Dangerous Liaisons: Bound To Serve

by Honey Jans

  An outburst would only harden Frost's resolve; she'd learned that from bitter past experience. Didn't matter, Condor couldn't be allowed to steal her case, and Jennifer Harrison, a junior agent—a fluffy, playboy bunny wannabe—wouldn't either. Whether Frost was doing this as a reprimand or really thought she couldn't handle it, she didn't know, but she was damned well going to find out. Either way, she had nothing left to lose. She turned back to Frost, her mind made up. “Why are you doing this, sir? It is my beat."

  He arched an imperious brow. “Agent Jamison, I don't have to answer your impertinent question. But I will just this once, given your deep personal attachment to this case."

  Deep personal attachment! She tensed as he said the words. How does the director know about James? They'd kept their affair a secret, as well as its demise, from everyone in the agency because of the non-fraternization rule, pretending to be just good friends. And it was on that basis that she'd pressed for more involvement in the case. “Deep personal attachment?"

  Frost gave her a sad, but understanding smile. “You didn't think you could keep your engagement secret from me?"

  She should have known she couldn't hide anything from Bran Frost, the spy. “You didn't say anything about..."

  "Fate, in the form of a bombing, took the problem away."

  James wasn't a problem, except that he'd cheated on her, lied to her. She shuddered, closing her eyes. Still, it didn't mean she didn't want to bring his murderer to justice. “Well then, why are you taking me off the case? You know how motivated I am."

  "And biased,” Frost said.

  Bridget bit her lip to keep from shouting at him. It wasn't true, was it? Well, she had been rather single-minded.

  "You don't have the qualifications,” Condor cut in.

  "What a crock,” she muttered as Condor's teasing words cut through her musings. Shooting a glare at the ghost agent who still lounged in his chair, she wanted nothing more than for him to back off. The notorious agent was old school, a relic from the Stone Age. He was probably more apt to blow things up than investigate. From her point of view, he was the one lacking in credentials. Unless he had some special training she didn't know about. “What qualifications do you have, that I don't possess?” she asked, challenging him.

  "Perez likes his sex with a little kink,” Condor cut in dryly, his eyes twinkling. “I'm a Dom by training and inclination."

  Heat infused her face at Condor's plainly spoken words. As she felt it spread down her body, she cursed her redhead's tendency to blush. Condor's seemingly fascinated gaze followed the blush down the v of her white blouse until it disappeared into no man's land. Mortified, she turned her back on him, refusing to be drawn into this discussion, and refocused on the director. “Sir, don't listen to him. I'm very qualified to lead this mission. The subject of sex doesn't bother me. I even played a Dominatrix once, if you'll recall.” She'd actually played a small part in that mission, but she wasn't going to point that out. “How about if I play Dominatrix, and paddle Condor's snarky ass?"

  She noticed Condor uncoil from the chair, all six-foot-six inches, of hot, do-me-twice male. How could she not, his fluid power was spellbinding, making her nipples tingle and bud inside her clothes. Years of celibacy had to be responsible. The first chance she got, she'd get laid, but not by him. She needed a man she could control. The playful, bad boy, smile ghosting his lips made the breath catch in her throat. She couldn't look away, even though she knew it was madness to stare. He's not that impressive; get your head back in the game, girl. His powerful, amused gaze told her he knew what she was thinking.

  "Love, you can try to paddle my ass if you want, but you won't win. I'll be bringing Jennifer as my submissive. She might not have your fire, but she knows how to behave, and keep on task."

  Love. The cutesy nickname pissed her off almost as much as his brash reference to male domination. And that keep on task crack didn't set very well, either. It seemed he knew all about her misbehavior in Homburg. Simon Perez probably did get off on denigrating women; it fit in with his sociopath profile. She didn't think that Condor was cut from the same cloth, but he was the kind of guy who would want to be on top. A Dom by nature and inclination, huh? He looked it, giving off those commanding vibes, but he couldn't dominate her.

  Rising as Condor stepped her way, she stared him down, knowing that most men backed down from her fierce, take-no-prisoners glare. Condor didn't even blink. Damn! His dark compelling eyes flared with interest, and he smiled, turning him from fierce to devastating. Her knees wobbled. She'd never met the man who could control her. Her pumps added two inches to her five-foot-six inch height, but she still had to, annoyingly, look up to meet Condor's hard, yet playful gaze. “Like you've got the qualifications for that,” she snapped.

  "Actually I do. Care for a sample?"

  His sultry voice and teasing words were so much more effective than gruff threats. Double damn! She strengthened her resolve not to fall under his spell. Was he just making this Dom pose up? Every rousing feminine instinct inside her said no. Crap! Where did that leave her? Filling Jennifer's shoes, if she wanted to hang onto her case—just the thought made her tingle. Sex on missions was always simulated, she reminded herself, another one of those non-fraternization rules. Condor didn't follow the rules. That meant something more physical. Something told her getting that close to Condor would be dangerous. “So you get off on subjugating women, do you? How unenlightened of you, Condor."

  "Sent anyone out for a testicular retrieval lately?” he shot back, with a quick grin.

  The playful question made her jaw drop. How did he know about the Randolph fiasco? It was supposed to be covered up by her father, one of his last acts as director, before he retired. The accident from her early days as a field agent had sent a suspect with roving hands to the hospital. She thought she heard a chuckle beside her, and turned to fix a startled stare at the director. Was the man who never seemed to crack a smile laughing at her? He was keeping a straight face, but there was a twinkle in his cool eyes that she'd never seen before. Well, hell, it was two against one, bad odds; still she couldn't afford to back down.

  Frost cleared his throat. “I've made my decision. Agent Harrison might be new, but she can follow orders."

  She winced. Damn, she'd known her insubordination would come back to haunt her, but not at this great a cost. “I can carry off Agent Harrison's roll and I'd be of more help to Condor, with my computer skills, and my photographic memory.” It wasn't bragging, she was tops in the computer lab, and her photographic memory was a bonus. Little facts she'd retained had saved several dodgy missions and Frost knew it.

  Her computer skills had drawn her to the agency in the first place, before the bombing that had changed her life, and her career direction. Condor, for his part, had probably never touched a computer in his life. Frost was wavering a little, steepling his fingers together as he looked at her, which usually meant he was mulling things over.

  Condor stepped a little closer, she could feel his body heat sizzling into her side, smell his sexy earthy scent, an intoxicating mix of leather and hot man. She tried to ignore him.

  "You'd have to enter the compound nude, love,” Condor said, adding bluntly, “Sex slaves at The Retreat are often kept nude."

  The prospect of prancing around in her birthday suit in front of Condor was embarrassing, and to her shame, enticing. You're the original ice queen, Bridge, and you do not get off on masterful men. Tell him to go screw himself. Her nipples budded tight under her clothes just the same. It was the shock. She was glad her loose jacket disguised her primal reaction. One of them would come out of this battle of the sexes victorious, and it would be her. “So? I'm not ashamed of my body, Condor."

  He smiled. “I'm not so sure. The barbed wire suit you're wearing says you're hiding something."

  "Bite me, you chromo.” His sexy chuckle made her melt inside, even while she wanted to drop him where he stood, and demonstrate her displeasure.

&n
bsp; "Easy, sugar. I do outrank you.” He brushed a stray tendril of hair away from her heated face. “You'd have to convincingly play my submissive lover, including bondage, discipline, the whole bit. I'd spank you for real. A hellcat like you could never pull the roll off successfully. Besides, I'd barely have time to train you. I'm afraid you won't do."

  Bridget tingled; her breath catching as his warm, battle-scarred fingertips gently brushed her cheek, making heat bloom in their wake. For some bizarre reason, she found herself leaning toward him. The man was a hot walking advertisement for sex and she couldn't help responding. What painful secrets did his gruff demeanor hide? You do not want to know. She forced herself to step back. His hand fell and she could swear she saw regret in his dark and stormy eyes. Nonsense, he was clearly trying to scare her off, so he could steal her case.

  Frost cleared his throat.

  Bridget's embarrassed attention snapped back to him. How long had she and Condor been staring at each other with inappropriate heat in their eyes?

  Frost sighed. “Condor's right, you simply won't do, Agent Jamison."

  Furious, as the director dismissed her while giving her attire a doubtful once-over, Bridget knew the time had come to play her last card. She nimbly unbuttoned her suit jacket and slipped it off, laying it on her chair, well aware that the florescent light above highlighted her breasts inside her white silk blouse; the pink lace bra lovingly cupping her curves. She then unpinned her hair, letting it fall so it tumbled around her shoulders like a fiery curtain. Only then did she look at the director, and was relieved to note that he was smiling. “Well?"

  Frost nodded, his amusement showing. “You'll do. What do you think, Condor?"

  Finding the nerve to look at her would-be Dom, she was startled by the heat of arousal in Condor's eyes. His annoyance was just as easy to read, in the hard set of his mouth; he didn't like being played. Maybe regaining control of her case would be easy. She nibbled her lip and watched his irises contract. Hell, yeah. Condor was a dead duck.

  He scowled back at the director. “I suppose I can whip her into shape."

  She bit her lip at his words. Would he really use whips? Her bottom seemed to heat up, and she felt a blush surge through her again. She watched Condor study her reaction with a pleased smile. Damn!

  Frost handed Condor a thick manila file. “Just so you understand, Jamison, Condor is Agent-In-Charge in the field. You will need to take your orders directly from him, and obey them. Any objections?"

  It didn't matter who pulled rank as long as she was free to do her job. “No objections. I'm sure there's a lot I can learn from someone with his decades of field experience.” She watched Condor's frown and knew he'd gotten the unsaid message that he was a dinosaur.

  He turned and stalked out of the office without a word.

  Well, hell, if this was a sample of his leadership style, it was going to be a rocky road. Gritting her teeth, she shrugged back into her blazer, and ran after him, knowing, without a doubt, she was in deep trouble.

  Chapter 2

  Well now, he'd really done it. Condor stalked away from Bran's office frustrated and with a painful hard-on, with sultry Agent Bridget Jamison hot on his heels. He could smell her cherry bark and almond scent, hear her high heels clicking as she ran after him, and it only made him harder. One strong word of objection from him and Frost might have folded like a house of cards, but no. He'd stood there like a prize patsy, eyeing her impromptu strip-tease like a starving man would a steak dinner, and got hard. Obviously, he'd been working too hard. It'd been way too long since he'd gotten laid, and Bridget had what it took to make him heavy with need. Her assurance to Frost that she'd take a back seat was only lip service, and they both knew it. She was a spoiled brat, the eldest daughter of the former Director.

  Which one of them would be sorry first? Probably her, when he took her over his knee. There could be no half measures; her submissive training had to be the real McCoy, and the thought turned him inside out. To have this opportunity to handle a tempting beauty like her was a wet dream come true. Or a trap. He'd found her alluring from the first moment he'd seen her six years ago. But he made it a practice not to mix business with pleasure. You don't do relationships for a reason, stupid, and you don't really believe in the Dom/sub myth. Those relationships never work.

  And then there was her relationship with the reckless, now dead, young agent James Clayton. So what chance did he have with her? None. He hadn't missed her pained expression when Bran had alluded to it. She was still carrying a huge torch for this dead guy. The body had never been found, and Clayton had been touched by scandal before the explosion. There was more than met the eye to that fiasco, and he wasn't the type to believe cover stories the agency put out. For all he knew, Clayton had been taken deeper undercover; it'd happened before. It wasn't his problem. All he had to do was his job. At the rate he was going, he'd have blue balls inside of a week. He'd be lucky if he only came out of it with a limp.

  He stopped at the elevator and Bridget thudded into him. He stifled a needy groan as her soft tits pressed against his back like twin laser beams, making his cock throb. He stepped away when the lift doors opened, and turned to look at Bridget. One look at her bewitching face and he reached out to tug her inside the empty car before he could reconsider his actions. She bumped up against him, her breasts pillowing against his chest, and they both gasped in reaction. This wasn't good, as her Dom, he had to master her, and keep his mind on the mission. Anything less could get them both killed. She had that deer-in-the-headlights look. It brought out his protective instincts, even while he burned to peel off her prim clothes, and learn all her secrets. Not very PC, but that's why the agency paid him so well. “Bridget, if you want to back out, you still can."

  She placed her hands flat against his chest and pushed back in an effort to keep her distance. “And let you take over, no thank you."

  Her quick refusal irritated him even more than her efforts to distance herself. She tried to push him away but he stood fast, maintaining their intimate connection, needing to reinforce his demand. Did she have any idea what she was playing at? “I meant what I said. I'll have to train you for real, paddling, sexual submission, bondage, and it'll start immediately. I'm giving you an easy out ... take it."

  "Don't do me any favors, Dino."

  "Dino?” he asked. Puzzled, cocking his head as he stared at her blushing face. Enthralled, he watched her full lips curve into a naughty grin as she mocked him. He had plans for those kissable lips and if she wasn't careful, she was going to find out exactly what they were.

  "You know, the dinosaur."

  So she thought he was past it. Maybe so, but he had what it took to get the job done and take her in hand. “Fine, it's on.” He pulled the slave bracelet out of his pocket and snapped it on her wrist in one fast motion, watching the shock on her face as she stared at it. With a hidden mechanism, it'd be damned near impossible for her to take off. A little something of his that made this claiming feel almost real. He bent to nuzzle her tempting nape, drinking in her sweet womanly scent, as she stiffened against him in protest.

  "You're wearing my slave bracelet, Bridget. Let me spell it out for you, love. As your Dom, it'll be my duty to take you over my knees, bend you to my will, and open you with my cock."

  She trembled, arching her neck to give him access. “But it's only simulated sex,” she said, pressing against him.

  "Is it?” Condor growled, her hot response catching him off-guard as she all but melted against him. Her unexpected surrender drove him wild. Pressing his hard-on against the creamy juncture of her thighs, he throbbed with need. “It sure as hell feels real to me.” He arched against her, hearing her whimper as she shimmied, all but dry humping him. “What do you think of that?” he managed to mumble.

  "Oh yeah, very real,” she said, trembling, dragging her stiff nipples against him.

  He groaned and captured her lips, tasting sweet cherries and passion. Her tongue came out t
o mate with his and he was lost to lust, testing his cock against her time and again. She cried out, arching against him, gasping. He broke the kiss to nibble her nape, tasting her sweet flesh. She was positively the most edible woman he'd ever met. He groaned, grabbing her ass to pull her pussy closer to his hungry cock as she rocked against him, little mewing sounds pouring out of her mouth. When he heard the elevator doors open with a ding, he managed to pull himself back, noting the lusty expression in her emerald eyes; her lips kiss swollen, and smiling. He learned what he needed to know; she had the passion to carry out her role, now he'd just have to teach her the discipline. “Come,” he said, taking her hand.

  "I almost did,” Bridget whispered in confession, as she hurried to keep pace with Condor's long stride. She was shocked by the conflagration that had gone through her. Her sex was creamy, pulsing, making it hard to walk a straight line. Her nipples were hard and tingling, and her heart racing. Never had a man almost made her come from a kiss and a cuddle—her body was still flaming. He might be a throwback, but Condor knew how to kiss like nobody's business. Her lips still felt swollen. And she missed the pressure of his hard cock against her body. She took a deep breath trying to slow down her racing heartbeat. This needy reaction had to be caused by her shock about the slave bracelet, she decided dourly, and certainly not by Condor himself. The disreputable ghost agent wasn't her idea of the ideal man, far from it. She wanted a tolerant man she could handle. Not one whose idea of fun was spanking women. What kind of man carried a slave bracelet in his pocket? She had an excited, shivery feeling that she was going to find out soon. Maybe it was company property, only part of the role he was playing.

  "When are you going to brief me on the case?” She bit her lip, her breath catching, when he slanted a firm look her way. His eyes darkened when he looked at her mouth, and she shivered. Is he remembering the kiss; wanting to do it again? His expression instantly turned shuttered when he felt her scrutiny.