Hot as Hell

by Monette Michaels

  Employer? He shot a curious glance at Conn and muttered, “What employer?”

  His friend frowned and shook his head.

  Dawn turned her gaze toward Sam and Conn just long enough for Sam to realize she had her ear bud switched on and had heard his question. Then she pointedly looked toward a cabana at the corner of the pool, two away from hers.

  Shit. He recognized one of the men lurking in the shadows of the cabana—Benrabi. The sheikh sat there and acted as though he owned everything around him including Dawn.

  Mine. You fucking perverted asshole.

  Dawn then inclined her head toward Benrabi in a regal manner that had to have been learned over a lifetime of dealing with nobility as an earl’s daughter.

  Turning back to Benrabi’s lackey, she said, “Tell Sheikh Benrabi thank you and then convey my most heartfelt regrets.” Her tone was kind, but firm.

  “Please, my lady… my master will think I insulted you.”

  Sam wouldn’t have been surprised to see the young man prostrate himself at Dawn’s feet.

  “He’d be mad at you merely because I refused a drink?” Dawn sounded angry, but not surprised.

  Sam liked her angry tone far more than the chipper one she’d used earlier.

  “Yes, my lady.” The young man bowed his head.

  “Tell the Sheikh if he wishes to speak with me about our past acquaintance, I’ll have a drink with him at the Baccarat table in the High-Roller’s Lounge this evening. Let’s say, eight o’clock. Do you think that will make him happier with you?” Before the man could stutter a reply, she added, “And do tell him I don’t ever drink alcohol during the heat of the day.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, my lady. Thank you. You are too kind. Too generous. May Allah bless and protect you.” The young man bowed his way out of her cabana and headed back to his employer at a trot, the drink in his hand sloshing all over him and the pool deck.

  “Good job, little cat,” Sam spoke just loudly enough for his microphone to pick up his words.

  “As if I’d ever take a drink from a stranger,” huffed Dawn under her breath, her head angled away from Benrabi’s cabana. “Want to bet there was a date rape drug in it?”

  “No bets.” Benrabi would’ve then rushed in to assist his former acquaintance. He’d have taken her away. “There was.”

  Sam watched Benrabi’s errand boy as he poured the beverage into a potted plant in his master’s cabana. “You don’t drink or eat anything that man tries to pawn off on you.”

  “Jesus, Sam. I’m not a bleeding idiot.” Faking a call, Dawn put her phone to her ear and then glared at him across the expanse of the pool. Her eyes widened and she murmured, “Nice GQ look, luv. You must’ve studied up on what the wealthy playboy wears to the pool at a high-end resort.”

  “Fuck no. Ren loaned me some of his gear,” Sam said. “I’m not this guy, sweetheart. Don’t get used to it. Jeans, T-shirts, and motorcycle boots are more my speed. You have a problem with that?” Even if she did, it wouldn’t stop him from making her his.

  “Clothes do not make the man … but they do make an impression. Right now, your attire says large bank balance and a yacht. If you hadn’t noticed, you and Conn are attracting a lot of female attention.”

  Fuck that, there was only one woman he wanted to impress. The woman who’d been ready to make love with him last night. The one who saw him for who he was. For her, he could compromise once in a while and dress to impress her family. God knew, he’d never want to embarrass her in front of her loved ones.

  Conn nudged him. “Heads up. Bartender’s approaching. Your food … remember?”

  “Food?” Dawn leaned forward, still faking a phone conversation. “I’m starving. You going to share?”

  Sam turned toward the bartender and slipped him another ten bucks in addition to the previous money he’d given the man. “Make it to go and add another bottle of beer, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” The bartender hurried off.

  “Meet you in your suite in five minutes, little cat. You’ve met your first objective for the day. Time to get out of the heat of the day and rest for tonight.”

  “Yes, oh bossy one. Just make sure half that sandwich I saw is mine.” Dawn began to gather her belongings while juggling the phone. “Breakfast was a long time ago.”

  “You can have anything of mine you desire,” Sam replied.

  Dawn giggled. “You implied as much last night.”

  Conn groaned and, flicking off the microphone located in his watch, muttered under his breath, “Obvious, much?”

  Keeping his gaze on Dawn as she stood, Sam gave Conn his middle finger. His friend let out a snort of laughter, then took a sip of beer while also keeping an eye on Dawn. “Hope she’s as into you as you are in her.”

  “She is.” Sam grinned.

  When Dawn turned her back to them to bend over to pick up something off the ground, Sam’s smile disappeared and he almost swallowed his tongue. “Shit, her ass is all but naked.”

  “My ass is not naked,” sniped Dawn.

  Shit, he’d forgotten to turn off his microphone the way Conn had.

  “Near as.” Sam eyed Dawn’s glutes and found them to be as Conn had alluded, in excellent shape—round and firm-looking. He knew how soft her skin was since he’d had his hands on her naked butt the evening before.

  “Told you.” Conn laughed when Sam growled and shot him another finger.

  “Dawn, Conn will tail you to your suite,” said Sam. “Take a circuitous route. The promise of drinks and Baccarat isn’t going to satisfy Benrabi. He’ll want your room number. I’ll collect the food and head straight up and clear the room before you get there.”

  “Gee, now why didn’t I think of all that?” Dawn tugged on a cover-up with an angry-looking motion as she still juggled the phone. “I think Conn and I can figure out how to lose a tail, MacCrocker.”

  Damn, he’d pissed her off—but he’d probably do it again. He acknowledged he was an overprotective throwback. She’d either get used to it—or knock him on his ass.

  Conn punched him in the arm and mouthed, “Stop fucking up.”

  “Sorry, Dawn.” Sam had definitely never felt this way about any woman before—all worried about her safety and comfort—and so possessive.

  Shit, he needed to get his head in gear, or he’d be the reason she got hurt.

  “Apology accepted. I’ll be browsing the gift shop, Conn. We can head up when you’re in position.” Dawn sauntered out of the pool area as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  A man separated from the shadows of the cabana where Benrabi still sat and followed her into the hotel.

  “Shit, I hate it when we’re right.” Conn stood. “You need the key card for her suite or mine?”

  “Nah. Hotel security’s second-in-command gave me a master key card earlier when I met with him to go over tonight’s security surveillance for Dawn.”

  “Uh, Sam…” Conn fell silent while the bartender handed Sam the take-out food. After the bartender walked away, he continued, “Let Dawn get some rest.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked, but was afraid he knew what was stuck in Conn’s craw.

  “I mean, no marathon sex, buddy. She has to be relaxed and sharp, not exhausted.”

  “Fuck off, Redmond.” Sam snarled. How could Conn even think he’d do anything to endanger Dawn?

  Because so far today, you’ve been thinking with your little head, not your big one.

  Conn slapped him on the back. “Hey, I know you. You want to mark your territory, even if it’s to make an impression on her and no one else. And fuck, man, I’d want to do the same in your place. Just make sure she gets some sleep and that the marks don’t show in the dress she’ll be wearing. If it’s anything like that bathing suit, she’ll be showing a lot of skin. Benrabi thinks she’s here alone and he has a clear playing field. We don’t want him sensing competition and making a crazy play to take her.”

  “Don’t worry.
She’ll be rested—and unmarked.” Sam stomped off, taking the shortest route to the elevators to the suite’s floor.

  Yeah, he’d be careful when touching Dawn. She had delicate, ivory skin—easily bruised skin. Ordinarily, he liked leaving love marks on a woman he fucked. But Dawn wasn’t like his other women; she was more. When he and Dawn had sex, it would be making love. So, when it came to claiming her, he expected he’d be finding a more permanent, less physical, means of marking her as his—after the op was over.

  For now, he’d feed her, then give her a few orgasms so she could sleep deeply.

  In a way, Conn was correct—this afternoon was all about Sam claiming his woman and making sure she knew she was taken.

  ****

  Dawn took a long, meandering route to her suite as Sam had ordered. She sniffed. Sam! What was she going to do with the man? Logically, he had to realize she was competent or she wouldn’t have been doing undercover work for Interpol. But men like Sam were wired to protect the little woman. He really needed to get over that mind-set if they were to work together.

  Two clicks over her ear bud indicated Conn had successfully blocked Benrabi’s man and she could head for her room now. She glanced down the long hall and snickered as Benrabi’s man tried to maneuver around two maids and their bulky carts. Conn had waded into the melee as if to help, but merely added to the confusion.

  Grinning, Dawn slipped into the stairwell and jogged up three flights to the floor one level below hers, then exited the stairs and took the elevator to her floor. Even if Benrabi had people hack into the hotel computer system, hotel security had buried her registration under an alias she’d used on past Interpol ops. None of the hotel staff knew her by sight or name since she’d been checked in before she arrived and had entered the hotel by a back way, escorted by Conn and hotel security before sunrise that morning.

  Anyone searching the hotel registry would find seven women with British passports checking in this morning. By the time Benrabi figured out her suite number by process of elimination, the op would be finished.

  Intel from the Dutch navy patrolling the area around Aruba, Bonaire, and Curacao was that MacLean’s container ship had anchored off the ABC islands in international waters. Until MacLean’s people moved to offload the kidnapped women onto Benrabi’s yacht or until the container ship entered the three islands’ territorial waters, the Dutch military could do nothing but keep an eye on things.

  Dawn’s exposure to risk on this mission was minimal. She’d been in far more danger during the Interpol operation in Belize, and that had been due to DJ and Tweeter’s situation more than hers. Tonight, she would serve merely as a distraction for Benrabi and MacLean.

  If there were any danger this evening, it would come from Benrabi after she’d completed her part of the op and left the casino. According to the current plan, Benrabi and MacLean wouldn’t be arrested until they moved to complete the transfer of the girls—where they’d find an unwelcome surprise. While Benrabi was still free, he could still try for her.

  Unfortunately for Benrabi, she wasn’t a young girl any longer. She was a trained undercover agent. She also had backup. Sam would never let anyone hurt her. The more primitive side of her thrilled to the idea of her Marine fighting to protect her. So much for her vaunted need to be treated as an equal team member.

  Sam was in her suite, waiting to feed her and, she suspected, to claim her. A shivery awareness traveled over her body and settled between her thighs where it set her clit to pulsing. Her body wanted him—and bloody hell, so did her mind.

  Because no matter what they’d said last night over cheese, wine, and conversation, neither of them really wanted to wait to see how good they could be together.

  Bottom-line, she wanted the memory of his scent… his taste… and his touch before she had to deal with the dregs of the earth later that evening.

  The elevator opened onto her floor. Dawn stepped out and scanned her surroundings by opening her senses, all five plus the survival instinct every undercover operative developed after delving in the muck. If anyone was watching her, other than the security cameras, they weren’t triggering her fight-or-flight instincts. Satisfied she was alone, she moved swiftly to her suite, slid her key card in the lock, and then entered.

  Chapter 8

  “What took you so long?” Sam pulled Dawn against his side and shut and double-locked the suite door one-handed. “I was just about to contact Conn.”

  “Had to lose Benrabi’s bully boy.” Dawn stood on tiptoe and leaned into him, then brushed her lips over his chin. Angling her head back, she smiled at him. “Hey there, Marine. Where’s my food?”

  Sam growled, “Hold on, little cat,” then he picked her up and kissed her, slipping his tongue inside her mouth and tasting her fully. She tasted like sunshine, sea air, and some fruity flavor that had him hungering for more.

  After several seconds, he broke off the kiss and set her back on her feet. It was all he could do not to strip the ridiculous excuse for a swimsuit off her—and take her against the door.

  “Does that kiss mean I don’t get to eat?” She looked him in the eye, her cheeks flushed from her morning by the pool or from the kiss, he couldn’t tell.

  “No, food first.” He stroked a finger over a high cheek bone. “Then we can revisit the kiss.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Dawn shed her cover-up, tossing it onto a couch, and moved toward the counter that separated the small upscale kitchen from the main living area of the suite. Her round, tight ass, neatly divided in half with a narrow turquoise strip of fabric, flexed as she walked—an erotic tease that had him hard and aching. And tested his resolve.

  “Fuck me,” Sam swore under his breath. His cock went from semi-erect to full-on erect in a split-second. “Is that suit even legal?”

  “In the Caribbean—it seems to be.” She looked over her shoulder and grinned. “This is far more coverage than I’ve had on some Interpol undercover assignments. One time my team assisted the Marseilles police to shut down a Moroccan drug ring operating out of Southern France beaches and the Marseilles docks. Oh, by the way, those were nude beaches. I had no gun. No knife. No wire. Unlike SSI, Interpol had no cool communication devices like these—” She flicked a finger at her earring containing a powerful receiver.

  “That was the true meaning of being naked.” Dawn twisted open a bottle of water and took a healthy drink and then sighed. “That’s so good. It’s hot as hell outside.”

  As she’d relayed a bit of her past, full-blown fear consumed Sam, turning his insides icy hot like a ring in Dante’s hell. North African drug traffickers were some of the most vicious and Marseilles was a cess pool of violence. Dawn could’ve died—and she talked about the experience as if it were just another day in law enforcement… a walk in the fucking park.

  Yeah, sure, logically, he could accept she was in law enforcement, which always entailed the potential of danger, but she’d been working undercover as part of a fricking incident response team, not a highly trained special operations team. He’d intersected with Interpol IRT teams while undercover for the CIA. The incident response teams were mostly made up of desk-jockey analysts and investigative support personnel more akin to crime scene investigators; their job was to assist the local cops, not risk their lives.

  While Dawn might’ve had more advanced training than most IRT members—and thank fuck for that—Sam hadn’t been impressed at all with her team in Belize, led by the fucking idiot Lloyd. Dawn had been deep undercover, shit had happened, and she’d received absolutely zero backup from her team.

  Again, Sam mentally swore at the image of her working the nude beaches of South France for drug connections and meeting with informants on the rough, seedy docks of Marseilles.

  Get your head on straight, dumb ass. She’s alive to talk about it, which means she has the skills and instincts to do the job.

  If he kept telling himself those salient facts long enough, he might begin to believe them.

>   Sam took a deep breath and looked at her.

  Her big green eyes held understanding, sympathy, as if she’d read his thoughts. “Sam, I made it out. I’m good at what I do.”

  Yeah, she read him well… too well.

  Sam exhaled slowly and focused on shoving the past where it belonged—under old news. The reality was—Interpol was out of the picture. Now Dawn had real backup. SSI employed highly trained men and women who cared about their peers—and protected innocents in the path of danger—while still managing to produce superior results.

  But there was one thing he couldn’t get out of his head—“No more fucking nude beaches.” Well, not unless he was with her… and the beach was one hundred percent private… and they were the only two humans present.

  Sam walked toward her. “No more bathing suits that invite men to do this.” He took hold of the strips of fabric and ripped them away, leaving her naked but for her nipple rings and her low-heeled sandals. He fisted his hands by his side; if he touched the nipple rings the way he wanted, he’d be taking her on the counter.

  “Sam?” Her voice was throaty, both sexy and a little wary. “Why are you so angry about the nude beaches? You weren’t around back then. As for the suit, you and Conn were at the pool, nothing bad could happen.”

  That was for damn sure. As long as he had a breath in his body, he’d never let anything or anyone hurt her if he could prevent it. And that included himself.

  “Didn’t say my reaction was logical … it just is.” He swept a lock of hair off her shoulder with a shaky hand—his hand never shook. He could be out-numbered and under fire by bad-ass tangos, and he had nerves of steel. That was how he knew Dawn was the one; just the thought of her in danger or hurt had him shaking like a green recruit.

  He brushed a light kiss where the strap of her swimsuit had left a deep pink indentation on one shoulder. “After I feed you and we revisit that kiss, I plan on making love to you before we take our nap. You down with that?”

  Dawn stared at him for several seconds, seconds that had him holding his breath as he waited for her response.