Battle with the SEAL

by Leslie North

  With a growl, Loki charged forward and locked his arms around her waist, using his superior size and bulk to take her down to the mat. M anticipated his move, however, and rolled with him, managing to lock her legs around his waist while squeezing her arms around his chest, constricting his air supply. In turn, he wrapped his hands around her neck, his grip firm and his thumbs pressing upward into the bottom of her jaw, forcing her head back and making it harder for her to breathe. They waited. Sooner or later, one of them would pass out from asphyxiation.

  “Let go,” Loki bit out.

  “You first.” M gritted her teeth and forced herself to inhale slowly through her nose despite the fact that her vision was beginning to tunnel and panic rose inside her. Stay calm, stay focused, stay in control. Years of training allowed her to overcome her body’s natural instincts to flail and fight for life. Instead, she narrowed her gaze on him and took pride in the fact that his handsome face was turning purple from lack of oxygen. Stubborn ass. All he had to do was surrender and she’d release him.

  “Don’t. Understand,” he managed to pant out. “Catch. Martin.”

  M’s thighs trembled around Loki’s sides as she battled to stay conscious. If she didn’t get air soon, she’d pass out. No way around it. Loki didn’t look much better. His grip on her neck loosened and in a last-ditch effort to save herself, she used her last ounce of energy to roll sideways, away from him. The move caused her to lose her hold around Loki’s ribcage and he collapsed on the mat beside her, heaving in breaths while she coughed and sputtered. Jesus. They’d both nearly died because they’d wanted to win. That had to mean something, yeah?

  Maybe she’d finally met her match, professionally anyway.

  After a few minutes and many gulps of oxygen later, Loki finally rolled his head to the side to look at her. His face was back to normal now—tanned and far too chiseled and perfect for his own good. His voice, though, emerged huskier than normal from all the choking and hacking. It made her think of dark nights in warm satin sheets and whispers of passion and promise. Her core clenched with want despite her wishes to the contrary.

  “That move Martin tried to pull on me. It’s called Kubi Kudaki. Wrist Neck. And there’s only a few practitioners who still teach it in this area. Since the Marcogonoff family lived in Arlington, Virginia when Todd was growing up, I’d suspect he learned it around here somewhere. We can use that to try and track him down.”

  M swallowed hard, wincing at the soreness in her throat now. “Sounds like a long shot to me. The guy travels the world these days, touring for his music. I doubt he’ll stick around here. Hell, he’s probably on a private jet to California by now.”

  “Fine.” Loki pushed himself up on one elbow to lean over her, frowning. “I’m sorry about your neck. Such lovely soft skin. I hope my roughness won’t leave a mark.” The fact he was tracing a gentle finger over her flesh while he said it made her breathless again for completely different reasons. His gravelly tone dropped another octave, making the empty gym seem as intimate as any bedroom. “Do you have a better idea for how we should spend our time?”

  For a brief second, M considered just giving in to all the want inside her and making love to him right here on the gym mat, regardless of who might walk in and catch them. If the heat flaring in his eyes was any indication, he would be fully on board with that. But the other part of M, the driven one hell-bent on winning at all costs, urged her to knee him in the groin while he was so close and vulnerable, then go searching for new leads on Todd Martin’s whereabouts herself because she was so desperate to win this game.

  In the end, she compromised. Quick as lightning, M shifted, taking charge of their position and rolling Loki over onto his back while she straddled his hips with her thighs. Grinning at his astonished expression, she bent until her lips hovered just millimeters above his and whispered, “I think we should spend our time catching the bad guy, so we can indulge in more…” She pressed her lower half tighter against him, deliberately rubbing against what she could feel was his rapidly growing erection. Feminine pride swelled inside before she shoved it aside. This had to be about work right now. Anything else would have to wait. Still, M wasn’t above a bit of cockteasing. She ground against him once more and savored his sharp inhale. “…interesting pursuits.”

  Loki stared up at her, dots of crimson lining his high, tanned cheekbones, his pupils blown wide with lust and need. He opened his mouth as if to protest, and damn if she wouldn’t have caved like a wet paper bag if he’d asked her to fuck him just then. But no. His phone buzzed and threw an icy blast over their proceedings.

  With a curse, Loki sat up and fished his phone out from the pocket of the black sweats he wore. M moved off his lap and grabbed her towel, glad for the much-needed kick of common sense. Until they solved this case and nailed Martin to the wall for his crimes, she couldn’t afford to lose focus. Her promotion, her career, the entire life she’d built for herself depended on it. She couldn’t risk all that up for a man, no matter how intriguing and gorgeous.

  She wiped away her sweat while Loki paced to the far side of the gym, his voice a low murmur in the otherwise silent space. It was going on six a.m. now. Other patrons would be coming in soon to get a workout before they headed off to their jobs. She and Loki weren’t doing anything wrong by being here, but she didn’t really want to draw attention to the fact they were together either, at least as work partners.

  M pushed to her feet then gathered her things, preparing to head back up to her apartment, when Loki ended his call and walked over to her.

  “That was Cam. After Martin got away after the Charity Ball earlier, I had him do some research for me. Turns out Martin has been visiting an old family friend while he’s in town. A Natasha Simcova.”

  “Simcova?” M frowned. “That name sounds familiar. Why?”

  Loki shrugged and picked up his towel then headed for the door with M beside him. “Not sure. According to Cam, she runs a high-end escort service out of a local hotel. Maybe you’ve encountered clients of hers on other jobs?”

  “Maybe.” M hit the lights in the gym on her way out. “So, it looks like we’ve got plans for our evening then?”

  “Looks that way.” Loki gave her a sly wink and M did her best to ignore the heavy innuendo in that gravelly tone of his.

  7

  The amount of intel Cam was able to come up with on Natasha Simcova was impressive, but not surprising. Turned out running an escort service which catered to Washington, D.C’s elite was both lucrative and fairly well publicized, despite its illegal nature.

  Loki and M had spent the afternoon going over mountains of data on Empyrean Consultants, Inc. and its owner. Records showed Natasha Simcova had legally immigrated from Kazakhstan in 1995 at the age of eighteen. She’d worked as a waitress in New York for several years before moving to Washington, D.C. in 2002. From there, she’d had a string of odd jobs—everything from maid to mechanic—before finally starting her escort business in 2013.

  “Maybe this is where you remember her from,” Loki said, turning around his laptop screen to show a photo of Simcova in a red wig with her hand over her face to shield it from the flash of camera lights. “Her affair with Congressman Lewis. Made headlines all over D.C. for months.”

  “Probably.” M scrunched her nose, her expression disgusted. “That man was old enough to be her grandfather.”

  “And richer than God.” Loki turned his tablet back around and scrolled through yet another screen of files linked to Simcova and her escort service. A photo popped up in his stream, this one taken just a few months prior, with Simcova dining at a posh local restaurant with a table full of foreign dignitaries. Talk about building bridges across cultures. Apparently, the UN wasn’t the only way to “make contact” with other countries.

  Loki sighed and enlarged the photo of Simcova. She wasn’t bad looking at all. Early forties now, she was well-preserved, her face unlined and her bone structure delicate and chiseled in that Easter
n European way of the top super models. Natasha Simcova, however, was a bit too curvy, a bit too short, a bit too rough around the edges to be truly photogenic. There was a sadness about her, a brittle hardness that warned she’d shatter if handled too roughly. Still, Loki was pretty damned sure the woman could bust balls with the best of them.

  And if she’d been compatriots of the Marcogonoffs and the KGB, then she was just as dangerous as they were. Just as secretive and suspicious too. One didn’t get to be the top supplier of escorts in a town that prided itself on its discretion and righteous superiority without being able to keep silent. They wouldn’t let Loki and M just show up to one of their meet and greet parties without a viable reason. Cam had texted that there just happened to be a party tonight, at Simcova’s private townhouse in D.C. Now all they needed was the cover.

  “Any ideas how we can get in?” he asked, glancing up at M from over the top of his tablet screen. “We don’t want Simcova on to us.”

  M blinked at him. “I’ve got an idea. But I don’t think you’ll like it.”

  “What is it?”

  “We pretend to be a French couple, in town for only a few nights on business. And we want a threesome.”

  Loki considered the idea. It wasn’t bad. “How will that give us a chance to talk to Simcova though?”

  “She’ll be the third party in our little ménage á trois,” M said, smiling. “We get her alone, then we confront her.”

  “Right.” Loki sat back and crossed his arms, doing his best not to focus on the images now crowding his mind of M and Natasha together, doing all sorts of naughty things to each other and to him. His cock gave an appreciative twitch, and he scowled. “Are we sure she’s got intel on Martin and his parents?”

  “Hell yeah.” M turned her computer to face him. “According to the files I found, she linked up with them before she ever left Kazakhstan. And the KGB ties were strong in her family too. She had an uncle and a brother in with the organization. I’d say if anyone knows what Martin’s been up to while he’s been in town, it’s Simcova.”

  Now, four hours later, Loki stood in front of the full-length mirror in M’s apartment again, this time adjusting his black suit jacket over his jeans and T-shirt. He wasn’t sure what one wore to visit a modern-day brothel, never having need of one himself. He’d never had a problem getting women into his bed. Getting them out was another matter entirely. Maybe someday he’d find a woman he wanted to stay with him forever—a woman who challenged him mentally, physically, and sexually—but until then, he was content with short-term flings and no strings attached.

  “Ready?” M asked, coming around the privacy screen where she’d been changing and causing his breath to lodge in his chest.

  She looked… Well, she looked very, uh…

  “Wow,” was the most he found himself able to say. He’d thought M had looked spectacular in that red evening dress the night before, but now she looked downright incredible. Long slim legs encased in fitted black pants. A tailored black jacket that hugged her curves in all the right places on top, sans shirt underneath, revealing a tantalizing V of creamy flesh on her torso. Black stiletto heels on her feet. He’d never really been a foot man before, but Jesus. If those shoes didn’t scream Fuck Me Now, he didn’t know what did.

  She brushed past him, her short black hair artfully disheveled and her makeup minimal—just mascara, a hint of blush, and ruby red, infinitely kissable lips. Her scent—cinnamon, roses, and warm, clean woman—enveloped him in a cloud of lust and Loki knew then that he was in more trouble than ever. This was supposed to be about the mission. Supposed to be about saving his company and moving forward into his future.

  Except right now, all he could think about was the beautiful woman by his side and what he wouldn’t give to have her, all of her, even for just one night. Summoning every ounce of fortitude he possessed, Loki gave a curt nod and headed for the door. He’d talk to Simcova, get the new leads they needed to go after Todd Martin, then he’d come back here and take care of business in the shower. Alone. “Ready.”

  If M noticed his heightened state of arousal, she gave no indication. In fact, she barely gave him the time of day at all as they drove from her apartment in Arlington across the Potomac River, and into the chic urban neighborhood of Friendship Heights. The irony of the name wasn’t lost on Loki. Simcova and her cohorts got way more than friendly with their clients, that was for sure.

  He pulled the SUV up outside of a modern glass and steel building on Military Road and got out, handing his keys to the valet before walking around to help M from the vehicle. Her hand felt small and delicate in his and for the first time, he felt a surge of protectiveness toward her. Yes, she could fight better than most men he knew, and she was smart as a whip. But there seemed to be a lingering sadness about her ever since they’d started discussing Simcova and he couldn’t figure out why. He was determined to get the answer though, before all this was over.

  They stopped at a security desk inside the pristine marble lobby and gave their names. Cam was supposed to have set up their invitations to Simcova’s soiree tonight.

  “Use the elevators over there, Mr. Smith,” the guard said, pointing to the right without looking at Loki. “Fifth floor, third door on the left.”

  He ran through the directions as though he spoke them many times a day. Given the amount of business Simcova’s Empyrean Consultants did a week, Loki wasn’t surprised.

  Loki thanked the guy then led M over to a set of golden doors and pressed the button. He cast her a sideways grin. “All set, Mrs. Smith?”

  “Always, Mr. Smith,” she said, smiling back, though he could still see a hint of tension and uncertainty around her mouth and eyes. “Always.”

  The elevator dinged and they stepped onboard. Once Loki had pushed the fifth-floor button and they jerked upwards, he turned to M again. “We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”

  “Yes, we do. We need to find Martin. This is the best way to do it.”

  “No, I mean the whole threesome cover.” He sighed. “If you don’t—”

  The elevator dinged again and the doors opened, ending their discussion.

  “It’s fine.” M walked out first, shoulders back and head held high, the picture of confidence and strength. If Loki hadn’t glimpsed the vulnerability beneath, he might’ve been fooled too. Still, she was right. This was their best shot at getting a lead on Martin’s new whereabouts. M looked back at him over her shoulder, her expression annoyed. “C’mon, cowboy. Don’t tell me you’re chickening out on me now.”

  Loki exhaled slowly, then followed her down the hall to the third door on the left then knocked. “Here we go.”

  A young woman in her twenties, Asian with long sleek black hair and short red fingernails, answered the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith?”

  “Yes,” M said. “We have an appointment with Natasha.”

  “This way, please.” The woman gestured them inside and Loki got his first glimpse inside D.C.s most notorious brothel. And it was nothing like he imagined. No tacky velvet sofas or erotic art decorating the walls. Nope. This place looked like it could’ve come straight out of Architectural Digest. It was bright and airy with large windows gracing two walls and had a welcoming feel with all the warm hardwood floors and stainless-steel. The furniture in the open concept living room was tastefully beige and contemporary and a large granite breakfast bar spanned nearly the length of the room on one side, leading into a well-appointed chef’s kitchen.

  “Ah, you must be my new clients,” a husky voice said from down a hall leading off from the kitchen. The words held a hint of Slavic accent. Natasha soon appeared in the kitchen, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor. She stopped at the opposite end of the breakfast bar and gave Loki and M a slow appraising look. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I do not get very many married couples these days.”

  She looked much the same as she did in her pictures, but perhaps even more brittle in real life, or at least she did in L
oki’s estimation. Could’ve been the fact that even with the curves, she appeared fragile. And she was shorter than he’d expected too, maybe only five-one or two. Her presence though seemed to fill the entire townhouse, filling the air with a buzz of anticipation.

  “Come, sit.” She waved a hand toward the living room. “We must get to know each other first.”

  They all took a seat, Loki and M on one sofa, Natasha across from them. M was oddly quiet now, but Loki didn’t have time to worry about that. He turned on the charm, hoping to schmooze Natasha into telling them what they needed to know. “Thanks so much for seeing us on such short notice.”

  “Hmm.” Natasha narrowed her gaze. “Your assistant said you were in town on business. You are from France, Mr. Smith?”

  “Oh.” He gave her what he hoped was a self-deprecating grin. “My wife here is. I’m from Texas originally. We met when I went to Paris to open the European headquarters of my international finance firm.” Loki leaned back into the cushions, grateful for the time he’d spent going over his cover with Cam. Made things flow much easier that way. He even slipped an arm around M’s shoulders and tucked her into his side for effect, despite her stiff posture.

  “Yes,” Natasha said as she stared at M. “Do I know you, Mrs. Smith? You seem very familiar to me, as if we’ve met before.”

  M shook her head, still silent.

  Loki’s hackles rose a bit more, but he had to keep it together. They still needed to question Simcova about Todd Martin and they couldn’t do it here with the Asian woman lurking about. He wanted total privacy for his interrogation, in case Natasha decided to bust out some of her KGB-trained moves on them. Besides, he hoped that once they got behind closed doors, M would perk up again and start acting like her normal self.