Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys

by Annabel Joseph

  Gretchen snorted. “That’s not gonna happen. I have a career plan, remember? A plan only works when you stick to it.” But because she knew Elena was truly concerned, she continued in a more soothing tone. “Don’t worry, Lanie. This isn’t remotely close to the most dangerous assignment I’ve been on, you know? No biggie. I’ll take a cruise, I’ll find Manny’s lost love, I’ll get my editorship, and then you’ll throw me a party with Tony’s cooking and banana cake. All right?”

  Elena smiled, though worry still shone in her eyes. “All right. And invite all the hot guys too?” she teased.

  “Hell, no,” Gretchen said with a wink. “They can get their own banana cake.”

  Chapter 2

  Waiting was driving Lucas bat-shit crazy.

  He blamed the relentless Florida heat. The bright sun made his head pound, turned his sweat into steam beneath his t-shirt and jeans, and churned the leftover tequila in his stomach into something toxic. He’d levered himself out of bed that morning with the intention of heading to his dark, air-conditioned office for a few hours to do the bare minimum of paperwork and then head home early to contemplate his ceiling in peace. But Slay had thrown him a big-assed, pan-handle-shaped curveball.

  “Former client of yours needs an assist down in Tampa,” was all the fucker’s voicemail had said. “And I know you prefer to do follow-ups with your own clients. Ticket’s booked. Documentation will be waiting for you when you land. Details are in the file I sent to your email. Plan to be there a week. Pack light.”

  Slay hadn’t mentioned the client’s name and Lucas had been too preoccupied to ask, seeing as the previous evening hadn’t gone according to plan at all, but he should have known something like this was coming.

  There had been a strange pulse in his blood all week—a weird, prickling sensation across his neck that wouldn’t let him settle into any task or get decent sleep. It was likely overwork bordering on burnout, and he knew he had only himself to blame for letting it get to this point. He loved working with Slay and Matteo, loved the sheer variety of the shit he did and the satisfaction that came with keeping people safe and putting assholes behind bars, but he’d been pushing himself more lately—requesting more assignments and longer hours, driving himself to the point of exhaustion because… well, frankly, because he didn’t have a whole lot of other shit going on. Thanks to his years in the service, he had few friends outside of work and no family he kept in contact with besides his parents, who’d retired to Scottsdale years ago. Most troubling of all, yesterday, when he’d tried to remember the last time he’d had sex, he’d had to count back to a random hookup right around Red Sox opening day, which was three fucking (or decidedly not fucking) months ago. He’d decided he needed a night out, a chance to blow off steam.

  Normally, he didn’t use The Club as a pickup joint. Some members did, no doubt about it, but Lucas had mostly resisted the urge. He’d enjoyed dominating women in various scenes over the years, but he didn’t enjoy the demands that often followed, even though he was always up-front about the fact that he didn’t do long-term. Last night, he hadn’t even gotten to make an offer. None of the women on the dancefloor had caught his eye and all the scenes had bored him. He’d taken to drinking tequila—shot after shot—until he’d finally poured himself into a cab, under Slay’s watchful eye, and gone home.

  It was fucking weird. Bored of sex? Was that even a thing? He’d resisted the urge to Google weird diseases and leaped on Slay’s early-morning message like a lifeline. Work was something he knew how to handle. He’d thrown the bare necessities into a bag, “packed light,” in terms of the weaponry and tactical gear he’d need, and called a cab to the airport, no questions asked. Only once he was seated on the airplane had he opened the file to refresh his memory about the client and seen the one name he’d never thought he’d see again.

  Gretchen Liu.

  There weren’t a lot of things Lucas regretted in his life—not from his years growing up in the projects in Providence, not from the time he’d spent in the military, nor the years he’d spent working with Matteo and Slay’s personal security—but Gretchen Liu was one of them. He regretted falling for her, he regretted acting on it, and he most definitely regretted the way things had ended between them three years ago. But more than that, he regretted that, despite all of that, he still wasn’t immune to the pull she held over him.

  The file had included an updated picture and bio of her, along with a rundown of the assignment, and he’d spent way too long staring at her image, at those deep brown eyes that always shone with excitement and a taste for adventure, for the golden skin that had been soft as satin under his palm. He’d skimmed the details of the case, but he’d known that the most important preparation he had to do was mental. She’s not for you, he reminded himself relentlessly.

  Lucas enjoyed control in all things, and Gretchen Liu didn’t have a submissive bone in her body. Plus, she’d made her priorities abundantly clear and Lucas wasn’t near the top of that list. He needed to brace himself to see her again, to shore up his defenses against the woman, to gut himself of his attraction to her, once and for all.

  When the plane touched down in Florida, he worried that he hadn’t had enough time to prepare. As he stood at the Port of Tampa near the embarkation terminal, where the luxury cruise liner called The Acheilus was docked, and watched the woman step out of a taxi, he wondered if any amount of time would have been enough.

  She wore a simple linen sheath dress that highlighted her figure, and her shining black hair swung around her face. She was as gorgeous as ever, and Lucas felt himself rooted to the spot as his heart began to thump loudly. You are so screwed, man.

  But then, as she accepted her suitcase from the driver, she flashed the cool, distant, professional smile she’d given Lucas the last time they’d said goodbye, and he felt his gut sour. He fucking hated that polite mask of hers.

  She looked around the dock curiously, expectantly, and Lucas pasted on a mocking smile as he stepped forward to greet her.

  “Well, if it isn’t Vicky Vale,” he drawled, knowing she hated that he’d nicknamed her for the annoyingly inquisitive reporter from Batman. “We meet again.”

  The look of shock on her face as she turned her head and spotted him could not be feigned. She looked absolutely stunned to see him there, and before her ruthless control clicked into place, he caught a flash of vulnerability—sadness and naked longing—in her eyes.

  Interesting.

  “You’re my assistant for this assignment?” she said flatly, in lieu of any greeting.

  “Nice to see you, too, Ms. Liu. And, no. I’m your protection for this assignment,” he corrected. He wondered what her thoughts were about seeing him again, before he reminded himself that he didn’t give a shit. This was an assignment, nothing more.

  She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “What’s the difference?”

  “Difference is I don’t take orders from you. And when it comes to your safety, you do what I say. I’m sure you remember the routine.”

  He watched as her nostrils flared with temper. Christ, but he loved getting under the woman’s skin. And she made it so damn easy. “Your professional stalker routine?”

  Lucas smiled widely. “I knew you wouldn’t forget.”

  That vulnerable something flashed in her eyes again before she looked away, and Lucas’s jaw set. She is a client. Don’t fucking forget it again.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” she said, grabbing the handle of her large suitcase and moving towards the open-air room where they needed to check in for the cruise. “What’s the plan? I was told that my partner would handle all the details.”

  Lucas reached out a hand and grabbed her arm. “Hold up.”

  “For what?” Her cheeks were pink, either from heat or temper, her knuckles were white where they gripped her suitcase, and Lucas had to fight a smile, despite the circumstances. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one who’d quickly lost his cool.

 
“To get our stories straight before we board, and so you can study your new ID? It generally works best when you know what name you’re supposed to answer to,” he said wryly.

  “New ID?” She narrowed her eyes as though she expected a trick. “For what?”

  She was as unprepared as he’d been? Excellent. He took way too much delight in sharing the details. “This ship is brand new and extremely popular, for who-the-fuck-knows-what reason. They do themed cruises or some shit, and it’s all the rage with the bored, affluent types.” He didn’t bother to hide his scorn. “Your boss pulled every string he had to get us onboard ASAP, and even then, we’re only here because someone who owed him a favor agreed to cancel.”

  “Okay. And?”

  Her blithe acceptance of this whole messed up situation bugged the hell out of him, for reasons he couldn’t explain. Why was she here? Why now? Why like this?

  “And, Mr. Rieshach felt like it would raise fewer flags if we traveled under the name of the couple who originally booked the reservation. Apparently, your real name is getting pretty well known these days.” He paused and waited for her to glance up at him before he continued, “You must be so proud. That was your life goal, right?”

  Despite the heat, she paled at his words, but he felt no pleasure at scoring the point. It had been a low blow, and he knew it. More than that, it showed that he remembered exactly how their… what was the word Gretchen had used? Partnership? Had ended three years ago—with him asking her to try the relationship thing, and her shutting him down completely.

  “I am proud,” she snapped. “If I’ve earned a reputation as a journalist—”

  “You want to be known for cutting-edge journalism like this?” he said, hooking a thumb at the ship that was docked behind them and the milling crowd of wealthy vacationers lining up to board. “Finding your boss’s missing girlfriend so that he can keep his love affair under wraps?”

  “Hey! The work I do, the stories I tell, they help people!”

  “People like your boss?” he taunted. “Is this how you get promoted?” He knew he needed to shut the hell up, to get his temper under control, but this woman was, and had always been, the spark that set him alight.

  “Fuck you, Lucas Grant.” She stepped closer, until they were toe to toe, and spoke in a voice that was low and vibrated with fury. “I have earned my reputation. Yeah, I would rather earn a promotion on the heels of some award-winning article or whatever, but that’s not how shit works. In this field, it’s all about the connections and the politics, so I play the game. But that doesn’t mean that I haven’t paid my dues. If you’d bothered reading anything I’ve written for the past three years, you’d know that.”

  Lucas ground his teeth together to keep himself from replying. In truth, he’d read every single thing she’d written. He’d seen her grow as a writer and had watched from afar as she had ferreted out the truth about everything from political corruption to Syrian refugees. He’d found himself in the awkward position of being weirdly angry yet, somehow… proud of her accomplishments.

  And right now, he realized, he was just being bitter. She’d made a choice. One that didn’t involve him. It was as simple as that. Holding on to his anger wouldn’t help either of them.

  “No sense in rehashing any of this,” he told her. “Let’s just get through the assignment and move on.”

  She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard. “‘Fine. Just… tell me who we’re supposed to be.”

  “We’re Lance and Gina Arnault, from Poughkeepsie, New York,” he told her, handing her a fake ID card with Gina Arnault’s information and Gretchen’s picture. At her blank look, he explained. “The real Gina Arnault is a lifestyle blogger with a vlog channel called Gina Tries. Her tagline is that she’ll try anything once.”

  “Oh, right. I’ve seen her stuff!” Gretchen exclaimed. “She’s done everything from skydiving to growing organic veggies.”

  “That’s her. But she’s known for never showing her face in her videos, so you won’t have to worry about anyone figuring out that you’re not her by sight. I haven’t had a chance to look into the cruise itinerary, but I’m guessing you’ll have to do something adventurous—rock climbing, parasailing, or whatever—just to keep your cover.”

  “Parasailing won’t be a problem. I’ve always wanted to try that. And I love rock climbing!” Gretchen grinned, and Lucas felt a matching grin rise to his own face. When he and Gretchen weren’t fighting, he loved that her spirit of adventure rivaled his own.

  He cleared his throat and made himself focus. “Meanwhile, I’ll be your overprotective husband, Lance.”

  “So, you’ll have to play an overprotective hardass?” Gretchen snorted, tilting her head at a saucy angle that made him want to pin her against the wall and taste her laughter on his tongue. “That shouldn’t be a problem, either. You’ll just follow my lead and make sure I don’t get into trouble. Or at least, not much.”

  Lucas raised one eyebrow. Oh, what I would give to spank that girl’s ass. But he wisely chose not to respond as they handed their luggage off to a porter and took their place in the mercifully short check-in line. A few moments later, they were climbing the ramp to the deck of the ship, where dozens of their shipmates were already chatting, umbrella-drinks in their hands.

  Lucas sighed and reminded himself that he’d handled far worse assignments. He’d suffered through desert heat and the ball-shrinking cold of eastern Russia. He’d been shot at, stabbed, and nearly drowned. Surely surviving a five-night cruise on a luxury liner in tight quarters with one hot-as-hell-and-completely-off-limits woman had to be easier.

  Didn’t it?

  At the top of the ramp, they were greeted by an extremely perky woman wearing a yellow t-shirt emblazoned with the words, “Cruise Director.”

  “Well, hey! I’m Becky!” the women cried so effusively that Gretchen took a startled half-step back and bumped into him. Lucas had to bite his lip and look away to avoid bursting into laughter. “We sure are glad to welcome you aboard… Mr. and Ms. Arnault!” she said, reading from the paperwork Lucas still held in his hand.

  Gretchen smiled tightly and Lucas nodded. “Thanks. If you’ll just direct us to our cabin?”

  “Oh, but… Don’t you want to mingle with the other lifestylers first?” Becky asked. “It’s Getting to Know You Hour!”

  “Getting to Know You Hour?” Lucas repeated dubiously, while Gretchen echoed, “Lifestylers?”

  “Oh, um. I’m sorry. I’m not really up on all the terminology yet. Do you prefer dominants and submissives? Or, um, what?” Her perkiness dimmed somewhat and she looked a bit worried. “I don’t want to offend you… sir,” she directed at Lucas.

  Lucas and Gretchen exchanged a confused glance, but then Gretchen looked beyond Becky and her eyes widened. “Oh, fucking hell,” she muttered.

  His glance followed hers, but he felt a smile tugging at his lips, instead. Further back on the deck, an enormous banner stretched over the crowded bar area read, “Welcome, Kinky Cruisers! Second Annual BDSM and Fetish Week! (No photography allowed!)”

  “Looks like you’ll be following my lead this week, doll,” Lucas whispered, and the challenge that lit Gretchen’s eyes was like a balm to his soul.

  Chapter 3

  Gretchen paced back and forth across the tiny cabin, growing more agitated with each pass. What the fuck had Manfred and Benny gotten her into? A kinkster cruise for five fucking days with Lucas Grant? Why not just send her swimming with sharks or working for some cartel boss, like her childhood friend, Diego Santiago? At least she had a chance of escaping from those scenarios with her heart and her dignity intact.

  Damn.

  Lucas was outside on the balcony, making some phone calls while they were still in port and had cell reception, trying to establish some leads on Zelma. Meanwhile, Gretchen couldn’t seem to break her mind from dwelling on the details of her time with Lucas any more than she could keep her feet from taking the same path back and forth
across the room.

  She looked at her cell phone, charging on the tiny corner desk, and thought briefly of calling Elena. When the whole situation with Lucas had imploded a few years ago, she’d only given her friend the briefest of explanations, not wanting to have to justify her decisions. But if ever there was a time she could use her best friend’s advice, it was now. And Elena, as the blogger who ran the popular D/s blog, SubHaven, would probably have some decent advice on playing the part of a submissive for the week, as well as how to share a room—and one small bed—with an enormous, sexy man, without making the mistake of nearly falling for him, the way she had three years ago.

  Her eyes strayed to the balcony, where Lucas had one foot propped on the railing. God, his ass looked sexy with the dark denim stretched tightly across it.

  Unaware that she was watching him through the sliding glass door, he lifted one hand and ran it through his wavy brown hair, brushing it away from his face. Though his back was to her, she could picture his green eyes easily. Sometimes, they sparkled with humor, other times, they burned with provocation… and on at least one memorable occasion, they’d been dark with lust.

  His body fascinated her. He was tall—and not just tall—compared to her own five-foot two-inch frame, but objectively so. He towered over her by half a foot, even when she was in her highest heels. But unlike Slay, who was broad shouldered and bulky with muscle, Lucas was built on leaner lines. Rangy, she decided as she watched him. Strong without boasting, protective without being overwhelming.

  Well.

  Not too overwhelming.

  As he shifted his position and she watched the ripple of muscles across his back and shoulders, her heart started to beat faster and her belly twisted. God, even just that, just a twitch of his muscles, and suddenly, her mind was veering in a completely inappropriate direction. And not for the first time, she admitted to herself. That body had starred in her nightly fantasies for years, even if she never let the fantasy run itself to the point where she could see the face attached to the body. Now, as she sat down on the tiny bed facing the balcony, she forced herself to admit that her attraction to this man had never died. He was the paradigm—the one man she compared all other guys to and found them all lacking.