by Judy Jarvie
Yet, Dad disinherited me from the family hotel empire. Fortunately, these days Dad’s resolved his issues—enough to allow me to use his name and faked media mogul chairmanship for our mission and take pride in my work.
I shake my head. “So we’re clear, I asked you to be sent on this job because it needs special handling. I think you’re best for the assignment, and before you think all the worst things about my position with the company, my aim is to focus the channel’s efforts for best value. My presence is about accountability and I’m not squeezing operations dry. I won’t tell you I’m not the bad guy—I’ll make a point of proving it.”
Though why I care what Kate thinks bothers me almost as much as her misplaced disregard.
“And, FYI, I’m an economy class guy at heart,” I say spearing the point.
She stares me down. “Don’t think so.”
Crap. I just keep slipping in my own web of lies.
I probe her depths at this point. “You do a neat line in forcing people away, I notice. Do you realize you do that? Why are you so scared of being human?”
“Surely you can take a little horseplay?” she answers, but I see her lip twitch.
“You’re still doing it now.” I shake my head. “Yeah, Kate. You have me so worked out. Why would there really be more to me than shafting the company and you in the bargain? That guy worked you over so bad it’s worthy of a psychiatric dissertation.”
“What guy?”
“The one who made you shifty about guys.” It’s a pure cop move to sniff out the perp’s reaction. I give the pause hang time and know from the look in her eyes I’ve poked her wildcat with a very sharp stick. “We should just get this job done. Your hang-ups are your own affair.”
She glares at me as if she wants a machete to use on my limbs. “Keep your assumptions to yourself.” Her voice is so soft I almost miss it. “It’s nothing you need to know about.”
In the Traveler’s Lounge, Kate bites the edge of her lip and checks her phone. But after she’s finished, her eyes meet mine and cause strange sensations to zap through my veins. Is it lightning? Or just regret at having sounded off enough to now feel like a dick?
But she swiftly puts my sympathy vote on hold with a fast-track interrogation. “So what do you really think of your UK operation? I want an honest answer. Why are you here? I know it’s not this story. Call it gut instinct.”
Her answer triggers my auto-response but the unimpressed distaste in her eyes has me getting pissed at her smarts. Damn, but she’s got a built-in bullshit detector. “To undertake a fact-finding exercise and to report back to New York. There’s no reason to think UK operations will have to change”
“Seems a crazy way to get the full view of the company. Santorini with me? I’m not convinced. Back to your views on our chances of surviving? Mel, my editor, wants assurances. Can I give them to her?”
“Your show will do okay. The staff is welcoming.” I raise an eyebrow in challenge, ignoring that our drinks are being served. “Most want to please. Some need work, not naming individuals…” I hide behind the rim of my cup feeling smug at the slice.
Her eyes widen and there’s a glimmer of ‘gotcha’ glee behind those green eyes. “I imagine most of them just want to date you. Or earn a pay rise.”
Now isn’t the time to reveal I haven’t had a date in years. How can it be fair to hate me this much when my only mission is to serve and protect?
Her eyes drill into mine. Oh, how I’d love to have my mouth open hers. To bite down her gasp of shock. I sense she’d blow us both away, if she’d let me lean in, to bite her lip and press her back, to do her against the wall…or tied at the ankles and wrists and blindfolded, waiting for my touch…
As if reading my X-rated mind, Kate’s just taken out her lip gloss. The tube glides along her lips and I clench my jaw tightly to keep my tongue in my mouth. Shit, my semi-erection is replacing my good sense.
I handcuff the betraying thoughts. When this job’s over I need to get laid more. A week of women on a conveyor belt of recreational sex is long overdue. Brunettes who know my preferences. My favorite type—seasoned, submissive—and unopposed to active and therapeutic kink. Plus, not opposed to turning the tables on me either…
She intrudes on my thoughts with more questioning. “So how did you get the assurance of a Katsaros interview?”
“Rich Redman—we go way back. I used connections for Katsaros. I think you’ll make this story great.”
“I’m not in the habit of failing, Dan.”
“Me either. Finally we agree.”
I retreat from memories of past epic fails just as a plate smashes on the other side of the restaurant. I’m on my feet in seconds, reaching inside my jacket.
“Hell, Dan. What’s got into you?”
I’m standing. My hand on my breast pocket feeling for the gun that isn’t there. People all around us—Kate included—are staring.
The sound of a gunshot replays for the hundredth time in my head.
“It’s just a clumsy barista.”
I rub my temple and sit, trying not to care that half the lounge is staring. Or that I’m breathing fast and I can feel the heat rising over my face. Will I ever recover from past mistakes?
I’m here as the FBI’s top blackmail ring cracker and the Oia scam will be the success of my career, but I’m already screwing up, having a coffee in downtime. I feel naked without a weapon and I won’t get that back until our driver at Oia airport discreetly obliges.
“We’re a team, so you’re just gonna have to get over it and try for more professional!” I say finally, but my voice is rusty and rough.
Kate won’t meet my gaze.
Will you let her down too?
I’ve counted the cost of my best friend’s death every day since it happened.
And now I’m going to Santorini for a faultless capture of bad guys who have it coming.
The display flashes revised timings for flights, confirming boarding for Athens will begin in an hour. We won’t miss our Santorini connection. The faster we get there, the faster we’ll get this over with.
I raise the cup, then fake a smile. I’ve so much going on under the surface it’s enough to fry neurons. “Next stop, a read from the best-seller list. You in?”
“I’m impressed you can read,” she answers.
“Whateva, whateva. Sassy-assed as well as belligerent—who knew?”
As she rises from her seat I see her belly stud, visible through the gap at the edges of her shirt. I’d clocked it at fitness class. Only now she sees me watching.
Busted. Rookie error.
“Good view?” she asks softly. “Sloppy for a daddy’s boy.”
“Let’s get outta here.”
She’s a Toxic Temptress with barbed wire deflection tactics. She’s also been ‘volunteered’ for a mission no civilian should be involved with. But she’s the only one who can get us close to our target. This op sucks tits.
Thinking Kate can stay in the dark ‘til some suit gives the okay might be a mistake. When it comes to work she’s smart—she could be Kryptonite. She may spell disaster for this mission’s success.
Chapter Three
Kate
This job is going to be trickier than navigating quicksand in spiked heels. I’m scanning the row numbers for our plane seats. Dan’s back with the air stewardess detailing camera storage requirements. He’s likely causing her lust surges—if her earlier rapture was any indicator.
Why the hell would Mel think I should be cozying up to him? The freak out stunt in the lounge—is he for real? Yes. I clocked he was belly-stud staring—he watched me as if he’s ready for a hot meat meal against a wall. As if he’s been subsisting on salad in small portions.
Big newsflash—my roadside cantina’s permanently closed. Santorini is not a route to takeout temptation. No matter what Dan and Mel try.
I sigh, watching from a distance and pretending I’m not noticing that the combat trousers showcase
thighs built for sport, and the beaten-up leather jacket clinches the sex god title. Mr. Draven’s been taking dress-down lessons from some rocker stylist—my radar stalls on the sprinkling of chest hair through his unbuttoned T-shirt… I’m not a chest hair girl, but it could redefine my preference parameters.
I squash the thoughts, slip into my seat and remove my jacket. “Over here,” I say when he approaches.
“You don’t want the aisle seat?” So he thinks he can be gallant after the ego ritual with the scarlet-lipped blonde for the last ten minutes?
“Fine here. I don’t think you’d fit somehow.”
“Never know ‘til you try.” He grins. My walk right into double entendre territory dings my patience. But legs as worked-out as his are going to fit in the middle seat about as well as a nun could run a strip club.
He removes his beaten leather, then gets into his seat. Angels from the highest realms, there are muscles wearing tattoos! His tribal artwork tatts band each biceps like a sinful barcode. Tatts are my nemesis. They smack of past crazy risks I took for a well-inked man. One who made me fall so hard I’m still not quite healed.
“Let me stow your bags?” Dan offers, after I’m through trying to wrestle it beneath the seat. Our hands touch and his gaze slides over mine.
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
“You need to get out more.”
“I’m being polite, Katie.”
“Call me Katie one more time and I won’t be.”
Am I being too spitfire? There’s an inner doubts elf tapping its foot at my snark. But he brings out my hyper-sensitivities, and I auto-react.
I had a fiancé styled and wired like him back when I believed in happy endings. Before he hurt me and cheated, then took me for a fool. So my bad luck with men is still my heart’s Trojan pop-up, and these days I have inner defenses to keep intruders out.
“C’mon,” says Dan. “Let’s play nice.”
He smiles as if he’s been given the big boy’s medal for bravest of the brave conduct, just for stowing bags. His dimple is the work of the devil on a very devious day.
I flip the force field switch to high in my head. The one marked Past Mistakes No Go Zone. Dan Draven undoubtedly wouldn’t like his women with big, bad tattoos on their bodies like mine. My skin ink overshadows his completely. Safe to say he’d be shocked to hell and back.
“You okay?” Dan asks.
“Yes.” I focus on the seat in front.
Then he shakes his head. “You got a problem with me? I can talk to the flight attendant to move?”
I click the belt and force a smile, tight as a shrunken wool sweater. “Only if you just want to schmooze her again?”
His bulky form is clearly cramped, so he moves his hips to find a comfy spot and my mouth dries.
“Kate, I’m worried we’re getting off on the wrong foot. When you get to know me I’m really not that awful, I hope. Think of me as just another colleague and aim for a good working relationship.”
“We can try.”
“Want anything else stowed?” he asks. “With our gripes?” He smiles. Wow. The women must usually fall for it too—it’s a pin-up poster special.
“Damn…I forgot to get my book out,” I rise, but so does he and we bump. Arms touch and chests too near for extra-awkwardness. We jostle to escape the buzz, and he takes over book retrieval, and I find my attention drawn to a beautiful girl and her partner taking seats nearby. Despite her Helen of Troy similarities Dan doesn’t notice. He’s occupied with finding my bag, and when he hands it to me and I rummage for my paperback, I’m still waiting for him to notice Ms. McGorgeous. Yet, his attention isn’t nailed. His gaze roves on by without clocking.
I’m surprised. Seb’s actions would have been so different. He’s the reason I always had cause to check—fiancé with a wandering eye brings back a forgotten neurosis that was hell to bear. I realize I’d never admitted that to myself. Seb was a player but I plastered the cracks. But I had tailed all the signs like a stalker.
Hurtful in too many ways. God, I’d forgotten that.
Dan restores the bag, and the view of his crotch in his combats is too close. “Here’s a magazine too,” Dan thrusts the inflight tourism thumb-through at me.
“Thanks.” But flicking through proves the mistake of my day. When I open the pages, I’m hit with the one thing I’ve kept firmly distant.
Bride Special—Honeymoon Paradise Fairy Tale Perfection.
I grind the urge to cry tightly. They’re not sad tears, they’re fueled by anger, and I find that particularly tricky to rein in. How dare they betray me.
I use my finger to blot the moisture in my eyes that’s come without a visa. I’m so over Seb it’s laughable. But the woman in the double page spread wears a dress uncannily like the one I sold at a bargain on eBay—the one I never had a single photo in, despite the photographer being booked a year ahead. She’s posed against a backdrop of the exact kind I’d dreamed about having before the bastard left me with only bills.
Even though I hate Seb and am so happy I didn’t pursue the marriage from hell, I’ve been hijacked into staring at my unfulfilled dream. These tears aren’t over the tragic Greek wedding disaster—they’re because I’m not over losing Slash, the guy I really wanted.
“Katie? You okay?” Dan says softly. Shit, now he thinks I’m loopy. “Here.” He hands me a handkerchief. A proper silk one. He may be dressed down, but his tycoon class still shows in the soft, black silk. I try to ensure my eye make-up isn’t Kiss Convention face wreck.
His fingers slide to take my hand to squeeze. I breathe deeper. Then he nods and ‘shhhs’ me. “Whatever it is—you’re going to be okay.”
Why do I only now discover I have a thing for New Yorkers with gravel tones?
“Hey, we’ll nail this. Don’t sweat it,” he adds.
There’s a ping, and the stewardess is with us in a moment, responding to Dan’s smile more than any alarm caller button summons. I’m embarrassed at my crying face in the presence of Barbie made real.
“May we have some brandy? My friend has travel nerves.”
“Certainly,” the flight attendant agrees. “Sir—your camera is stowed—please let me assist when you disembark.” She’s glowing with the estrogen rush. But he still has my hand.
Dan lets my fingers go, then flicks his attention to the book he bought. The title reads Dark Engagement. I sense I’ve strained our embryonic working relationship way past its flex limits.
I’ve noted glances at Dan from passengers and staff. They’ve labelled Dan handsome cargo. To underline it a woman in the aisle throws him a smile he ignores. The stewardess bears my brandy. I sip—and I do relax.
Dan leans his head to the side. “Fear of flying?”
I go for broke—since he thinks I’m nutso anyway. “Santorini aversion. Honeymoon destination that nose-dived.” His gaze comes back to meet mine and our faces are close. “He jilted me at the crucial moment. Not at the church, but just before I was due to leave. So yes—he did a number. Apologies the pity party landed without clearance.” I’m left feeling somewhat tired by the outburst.
“Katie, sorry. I’d no idea. You’re permitted emotions—sounds like a big deal to me.”
“It’s okay. Saved me marrying a jerk. I’m pretty pissed off at getting it off my chest now, of all times.”
His kindness doesn’t help. I feel panic climb inside my lungs. Hyperventilating is not a good move. I’d die of self-induced suffocation before I’d permit a panic attack, so I regulate breath by breath. When I regain equilibrium, there is Dan watching sagely.
“For me Santorini’s the honeymoon I paid for but never went on. Nobody at work knows this—except, now, you. He used to call me Katie. It’s why I hate it.”
His large warm fingers thread through mine again. Startling me. “I’m sorry. If you don’t mind me saying, your fiancé was a low jerk.”
“Rat bastard mini-prick.” I do a good act, but the sympat
hetic look in his eyes slices inside like a paper cut to my heart. “And lately, a guy I thought was the one proved he wasn’t either.”
“Want me to field a replacement for the job? Couple of calls…” He offers. I’m touched. We’re sitting on the flight—he’s way more considerate than Mel would be.
“Dan—I’m here at Mel’s behest to vouch we’ve earned our place. To argue we don’t need cuts. She’d go nuts.”
He nods. “Does Mel appreciate what she’s asked you to endure?” He stares at me so hard I find myself wondering where this nice, caring, considerate side of him hides as a day job. I never condone weakness, but in the gourmet kitchen of soothing reassurance his approach is better than double helpings of choc fondant
“You act tough but you’ve a melting center.”
“You act tough as a shield yourself, Kate Joseph.”
“You’re more right than you know,” I answer.
“Keep the faith. You’ll find a guy who’ll make dickwad a distant memory.”
I feign Dan’s accent. “Maybe I attract dickwads?”
“Is that why you figured I was one back in the lounge?”
I bite my lip. “That touchy?”
He stares hard. “Kinda.” He takes in a deep breath. “I’ve had my share of problems. I can tell when things go deep.” He’s stiffened. I sense there’s a chilled elephant on the plane. And I’ve no idea why. “Maybe I’m not the bastard you think I am?”
And why does that cause a quiver deep in my womb that makes my clitoris twitch to say yes please? Hell almighty. Reminder to self—this man is barred. Dangerous Dan. Boss pedigree means big no-no.
“Maybe we’ve both judged one another without due credit.”
Dan says, softly. “Things can always be worse. It takes someone who’s been there to know.” His jaw flexes and he turns back to his book.
I still don’t speak. I glance at him. I wonder what tough breaks he’s faced? So I put the tears behind me. He could have been a stuffed shirt jerk—instead he’s deactivated the situation.