by Cindy Dees
She’d been shocked, and frankly, none too pleased, when her boss, Lt. Colonel Vanessa Blake, had briefed her on this mission and the need for her skill as a Middle Eastern dancer. She’d always done it for the exercise, not because she wanted to be Mata Hari someday. But like she’d verified for Vanessa, it took years, decades even, to train a world-class Middle Eastern dancer. Furthermore, it was not an art that could be faked in front of a knowledgeable audience. Hence her being here. Half-naked, slathered in makeup, perfume and hair spray, dancing in a nightclub.
None of this was real. She was just bait. Darned successful bait, it turned out. She’d been trying to net the minnow but had hooked the shark, apparently.
In her defense, she hadn’t been expecting Hake, nor for him to look at her like that. Plus, when she danced she let down her emotional defenses. Like it or not, to do the dance justice she had to tap heavily into her feminine side. One thing she knew for sure, she could never, ever confess her reaction to Hake to her teammates. They’d never let her hear the end of it.
Faced with the horrifying truth that she was desperately attracted to the man she was supposed to take down, only one question remained: if she actually managed to reel in the shark, what on earth was she going to do with him?
Chapter 2
H ake contemplated Birch, who sipped at a tiny glass of arrack, the potent, licorice-flavored liqueur of the Middle East. He noted Geoffrey’s flush, the subtle shifting in his seat, the uncharacteristic silence. Hake’s mouth twitched in amusement. The dancer had seriously affected the poor man. He took pity and laid down his napkin beside his plate.
“When you called, you said you’d researched my situation. Have you figured out a way to deal with it?”
The attorney leaned forward, abruptly serious, abruptly at work. “You realize, of course, that this conversation is completely off the record. I’ll deny any knowledge of it if you repeat a word of it.”
Hake leaned forward, equally serious. “Cut the lawyer crap. It’s me you’re talking to, old friend. You’ve known my father since before I was born and watched me grow up. You know I won’t say anything.”
“Yes, but I am counsel to your father as well, and you’re asking me to advise you against him. It’s a blatant conflict of interest to involve myself in a dispute between the two of you.”
“Fine. I have duly noted that this conversation is off the record.”
The attorney’s shoulders relaxed fractionally.
“So tell me, Geoffrey, hypothetically of course, if you weren’t my father’s attorney and represented only me, what would you advise me to do? Is he within his rights to insist I get married before he’ll release my trust fund to me?”
“More or less.”
“Don’t equivocate. Yes or no?”
“Marriage is not stipulated in the terms of the trust, but there is a clause stating that your father must approve the release of the funds. In reality, he can set whatever conditions he wants before he’ll give you that approval.”
Hake’s jaw tightened into the rippling mass of tension that never failed to make people around him jumpy on the rare occasions it occurred. Although quiet, his voice vibrated with fury. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“I’d suggest, my dear boy, that you start looking for a wife. Although I do have to ask, why do you want your trust released to you? You have millions in other funds. Money that you’ve earned for yourself.”
In truth, it was the principle of the thing getting under his skin. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else having control over him in any way. “So I’ve got to do the wife thing, huh?” Hake remarked grimly.
“It wouldn’t be the end of the world. You might even discover you like it.”
“You’re a fine one to talk. I don’t see you breaking your neck racing to the altar.”
Geoffrey grinned unrepentantly. “Nobody’s forcing me into it. Frankly, I think your father secretly detests lawyers. He doesn’t want to encourage us to reproduce.”
“Lucky dog.”
Geoffrey smiled and glanced over at the stage where Cassandra had performed. Hake was startled by an urge to grit his teeth in response. “Has my father indicated how soon he expects me to marry?”
“My impression is that he’d like the matter settled within a year.”
“A year?” Hake echoed in dismay. If his old man wanted him to marry, Hake suspected there wasn’t going to be a whole hell of a lot he could do to stop it. But the thought infuriated him. He was thirty-five years old, had already made his own millions, and was his own man, dammit. It was high time his father recognized that he was an adult, full-grown and capable of running his own life, including marrying or not marrying. Personally, he voted for the not-marrying option. There were so many beautiful women out there. Why be in any rush to close the door on them all?
Geoffrey asked, “Are you seeing anyone right now?”
Hake kept his expression bland. He’d lay odds his father had instructed the lawyer to ask that question. He answered vaguely, “I see a few women here and there.”
He dated any number of women casually, but none held his attention for long. At the end of the day, they were all pretty much the same. They wanted the same things, were impressed by the same things, reacted the same way in most situations. Although he enjoyed having a beautiful one around for decoration and taking advantage of the pleasures one could offer, he didn’t particularly need women. And that was the main reason he’d never married. Why saddle himself with someone who would ultimately become an inconvenience?
“Hake, now may be your only chance to choose your own wife before your father gets involved and chooses one for you. I hate to say it, but if I were you, I’d start hunting for a nice girl who doesn’t make you crazy. You know as well as I do your father’s not going to budge on this.”
Hake restrained an urge to swear.
Birch continued, “I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but if I were you, I might seriously consider finding a woman who will agree to be your wife in return for…some sort of compensation.”
“You’re saying I should buy a wife? You don’t think I can get a woman to agree to marry me on my own merits?” Hake was genuinely shocked. He literally had to fight off women. He didn’t need to buy one. Hell, all he had to do was hold out a diamond ring and they’d be falling over each other to snatch it.
Geoffrey squirmed uncomfortably. “I was thinking more along the lines of…a marriage of…convenience. Something mutually beneficial to both of you.”
Hake sat back in his chair, flabbergasted. “You’re joking.”
“You could dictate the conditions of the relationship to your liking. After she produces an heir, you might want the freedom to maintain…discreet liaisons…on the side, maybe separate residences for the two of you, that sort of thing.”
“What am I supposed to do? Walk up to…” Hake cast around for a suitably outrageous example “…say, that dancer we just saw, and ask her to marry me? I’ll put her up in the lap of luxury forever in return for her marrying me, making a baby or two, and then leaving me the hell alone for the rest of my life? You’ve lost your mind!”
Geoffrey shrugged and grinned. “You’re right. Forget I mentioned it. It was a ridiculous notion.” He picked up his glass. “A toast. To bachelorhood.”
Hake matched the lawyer’s grin and clinked glasses with Geoffrey. “To bachelorhood.”
Maneuvering awkwardly in the small space of her dressing room, Casey removed the heavy, beaded costume and hung it up to dry. Wrapped in a thin cotton robe, she fanned herself until she cooled down and then began repairing her stage makeup. Despite all of it being heavy-duty and waterproof, it was simply not possible to keep makeup entirely in place as she sweated profusely over the course of a forty-five-minute show. There was no getting around it. Belly dancing was strenuous stuff.
She sipped at a bottle of water to rehydrate before the next show in about an hour. Right before she went on, sh
e would eat a tablespoon of peanut butter. She needed the calories and protein to get through another forty-five minutes of aerobic exertion. On performance days, she didn’t eat after breakfast and wouldn’t eat again until after her second and final show. A large meal would make her stomach stick out and not have the smooth, sinuous line customers associated with Middle Eastern dancers.
She had some time to spare before she needed to put on her next costume. Idly, she unlocked her equipment bag and checked her service pistol, ammunition clips and various other tools of the Special Forces trade that she currently had stowed along with spare finger cymbals, music CDs and safety pins.
Out of habit, she checked her cell phone for messages. None. Her headquarters, H.O.T. Watch Ops, was aware of this show. Heck, knowing that gang, they had a surveillance camera somewhere in the restaurant. She could just picture the cave full of analysts and Special Forces operatives getting a cheap thrill watching her dance. She hoped they all were too uncomfortable to stand up straight. It would serve them right.
She glanced in the mirror and met her own cold, cynical gaze with a certain relief. “Welcome back, Captain Chandler,” she muttered. Who was she kidding? A special operator like her could never land a man like Hake El Aran. He’d take one look into her hard-edged gaze and run screaming.
It wasn’t that she hated men. Far from it. It was just that she was entirely realistic about her inadequacies when it came to dealing with all things pertaining to men. She didn’t do the girly thing well, she didn’t do the girl-boy thing well either. Take Hake, for example. The guy was smoking-hot and she definitely felt intense attraction to him. But the idea of acting on her impulses struck terror into her heart.
Nope, a direct approach to the El Aran heir definitely was out of the question. She would continue with the original plan and focus her attention upon the manufacturing empire’s much more gullible attorney. It wasn’t as if she was asking Birch to violate attorney-client privilege. She was merely urging him to assist in a vital, joint undercover operation between the United States and Great Britain by giving them advance notice of the timing of a business deal.
Geoffrey Birch was an honorable and patriotic man. He would do the right thing for Crown and country. This mission would be a piece of cake. And then she’d get on with her regularly scheduled life and Hake El Aran could get on with whatever it was that he did.
“Miss Cassandra?” one of the waiters called through her door. “A man. He wishes to meet you.”
“You know my policy on that, Ismael. I don’t chat up the patrons and I don’t allow men in my dressing room.”
“He is most insistent, ma’am. He offered me a thousand pounds to introduce him to you.” A pause. “I could really use the money. My wife is pregnant—”
Oh, for crying out loud. A thousand pounds? She tried to guess which one it was. The restaurant had been packed with middle-aged, successful-looking businessmen. No telling which one had made the outrageous offer. And frankly, she wasn’t the slightest bit curious to find out. Men were all pretty much the same around belly dancers. They thought they could take liberties and make offensive suggestions because they’d seen a girl half-naked and sharing her most sensual self with him…and everyone else in the joint. But that last bit always seemed to escape the pushy patrons.
She did hate to cost the waiter that much cash, though. Her gaze glittered with irritation in the mirror. She called out, “Fine. Tell him he can buy me a drink after my second show. But make sure he pays up first.”
Ismael called back his enthusiastic thanks, and she was alone again. She remembered now why she’d never pursued a full-time career as a dancer. She adored the music, and there was nothing quite like the exhilaration of feeling the rhythms of it moving through her, shaping her body and freeing her soul to fly. It was just that she couldn’t deal with the men. Good thing she worked with all women on Medusa Team Two.
When Geoffrey excused himself to go to the loo, Hake had a quiet word with the maître d’. A wad of cash changed hands and Hake leaned back more relaxed than he’d been since that dancer had shocked him to his toes earlier.
Birch returned to the table. Hake announced jovially, “Well, old man, you and I both have plenty of work to do tomorrow. What say we call it a night?”
Geoffrey looked wistfully at the empty stage and nodded reluctantly. “Yes, of course. You’re right. Too bad Cassandra didn’t come out to say hello to the patrons tonight.”
Hake’s mouth turned down sardonically. “If I were her, I might not show myself either. With the state she got this crowd worked up into, she’d run a real risk of being assaulted.”
Geoffrey smiled, a tight, smug little smile. “Indeed. And besides, there are so many better ways to make contact with a woman than mugging her in a place like this.”
Hake’s gaze snapped to his lawyer. Now what did the old bird mean by that? Did the man actually have aspirations of meeting the divine Cassandra and having her for himself? A stab of something sharp and unpleasant speared through Hake’s gut. What was that all about? How odd.
He escorted the attorney from the restaurant and hailed a cab for the man. As soon as the black taxi had disappeared around the corner, Hake turned and headed back into the restaurant. The maître d’ had been more than happy to hold his table for him—for a hefty tip, of course. Hake ordered himself a drink and sat back to anticipate the return of Cassandra to grace the stage and perform for him.
Casey peeked out of the kitchen moments before the lights were to dim, startled at how many patrons from the first show were still in the restaurant. And then she caught sight of him. Hake was still out there. By himself now, but squarely facing the stage and nursing a drink.
Butterflies leaped in her stomach. Usually, she experienced no stage fright at all. Yet the idea of Hake watching her again, observing every nuance of her body, made her all but hyperventilate. She glanced down at her costume, gold and skimpy and beaded from head to toe. In keeping with the later show, this costume showed more leg and cleavage and her arms were completely bare except for matching snake bracelets clasping her upper arms. She swore under her breath. She could really go for a set of full camouflage clothing right about now.
“Ready, Cassandra?” the manager murmured, startling her.
“Uh, yes. I guess so.”
“Knock ’em dead, love. Not that you don’t always. My receipts triple on the nights you dance.”
She smiled gratefully at the manager, who was in on her secret identity and the reason for it. They’d needed him to shuffle the dancers’ schedules around to accommodate adding Casey to the rotation, and he’d initially been reluctant, Scotland Yard request or no. It had threatened to turn into an ugly stalemate until she’d diplomatically suggested that maybe an audition for the man was in order. Of course, once she’d danced for him, he’d been more than happy to give her the coveted Saturday night shows.
The restaurant went black. The musicians started playing so softly she could barely hear them. She closed her eyes, let the exotic chords wash over her and through her, and Casey Chandler, former FBI agent and current Special Forces operative, retreated. Cassandra, the desert seductress, took over. It’s a disguise. Just a disguise.
Without Birch present, Hake allowed himself to truly appreciate Cassandra’s second show. If possible, it was even more sultry and alluring than the first. She really was an accomplished dancer. As fine as any he’d ever seen. They’d go crazy over her in Cairo, the global capital of belly dancing.
She aroused him so intensely that it would be a while before he could leave the table without embarrassing himself.
After the show, he kept an eagle eye on the kitchen from whence she would emerge. He’d already ascertained from a helpful waiter that she was not married and, furthermore, never arrived or left the restaurant in the company of a gentleman. Fierce satisfaction coursed through him at that news. Nonetheless, Hake was determined not to let anyone else move in on her. And no way was he lettin
g her slip past him and duck the drink she’d agreed to let him buy her. He wanted her and he planned to have her for himself. End of discussion.
Chapter 3
A hush fell over the cavernous interior of H.O.T. Watch headquarters and the nearly three dozen intelligence analysts, communications experts and Special Forces operatives clustered in the giant underground facility to watch Cassandra’s second set in the nightclub. When it ended, Beau Breckenridge, one of the lead duty controllers murmured, “Whoa. That girl sure can dance.”
The six women standing beside him all snorted, but the commander of the entire Medusa Project, Lt. Colonel Vanessa Blake, was the one to answer. “She’s a Medusa. We do a thing well or we don’t do it at all. I wouldn’t have suggested her for this mission if I didn’t know she was good.”
Breckenridge grinned. “How long did it take her to learn to dance like that?”
Alexandra Rios, known to her teammates as Tarantula, answered, “She says she’s been at it for close to twenty years.”
Naraya El Saad, the Medusa’s resident mathematician and genius at large, piped up in her cultured accent, “Trust me. It’s taken every bit of twenty years to achieve that level of mastery. I danced a bit when I was a little girl and what she does is a great deal harder than it looks.”
Beau stared at the reserved Middle Eastern woman. “You can dance like that?”
Naraya laughed. “No, not even close. That’s why she got sent on this mission and not me. The op called for a professional dancer, not an enthusiastic but untalented amateur.”
Navy Commander Brady Hathaway, the man in charge of the bunker tonight, interrupted, “And speaking of the mission, what are we going to do about Hake El Aran? Not only has he seen Scorpion, but he’s just spent the past hour studying her in excruciating detail. Is she blown or do we proceed with the operation? Thoughts, ladies?”