Code Name: Fiancée

by Susan Vaughan

  “The CO’ll knock some heads together over that one. The traffic on M Street held them up. We had cars waiting on three different routes. Nobody anticipated the bad guys’d have the same strategy. They haven’t hacked into my tracking device or bugged the car. Low-tech surveillance, but thorough.”

  An ATSA officer opened the door. After assuring them the house was clear, he vanished. Janine had left hours ago.

  Nick led the way to the kitchen. “I’ll make some coffee.”

  “Good idea,” Vanessa said. She lifted a note from the countertop. “Janine left a main course and salad in the fridge.” She paused, her hand on the refrigerator door. “I’d expect a restaurant supply magnate to be a chef, but Janine creates all the meals.”

  “That sounds like a challenge. Honey, I know my way around every kitchen from a greasy spoon to five-star dining. I’ll cook for you one evening. My specialty.” A nice candle-lit dinner would be a good break for them both.

  “It’s a date.” She opened the door and ducked inside as if to conceal the apricot-colored blush tinting her cheeks. “Yum, looks like shrimp scampi. Ready for nuking.”

  He retrieved coffee beans from the cupboard. Noticing his hands were steady, he exhaled slowly in relief. He’d held up through the attack, had even put a few slugs in the sedan’s grill. Afterward the shakes had hit, racking him like a pneumonia sufferer. He’d surfaced before the drive home.

  He measured out the beans into the grinder and pushed the button. The coffee’s rich fragrance soothed his senses.

  “You all right?” Vanessa set the salad bowl on the breakfast bar, then took the two steps to stand beside him.

  “I’m fine. No problem.” He didn’t want her hovering, babying him. Or did he? Ground coffee and water went into the drip machine. He starting the brewing and set out mugs.

  “Snow nearly died. You both could’ve been killed.” She looked up at him, the concern in her candid green eyes turning to anguish. “You did an ace job, but you shouldn’t have had to pinch-hit for ATSA today.”

  So could she have died, but she wouldn’t appreciate his reminding her of that possibility. He swallowed the spasm of fear for her.

  He schooled his expression and voice not to give away his emotions. “Someone had to step up to the plate.”

  She smiled. “The rust on your Special Forces skills didn’t show. From where I sat, I saw a confident sortie.”

  She was partially right. Their success at escaping the ambushers had given him another measure of confidence. But…“False confidence. Put me in combat, and I’m in the zone. Training and instincts kick in. But only as an infantry grunt.” No one should trust him to set up an operation.

  Before she could object, he added, “You were the real heroine this afternoon, Ms. NASCAR. Your battery must need recharging.” He handed her a mug of coffee.

  “Thanks. I was in the zone, too.” Falling silent, she sipped her coffee at the breakfast bar. She’d pulled her hair on top her head with one of her doodads.

  The microwave beeped. He checked the temperature of the shrimp dish and carried it across the kitchen. Vanessa’d already put out plates and cutlery. They served themselves and ate in silence side by side.

  He smiled. With her, even the silence was companionable, comfortable. Damn. Besides all the turmoil surrounding them, Nick had a new problem to contend with. Vanessa.

  The woman, not the government officer. This thing between them was more than casual. More than sexual attraction. Although he hadn’t been this obsessed with sex since he was a hormonal teenager.

  Every day she slid more under his skin. He found himself thinking about her at odd moments, picturing her face or recalling her sexy laugh or the way she knew to offer comfort and understanding with a touch on his arm.

  Whether her empathy was part of the undercover role, he didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. After his aborted engagement, Nick didn’t want anything serious. Or even long term. Vanessa was right about his family issues, family honor, but wrong about what it meant for his life. He worked fourteen hours a day in his business because he had to. A family of his own was out of the question.

  But not a brief liaison. After this operation ended, she’d leave and so would he. They’d never see each other again. He ignored the tightness in his chest at that thought.

  A blazing affair that scorched those silk sheets was what he needed. What she needed, if he read her signals right. Their having sex couldn’t be any more of a distraction than the frustration of not having sex. She’d see that, too. Her professional barrier crumbled more each time they kissed.

  Looking up from the temptation of her elegant neck, Nick observed her frown. He knew what was bothering her. “So if they didn’t track you and didn’t follow us to Georgetown, how did New Dawn know where we were?”

  “If I could answer that,” she said through a bite of cucumber, “we’d have a prime lead to Husam Al-Din.”

  “Our lunch companions all have ties to Yamar.”

  “Prince Amir is reported to have led Yamari troops when New Dawn guerrillas tried to disrupt the presidential election. Do you suspect Nadim or Ambassador Khalil?” Vanessa rolled her shoulders. Her muscles were probably stiffening after her strenuous stint at the wheel.

  “Nadim? Not a chance. He’s the ultimate Western capitalist. But Khalil is an enigma. Remember, he lost the election. He could’ve been president.”

  “You’re thinking he might have changed allegiance?” When he nodded, she said, “It’s worth looking into.”

  The telephone jangled. Nick’s pulse jumped. He knew who it was before he picked up. “Markos here.”

  “Arrange for a transfer of funds,” said the accented and still-unidentified voice, “and your woman will be in no more danger. Nor will you. I will be in touch again soon.” A click terminated the call.

  Nick regarded Vanessa expectantly.

  After listening intently to her earpiece, she shook her head. “Cell phone again. Different number.”

  Good thing they hadn’t found the ten million yet, he mused. He’d be tempted to give it to New Dawn just to end the threat. “Al-Din won’t quit. You’ll sleep in my bed again tonight. And every night until this is over.”

  Her gaze flitted away. “We’ll see.” She rubbed her shoulder, the one she’d fallen on the previous night.

  He turned and kneaded her shoulders. “Your muscles are tight as sailors’ knots. Later I’ll give you a good rubdown.”

  The thought of massaging her soft flesh tightened his body. Tonight. It was time.

  She stiffened, then slipped off the stool and ducked away. “Debriefing’s starting in a few minutes. Don’t wait up for me.”

  She hustled out the kitchen exit and toward the house next door.

  His mouth twisted in a wry expression. Removing her barriers might take a little more doing than he’d thought.

  Chapter 12

  By Sunday evening Vanessa was as tightly wound as the space robot Troy’d had at twelve. He’d tinkered with it and powered it up to the point of critical mass. Metal and plastic limbs and stalk eyes and internal winky-dinks had cannoned all over the living room. If her nerves didn’t give soon, she’d explode like that juiced-up robot.

  The high-priced artwork on Alexei’s sale list had indeed come from the Vienna robbery and two other gallery thefts, but the black-market sales were so far untraceable.

  ATSA’d made no gains in tracking down Husam Al-Din. His captured goons would say only that New Dawn would prevail. The two burglars had entered the U.S. on student visas, and the other two, picked up in the initial stage of the Georgetown car chase, had no papers. All were dead ends, yielding no clues to their esteemed leader. The other ATSA unit had a list of possible targets for the Veterans Day attack, but nothing firm.

  November second. Veterans Day was only nine days away. D-Day, and they had no idea where New Dawn would strike.

  She and Nick hadn’t located the ten-million-dollar dingus. And she’d mad
e little headway in peeling off the layers of the military’s cover-up of Nick’s Somalia mission.

  But none of those frustrations were responsible for her ragged nerves.

  Nick took all the blame.

  Nicolas Markos. And her tangled emotions.

  She sipped her wine. The French champagne—from the house cellar—looked like liquid gold and tasted like heaven. But the intoxication fizzing in her blood came from the man in the kitchen. He was cooking for her tonight, something delicious-smelling called Greek beef. He’d settled her on the sunroom sofa with the wine and a tray of appetizers.

  Settled wasn’t exactly the word. She hadn’t settled since their sweaty session on the gym floor.

  When she’d returned late Friday from the debriefing, she’d discovered that he’d waited up after all. He’d rubbed her shoulders with fragrant lotion until all her muscles and bones had liquefied. Then he’d tucked her in bed—his bed—kissed her sweetly and left her for his pallet on the floor. The only reason she’d closed her eyes at all was her lack of sleep the previous night.

  After yet another night in the same room, the tension had risen to a fever pitch. It was as if a magnetic field arced between and around the two of them.

  She felt off balance, as sensitive as a hair trigger. His every action seduced her.

  Common sense and her professional duty told her to beware, but her foolish heart ignored the warning. She knew Nick would never betray ATSA’s plan, so what was the harm if they yielded to chemistry?

  A relationship with Nick could be only sexual. She wasn’t the woman for him. She wasn’t sophisticated and beautiful like Danielle—well, that was a bad example—or Diana. What would a world-traveling executive see in a plain government officer other than the undercover role she played?

  And he had all that baggage of lost honor to work through. Darkness lurked at his core like a coiled force. Yet his mood had gradually lightened during the past few weeks. Maybe he felt empowered by taking part in ATSA’s plans. The slight change had nothing to do with her, for sure.

  He wanted the persona she projected in her rich-girl clothes. At least he wasn’t using her to get to Diana or some society babe. A brief encounter was all she could expect. When this operation ended, the affair would end.

  That knowledge lodged a hot ball in her throat. Her heart would break whether or not they made love.

  He didn’t love her, but he wanted her. That was clear.

  He constantly touched her—her hair, her cheek, her mouth. As they walked, he kept his hand on the small of her back. He spoke softly into her ear, privately, just for her. That deep, sexy voice made an inventory list sound like a hot proposition. Every look, every touch weakened her knees and her resistance. Away from the house, her protector, he hovered, his rangy body tensed for danger, his expression flinty, his eyes alert as a hunting hawk’s.

  The man was a walking aphrodisiac.

  He crossed the room to her now with the champagne bottle. Her pulse jumped like a cheerleader at homecoming. In black trousers that clung to his sinewy thighs and a silk T-shirt the color of fine red wine, he nearly had her drooling.

  He eased down to the cushion beside her, close enough to wrap her in his familiar scent. He turned toward her, his left knee bent and touching her thigh. Not in protection mode at the moment, he appeared focused solely on her. His Aegean-blue gaze cruised her face and down her body with blatant male heat. “Wrap your mouth around one of these.”

  Before she could compliment him on the variety of bounty, he popped a stuffed grape leaf in her mouth. Blinking, she bit off half. Chewed slowly. Fought for equilibrium.

  The man was hand-feeding her.

  The dinner was cooked. And so was she.

  “Well?”

  She swallowed, cleared her throat. “Delicious.”

  “More?” He offered a ripe olive as large as a plum.

  “Whoa, buster,” she said, holding her champagne flute in front of her. “We have the whole evening.”

  The olive went back on the tray.

  The corners of his mouth kicked up in a smug smile. He stretched his left arm behind her and rested it on the sofa back. The powerful male animal surveying his prey. He curved his right hand casually over her knee, an invitation to closeness, to intimacy.

  The blue flames in his eyes glowed with banked desire. “You’re right. Why rush things? Slow and easy works for me.”

  Was his seduction deliberate? Oh, yeah. A rheostat dimmed the lighting. Logs crackled gently in the fireplace. Champagne. Succulent appetizers.

  Seduction.

  Turnabout was fair play. If she could slip into her undercover woman-of-the-world role, she’d steam up the room.

  He was making her melt. She would make him sweat.

  She plucked the olive from the tray and put it to her lips. The ripe fruit dripped with a savory marinade. She licked at it, sucked gently before biting into it.

  Nick’s mouth was hanging open, so she fed him an olive. Startled, he nearly swallowed the thing whole.

  “Mmm, these olives are so-o-o good.” She ran her tongue slowly around her lips and purred.

  He swallowed, cleared his throat. He adjusted his position as if his trousers were too tight. “They…they come from my family’s olive grove.”

  “I thought your dad was a ship’s captain.” She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes.

  The fire and Nick’s nearness had warmed the room. Here goes nothing. Or everything. Slowly she peeled off the cardigan of her rust-colored twinset. She smoothed the sleeveless V-neck at the waist of her matching slacks. Tugging the knit tightened it over her breasts to show more than a hint of cleavage. A woman was entitled to use her main asset.

  His hand on her knee was sweating. It twitched. His eyes looked unfocused.

  “Um, right.” Nick picked up his flute and swigged half the champagne in it. “When he retired, he and Sophie bought an olive grove from her family in Greece. That’s where they live. Pop’s an olive farmer now, when he’s well enough.”

  She refilled his glass and hers, leaned closer so her right breast pressed against his side. “Did he teach you to cook Greek food?”

  “No, that was Sophie. I was already interested in the restaurant business, but she started me cooking.”

  “You like her. That marriage has worked out then?”

  He nodded. “Third time’s a charm, I guess. She takes good care of Pop.”

  She cuddled closer, tilted her head the way she’d seen Diana do, so he’d recognize the desire in her eyes. “In a good relationship, a man and a woman take…care of each other.” She left it to his imagination what kind of care she meant.

  He slid his arm to curve around her shoulders. Lifting her hand to his lips, he said in a husky voice, “We’ve known each other only a short time, but you’ve taken better care of me than anyone I remember. Thank you.”

  His warm breath and his lips, slick with olive marinade, sent tingles up her arm. Her breath stuck in her throat. “Me? What did I do?” A squeaky voice didn’t sound sexy, but she didn’t have control over her vocal cords.

  His gaze was languorous and sultry. “You’ve been my rock. You’ve taught me to smile again.”

  Before he could ramble on and she became too embarrassed, she had to stop him. “I was just doing my job, Nick.”

  He sat very still, just looking at her, his sexy, muscular body ready to pounce. His heat and woodsy scent wove their spell.

  The mood between them shifted again. At first it had been light, then suddenly serious. Now the air thickened and throbbed with a heavy sensual beat. A beat she felt with every nerve ending and in a pulse between her legs.

  He released the hand he held and lifted the flute from her other. “Your job doesn’t include defusing my anger at my half brother’s crimes. Your job doesn’t include urging me to examine myself. Your job doesn’t include this.”

  As his mouth found hers, he pulled her close. Heat flashed through her. Her
entire body tightened. She fisted her hands in his shirt. His right hand burrowed beneath her sweater to caress her spine, her ribs. Her skin tingled at the rasp of his callused fingers. They teased one nipple through her silk bra.

  A long flutter of pleasure and need flowed through her. It surged into a wave of yearning for this strong, sexy man whose pride and honor drove him.

  He pulled her on top of him as he stretched out on the cushions. A rush of heat and electric awareness licked every point up and down her body where they touched. Her breasts felt full and flushed.

  “I can’t get enough of you. I’m hungry for more than this…appetizer.” His voice was low, a velvet growl against her mouth. His fingers slid up her nape to massage her scalp. His thigh nudged her legs apart, and his rock-hard arousal throbbed between them. He was so beautiful, yet so indelibly male, with every sinew straining and bulging.

  Tingling pleasure radiated from his caresses, and she clenched her thighs against his hardness in a vain attempt to assuage the ache he’d triggered.

  Her foggy brain struggled to maintain a bantering tone. Keep it light, keep it safe. “Nick, your Greek beef, is it ready?”

  His response was a muffled groan. “The Greek beef? Dinner’ll keep. What—”

  “Not dinner.” She cupped her fingers around the heated length tenting his fly. “I was talking about this Greek beef.”

  Rasping words in what she thought was Greek, he twisted on the sofa to bring her beneath him. His heavy body pressed her into the cushions. His burgeoning arousal pulsed against her mound. “Are you sure?”

  His potency and male heat and bottomless kisses filled her, invaded her very soul. Sex with him would be a shattering experience. He would make love as he did everything—with intense focus and expertise. Her nerves skittered.

  Ready or not, her need for him bordered on desperation.

  In reply, she unclipped the miniature microphone from her sweater and the receiver from her ear. She reached out to drop them on the cocktail table beside the appetizer tray.

  “There might not be enough heat left in the fireplace to keep you warm,” he said as he tugged up her sweater.