Risky Temptation

by Hart, Gemma

  She grinned. “Oh well then.” She tossed off a lock of honey blonde hair from her shoulder. “Yes. I will marry you.”

  She then leaned down and gave me a taste of heaven on earth.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Halle

  The award glittered brightly on the table as the sun hit it just right.

  Amateur Theorist Award—James Raymond.

  To protect his identity, Jamie only used his first and middle name.

  I sighed with pride as I stared at the award, set down in the middle of our table outside our favorite café in Paris.

  “Now you can really enjoy your holiday,” I said, beaming at Jamie. “With this award under you belt, you can just relax and enjoy yourself.”

  Jamie grinned. We had literally just arrived in France this morning to enjoy a well deserved holiday for everyone. Paris had become one of our little traditions and I was glad to be back. I had insisted on Jamie bringing his award with him. I wanted to take a picture of him with it under the Eiffel Tower, much to his embarrassment.

  “Amateur Theorist Award,” Marco said, reading off the plaque. He shook his head wryly. “Now if only there was a way for you to use that brain so you didn’t keep running that mouth.”

  “Hey!” Jamie protested. “You can’t make research presentations without a mouth. My mouth got me that award, thank you very much!”

  Marco grinned. “Then god help us all.”

  I laughed.

  As I lifted up my wine glass, Jamie’s eye was caught on my hand. A slow smile spread across his face, warming it up thoroughly.

  “And congratulations again to you,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. He winked. “Sister-in-law.”

  You couldn't stop me from smiling even if you had stapled my lips down. I looked down at my left hand where a large sparkling diamond sat on my ring finger.

  Every time I saw it twinkling against the sun, a burst of happiness filled my entire being.

  Marco had surprised me with the ring.

  I hadn’t actually expected one. With how unusual our lives already were, I certainly wasn’t expecting a typical engagement or wedding. And I was fine with that. All I wanted was to be with Marco and to know I’d spend the rest of my days being with him.

  But one night, after dinner, we had gone upstairs for bed. It hadn’t been a particularly special night. We had fallen back into our usual routine more or less. Zeke had actually decided to stay in London and had found a flat not too far from us and occasionally visited us.

  As we climbed into bed, Marco had put an arm around my waist, pulling me to him. He smiled down at me with a look of such tenderness, it nearly made me want to cry.

  He lowered his head, kissing me with a gentle thoroughness and then proceeded to make love to me with all his heart.

  He lingered over me, making me squirm and cry out for mercy. He buried his head between my legs, stroking my clit with his tongue over and over again till I came with such force, I thought I would pass out.

  He squeezed and massaged my breasts as if they were the most perfect pair he had ever seen. He tongued and nibbled and bit them in turn, making me writhe in agonizing pleasure.

  Through all this, no matter how many times I tried, he wouldn’t let me return the favor. Instead he would force me back or pin me down so that all I could do was take.

  And when his cock finally entered me, I came immediately. I couldn’t help it. My body had craved his thickness and feeling my pussy stretch so deliciously, my body had instantly exploded in release.

  But of course, Marco was only just getting started then. He continued his slow, tantalizing strokes, making sure that I was good and ready for my third orgasm. I begged. I pleaded. I told him it would be impossible. The two orgasms I had already had had been so explosive, I didn’t have anything left in me.

  But it all fell on deaf ears. Marco had simply taken my lips and said, “Then let’s just go all night, sweetheart.” And thrust deep into me.

  And of course, my body, despite my mind, was able to rise to the challenge. Unbelievably I felt that familiar heat bloom within me again. I ran my hands over Marcos’s broad chest, healed from all the bruising. The muscles were taut and solid underneath my palm.

  He was so strong and so real. I never felt more at home than in his arms and thanked the stars every night for this miracle.

  And as Marco thrust in once more, he reached down and pinched my clit at the same time. My scream was mingled with his roar of release as we both came hard from the heavens.

  I shuddered and shook in his arms, letting wave after wave of ecstasy overcome me.

  I don’t know when I had fallen asleep but I came to, neatly tucked into Marcos’s arms. I tucked my head in against his chest, feeling like the perfect puzzle piece.

  We rested together in silence when suddenly, Marco reached behind him towards the nightstand on his side of the bed. He pulled open a drawer then closed it again.

  Turning back to me, he held me tightly in his arms as he presented a small box to me. He flicked it open with his thumb and inside sat the most perfect and beautiful diamond ring.

  “Nothing in this world, no diamond, no jewels, could ever come close to your value,” he said, brushing his lips against my forehead. “So this ring has nothing to do with how much you’re worth but how eternal my promise to you is.”

  “Your promise?” I said, my voice thick with emotion.

  “I promise to never leave your side,” he said. Immediately I broke down, letting the tears of happiness pour heedlessly down my cheeks. “I promise to protect you. I promise to fight for you. I promise to never let you cry alone. I promise to hold you,” he squeezed me tightly. Then pressing his lips fiercely on my forehead, he finished, “I promise to love you. Always and forever.”

  He pulled the ring out of the box and held it between us. “Marry me?” he said. This time it was a question.

  Not a question stemming from doubt but a question stemming from partnerhood. We were lovers, soulmates, but more importantly, partners. We were each other’s partner in this journey called life.

  And partners did things together. They decided together.

  “Yes,” I said, my voice watery and thick. I held out my left hand and Marco slid the ring down my finger.

  A perfect fit.

  I looked at the ring now, sitting in Paris. It was a beautiful ring. But looking up, seeing Jamie and Marco sitting next to me, smiling and happy and whole, I knew what was more beautiful than any diamond.

  It was love.

  Marco caught me eye. He gave me a warm smile that melted every bone in my body. Over Jamie’s head, he mouthed, “I love you.” Then he threw me a rakish wink.

  I smiled, feeling as if nothing else could make this day any more perfect. No matter what, I had Marco. I had love.

  And that meant, I had enough.

  The End

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  Undercover Temptation

  Gemma Hart

  Copyright 2016 Gemma Hart

  All Rights Reserved

  This work is not bound by DRM, which allows you as a reader to enjoy this st
ory on any digital platform you choose to use. But please respect the work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any similarities to events or situations is also coincidental.

  © 2016 Gemma Hart

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedication

  To the best readers out there!

  You’re support made this book happen.

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  Table of Content

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

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  Bonus Story

  Chapter One

  Halle

  “So, Agent Margot, do you understand what we’re expecting?” Agent Hadfield crossed his arms as he raised a brow at me, waiting for my answer.

  I took in a slow breath.

  In front of me were several open files spread across the large conference desk. Each one held photos of high ranking members of the notorious Desmond Mafia.

  And right in the center was the photo of Roy Desmond, the head of the Desmond Family. His face was a broad square shape with hooded eyes and a grizzly gray beard. He looked like the kind of man who could kick a dying dog if it was in his way.

  Next to Roy’s file was another photo.

  Marco Desmond.

  Roy’s son and heir apparent to the Desmond Mafia. I only let my gaze briefly flick over the photo.

  Even through the still photo, Marco Desmond seemed to burn like a glowing ember. His chiseled face and dark, penetrating eyes heated up the room in an instant. In the photo, his eyes carried a bored expression of a jaguar at rest. He might look bored and at repose but that didn’t mean he couldn’t leap on you in an instant, his jaws at your throat.

  The idea of Marco Desmond’s jaws anywhere near my throat made my cheeks immediately burn. I coughed, hoping no one had noticed.

  Agent Hadfield and Agent Truman, the lead agents for this case, only looked at me with an impatient glance.

  “I understand,” I said.

  Agent Truman, who had been leaning against the wall, pushed forward and pulled Marco Desmond’s file and slid it closer to me.

  “This is a high priority case with a lot of things at stake here. We close this and the country will have a field day. The Bureau will be considered heroes,” he said.

  I saw a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes at the word ‘heroes.’ It seemed odd that an FBI agent would be so eager to be recognized for his work. The whole idea behind the Bureau was covert operations. No one here worked with the expectation of becoming a hero. They did the work because they knew it was the right thing to do.

  At least, that's what I had thought when I had joined Bureau.

  My father had been an FBI agent for twenty-two years and I knew from the age of five that that was what I wanted to do with my life as well. I wanted to become just like my dad—a person who understood justice and fought to preserve it.

  After dad died, I had joined the Bureau. It broke my heart to know that he hadn’t lived to see me become an agent. But after a few weeks, I realized, maybe that was for the best.

  I had always heard about the FBI through my father’s eyes. He had painted it as a place where all things good and just were protected. He had made it sound like a beacon of morality and justice.

  But after just a few weeks within the Bureau, I realized this wasn’t necessarily true. Although we were well past the 1950s, sexism was still very much active within the FBI.

  Wanting to emulate my dad, I immediately tried to test to become a field operative. I wanted to be an agent who got her hands dirty. It made my heart race thinking about how proud I would make my dad if I could become a field agent like him.

  But almost immediately, I was hit with the first of many roadblocks. The agent in charge of training field operatives had immediately dismissed me before I could even apply.

  “What department are you in now?” he had asked.

  “Fraudulent accounting,” I replied. “But that was just because my recruiter had seen my degree in mathematics and had pushed me to test for the accounting exam. He told me once I was in the Bureau, I could apply to another department if I wanted.”

  The agent shook his head, snickering. “Stay in accounting then, sweetheart,” he said, giving me a smarmy look from head to toe. Although I was wearing a blazer over my buttoned up blouse, I suddenly felt naked under his leering gaze. “Field op is too messy for a numbers gal like you.”

  If I had been offended then, the offense quickly dissipated as I realized that agent’s attitude was the prevailing attitude amongst most of the department heads who also happened to all be men.

  I knew they weren’t just dismissing me because I was a woman. I knew there were female field agents. I had seen some.

  They were dismissing me because of how I looked.

  Of the very few female field agents that existed, I noticed a trend. They were all quite tall with closely cropped or bobbed hair. They had larger physiques that leaned towards the more muscular side. And they all had a very serious, almost grim, quality to their personalities. I had yet to meet one female field agent who smiled.

  This was very different from the various male field agents that abounded. There were short, tall, fat, thin agents all around. There were men with full heads of hair and others who were shiny and bald. They called it, advantageous covert operatives. That meant it was good having people of different physical looks out on the field because it meant it would be harder to identify them as agents.

  Yet this standard did not extend towards women.

  I was not as tall as the female agents. And I was curvier than them as well. Most of my blouses were tailored so the buttons wouldn’t strain across my breasts. And with my blonde hair that I kept long but always professionally tied back or up in a bun, I looked too different.

  I snorted. Not different.

  Weak.

  They wouldn’t say it to my face but I knew that’s what they were thinking. I looked too weak to be a field agent.

  So after weeks of trying to speak with every department head in the field operative sector, I gave up and relegated myself to following up on criminal fraudulent accounting of big businesses or money laundering cases.

  So it was more than a little surprising when a few days ago Agent Hadfield had called me into his office, asking me if I was still interested in field operative work.

  I had stared in shock. “Yes,” I finally managed to say. My tongue finally unstuck and I said quickly, “Yes, I’m very interested, sir.”

  Agent Hadfield nodded. He didn’t look particularly thrilled about my interest nor did he look completely disinterested. He nodded as if just confirming a detail.

  “Fine then,” he said. “Meet me in conference room B Mon
day morning at ten.”

  And now here I was, being presented with a highly classified operation that was so insanely risky, I could never have fathomed it in my wildest dreams.

  “You want me to go undercover into the Desmond Mafia,” I said slowly as the agents pushed the open files towards me.

  Agent Hadfield nodded.

  “There’s intel that they’ve recently been in contact with the Juarez Family from Mexico. They seem to be in talks in trading weapons and drugs, expanding their territories exponentially. If they’re talks are successful, they could possibly become the largest crime syndicate in the world,” Agent Truman explained.