A Dangerous Engagement

by Candace Irvin

  And stoke it, he did.

  Tom deepened their kiss even as he stroked his fingers over every inch of her flesh, caressing her back, her waist, her belly and her thighs. When he finished exploring with his hands, he followed with his lips, tearing his mouth from hers to nip and caress a path over the curve of her jaw and down her throat. He stopped to bite the hollow at the base and encourage her unexpected growl with a darker, deeper growl of his own before he continued on to her left breast.

  There he stopped to lavish the brunt of his hungry, greedy attention on that single aching nipple and globe, leaving her no doubt in her heart and in her soul that he would make good on his unspoken vow to return someday soon and consume the other. Just when she was about to beg him to travel there now, he razed his mouth straight down her belly. Her legs buckled as he stopped to nip the inner curve of her waist. He responded immediately by gripping his palms to the cheeks of her hind end. She was grateful for the support. A moment later, she nearly collapsed altogether as his lips reached the apex of her thighs. His tongue had followed.

  She had no idea how long he held her there, imprisoning her in his arms as he sought out the most intimate recesses of her body, probing, stoking, tasting. Consuming. All she knew was that soon she was begging for not his mouth, but for him. If he didn't join her now, it would be too late. Just when she was sure he wouldn't give in, that she was going to come right then and there, he shifted suddenly, rising to seat himself on the ottoman as he donned the condom. He tugged her close and pulled her down on top of him without missing a beat. A split second later, she was missing her air—and so was he. He'd impaled her.

  She gasped sharply as she stiffened, instinctively drawing her face to the ceiling as she slammed her eyelids down to absorb the intense punch of passion. But before she could draw her next breath, he'd dug his fingers deep into her hair and hauled her head all the way back down until he'd sealed her damp forehead to his.

  "Look at me."

  She obeyed the stark need in his order without question, forcing her eyes open until she was staring directly into his. He captured her gaze as he had earlier and refused to let go. She knew then, that would be the only time he would speak. He would waste no more of his rigidly committed energy on words. He wanted to see, to feel, to touch and to watch. To share. He stared deeper into her eyes as he drove up into her sheath, each successive thrust of his hips more powerful than the last. She'd never had a man watch her so intently before, much less during an intimate moment like this. He wasn't just staring at her, he was stalking her, learning her, judging her growing passion, waiting for the precise moment when he could claim her completely.

  But the concentrated exertion wasn't easy on him. She could feel him clawing at the very edges of his restraint. Soon he was desperate to hold on. It was in the dark, erotic hunger in his eyes. In the harsh, ragged breaths that battered into her. In the rigid arms locked about her hips in a vain attempt to keep her bruised breast from smashing into his slick, heaving chest. She tried to tell him it didn't matter, that she felt nothing but the driving, irresistible urge to throw back her head and scream, but she couldn't speak.

  A split second later, she watched her fiery release in his eyes as she convulsed around him and then, she was watching his. It wasn't until he'd gathered her still-quivering body close in the aftermath to smooth her hair from her face and kiss her as gently as he had out on the balcony, that she realized she'd seen more in this man's eyes besides raging passion and an explosive release that had rocked them to their cores.

  She'd also seen love.

  * * *

  Tom sighed as he held Anna in his arms, running his hands along her back as he savored the soft floral scent floating up from her hair. The throes of their release had long since passed for both of them, but her face was still buried in his neck. They should probably move. At the very least, he should separate himself from their intimate joining so he could dispose of the condom. Unfortunately, he couldn't encourage Anna to leave his arms any more than she seemed eager to go. Even if she couldn't quite look at him.

  He'd scared her.

  He figured it was only fitting. After all, she'd just scared the bejesus out of him. Still, he shouldn't have come on so strong. Demanded so much. She'd been off the pills for less than fourteen hours. That ought to have earned her a brief respite. But once he'd committed to trying and she'd agreed, he'd had to give it his all. And he expected no less from her.

  She'd given it. But she wasn't ready.

  And now that their passion was spent, he had to admit, the doubts were settling into his gut as well.

  Gayle.

  Anna hadn't asked about her. He wasn't sure why. If Juju told her about his mother, his friend had to have also mentioned his former lover. If he wasn't such a coward, he'd have brought Gayle up himself. But five years later, he still wasn't willing to face his part in what had happened. Hell, he hadn't even been able to sleep in the same bed with Gayle again, much less make love to her, after he'd come back from an operation and discovered how she really spent her days when he was gone. Binge drinking. His stomach still burned at the memory of all those empty bottles. Gin, beer, Scotch—as far as he could tell from the mess, she hadn't had a preference like his mother. Just so long as it contained enough alcohol to numb her brain and loosen her tongue. And he still wondered if she'd left the evidence strung about on purpose.

  Given her parting shot, probably.

  Maybe that was his fault too.

  Well, this time it was going to be different. Dammit, it was. Not only hadn't Anna reentered that deadly hamster's wheel willingly, she had already managed to crawl off. She'd quit. Despite the pain in her breast, she was clean today. And she'd succeeded in staying clean before. Most important of all, she understood his fears. Instead of ridiculing them, she'd accepted them. Hell, she'd even given him permission to follow up on them. Neither his mother nor Gayle had ever done that—

  Enough! What the hell was he doing? The past was done. He had to put it behind him and move on. He had to be here for Anna. Their case. If he didn't get that solved soon and get her the hell out of this house, he could kiss any chance at them goodbye. He was about to lift her chin, when she stirred. His thoughts fogged as she met his gaze for the first time since he'd watched the last of her protective facade shatter in his arms, just before he'd shattered, too. Until he saw the fear still lingering in her eyes.

  She was truly scared.

  It amazed him that he could see it, see her, as clearly as he could. A week ago he'd seen nothing but black and white when he looked into these eyes, with just the barest hint of shadows. Now, he could see it all. The myriad of emotions that washed through her staggered him with their intensity, complexity and depth. He wanted to know every one of those emotions, every thought behind them. But she wasn't ready. Truth be told, he wasn't ready either. They both needed time to work this through.

  He caught the concealing wisps of hair that had slipped forward and smoothed them from her face. "Hey, it's okay. I don't think this is meant to be easy. Not for us." She smiled softly, gratefully, and his heart swelled.

  "So what do we do, Wild Man?"

  He smiled back. "How about we just take it one step at a time?" When her expression turned pensive, he realized what he'd just said. Twelve steps for the recovering addict.

  Dumb, buddy. Dumb.

  Or maybe not. Because she didn't seem hurt. Not really. More…resigned. "You sure you want to walk them with me?"

  "Damned straight, I do." He couldn't help it, she was so damned beautiful, so damned hopeful, he slid his fingers deep into her hair and pulled her down to meet his kiss, as well as his rapidly rekindling passion. She returned it for ten glorious seconds, but then she stiffened.

  Pulled back.

  Christ, her breast. "Are you—"

  "—safe."

  Safe?

  The condom? Damn. "You're right. I'm still wearing the old one. I should change it." When she flushed, he rea
lized she wasn't referring to sex or his body's now vigilantly renewed interest in hers. "You're referring to the safe? As in, the one downstairs in your cousin's study."

  Her blush deepened as she nodded.

  He couldn't help it, he laughed. "It's okay, honey. I'm not insulted. At least one of us has their mind on getting us out of this mess." He pulled her in and kissed her hard, then lifted her from his lap, severing their intimate connection before he could change his mind. The mind located in his brain. The other mind was still arguing as he settled her on the ottoman in his place and turned to grab her robe and drape it around those incredibly distracting curves. That done, he grabbed his pants and headed for the bathroom to dispose of the condom. By the time he'd donned his pants and returned, she'd moved to the chair in front of her desk.

  "You think you've got something?"

  She pushed her hair from her face as she sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. It's the bill of lading for Luis's insulin. I guess it's bugging me now that I know he's running arms for China."

  He still didn't understand what she was getting at. If the guy had forged new connections in China, it wasn't a stretch that he'd turn his legit business there, too. Unless…"You think it could be forged? A cover to wash the munitions?"

  "I don't know. Possibly. It didn't even hit me until you were kissing me just then, but the receiving date on that manifest was the day before yesterday. I didn't see any Chinese labels on the insulin in his safe. Did you?"

  No, he hadn't. She just might be on to something. "The statues Luis freaked over came in the day before yesterday."

  She nodded. "The manifest could be cover. Thanks to Foster I don't have a lot of connections left, but I still have a few. If I can get someone on the inside to track down the medical supply company that supposedly sold Luis the insulin, who knows? It just might lead us to the rifles."

  A fresh batch of adrenaline surged through his veins. Like the last wave, it was due to her—but also their case.

  Anna was right. She was also brilliant. The Chinese government was notorious for using civilian companies to cover military interests and shipments. Case in point, the two Hong Kong shipping container ports flanking both ends of the blessed Canal. He pulled the desk drawer open and retrieved the miniature PC.

  "Do it."

  Hell, maybe while she was at it, she'd have a message waiting for her from that NCIS moron as well. Though he doubted it. He had a feeling he was going to have to show up at Foster's door and pull any real knowledge the man possessed regarding this case out of the bastard's head personally. He headed for the ottoman and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on as he headed back to the desk and Anna. By the time he'd finished buttoning his sleeves, the PC was open, comm link already fired up—and it appeared to be connected to an instant messaging application, though the IM window appeared to be idle. She frowned at the screen. "There's nothing from Foster. Just another lecture from Sam."

  He smoothed her hair out of the way as he leaned over her shoulder. "Mind?" She shook her head as she tapped open an e-mail from Sam titled, Where the @#$! are you? Yup, he definitely liked this Sam. He grinned and began reading. Five short, terse sentences later shock smacked the smile right off his face. Anna stiffened along with him, the fallout still exploding within him all over her face as she turned.

  "Oh, my God."

  He stabbed the LED screen. "Who's this Meg? Another Sister?"

  Anna nodded. "She's Marine Corps."

  "Can you trust her source—this Bud?"

  "If not, we're in big trouble. That's why I didn't want Sam to contact Meg. I knew she'd get Bud involved. Bud is Meg's father. You'll know him as General Robert 'Budweiser' Gallagher, the current Commandant of the Marine Corps."

  They turned back to the screen simultaneously, automatically double-checking the succinct note. The words hadn't faded. Neither had the punch behind them.

  Anna,

  Please don't get mad. Leaving for Moscow now. Was worried. Called Meg. Bud says there's no Agent Foster in NCIS. Foster got out six years back. He's with the Company now. Watch your back and call Meg if you need help or strength! With you always,

  Sam

  According to the Commandant of the Marine Corps, Mike Foster had left the Navy's cop shop for the esteemed Central Intelligence Agency. Tom hadn't needed to interface with "Bud" on a private op or two over the past few years to know General Gallagher's information was never wrong. Anna, however, was. At least this time. They weren't in trouble. Foster was. Because Bud had also thoughtfully provided Mike Foster's current cover identity as well as the bastard's address.

  Right here in Panama City.

  Chapter 13

  Tom stalked into the main entrance of the granite-and-glass, thirty-story high-rise with his brand-new, battered, duct-taped guitar case in hand. He hung a left in the music hall of a foyer, directly in front of the rainbow mosaic that proclaimed the free exchange of information as mankind's common liberator, and kept moving down the freshly waxed corridor. Not a single soul he passed, Panamanian or expatriate-American-cum-spy, stopped him.

  Must have been the look on his face.

  That or the video feed from the half-dozen security cameras lining the block leading up to the building had already been piped through to Foster's office. Scratch that, the office of Marvin Shefton, editor in chief of The Voice of Panama, Panama City's only source of English-speaking news. Or so the rag's masthead claimed. Tom shoved the double glass doors at the end of the corridor open and entered the newspaper's formal waiting area. He stopped at the front desk and stared down at the emaciated blonde doing her best to pull off the regal chill that came to Anna naturally.

  "I need to see Marvin."

  "I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Shefton is in a meeting—"

  "Fine." Tom hiked the battered case to his shoulder and hung another left, this one taking him straight into the conference room beyond. Six reporters vaulted to their feet as he slammed through this door.

  "Hey, you can't—"

  "Just who the hell do you—"

  He cut them both off. "Which one of you bozos is—" He cut himself off next as the suit at the end turned around, cellular phone still welded to his right ear. On a foggy day at sea "Marvin" could have been Tom's double. Well, minus a clean shave, roughly two inches of extra height, dark brown hair buzzed Marine-Corps short, and a killer set of birth-control glasses hooked to his late-thirties, twice-broken nose. At least they were wearing matching navy-blue suits. Marvin also had the dubious honor of matching Anna's description of the former NCIS Agent Foster to a tee.

  Tom grinned, cheerily bridging his five-second vocal delay as well as the attention of the half-dozen "reporters" still gaping up at him. "Marvin! Good to see you, old buddy." He hooked the chair at the far end of the conference table with his right dress shoe and dragged it closer. He sat. "Got a breaking story for you, Marvin. Fascinating stuff. Real headliner material. You interested?"

  The man's silver stare narrowed as he severed his call and dumped the cell phone on the conference table. "Sure thing…Tom."

  So the jerk had known who he was all along despite what he'd told Anna. "Outstanding. You got somewhere you'd rather talk? Someplace a bit more private?" He shrugged. "Not that it matters to me who hears my tale—"

  "Leave."

  The room cleared in five seconds, and that included the light-speed whizzing as the miniblinds screamed down over the bank of windows behind him, effectively blocking the room from view. That just left the hidden cameras and bugs, the latter of which this jerk had already proved himself inept at planting. Twice. Unfortunately for Foster, the memory of the sight of that second fiasco still burned—in him.

  "Now…Tom, about this breaking story? It concerns…?"

  He gave his grin deadly rein. "Your head."

  "And why would you be interested in my head, Major Wild?"

  Tom shrugged. "Hell, I don't know. I guess I'm not much one for music. Truth is, I kind of stink at it. Figured I might take
up basketball, instead. But I need a ball."

  The man's brows shot up, clearing his black-rimmed glasses completely as he frowned. "And here I thought you said you had hardcore news for me. Headliner stuff. Not a tidbit for the sport's page."

  "Oh, I got that too, ol' buddy. In fact, I got the whole blessed who, what, when, where, why and how."

  "Really?"

  "Yup." Tom stood. He planted his fists at the edge of the conference table, just shy of the battered case he'd purchased in a pawnshop five blocks down from the Iguana half an hour earlier. Two hours after Anna had finished dressing and then followed him in his jeep off the hacienda grounds in her Blazer. A quick stop to exchange the hidden goods, and she was on her way to the hospital for her obligatory Florence Nightingale act and he was off to check in with SOCOM and let the uniformed powers that be know that the rules, the assignment of pieces and, hell, even the bloody game board had changed on all of them. If he was lucky, Anna would be back from the hospital and in his hotel room when he finished here.

  "I'm waiting, Major. And I'm a busy man."

  "I'll bet you are, Marvin. I'll bet you are."

  "Shall we get started then? I believe you said you had all five W's as well as the H. I confess I'm intrigued to see if your interpretation of the facts matches up with my own. I'll go first. The who must be Anna Shale."

  "Wrong. You are."

  From the tic that lit up at the lower left side of the man's jaw, he'd scored a surprise. Good. There'd be more.

  "And the what?"

  Tom straightened, purging all pretense of humor as he got down to why he was really here. "Well, now, that's kind of tied to the when, where, why and how."

  "Meaning?"