That agent had been rescued. So why hadn’t a team been sent out for this one?
“They’re getting closer.” Her voice was a breath of terror.
“No worries, baby. By nightfall, we’re going to be safe and sound and celebrating with some homemade shine I’m saving just for the end of this mission. I’ll get you drunk and seduce you.”
“Seduce me?”
“Oh yeah.” He held her closer. “I’ll lay you down and kiss every bruise, then lick all the hurt away. I’ll lave those pretty, tender nipples, and when I go lower, you’ll forget all about the pain.”
“Ego.” She was shuddering in his arms at the sound of the vehicles moving into the ravine.
“Truth.” He kissed the top of her head. “When I’m finished, this will all seem like a very bad dream. Distant and gone away. It will be just me and you, sweetheart. Sweaty and hot and doing things that might make both of us blush.”
“I bet you don’t blush.” She buried her face in his chest at the sound of voices shouting in Arabic.
“I bet you could make me blush.” He kissed the top of her head and smiled, triumph singing through him at the feel of the light vibration of the radio at his thigh. “You gonna make me blush tonight, sugar? I just got signal.” He took her hand and laid it against the radio. “Five minutes and hell is gonna sweep through here. Five hours and I’m going to make you blush.”
“You can’t.” He could have sworn he heard tears in her voice.
“Making you blush would be my sole aim in life,” he murmured. “I promise, baby, I can do it.”
“I’m married.”
PROLOGUE II
Lake Cumberland, Kentucky
August, Four Years Later
Chaya Greta Dane found the tracking device that had been left beneath Dawg Mackay’s vehicle on the side of a dirt road so deep in the Kentucky mountains that she knew she would play hell finding her way out.
She blew out a hard breath and shook her head. The Mackays weren’t stupid, but sometimes her boss liked to pretend they were, and that was a very big mistake, especially in light of the fact that Cranston really wasn’t a fool.
She stared around the area before brushing back her dark blond hair and resigning herself to the inevitable.
Dawg Mackay had led her on a merry chase, and he had known exactly what he was doing. Through twisting hollows, up steep mountain roads that barely passed as trails, and into the thick forests that surrounded Lake Cumberland like a protective lover.
She would find her way out, eventually, but there was no doubt she was stuck for the night. Her satellite phone wasn’t cooperating for some reason, the cell phone had no reception, and night was coming on.
She straightened from the crouch where she had found the locator another agent had placed beneath the Mackay vehicle, propped her hands on her hips, and stared around the thick forest surrounding her.
It would have been enjoyable if she’d been prepared. Simple things like enough water to get her through the night, a sleeping bag maybe. She did have her weapon. And her thoughts. Too many thoughts the longer she stayed in Somerset—the longer she was around Natches Mackay and all the memories she tried to push behind her.
She shook her head and reached inside her back pocket for the habit she had picked up again in the past few months, only to find the cigarette pack she had stuck there earlier empty. Great.
Shaking her head, she wadded up the pack and tossed it into the back of the borrowed jeep her boss had had waiting for her just outside of Somerset, after she had reported the direction Dawg and his lover, Crista Jansen, had been heading in.
Crista Jansen looked too damned much like the woman brokering a missile sale between hijackers and terrorists to suit the Department of Homeland Security. It had been her job to follow Crista, to keep an eye on her and whoever she met with.
Knowing Dawg Mackay, Crista Jansen was meeting with nothing less than every inch of that Kentucky native’s hard body. Dawg wasn’t a traitor. He wanted those missiles as much as they did, and it was apparent he believed his woman was innocent.
But, hell, everyone thought the person they loved was innocent. Human nature had a tendency to overlook the truth whenever it wanted to. She had learned that lesson herself, the hard way.
Always the hard way. And look at what she had lost. Sometimes Chaya wondered if she hadn’t lost her soul in a desert so bleak it sucked the spirit out of a person.
She snorted at that thought as she kicked at a clump of grass and leaned against her car, determined to enjoy just a few minutes of being unreachable by her boss, Timothy Cranston. No doubt he was frantically calling both the cell and sat phones. And here she stood, breathing in the fresh mountain air, feeling the peace of the place wrap around her, sink inside her.
Beseeching her to relax. To remember. To remember one night. One man. Urging her to close her eyes and to remember his touch. A touch filled with tears and her sobs, but also with his gentleness, with the warmth of his kisses, the heat of his possession. A night she only remembered in her dreams.
Her lips kicked up in a grin at the thought. Yeah, relax and drop her guard. Hadn’t she done that before? And hadn’t she paid for it? Hadn’t she lost everything she loved in life because she had trusted the wrong person? And here she was, a part of her wishing, regretting things she knew she had no right to regret.
Strong arms that didn’t hold her through the night. A voice like aged whiskey that didn’t rasp her name with heated passion at his release. Hands, calloused and possessive. And she regretted, because that illusion was the most dangerous one she could ever reach out for.
A second later an unexpected sound had her jerking her weapon from the holster at the small of her back and taking aim at the front of the car.
She knew who it was. She took the precaution of waiting, watching, but the sound of the jeep rolling up the mountain was unmistakable. Powerful, a hard, male throb of power that her piece-of-crap borrowed jeep didn’t have.
At least he was driving up in front of her rather than slipping through the trees and taking aim. He could have taken her out before she knew what hit her. And he would. No matter how well he knew her, no matter the short history they had shared so long ago, he would put a bullet between her eyes as fast as he would an enemy combatant if he felt she was a threat.
She held the Glock comfortably, confidently, as the wicked black vehicle pulled over the rise. If a jeep could strut, it strutted up the mountain and caused her to grit her teeth. Cranston could make her crazy running her in circles, but he couldn’t give her a vehicle decent enough to make those circles in.
Tall tires, gleaming paint job, and a black pipe bumper. A winch at the front, the top pulled back, the man behind the wheel staring back at her from behind dark glasses, hiding those incredible green eyes.
But nothing could hide his somber expression as he jumped from the driver’s seat, the engine still idling, throbbing. Like the rumble of a monstrous cat.
This was the dream, and the illusion. And somehow she had known he would be here. Here, in the mountains that bred him, as strong, as secure, as dangerously primitive as the man himself. As dangerous as the regrets that whispered through her as she watched him.
Chaya licked her lips slowly, staring back at him, trying not to notice the smooth, corded grace of his body. The way his jeans hung low on his hips and drew attention to his thighs. The way his gray T-shirt snugged over taut abs. The aura of power and male grace that seemed to ooze from the pores of his heavily tanned skin.
The wind ruffled through his overly long black hair, whipping it across his forehead and along the nape of his neck. Those thick, tempting strands had her hands itching to touch them, her fingers curling into fists to restrain the need.
Hell, she needed that cigarette bad now. She’d been working with him for months, and she still couldn’t dampen the sickening nerves, the pain each time he came near her. The need. Oh God, the need wrapped around her until sometimes she wondered if it would eventually drive her insane. The need to touch. Just one more time, just one touch, one kiss, one more night to hide within his arms.
Instead, she tucked her weapon back into its holster and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she watched him. The way he moved. The intensity in his forest green eyes, the knowledge in his expression. There was always that knowledge, the words that whispered just below the surface, the memories that never really went away. The hunger that never really receded.
Natches moved lazily to the front of the jeep and leaned against the heavy bumper. He stared at her, unsmiling, as he crossed one booted foot over the other and eased the dark glasses from his face.
Piercing green eyes tore into her senses, scrambled her brain and had her heart throbbing like a schoolgirl’s. Summer’s heat rushed around her then, stroking over her body and reminding her, always reminding her, of things she shouldn’t let herself remember.
“Busted.” He lifted his brows mockingly. “Want to tell me why you’re following my cousin and his woman?”
Her lips parted as she fought to drag in more breath. He could do that. Make her breathless. Make her want. With only a look, he made her feel like a virgin on the verge of her first kiss. And that was very dangerous. He was dangerous. In more ways than one.
“You’re not answering me, Chaya.” He was one of the few people who dared to call her by her given name rather than the name she used in the agency. Greta. It was nice and plain and unassuming. But he had to call her Chaya instead. He had to remind her of who she had once wanted to be rather than who she was.
She licked her lips again, fighting for her composure.
“You’ll have to ask Cranston.” She was not taking the blame for this. “His orders. I just live to obey them.” That was nothing less than the truth in the past few years. He controlled her. For now.
Natches shook his head, straightened, and moved closer. Standing her ground wasn’t easy. She wanted to run. She wanted to run to him, touch him, stroke all that hard, dark flesh, and let the intensity of these dangerous desires free.
She wasn’t married anymore, she reminded herself. She had been reminding herself of that for years.
She watched him, wary, suspecting the danger that lurked beneath that easy smile. Suspected nothing, she knew it lurked there. She knew she was facing a man who at one time had been a cold, hard killer. He had been taken into sniper training within six months of his enlistment with the Marines and within a year was ranked as one of their most proficient assassins.
And now he was retired. Bum shoulder. He liked to grin when claiming the injury that pulled him out of the Marines. She doubted a single cell on his body was “bum.”
“You know, Chaya . . .”
“My name is Greta,” she grated out. “Use it, Natches.” She had to find some kind of defense against him. The name Greta reminded her, kept the memories of the one mistake that had shaped her uppermost in her mind.
“Chaya.” His lips caressed the words as he drew closer, within a breath of her, forcing her to stare up at him. “Darlin’. Cranston’s gonna get you in a shitload of trouble. You know this, right?”
Oh God, if she didn’t know it before, she was finding out now. She had thought working with Cranston would make her life easier, that the team that worked stateside only would ease her slowly away from the horror of the past and allow her to step out of the world that had begun to smother her.
“Take it up with Cranston.” She forced the words from her throat as his hand curled around the side of her neck and the dark, sexual light in his wicked eyes began to gleam with intent.
That touch, just like that, the implied power and gentleness of that hold, had her knees weakening. She was a trained agent; she wasn’t supposed to let emotion or lust cloud her judgment. But right now it was clouding her entire mind.
His fingers flexed against her neck, the power and strength in his arm echoing along her nerve endings. Pleasure corrupted her normally logical thought processes and eroded the control she had fought for over the years.