It was ugly.
It was also the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.
Because the scar was recent. Four days recent. Sealed with Dermabond. It had been a rush job too. He knew, because it puckered in several places. They'd have to get that fixed. But for now, he stared, memorized, and blessed the uglier, even more recent bruising surrounding it. That bruise was no more than roughly fourteen hours old. Putting its creation right about the time she'd taken those two extra pills.
She wasn't using.
Oh, she might want to be. She probably did want to be. But she wasn't taking those pills deliberately, just for that goddamned seductive high, and that made a world of difference. To him. She must have had the surgery while she was visiting her sorority sister.
Surgery?
Ice-cold fear slid down into his gut. Terror ripped right back up. A woman's breast, cut open. A woman who'd been hospitalized for her reproductive system in college—
"No, it's not cancer or another cyst. Or anything like that. The surgery was elective."
Elective? Who the hell would elect to get butchered?
But he knew. And it wasn't her. "I'm gonna kill him."
"No, you're not."
Oh, yes, he was. At the very least he was going to beat the ever-loving tar out of the bastard. "He sliced you open so he could bug you."
"I agreed."
"I don't care."
She jerked her robe up and knotted the sash. Before she could stalk into the room, he shot out his hand, clamped it about her wrist and tugged her back. He shoved his rage down low and deep, hoarding it, nursing it for another time and another person. She didn't need to know. She was strung too tight as it was. She'd been under far too deep and for far too long and the bastard hadn't even bothered to train her. Evidently, he hadn't concealed his fury enough because she remained stiff. The frost he'd come to know so well returned to her voice as she stabbed her subzero stare into the hand still trapping her wrist. "Can I get dressed now, Major?"
In a minute. "Is he listening right now?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Sam was furious when she found out what I'd agreed to do. She made Foster give me a remote control. It's in my purse. He had it disguised to look like an electronic car key for the Blazer Luis gave me."
Score one for Sam.
He was still going to hurt Foster. Slowly. "You're sure it's off?"
"Oh, yeah. I turned if off six times before I left for Curundú. I need to get it back."
"I have it. I stopped by this morning on the way to the hotel. Your purse is in my room. But I don't want you to turn it on."
"Why not?"
"What did Foster tell you about me? I'm sure you asked him, given what happened with Manny."
She stared at him. The moment she blinked, he had his answer, and he knew he was right. "Actually, that did bother me. If he's NCIS and you're Delta, why hasn't he figured out who you are by now? God knows he's been able to drag up enough dirt on me." For a moment he had the distinct impression she was referring to more than just the drugs, but before he could be sure, much less draw her out, she swung her stare to the double door leading to the room. "Unless he's e-mailed me."
"The miniaturized PC in your desk?"
Instead of nodding, her eyes widened then darkened to smoke as the hurt slipped in. They both knew what he'd been looking for. And it didn't have a thing to do with their now-joint mission.
"I'm sorry. It's a…hard habit to break."
Her air ripped in. "You have no idea." She sighed. "And it's okay. Really." Before he could respond, she shook off the lingering pain and covered it with a tiny smile. "Anyway, as for the PC, there's an encrypted wireless link inside it. Sam designed it to be invisible to the average cousin."
He met her halfway and returned her smile. "Rough and ready Delta dudes, too. I think I like Sam."
"Do you want me to check it?"
"Why not?" Though he doubted it would contain anything from the man. If Foster hadn't been able to pay him by now, the man never would. "First, the rifle. It was for Foster, wasn't it?"
"Yes. He said he could trace it."
"He can. So can I. Did you get a look at the markings?"
She nodded. "There's a triangle stamped into the metal."
Excitement surged. "Did it have a star inside?"
She shook her head. "No, a number. At least, it looked like a number, the digits were angled, barely squeezed in."
He stiffened as the exhilaration mutated to shock. "Four hundred sixteen?"
"Yeah."
No way. It didn't make sense. All the intelligence pointed to—
"It's what you need, right? To prove Luis is working with the Chechens?"
"Yes—and no."
Confusion tugged her frown low.
"Four hundred sixteen is Chinese, Anna. They're the only country that uses triangles and numbers. It looks like your cousin's branching out." Damn. He shoved his hands through his hair then tugged at his tie, loosening it further. What he really wanted to do was yank it off altogether and wrap it around a certain thug's throat. If that CPR session in the study earlier didn't pay off, he might.
"What is it?"
He sighed. "A missed opportunity. In retrospect, a damned good one. Yesterday morning in the limo Luis was on the phone with someone about a damaged shipment of bronze statuaries from Asia. From the sounds of it, they're fairly large and heavy. More importantly, at least one split open causing some serious panic and concern in your cousin and whoever else was on the other end of that phone."
"I don't understand."
Neither did he. Worse, he had no idea where to start. Not anymore. He'd planned on having Anna contact Foster. Only he would be showing in her place. But if Foster didn't even know he was Delta, he had to wonder if the man would be able to add to this puzzle at all. Tom blew out his frustration. "Let's head inside." The cooler air might clear his head. Help him think. Tom tucked his hand at the small of her back and guided her toward the French doors.
Two steps later, she gasped.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes." But she wasn't. She couldn't be. Not when she had to close her eyes to absorb the pain shafting across her face, through her.
"Anna?"
She opened her eyes. The stark shadow was still there. Her eyes were watering now, too.
"It's your breast, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I stepped on the hem of my robe, jerked it tight. I'm fine, now. Really."
No, she wasn't. Even he could tell the Tylenol she'd taken wasn't cutting it. She needed the real deal. The prescription pain pills he'd dumped down the toilet at the Iguana. "Do you need—" He couldn't help it, his jaw locked. He had to force the word past. "—more?"
"No."
He clenched his fists. The motion helped him loosen his jaw. "Are you sure?"
"No."
He appreciated the honesty, but it still cut deep. He ignored the ache. He doubted the pain in his heart came close to the throbbing in her battered breast. He could make a compress. But that would take time. She hurt now. A very real physical pain that would soon make the psychological need rage. He leaned down instinctively and captured her lips.
They were warm and sweet, full. Soft.
Her startled gasp was even softer.
He drank in each of the sensations, welcoming them until they converged to forge the opposite response in him. Within seconds, he was actively working to keep the kiss light and soothing. Distracting. It didn't help to have already gone as far as they had in that alcove outside the Iguana. His hands and his body knew full well the two of them were capable of generating much more heat than they were putting out at the moment and they were clamoring for it. It damned sure didn't help to have that lacy, candlelit image branded in his heart. He gathered the edges of her robe in his fists and clamped down on the silk, holding fast to restraint as he slid his lips across hers again—caressing, gently nipping, tasting.
Wa
nting. Craving.
Back off, buddy. Now. While he still could.
Somehow, he did. He feathered his lips up her cheeks and kissed her lightly fanned lashes.
She sighed.
"Better?"
"Hmm." Her eyes opened and he savored the sight. Her pupils were wide, lazy. Aroused. And not from those pills. From him. He captured the drying wisps of her hair that floated between them and tucked them behind her ear.
"You should probably head in first, get dressed."
She nodded.
But neither one of them moved. They both knew why. The only question was, what were they going to do about it?
Chapter 12
As Anna stood on the balcony staring up into those mesmerizing, dark blue eyes, she was sure of exactly two things in her life. One, she had no idea what to do. And two, neither did Tom. Oh, she knew he wanted her. It was in his eyes, just as it had been in his kiss. And she wanted him, too. She just wasn't sure if they should act on it. Tom had been right that night at the Iguana. They were attracted to each other. Intensely. But they both also knew they'd gone far beyond mere physical attraction. If they walked back into that room together, hand in hand, and did what they both wanted to do, there would be more on the line than their mutual covers.
This time, there would be hearts. Hers. His.
Theirs.
She'd seen the look in Tom's eyes when she'd first walked out on this balcony. She'd seen the fear and the hope sear into relief. But she'd also seen the absolute, blinding need that followed.
What if she couldn't live up to that?
It wasn't that she didn't want to. She fully intended to. She'd done it before. But while she was confident she could do it again, she wasn't naive enough not to accept the very real possibility that it might not happen. She couldn't afford to. For better or worse, there was also a lot more riding on her ability to stay clean this time than just her career. There were her feelings for Tom. No, they hadn't known each other long. It didn't matter. She was falling for this man.
She couldn't be sure of the exact moment it had happened. It could have been when she'd woken to discover Tom hadn't left her side during the night. Or it could have been the look in his eyes in the driveway of the hacienda when she'd finally remembered what she'd tried to do in Curundú. And how he'd refused to take advantage of her. It might have even happened as late as an hour ago down in that study while she watched Tom use those amazing hands and that iron will of his to bring Luis and their case back from near death. Or maybe it had been happening all along, gradually, over the past week, as she'd watched this man, who'd succeeded in convincing the world time and again that he was nothing but a thug, slowly lose his own cover, bit by carefully constructed bit…if only to her.
But would he be able to expose himself all the way?
And would she?
The moment Tom decided to risk it all, himself, she knew—because the light in his eyes flared bright. His smile followed. And right then, she knew she was ready too.
"Anna, let's go inside…together."
She nodded and this time, they both moved.
He slipped his arm around her waist once again and splayed his fingers at the small of her back as he guided her across the balcony. That simple touch as well as the simpler courtesy that followed as he stopped to open the door for her and then wait patiently for her to enter, warmed her more than all the flowers in the world could have. She wasn't even sure why. The room was cooler as they reentered, dimmer, but the air was heavier. Ripe, humid. Expectant.
The moment he closed the door, it turned electric.
The charge magnified as he left her at the soft-blue armchair and overstuffed ottoman beside the doors. She waited as he crossed the room. Even before he stopped at the antique desk she hated and opened the drawer, she knew what he was after. If he'd found the PC Sam had rigged for her in there, he'd also found the box of condoms Luis had thoughtfully left on her bed the morning after she'd returned. She couldn't help it, she flushed as Tom returned to stand three feet away from her, condom packet in hand. Now that it was truly about to happen, she discovered her bravado had fled. It meant too much. He meant too much. Tom simply tossed the packet onto the ottoman beside her and began to loosen his tie, the smoke in his gaze assuring her he didn't care how or why that box had gotten there. He was just glad it had.
As the silence began to simmer between them, so did she. Because it was rapidly becoming apparent that Tom was also thinking about the scene she'd staged in Curundú the night before and had decided to revisit it…with a twist. This time, he was stripping for her. Slowly. In the full light of day. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to.
His smoldering gaze said it all.
It thrummed with desire, and with promise. She sucked in her breath as he silently ordered her not to move, only to stand there and watch as he carefully unbuttoned both his sleeves before loosening the knot on his tie the rest of the way. Her breath hitched as he slid the strip of cloth from his collar and he smiled—because he knew she'd felt that soft slither of silk all the way down in her belly. He dropped his tie without severing his stare and started in on the rest of the buttons on his linen shirt. By the time he'd reached the final one, she was silently begging him to allow her to drag her gaze from his just long enough to feast it on the growing expanse of muscle teasing at the corner of her vision.
He refused. Nor did he cave in to her unspoken plea and peel his shirt completely down from what she knew from that night in his hotel room were wonderfully sculpted shoulders and thick, roping arms. Instead, he dropped his hands to his waist and unhooked his belt. Her breath caught once again as she heard the metal hook give way and then his zipper. By the time he finished drawing the zipper down, her legs had begun to quiver. She didn't bother trying to disguise her anticipation as he tugged the leather strip from his waist.
Damn. To her utter disappointment, the waist of his trousers held firm, no doubt assisted by the even firmer portion of his anatomy that she could now see clearly defined beneath the dark blue fabric.
She sucked in her breath as he brought his hands to his collar. But instead of pulling the fabric down, he lingered, dragging out the moment. The anticipation. Right then, she realized why he was doing this. Yes, he was fulfilling his first promise to her. He was lighting her fuse and setting her on fire—and he wasn't even touching her. But that, too, was deliberate. Unlike those fiery moments outside the Iguana, this was to be a slow burn and she knew why. He wanted them both so hot and so ready that by the time they joined, they'd both be all but rocketing over the edge, straight into the inferno.
Because of her breast.
If she hadn't already fallen for him, she would have done it right then and there.
But he didn't even leave her time to savor the knowledge. He'd already kicked off his dress shoes and begun to peel his shirt down in earnest. She drank in the sight of those powerful shoulders as they finally came into view. And then those gloriously sculpted planes of his chest.
She couldn't help it, she stepped closer.
He shook his head and his brow lifted. Stand fast, sailor. The order had been issued as silently as his previous ones, and it was just as clear. They might have merged their respective cases, but they hadn't merged. Not yet. And until they did, he was in command. There would be no insubordination within the ranks. She opened her mouth in protest, and his hand shot up. The tip of his finger pressed into her lips. This time she dutifully complied. But that didn't stop her from nipping the tip of his finger with her teeth. Or from savoring the sharp groan that filled the air between them as he closed his eyes and worked to absorb the unexpected sensation. Warning flared as he reopened them. That was the first and only insurrection he'd allow.
She smiled.
He got even as he tucked his thumbs in at the sides of his waistband and deliberately leaned forward, just enough to obscure the better part of the show as he slowly peeled his pants down his muscular legs, shucking them,
underwear and all. She ground down on her frustration as he loitered there in that damned obscuring stance long enough to remove his right dress sock, then his left. Then and, only then, did he release her stare as he stood straight, tall and proud.
And very aroused.
La Madre dulce en el Cielo. Her breath abandoned her. Completely. All thought followed. All save one.
He was beautiful.
Quite simply, amazingly, forcefully beautiful. So perfectly formed, it hurt to look at him. Her palms began to tingle. Her body began to ache and it wasn't from the lack of any man-made chemical—it was from the pure, sweet rush of desire. She couldn't even feel the throb in her breast anymore. Within seconds, a primal, awe-inspiring need had invaded her body and taken each and every one of her senses hostage. She could hear Tom's slow, deep breaths as the air ripped through his lungs. She could smell the raw, subtle musk that covered every inch of his taut, golden flesh. She could taste the barely restrained hunger in the kiss he'd given her out on the balcony. She wanted that hunger again. Now.
And she wanted it unleashed.
But she also knew he wouldn't allow it. Not yet. He would never believe she could be ready to accept him inside her this soon. But she was. She had been ready for this moment and this man her entire life. She just hadn't realized it until right now. So she set out to convince him the only way she knew. She released the sash on her robe before he could stop her and let the silk slide swiftly down her body to puddle about her feet. She savored the needy groan that followed.
Because this one was his.
And this time, he stepped forward.
She didn't stop him. She waited, welcomed, and then she reached out to slide her trembling fingers up his chest and twine her arms about his neck as he wrapped those thick, roping arms about her waist to pull her close. She gasped as he sealed his groin to hers and then moaned as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth to claim the entire scorching recess as his. Just as it had inside the alcove beside the Iguana, her world exploded. She dove willingly into the fire that raged between them, encouraging him to stoke it with her every gasp, her every moan, her every touch.
A Dangerous Engagement Page 19