Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys

by Annabel Joseph

  What was it about him?

  In reality, things between them could never work. For one thing, he wanted to keep her in a protective bubble, which was completely unfeasible for a person whose chosen career involved traveling to any corner of the globe where there was a story that needed to be told. Ultimately, that was the reason they hadn’t worked out years ago, the reason that she’d ended things before they could begin, rather than letting them drag out for months or years to an even more painful conclusion.

  But in her fantasies? Well, that was a different story. The Lucas in her mind used that big, strong body to bring her the greatest pleasure. His hot, smooth skin would warm every inch of her, and his iron control—the control that she took great joy in testing—meant she’d never have to worry about him finishing before she found her release.

  She’d always imagined that his need to take charge would extend to the bedroom, and she was pretty sure she’d been proven correct, given how his eyes had lit up with glee when he saw the welcome banner up on the main deck. In her fantasies, it had never bothered her to let Lucas take the lead. Her fantasy-Lucas would keep her focused on her pleasure and stop her head from spinning, as it so often did, with the endless list of real and imaginary worries.

  Would he spank me? She had no doubt he would. Would he do it just for fun or… She swallowed. Would he want something more defined? Something with rules and punishments for infractions?

  Jesus, why did that suddenly sound so appealing?

  Out on the balcony, Lucas turned to the side, so she could view him in profile. His face pulled down in a scowl, and her fingers twitched with the need to smooth out those lines, to kiss away whatever was troubling him. That was the thought that broke her out of her reverie.

  She grabbed her suitcase, which had been delivered by the porter a short time before, and rummaged for her toiletry kit. What she needed was a long, cold shower.

  But as she stood under the stinging, lukewarm spray, her thoughts kept returning to Lucas and to the roles they were going to have to play. There was no doubt in her mind that, if she and Lucas were going to pull this off, she was going to need to play the role of a submissive. Although she was sure there were plenty of Femme Dommes aboard this ship, and she could probably pull off the act for a few days, she knew there was no way Lucas would ever make a believable submissive. There was simply too much about him that was inherently dominant and protective. But could she make a believable sub?

  The truth was the idea of submission had its appeal. It sounded strangely freeing—like a vacation for her mind and soul. It would be lovely to be able to give over the burdens of determining the best course of action to a man she could trust—and whatever else existed between her and Lucas, however complicated and nasty her decision had made things, she trusted him implicitly. What would it be like to let him take the lead in this investigation? To let him make the plans for finding Zelma, especially when certain aspects of the job were more in his wheelhouse than hers?

  What would it be like to be spanked by him?

  Curiosity had her closing her eyes, running her hands along the curve of her hip and down over her ass. What would it be like to lie over his lap? To have his big, callused hand touch her that way? To wear his mark on her flesh and be able to feel it the next day? She squirmed beneath the spray.

  A moment later, cold reality intruded. She could easily imagine that his first order of business would be to lock her in this cabin until the ship returned to Tampa. He’d go off like Rambo, taking care of things on his own, while she was maybe allowed to venture as far as their private balcony to get some fresh air. He’d made it abundantly clear that he saw her as weak, not just physically but in every way. He thought she couldn’t protect herself. He’d jumped to conclusions about her reasons for taking this stupid investigation. He had no respect for her work.

  The idea burned. She’d have to make it clear that she was to be included in every aspect of the planning and execution of this mission… She might be able to play a submissive but she’d never be able to be one in real life.

  She pulled on a loose-fitting t-shirt dress the color of cherries and squeezed the water from her damp hair before exiting the bathroom. Lucas was sitting on the edge of the bed facing the balcony, his back hunched over and his elbows braced on his knees. She could read the tension in his body, in the way he held himself, and once again she felt the instinctive desire to comfort him but she suppressed it. She was sure he wouldn’t welcome it.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked instead.

  His head spun and those green eyes locked on hers before moving to peruse her slowly, from her toes to her head. She could almost swear she felt the warmth of them traveling up her bare legs, over her short red dress, and back up to her face. She felt her nipples harden and fought the urge to fidget beneath his stare.

  Of all the men in all the world, why was this one, this dominant, overprotective one, the only one who could incite this reaction in her?

  “No problem,” he replied. “No news to report at all. I have a couple of guys running leads on Zelma—running through facial recognition databases, contacting her family and friends, that sort of thing.”

  Gretchen nodded. It was all pretty standard stuff that she would have done herself. “I didn’t have a chance to do anything to prep on this,” she confessed. “I got back to Boston yesterday morning, met with my editor yesterday afternoon, and flew to Tampa last night. I was wiped.”

  Lucas’s mouth quirked in sympathy. “It’s the flying and the jet lag. I remember coming back from the Middle East. Same deal. Did you fly direct from Cyprus or layover in Germany?”

  “Layover,” Gretchen answered. “But I had to finish editing the story I was…” Her voice trailed off as her still-tired brain clicked onto what Lucas had said. “Hey, how did you know I was in Cyprus?”

  A new sort of tension gripped him, making him sit up straighter, but he shrugged casually. “Dunno. Must’ve been in the file,” he told her.

  She recognized instantly by his tone and posture that he was lying. But hot on the heels of that realization came the knowledge that he must have been keeping tabs on her in another way. Had he read her articles? She wanted to know what he thought of them… and also didn’t. He thinks you kiss ass to get promoted. He doesn’t respect you, she reminded herself, even as she felt her defenses crumbling.

  “Anyway,” he said roughly, changing the subject. “We need to make a plan. Obviously, the two of us need to play a married couple.”

  “You mean I have to play your doting submissive,” Gretchen corrected, taking a step closer to him. God, she was weak, when just the idea that he’d read her articles had her softening to this dangerous degree.

  Lucas frowned and studied her. “Just for a few days. You think you can keep up the pretense that long?”

  The next step she took brought her beside him, close enough that she could touch him—close enough that she could feel the magnetic pull of him against her hand, urging her fingers to thread into his hair.

  “Yeah,” she whispered as she sifted the silky strands between her fingers. She raised her eyes to his and the heat that rose between them was a palpable thing. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

  His hand reached out, quick as lightning, wrapping around her waist and pulling her between his knees so that her stomach was flush against his chest. His eyes continued to hold hers, and he seemed nearly as stunned as she was at the change in position… or maybe he’d been surprised by her answer. Slowly and carefully, his other hand reached up to touch her cheek, to push her hair behind her ear. His eyes asked her a question, and she gave the only response she was capable of giving.

  “Yes.”

  His hand wrapped behind her head, pulling her face towards his as her hands slid up the hot, hard wall of his chest to lock behind his neck. Anticipation was a knot in her belly and lust was a drug that slid through her bloodstream. No matter that their past was littered with hur
t or that their future was impossible, she’d never wanted anyone more. She doubted she ever would.

  His lips were soft but firm against hers, and his tongue stroked inside in a long, slow slide that made her core turn to liquid. Instinctively, she pressed herself more fully against him and he moaned in response.

  God, the way this man can kiss! Always, in the past, kissing had been a prelude to the main event—a step she’d wanted to hurry over in a quest to get to the good stuff. But with Lucas, the kissing was the main event. He licked into her mouth like he was savoring the taste of her on his tongue, stealing her breath and replacing it with his own. It was all-consuming fire and she realized he was as lost to it as she was.

  She felt a thrill of power hum along her spine. After all these years, after all the women he’d fucked, she was the one making him moan, she was the one whose ass his hand had moved down to grasp. It was perfect.

  His mouth left hers just long enough for his lips to cruise down the side of her throat so he could suck on her pulse point. She felt her clit throb. He lay back, pulling her down flush on top of him and then rolled until he was halfway on top of her, with his thick, muscled thigh perfectly aligned between hers.

  Holy crap. Just that tiny bit of stimulation had her nearly keening. At any other time, it might have been embarrassing to be that close to orgasm that quickly, but she could feel his rock-hard erection against her leg, and she knew that he was every bit as primed as she was. The lure of his body was like the pull of gravity—elemental, indomitable, and infinitely reassuring.

  “You want something, doll? Hmm? You want me to give it to you?”

  The harsh whisper, the ache in his voice, had her biting her lip, but she couldn’t speak. Her eyes met his, begging him to understand her without words, and he did.

  He rocked himself against her core once, twice, three times, until her entire consciousness was focused on the place where they were joined. His eyes continued to hold hers, gleaming with excitement, with determination, with… oh my God. Tenderness.

  Oh, fuck. That realization ratcheted her arousal up to the point of near pain, until she was writhing beneath him, sobbing with need, whining gibberish that sounded like, “Oh please, oh please, oh please.”

  He moved faster, undulating against her, his desire riding her own, until she finally broke. Her mouth opened in a silent scream and her mind floated as her muscles locked and her body bowed beneath his. Two seconds later, he shouted his own release and his body came to rest on hers.

  “Shit,” he said. “Holy fuh.”

  She giggled. She couldn’t help it. His words were perfect nonsense, that nevertheless perfectly captured what she was feeling, too. As her heartbeat slowed, she ran her hands up and down his back, feeling the softness of his t-shirt against her fingertips, then threading her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.

  “That was… unexpected,” he muttered. She dissolved into laughter, turning her head to bury her face against his shoulder, and nodded.

  “Did you just come in your pants?” she demanded breathlessly, leaning back to see his face. “Without removing a single piece of clothing?”

  He propped himself on one forearm and leaned over her, smiling. “Did you?” he returned, and she laughed again. That he could make her laugh so soon after driving her mad was just another part of the crazy, intriguing package that made Lucas so damn irresistible…

  And so dangerous.

  He lifted a finger and traced her smile—the shape of her mouth, the curve of her cheek—and her already-racing heart picked up speed once again. “Hey,” he said seriously. “Honey, we should talk…”

  “Welcome aboard the Acheilus, cruisers!” came Becky’s perky voice over the PA. “The ship will depart from the port in approximately sixty minutes. Right now, we ask all passengers to please report to their assigned muster stations for the lifejacket drill. Please be advised that, for your safety, all passengers are required to attend!”

  Lucas closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, and Gretchen looked away. Somehow, Becky’s chipper message had broken the spell that had cocooned the two of them, and all the things she should have remembered—like the fact that they were utterly incompatible, that acting on this live-wire attraction between them was the first step towards heartbreak, and that she was here on an assignment and couldn’t afford distraction like this—overwhelmed her like a tidal wave.

  “Gretchen,” he began again, clearly searching for words, but she interrupted him.

  “I-I mean, it’s just the proximity,” she offered, as Lucas’s eyes flew back to hers. “This… what we did right now, it didn’t… doesn’t… mean anything. It was just, you know, attraction and opportunity. Right?” It surprised her how much it hurt to force the words out.

  His eyes narrowed on hers and then hardened as he nodded once. “Absolutely. Just attraction and opportunity.” He levered himself off the bed in one smooth movement.

  “Right,” she repeated. “So… we’re good, right? You and me. We can just… pretend this afternoon didn’t happen?”

  He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Two seconds of fully-clothed rubbing?” He snorted dismissively. “Yeah. It’s already forgotten, doll. I got more action on the dancefloor at The Club last night. Now move your ass. We’re going to the safety thing.”

  “What? Nobody goes to those things,” she argued, sitting up so she could glare at him. More action on the dancefloor? What the hell did that mean? Since when did he dance, and who had he been with?

  And why did she care?

  “I go,” he said firmly, before turning and heading towards the bathroom. “That means this weekend, so do you. Get used to it, wifey.” He slammed the door shut before she could formulate a reply, leaving her alone on the bed, confused and strangely empty.

  Chapter 4

  Two days, one hour, twelve minutes, and he was nearly at his breaking point.

  Lucas was a trained soldier with years of extensive training in covert operations. He knew how to obtain information from suspects, how to kill a man without leaving a mark, and how to withstand various methods of torture without cracking. He’d never dreamed that a cakewalk assignment—guarding a gorgeous woman aboard a luxury cruise ship, for fuck’s sake—would bring him closer to breaking than any enemy interrogator ever could.

  Damn Gretchen Liu, damn her lithe body, and damn her sexy-as-fuck swimsuit that was not designed for swimming laps.

  As he stalked away from the crowded pool area at the stern of the ship, force of habit had him melting into the thin band of shade near the cabin wall. He knew he stood out from the happy vacationers. His posture was just a tad too alert, his gaze just a bit too sharp… his scowl just a bit too menacing.

  He made a conscious effort to relax his posture and schooled his features to a neutral expression, but he couldn’t help his shitty mood. For one thing, the investigation was going nowhere. Plenty of the crewmembers he’d questioned remembered pretty, lively Zelma and Herb, the silent, pug-faced, retired boxer who’d been hired to guard her. She’d seemed happy, they said, friendly, and certainly not threatened or in fear at all. But no one could remember seeing her disembark the ship, either. So, where the hell could she be?

  Lost in thought, Lucas didn’t notice as a woman in a barely-there bikini carrying a pink frozen drink as big as her head came running down the deck, until she tripped over a lounge chair and nearly plowed into him. She giggled profusely as she moved around him, spilling her drink across Lucas’s arm in the process, but she didn’t stop to apologize. An older gentleman wearing an “I Dom Naughty Pussy” t-shirt was running drunkenly after her, hot on the laughing woman’s heels.

  Jesus.

  Lucas shook his head in disgust and made his way to the large bar in the middle of the main deck to grab some napkins. He loved dominance and submission as much as—okay, more than—the next guy. He’d never done the whole 24/7 power exchange thing, since that required way more time, attention, and
commitment than he’d ever been willing to give, but he fucking loved topping his partners in the bedroom or at The Club. And if there was one thing he’d learned from hanging out with Blake, Matt, Slay, and the other dominants at The Club, it was that the asshole chasing the woman across the deck in such a dangerous and completely undignified way was everything that was fucking wrong with the D/s scene these days. Too many men who didn’t get that responsibility had to go hand in hand with power. If that girl was his…

  He swallowed the thought as Gretchen’s face swam in his mind. He didn’t have a submissive and for damn good reason. There weren’t many… or any… women out there who could handle his need for control, yet still be strong and independent enough to handle his demanding job and the restless energy that kept him from setting down permanent roots. You tried to find that once and she shot you down flat, a helpful voice in his head reminded him.

  And that was the other thing that had him glowering, despite the sunlight dancing on the deep blue waters, despite the happy music and party atmosphere that surrounded the ship. Having Gretchen around him all day and night was maddening.

  After their little fully-clothed make-out session the other day—a type of encounter so chaste and tame that Lucas hadn’t done anything like it since high school, but which had, shockingly, been the most satisfying sexual encounter he’d had in years—they’d been polite and distant. He’d spent his nights sleeping (or not) in the cabin’s tiny desk chair, while Gretchen slept (or didn’t) in the bed. By day, they’d done all the awesome, adventurous shit Gina and Lance Arnault would be expected to do and then blog about—climbing the rock wall on the main deck, snorkeling with sharks when they docked on a private island, and ziplining through a Yucatan rainforest. They’d had a couple of drinks with other kinksters, though they’d mostly avoided the technique and implement demonstrations, as well as the plethora of informational seminars.