She surrendered to the desperate words he’d said…to the heat of his skin…the feel of his muscular body as he held her closer, tighter in those powerful arms. The last gauzy-thin resistance faded as he deepened the kiss. His tongue invaded her mouth, seeking, teasing, needing. Unable to restrain her own need, her arms went around his neck, pulling him nearer, allowing her the added pleasure of aligning intimately against him. His savage groan sent heat searing through her veins.
He lifted her against him and carried her to the bed. It was too late to resist…too late for her and too late for him. No matter what he’d done or who he was, she needed him right now. Needed him in ways she couldn’t explain…needed him to help her forget for just one moment…
His fingers fumbled with the buttons to her blouse, his knuckles scraping her pearled nipples through the thin fabric. Impatient to feel more of his touch, she pushed his hands away and ripped the blouse from her body, bearing her upper torso to him. For a long while he only stood there, staring at her breasts, as if making up for lost time. Then he dropped to his knees and patiently tugged off her jeans, her panties, his eyes devouring every inch he bared.
He kissed her slowly, fully, moving over her thighs, across her abdomen and up her rib cage. He lowered her onto the bed and continued his erotic journey until his mouth covered one aching breast. Her body arched like a bow and she cried out before she could stop herself. She writhed in pleasured agony as he sucked deeply from first one breast and then the other. When she was certain she would simply die of it, he moved on, feathering kisses along her throat, over her chin, until he possessed her mouth once more.
His kiss was slow and deep, tender with a barely restrained ferocity. He dragged out the kiss, laving her with his full attention and a seemingly endless patience when she wanted nothing more than for him to finish this. To fill her with the hard length she felt pressing against her. He moved between her thighs, cradling himself there so intimately she would have screamed with the unparalleled ecstasy of it had his mouth not been fully sealed over hers. He pumped his hips slowly, erotically, sliding his pulsing length along her throbbing feminine channel. She locked her legs around his, urging him to fill her…to bring her the completion her body sought.
“I can’t lose you again,” he murmured against her lips, his gaze seeking and finding hers.
His tender words wound around her heart and tightened like a vise while the insistent nudge of his sex as he positioned for entry sent the tension in her body soaring. She lifted her hips instinctively and whimpered with need when he held back.
His fingers threaded into her hair and twisted to the point of pain at the same instant fury flashed in the dark depths of his eyes. Her body humming with desire, on the very brink of climax, the intensity of the rage suddenly glaring down at her caused her thundering heart to shudder to a near stop.
“But if you betray me again, I will kill you.”
He plunged fully inside her, bringing her to an instantaneous orgasm and obliterating all other thought.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MICHAL SAT QUIETLY as the sun rose, spilling light through the windows behind him. He watched Amira sleep as he had done every night since bringing her to his secret estate just over one week ago. He would sleep a few minutes here and there as necessary, however the slightest shift in her position or change in the pattern of her breathing and he awoke instantly.
But this morning it was different…it was like when they had been together two years ago. They would make love over and over during the night and he would awaken early to watch her sleep. To dream of a life together that, even then, he’d known was impossible. She had come to mean everything to him-kept him from losing his sanity completely as he carried out mission after mission…assassination after assassination. Then she had betrayed him, disappearing afterward like a fleeting phantom of his imagination. He’d awakened in the middle of the night crying out her name for weeks that turned into months until his heart hardened so completely he no longer cared if he lived or died. He continued to follow his orders, hoping that each mission would be the last…that he would be finally released from the misery of existing.
But it never happened. Each time he survived, more victorious than the last. The world feared him. Even his own men, except possibly for Carlos, were in awe of his ruthless and creative methods. He was the Executioner. A freelance mercenary, terrorist-whatever the latest buzzword for cold-blooded killer-with no cause or country. As far as the world knew, his talent for slaying, whether by up-close-and-personal means or methods of mass destruction, was for sale to the highest bidder. It was always about the money.
Michal closed his eyes and leaned his head back in the chair that had served as his resting place since Amira’s return. In a few days, if not sooner, he would receive new orders and someone else would die. For the most part those slain were the scum of the earth, the true terrorists who cared for nothing but their cause. Those who had made the mistake of plotting boldly against the free world. The Americans and Europeans had long attempted to set into play a plan such as this, but they had failed. The failures had not risen from their lack of accurate strategizing or highly trained operatives. They had failed because their operatives were too closely monitored, never entirely abandoned to do what must be done. Nor did they possess the genetic predisposition to fit in where it counted most.
Michal, on the other hand, had been born in Israel. His Middle Eastern heritage, to the way of thinking of most, fit the proper profile. He had no remaining family ties, another advantage in this line of work, and he had spent months building this cover before going active. He had alienated himself among his peers in the political circles of his homeland, working hard to disentangle himself from any emotional bonds to country or patriotism of any sort. He had chosen new friends who associated with known terrorists. And then he had become one. His cover was so authentic that it fooled even him at times.
His eyes opened and he clenched his jaw against the bitterness that welled in his chest. He’d gone too far. Even he recognized that now. How could the Mossad ever reclaim him? His infamous exploits, though carried out under strict orders, at times caused the deaths of those who had not deserved such a cruel and final punishment. In truth, his reputation had been bolstered somewhat by connecting his name to events that had not actually been carried out by him. No one would ever believe he was, in actuality, a silent warrior for his country…for the world. He blinked and considered that reality. How long had he been hiding from that truth? Too long. When the powers that be were finished with him he would be terminated just as numerous others had been once their respective purposes were served.
There was no way back to his old life. His fate was sealed, as was Amira’s.
His gaze roved over the slender curves of her sheet-draped body and he hardened instantly. Though his superior, Ron, would not push the issue, but if Michal allowed her to live much longer, the order would be issued from above and then he would have no choice. She would die without ever understanding why or even remembering what had brought her to this lethal precipice.
Emotion twisted into a granite-like knot in his gut. How could he hurt her when the only thing he wanted was for her to remember their time before…for her to want him as she’d seemed to then. But she had used him, had she not? A frown creased his brow. Could he have been so wrong about what he thought he felt? It would seem so. But he knew better than anyone that things were not always as they appeared.
Until the order was formally issued he had no intention of harming her, unless, of course, she betrayed him again. When the order came…well, he would deal with that when the time arrived. A wave of dread washed over him at the mere thought of losing her again. He decided then and there that he had to know if she had truly betrayed him two years ago or if she had been somehow set up. He had suspected something was very wrong the moment the hit had gone down. It was as if she had realized the wrongness of what she had orchestrated as her father took his dying
breath. The shock and regret on her face had been real. Before he’d had time to question her sudden about-face all hell had broken loose and she’d been captured by Peres’s private security. He would have been captured, as well, had it not been for his men. They had dragged him from the scene. Injured and fighting to maintain consciousness, he had not been able to argue otherwise.
The word had spread like wildfire that Yael Peres had been assassinated and that his daughter had been executed for the deed. The people of Israel had mourned the loss of a beloved political fixture who had influenced their world for nearly half a century. Michal knew differently, of course, but no one else ever would. The world was a safer place without him, but no one wanted to tarnish the memory since it would serve no real purpose.
Michal pushed to his feet. Enough. He had business to attend to. Including making sure his men did not question his decision to allow Amira to live another day. And later, for lunch perhaps, he intended to take her into town for an afternoon of pleasantness. Something else his men would not like…but he was the one who had the final say. He hesitated at the door and looked back at her. It would have made things so much simpler if only he could have stayed angry with her, if he could have believed fully that her betrayal was complete, but he could not.
All he could do now was protect her from the many others who would like nothing more than to take credit for killing the daughter who had choreographed the slaying of her own father-at least he could until he was ordered to take that very step himself.
AMI STUDIED THE PROFILE of the man beside her as the Hummer bumped along the cliff road that descended toward where the sky met the sea and the city that hugged its coastline. Michal had said little to her today. She fixed her gaze straight ahead and mentally railed at herself for growing warm inside just looking at him. How could she have allowed this to happen? Was she suffering from some sort of hostage syndrome?
No, that wasn’t it. It was far more than some bizarre emotional connection between hostage and kidnapper. She’d dreamed of him again last night. This time the images were more vivid than usual. She could see herself with him. Endless days and nights of touching, making love, never being able to get enough of each other. The danger had only heightened the sexually explosive bond between them. She remembered it clearly. Ami was nearly certain she had, two years ago, been in love with Michal Arad.
How could that be possible? He was a savage! A murderer. She’d seen him kill a man scarcely twenty-four hours ago. And still she’d been drawn to him while the blood of his victim cooled on his flesh. She squeezed her eyes shut and gave her head a little shake. There had to be something wrong with her. Some intrinsic genetic defect or heretofore undiagnosed mental illness. How else could she love a killer?
Her gaze shifted back to him. He’d pulled his long dark hair back into a loose queue. He wore his trademark white shirt and black trousers and leather boots, which only added to his mystique. She considered the lean, chiseled features of his handsome face, the perfectly formed blade of his nose, and then those generous lips. Every instinct told her that he was not what he seemed.
But she was pretty sure she’d lost a grip on her instincts at the same time that she’d lost her memory. After all, how good could instincts honed only over a two-year period be?
Just then he looked straight at her, catching her staring at him. She turned away abruptly, her cheeks heating with humiliation. How could she have made love with this man? He’d abducted her from her workplace, keeping her away from her child, and had emotionally abused her beyond reason. Even in the throes of passion he had warned her that he would kill her if she betrayed him again.
How could she be such a fool?
Forcing her attention back to her surroundings she told herself to make the most of this outing. Try to judge how far the city was from the house. Look for an embassy. Find a way to let someone know she was being held against her will.
A tall order when four other men accompanied them. She almost laughed out loud. A tall order period when in the presence of Michal Arad who missed nothing.
She’d decided that Jack Tanner and the CIA had written her off. Decided they considered it too much trouble to bother rescuing her. She was her only hope.
No matter how risky, she had to find a way to escape for Nicholas’s sake.
Marseilles was larger than she’d expected. Cosmopolitan and exuberant, the city had a magnificent ambience about it. As they drove through the medieval-village-style neighborhoods, the city’s age became instantly apparent. Ancient would describe it best. Ancient but lovely. Museums, small walking alleys, terrace cafés, boutiques and shops dominated the charming city. Yet nothing was as beautiful as the Old Port, lined by its seaside walks, filled with fishing boats and yachts, surrounded by small streets teeming with seafood restaurants and shops. Pedestrians strolled leisurely on the wide seaside walks, enjoying the September sun.
Carlos parked in an alley near a terrace café reminiscent of ones she’d seen in movies. If she’d ever been to a place like this she had no recall whatsoever of it. Big surprise, she mused dryly.
Michal kept his left hand at the small of her back as they emerged from the vehicle and walked the short distance to the café. She could feel the tension in him as he constantly scanned the area. Nothing escaped his notice. He was like a stealthy panther moving through the crowd, constantly alert to threat, postured for battle.
Once they were seated with his back to the wall of the café, her next to him and the others spread out around them as a security barrier, Michal ordered his as well as her lunch. He insisted that she had always loved the bouillabaisse du pêcher and the Cassis white wine, which was produced locally.
Ami dredged up a smile and managed a thank-you. She’d have to take his word for that. The main thing was, she was out of the house. She had to make the most of it. If she responded to his generosity, maybe he’d bring her out more often, providing more opportunities for escape.
She blinked and looked away from him. The lurch in her stomach at the thought of never seeing him again made her want to scream. She’d made love with the man. Hadn’t been able to help herself. It was done. Dammit, she couldn’t fall for him, no matter how she’d felt about him two years ago. Whatever and whoever she had been two years ago, she wasn’t that person anymore. She was a mother. She had a son to get back to. He needed her and his safety was all that mattered. This life-she glanced at Michal-was certainly no life for a child. She knew without question that Michal would want his son with him if he knew of his existence. But Nicholas might not be Michal’s child, she reasoned.
Yet she was nearly certain he was.
She sighed and pushed the thoughts away. This was the first time she’d been away from the house, paying attention to the details was her top priority right now. She tucked the tender memories and thoughts of her baby into a faraway corner of her mind-far away from this horrible nightmare.
As she took in the street and the splendid view of the boats moored nearby, she wondered if she could escape and hide on one of them where she would end up. Did it even matter as long as she was out of here? She inhaled deeply of the salt air and decided that idea was worth more thought. Before their entrées were served the waitress brought fresh-baked bread with olive oil, cold meats and cheese. Ami nibbled as the men conversed about some militant group who’d made a move to corner their market in Libya.
“If their aggression continues,” Michal was saying, “we will act. They have been warned.”
Carlos nodded. “At least two of our old customers have used them recently. They work cheaper.”
Michal smiled, it was not pleasant. “They will die cheaply, as well,” he mused. The men laughed, apparently amused by the prospect.
Ami shivered, her mind again having trouble reconciling the man who’d made love to her-who’d tended her wounds from her run-in with Carlos-with this ruthless leader who plotted death so easily.
She gulped a long drink from her wineglass, n
eeding to numb her raw nerves. Michal refilled it immediately, as if sensing her need.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Ah.” He nodded to the waitress approaching with a tray. “You will enjoy this, I am certain.”
The bouillabaisse the waitress set in front of her looked huge, though Michal had commented that it was smaller and lighter than the others and contained only three varieties of fish rather than the usual six. If Ami had ever eaten this dish-her stomach roiled in protest-she was certain she couldn’t now. She didn’t even like fish.
As the waitress placed the final order on the table, she bumped Ami’s glass, knocking it over, the contents splashing over her blouse. She jumped up from her chair, but not quickly enough to avoid a lapful.
Michal swore hotly. Though Ami didn’t know the language he used, she instinctively understood the meaning. “What are you doing, you clumsy woman?” he demanded as he moved next to Ami and offered his linen napkin. He repeated the words in French, the harshness no less evident in the sensual language.
“Pardon, Monsieur,” the waitress cried, her expression mortified. “Je le regrette beaucoup, Mademoiselle!”
The waitress sputtered the next few phrases far too quickly for Ami to even guess what she was saying. She gestured repeatedly for Ami to follow her. She indicated the wet spots on Ami’s clothes and repeated her request.
“Go with her,” Michal said to Carlos.
Ami looked from Michal to Carlos and then to the frantic waitress and finally realized what she wanted. She followed the exasperated woman through the restaurant. A few people looked up and raised an eyebrow, but most simply continued to eat. When they reached the narrow hall that led to the rest rooms the waitress glared at Carlos and said something cross to him. He only rolled his eyes and propped against the wall to wait.
Startled that the waitress could get away with such high-handedness with a man like Carlos, Ami allowed her to usher her toward the ladies’ room. She decided it was the older woman’s gray hair and attractive matriarchal features. She reminded Ami of a schoolteacher she’d once had. Or maybe a librarian.
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