Logan was good with details. From the day he’d enlisted, sixteen and fresh out of school with little more than a voracious hunger to win his green beret, he’d been detail-oriented. Just as well—in his line of work, a lack of attention to detail could get a person killed.
Miss Winter, however… her attention to detail invaded OCD territory on a scale to rival the D-Day landings, which probably explained the email he’d received a couple of hours after their little spat. The paperwork had apparently turned up, and everything was now peachy. His claim would be settled in the next payment run, and she apologised for any inconvenience caused.
Logan rested his forearm across his eyes, ignoring the slight, nagging ache in his biceps. Acknowledging it meant he’d have to admit the doc might have a point about not declaring him fully fit yet.
Like a moth to a flame, his thoughts gravitated back to Miss Winter. Yeah, she was pretty—beautiful, if she’d stop torturing her hair in that bun arrangement. The colour of it reminded him of a blend of whisky and honey. Occasionally he’d wondered exactly how long it was. There looked to be plenty for a man to wrap his hand in and anchor her for a kiss—or more.
The rest of her wasn’t too bad, either. She was tall, about five-ten in those heels she favoured, so a nice height if she ditched the shoes. Good figure too—fit, but nice and curvy. Not the type to break when getting down and dirty in a scene. Just the kind he liked, but there was no way that was ever happening outside the impersonal confines of the club.
Sophia saw to that.
Logan checked the time. It was later than he’d thought, and he was famished. Pizza was probably more practical now—they’d still be delivering, and he already had beer chilling in the fridge.
A shower, food, booze and bed—not a bad plan after a shit day, although he’d have preferred to throw a good fuck into the mix as well. And he had the exact same shit to look forward to again tomorrow. Fan-bloody-tastic.
One thing was for certain, though—when this job was finished, no one had better get between him and a serious session at Aegis. He was more than ready to spend some quality time indulging in some no-strings fun, and there was nothing quite like the satisfaction of leaving a few pink handprints on the gorgeous arse of a willing submissive.
~~*~~
As usual, the evening passed too quickly.
Salsa class had been a blast. Even after a long—and today, stressful—day at work, Lucy wouldn’t dream of missing the chance to dance her troubles away.
Tonight she’d really needed to do just that. The latest confrontation with Simmonds had put her in a grumpy mood that had festered all day.
The damn man had all but accused her of gross incompetence. After he’d left, she’d hunted high and low for the missing paperwork, but, as she’d expected, it was nowhere to be seen. If he had left it in the tray, which she’d seriously doubted, he hadn’t done so while she was there. Not only would she have remembered—she’d have checked it and had Sir Guy approve it on the system at the earliest opportunity.
While she was there. That thought had proved to be the catalyst that led to solving the mystery. A couple of phone calls later, and Lucy had pieced together what had happened.
The recipe for disaster consisted of equal parts of a visit to the dentist, an early lunch hour and an inexperienced stand-in. Logan had left the paperwork for his expenses when an admin assistant was providing cover for Lucy while she was attending her appointment. The guy was relatively new, wasn’t acquainted with the intricacies of the expense policy, and had simply sent the documentation directly to the finance office. A quick call to the bean counters today had confirmed Lucy’s theory.
Out of courtesy, she’d emailed Logan to apologise, and let him know the matter had been resolved. She’d been somewhat surprised to receive an expression of gratitude in return, terse though it was. It seemed the man knew his manners after all, in spite of all evidence to the contrary.
Before going for a shower, Lucy checked her answering machine for messages. She’d been let off the parental leash a good while ago. However, her brothers—whom she thought of as the human equivalent of flypaper, because she could never shake them free—insisted on keeping a watchful eye on her. Even being on deployment had never stopped any of them from checking on her whenever they could.
And yes, there was one message. Tempted though she was to leave it till the morning, there was always the chance it was urgent.
“Hey, Oh-Em-Gee, just thought I’d let you know we’ve arrived in the Philippines. We’re seven hours ahead, the weather’s hot, but rain’s on the way. Catch you later. Bye for now!”
It was Sam, and she was going to kill him. No matter how many times she begged and pleaded, he—along with all his brothers-in-crime—still persisted in referring to her with those three blasted initials.
As the creator of the nickname, Adam was really the one to blame. After two sets of male twins, their mother was desperate for a daughter. She’d persuaded their father to have “one more go” at having a girl. Her oldest sibling had shortened “one more go” to Oh-Em-Gee, and Lucy had been cursed with the epithet ever since.
For the last few months, Sam’s ship had been on a goodwill tour in the Asia-Pacific region, and unless some international crisis arose to prevent it, they’d be plotting a course for home soon. He wouldn’t be the only one. For once, planetary alignment was favourable, and all four of her siblings would be home on extended leave at the same time—and even more miraculously, the timing was perfect for their mother’s birthday. Family bonds remained strong in the Winter clan.
On tea-making autopilot, her mind wandered—not to either her friends or family, but her colleagues at work. They didn’t talk a lot about their private lives. Given the nature of their work, she wasn’t surprised. Her brothers had long ago explained the necessity to keep a mental barrier between their home and their professional lives, to help them manage certain aspects of their work, such as separation from their loved ones while on deployment. Exchange “deployment” for “assignment”, and the statement could apply to the members of Sir Guy’s unit.
As she poured the hot water, Lucy gave in to her lurking curiosity about Logan Simmonds’ home life. Did he have some long-suffering girlfriend waiting for him? She’d tried to picture him with a wife, and although it was a possibility, she just couldn’t see it. Married or not, if he did have a significant other… poor woman. Whatever redeeming characteristics the man might have—besides knicker-dropping good looks—they most assuredly weren’t visible to the naked eye.
Tempted though she was to switch the TV on for the late news bulletin, Lucy opted for music instead. The world and its terrors would still be there tomorrow. Given the access she had to Sir Guy’s inbox, those terrors could easily scare her to death—if she let them.
And if she did allow the fear to get to her, then they—the bad guys—would win, and that wasn’t an option. Although “real” home was the farm where she and her brothers had grown up, on their mother’s side there was a history of military service. Five generations that they knew of, possibly more.
There were no high-ranking officers in Lucy’s family tree, but they’d all believed in serving their country and defending those unable to defend themselves. Her brothers had followed the family tradition, and for years, when they were home on leave, she’d pestered them into sharing their skills with her.
The pestering had gained impetus once she’d come to a decision about her future. With that in mind, she’d taken steps that ultimately led to this job, where she’d set about learning everything she could from the confidential reports that crossed her desk.
When opportunity dropped its capricious arse in her lap, she was going to grab it and hold on, although not for opportunities like the team-building karaoke night. She’d consider almost anything if it would assist in achieving her objective, but another session of that cruel and unusual punishment was more than human hearing could be expected to bear.
&nbs
p; Chapter 3
His penance in the form of babysitting Simon Northwood now complete, Logan was more than ready to get stuck into his new assignment, whatever it might be. Twenty-four hours earlier, the doc had brightened the start of the new week by at long last signing off on his full return to normal duty. Not only that—with the greatest of pleasure, Logan had handed responsibility for the genius to the boss’ niece, along with the keys to the Bentley.
Today he’d arrived at work buoyed by anticipation of a task he could get his teeth into, and also use to prove his worth to the team. He took the stairs up to the third floor two at a time. Not even the dire prospect of waiting in the office occupied by the woman he thought of as his personal nemesis could put a dent in his good mood.
She was a chilly one, all right. Logan was willing to bet that Miss Winter’s knickers were as frosty as her name. She had a way of glaring at him that triggered an almost irresistible urge to put her over his knee and make that sweet arse of hers sing.
Now that was an interesting thought, and not unconnected with how he’d spent the previous evening at Aegis. The sub he’d played with had been a cute little thing—enthusiastic, responsive, a pleasure to torment with a little orgasm denial, and a nice armful during aftercare. And as keen to avoid any emotional complications as he was.
Without bothering to knock, he pushed open the door to Sir Guy’s outer office. The sight that met him was one he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. There in front of him, wrapped in a short, tight skirt, was the lush, rounded backside he’d just been contemplating.
That alone grabbed his attention by the balls, but when his gaze slithered to a halt at the captivating sight of those long, toned legs in sheer black nylons, his thoughts accelerated down the fast lane to grossly inappropriate territory. His visual tour continued, and by the time it concluded with feet shod in black patent shoes with spindly, three-inch heels, they’d taken the unmarked turning to NSFW.
The formidable Miss Winter must have lost something under her desk. If the lack of a visible panty line was any indication, it could be the knickers that were always in a twist when he was around.
“Need any help under there?”
He winced at the sharp smack of her head connecting with the underside of the desk. The muttered cursing was colourful, nautical, and inventive enough to make a sailor blush. So was the mesmeric wiggle of her hips as she backed out from her hiding place. Just what he didn’t need on top of the lingering satisfaction of an evening at Aegis. The sight of a woman on her knees before him still triggered impulses that made the fit of his tailored trousers somewhat more revealing than was appropriate for a work environment.
“I can manage just fine, thank you, Mr. Simmonds.”
With a grace and style that surprised him, Lucy stood and straightened her skirt, which ended about two inches above a pair of good-looking knees. Hypnotised by the meticulous care with which she eliminated every last crease and speck of lint, he allowed each elegant movement of her hands to soak into his consciousness. The way she smoothed the dark material over her thighs was compellingly symbolic of her painstaking attention to detail.
His attention to that particular detail earned him a familiar glare, although her tone, when she addressed him, was spine-snappingly polite, with only the tiniest dash of disapproval.
“You’re a little early—Sir Guy’s still on his daily conference call with Number Ten. Please, take a seat. Can I get you some coffee while you’re waiting?”
“Thanks—black, no sugar.”
He watched her cross the office to the fancy, single-cup gizmo sitting on a low cabinet in the corner. Her hips didn’t just save that sexy swing for when she was on her hands and knees. Logan shifted in his seat, and dragged his smartphone out of his jacket pocket—anything to steer his attention in a less lascivious direction. He glanced up when she placed a white mug on the low table beside him.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She paused, as if considering her next move. “Sir Guy shouldn’t be long now.”
“That’s okay—I’m not going anywhere.” Not till the boss gave him his orders, anyway, and then it would be a case of the further away, the better.
The coffee wasn’t bad—hot, and almost strong enough to chew, the way Logan preferred it. While he waited, he checked his email, aware all the time of his surroundings, and the rapid tapping on the keyboard coming from just a few feet away.
The tapping halted a couple of times, interrupted by calls coming in on the landline on Lucy’s desk. Like many people, his nemesis had a “telephone voice”, which, he had to admit, was pleasant enough to the ear, if more than a little formal. Not that her normal voice was unpleasant, at least when she wasn’t tearing a strip off him for his latest administrative foul-up. Unless his ears deceived him, her accent held a touch of the north, just the faintest suggestion that her roots lay far from the capital.
Logan wondered if she sounded as prissy when she was getting sweaty and sexed-up. He didn’t know why, but the thought of turning her into a wildcat in the bedroom was… appealing.
He shoved the image aside. He’d been thinking about her in that kind of context way too often recently. Echoes of their initial introduction persisted in his memories of the smile with which she’d greeted him when they’d been introduced, and again he wondered where it had all gone wrong, why she’d suddenly developed that icy attitude towards him.
He glanced at his watch. According to the high-tech dive timepiece, his meeting with the old man was due to start in two minutes, thirty-five seconds. He put his phone on silent, and slipped it back into his pocket.
Miss Winter picked up her phone and pressed a button on the base unit. “Sir Guy? Mr. Simmonds is here for your 9 a.m. meeting… Yes, sir, right away.” She replaced the handset. “He’s ready for you now, Mr. Simmonds—you can go right in.”
“Thank you.”
Logan went to the door, knocked this time, and entered. Sir Guy looked up, and although the man’s expression revealed nothing of his thoughts, Logan picked up an air of tension about him.
“Good morning, Simmonds. Take a seat.”
“Good morning, sir.” Logan sat across the desk from his boss. He waited in silence until Sir Guy finished reading the single sheet of paper in front of him.
“I see the medical officer passed you fit for a full return to active duty.” Sir Guy set the report to one side.
“Yes, sir. It’ll be good to get back to a real job.”
Sir Guy raised an eyebrow. “If that’s an indication of what you think about your last assignment, you may not consider this a real job, either. Frankly, I’m not even sure I do, but I need someone to take a short trip and ask some questions. As you know, we’ve been co-opted into assisting with a major public order exercise, so everyone else is busy. Since you’ve just become available, that makes you the ideal candidate.”
The only candidate. Last man standing, drawer of the infamous short straw. “What do you need me to do, sir?”
“Have you ever heard of a Caribbean resort called Nenufar?”
Holy hell—who in the community hadn’t? The place was renowned for being kink-friendly, clothing-optional and private in the extreme. Its clientele was limited to adults in couples and ménages—no singles and no kids allowed.
“I have, sir. Isn’t it a little out of our jurisdiction?”
“At this stage, your remit—should you accept the assignment—is to do no more than ask a few discreet questions.”
“Should I accept the assignment?” Mental alarm bells rang. Orders by definition weren’t optional, and if Sir Guy was giving him the opportunity to turn this assignment down, it probably wasn’t a good sign.
“You’ve heard of the place, so I assume you’re familiar with its nature. Not everyone would be comfortable with that, so it’s only fair to give you the chance to decline.”
By the sound of it Logan wasn’t the only one familiar with its nature. Who’d have thought
it? Leaving aside his personal interests, he was a big boy, and well prepared to handle whatever his CO threw at him. “I don’t have a problem with that, sir. What do you need?”
“The daughter of a senior government minister appears to have gone missing. Her last verified location was Nenufar, three weeks ago, along with her latest boyfriend, who’s also vanished. They were supposed to be there a week before returning home, but no one’s heard from either of them.”
Sir Guy’s mouth settled in a grim line. “He has no family, and frankly, I think hers is overreacting. She’s a grown woman; it’s probably nothing more sinister than a somewhat thoughtless, spur-of-the-moment decision to extend their break.
“However, given her father’s connections with national defence, I’m not prepared to take any chances. It’s just possible there’s a scenario where she could have been abducted by enemies of the state, with a view to using her as leverage against him. I need you to ask a few questions to confirm her current whereabouts and status without causing an international incident.”
“I take it her family have tried calling her?”
“Calls go straight to voicemail. Her father’s been in touch with the authorities, but isn’t happy with, quote, ‘Their pathetic excuse for an investigation’, unquote. I need you to go there undercover, and see what you can find. As I said, I suspect they’ve moved on to another destination without bothering to keep anyone informed, and they chose somewhere with little to no mobile coverage.”
A quiet knock on the door had Logan turning around, to see Miss Winter enter, bearing a tray with two cups of coffee.
“Thank you, Lucy.” Sir Guy greeted her with an avuncular smile. “Excellent timing. As I was about to say, Simmonds, the problem I have is that they don’t allow single guests, and I have no one suitable to accompany you. Ros is my only female officer, and as you know, she’s just started her latest assignment. I can’t take her off that one—not that I believe she’d be a good candidate anyway.”
Winter's Fire (Club Aegis Book 5) Page 2