“We’ve been struck by Cupid’s Bolt, darlin’. It’s inevitable. You and me. Get used to it.”
“You’re telling me we shared a look, and you’ve declared me your future…what?…sex kitten?”
He laughed. “That doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Panic threatened to creep into her voice. She managed to force it down, but it was a close call. “What then? Wife? Mother of your children? Soul mate? That’s absurd. I’m not even in the market for a relationship, let alone that other stuff.”
“Glad to hear it because you’re plumb off the market, effective now. You’re mine.”
“Oh, puh-lease.”
He grinned up at her. “I get dibs on telling you I told you so.”
He was positively out of his mind. Sure, a tiny part of her twittered like some green girl at how romantic the whole notion was. And he certainly was easy on the eye. But soul mates? Happily ever after? So not in the cards for her.
Long ago she’d dedicated her life to a principle,
He shrugged philosophically, causing movement between her thighs that drew her attention sharply and completely. His voice was dead serious. “You wait and see. That was Cupid’s Bolt, or my name’s not Jefferson Delacroix Steiger.”
Desperate to lighten the mood and distract him, she quipped, “Delacroix? Did your parents hate you?”
He grinned. Better. Although, man, that thousand-watt smile went right through her. She became aware of his thumbs rubbing absent circles on her legs, straying disturbingly near the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. She was torn as to whether to ignore it or call attention to it by asking him to stop.
“Delacroix is my mother’s maiden name. Our firstborn can have your maiden name, if you like. Although with a name like Kim, I sure hope it’s a girl. I’d hate to stick our son with Kim for a middle name.”
“Our-” She was speechless. He was already naming their children? He was certifiable!
He continued blithely, “I suppose growing up with a name like that would help a boy develop character, though.”
“Or a hell of a right hook,” she added wryly.
Jeff nodded gravely. “If you teach him to fight, he’ll have nothing to worry about on that score.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. This was the craziest conversation she’d ever had while sitting on someone’s chest. “You’re nuts.”
She rocked onto the balls of her feet and stood up. She stepped aside lightly and held a hand down to him to help him up. He was tall enough-and she was short enough-that he didn’t have to sit all the way up to grasp her hand. He gave a swift yank, and before she knew it, she was sprawled on her stomach across his big body, her face inches from him.
“See, I knew you’d fall for me sooner or later,” he murmured.
Oh, my. He smelled good. “Let me up,” she demanded.
“Gotta say please. It’s important to teach our kids good manners, you know. And we have to set the example for them.”
She contemplated fighting him for her freedom, but in this position, his strength would work to her disadvantage. Part of being a warrior of the way was knowing when to back down, too. She sighed. “Pretty please?”
“Pretty, am I?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re pretty, too. Beyond pretty. Perfect, in fact.”
He thought she was perfect? A rush of warmth shot through her before she knew what had hit her. Then hard, cold reality set in. It didn’t matter what he thought of her. They were coworkers. Colleagues. Professional acquaintances. Nothing more. And she had neither the time nor the inclination to allow a man into her life.
His hand, splayed intimately on her lower back, began moving in small, slow circles, expertly massaging away her tension. Her entire lower body turned to jelly right there on the spot. Oh, Lord, that felt good. Coworkers, darn it!
She stiffened reluctantly.
He sighed. “Okay, baby. We can go back to work. For now. But tonight, I’m taking you out for a romantic, candlelit dinner.”
He turned her loose without warning. His magic touch was gone, and she felt…bereft.
What in the
Jeff climbed cautiously to his feet, watching the woman who’d not once but twice dropped him with an ease that was breathtaking. This tiny little thing-she didn’t even reach his chin, for crying out loud-had absolutely manhandled him. Of course, maybe he was just so damned distracted by her he wasn’t thinking straight. But, Cupid’s Bolt or not, he had a hard time believing that decades of finely honed fighting skills had deserted him at the sight of a pretty face.
Although, pretty didn’t quite cover it. She was mesmerizing. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Everything about her was as he’d declared. Perfect. Her skin was flawless-all shades of ivory and cherry blossom pink. Her glossy, black hair was smoothed back into a ponytail with not a single hair daring to stray out of place. And her body-in that wet-dry suit, not a whole hell of a lot was left to the imagination, and every inch of it was exquisite.
To his consternation, she took the chair across from his desk in the gray suit and seemed in no great hurry to get out of it. Maybe she knew the effect it had on him and was using it to throw him off balance. It was working, whether she intended it or not.
He opened the file sitting in the middle of his desk. He didn’t actually need it; he knew every fact in it by heart. But it gave him something to look at other than her hypnotic beauty. He cleared his throat. Work. Concentrate on work. “A string of robberies have taken place over the past several months in Barbados along a stretch of real estate known as the Golden Mile. Are you familiar with it?”
“No.”
Her voice reminded him of wind chimes. Work, dammit. “It’s a string of mega-mansion getaways for the super- rich, lining several beachfront miles. A who’s who of the world’s richest people own these places. And that leads to a healthy dose of one-upmanship in the homes and their decorations.”
A faint smile flickered in her eyes, but her features otherwise remained impassive. So self-contained, she was. Made him wonder what was going on behind that still facade of hers.
“Recently, it has become the vogue to cram these winter hideaways with art. But not just any art. The most expensive art the collectors can find and flaunt.”
She replied, “And now this collection has attracted the finest art thieves the world has to offer. Don’t these places have pretty outrageous security? The owners can afford it.”
“The U.S. government has been asked to help catch this guy. Which means the local police have failed. I’d guess some influential Americans have been robbed, and they’re raising a stink with their congressmen golfing buddies. In a smashing display of not understanding the limitations under which various government agencies operate, said congressmen have had their aides call the FBI, who threw up their hands and declared it outside their jurisdiction. Compounding their blunder, the aides called the CIA and possibly even Interpol. Eventually, their complaints ended up in the Pentagon’s lap, and the whole mess has rolled downhill and landed on your desk.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. “That’s so accurate it’s frightening.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been in the Spec Ops community a while. I’ve seen a few ops get hosed from above.”
He grimaced and didn’t bother to reply. They both knew precisely what she was talking about. The bane of the Special Forces world-bureaucratic intervention from desk jockeys thousands of miles from the field of battle.
She looked him square in the eye. “So why am I here? What do you need from me?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. He answered dryly, “The possible answers to that question beggar the mind. Let’s start by reviewing the robberies. I have a few theories about how our thief is pulling off the jobs, but I’d like to hear your thoughts before I share mine.”
They put their heads together over all the information he’d painstakingly gathered: police reports, blueprints of homes, schematics of security systems. It took them several hours to sort through all the data. Kat didn’t say much. She asked occasional questions, but mostly she just absorbed it all. He dumped a ton of information on her, yet several times near the end, she asked pointed questions about details he’d mentioned briefly, hours earlier. Yup,
