Secret Agent Dad

by Metsy Hingle

  And then he ran.

  Snagging the rope that hung from the balcony rail, Blake heard the commotion outside the bedroom door, several loud thuds as they tried to open it, then the sound of the door crashing open. Angry orders and shouts were followed by oomphs and curses as they came inside the room he’d booby-trapped. Grinning, Blake swung his legs over the railing as the intruders attacked the balcony doors.

  “Break it down,” a deep, menacing voice ordered.

  Not wasting any time, Blake scrambled down the side of the stone wall in the dark. He heard the doors give and jumped the last eight feet, tucking his body and rolling to soften his fall. Charging to his feet, he grabbed the rope and, with a flick of his wrist the line and hook came free. He pressed a switch, and both line and hook zinged back into the metal box anchored at his waist. A blast sounded, and the impact sent Blake sprawling as chunks of stone and glass spat out from above him. Cries of pain and curses rang out in the night air as he hurried to his feet and started to run.

  “Find them,” an angry voice ordered.

  Not bothering to look back, Blake glanced at his watch. Five minutes. He pumped his legs for more speed.

  “There he is! Over there!”

  Damn, they’d spotted him. Running flat-out across the grounds, Blake headed for the massive stone wall that surrounded the palace. As he approached the wall, he removed the gadget from his belt and aimed it at the wall. The grap-pling hook and line fired out like a bullet, whistling through the air. The teeth snared the corner of a stone spike. Barely slowing down, Blake began to scale the wall. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed at least a dozen soldiers pounding across the turf after him. Two other figures on horseback, hooves flying in the night, cut away from the rest of the pack and charged in front of the others, racing toward him and the wall.

  “I want him dead,” the tallest of the riders called out to the other man, who was just ahead of him and nearly at the wall.

  Fist over fist, his chest tight from his exertions and the high altitude, Blake pushed himself harder. A bullet sang out near his ear, bit off a piece of the stone spike adjacent to him.

  “Kill him,” that menacing voice shouted again—closer this time, as the second rider drew nearer. “And this time, don’t miss, or I’ll kill you!”

  The threat was colder than any winter he could remember and made the blood in Blake’s veins run cold. He caught the top of the stone spike and launched himself up onto the top of the wall. Then he whipped a glance back at the man who’d given the order for his death. For the space of a heartbeat, Blake met those dark eyes and knew he stared into the face of pure evil.

  Another bullet whizzed by his head, spurring Blake to action. A quick look at his watch told him he had only two minutes to make it to the boat. He threw one leg over the wall, but the lariat hooked to his belt snared. The soldier aimed his gun. Blake tugged at the line as the soldier released the firing pin.

  “Damn!” Blake snatched the gun strapped to his leg and fired.

  Opening his eyes, Blake washed a hand down his sweatdampened face. Was it all a dream? The remnants of some nightmare? Or had he actually killed a man? More questions crowded his brain. And he wondered again who he was, what kind of man he was. Was he some sort of mercenary? A man who hired himself and his gun out for money? The thought left a foul taste in Blake’s mouth and made his head ache. He massaged his temples, wishing he could remember, almost afraid of what he would discover when he did. But the questions continued to fire through his brain.

  Are the twins in danger because of something I’ve done? Is that why I have them with me? And what about Josie? Would she be in danger now, too?

  But the answers eluded him. Leaning over, he picked up the shirt he’d discarded while working and started to wipe his brow when a blinding pain seemed to explode inside his head. He dropped the shirt, sucked in a breath. Bending over, he braced his elbows on his knees and pressed the palms of his hand to his head.

  “Blake, I wanted to let you know that dinner—What is it?” Josie asked, rushing over to him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just a bad headache,” he told her, the worst of the pain now passed. Unfolding his body, he glanced up, noted the concern in her green eyes. “I’m okay now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” He caught the worried note in her voice and wished she hadn’t found him this way. He didn’t want to tell her about the disturbing flashback, and he didn’t want her fussing over him, either. The woman was a born nurturer with the survival instincts of a pea. Were he a robber, Josie would probably insist on giving him the keys to her truck so he could haul away the stuff he was stealing from her. He didn’t want to steal from her, but he was afraid that he would. He knew she hadn’t paid a bit of attention to his warnings to stay clear of him. Any minute now she’d be running her fingers over him, brushing a hand across his forehead to see if he had a fever, checking his wound, and he knew darn well that if she touched him, he would steal from her—her sweetness, her warmth. He needed a distraction-fast. Mercifully despite the remnants of the headache and the new ache Josie always seemed to generate in him, his brain worked well enough to find one. “What do you think of the playpen? I cleaned up nicely, didn’t it?”

  A worried frown still creased her brow, but she directed her attention to the playpen as he’d hoped. Her eyes bright ened. “It looks almost like new.” She ran a hand over a rubber-rimmed edge. “You did a wonderful job.”

  “Just cleaned it up a bit, tightened a few bolts and refase tened the guard rail.”

  “Well, it looks wonderful. I’ll try it out on the twins first thing in the morning.” She tipped her gaze back to him, and he caught the glint of curiosity, of sexual hunger as she looked at him.

  Determined not to respond, he scooped up his shirt from the floor. When he straightened, her eyes were on him, roam ing down his bare chest, lower. Desire fisted in his gut at her visual caress. Need trampled through him. For long moment he forgot about his concerns over his identity. He forgo about the unsettling memory of him firing that gun. He certainly forgot about his vow to do the right thing, the decen thing, and make no attempt to take the chemistry between Josie and him to its conclusion. He forgot about everything—everything that is, but Josie. He stared into those innocen eyes of hers. “Josie, I—” He remembered seeing himsel fire the gun.

  “Yes?”

  He slammed the brakes on his thoughts. “I’m going to grab a quick shower,” be said. Clutching the shirt in his fist he headed for the bathroom, determined to cool off before he did something they would both regret.

  Besides, he told himself as he shrugged out of his jeans and boots and stepped under the frigid spray, until he had some answers about who he was and what he was involved in, bringing sex into the equation would be a big mistake. And he didn’t intend to make any mistakes.

  “I will not tolerate any more mistakes,” Prince Ivan Striksky snapped into the phone at the man he had charged with finding out who had aided the princess and the twins in their escape. Anger burned hot and fierce in his blood at his failure to find out where Anna was hiding.

  “There is no mistake, Your Highness,” the man assured him. “Our contacts assure us that the princess and the royal twins are not in Texas.”

  “Fool! Princess Anna may be merely a woman, but she is a clever one. Was not the plane that carried the twins traced here? She is hiding, I tell you! No doubt being aided by the brash American who helped her sister’s twins escape.” Ivan visualized the light-haired man that he had come so close to capturing. Hatred churned inside him for the man who had dared to take what belonged to him. Curling his hands into fists, Prince Ivan vowed to make the American pay for his insolence—with his life. And Princess Anna...oh yes, the princess would pay, too, for all the trouble she had caused him. He would see to that. And he knew just how to make her pay, he mused, his lips curving cruelly. He would exact vengeance upon her for her impertinence where she would fee
l it the most—through her son and the twins. He whipped his attention back to the man on the telephone. “The princess and the twins are here. Now find out who Anna’s white knight is.”

  “But, Your Highness—”

  “You have your orders. Now see to it!”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Furious, Prince Ivan slammed down the phone and stared at his glowering reflection in the mirrored wall over the bar in his hotel suite. Midnight hair and black eyes stared back at him out of a face that bore the mark of his nobility. A blind person could see he was no commoner. He was a prince. His Royal Highness, Prince Ivan Striksky of Asterland—and soon of Obersbourg as well.

  “Damn you, Anna von Oberland!” He swiped his hand across the bar, sending crystal glasses and bottles crashing to the floor. He refused to allow the woman or the American to best him. “Wherever you and the twins are, I will find you. I will find. you!” And when he did, he would destroy her American champion, and then he would deal with Anna personally. And this time he would see to it that no mistakes were made.

  He had just made a big mistake, Blake realized. He reached over to wipe away a crumb of corn bread from the corner of Josie’s mouth at the same time she flicked her tongue to do the job. Her warm, moist tongue licked the pad of his thumb instead, and the innocent gesture sent a blast of heat straight to his loms. So much for the cold shower, he thought. Mistake or not, he rubbed his thumb across that pouty bottom lip. At her quick intake of breath and the open longing in her eyes, Blake nearly lost it. He withdrew his hand while he was still able to do so. “Josie, I—”

  She pulled back, her dark lashes fluttering over her eyes—but not before he’d seen the hurt and rejection in them. “Where are my manners? Your wineglass is empty.”

  “Forget the wine.”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s plenty left. I’ll just get the bottle.” Shoving her chair back from the table, she stood and hurried to the counter to retrieve the bottle of Merlot.

  Blake shifted uncomfortably in his seat, grateful for the cover the table provided him. How in the hell was he supposed to be noble and keep his hands off her when she kept sneaking those hungry peeks at him? When just being in the same room with her had him as hard as stone?

  “Here we go,” she said in an upbeat voice that was as phony as the everything’s-okay smile on her face. Her hand trembled as she attempted to refill his glass, and red wine sloshed down the sides. “Oh, no!” Flustered, Josie dropped the bottle, spilling the wine.

  Blake grabbed the bottle, righted it.

  “Oh my, I’m so sorry.” She looked so lost and thoroughly ashamed, it took everything in him not to tuck her in his arms and hold her close. Snatching up napkins, she began sopping at the wine stain spreading across the tablecloth. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

  “It’s all right, Josie.”

  “I can’t believe I did that. I’m such a klutz.”

  “You are not. I said, don’t worry about it.”

  She kept her head down, continued to sop at the red stains. “Sister Charles Marie always did claim that I was in too much of a hurry for my own good. I guess she was right.”

  The words and the image of a younger Josie thinking herself to be lacking, tore at Blake’s heart. “Sister Charles Marie didn’t know what she was talking about.” He captured her never-still hands, held them between his own.

  She refused to look at him. “Did I get any on you? If I did, you’ll need to soak your shirt right away before the stain sets. It—”

  “Forget about the damn shirt.” Holding her smaller hands in one of his, he used his free hand to tip her chin up so he could see her eyes. They were wide, filled with selfrecrimination and shimmering with unshed tears. Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, and the telltale sign of her vulnerability ripped at him. “The shirt doesn’t matter.”

  But she did.

  He lifted her hands to his face, brought them to his mouth. One by one he took her fingers into his mouth and licked away the wine. He could taste the sharp bite of the Merlot, the softness and heat of her skin.

  A breath shuddered through her. Her response sent another stab of desire rolling through him. Her hand trembled beneath his mouth. He could feel her pulse thundering in her wrist as he cleaned each slender finger with his tongue. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this,” he said, more to himself than to her. He moved to her other hand, turned it palm up. He lifted his gaze, stared into her eyes for a moment, read the surrender and longing there. Every nerve in his body pulsed to life with need. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to the center of her palm. She shuddered, and he repeated the ritual. “You should tell me to stop, angel.”

  But she didn’t.

  Instead she tipped her head back, offered him her mouth. Mistake or not, he wanted her. Shoving aside all the reasons he’d given himself not to allow this, he claimed her mouth with his own. He could taste the wine on her lips, on her tongue. He kissed her hard, then harder still as desire drove him. His mouth still on hers, he held her by her hips, backed her up against the wall. Holding her there with his lower body, he worked open the buttons of her shirt. Need burned inside him hotter than any flame. “Josie,” he murmured, as he slipped his hands inside her shirt to cup her breasts.

  Beyond wanting, he opened the clasp at the front of her bra. The need to touch her, the need to feel her satiny skin, the need to know her, flesh to flesh, rode him with the speed and fury of the storm outside. He pushed away the silky fabric of her bra, then nearly lost his ability to think when she arched her back and filled his palms with her breasts.

  She clung to his shoulders, her fingers curled into tight fists in his shirt. He captured the erect nipples between his thumbs and fingers and squeezed them gently. The sounds of pleasure she made had him shaking with need.

  Josie tore her mouth free. “Blake,” she gasped, her body shuddering as he touched her. Wonder and excitement lit those incredible green eyes.

  “Shh. It’s all right, angel. It’s all right,” he repeated, even though her response was driving him closer to the edge. He could feel his control slipping, barely hanging by a thread. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  He saw the denial snap into her eyes, kissed her before she could tell him she wasn’t. He knew she thought she was ordinary. She said so in the way she dressed, in the way she lived, in the way she wore her hair and shunned makeup. She was wrong. What the foolish woman failed to see was that she didn’t need lipsticks and paints or fancy clothes to make her beautiful. She had an inner beauty, an mner goodness, that shone through strong and bright and made her all the more beautiful because of it. The fact that he’d tapped into the romantic, passionate soul she tried so hard to hide from the rest of the world only made her more special and more desirable to him.

  He caressed her breasts again, and another moan escaped her lips. She arched her back. Lightning flashed outside of the window, illuminating her face, the pale skin of her throat, her long narrow torso. Desire, already a fever in his blood, exploded inside him. He’d promised her he would stop. And he fully intended to do so. He’d promised himself he’d only take a taste of her, and a taste wouldn’t hurt either of them.

  Only he wanted so much more than a taste. He wanted all of her. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to watch her face when he did. Fingers trembling with anticipation, with need, he ignored the alarms going off in his head and reached for the button at the waist of her jeans.

  Outside, the storm raged. Thunder rumbled like an angry beast, shaking the foundation of the house with its fury. Rain slapped against the windowpanes like fists. But it was nothing compared to the storm of desire surging inside him. At last the button on her jeans came free. Need tearing at him, he kissed her again—deeper, longer, hungrier.

  Surely he’d wanted a woman before, Blake rationalized. But even if he could remember any other woman, he didn’t believe he could have ever wanted anyone as much as he wanted Josie right now.
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  Lightning flashed again, brighter this time. The blast of thunder that followed echoed in his ears; drowning out those voices whispering to him about sanity and honor. Until the only sound left was the drumbeat in his blood, urging him to make Josie his.

  To hell with sanity and honor, he thought. He wanted her. She wanted him. He reached for the zipper of her jeans. And as his unsteady fingers closed around the metal tab, the world suddenly went black.

  Eight

  Desire still singing in her blood, Josie nearly whimpered when Blake lifted his head. Slowly, reluctantly, she opened her eyes. With her head spinning, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, it took a moment for her to realize that the room had gone pitch-black-and that she couldn’t see a blessed thing. And except for the sound of their ragged breathing, the house was silent.

  She wasn’t normally afraid of the dark. And this certainly wasn’t the first time she’d lost power since moving out to the farm. While the experience annoyed her, it never frightened her. So it didn’t make a lick of sense that she would suddenly feel afraid now and instinctively reach out for Blake.

  But she did.

  Her fingers found his face. The stubble on his cheeks felt stiff, coarse beneath her fingertips. Fascinated by the rough texture of those whiskers against her softer skin, she shaped his jaw, ran her fingers over the sharp angle of his chin, along the sensuous curve of his mouth. She traced the smooth surface of his lips, found them warm, moist.

  There was something erotic and reckless and exciting at being able to touch Blake this way, she thought. It was like being able to see him with her fingers instead of with her eyes. It made everything sharper, as though being rendered powerless to see had somehow heightened her other senses. Suddenly she was more aware of the way he smelled-that mixture of soap and wood and man. She was more aware of the way his body felt—all hard muscle and warm skin. She was more aware of the strength he kept so tightly leashed.