Seduced

by Angel Payne

  “Smart woman,” he murmured.

  “Thank you. That makes it easier to reveal that I did a little reading up on you.”

  Ethan didn’t shift his mien. Instinct told him she was making this interview a part of that “reading.” He’d learned, not long after donning the Special Forces beret, to obey the hell out of his intuitions. “Hope it wasn’t too boring.”

  “On the contrary,” Rayna returned. “Pretty interesting stuff. Let me see if I have this straight. Ethan Aaron Archer. Turned twenty-six last month. Only child of Penelope and Robert Archer of Atherton, California. Played soccer and baseball until high school, and then switched to polo after that.” Her features caved to a full what-the-hell. “Polo? Seriously? Does anyone on this side of the world play that?”

  “In Atherton they do.” He fitted his hands together, fingers-to-fingers, while trying to maintain his game face. It was his job to dig out shit like this about other peoples’ lives, not have his own exposed. Table in the back for one, waiter. Last name Uncomfortable, first name Very.

  Rayna tilted her head on a playful slant. “So which one did you like the best?”

  “Chess.”

  “Huh? Never found anything about you playing chess.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” He purposely cocked a brow. “Not something the parental units wanted out in the open. Chess players didn’t make interesting conversation pieces at the summer gala or elegant dance partners for daughters at the winter cotillion. Neither did video game geeks.”

  “What? Say it isn’t so!” Her scandalized giggle made him grin, despite the awkwardness still parading in his veins.

  “My polo coach was a douche, so I’d cut practice and go hang with my friend Parker. Thanks to his software-guru dad, who was also a gamer, we got advanced beta copies of all the big ones. Half-Life, Halo, Grand Theft Auto, all the Marios…” He laughed softly. “Even all the Minecraft updates.”

  “I love Minecraft!”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  She sobered a little. “So is that what got you starry-eyed about joining up? Playing the shoot-em-up military games?”

  He rolled up on his posture. Stamped her harder with his gaze. Much harder. “The only stars that came near my decision were the ones on the flag I defend, Rayna.” He expected the skepticism that tightened her features. It was why he continued with, “I’ll tell you about the day that decision came. I wasn’t five. I wasn’t fifteen. I was twenty-one. It was June, and I was almost done with my sophomore year at Stanford—and I could barely face the day because I was so hung over. I stumbled in to a convenience store after a fraternity rager. It was six in the morning, and I hoped to consume enough coffee and doughnuts to force my liver to forgive me so I could make my way through a hairy midterm that morning.”

  He caught her gaze narrowing but expected it. Relaying this story was never easy, but it was critical that he never forgot it.

  “Poor little rich kid, right?” he went on. “Had to interrupt the party to do something like school? Well, that’s what I was standing there groaning about, when the door opened to the store and a guy strolled in. Wasn’t much older than me, even looked about the same as me. Difference was, he didn’t stink like a bottle of Patrón, and he was actually lucid. And smiling. And excited about the day. He told the clerk about how he was going to hear about his scholarship application that day, about how hard he’d worked on the damn thing, and how much he’d dreamed of getting into Stanford since hearing about the engineering program. Seemed he wanted to design and build better prosthetics for veterans.” He shook his head. “Man, I yearned to be that guy. I wanted to know what it was like to have a dream about something more than me, about the slot I was already guaranteed in the family empire. I wanted to work for something. To care about something. To connect to something…bigger.

  “That’s when I looked down. And I saw that the guy had made that happy entrance on two prosthetics of his own. I also noticed the tats on both his thighs, above his attachment sockets. One was the eagle, globe, and anchor of the Marine Corps. The other was just one word. Kandahar.”

  Rayna shifted a little and cleared her throat. “So…what?” she queried. “The little rich boy had a sudden epiphany?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged again. “I know it sounds lame, but…yeah.” He rose and crossed the room, looking out at the beach and the waves. “I looked into that marine’s eyes, at his pride in where he’d been and his hope in where he was going, and realized I’d never seen that same light in the mirror. I also knew I never would, if I kept skipping down the pretty crystal path in front of me.”

  “So you just dynamited the path?”

  He gave a wry snort before turning back. “Pretty much.”

  “And your parents were cool with that?”

  “They got over it.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Eventually.”

  Rayna studied him in silence for a long moment. “Pretty gutsy, Mr. Archer.”

  “No,” he rejoined. “Not gutsy. Pretty fucking selfish, actually.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  He twisted his lips. Letting Rayna in on the basics was one thing, but letting her further in, admitting this really tough shit? He had to be a goddamn head case. What was with these Chestain women and their gift for filling the air with some subsonic, give-me-all-your-secrets siren song?

  “I had the silver spoon, Rayna, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted to be more, to stand for something more. Things were happening fast in the world. Afghanistan was still a crazy scene. Terrorists were still infiltrating the Philippines, and Korea was—is—a giant pot of insanity.” After the adrenaline wore off from saying all that, a beam of understanding hit bull’s-eye in his mind. He spoke it in a troubled mutter. “But yeah, maybe I did have a few stars in my eyes.”

  Her response came equally soft. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” She shifted again, coming forward to lean her forearms on her pressed knees. “And now that I know this about you, it’s much harder for me to say this.”

  The siren’s song hit a nerve-racking discord. Ethan gripped the lining of both pockets with coiled fingers. “To say what?” The words, low and taut, came from the pit of his gut.

  Rayna twisted the hem of her cover-up. “Those stars, Ethan…they need to stop before they get fixed on Ava.”

  Nice. The second he decided to reconnect with his gut, she sent in that bomb of bile. He would normally order the shit into submission and tell himself to get a grip on the melodrama, but Rayna wasn’t a weepy megaphone. The stare she wore now was a hundred percent sincere.

  “Is it someone else?” After this afternoon, he highly doubted that, but diving for the usual suspects was all his mind could maneuver right now.

  “No.” Rayna let out a long sigh. “If it was, that might make things easier.”

  “Great.” He pivoted back toward the window. The coastal fog layer, a nighttime fixture this time of year, crept over the water like a Radiohead song. Moody, resigned. “And you didn’t think to share this with me back in January?”

  “Because it’s not really my shit to share, okay? Besides, I thought you’d get the picture, dumbass. It seemed like you did, too. You finally backed off—”

  “It was temporary.” He swore one of the clouds scowled at him. Same to you, buddy. “Sometimes retreating is the best option. Helps for strategy. And stamina.”

  She groaned. “Did you get that one from Zeke?”

  “No. But I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  She nested her head in her fingers and shook it. “So I take it you’ve made Ava aware of your…newfound stamina?” One of her fingers shot up. “Don’t answer that. I forgot about your unique reunion with her at the studio this morning. And your creative self-invite out here, too. And the way you’ve been guarding her—oops, I mean watching her—since we all got here.”

  He braced a hand against the window. It anchored him from whirling and pinning the woman with a justified glo
wer. “I’m a goal-oriented man. Sometimes my means are…vigorous. But the end to those means is Ava’s happiness.” The statement acted like an affirmation, calming him enough to turn around. “Ava’s had a pretty good day, Rayna. I can promise you that.”

  Good-scenario reaction? She’d smile, nod, maybe tack on a couple thumbs-up.

  Best-scenario reaction? She’d rise, hug him, and officially give him her “Chestain Cuz Blessing.”

  Greatest-scenario reaction? All of the above plus her help in getting Ava away from the party again.

  There were a few more setups in his head, but none included the woman’s huffing lurch to her feet. They sure as hell didn’t include her piercing glare or twisting lips. “Good day?” she charged. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Like a heroin junkie has a good day when they can ride the horse for hours on end.”

  He felt his whole face tightening. “What the hell are you—”

  She silenced him by grabbing his hands, gripping with pressure that went beyond anger. She was scared. The tremors beneath her fingers verified it. “She couldn’t help herself, Ethan. You’re everything she craves, okay? And everything she’s terrified to want, ever again.”

  Voicing his confusion about that wasn’t going to help. He stepped toward and sat on the couch, wordlessly beckoning for her to do the same. That gave him time to pull in a much-needed breath.

  After Rayna settled, he directed, “Start by defining everything.”

  She matched his inhalation before speaking. “She’s like a sister to me. I think you know that already. We grew up together. Subsequently, we hit puberty together. And when a girl starts noticing boys in a city like Tacoma—”

  “That includes the guys from the base.”

  She popped a finger to her nose, confirming his direct hit. “We drooled over the army and air force hunks together for years, but by the time our dads allowed us out on dates, I’d had it with the chest-beating shit, thanks to those seven clods who call themselves my brothers.”

  It wasn’t the time or place to point out that the woman’s collar had been bestowed by the world’s biggest chest beater. This was about Ava and the fact that every instinct in his body was a rocket of anticipation in staring at her cousin. He knew, with burning certainty, Rayna was about to give him a huge key of revelation about Ava’s turf-ripper exit today—and likely the glacier she’d been giving him for the last seven months.

  He considered himself a patient guy. But telling her to get the hell on with it was a bark that begged to be unleashed off his tongue.

  “Ethaaaaannn. Ohmigod, here you are!”

  The delighted squeal, coming from the freshly opened doorway and the woman who filled it, cranked his tension even higher. “Bella.” Screw the bark. He went straight for the snarl. “Look, it’s really not—”

  “A good idea to avoid your party hosteth.” She snaked onto his lap while moaning at her slur, giving him a face full of her barely covered chest—and her vodka-laced breath. “Umm, hosteff. Hostess. Yaaayy, I did it!” She waved her fingertips at Rayna. “Hiiii. Are you havin’ fun?”

  Rayna gave her a polite smile. “Yes, Miss Lanza, we are. Thank you so much for the invitation. Your home is beautiful.”

  After flashing a “grateful” smile that looked as natural as the lacquer on her nails, Bella swept her gaze back to him. “Do you like it too, my golden arrow?”

  “Golden arrow?” Rayna smirked in curiosity before Ethan could hit her with his don’t-go-there glare.

  “He’s the Archer, right?” Bella shifted so she could run a hand across his chest. “Which means he has to have an arrow.” She skated her caresses lower. “A long, hot, solid-gold one.” Her fingers closed over his crotch.

  Rayna wisely stowed her snicker behind a hand. Not that she had the ammunition for long. Ethan snared Bella’s wrist and surged to his feet, meaning she had no choice but to follow. “It’s time to take this outside, Miss Lanza.”

  “Mmmhmm,” she singsonged. “Whatever you say, Sergeant.”

  Once he’d hauled her to the terrace, he plunked her onto a padded deck lounger. The sky and the ocean had gone dark now, making electric sconces turn on. Their golden light made Bella’s skin look luminous, even in her well-juiced state. Why wasn’t he surprised?

  He paced to the edge of the terrace and back before looking at her again. “You want me to get you some water? Maybe a pot of coffee?”

  “Negatory, sergeant gorgeous.” She swung her legs open, one on each side of the chaise, and patted the cushion between them. “I want you to come here and sit with me.”

  “Not a great idea.”

  She pouted, again a look rehearsed to perfection. “You used to fink—think—it was a good idea.” She slid down until she was prone, hands roaming over her toned, poster-ready body. “You used to like fucking me outside.”

  “Once,” he clarified. “It was once, during spring break, on a beach in Cabo, at two in the morning.”

  “And it was wonderful.”

  “It was long ago. We’re different people now.”

  “Uh-huh.” She licked her lips. Rubbed her inner thighs. “We certainly are.” Her gaze climbed up his form. “You are.” She stopped at the front closure of his swimsuit. “Sweet madonna, Ethan. Have you gotten bigger…everywhere?”

  It might be a good thing that she went for the celestial plea. He considered seeking out the saints to boost his own fortitude now. The woman had persistence for a middle name, especially when she’d been drinking. He might need a miracle to get out of this one without pissing her off. A hungover Bella was already going to worsen Ava’s day tomorrow; she didn’t need a diva who screamed at her every two minutes as well.

  Seemed Bella decided not to wait on the screaming. A shriek erupted from her, shattering the festive mood in the villa—and damn near the windows.

  Ethan huffed, wondering what toe she stubbed or nail she splintered. When he saw she’d sat up, scooted back, and curled into a trembling ball, instinct drove him to drop next to her. “Bella, what the hell is—”

  Her second wail was more ear-piercing than the first.

  He was about to run a mental list of what drugs, when combined with vodka, did this to a five-foot-three, ninety-pound woman. But then he heard the boot steps. A lot of them.

  What the fuck?

  He twisted to glare toward at least ten men who seemed formed from the dark sea itself. They were dressed completely in black, including hoods only exposing eyes. They held their rifles in well-trained grips and advanced on the villa with coordinated precision.

  Acting on raw instinct, he jammed Bella behind him. It was the only move he could make before three of the ninjas converged on the chaise. The largest of them stepped forward, wielding a pistol instead of a rifle. He was likely the leader, needing mobility for other purposes. As if that mattered. At the moment, the SIG in the guy’s hand was just as dangerous to Ethan.

  The bastard verified that himself a second later. “Not another move, my friend, or I’ll blow your balls off.”

  Chapter Eight

  Let the fun begin.

  It was Tait Bommer’s go-to phrase at the start of any crazy mission or insane infil, but right now, he let the words bounce around in his head only. Because right now, he didn’t know what the fuck was happening.

  One second, Kell and Zeke had joined him in the dancing shrimp tails act and they were taunting Franzen with an obscene rendition of “All That Jazz.” The next, they were backed into the kitchen at the wrong end of mismatched rifles and a couple of assholes taking the basic black Bob Fosse theme to whole new levels. Two more gunmen cornered Rhett, Rebel, and Garrett against the double-wide fridge. Bella Lanza’s scream had ripped across the terrace. Her stylist, the woman with whom they’d found Archer in hardcore lip-lock training this morning, was nowhere to be seen.

  The other two women in the room, Rayna and Sage, were silent as they got forced into a corner of the living room. The two of them, having spent a year on the run f
rom slavers in Africa and Asia, knew the value of staying calm in a situation like this.

  Tait clenched his jaw. He really didn’t feel like staying calm.

  “What the hell is this?” Franzen bellowed. Guess he agreed with the fuck calm approach too.

  “Shut up.” Fosse ninja number one aimed his weapon at the center of Franz’s sizable chest. He didn’t shift his focus, even as the trio of attackers from the terrace came in with Ethan and Bella under guard, though he jerked his head at the stockiest of them. “Guess I was right to insist on a full team, after all.”

  The guy puffed his barrel chest. “I have no fucking idea what happened. I triple checked this. They had a short day on the set. They needed the lot for some special event the suits are throwing. Lanza was going for a wax. She has a standing appointment every two weeks.”

  Though Bella had traded sloshed-up for terrified, she tossed up a glower. “That’s not knowledge for public consumption, you ape.”

  “Says the one who skipped her wax appointment.” He snickered.

  “Skipped? Really? I’m Italian, moron. I fit it in on my lunch.”

  “Enough.” Another ninja pushed forward. Though he didn’t wield a rifle, the heat in his hand was sweet. A SIG, clearly custom, likely untraceable. Damn, it was beautiful.

  Cut the gun boner and open your observation deck, Bommer. What kind of details will you be able to relate about this asshole—if you get out of this alive?

  As the guy moved into the living room, he hooked a hand around Bella’s elbow and dragged her with him. He moved with confident purpose, which meant two things. One, he knew the villa’s layout. Two, he’d done shit like this before. A lot. There was a seasoned serration to his voice that Franzen had too, an edge that came with experience. But for some of his men, the assurance was a thin front. They’d been expecting to find Bella alone here. Her impromptu party had turned into their not-so-little mission hitch, whatever the hell their mission was. Unless Bella was hiding half the Louvre somewhere in this place, the force was excessive for a home-invasion robbery.