Spying With Sir

by Judy Jarvie

  It’s heightened even further when a strong, commanding finger claims my clit and takes no prisoners. He flicks me hard and fast, and ceaselessly presses that spot of flame until I’m molten and coming joyously with unabashed moans of full rapture.

  “Fuck, Dan.”

  “You got it!”

  I’d laugh if this wasn’t the biggest, most life-shifting, fate-altering, world-on-its-axis orgasm of my entire life. I had great, wild sex with Slash. But I never experienced this utter, forceful possession. The other was play time with props—this is hungry, dark man’s fulfilment.

  He’s staking his own climax and nailing it, and I’m limp and spent and taking all he has. Wanting what he can give. Wanting to give this guy the pleasure he’s surged through me so ably and relentlessly. Just wow.

  My privates are liquid honey, and internally my body’s temp spiked, then mellowed to seduced nirvana. I can smell Dan’s musky male scent everywhere. Like a keeper signature scent.

  “You’re bad for me,” I whisper-slash-whimper. “But so good.”

  “You think this is something I can help?” His eyes plead harder than the words. He touches my forehand so gently it’s a featherlike caress. You’re bad for my resistance, Katie. If this was a police course I’d be failing and sent back to college. I vowed not to go here with you—let’s just say I’ve been avoiding personals since losing close buddies in the last couple of years.”

  I turn and he’s holding me in his arms, and it’s good because I may well slither into a heap of myself at his feet.

  “Sorry for your loss. I’d come back to college with you—as long as I could keep coming that way with you. You could keep me as your shower pet. It’s kinda special. Best Sir for the job.”

  He grins. Then kisses me, and his fingers move on the flesh of my shoulders and neck, and I can feel the heat from his body. It feels tantalizingly good. Tantalizingly tempting. I like that hand on my shoulder, my décolletage, then his lips on my neck. Hell. I bend my head to relish the closeness. Submit completely to the touch, the intimacy and connection. This is a crazy, dangerous and highly affecting thing.

  But so is this man.

  “We really can’t do more sex in here…” I whisper and push on his chest.

  “There is no can’t,” he says.

  But I mean it. “There’ll be a search party soon. Somebody’s bound to come find us here.” Even if right now what I yearn for yet another good, soft, enveloping fast orgasm. Followed by a slow deep kiss-and-spoon head spin chaser.

  I touch Dan’s arm to make him stop. Just as a very loud attention-stalling bleeping noise comes from somewhere close by. It’s a ramping tone that gets louder, yet in only the four rings it takes Dan to get to it.

  “Shit, speaking of called back to real life,” he curses and strides butt-naked to retrieve his clothes as he answers.

  Monosyllabic curt words ensue as he’s speed-pulling on his clothes faster than I can switch off the shower and find a towel. He’s already at the door. And I’m with him—still shower-damp and my clothes in damp-spotted disarray

  “What’s up?”

  His face is grim meets the grim reaper one-on-one. “Shit’s gone down. Agent injured bad after an attack.”

  “Who?”

  “Havana. Cleaning job took a nasty turn.”

  I already miss the heat of Dan’s torso against my body. But the moment has gone. My stomach’s just pretzeled into a million Chinese knots. I feel like I’ve been naughty in high school, and we’ve been summoned after sneaking off. Yet, so much darker.

  “Let’s get you safely back to your room,” he says.

  It’s over. My Secret Sexy Sir’s gone. To be replaced by the Sir who clicks into full-on serve and protect mode and living his life on a way too dangerous line.

  Dan stares at me, his face is somber. “Don’t revert to type and push me away, Kate. This isn’t over.” He pauses and lets his real-time tone linger. “I know you’ve been hurt—I won’t do that. I’ll stop Donaldson with my bare hands if needed. You’ve so much potential you spin my head around. Don’t push me out anymore. That’s exactly what you mean to do, isn’t it? Because they all did that to you?”

  I wobble but I don’t answer. He’s so close to the truth his toes are on the parapet of my destruction.

  “We will reconvene. When things settle.”

  “Okay. If that’s what you want,” I answer.

  Dan’s linking his hand in mine and it’s time to head back to reality. We kiss deeply—before we dive into the shit pool together. Me and my steel-hard ass-kicking Legend of a Sir.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dan

  “What the hell happened to Hav?”

  Rocco’s a weird mix of gray and white pallor that isn’t good. If he’s gonna fall, I’m yelling timber and leaping away. A dead weight of Rocco could cause loss of life. “She’s been fucking shot.”

  We look into the room she’s been taken to. She’s on the bed—her face a tapestry of grazes, gashes and a bouquet of bumpy bruise promises to come. The dark blood spot on her shirt would go unnoticed were it not for the wet telltale signs of the stain on the bed. Her eyes flick up to mine in a silent ‘kay, Boss. Keep the faith.

  “She’s exhausted. Too shocked to talk,” says Rich. “Emergency medic coming in to operate. Should be here shortly”

  “Thank God,” says Warbie. “I’ll go get stuff ready.” He softly tugs at Kate. “Could you help?”

  She nods. She’s as ashen as Rocco. This blood loss—shot agents thing is happening with way too close regularity. “Of course I’ll help. Tell me what you need.” They go off and I’m glad Kate’s otherwise engaged. It’ll stop her fretting. I force away my brain’s urges to think about her or what happened downstairs in private, and the ramifications it has on us going forward.

  I shrug off the lapse and walk into the room. Rocco’s by Havana’s side. He’s shaking—the big guy totally gone to fall-apart bits. Twisting her fingers in his hand while Ivan looks on broodingly, as if he’s about to kick shit out of something as revenge. Can’t say I blame him. Maybe I’ll come too?

  I’m guessing they’ve developed more than a just friend’s appreciation.

  Rich talks softly. We’re in the room of a sick patient, after all. In a hospital we’d have a strict beds numbers rule. “Says she knew something was off as she got near the mansion. Felt like she was being watched. Instinct made her flick a U-turn to get back. Then she was tailed—car tried to force her off the road. She ended up shooting the car off the roadway and leaping out. But took a slug in the process. You know those roads, take a pro rally driver to keep a car straight with a jackass pushing you for kicks.”

  “Jackass with a gun too,” I state. “So what’s next?”

  “We’ll talk of this later, but I’m sensing our mission needs re-planning and civilian input is off the agenda. Way too dangerous on top of Tavi.”

  The relief that washes through me speaks louder than a loud hailer. I’ve gotten in way too deep. She matters. I’m protecting her above all else. What the fuck? But I’m still über-relieved.

  “How’d it pan out, how’d she get back safe?”

  “You know Hav. Did the do and threw herself clear. Hence the scratches. Think that arm’s a sure break. Leg isn’t too clever either. Hopefully the shot is a flesh wound. Doc on way.”

  “Katsaros’ orders? Is that your intel?”

  “Not sure. He has enemies. But it’s smelling to me like they’re wise. The Kate thing can’t go ahead.”

  Yep, I’m still so damn happy about that I’m damn pissed-off too. This could set the mission back by months.

  Rich can read my mind better than anyone. “We will go in tonight. Night mission. Surveillance, reconnaissance. Then we hit them with our Plan B when we’re prepped.”

  “And Andreas? Any word.”

  “It’s gone quiet.” Rich’s face is grave enough to suggest the worst.

  Three agents impacted is bad news.
>
  I feel my jaw flex like vised iron. Because I’m running way close to the wire here. My first thought was for women in my charge. I’m not caring enough that the entrapment plan is blown apart.

  I know it so hard the knowledge causes a painful, searing twist of anxiety in my belly. Because I felt like this before when Nathan died. I cared more about him fleeing a siege than the collar. It ended up with us both taken hostage. These fucking lapses ended up in a double jeopardy because Nathan was gunned down.

  Detached control must be all in this job and I’m ballsing big time.

  Perfection is my watchword. But tonight I’ve already bent my codes and taken risks with Kate. Correction—got involved. Given her orgasms, promised more. Staked a claim and branded her.

  But alluding to futures to come? Really?

  What’s with me? As if?

  My window for doing the right thing and being detached is blown. When I scrambled to dress and gun up I was swearing at my own foolishness full tilt.

  Redman walks with me in the lower corridor. If he suspects what I’ve done, he pays it no heed. So I’m figuring he’s clueless.

  “Change of plans, Sir. You’ll reconnaissance at one. We sent Andreas word to get out—if he’s still alive and able to meet you, he’ll have intelligence and a USB to pass. Boat trip at nightfall. We need ammo stored at strategic points. Some work done on door locks and prep. You’re on this—and we’re down an agent, so I’m relying on you to fill Dockery in. He knows he’s on duty but he needs to be briefed.”

  So we have a plan. Andreas is our guy on the ground at the mansion. At least Andreas is sharp-eyed to opportunity, even if I’m missing markers by a mile mooning over Katie. Flagging and side-stepping protocols at every turn—I curse and walk into the Troika-launching cave where the speedboats are housed.

  “Can we ensure Joseph gets a sleeping aid tonight? She’s wired, traumatized. Antsy as hell,” I say.

  “I notice she trusts you. I think involving civilian intervention with this level of challenge would be foolish now. Warbuckle will deal with her in your absence.”

  Which has to be good. Retreat. Back off. Recognize error and sort it.

  My jaw ticks. Tending to her needs. Haven’t I just? What’ve I started?

  “We’ll reconnaissance the Katsaros mansion periphery. Count on it.”

  Getting me back on the job and back in the game is the best thing for us all. I head off to find Dockery. Already working out what I’m going to say to Kate before I leave.

  And that troubles me greatly—that already I’m still putting woman before mission. Fool that I am.

  * * * *

  I call to my team as I step in the boat. “Mone Dunamis for one a.m. Troy, coordinates please?” I jump to Troy’s side at the wheel of the boat and he flicks me a nod. The two Greek aides in our team who know every inch of the island discuss arrangements as Dockery arrives on board.

  The team’s on course, as is the boat. Even if I feel more at sea than sanity should allow.

  “Issues with the civilian, Sir? Sent the base into freefall, I reckon.” Ivan looms behind me, his too-snarky jab on target. His bulk in the dark light looks reptilian. Always something I haven’t trusted about Ivan. Too damn perfect, pensive. Too much watching every little move of mine.

  His angry, narrowed-eyed expression is the full pissed-off python deal. Where is his big objectivity and hard to faze chip now?

  “Paying her personal attention, Sir. Is that regulation?”

  “None of your goddamned business.”

  “But you get sidelined—we all fuck up, Sir.” The way he Sirs me raises my hackles.

  “Now is not the time,” I grind the words out. Pissed he’d dare to question.

  “I understand, but I don’t trust her.”

  His tone alone sends my ‘calm and collected’ to ‘about to rip him to ribbons.’

  Then he pushes my no-go button. “What if she’s a plant? Partisan to her old man?”

  “Trust the intelligence, Agent. I do.” I note he’s clenching fists. I’m grinding my jaw fit for a dental visit.

  “Enough to risk the game?”

  “You’re out of line.” He may be taller than me, but he’s wiry where I’m built. I can take him and he knows it. He stands back, then moves aside.

  I hate rising to his bait but I’m antsy. Hav’s in med bay and Kate’s on watch—playing nurse as if she has a choice. The whole Kate thing messes up my brain with recriminatory ear worms.

  I’m more pissed off than a very pissy definition of the word angry. So I snap.

  “Get back to base, Ivan. You aren’t coming tonight. I don’t want someone I can’t trust at my back. Send Tomas. Double-time.”

  Again, I curse my instincts. Because they tell me Ivan has a point. As much as I keep affirming that they don’t know Kate like I do.

  I curse my hang-ups, fuck-ups and hormonal flaws. While against all my training and experience, a bewitching tattoo still brands my brain.

  The memory of a hesitant Kate. A new fearful spark in her eyes when faced with the control room and Redman, makes my neck hair prickle. Is Ivan right?

  Was bringing her a mistake? I’m starting to think choosing her was a grave error. Plan changes never bode well, and getting intimately involved is a big, shitty disaster. Especially not knee-jerk decisions to kiss her, or take her in the shower room…or promise future trysts for more…

  I see my catastrophe in true Eureka moment style. Then a gremlin says—Ivan is a career cop climber. You know damn well he’s after your job. He’s playing you.

  Kate is now tangled in this assignment’s nitty gritty barbed wire. Knowing Ivan, he won’t give in without stripping me—and Kate—down when he can.

  Tomas hustles on board. “Let’s go. What are we all waiting for? Katsaros to hand himself in and send us flowers?”

  The speedboat slides out of its quiet, inky-black hiding place, and I force my unease down, but not before Kate’s words ring in my ears. ‘I’d sworn off dangerous men. Given my heritage, I should be sticking to that like glue.’

  Kate has no idea how fast I’m pedaling below surface. I’ve brought the wrong mission buddy to Santorini to solve this trafficking scam. Or perhaps—double damn it to hell—my instincts are right. I’ve picked the right woman. At the worst possible time?

  Dangerous?

  Too right. Every which angle of shitty.

  * * * *

  We have to get the mission active without disruption, and make up for lost ground. Period. Tomorrow we’ll strike and tonight is about a perfect set up.

  Andreas is the best undercover agent I’ve ever known and I trust him with my life. Thanks to him, we have a full routines rundown and layout map of the place. From where the girls are held, since being shipped in from Eastern Europe to the Achilles heel for entry, via the cellar’s compromised door hatch.

  The Katsaros Mansion appears more like a movie set prison, with its barricaded perimeter than something from an architect’s show-book. We’ve techno-bugged the place out with cameras at strategic bushes and gulleys.

  I catch Andreas in my peripheral vision and I leave the boat to join him by the rocks. We climb together stopping at intervals to exchange info. We’re not talking much near to the water in case the sound will carry. All I can see are his eyes, but that’s enough to know he’s concerned. That and the rasp in his quiet voice.

  “Your news via a fish peddler was surprising even for you.”

  “Had to pull you out. Shit hit fast and furious. We’re upping the strike to tomorrow.”

  “Civilian here?”

  I nod. “At base.” I’m about to tell him that the original plan is screwed when he lays surprising new info on me.

  “Shit’s been going down big time. One inner circle dude shot dead for a perceived insult, and another shot in the hand last week. Can’t risk a civilian is my take.”

  The stomach muscles that had cramped at his words relax. I fight to keep my voice a
t a whisper. “First Tavi was gunned down. Havana tailed and shot at yesterday. Too much happening to risk it.”

  “Havana?” Andreas’s gaze reads spooked, and that worries me.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “My legitimate tasks take me away too often. I miss stuff. Think the daughter meet won’t work. But Donaldson could change his mind again. He’s worse than Katsaros sometimes for mood swings.”

  “She’s not setting foot there. She’s spooked as it is.”

  “Dangerous situation.”

  “What if she’s taken hostage?”

  Andreas affirms. “You have two of us on the inside. We can do this, Sir.”

  “Hav is not going back. Neither are you. That’s my gut instinct.”

  Andreas shakes his head. “I’m going back. I disappear now and Katsaros will disappear and blow this.”

  I grunt because I know he’s right. “We hit tomorrow.”

  “Before the second shipment from Romania next week?”

  “We hit hard, there won’t be another shipment. How are the girls?”

  “Bad shape. One died in transit.”

  I shake my head. This climbing body count is worse than bad.

  “And there’s one girl who took his interest so she’s been given special treatment. Hard to watch.”

  We moved quietly in towards the brow of the hill for a good view of the mansion layout. My agents are deployed setting explosives, as arranged. I focus night vision goggles on the fortified property. There. A thermal hit. Someone waiting under the trees.

  A small whistle—like a low birdcall—rends the air. It’s one of mine. Shit. Why the noise?

  I scan the area and get another thermal hit, a guard on slow patrol. He’s smoking a cigarette—the glowing tip evident as he paces. He tosses the butt to the side and goes into a crouch, gun up, ready. Why did our guy whistle with the guard so close?