Elite Ops Complete Series

by Lora Leigh

  “Thank you.” Bailey watched him carefully as he moved to the seating arrangement and took a seat in one of the comfortable wingbacked chairs.

  “Do have a seat, Agent Serborne,” he invited as he waved his hand toward the couch. “We need to discuss a few details if you don’t mind.”

  “And if I do mind?” she asked archly.

  He smiled, a rather chilling curve to his lips that she knew was designed to inspire fear. She wasn’t afraid of him. Fear of Roth wasn’t something she had ever known. She was wary, though.

  “I do believe as Warbucks’s emissary you are required to consider all brokers invited to this little get-together in the hopes of convincing you that they are the best man for the upcoming auction,” he pointed out. “I’d have to have to complain that I wasn’t given a fair and impartial chance at the job.”

  “Last I heard, Warbucks didn’t exactly follow traditional employment guidelines.” She almost rolled her eyes at his statement. “Really, Roth, do you believe there’s an argument you can give that would convince me that you should have this job over John Vincent?”

  “Your lover isn’t exactly the best man for the job.” His lips twisted into a curve of distaste. “If you were looking for a business partner, my dear, I’m certain you could have found a much better match. One who at least understands the world you were born within.”

  And of course, Roth would understand it. He was a distant runner in line to England’s throne, and raised amidst the pomp and arrogance of European royalty. His parents were aristocrats, cold and brittle, but even they were wary of the child who hadn’t seemed to have an ounce of mercy, compassion, or warmth.

  He’d poisoned his nanny when he’d been no more than five. At ten he had nearly killed a playmate, a boy several years his senior. At sixteen he’d been under suspicion for the murder of his lover, who had been pregnant at the time. At the same time he had been suspected of cheating on finals at the prestigious school he’d been enrolled in.

  At eighteen his parents had died in a suspicious vehicle accident. Roth had believed he would inherit the vast fortune his parents were thought to have had, only to learn that they had been little more than paupers living on the charity of friends and family.

  “I’m quite satisfied with the lover I’ve chosen,” she assured him as she took a seat in the corner of the couch, watching him closely.

  His lips twitched as he propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and ran an index finger over his upper lip.

  “He’s a bit common, don’t you think, my dear? He doesn’t exactly have upper-class connections or a background that could complement yours. There are surely men much closer to your stature.”

  “Men such as you?” she queried lightly.

  “Precisely.” His smile was knowing, condescending. “I would be a much better choice. We could move mountains with the power we could attain.”

  “I can already move mountains.” Bailey could also feel her skin crawling at the thought of this man touching her.

  His lips pursed as dark hazel eyes narrowed on her.

  “Even out the playing field, Agent Serborne,” he ordered her, his voice lowering, becoming rasping, a serpent’s hiss of fury. “I don’t relish the idea of losing the particular contract.”

  “The contract hasn’t been given yet,” she pointed out. “Warbucks makes the final decision, I only suggest the best man for the job.”

  “The best man being that upstart Vincent?” he sneered. “He’s a worthless piece of white trash, and you know it as well as I do.”

  “He’s worth quite a bit to me.” She eased to her feet, straightening as she watched him carefully. “The best man for the job is the one who can get the job done and done correctly. Unfortunately, your record doesn’t speak nearly so well for you as John’s does for him. You leave a trail of blood and a wake of suspicion in your path. We don’t need that.”

  He pushed to his feet, a wave of red anger rushing over his cheekbones as he glared back at her.

  “I get the job done.”

  “John gets it done efficiently, without suspicion and without a mess. Sorry for your luck, but you’re falling way behind in the quality department here.”

  She turned to leave the room. She’d had enough of his attitude and superiority. Landon Roth was known for his ability to get a job done, there was no doubt about it. He had the contacts and the reputation to make the sale. But he clearly wasn’t the best choice.

  Turning her back on Landon Roth wasn’t the wisest move she could have made either. She knew his reputation, but she hadn’t truly believed he was stupid. Until she felt his knife at her throat.

  “You’re a nasty little bitch,” he hissed at her ear as the cold steel caressed her neck. “I never did care much for you. Despite your vast fortune, you have no breeding whatsoever do you, you little whore?”

  “Bitch and whore, your vocabulary is improving.” She drew in a hard breath as the razor-sharp blade bit closer to her flesh.

  “I could leave you on this floor bleeding and go straight to dinner,” he snarled. “I’d relish the feel of it flowing over my fingers simply because you’re trash. Just as your whore-mongering little boyfriend is trash.”

  Bailey lifted her eyes to where the all-seeing eye of the carefully hidden camera looked down on the library from above the door.

  If security was watching, how long did she have? she wondered. If they weren’t watching, then she was simply just screwed.

  “You won’t get away with it,” she warned him.

  “Of course I will,” he laughed. “Warbucks can’t afford to have me arrested because then it would bring his own activities to light. And he would have to catch me to kill me, wouldn’t he, darling?”

  “You’ll never make it out of here.”

  Would she make it out of here? She felt the cold steel pressing into her skin and knew that if she even breathed the wrong way, then she was going to die.

  “This is no way to convince me to use your services, Landon.” She kept her voice calm, cool. “Actually, it’s a damned good way to become a casualty to this game. Because I promise you, even if Warbucks allows you to live, John won’t.”

  She felt him pause behind her.

  “No woman is that important to John Vincent,” he snickered. “It’s a proven fact, Agent Serborne.”

  “Until this woman.”

  Bailey’s eyes flew to the door where John stood. At his sides were Raymond Greer and John’s rarely seen bodyguard, Travis Caine. Behind them were three of Greer’s security personnel.

  “I kindly ask you to release Ms. Serborne,” Greer gave a grade-A impression of arrogant superiority with a commanding sneer. “You’ll receive a six-hour head start before Warbucks sends a man after you.”

  Roth stilled behind her. The knife seemed to tighten against her throat and she could almost feel Roth’s intent behind the blade. If he was going to die anyway, he might as well take her with him.

  Her gaze connected with John’s then. His gray eyes swirled with fury, his body was taut, controlled, his fists clenched at his side.

  “Don’t do it, Roth,” John stated quietly.

  “Warbucks would kill over this?” Anger vibrated in Roth’s tone. “His rules are fairly simple, Greer. There are no rules in business. Isn’t that the message he sends out when he begins his competitions?”

  “No message was sent other than an invitation to appear and to be considered for the contract,” Raymond informed him coldly. “You have stepped over the line. Release Ms. Serborne, or I promise you, you’ll die hard.”

  The knife wavered at her throat. Bailey didn’t dare swallow, she could barely breathe. She had assumed Roth wouldn’t attack her here, she had been wrong. Perhaps fatally wrong.

  “Release me, Roth, and I’ll discuss this with Warbucks,” she stated. “Perhaps a small fee for my trouble can be arranged rather than your blood.”

  “I’d listen to her if I were you,” Greer informed him. “Bec
ause only she could convince him to rescind this order.”

  “Whore, your time will come,” he hissed in her ear before jerking the knife from her throat and pushing her roughly in Greer’s direction.

  Turning, Bailey’s foot flew out and up, the heavy pad of her boot striking him in the jaw, sending him careening across the room before he tipped over the back of the couch and landed on the coffee table with a resounding crash. The legs buckled, toppling him to the floor as a heavy groan spilled from his lips.

  “Stay back,” she ordered Greer and his men before moving to Roth, jerking the knife from the floor and gripping his hair, pulling his head back and letting him feel the blade on his throat for a change.

  “You’re fucking messy,” she snapped as she stared into his suddenly horrified gaze. “A brainless little viper without the means or the ability to perform reliably on any job. I wouldn’t let you walk behind my dog and clean up its shit, let alone handle a contract that I direct.”

  She let the knife bite into his neck enough to draw blood, to have his eyes widening in fear.

  “Let me see you again, and I’ll make certain you’re skinned before you die. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes.” The word was barely a breath.

  Sneering back at him, she pulled back, still holding the knife, and tossed him a contemptuous glance. “You’re not worth killing. Get the hell out of here now and make damned certain I don’t ever have to look at your plain little face again.”

  She turned her back on him, this time confident, knowing he wouldn’t dare move on her.

  As she neared John, she tossed her head to dislodge her hair as it threatened to spill over her face, then nearly gasped as his fingers gripped her arm.

  “Raymond, take care of this,” he snarled back at Greer. “I expected better security and I sure as hell expected better taste in the candidates chosen for this game your boss enjoys playing.”

  “It will be taken care of …”

  “And don’t kill him.” She glared back at Raymond. “Don’t make me break my word. That son of a bitch will give me his prized Monet he stole last year if he wants to live.” She turned back to Roth and smiled in triumph. “You have two weeks to arrange delivery or you won’t have to worry about it any longer.”

  She didn’t have a chance to say much more. With great subtlety and no small amount of fury, John directed her out of the library and through the foyer to the stairs that led to their room.

  “Ease up,” she muttered, jerking at her arm as they started up the stairs. “What the hell is your problem?”

  “Not another word.” His voice cracked like a whip despite the quiet tone. “Not one more, Bailey. Don’t argue with me, don’t struggle against me. Just keep your damned mouth shut.”

  She glanced at him in disbelief before being forced to watch where he was dragging her as they went up the stairs.

  “I don’t know what your problem is,” she snapped. “He was bluffing.”

  “Roth doesn’t bluff,” he snarled.

  “Of course he bluffs,” she hissed. “If he wanted to kill me, he would have gone ahead and sliced my throat rather than waiting. He was fishing and he caught a prize fish with your and Raymond’s reaction. Now the entire criminal element is going to know that both John Vincent and Warbucks place value on my life.”

  That could be a hazard. They had enemies. Warbucks’s identity wasn’t known, but neither were his perceived weaknesses. Until now.

  “Your logic completely pisses me off.” He paused long enough to unlock their bedroom door before pulling her through it and slamming it behind them.

  “My logic is perfectly sound.” She rounded on him furiously as he released her, anger surging through her veins at his pure, high-handed, male-superior arrogance. “And what the hell makes you think you can drag me around like this?”

  “This.”

  He moved faster than she could evade him. Between one breath and the next, she was in his arms, her head pulled back by the simple expediency of his fingers tangling in her hair.

  His lips covered hers, his tongue pushing fiercely between her lips as he kissed her with a hunger and heat that shocked her, scorched her to the tips of her toes.

  If there had been any doubt in her mind that John hadn’t placed some emotional claim on her, then it was gone in that second. Pure male possession marked his kiss. As his tongue pumped between her lips, stroked along hers, and his hands jerked her closer, she knew in that moment, that with his hunger, his need, he was branding her. Her senses, her flesh, her very femininity were being marked by this man’s kiss, by his touch.

  “Damn you.” He jerked back long enough to grip the hem of her sweater and push her arms up.

  It came over her head before she could even consider fighting him for possession of it. Tossed to the floor, forgotten, his lips moved down her neck, nipped at the flesh and sent her senses reeling with pleasure.

  Anger and lust, need and hunger burned through her now, burned between them. She could feel the desperation in his touch, in the stroke of his lips and his harsh breaths.

  Danger was a spike of adrenaline, but only emotion could spike a lust and a hunger that raged this hot, this intense. Perhaps, she thought, only love could spike the white-hot desperation that began to whip around them.

  Only love.

  John felt Bailey’s breath hitch, heard the excited little whimper that left her lips, and had to fight to keep from jerking their jeans down, turning her, and taking her immediately.

  Something savage, something burning and primal had torn through him the second he had seen that blade at Bailey’s throat. The second he had realized he could lose her.

  For a second, one heart-stopping second, he’d seen a glimpse of what she must have felt when he had “died.” Pure, unadulterated fear had surged through him. For the first time in his life, he had known what true fear felt like. What it tasted and smelled like.

  It was wrapped around his senses now and nothing could pull him free of it but this. Her kiss and her touch. Marking her body as his. Branding her senses with his touch, with a pleasure they could only find with each other.

  He released her long enough to allow her to tear the shirt from his shoulders. Picking her up in his arms, he moved to the bed, tossed her to it, and moved his hands to the snap of her jeans.

  She hadn’t worn a bra. The smooth, unblemished mounds of her breasts were topped with tight, delicate pink nipples that stood tight and hard. They tempted his lips, his tongue to taste them.

  Pulling her jeans down her long, exquisite legs, he stopped long enough to jerk her boots from her feet before removing the denim quickly.

  Silk covered the wet folds of her pussy. Damp silk, proof that she was as aroused as he was, as ready for his possession as he was to possess her.

  The panties tore free of her easily.

  Watching her face as he ripped the fragile silk from her, he saw the widening of her eyes, the flare of excitement that flushed her face.

  “You turned your back on him,” he snarled suddenly as he tore at the belt cinching his hips. “You knew not to turn your back on him.”

  “So punish me.” She stretched her arms over her head and arched, thrusting her breasts out to him. “I was a very bad girl, John.”

  Damn her. Damn her for being the only woman in the world who could make him crazy, make him insane to have her.

  “He could have killed you.” He rid himself of his boots and jeans, his hand gripping the base of his cock as he fought to hold back the need to thrust inside her.

  Her gaze fell to where he held himself, her tongue swiping over her lips sensually. Lips swollen from his kisses, reddened from them.

  “If I thought it would make you think twice, then I damned sure would,” he bit out roughly as he pulled her legs apart, gripped her hips, and pulled her to the edge of the bed.

  Pushing her legs back, John bent his head to the dew-glistening folds of her pussy and swiped his tongue thro
ugh the narrow, syrup-laden slit.

  God, she was as sweet as an early morning rainfall. Her pussy was heated, her clit standing out hard and glistening, need tightening every muscle in her body.

  The taste of her was pure nectar. Stiffening his tongue, he pushed it into the velvety grip of her vagina, feeling it clench around him, shuddering with pleasure.

  Her juices spilled to his tongue, filling his senses with the addictively sweet taste of her. He could take her like this for hours. Fucking her with his tongue, tasting her pleasure and her hunger, searing her taste into his senses.

  “Oh God. John,” she called out his name, her voice husky, vibrating with sweet sensual intensity. He could hear the surrender in her voice, feel it in her body.

  Fucking his tongue deeper, harder inside the snug grip of her pussy, he couldn’t help but moan at the liquid passion that flowed from it. Licking at the soft fall of juices, caressing her, tasting her, he grew drunk on the very essence of her.

  Lifting his lips he bestowed a swift, hard kiss to the plump, swollen folds before his tongue found the distended little button of her clit. His fingers moved to the soft folds his lips had left, parting them, finding the soft entrance to her body that his tongue had raided moments before.

  He sent two fingers working inside her as his lips covered her clit. Sucking it inside his mouth he let his tongue play with it as his fingers stroked past the tight grip of tender muscles that clenched around them.

  Her pussy was hot, gripping, tightening on the digits as he sucked at her clit, licked at it, felt it swell and throb beneath his tongue.

  She was close. So very close. Fear and danger had spiked sensation. Need and hunger had intensified it until John felt as though he were burning in the center of a white-hot flame.

  She was his. His woman. His life.

  Flicking his tongue faster over the distended bud, he claimed with his mouth, he felt her arching in his grip. Her hips writhed, impaling her snug pussy on his stroking fingers, working her clit against his tongue until he felt her exploding around him.

  Groaning, forcing himself to bite back his own cries he jerked back, positioned his cock and as her pussy vibrated with the force of her orgasm he began penetrating her.