They were one beefcake short. As the last available dancer headed for Kim, the snotty lady next to her snagged him by grabbing his arm and pulling him to her. The young man looked startled. The woman flashed Kim a smug look.
“Aye! We are one short.” Frustration showed on Andres’ face as he looked at Kim and shook his head. He turned to Vicki and Babette and frowned. “I can’t pair you with her. It does no good for ladies to dance with ladies. The man and the woman have different steps. It would ruin you! And I have worked so hard.”
Just then, Steve hurried into the room, adjusting his tie as if he’d had it off in the brief interim between sessions.
“Ah,” Andres said and swung his arm wide to indicate Steve should partner with Kim.
Kim sighed. She was pretty sure Steve had all the grace of a gorilla and she really didn’t want to stare him in the eye. Unfortunately, she had no choice.
“We begin with the posture.” Andres demonstrated. “Arms at the side. The neck follows the line of the spine. Breathe deeply and quietly.” He looked around the class, studying his students.
“Good! We move on. The man holds the woman in the small of her back with his right hand. Just so.” He put his arm around Veta. “He takes the woman’s right hand lightly with his left and they extend their embrace to shoulder height. Women, rest your left hand gently on your partner’s shoulder. Now chests wide, arms bent . . .”
The lesson continued with Andres and Veta demonstrating the steps and Steve clobbering Kim’s toes, made especially vulnerable in her open-toed stilettos, as they tried the moves.
“One, two, three, four, five – ladies remember to cross over—”
Kim crossed. Steve moved the wrong way and stomped her foot.
“Ouch!” Kim bent and grabbed her throbbing toes.
“Sorry! Sorry!” Steve bent to have a look.
She tried putting her weight on her foot and winced, backing off. It was as good an excuse as any to end this disaster.
“I don’t think I can dance any more.” She glanced at him. He really did look apologetic, though with the force he’d pranced on her foot, she wondered if it had been intentional. She got the feeling Steve didn’t like dancing.
“Let’s get you to a chair.” He offered his arm and she hobbled with his help to the nearest seat.
She sighed as she examined the damage. Her big toe glowed red, the dark edges of a bruise already beginning to form. She’d be lucky if she didn’t lose her big toenail. Even a great pedicure couldn’t cover up a lost nail and she didn’t relish the thought of an acrylic.
She was still lamenting and rubbing her foot when Jason walked into the room. Without a word, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to the dance floor before she could protest.
He snapped her around in front of him and stared into her eyes with an intensity that took her breath away. She couldn’t look away. She could only stare back into his eyes as if he held her there by sheer will. His put his hand at the small of her back where she was keenly aware of its heat through the thin fabric of her dress.
She rested her trembling hand on his shoulder and kept her chin up. He took her hand in his and squeezed it. She thought she’d never be able to breathe again.
“Ready?” he asked in a deep, steady voice that made her tingle all the way to her toes.
“When you are.”
He smiled. Their gazes never wavering, they flowed into the music and on to the floor as one.
“One, two, three, four, five with the crossover, six, seven, eight.” Andres kept time.
Kim could have kept it with her heartbeat.
Staring into the depths of Jason’s eyes, seeing seduction and desire there, feeling his heat and a rush of desire wash over her, she hoped her knees wouldn’t buckle.
The world faded away. They became one, the two of them engaged in a tango that was both seduction and competition.
She broke the silence, but not their gaze. She refused to blink first. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“A good spy always is.”
“I’m injured.”
“Are you?”
“Bastard,” she said, but she kept her tone light. “Suppose I were to kill you for a thrill for dragging me out here?”
He laughed. “Quoting Bond movies now, Countess?”
“Butchering them.”
He smiled. “I think we’ve mastered the basic step. How about a challenge – can you sandwich?”
At the thought of his thigh between her legs, she flushed. But she never backed down from a challenge. “Can I sandwich!” She beat him to the punch and slid her leg between his, rubbing her thigh against his crotch, and smiling at the reaction she got.
He merely grinned and whispered in her ear, “Gotta love the tango.”
One, two, three, her leg between his. Four, five, six, his between hers. Her heart raced as he grew bolder with each step.
A whisper of desire grew until it shouted within her. She lost herself to him. A very dangerous game, that. She wanted nothing more than to tango all the way to the bedroom and beyond. Oh so far beyond to tangled satin sheets and satisfied moans.
When the music stopped and the dance ended, Kim had to force herself back to reality from the ravenous dance.
Andres was clapping for them. “Excellent. Excellent! We see why couples love the tango.” He winked. “Such fluid motion.”
Kim’s breath came hard. While she danced, she hadn’t even felt the physical exertion. Now she wasn’t certain the dancing had anything to do with it. Jason continued to stare into her eyes and hold her in his arms for the few extra seconds necessary to indicate intimacy.
Then he released her, nodded to her, and left her standing alone and stunned without a word.
She’d been so engrossed, she hadn’t even noticed her toe. But now it began to throb. Along with her heart.
Camp ended a half-hour after Jason left. Although she went through the motions, it ended for Kim with his departure. The moment Babette dismissed them, Kim rushed for the locker room and retrieved her overnight bag.
Room 1010. Jason’s.
She hoped he’d gone straight to it. She didn’t relish the thought of lying in wait. On the surface, waiting to pounce sounded exciting, but waiting was waiting no matter how you sliced it, and dead boring.
Kim took the elevator up alone and found the hallway deserted. This time of day, the cleaning staff had finished their job. She located Jason’s room with ease.
She cased the situation and studied the door. Lucky her, he was in. He’d locked the deadbolt and now the indicator on the door showed that the room was occupied. She pulled her tools from her bag. Seconds later, she’d picked the electronic lock and jimmied the deadbolt.
She stashed her tools in her bag with the stealth of trailing shadow. As she palmed the little Leverletto, her heartbeat roared in her ears.
Be still my heart, the excitement!
She listened at the door before she pushed it open. Running water! Delicious. She not only had the element of surprise on her side, but the Psycho element as well.
As she peered inside, her breath caught. The white and tan room had a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that slid back and opened on to a wide balcony and a panoramic ocean view. Bolsters, shams and pillows scattered with red rose petals and embroidered with words of love filled the mile-high bed.
More rose petals lay scattered on the floor, making a path to the bed and the bathroom beyond. Perfumed candles flickered on the nightstand and on a table on the balcony in the waning evening light, giving off a seductive scent. An ice bucket on the table held a bottle of deep red wine. Two crystal wine glasses and a box of high-end chocolates sat beside it.
The man lived like Bond. And he was expecting company.
She smiled and silently let herself in, setting her bag by the door. She fingered her knife, ready to strike as she sneaked towards the bathroom door and into the hypnotic sound of running water. No one wou
ld hear a thing.
She paused for just a second by the slightly ajar bathroom door and peeked in. Steam obscured her view. She didn’t dare venture a better look for fear he’d see or hear her. She took a deep breath. It was now or never.
She stepped in, ready to kill. Before her, gently steaming water streamed into a half-filled, two-person Jacuzzi bathtub. But there was no one in it. Where was—
Warm, bare arms, moist from a shower, grabbed her from behind, pinned her arms against her side, and her body against a very naked man.
She bit back a scream and kicked wildly as he lifted her off the floor. She should have known! The man had ice in his veins and moved as silently as falling snow.
“Drop it!” he growled in her ear.
His freshly shaved cheek brushed her own, distracting her. She did love a smooth face. “Make me.”
Wrong thing to say. He pressed her more tightly against his aroused body with one arm and grabbed her knife wrist with the other so tightly he cut off her circulation. She’d fight him until the end. She had to.
She flailed against him, but it was useless and a waste of precious energy. She tried the child’s trick of going limp, hoping he’d drop her or that she’d be able to slip through his arms. But the steam stuck her dress to both her skin and his, gluing them together and giving him the advantage. And he was too strong and too well trained for the limp trick to work. He acted as if he could hold her deadweight all night long.
He held and squeezed her with muscles as firm and taut as a cobra’s until her body tingled all over, and she wanted nothing more than to coil herself around him.
Her hand lost all feeling. Her hair felt damp against her face. He shook her wrist, trying to snap the knife free. Her wrist cramped up and she lost her grip. The Leverletto clattered to the floor. Rotten commando moves!
Jason kicked her knife away.
He released her. Unable to resist him any longer, she spun around into his arms. He pulled her against him and into the deep, open-mouthed kiss she’d been longing for all day. She melted into him and kissed him back, running her hands through his short hair and over his shoulders.
He pulled away and stared deep into her eyes. “I missed you, Mrs Bergman.”
“I missed you too, Mr B.”
He nuzzled her neck, at the same time pulling the spaghetti straps of her dress off her shoulders. “I win. Again.”
“Ummm.” She could barely think. “Yes, yes, oh yes.” She ran her hands over his bare chest, savouring every rock-hard ripple of muscle. How she missed him when he was away. “Never wrestle with a naked man. He’ll always win.”
Happiness bubbled up within her. He’d bested her. His skills were as sharp and honed as ever. Her job keeping him on his toes done, she could relax. A bit.
“You almost beat me. I nearly missed the powder in the drink.” He kissed her shoulder.
“Quinine. Just enough in the whole dose to make you uncomfortable. Now if it had been something truly lethal . . .”
“You’re a hell of an agent. The CIA’s lucky to have you.” He kissed her neck. “And so am I.”
He pulled back just far enough so he could look her in the eye. He swept her hair back from her face with a gentle touch that made her love for him well up. “I’ve proven myself? You won’t worry when I’m on active duty now?”
She cupped his face in her hands. “I love you. I’ll always worry.” She sighed, sensing he wanted reassurance. He hated it when she worried. “But I’ll concede that you’re in top form.” She smiled and traced a pattern on his chest with her fingertip.
He shuddered beneath her gentle touch.
She looked up at him again and pleaded with him, “Just come back to me. Come back to me whole and yourself.”
“Yeah.” He unzipped her dress and slipped it off her. “If you’ll come with me now.” He scooped her into his arms.
She leaned her head on his shoulder as he shut off the water and carried her to that big, wonderful bed.
Don’t Walk Away
Shiloh Walker
One
The woman he loved held a knife at his throat.
He was on his knees, on a fucking filthy street, and she stood behind him. Close. So close he could smell her skin. So close he could reach out and touch her . . . finally.
Except there was the small matter of the knife in her hand. And he suspected she probably hated his guts. Somehow, he doubted the knife was her way of telling him how much she missed him.
He wanted to see her. But he held still. Her hand was shaking. He could feel it, feel the sharp edge of the blade pressing into his skin. If he moved too quickly, she just might lay his neck wide open.
“Fucking bastard.” It was the first thing she’d said since she’d come up behind him. It was dim in the narrow alley tucked between two low, squat buildings, but Ethan Raintree had no trouble recognizing her voice.
“Hello, Celeste.”
“Bastard.”
“You already said that. Are we going to stay like this all night or are you going to use that knife?” he asked. Part of him wondered if she could. Could she use it on him?
“Don’t tempt me,” she whispered. There was an underlying thread of steel in her voice. His heart broke a little at the sound. She’d been so soft once, so untouched. No more. The ugliness of his world had bled over into hers.
Yes. She could use the knife.
But she lowered it instead and backed away.
Slowly, Ethan came to his feet and turned to face her. The sight of her now did the same thing to him as it had the first time he’d seen her. Nearly eleven years had passed since then.
It had been ten years since he had walked away from her. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he hadn’t had much choice. After he’d destroyed her life, leaving her alone was the least he could do.
Eleven years . . . she’d changed.
He had as well, in some ways. But he still loved her. If he didn’t love her, he wouldn’t be here, on this day, in this sad, run-down excuse for a town. Belle, Texas—
It was anything but “belle”. Ugly as sin, poor as dirt and still struggling to catch up to the current century.
He was only here, because he’d known she’d be here, too.
It was 2 July, the anniversary of the day her grandmother had died. Every year on the second day of July, like clockwork, Celeste travelled to Belle, Texas to visit her grandmother’s grave.
Ethan knew. Every year for the past nine years, he’d been here on this day if at all possible. Before he had left the army, he’d missed the date twice. In the five years since then, he hadn’t missed it once.
Up until now, she hadn’t ever seen him.
Judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t overly pleased about running into him now. What in the hell was I thinking? he wondered. She’d been leaving the small diner at the centre of town and when she’d glanced his way, instead of melting back into the crowd, he’d lingered, just long enough for her to see him.
He wasn’t sure if he was surprised she’d come after him or not.
Although he had been surprised when she’d taken his feet out from under him a few minutes ago.
He might have asked about that if she hadn’t looked at him with such venom in her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, glaring at him. Anger flashed in the depths of her dark eyes.
Ethan jerked a shoulder in a restless shrug, uncertain how to answer that. Did he tell her he was there because he’d known she’d be there? Did he tell he’d come so he could see her, for just a few seconds? That he’d been doing it for years?
Stalker, much?
Celeste narrowed her eyes and said, “You know, I’m pretty sure the Army Rangers aren’t in big demand here in Belle, Texas. So what in the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m not with the army any more,” he said.
She blinked, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she looked a little caught off guard. She
recovered quickly though and gave him a cocky smirk. “Well, that would explain how you ended up on your knees in an alley, I guess. You getting rusty, Ethan? Letting somebody like me sneak up behind you?”
“I heard you behind me.” And if he’d turned around just five seconds earlier, she wouldn’t have taken him out like that. He hadn’t turned around because he’d needed a few more seconds to level out. By the time he’d thought he could look at her without letting her see his every emotion written on his face, she’d already taken his legs out.
“Bully for you.” Her grin took on a mean slant and she said, “So did you let me put you down? If so, why don’t we do it again? Maybe after a few dozen repeats, I’ll feel better.”
If he believed that he just might let her. He stared at her, hungry for the sight of her, and so much more. He wanted to feel those long, slender fingers running through his hair, curling around the back of his neck and stroking his skin as he kissed her.
A few seconds passed and the cocky smile on her face faded. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said quietly, shaking her head.
“Like what?”
“Like that . . . like you used to look at me. Like you thought I hung the moon and the stars.”
“I did.” They hadn’t had much time together during their relationship. Stolen moments when he could get away for a day or two, and one memorable trip to Cancun when he had been on leave. That was right before it all fell apart. Right before he found out who she was.
Celeste Harper was a bit of a pampered princess.
He’d always known that, from the first time she’d walked into a nameless bar in the depths of Mexico City – a place she never should have gone. All he had to do was look at her as she sauntered into the cantina, wearing a white silk dress that cost more than most people made in a month.
Hell, in Mexico, that dress probably cost more than most people made in a year.
She’d had two shadows at her back, but paid them so little attention Ethan had decided she was used to having silent bodyguards.
The bodyguards – shit. Even if he had been too dazed by Celeste, he should have taken a look at the bodyguards and run in the other direction. He could have saved them both the heartache.
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