Seduced

by Angel Payne

  Zeke grunted. “This should be entertaining.”

  She pulled her hand back from Tait and folded her arms. “The night we dropped the net on Mua, my arresting officers were sweet about noticing what they saw as slick crisis-management skills. Guess I’m a natural-born fast thinker. Imagine that.

  “Fate helped me out a little the next day. A girl locked up with me in the prisoner processing cell flipped out, managed to get a gun off one of the guards, and threatened to kill everyone in the room.” She shrugged, almost as if confused. “I talked her off the ledge. Didn’t think it was a big deal, when the alternative was a shitload of people getting bullets through their brains. The bureau didn’t agree. They reviewed my case, along with a bunch of personality tests I thought were a part of normal prisoner processing, and determined I might be a good choice for joining the field team on tracking our friend Lor. And since the government owns my ass for another year and a half, I’m free labor.”

  Though Z no longer looked like the walking Grand Canyon, he cocked his brows and murmured, “A ‘good choice,’ huh? And the thinking behind that was…what again?”

  She waved a hand at the room like a game show model unveiling a car. “Behold Enzo Lemare’s regular late-night stomping grounds. You know any normal spook that’d fit in here?”

  Tait answered that one with dawning comprehension. “You work here. You’re the missing bartender.”

  She tilted her head with just enough of an impish grin to make his chest tighten—and his cock surge. “You thirsty, soldier?”

  Oh fuck, yes.

  But the next moment she was all business again, turning to the rest of the guys. “We caught a break tonight. Lemare is attending the TV Critics Association gala. Normally I’d be nursing Enzo through his third gin and tonic, listening to another rant about how the capitalist assholes of America are ruining the universe.” She patted the third earring up on her multipierced lobe. “And my homey Walter, somewhere in that big-ass building over on Wilshire, is getting every word of it. Hi, Wally!” She tossed a shrug at Zeke. “See? I’m free and fun. Maybe now the bureau can give Colton a raise. He needs the flow for a decent haircut.”

  “Screw you, loony tunes.” The agent grinned as he said it.

  “No thanks, Dan the man.” Her answering smile descended fast, and she shook her head. “No time for extracurricular anyway. After tonight’s mess at the Lanza villa, I’m afraid we’re back to square one for finding the codes to crack the intel on that laptop.”

  A ripple of shock moved around the table. Tait dialed in his bearing at a careful neutral, hoping nobody would notice his own jaw hadn’t plummeted along with theirs.

  Franzen threw a narrowed stare at his bureau buddy. “Mother of a fucking sand flea. That was you guys pulling the ninja hoedown earlier?”

  Colton smirked. “I was the cute one next to the door.”

  Franz pounded his shoulder. “Asshole! Why didn’t you say anything? Pull me aside? We thought you were some high-end thievery ring with balls for brains and—”

  “The audacity to mix Marvel and DC characters.” Tait felt morally compelled to get it out.

  Colton threw him a conspiratorial grin. “I was sickened too, man. But we had a Spiderman camp and a Batman camp, and neither was backing down.”

  Franzen’s glower got darker. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  Colton swung back an equally menacing look. “Okay, listen. We had no idea what we’d encounter at Lanza’s villa. We were hoping the woman would be out, maybe on Lemare’s arm at that gala. We came prepared for an army, just in case Lor was onto us somehow. We didn’t plan on finding the army, let alone one of its finest SOF teams. We had to maintain some kind of edge on you guys, just in case—”

  “What? We were all on Lor’s payroll or something?”

  “Stranger things have been known to happen. You know that as well as I, cock noodle.”

  The guys chuckled. They’d gotten a hidden surprise tonight, hearing someone give their captain lip like that and live to tell about it.

  Franzen rebutted, “A second ago, I was the leader of one of the finest SOF teams.”

  “Yeah, but you’re still a cock noodle.”

  Franzen’s parry to that was to ignore it. “So you were hoping to find a memory stick the guy hid at the villa.”

  Colton’s face tightened, producing lines around his eyes and mouth that instilled Tait’s respect for the guy. Pretty boys didn’t stay that way for long in their line of work—except for Ethan, who had to be working an Oil of Olay regimen when the rest of them were asleep.

  “It was a wild hope, but yes,” Colton said. “It’s unlikely he’s had the thing directly on him since the courier was killed. We immediately pumped sources at the man’s dry cleaners, car detailer, private spa locker room… Nothing’s been found.”

  Garrett leaned forward. “And you can’t get into his house?”

  Luna answered that one. “He hasn’t been anywhere near his house. On the night they took out the courier, Lor worked late at the studio and then checked into a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel.” She winced. “Made it a garden view too. We were blind for two days. The guy didn’t even order room service. Who gets a bungalow at the BHH and doesn’t order room service?”

  “What did he do for fresh clothes?” Franzen questioned.

  “Bought them new off the rack, down the street on Rodeo Drive,” she answered.

  Zeke emitted another whistle. “So you’re saying the fucker’s rich.”

  Franzen snorted. “I think she’s saying he’s paranoid.”

  “Agreed,” Colton said. “We still don’t know where he’s bound tonight. The TCA gala was at the Langham Hotel in Pasadena but concluded an hour ago. Our eyes say he’s been at the hotel bar ever since, pounding G and Ts like they’re the last he’ll ever drink.”

  “So he’ll likely check in there for the night,” Z offered.

  “And then what?” Garrett directed his stare toward Luna. “That’s where you’re going with this, isn’t it? Lor’s clearly lying low, but not for good. Even Rodeo Drive will start to get suspicious of his ass.”

  “So he’s waiting,” Zeke supplied.

  “But for what?” Garrett scowled.

  “Something on a time frame.” Tait’s statement came from the tightening knot in his gut. “Something like orders to abduct someone…or attack something.” The tautened faces of his battalion mates confirmed their thoughts had steered the same direction. “Shit,” he muttered. “Without that stick, we have no idea what we’re dealing with.”

  Colton rolled his knuckles atop the table. “It’s big enough that Lor is working with scumsuckers like the Aragons on it.”

  Franz sucked in a harsh breath. “Yeah. Scumsuckers with ties all the way over to the Balkan drug-trafficking routes.”

  “Which means Afghanistan,” Rhett put in.

  “Fuck,” Zeke spat.

  “We need that stick.” Garrett clawed a hand through his hair. “But I guarantee you Lor’s planted it in a furrow close to the barn. When it comes time to jump, he’ll need it handy.”

  Ethan had kept his gaze down, rotating a cocktail napkin on the table with his pointer fingers. When he lifted his head, it was to state the inevitable. “Then the stick’s at the studio.”

  Tait watched Luna and Colton trade glances. They shared a telepathy that seemed purely professional but still chapped his hide with a fucker called jealousy.

  “The bull’s-eye goes to Sergeant Archer,” Colton declared. “And leads to how you guys have now become our best friends.”

  Rhett gave voice to the confusion making its way across everyone’s faces. “Runway may have just hit the target, but we’re all still in the forest, my friend. How do we figure anywhere in this? We were visitors on the set of Dress Blues for one day only.”

  Colton gave him a Ken doll smirk. “Not if the showrunners decide they need real-world military consultants for the show’s upcoming episodes.�
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  Luna dropped her gaze to Ethan. “And not if one of those consultants won’t have any trouble scooting closer to its star and producer.”

  Ethan stopped circling the napkin. His fingers visibly tensed. “How much closer?”

  “As close as you can, Sergeant. In any manner they’ll let you.”

  Tait couldn’t help it. His snicker spilled out on top of Zeke’s and Garrett’s, though it was Rebel who put words to the moment.

  “Aha! C’est bon. C’est trés bon, I think.”

  “Bone it certainly is, man.” Zeke sputtered the phonetic equivalent of Rebel’s French. “All the way.”

  “This is gonna be awesome,” Garrett agreed.

  Ethan lifted his head, saying nothing. He didn’t have to. Tait had seen that look on a man’s face before. It had been in the sports bar on base, back at home—when a guy was told he was being deployed to Iraq for the sixth time.

  * * *

  An hour later, they had a solid plan. Their “new role” on the Dress Blues set would be announced at a table reading for the new week’s script tomorrow afternoon—technically, later today—with Cameron Stock, the show’s director, to be the only person actually aware of the charade. Orders were strict; nobody else on the show’s team could be told of the ruse since there was a good chance Lor wasn’t working alone.

  Stock advised them the “consulting team” shouldn’t realistically exceed three guys, although nearby backup teams were okay. Ethan was the obvious choice for the first inside slot. Grabbing his six in the trenches of the assignment would be Rhett, invaluable because of his tech skills, and Rebel, who could sweet-talk a nun out of her granny panties if he had to. The rest of the team would take up tactical positions atop neighboring sound stages at the studio, in order to record anyone meeting with Lor outside or engaging in unusual behavior. Tait had joined Kellan, Zeke, and Garrett in groaning about that one. What defined “unusual” when spying on a TV and film production lot?

  As soon as the logistics were hammered out and lot badges issued, it was time to get to bed. Since Franzen had the rental van, everyone started filing out toward the street, grateful for the easy lift back to the hotel.

  Everyone except for Tait.

  “T-Bomb?” Kellan lingered at the back of the pack to call it out. “Come on, man. We’re rolling.”

  He watched Luna’s backside disappear into the bar’s storeroom. And stopped in his tracks. More accurately was jerked to a screaming halt there. The center of his chest throbbed. His palms broke out in a sweat he hadn’t felt since sixteen.

  For fuck’s sake.

  He wasn’t superstitious. Spiritual? Sure. You didn’t confront the possibility of your own mortality on a regular basis without squaring up your shit to the power who created you, however you defined that. But chest-grabbing signs from that power? Honestly, did God have time for this?

  The answer to that was apparently a big affirmative. Because she walked out again, lugging a tray full of extra drink garnishes, and he could’ve sworn the woman glowed.

  “I’ll get a cab back,” he told his friend. “Think I want a nightcap after all.”

  “Because the half keg you sucked down at the Whisky wasn’t enough?”

  He gritted his jaw until the ache matched his chest. “Just go, would you?”

  Kell’s stare went the shade of a thunderhead. He probed it deeper back, beyond Tait, to where the only sight of Luna now was the top of her head as she bent to restock the garnishes. “Be careful.” His storm-dark tone injected the words into the special translator they shared again. Be careful, asshat, and think about this woman with your big head as well as your small one. The FBI may trust her, but I still don’t.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Without another word, Tait made his way back toward Luna.

  She’d just shut the mini cooler and pushed up to her feet when he slid onto the stool in front of her. Her pupils dilated, and her lips parted, even hinting at a smile, before the bureau programming took over and her cavalier façade slammed back down. She didn’t even greet him until after a bar rag was in her hand and she’d taken an order from the only other guy left on her end of the room.

  “You’re missing the train back to Hogwarts, Weasley.”

  His grin likely made him look like an idiot, but he didn’t care. “Appears that way.”

  She spread her arms and braced her hands to the bar. The rope lights played across her tattoo like divine light that couldn’t make up its mind. Angels or demons? He smirked a little. Maybe it was possible to be both.

  “So what’s up?” she finally asked.

  He shrugged. “You asked if I was thirsty. The answer’s yes.”

  “Okay.” She tossed out a napkin. “What’s your poison?”

  He locked his elbows to the dark wood between them, determined to hold her gaze this time. Success, though his nervous system paid the price. Every inch of it sizzled like rice in hot oil as he took in the depths of her eyes. Goddamn, how had he forgotten how mesmerizing those purple depths could get, especially when she started to shed the feline detachment that the world saw most of the time? How had he forgotten what it did to him? How he longed to throw himself over the bar, hike her ass onto that cooler, and fuck her like a caveman with his tongue rammed down her throat?

  You. My poison is you. And I can’t think of a better way to die.

  “A beer is fine.”

  She cocked her head, seeming a little surprised by that, though she pulled out a bottle of a dark import, popped the top, and set it in front of him. After he took an appreciative swig, she ventured, “So you’re not scared of catching cooties from crazy Luna?”

  “Never was.” He pushed the beer aside and went for her hand, which she’d left on the bar after sliding the bottle out. “You know that.”

  For a second, she returned his clasp. But a heavy swallow went down her slender throat. “Tait…look…”

  “That’s what I’m doing, flower.”

  He didn’t try to hide the tenderness from it. Or the protective longing. She’d hissed like a ticked adder when he’d first called her that nearly eight months ago, ordering him never to use it again. But he’d never been one for following orders that didn’t make sense.

  The woman didn’t hiss this time. She broke into a little laugh. Sweet. Musical. Incredible. “You’ve got a pair of those stupid Victorian poet pants stashed underneath those shorts, don’t you?”

  He tossed back more of the beer for fortitude. “Let the op report show that you introduced the subject of what’s in my shorts.”

  “Let the report show that you noticed.”

  “Just willing to do my part for the success of the mission.”

  Her gaze darkened to the color of the sky over Rainier before sundown. “Tait, we can’t.”

  He shifted off the barstool and reached for her again. Too slow. She’d already stepped out of range, breathing hard against the arms she wrapped around herself.

  “Why not?” he demanded.

  “Because officially, I’m still the property of the Washington State penal system.”

  “So we’re living dangerously. I’m sort of used to that.”

  “You didn’t let me get to the unofficial part.”

  It hung in the air between them, weighted with a thousand times more meaning than what those nine words contained. Tait watched her lips work frantically against each other, took in the violet intensity in her eyes. The desire there. The need.

  “I’m letting you now.”

  She swallowed again. Shifted from one foot to the other. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so—”

  As soon as she started the words, he surged into action. He’d been sitting near the end of the bar, so one swoop and a couple of steps got him behind it and then seizing one of her hands. Without a word, he stalked toward the storeroom. On the way, he steeled himself for her sputtering protest, for some colorful sentence strings comparing him to an ape, an asshole, or worse, but Luna didn’t utter a peep. She
actually kept pace with him.

  All those facts confirmed an instinct that had grown over the last two minutes. The woman had to maintain a tigress’s front for the world without a break. Perhaps the last time she’d let everything go was the hour she’d let him hold her in that private room at Bastille. Now, she definitely remembered what she craved but had lost the nerve, perhaps even the words, to ask for it. Her vacillation was likely worsened by the last experience she’d had with Domination. It wasn’t Zeke’s fault. It wasn’t her fault. It just was. But now that truth would change.

  Now, it was time the tigress got reminded how good it was to get devoured.

  An affirming growl raged up his throat as he pushed her against the walk-in cooler. A moment later, he had her hip-to-hip and mouth-to-mouth. She moaned as he spread her lips and thrust in his tongue, claiming her with feral intent. He kept his grip on her hand long enough to fling it around his neck and guided her other arm to do the same. She tightened her hold as if instinctively knowing, maybe begging, for what he’d do next.

  He clawed both hands into her thighs and lifted them around his. Dear fuck, she felt good. As the apexes of their bodies slammed together, his blood roared and his cock surged. He groaned and grunted before sliding his grip around her ass.

  “Now what were you saying?” He gave her the taunt as his lips hovered over hers. Yeah, that abstinence wasn’t going to last long. Their tongues were tangled again the next second, urgently mating as he began rocking her body against his. Tait gulped hard and gritted his teeth as he increased the pace, watching the ecstasy start to bloom across his flower’s perfect features. He loved watching her brow knit. Her nostrils flare. And her lips, now stung from the pounding of his own, release harsh gasps of arousal.

  “We…we can’t—”

  “We can.” He kissed her again, letting another growl escape as she enhanced the pace by engaging her hip muscles, working with him on each crash of their bodies. “You can. Yes, Luna. Yesssss.”