The Playboy

by Alice Ward

  “Are you—”

  “Shh… keep listening.”

  Charles excused himself and then Zane did too.

  He looked sick, a pale green color filtered into his face. I’d never seen a grimmer expression.

  As I listened to footsteps, Zane took my hands and looked into my eyes as I heard the rest of the recording.

  Charles called a hit on me.

  Even though he only suspected me to be an agent, he’d called the hit anyway.

  I listened long enough to find out that Zane wasn’t in danger. His rich family would be too big of a hindrance if anything happened to him. But I was marked.

  “I’ll keep you safe, Sloane. No one will ever get through me to get to you. And I’m getting you the fuck out of here now. Pack your things. This is all my fault. I don’t care about you lying to me. I don’t care about a thing except your safety.” He got up, pulling me up too. “We have to hurry.”

  My mouth had gone dry. With my hand still shaking, I pulled open the mini-fridge and found a bottle of water. Opening it, I took a long drink.

  I turned to Zane, who was staring at me. “Okay, here it is. This is the truth. I’m an FBI agent. I was sent here to watch Smith. I’m sorry for lying to you. Using you. And I’m sorry I got you into this.”

  He tried to pull me into his arms, but I pushed him away. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  I needed to think.

  “Don’t take this on yourself, Zane. I’ve made many mistakes on this mission. I shouldn’t have left you with them. I shouldn’t have lost control. I shouldn’t have…”

  Fallen for you.

  “I fucked it all up, Sloane. Let me take the blame that’s rightfully mine to take.” He pushed past my resistance and pulled me to his chest. “Don’t blame yourself. You were just doing your job.”

  “And I did a piss poor job of it. I let you take control when I knew better than to do that. You have to let me go. I have to call my supervisor to let him know what’s happened.”

  He let me go but followed me. “Tell them I can get you out of here. I can hire a private jet, whatever it takes.”

  I turned on him. He didn’t get it. “I have to do what they want me to do, Zane. I don’t tell them, they tell me.” I picked up my cell to make the call that would earn me a temporary suspension and a new identity. This wasn’t good.

  Zane took me by the shoulders, and if the look on his face hadn’t been so hurt, so sincere, I would have kicked him in the balls to get him out of my way. The thing was… he was sincere, the concern plastered over his expression.

  “First, I want this out in the open. Sloane Anderson, I’m falling in love with you.”

  I was frozen. “Zane… I…”

  Did I love him? I wouldn’t tell the man even one more lie. I had to dig deep. Think about it. He made me feel more than any man ever had. If we’d met any other way, I’d have already been telling him the words right back. But we had started on lies.

  I blew out a breath, my heart throbbing in my throat. “How can you say that, knowing how much I lied to you?”

  “Because I understand why you did. And I also understand the truths. Your eyes, your body didn’t lie. This connection between us didn’t lie.” He took my face in his hands. “Can you ever forgive me for putting you in danger the way I have?”

  I wrapped my hands around his wrists but didn’t pull his hands away. “I keep telling you, this is my fault, not yours. I don’t have to forgive you since I’ve never blamed you for it. The fact is, it comes with the job. I knew that. I knew not going by the book would be dangerous. I did it anyway.”

  My face burned as emotion crept into my eyes, my sinuses.

  “Sloane—”

  “Let me finish. I did it because making you happy is all I can think about. Keeping you near me is all I want. And I think that means that I’m falling for you too.”

  A tear fell and he wiped it away with his thumb. “Sweetheart, I—”

  I squeezed his wrists. “Please, just let me talk. Thinking past this current situation, I have no idea what the FBI is going to do with me now. Maybe put me in hiding, maybe change my identity.” How could a heart hurt so much and still function? “God, how badly I wish things were different.”

  He took my hand, kissing each fingertip. “Me too. If something crazy happens and we’re split up somehow, promise me you’ll meet me right back here in exactly one year.”

  Such a romantic, foolish man.

  “And what if we’re not split up? Then what?”

  “Then I’m whisking you away with me to another part of the world where American mafia thugs will never find you. I’ll take care of you forever and keep you safe with me.”

  He looked so sincere, in this moment.

  “That sounds nice.” And it did sound nice, even though I knew how impossible it was. Did he understand that his idea meant that he’d never see his family again? Or that his family might be placed in great danger if the mafia believed they knew our location.

  Better not to bring that up just yet. I had the next twenty-four hours to live through.

  One day at a time.

  One hour at a time.

  Zane kissed me.

  One minute at a time.

  When our kiss ended, I could barely breathe. “I love you, Sloane.”

  “I love you, Zane.”

  It didn’t feel like a lie.

  I stepped away. “I need to make that call.”

  With a nod, he let me go. I hated that my fingers trembled as I pressed the buttons on the secure satellite phone.

  “Matthews here.”

  “Sir, I’ve been found out and marked for a hit.”

  “Shit. What the hell happened?”

  “I made mistakes. Too many of them.”

  Zane took a seat and held his head in his hands, his guilt swirling back to land on his shoulders. I wished like hell he could stop feeling that way. I was the agent. He didn’t have the training I did. How was he to know how to act?

  “Are you in immediate danger, Anderson?”

  “No, sir. I have a recording of Smith calling the hit. He says he doesn’t have a gun and doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. I’m sure men will be flying in to do the job.”

  “Secure that recording. We can use that against Smith too. Calling a hit on a federal agent carries stiff penalties. As for you, I’ll have to confer with a few people about what we’ll do with you.”

  “I understand, sir.” My head hurt as I felt the disappointment he was feeling, right through the phone.

  “For now, you’re safe. How are you preparing for the storm?”

  I stiffened. Hell, what else had I missed?

  “Storm?”

  He cursed. “There’s a tropical storm skirting around the Indian Ocean in that general area. Airports are still open, but they’re on high alert and will close if the storm turns your way. You haven’t heard?”

  “No, sir. The island staff haven’t mentioned this, and I’ve not focused on the local news.”

  Zane stood up and came to my side, listening in. His brows were furrowed as he pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation. It was as if we kept getting one hit after another.

  “The resort staff is probably waiting for the storm to turn too. They wouldn’t want to start evacuations too early. Wouldn’t want to hurt their Yelp rating.”

  At least Matthews was joking. That was a good sign.

  “I’ll contact the office and learn the details, sir.”

  “And I’ll see what I can do to close the airport.”

  “Sir?”

  “We can’t get to you, but neither can the hit men. With the weather, we may lose the ability to communicate. You are to sit tight. When it’s possible, we’ll send in a team to bring you home safely.”

  Zane scowled at me. “Tell him.”

  “Sir, as soon as the weather permits, Zane Boyd has said he can charter a jet to—”

  “No. No more civilian involv
ement. And Anderson?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You and this man, is there anything I should know?”

  I couldn’t look at Zane. “No, sir.”

  “Good. Falling in love isn’t part of the job, Anderson. Better you learn that now. Over.”

  “Yes, sir. Over.”

  Zane heard what my boss had said, and he smiled as he took the sat phone out of my hand, placing it on the table. Softly, he cupped my chin, drawing me to him. “As if we could’ve stopped that from happening.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Zane

  Her blue eyes sparkled, her lips curved into a smile. “I think you’re right. We should blame fate for what we’ve found. But we have a few things in our way right now. Maybe if we turn on the television, we can see if there’s any news on this storm.” Slipping out of my arms, Sloane picked up the remote and turned on the small television.

  I hadn’t turned one on the entire time I’d been in Maldives. There were so many other things to watch. The gentle waves, the birds, the clouds as they drifted across the blue sky. Then Sloane showed up, taking the rest of my attention.

  She took a seat on the sofa, and I took one next to her as she channel surfed until she found something with a map on it. Some red areas dotted the map, and sure enough, they seemed to be spinning in a circular motion. “So that’s what he was talking about.” I ran my arm along the back of the sofa and watched the screen.

  English words ran along the bottom of the screen as the broadcast was in Dhivehi, the language most natives of the islands spoke. North Malé Atoll had a chance of being missed altogether. Evacuation might not become necessary.

  Sloane nodded as she watched the screen. “Looks like it could miss us.” She looked at me. “Don’t you think so too?”

  “Maybe. But these things can turn on a dime. We’re not in the clear yet. I better head up to the main lobby in the morning to talk to someone about what kinds of precautions they’re taking. It’s still far enough away we won’t need to act until the morning.”

  Leaning against me, she turned her face to gaze up at me. “You don’t know how good it feels to have the truth out to you, Zane. It was eating at me, like a cancer. I was positive you’d never be able to trust me and want to stop seeing me.”

  I kissed her forehead. “Never. It was your job. I understand.”

  But there was a bit of a niggle in my brain, telling me she was an excellent liar. Could she actually be trusted?

  “The thing is, for the first time, I hated that part of my job. I hated the lying, and I hated how good I was getting at it.” She rested her head on my chest, running her hand up and down my arm. “I haven’t felt like a very nice person since I met you.”

  Pressing my lips to the top of her head, I ran my hand down her back. “It’s okay. I know everything now, and I’m not mad or holding anything against you. I’m going to be with you every moment to make sure you’re okay.”

  She sighed heavily and looked up at me, her brows furrowed. “Really? Even now that you know I’m a trained FBI agent, you still don’t see that I’m capable of taking care of myself?”

  I kissed the wrinkle on her forehead. She had a point. I was acting like a sexist pig.

  “It’s a conundrum.”

  She laughed. “What is?”

  “You bring out the protective nature in me, but it’s not because I don’t think you’re capable. I…” I kissed the wrinkle again. “I just want to take care of you. I want to feed you, buy you nice things, make you laugh, keep you safe.”

  The wrinkle smoothed out on its own as she relaxed against me again. “The funny thing is, I like the idea of all that. For the most part.”

  I chuckled. “I suggest you get over it.”

  Her head popped back up, the wrinkle reappearing. “Get over it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I should have read the teasing in her eyes for the warning that it was, but when she moved around to straddle my lap, all I could see was how her robe was opening just a bit, exposing more of her luscious cleavage.

  Then I was freaking paralyzed as she did something to my base of my neck. Then my face was in the cushion, my arm twisted behind my back.

  This little one-hundred-and-twenty-pound woman had just taken me down in a blink.

  She leaned close to my ear. “In addition to being highly trained with weapons, I know how to disable men three times stronger than me. I know exactly where to punch, hit, kick, and pinch. I can throw knives expertly and shoot a target from fifty yards.”

  I tried to fight back, I really did. But I was down, and her soft chuckle proved it.

  “Okay… you’ve made your point.”

  She let me go and stood up, backing away. She looked pretty satisfied with herself.

  As well she should.

  It was embarrassing to admit that it took me a good minute to get up, but whatever she did to my neck was brutal. Plus, I was exaggerating the pain a little bit, and her self-satisfied smirk turned to concern.

  “Are you okay?”

  I rubbed my neck. “I’m not sure.”

  She grumbled something that sounded like, “Big baby,” but she headed over to check me out.

  Bingo.

  She shrieked as I swept her up, pinning her to my chest, her arms clamped to her slides. Bright lights exploded as she rammed her forehead against mine, but I didn’t go down.

  This was war.

  She was giggling, not that annoying sound I hated, but this one held a musical quality as I ran with her to the bedroom. She was still struggling as I pinned her beneath me and yanked her robe open. She made a sound, half rage, half desperation. Then, somehow, I was on my back and she was off the bed, an evil grin on her face. A pillow was in her hand.

  This was fun.

  I lunged, and the pillow whacked me in the side of the head. Damn, she was strong for such a little thing. I lunched again, took another pillow to the face. I didn’t let it stop me and soon had her pressed against the wall.

  “I’ve got you now.”

  She grinned and reared up under me, looking for another head butt, connecting with my chin instead. My teeth slammed together, narrowly missing my tongue. She was like trying to hold onto a tornado as she twisted, trying for an uppercut now. I grabbed her wrists and slammed her arms against the wall.

  “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  I felt her lift her knee but pressed harder into her, blocking the blow. My cheek pressed against hers, and god, her smell. The scent of her shampoo now mixed with the hot sweat of her efforts to combine into a wild alchemy that drove me crazy.

  Her chest was heaving, her breasts pressed to my chest. I let go of her wrists and took her face in my hands, our breath heating the air between us.

  I kissed her. At first, she tried to twist her head away, then she was kissing me back, nearly attacking me with her mouth. I squeezed her breast, one hand running down to cup her ass, pulling her against my rock-hard cock.

  She moaned. Or maybe I did. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care.

  She fumbled with the buttons of my shirt, gave up, and ripped it apart. Buttons flew as she shoved it from my shoulders then her hands were on me, her nails raking down my chest.

  Her skin was smooth, hot and damp from exertion, and she was kissing me so hard, I thought our lips might split. When she reached for my pants, I spun her around until she faced the wall.

  She started to struggle again, but I captured her wrist and held it behind her back.

  “Tell me you want me,” I growled as I pushed the robe off her shoulders, letting her go just long enough for it to hit the floor. Her panties were wet, and I wrapped the fabric around my hand and tore them away. She snapped her head back, catching me on the jaw. I saw stars, but it didn’t stop me. I pushed my entire body against hers, pressing her to the wall, my lips on the side of her face. “Tell me tha
t you need me.”

  She was panting. “Need. Want. You.”

  It was enough.

  I reached down and began to touch her. She closed her eyes and groaned. My fingers sank into her wetness, her body clamping down as I stroked deep within her, twisting my knuckles until I found the rough patch I sought.

  She cried out as I stroked, my lips at her ear. “You’re mine, Sloane.” She tried to fight back but I stroked her harder, deeper. “Say it.”

  “Yours.”

  It was a whisper that turned into a wail as her body shook and trembled violently with her orgasm. I grinned in satisfaction and pulled her away from the wall and to the bed. I bent her over it, pinning her upper torso down with my hand.

  “That’s right,” I said, fumbling with my pants. My erection sprang up like spring-loaded granite. I quickly kicked the pants aside. No way was I going to deal with my little vixen with my trousers pooled around my ankles. “Mine.”

  She was sobbing now, her hands clenching the sheets, and I felt a moment of hesitation.

  Had I taken our game too far? Was it no longer a game? I didn’t know.

  “Sloane…?”

  Her eyes popped open, and she pressed back into me. “Don’t you dare stop now, you bastard.” She words were gasped but the message was clear. Still holding her down, I touched her again. Still hot. Still wet. Her pussy lips were swollen and ready for me. “Do it,” she gasped. “Fuck me, Zane. Hard. Please.”

  With a growl, I kicked her feet farther apart, then wiped some of her hot wetness onto my cock. Her pussy devoured me as I entered her in one smooth motion, my hips smacking her smooth ass cheeks.

  Her gasp echoed through the room, and my heart hammered in my skull, pounding at my temples. God, she was tight. Her muscles pulsing around me like a fist. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined our first time being, but for us, it was perfect.

  I began to move, watching my cock slide in and out of her. Some part of my mind screamed that I hadn’t used a condom, but the bigger part of me just didn’t care. She was mine, and if we made a baby together, it would just be one more thing for me to love.

  Sloane began to sob again, and again, I couldn’t tell if it was from pain or ecstasy. The tears streaming from her eyes confused it even more.