled lust.

  “You’re really wet, babe,” he murmured, like he could read her mind, the sleek head of his cock resting inside the slippery folds of her labia. “I’d say you’re ready to let me in.”

  “Not without a condom.” There. Principle reasserted. Her independence restored. Insisting on at least a modicum of discipline for her heedless libido that was willing to acquiesce to anything as long as Nick’s enormous cock was involved.

  “I don’t have any condoms left.”

  “You’re kidding!” Now what, Miss Smarty Pants, her libido carped.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t come in you.”

  “Jeez, I don’t believe this!” she wailed, every irresponsible, oversexed nerve in her brain busy examining possible options. Principle and independence were in serious jeopardy of being ignominiously jettisoned, overruled by the avaricious ache of desire throbbing through her vagina.

  “We left in kind of a hurry. And the condoms I had in the plane are gone. But I’m dependable as hell.”

  “What if I say no?” she muttered, trying to keep it together even as her body was rolling out the red carpet.

  “I’d say you’re so wet”—he slid the head of his cock up and down her liq
uid slit again—“you don’t really mean it.”

  “Maybe . . . I . . . do.”

  “And maybe I’d believe you if you weren’t panting.”

  “I—am . . . not—panting.”

  His smile was benevolent. “Whatever you say.”

  “This . . . can’t . . . be . . . happening to me!” she fulminated. But her hips were moving of their own accord, further whetting her already ravenous appetite for sex, her creamy labia were enveloping the engorged head of Nick’s erection, and reason and discretion were collapsing under a tidal wave of lust.

  “You don’t have to worry,” he whispered, smoothly easing the head of his penis into her vagina fractionally. Politely pausing for leave to continue. As if her consent was actually in question.

  “Oh God, oh God...”

  Not explicit consent nor precisely his name, but definitely frenzied reception. And figuring that was as good as a yes, he drove in and buried himself to the hilt in her well-lubricated, soft as silk, welcoming pussy. As he came to rest embedded in her lush, tight cunt, he was gratified to hear her exhale a low, sumptuous pleasure sound.

  But only a second later, coming to her senses, she frantically pushed at his chest and cried, “Stop! Stop! Get off of me!”

  Not likely. But he murmured politely, “In a minute.”

  “No! No! Now!” she exclaimed, more heated still, punching his shoulder.

  Even if he’d been considering acceding to her wishes, her hips were still gently swaying beneath him, her hot, slick vaginal tissue was massaging the entire highly sensitive length of his cock—all of which put into question the sincerity of her demands.

  On the other hand, he had no intention of stopping.

  With masterful finesse, he forced himself deeper.

  Touched to the quick, she cried out at the shocking pleasure. Yet, a heartbeat later, struggling to suppress the delirium ravaging her senses, breathless, panicked he might come in her, she pleaded, “Please! Please! Stop!”

  “You don’t mean that,” he whispered. Her arousal was not only obvious but provocative as hell and he could no more stop than she could nullify the flowing succulence of hot desire bathing his cock. “Tell me—do you like this . . .” Driving a fraction more into her soft yielding flesh, the additional, almost minimal penetration was so excruciatingly fine, he shut his eyes against the raw splendor.