by Misty Evans
“Miles.”
Those dark chocolate eyes of hers came up to meet his. Her smile made his pulse jump. “Nice to meet you, Miles.”
She turned and leaned over to put the cup on the nightstand and his little slice of heaven went straight to hell as he saw her in profile. The blond hair and the pert nose. The tiny lightening bolt earring in her right earlobe.
She turned back and adjusted his blankets. “Your left ankle is busted up pretty bad, but I do have some medical training, so hopefully the set job I did on it works. You’ve got a couple of bruised ribs and some other minor injuries.” She gave him that knockout smile. “You’ll live but it could be a while before you can walk on that leg. Since we’re probably going to be snowed in for a few weeks—this is Romania, after all—we’ll have plenty of time for rehab.”
He tried not to stutter, his pulse now double-timing it as he looked into her beautiful face and knew he was hip deep in shit. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
It was no lie.
She chuckled and put a hand on his shoulder as she pushed him back down into the bed. The lightening bolt flashed. “Well, don’t you worry. I’m going to take good care of you. I assume from the gear you were wearing and the look of your…”—another blush as her eyes scanned his chest. “You appear to be military. U.S., yes? Doesn’t matter, I don’t need to know. But your physical appearance suggests you’re quite healthy. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble recovering from your injuries.”
He smiled back, hoping she didn’t see the worry in his eyes.
The beautiful, charming woman he was stranded in the Romanian mountains with—the women his very life depended on at this moment—was Butter, the dangerous MI6 traitor Andy had warned him about.
Three weeks later
CHARLOTTE COULD TELL Miles was feeling better. The worst of the pain from his broken ankle was over. She’d reset it, splinted it, wrapped it. A medicine cabinet full of Gypsy remedies kept his wounds disinfected and they were all on the mend. The bruises dotting his body had disappeared.
Initially, he’d been fighting the pain. Once that abated to tolerable levels, he’d fought depression. She’d done everything in her power to keep his spirits up. A tough job when the snows came every night, burying them deeper in the cabin, and the wind whistled through the cracks in the logs and the uneven windowpanes.
There was nowhere for them to go, no other human beings to interact with. Communication towers in these mountains were unheard of. She’d taught him Tile Rummy and a card game called Macau. He’d shared stories about his childhood and discussed politics. He’d taught her how to whittle small dogs from their stash of firewood. She’d explained the local Gypsy culture and demonstrated one of the clan’s favorite rituals to clear the body of toxins, hexes, and demons. While she danced the required steps of the banishing dance, he laughed.
But there was something more in his eyes now. A hunger she recognized and felt inside her own body.
The nights were long, the cabin chilly. There was only one bed. Now that he was better, he insisted she take the bed while he dozed in the nearby chair or slept on the floor. He brewed coffee every morning and brought her a cup while she was still in bed.
Her body ached for him. Not because he was the sexiest man she’d ever been around, or the most honorable. Certainly not because she was alone and on the run from a monster. She was used to being alone, independent. But even in another time, another place, she would have fallen for him. He was an impeccable specimen. Beautiful. Strong. A man worthy of a woman so much more than she could ever be.
And yet, she saw it in his eyes. He wanted her too.
She hadn’t told him who she really was—he knew her only by her middle name, Sarah. He hadn’t told her much about his job as a SEAL and hadn’t demanded to know about hers. Early on, she’d seen the suspicion in his eyes. He knew she was more than a single woman living in the woods on the side of a mountain, but he never probed too deeply about her present situation.
Night was upon them once more, Miles standing at the single window staring out at the snow. A full moon hung low in the sky, its light playing over his rugged features.
“It’s time to change your bandage,” Charlotte said.
Every day it was their ritual. He sat on the edge of the bed, she unwrapped the old bandage, rubbed cream on the healing skin, and rewrapped it. She’d discovered he was ticklish and enjoyed teasing him about it.
Tonight, he shook his head. “I’ll do it myself.”
His tone was brusque, he wouldn’t look at her. Had she done something to annoy him? “All right. I’ll get you the supplies.”
When she returned from the bathroom he was in the chair, head in his hands as he leaned his elbows on his knees. She set the basket of fresh cotton strips and salve next to his foot. Without looking at her, he removed the thick, wool sock and began to unwrap the bandage.
Charlotte made busy work of stoking the fire, getting a glass of water. From the corner of her eye, she watched him toss the used bandage down and slap the salve on, all with a pissed look on his face.
“I’m sorry if I’ve done something to upset you,” she said softly.
His hands stilled. He leveled her with a look so intense, she nearly took a step back. “It’s not your fault.”
The words lacked conviction. “Isolation is challenging for most people.”
A long silence. Then, “True, but we’re not most people, are we?”
For half a second, she thought he knew she was an intelligence agent. That maybe he knew everything. “I’m sure, as a SEAL, you’re trained to withstand isolation.”
“And you seem quite adept at living alone out here in the mountains.”
It wasn’t her first choice, but it beat being chained up in Nico Bourean’s belowground torture chamber.
“I don’t know who you’re hiding from,” Miles went on, as if reading her mind, “but I want you to know, your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”
He thought she was hiding from a partner perhaps. An abusive relationship.
If only he knew. “I appreciate your discretion.”
“I need to leave, Sarah. For your sake as well as mine.”
Leave? The thought made the pulse at the base of her throat fire like a tiny, trapped bird. “You can’t travel until the snows melt.”
“If I stay…”
He shook his head, let go of a ragged sigh.
Her nerves bounced around in her stomach. “If you stay, what?”
Again, that intense gaze hit her. It did a slow perusal down her body, back up to her eyes, lighting every point it touched on fire. “If I stay, I can’t promise not to touch you.”
Her breath caught. Her knees felt loose in her joints. She grabbed onto the fireplace mantel.
The air between them shimmered and shifted. The hunger in his stormy gray eyes was back, everything he was feeling shining in them like the flames from the fireplace.
She wanted him to touch her. Longed for the feel of his hands and lips on her body. Day and night, she’d found herself fantasizing about him.
“You’ve been touching me everyday,” he said. “Torturing me with your fingers, your laughter, your simple presence. I want you so badly, I can hardly stop myself from throwing you on that bed and stripping you naked.”
Her nipples peaked under her thin nightgown. “Perhaps, I’d like that too.”
His brows crashed down over those beguiling eyes. His voice came out raspy. He searched her face as if looking for deception. “You shouldn’t. Being with me, even if I don’t share your bed, is dangerous.”
“I’m used to dangerous men. I know how to handle myself.”
“What kind of dangerous men?”
She came to stand in front of him, looking down into his handsome face. “My past is checkered with them, but I’m leaving that life behind as soon as I can. I have an incredible radar system that lets me know who’s dangerous and who’s no
t. You’re not, Miles. I know that. You’ve been sleeping in my bed for weeks. I’d like to truly share it with you.”
“Are you sure?”
Grasping the gauzy material of her gown, she bunched it up, raising the hem higher and higher. It grazed her thighs, her hips. Using both hands, she lifted it over her stomach and breasts. At last, drawing it out, she freed it from her head.
Closing the last bit of distance between them, she dropped it at his feet. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
He gazed at her body with a look of wonder. “God, you’re beautiful.”
Letting him draw her into his lap, she sucked in a breath as his lips closed around one of her nipples.
Knowing this was all a dream—that it could never last—Charlotte tipped her head back and let herself be carried away.
Chapter Two
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San Diego
Nine and half months later
HE WAS BEING followed.
Two days ago, Miles noticed a black hybrid following him to the Hit & Run where he grabbed a bottle of caffeine and a protein bar to overcome the previous night’s whiskey-induced hangover.
Fresh off of his last job for Shadow Force International, he’d been lying low and kicking back, enjoying the mild Southern California weather and the fact he had running water again, unlike the Bosnian hellhole he’d been in just days before. Even the last job he’d had in the States, helping keep news journalist Savanna Bunkett from dying at the hands of the president, had been a cakewalk compared to Bosnia.
But Bosnia was a stone’s throw from Romania. Romania held answers. Answers he needed to know what had happened nearly a year ago when someone destroyed the helo his SEAL team had been traveling in. In those mountains with a beautiful brown-eyed blonde who haunted his dreams. He was going back to find her, or at the very least, the person responsible for the death of five good men, as soon as Emit Petit let him.
Which wouldn’t be anytime soon. He was finally due some R&R from SFI, and what did Emit say to him? Do me a favor. Run the West Coast Division of Rock Star Security until a replacement can be found.
The Rock Stars were the cover business for SFI, and in this day and age of rich, famous, and reality TV wannabes, the security service was booming. Every man on the team was a former SEAL with a shady past. Each of them went by a codename in order to protect their real identities. Their skill sets were perfect for the bodyguard and security service work needed.
Although Miles had dabbled in the RSS side of things, he didn’t know much about running a group of bodyguards. But he couldn’t let Emit down, no how, no way. The man depended on him and Petit was a stand-up guy. An honorable one. He’d rescued Miles from Romania and gave him a job and a place to stay upon his return.
Miles had never wanted to be a leader—he preferred being in the field. At least the men working for him understood the job and the chain of command. They all shared a similar sense of duty, loyalty, and honor.
So, thanks to the debt he owed Emit, he was here in San Diego, recovering from his last paramilitary stint and wondering who his stalker was. The bodyguards now suddenly in his care were doing a decent job of handling themselves without him and for that, he was grateful.
Today, he’d seen the black hybrid behind him in the late afternoon rush hour traffic. Tonight, it was sitting a block south of his apartment.
He’d been declared MIA after his team had been destroyed in those mountains. His ankle had healed, but it wasn’t strong enough for him to return to the Teams once he was back home. He’d found he didn’t have the stomach for it anyway. He didn’t deserve to wear the emblem of the United States Navy anymore.
With his fellow SEALs all dead and him missing, the U.S. had presumed he was dead too. If it hadn’t been for that mysterious guardian angel who’d found him and patched him back up, he would have been.
Her luscious curves and beautiful face invaded his mind day and night even all these months later. Every time he thought of her—her tender, healing touch, the hours she spent tending to his wounds, the way she’d used her own body to help him regain his strength—he missed her. They’d shared food, shelter, and physical comfort in each other for six weeks, and yet he didn’t even know her real name. Sarah, she’d told him, but she looked close enough like the picture of Agent Butter that Andrew Hardy had shown him, Miles knew it had to be her. During their time together, he’d played it careful, trying to draw out her story without being obvious. Outside of a few throwaway childhood stories, she’d never talked about herself, always switching the conversation back to him or distracting him with sex.
He hadn’t seen her since the night she’d disappeared from the cabin and Emit Petit had shown up in those godforsaken Carpathian Mountains to rescue him. Truth was, at that point, he hadn’t wanted to be rescued.
He missed her fiercely. Her wildness, her kindness, her laughter. Some days, he wanted to escape his current life and go back to that time. To her.
The solid gold cross lying under his shirt warmed the skin next to his heart. The only thing he had from their time together. That and the memories.
He’d drawn a sketch of her face, ran it through the SFI facial recognition software. The closest ID he’d come upon was a British Intelligence agent named Charlotte Carstons. There were no decent photos of Carstons anywhere in the system. No social media or public photos either. Which only made him more convinced she was an undercover operative.
While the Brits wouldn’t give him any info on her, Miles had done research, asking contacts and putting out feelers. Being part of SFI helped. Beatrice Reese, Petit’s second-in-command, was former NSA and knew everyone and everything. She’d put out a few feelers too, before getting her hands slapped by the Queen of all people. If their intel was correct, Charlotte Carstons had been MIA since that very time period Miles had spent healing and making love to a woman who still haunted his dreams. If she were indeed Butter, it was rumored she had been feeding Nicolae Bourean classified information and helping him sell it to the highest bidder.
Just my luck, I fell for a traitor.
Miles’ cell rang and he answered it without taking his eyes from his night vision goggles. “Whatcha got for me, Rory?”
“Not much, Poison.” Rory, the SFI tech specialist, referred to Miles by his Rock Star bodyguard name. Rory stayed behind the scenes keeping them all on track. A former SEAL as well, he’d done wet work for the CIA for a bunch of years before ending up with SFI.
The man had a voice only a mother could love. He sounded like he’d smoked too many cigars and enjoyed too many shots of tequila that evening. Probably had. “Car’s rented from a smalltime dealership in La Jolla. Name on the rental agreement is Veronica Whitman. Ring any bells?”
The name meant nothing to Miles, and yet, he felt a quickening of his pulse. A strange woman following him. Was it…?
No. It had been just over nine fucking months since he’d been in the States. Why would his guardian angel come looking for him now?
Nine months. Shit. Was he a father?
The thought rocked him. He had to take a couple of deep breaths. Finally, his brain engaged again and he discarded the idea. If the woman he’d known as Sarah had given birth to his baby, why wouldn’t she simply knock on his door and drop the bomb?
Because she’s the No. 1 on the MI6 Most Wanted list?
They’d fucked like rabbits but used condoms every time. They’d been careful.
And maybe she had been looking for him all along. He wasn’t exactly on Twitter and Instagram, telling everyone where he ate, slept, or worked out. “That name doesn’t even ring a distant bell.”
“Not a high school sweetheart,” Rory offered, “or former babysitter?”
“Nope. You got a picture?”
“The dealership does a lot of backdoor stuff, so no copy of her driver’s license is on file. I ran her name through the DMV an
d there are a dozen Veronica Whitmans in the United States. Four of them live in California alone. I have Facebook pages, YouTube videos, LinkedIn profiles, but no idea which one could be keeping tabs on you or why. Yet,” he added.
“I can help if you send me the links.”
“I’m cross-referencing each of them with your name to see if anything comes up. If that doesn’t give us a lead, I’ll start with the California girls and do more in-depth background checks.”
“Probably a false ID.”
Computer keys clicked on Rory’s end. “Then it’ll be a long night, but I will figure it out.”
That was the great thing about working with the former SEALs who formed Shadow Force International. They were all good men. Men who’d been screwed one way or another by the government they’d served, and who still kept the same determination to see justice done and to help the innocent. They helped each other too. Every one of them had the other’s back.
Miles leaned against the window frame. All was quiet on the street out front. He’d left the lights off in his living room and kitchen to make sure he couldn’t be spotted in this window. His bedroom light and TV were on at the back of the apartment. If the person in the car was casing his place, they’d think he was watching TV in bed.
“Did you check the airlines for her?” he asked. “If she’s renting a car, she might have flown in from somewhere.”
More clicking of keys. A long pause. “No Veronica Whitmans have landed at San Diego International in the past week. I can check LAX, but she probably would have rented a car up there, so that’s a long shot. Did you get a tracker on her?”
“Stuck a Shadow Tracker on the bumper as soon as the sun set.”
He’d crawled under the cars behind the black hybrid until he’d gotten close enough to tag the underside of the back bumper with the tiny GPS device. The size of a quarter and charged by the sun, the tiny tracker was specifically designed for asset and vehicle retrieval. “Do that cross-reference thing and I’ll follow her when she leaves, see where she goes.” Miles said. “Call me back when you’ve got something.”