(The Caine Brothers #3) -Madigan Margaret - Damian

DAMIAN Caine Brothers Margaret Madigan

Copyright 2016 by Margaret Madigan All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead are purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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Table of Contents DEDICATION CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 EPILOGUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS BOOKS BY MARGARET ABOUT MARGARET

CONTACT MARGARET FOR THE READER

DEDICATION To Charlotte for giving me the key that finally unlocked Damian’s story.

CHAPTER 1 Damian Caine eyed the senator’s pool with a longing that bordered on inappropriate. As a Navy SEAL he swam like a fish—better than a fish, actually—and was always ready to get in the water at any moment. Too bad at this moment he found himself surrounded by his father, sibs, and the senator himself. “Hot enough for you, Damian?” his brother Colton asked. “Shut up, smartass,” Damian growled. He swiped the sweat from his forehead, but could do nothing about the

rivulets running down his chest and back, underneath his shirt. The only concession to early-July Texas heat at the senator’s fundraising Fourth of July barbecue was that dress was semicasual, so everyone wore conservative shorts, or dresses. Damian wanted to rip all his clothes off and dive into the pool. He’d done it a few times in high school when the senator’s kids had thrown their crazy parents-are-gone parties. Probably shouldn’t now, though. “So, you’re between missions?” The senator gave Damian’s shoulder a friendly slap. “Yes, sir.” He hated when people knew what he did for a living. It was as if they

thought they could absorb some badass just by association. Senator Mitchell may have been former Navy, and his father’s friend, but he’d never been a SEAL and he was far more former than Navy. “Got back from the Middle East a couple of weeks ago.” “We’re pretty damn proud of him,” Dalton said. Damian struggled not to roll his eyes. Gee, thanks, Dad. His father had a tendency to trot out his pride when it benefitted him most, like in the presence of a U.S. senator, even if the guy had been his friend for a quarter century. Though of all six Caine brothers Damian and Hunter were probably the only two his father took any true pride in

—being military and CEO respectively. Biker, rocker, and fighter didn’t really live up to the senior Caine’s expectations. And Bishop was just a bear. He snorted at his own joke. “What?” Colton asked. “Nothing. Just thinking what a bear Bishop is.” “Funny,” Dalton said, not sounding amused at all. Fuck him anyway. Dalton, Hunter—and his wife, Allison —and the senator turned the conversation to the primary purpose of the barbecue, which was fundraising. Screw honoring the nation’s birthday. If the senator could use the holiday to get a

bunch of rich fucks together to give him money, that was way more important. Even his wife, a short, sedate woman, looked bored by the conversation. Damian’s attention drifted. He’d only attended the party because Jaxon would be performing. His brother’s band had hit it big a few years ago, and Jaxon had become a superstar. Somehow in that time Damian had never seen him perform, so when he heard Jaxon would be playing the party, he’d agreed to come. Hunter had promised him free food and maybe some hot women, too. He didn’t have plans, so he figured why the hell not? Besides, he hadn’t been to the Mitchell

Mansion in something like ten years— since he’d joined the Navy right out of high school. It looked pretty much like he remembered, except maybe the trees they’d climbed as kids were ten years taller. So far the party hadn’t lived up to his expectations. Yeah, the buffet looked good, the beer was cold, and he’d seen some pretty women in short skirts, but it was fucking hot. He’d just spent six months in the Middle East and July in Texas made him wish he could go back. “Daddy, the Prestons are here.” The sultry female voice drew Damian’s attention back to the conversation at hand. A gorgeous woman

stood next to the senator, her hand on his arm. Tall, for a woman—Damian figured somewhere around five nine or five ten —he still had to look down from his six and a half feet to catch her eye. But at least he didn’t have to look down as far as he usually did. She looked familiar, but he was pretty damn sure he’d remember this woman if he’d ever met her. She glanced up at him from cobalt blue eyes under long, dark lashes, and gave him a coy little smile. His heart skipped a beat and his cock stirred and took notice. “Okay, princess. Can you show him over?” the senator asked.

“Sure.” The woman kissed the senator’s wife on the cheek. “You look pretty today, mom,” she said. The senator’s wife glowed under the attention. “Who’s that?” Damian asked as the woman walked away. She wore a little white dress thing that hugged her ass in a way that made him jealous. He thought he knew all of the senator’s kids. “That’s my daughter, Elena,” the senator said. “What?” Damian didn’t believe it. Sure, the last time he’d seen her she’d been sixteen-ish, had glasses and braces, and hadn’t quite grown into her figure.

“That can’t be Elena.” The senator beamed with pride. “Sure is. She works at the CIA, now.” Damian cocked his head. “She’s an agent?” She didn’t look like he imagined agents; too soft and pleasant. He couldn’t believe the senator would allow his daughter to do something so dangerous for a living. He certainly wouldn’t, if he had daughters. The senator’s wife chuckled. “Elena? No. She’s a financial auditor.” Number cruncher. That made more sense. “Well, she’s certainly grown up to be a lovely woman.” He hoped he sounded as platonic as he and Elena had been as kids. Damian had

grown up surrounded by brothers, so any time he’d found himself around girls he had no idea how to behave. But if memory served, Elena had liked climbing trees, and playing with frogs, and having dirt-clod fights—not like her sisters who ran away screaming, while Elena rolled on the grass laughing at them. Watching her ass sway as she headed for the house, his thoughts were anything but platonic. She was easily the hottest woman at the party. Now that he was aware of her, she stood out like a beacon among the rest of the guests. He tracked her as she moved through the crowd, smiling, shaking hands, laughing. At the

deck she climbed the steps—her calves shapely and smooth—to the back door of the house. Damian didn’t believe in relationships. They weren’t compatible with his career or lifestyle, so he was all about getting in and getting out—and lots of it. But Elena might be worth taking some time to explore. As the senator’s daughter, she should be automatically off limits. His father and the senator would frown on him seeing her, especially considering his reputation with women, so of course she presented a challenge, and Damian never refused a challenge. The party suddenly looked like a lot

more fun. Then Admiral Preston and his wife stepped out of the house onto the deck, and followed Elena back to join the group. The admiral commanded Damian’s SEAL team, but was also friends with the senator, apparently. As Damian watched Elena approach, returning across the party, he adjusted his perception of her. At first he’d assumed her to be soft and pleasant, but the way she moved spoke more of grace and confidence. The dress she wore drifted across her thighs, which showed more definition than he’d noticed at first, as did her shoulders and arms. Her long neck and narrow waist were those of a

fit woman. So she worked out. Given the hours he spent staying in shape, he respected that in others, not to mention that he found the image of her in a sports bra and shorts, all sweaty in the gym, very appealing. She caught him staring at her as she approached, and winked at him. It was like one of those slo-mo moments in a movie, and hit him straight in the balls with a jolt of lust. Yeah, she could be an excellent diversion before his next mission. Who’d have thought little Elena would grow into such a ripe beauty? It took a lot of willpower not to rub his hands together in anticipation.

“You couldn’t do this fundraising thing in April or September, Dean?” the admiral asked as he joined the group, reaching to shake the senator’s hand. Everyone laughed, though it was one of those polite ‘that wasn’t really funny, but you’re an admiral so we’ll laugh anyway,’ kind of laughs. Damian loathed the snobbish propriety of politics and country club culture. He’d grown up with that shit and couldn’t escape it fast enough. Another reason why he loved both the order and chaos of his job—it allowed him to run, swim, sneak, shoot, and blow shit up—all of which was way better than politics or a desk job. “We can take this inside, if you’d like,”

the senator said. “No need. Lieutenant.” The admiral nodded, acknowledging Damian. “Admiral.” Damian flicked a salute. “It’s nice to see you again Mr. Caine,” Elena said, offering her hand to Dalton to shake. “I haven’t seen a Caine in years. Seems like they all disappeared like dandelion fluff on the wind.” Damian almost snorted at the poetry. If she only knew his brothers now, she’d never think of them in such romantic terms. Women might swoon over the CEO of a billion-dollar real estate development corp, president of a biker club, a rock star, an MMA fighter, and whatever the hell Bishop was, but to

Damian they were just his asshole brothers. Dalton preened to be the focus of Elena’s regard, accepting her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “We’re all still around. You just have to know where to look.” Damian cleared his throat. The last thing Elena needed was Dalton’s skeevy attention. Her gaze danced between Damian and the rest of his family, distracting him from the admiral and leaving him hungry for her attention again. “This is my wife, Allison,” Hunter said. “One of the newest Caines.” “Hmm,” Elena said. “Adding some

women to the bunch? It’s nice to meet you. And to see the rest of you, again.” She shook hands with Allison, Hunter, and Colton, saving Damian for last. When she got to him, she looked up, her eyes sparkling with what looked like some kind of mischief. He’d seen variations of that same invitation enough to recognize it, but there was something else about her that hinted at another layer of subtext. Like she knew exactly what game she was starting, and she’d made the opening move, but it wasn’t as simple as he thought. Like only she knew the real rules. When he took her hand, it slid smoothly into his, cool even in the Texas

summer heat, and her shake was strong and firm. She squeezed just enough at the end to seal the unspoken thing between them. When Damian released her hand, he had to restrain himself from grinning like an idiot. This was going to be fun. He didn’t have to wait long for her opening move. “Damian, you’ve turned into a big, strong man. Can I get you to help me replace one of the kegs?” “Elena, the caterers can do that. It’s what they’re paid for. You don’t need to solicit guests for help,” the senator said. “It’s no problem, sir. I’m happy to help.” Damian offered his arm to Elena, like a gentleman.

Elena beamed at her father. “See, daddy? He doesn’t mind.” She kissed the senator’s cheek, then took Damian’s arm to lead him away. Colton snorted, but Damian ignored him, because Colton was stuck listening to the droning fundraising blather while Damian was about to chase some tail. Colton could laugh all the fuck he wanted. ***

Holy mother of everything sexy, Damian Caine had grown up to be a god among men. Elena hadn’t seen anything so delicious in ages, and the languorous heat and tedious boredom of the party had her horny as hell. That and the fact that she hadn’t been laid in what felt like forever. She only had her job to blame for that. Having to pretend to be a mousy accountant got tedious after a while, and meant the men she met were often equally mousy. They sauntered across the lawn, navigating the clusters of guests including all the rich elite of Texas. A clutch of women—including her aunt, who chaired the local DAR chapter

—her older sister Janine, and several other prominent local women, paused their conversation to track her and Damian as they passed. Their expressions ranged from shocked, to greedy, to envious. “Elena,” her sister called. “Come join us.” Damian shifted as if to head that direction, but she pulled him back on course. “I’ll catch up with you later, Janine,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried him away. “That’s your little sister?” Damian asked. “I wouldn’t have recognized her.” “Yeah. Trust me, you don’t want to walk into that mess. They look like

harmless ladies, but they’ll eat you alive.” He glanced down at her with a smile that bordered on condescending. “I think I can handle a few women.” She snorted. “Oh, honey. Military or not, you’d be in so much trouble with them.” “I’m pretty skilled. They don’t let just anyone into the SEALs, you know.” She could only imagine how skilled he was. Damn. She’d crushed on him as a teenager, but of course he’d only seen her as another one of the guys. If she wanted to play baseball, he’d be all over it. If she’d wanted to go on a date, his preferences had been elsewhere with

softer, prettier girls. Then he’d turned eighteen and left, and she hadn’t thought about him because it wasn’t long before other boys started to notice her. But she’d never completely forgotten him. “Not like these women. These take special training beyond even what you’ve had. My original assessment stands.” “I’m hurt.” She patted his arm. “I’m sure you’ll get over it.” They climbed the steps to the deck and entered the kitchen, teeming with catering staff. “Where are the fresh kegs?” she asked the nearest worker. “In the cooler in the basement,

ma’am,” he said, his heavily accented Spanish rolling off his tongue. “But we can take care of it. You don’t need to.” “It’s okay. We’ve got it,” she said, waving the guy off. She took Damian’s hand—wide with long, strong fingers—and led him through the gauntlet of catering staff to the stairs, and headed down. The basement space below the kitchen had been divided into a central work space surrounded by a pantry lined with shelves full of all kinds of foods, a wine cellar filled with an obscenely huge collection of wine, a walk-in cooler, and a walk-in freezer. When she and the rest of her five siblings had lived at home the

basement food cellar had still been ridiculous. No family needed that much food storage. But her father never did anything small. He had to have the best of everything. She’d given up trying to understand it years ago. “Cooler’s over there,” she said, pointing it out for him. “That’s it?” he asked. “No, ‘gee, it’s good to see you after all these years, what have you been up to?’” “It is nice to see you. You look as good as you always have.” She seriously wanted to lick him he looked so good. She’d had no idea he’d be at the party and running into him had her off balance to the point she had to remind herself to

maintain her cover. “More man handsome than boy handsome, but still good. And I know what you’ve been up to. You joined the Navy and became a SEAL and I assume you trek all over the world doing super secret military stuff.” His grin made things flutter in her belly. “So you’ve been keeping up on me,” he said. “I see your ego has grown along with the rest of you.” He laughed. “You’re funny.” “Yep, that’s me. Funny. But don’t ask me to go chase snakes or anything. I’ve grown out of that stuff.” “Oh? What have you grown into?” If only she could tell him. He’d be

shocked. Everybody would. Timid, proper Elena was anything but. But he didn’t mean professionally; he meant personally and that she was more than willing to show him. In fact, images of all the things she wanted to do with his man-body popped into her head and made her skin flush with eagerness. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” “You have no idea.” He was dead serious. She could see it in his eyes. Holy shit. She’d mostly just been flirting because despite how often he’d been her fantasy of choice in the midst of her awkward teenage selfsatisfaction sessions, she never thought in a million years she’d get a chance to

actually have sex with him. Now, the lusty willingness in his eyes had her flummoxed. Turned on like a raging wildfire, but still surprised. “How about you get that keg?” “Whatever you say.” Elena watched him go. She may have licked her lips, though her focus on his retreating form made it difficult to remember. His khaki board shorts hugged his ass just right, while the white linen shirt strained to contain his shoulders. His short, spiked blond hair begged to be mussed, while her skin tingled to feel the scrape of his stubble. She leaned against the nearby wall to watch and appreciate.

With his sleeves rolled to midforearm, she had a fine view of flexing muscles as he opened the cooler door, and when he lifted a keg and hitched it to his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a pillow, she bit her lower lip and indulged in a lusty growl. He stepped out of the cooler and shut the door, standing there looking all hunky and masculine. “Lead the way, princess,” he said, flashing her a wicked grin. The temperature had fallen as they descended the stairs to something more tolerable than Scorching-Texas-Summer, but from the way her skin prickled with heat, she’d never know it. If she’d been

wearing panties, they’d be wet. “Don’t call me princess.” “Why not?” “That’s what my father calls me. I’ve never really liked it.” “Didn’t I used to call you twerp when we were kids?” “I’m pretty sure it was something far less flattering. You can just call me Elena, now.” “I’m sure I can give you something better.” The moment drew out as their gazes locked. By the devilish look in his eyes, the double entendre had been purposeful, and he had plenty of things in mind.

“A better nickname? Or something better than a nickname?” Her mind raced through all the better things she’d like him to give her. A glance down to the front of his shorts, which looked fit to burst, confirmed one of those things. “Yes, ma’am.” God, the teasing foreplay had her fucking hot. She met his eyes and found no artifice about what he wanted. She had to give him credit for honesty, standing in her basement with a keg hoisted to his shoulder and a boner in his shorts. “Oh, I’m sure you can,” she agreed. But she wasn’t quite ready to surrender yet. She wasn’t that easy. Ten years ago

she would have, but now he’d have to work for his prize. “You always come on this strong?” “Only when I see something I want. I figure, go big or go home.” He grinned, displaying his gorgeous teeth. Given the size of the bulge in his pants, she had no doubt. “Okay, sailor, rein it in. Let’s go replace the keg.” His smile dimmed a bit, like maybe he felt played, like he thought they’d come down here and he’d slam her against the wall and plunge into her and they’d be done with it. But that’s not how she did things. That’s how things would end up in the long run—she hoped—but she

liked the chase. It was what made her such a good agent. A good secret agent. Whatever doubt he had passed when he blinked. After that he seemed to be on board. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

CHAPTER 2 Damian liked the way Elena checked him out. He was used to women looking at him, but it was usually followed closely by throwing themselves at him, which he was used to, too. That Elena didn’t made her even more appealing— and intriguing. He followed her up the stairs, that beautiful ass swaying in his face. They passed through the kitchen where the entire catering staff watched—the beautiful in-charge woman in white followed by the enormous man carrying a keg and sporting an impressive woody

—and back outside to the temporary bar. He helped the bartender tap the new keg while still, people watched. “You’ve got an audience.” Elena stood nearby, her hands clasped behind her back, looking as cool as could be. “I have that effect on people.” “So you’re used to being the center of attention?” “If you’ll recall, I was nearly six feet tall by the time I was twelve. I just got taller and bigger from there. It’s tough not to stand out when you’re my size.” Elena bit her lip and her eyes twinkled with the unspoken retort about his size. The pretty redheaded bartender

thanked him for his help, then glanced down at his shorts, and back up at his eyes, flashing a coy smile. It didn’t escape Elena’s attention. She took his arm and turned him toward the buffet, dragging him away from the bartender. “You’d better do something about that before you’ve got all the women here trailing after you like cats in heat.” Damian grinned. “That just means more to choose from.” She raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow, and the gesture spoke volumes. He read it to mean over my dead body. It warmed his horny heart. “Hungry?” she asked as they

approached the buffet. “Starving.” It was the cheesiest wordplay he’d ever been part of, but man it turned him on. The inevitability of the sex hung in the air between them as heavy as the humidity, and he was all for some verbal foreplay, but in his mind he’d already begun evaluating the logistics. He couldn’t very well just sweep everything off the buffet table and take her right there, with everyone watching, so he went into mission mode. This mission was all about getting her somewhere they could have sex, so his job was to figure out the strategy for making it happen. His roaring erection calmed

some once he had a purpose. He could wait. Elena picked up a plate and started down one side of the buffet line while Damian started opposite her. All the traditional Fourth of July foods were represented, along with some not-sousual options. Damian loaded his plate with potato salad, fried chicken, ribs, watermelon, and roasted corn on the cob. He’d go back for dessert. “You sure you didn’t miss something?” Elena asked. “You mock me now, but you’ll be glad I carb-loaded, later.” He led the way to an open picnic table. He had to give the senator props for

setting up the perfect holiday celebration. Between the food, red white and blue everything, back yard poolside setting, music, fireworks, families, it evoked all the right patriotic triggers. “Why’s that?” she asked as they sat, her eyes wide with what he hoped was fake innocence. “You’ll want me to have the energy to fuck you good and proper.” A slow smile spread across her face, igniting his erection again. “What makes you assume I’m interested in proper?” she asked. Shit. Generally, patience wasn’t his thing. On the job he managed it because waiting was usually short-lived and

meant he and his team were about to head in and get a job done. No good reason came to mind at the moment why he shouldn’t just drag her inside and fuck her good and not-so-proper. He managed to restrain the urge to go full caveman, but only barely, and only because her father was within visual range. “All the more reason,” he said, shoveling potato salad into his piehole. She chuckled, poking a grape with her fork, the plump, juicy fruit squirting when she punctured it. Fuck. She watched him as she brought it to her mouth, sucking it for just a moment before popping it into her mouth. Fuck me now. He swallowed the lump of

potato salad, never taking his eyes off her lips. Somehow, SEAL or not, he had a feeling he was way out of his league. “Hey bro.” Jaxon broke the spell as he slapped Damian on the back and slid onto the bench next to him, stealing a chunk of watermelon from his plate. “What’s up?” As the only non-blond of the Caine brothers, Jaxon stood out in the family. To be fair, he was dirty blond, but more dirty than blond. Today, the curly locks fell in his face and drove Damian crazy. He’d always wanted to sneak in on him —and Xander and Bishop, for that matter—and chop all that fucking hair off.

“Just wanted to tell you I’m glad you’re here,” Jaxon said. “You’ve never come to any of my performances. So. Yeah.” He studied Jaxon, because he didn’t believe him. Damian was closest in age to his older brother, Xander—only fourteen months apart. But after their mother died and their father remarried, Damian had been pretty damned excited to have a little brother—Jaxon—to torture the way Hunter and Xander tortured him. When Jaxon got old enough to play with, it became clear he was a wily customer. Whereas Damian was all about brute strength, Jaxon was a more creative opponent.

The end result was that Damian had learned to not always trust Jaxon’s motives. “What do you want?” Jaxon laughed. “So quick to accuse. Can’t a guy just thank his brother for being there for him?” “He could.” “So I did. Are you going to introduce me to the pretty lady?” “Jaxon?” Elena asked. “Yeah.” Jaxon looked at Elena like he kind of recognized her but couldn’t really place her. “This is Elena Mitchell,” Damian said. “The senator’s daughter.”

The lightbulb went on in Jaxon’s eyes. “Wow. You sure grew up hot.” Elena smiled a flattered, tempting little smile that ignited some possessive thing in Damian. He’d seen her first. She was his. “Back off, asshole,” Damian said. “Go work your rock star magic somewhere else.” Jaxon grinned at full wattage which only made Damian seethe. He hated tipping his hand and looking vulnerable. Especially to his brother. You didn’t grow up so bad, either. But I’m pretty sure I can resist your rock star charms all the same,” Elena said. “I take it your tastes run in a different

direction?” He cocked his head toward Damian and waggled his brows. Damian rolled his eyes, and ripped off a piece of chicken breast with his teeth. Elena responded with a casual shrug. “We’ll see.” Which only made Jaxon laugh harder. “You been burned, brother. How about you come help me with setup while that burn cools off?” “Ha. I knew you wanted something.” Jaxon stood, putting some space between them. “When your brother’s a walking wall of muscle, why not make use of that resource whenever you can?” Damian didn’t like the idea of leaving Elena. If he let her out of his sight, her

ardor might cool. He didn’t want that to happen because his ardor sure as hell wouldn’t and he didn’t want to start the game all over again. She looked at him like his thoughts were scrawled all over his face. “Go help set up the entertainment. I’ll catch up with you later,” she said. Winking, she added, “but after burning all these carbs, you might need to reload.” Fuck, yeah. She waved as he and Jaxon headed for the temporary stage at the back of the property. “Sounds like you’re in like Flynn, bro,” Jaxon said. “I’d have been in sooner if you hadn’t butt your ugly mug in.”

“Keep telling yourself that, but you know damn well I’m the prettiest Caine brother.” “Sure, I’ll give you pretty. Like a Caine sister.” “Besides,” Jaxon said, waving off Damian’s insult. “Elena’s not like the rest of the women you usually bang. She’s gonna take some finesse.” “What would you know? Women fight each other to get backstage and throw themselves at you. When was the last time you used any finesse on a woman?” “I’ll admit to being an expert at banging, but that just means I recognize when a woman’s not an easy lay.” They reached the stage where Jaxon’s

roadies swarmed like ants working to set up the show. Damian shook his head. “You’re awfully jaded for someone so young.” The usual spark in Jaxon’s eyes dimmed for just a moment, and he said, “You have no idea.” Just then Colton joined them, breaking the mood, and Jaxon was back to his usual self, smiling and full of energy. “A couple of my guys couldn’t be here, so thanks for helping out.” “No problem,” Colton said. “I’m surprised to see you here, Damian. You strike out with Elena?” “Not yet.” “You must be losing your touch if it’s

taking this long.” “Fuck you.” “No thanks, I’ll pass.” “Idiot.” Damian grinned despite himself. “Jaxon, point us in the right direction?” Jaxon introduced them to the head roadie, then excused himself to get ready, but while he worked Damian wondered what Jaxon meant about being jaded. He enjoyed giving his brothers shit, but he loved them all and worried about them. When it came down to it, he may act like a smartass, but protecting people was in his blood. ***

Elena finished her lunch, then spent the next couple of hours mingling. She chatted with her father, her mother, her sister, and a gaggle of corporate executives. If the rest of her siblings had been there, she’d have gone through them, too, but they’d managed believable excuses. Through the whole process she tried to figure out how to reconnect with Damian Caine in a way that didn’t seem like a desperate move to scratch the itch he’d started. She could easily go inside, find a private place, and scratch the itch herself, but she suspected the effort would only cool it without alleviating it

completely. In this case Damian would be the only real cure. In the meantime, she let it simmer. While she made small talk, her body came alive. Her nipples prickled in anticipation. Her clit throbbed. Her fingers ached with the desire to explore him. She wondered what he’d taste like. By the time the sun had taken its own sweet time sauntering across the sky and finally decided to head for the horizon, Elena was well and truly horny. When someone announced the band would be starting its first set, she followed some of the crowd over, hoping to find Damian nearby. Exterior lighting on the deck came on,

as did lighting around the stage, and the bar and buffet, but shadows and impending darkness claimed much of the rest of the property, lending it an exciting, magical feel. Jaxon’s band took the stage to cheers from the crowd, followed by Jaxon himself and a roar of approval from the audience. “Hey, everyone. Glad to see y’all here,” Jaxon said. “Hope you’re all having a great time.” The crowd cheered in response. “Did y’all try that fried chicken? It’s to die for.” While Jaxon played the crowd some, then launched into the first song, Elena scanned the audience for a huge blond

SEAL. She finally found him resting against the side of the stage, watching her every move. When she caught his eye, he saluted. People had started to dance, so she scooted to the edge of the crowd and crooked her finger at him to come join her. The sixteen-year-old in her couldn’t believe her audacity. Couldn’t believe she was flirting with Damian Caine. Why in God’s name would he pay her the least bit of attention? For just a moment while she watched him watching her—that intense blue gaze sending a frisson of excitement skittered over her skin—she found herself fractured

between that teenage girl and the woman she’d become. It didn’t take long for the woman to shove the teenager into the shadows. Sure, she’d crushed on him from afar, but Elena had become a confident adult who knew what she wanted, and right now she wanted Damian Caine. He pushed off the stage and stalked in her direction with the grace of a big, predatory cat. She literally salivated watching the man walk. Damn, he was fine. How she’d manage to drag this out much longer, she had no idea, but drag it she would. The longer they waited, the better it would be. In the meantime, every nerve ending in her body

screamed for his touch. When he reached her side, he leaned down to talk into her ear so she could hear him over the band. “You want to dance?” She pulled back to see if he was serious. In her experience, most men didn’t like to dance unless it was a slow dance. For now, the pounding beat worked its way into her bones and made her want to move. If he wanted to dance, she was game. She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the part of the crowd where most of the people were dancing. Those closest to the stage just jumped up and down with their arms in the air.

Damian surprised her with his moves. Fluid and lithe, yet still suggestive of massive power, he moved like a man comfortable in his own skin, making him one sexy dancer. All kinds of things quivered inside her just watching him. The song changed, slowing from the frenetic rock to a throbbing ballad. Damian reached for her hand and spun her, pulling her backwards into him and resting his hands on her hips as he swayed them both to the music. She leaned into him, losing herself in the rhythm of their bodies moving to the music, the hum of need dancing on her skin like popcorn in a hot pan. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling

her tighter to him, and when she felt his cock twitch against her ass, she placed her hands on top of his to keep herself from melting in place. He bent near her ear and said, “If you don’t find us a place to be alone, I’m going to take you right here.” His hot breath on her neck, and his words in her ear dissolved her insides to molten longing. If he wasn’t careful, she’d come where she stood and he’d miss half the fun. She turned in his arms and his erection poked her in the belly. His groan vibrated over her skin and took her breath away. Want swirled her insides. She wanted to tuck her hands up under

his shirt and explore; to feel his hands on her naked body; to feel that exquisite moment when he entered and filled her. Standing on her toes, she pressed herself to him, reaching his ear and said, “Follow me.” She laced her fingers in his and pulled him off the dance floor toward the house. It took willpower not to run, or giggle, or clap her hands in glee, but on the inside she was a kid on Christmas morning getting ready to open the biggest gift under the tree. She could almost taste him on her lips. As they reached the top steps of the deck, someone screamed. Damian froze and turned to scan the

crowd—tense, alert, ready. Elena stepped up to the bannister next to him, but before she could even ask what was going on, Damian had taken off down the steps at a sprint, running for the pool. He kicked off his shoes as he ran and didn’t even pause before diving like a dolphin into the water and clutching a limp body that had sunk to the bottom of the pool. Elena hurried off the deck and shoved through the crowd that had gathered. She broke through as Damian hauled the person—it turned out to be a kid—out onto the pool deck and started CPR and mouth to mouth. The boy’s parents crowded Damian, his mother sobbing and trying to touch

the boy’s face, while the rest of the onlookers pushed in trying to get a good look. “Back off,” Elena said, giving people the physical shove they needed. “Give him space to work.” She touched the father on the arm to get his attention. “Sir, could you please keep your wife back?” The man came out of his daze long enough to nod and reach for his wife, murmuring in her ear, to encourage her to back away a few steps. Elena pulled out her phone, ready to call 911, but Damian moved with practiced precision and confidence. Within moments, the kid gagged and

coughed, and Damian rolled him to the side so the water could drain from his lungs. The mother rushed in, clutching at the kid, who sat up looking dazed. The father grabbed Damian’s hand and pumped it gratefully. Elena heard Damian tell the father to take his son to the hospital, and after making sure the kid was breathing and on his feet, the rest of the onlookers converged on him patting his back, shaking his hand, telling him he was a hero and had done a fabulous job. Most of the rest of the party didn’t even notice what had happened, because it had started and ended so quickly. Only

the people nearest the pool paid any attention, but now they mobbed him. “Okay, all right, enough already,” Elena said, shoving through the people to Damian’s side. “He saved the boy’s life. Give the man some room.” The opening chords of the band’s most recent hit blasted from the stage, and the bystanders began to disperse, heading back to the dance floor or over to the buffet or the bar. They’d be telling the story of the big man who flew into the pool and rescued the boy, all night long. “You’re soaked,” Elena said. “Let’s get you inside and dried off.” They headed for the house. “Don’t you mean get me out of these wet clothes?”

He had no idea. As if growing up into a six-and-a-half foot muscle-bound adonis wasn’t enough, he danced like a god, and saved small children. Seriously, how was a woman expected to resist such perfection? He trailed behind her through the kitchen, and again the staff watched them, the heat of their eyes burning into her back until she and Damian took the back stairs up to the second floor. She led him to her suite at the end of the hall, checking their back trail to be sure they hadn’t been followed before shoving him inside and shutting the door behind them. It reminded her very much like being in high school again and

sneaking a boy in under her dad’s nose, except Damian had left before she’d lost the braces and glasses and finally got some boobs, so she’d never been able to drag him to her bedroom. Being the daughter of a rich, prominent senator didn’t make it easy to do anything surreptitiously. In retrospect, the thrill of that kind of furtiveness might have been one of the appeals of becoming a CIA agent. She crossed her arms and leaned against the door for a moment to catch her breath and get a good look at the huge, wet man standing in the middle of her room, dripping on the hardwood. He fixed his gaze on her, then ran his

hands through his hair shaking the resultant water from his fingers. “What?” Wet white linen left nothing to the imagination. He may as well have been wearing plastic, yet she still wanted that shirt gone. “I thought you were all worked up about getting out of those wet clothes,” she said. She couldn’t speak for him, but she was about as worked up as she could stand without some sort of release. He must have agreed, since he made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shucking it with a shrug and dropping it to the floor in a sloppy-sounding splat.

Fat drops of water trickled down the smooth, bronze skin of his chest leaving wet trails in their wake, and disappearing into his shorts. Ho-ly something. Blood seemed to have escaped her brain and headed down to points south. “You’re drooling,” he said. She checked the reflex to swipe at her mouth. He was teasing her, she knew, but damn, it wouldn’t surprise her to discover she actually had been drooling. “Cocky much?” He glanced down at his shorts, then back up at her with a grin that made her mouth go dry. “What do you think?”

She followed his gaze to find his shorts tented again. Okay, so maybe he had reason to be cocky. She swallowed past the anticipation in her throat and gave him an offhand shrug. “Yeah, but do you know how to use it?” “I’ll let you decide that.” A zing of excitement shot to her core which clenched in eagerness. While he held her gaze, he unbuttoned his shorts and let them drop, kicking them aside when they hit the floor. Well... She’d apparently lost the ability to rub two words together. Now, a huge, wet, naked man stood in the middle of her room with the biggest,

most needy erection she’d ever seen. The thing seemed to have a life of its own, standing up tall against his belly, twitching and bouncing like an eager puppy. She pushed off the door and met him where he stood, wrapping her fingers around his cock and sliding her hand along the silky, wet length of it in a long, slow stroke. Her caress pulled a low, growling sound from somewhere deep in his chest. “So show me,” she said.

CHAPTER 3 Damian was happy to oblige. His body clicked over into instinct—a lot like when on a mission and he relied on training and muscle memory—except this was way more primitive. He grasped at his last spark of awareness and held tight, otherwise he’d go full caveman and shove her against the wall and pound into her until he saw stars. “You’re overdressed,” he said, proud of the fact his voice came out normal and not choked. “Mm-hmm,” she said, stroking him slower and tighter.

Damian’s inner caveman disapproved of his self-control, especially since Elena had given him permission. What was he waiting for? Elena reached down with her other hand and gave his balls a stroke and a squeeze, and the caveman lost it. Damian caught the hem of her dress and yanked it over her head in one swift jerk, drove her backward until her back slapped the door, then he planted his hungry mouth on hers. He swallowed her needy whimper when she opened her mouth to him. She’d been nude under her dress—not a scrap of panties or even a bra to get past, just pure unobstructed skin warm

and smooth against his chest and belly. He approved of her uninhibitedness, assuming that was even a word. He didn’t really care. Her arms went around him and the bite of her nails jabbing into the muscles of his back made his cock spasm. As a big man with big appetites and a lot of power, he’d always had to be careful with women and hold back so he didn’t scare them—even the ones who claimed they liked it rough—because they usually didn’t like it as rough as they said. He always liked sex, no matter what, because getting off was getting off, but when Elena broke their kiss and focused her mouth on one of his nipples, he about

came undone. She started with a sweet, warm, wet flick of her tongue that made his belly clench in a way he hadn’t expected. While she licked the one, she caressed the other with her fingers. He felt ridiculous, lost in waves of desire just from her paying attention to his nipples, his eyes shut and holding his breath as heat built and rippled at her touch. He wondered if it felt similar when he did the same thing to her. Then she bit him and he just about came with his cock jammed in her belly. “What the fuck?” he said. This time his voice came out higher pitched than normal.

She bit her lip and lifted her brows, the fakest innocence he’d ever seen. He caught her by the waist and hauled her up to his eye level. She clamped her thighs to his waist and pushed herself up even higher, so she looked down on him, as if she’d climbed the tallest tree in the forest and could now see up into the clouds. Damn, she was fucking breathtaking. In that position, her tits were right in his face, so he figured turnaround was fair play. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, hard, and tweaked the other with his fingers and was rewarded with a hissing intake of breath, then a long, low moan.

He liked a woman who knew herself and was comfortable in her own skin. They were rare in his experience. Elena didn’t seem to be shy in any way. Too bad this was once and done. She might be fun to get to know. “That feels fabulous,” she said, throwing her head back to reveal a long, gorgeous expanse of neck. He wanted to take a bite out of it, but couldn’t bring himself to release her nipple. Tits made him stupid—warm, round, soft, sweet— whenever he saw a beautiful pair, he just wanted to bury his face in them and stay there. But right behind tits—or maybe even with them—was pussy, and hers hovered

right over the tip of his cock like a… Fuck. He couldn’t think. Like a pussy. That’s what it was like. A pussy. What else did it have to be like? He latched onto her waist and shoved her downward, plunging the tip of his cock into her hot, wet folds. Talk about making him stupid. His brain turned to mud and one instinct took over: thrust. He held her waist and his hips moved, thrusting, slamming, bucking, heaving. God if felt so fucking good. The word echoed in his brain with each thrust: Good. Good. Gooooooood. The air filled with the sounds of their mingled moans and grunts, the panting

breath as they inhaled and exhaled, chasing their orgasms. He kissed and sucked her nipples, she squirmed, he rubbed and pinched her clit, she made needy, greedy sounds that drove him wild. Damian’s orgasm started to curl low in his belly when somewhere deep in his brain the caveman waved his hands in a panic, trying to get Damian’s attention. Caveman was yelling something, but Damian gave him a mental fuck off, man, I’m about to come. Caveman cupped his hands over his mouth and hollered one word: condom. Too late. Ice cold panic splashed his enthusiasm just as Elena’s orgasm hit,

her body squeezing and clutching at his naked cock, triggering his orgasm which exploded like a cannon. Bright sparks flashed behind his closed lids, and loud thundering blasts rattled the walls. “Oh, fireworks,” Elena said, her voice a husky purr. At first he thought she meant the orgasm, then as blood returned to his brain, he realized she meant actual Fourth of July fireworks as part of the party. “Elena, I didn’t use a condom.” He waited for her anger or panic, but she patted him on the shoulder, kissed his nose, and lifted herself off his cock to climb back to the floor.

“Don’t worry about it, hotshot. I’ve got an IUD, so unless you have some raging STD, we’re good.” Jesus, that had been a close one. Nothing like anxiety to make the orgasm even more intense. Elena strutted over to the window, pushed the curtain aside, and leaned on the windowsill to watch the fireworks. She didn’t bother dressing, just sat that pretty round ass down and with her dark hair tumbling in waves down her back, looked up into the sky with wonder, oohing and aahing with each fiery blast. He settled next to her to watch, too. “You like fireworks?” he asked. She smiled, but didn’t take her eyes off

the sky. “Fourth of July is my favorite holiday. Most people like Thanksgiving or Christmas, but I love the Fourth.” “Is that why you work for the CIA?” She shook her head. “The Fourth isn’t about patriotism. It’s about family. We always get together for a barbecue, though they’re not usually fundraisers. This year the holiday kind of sucks with all these strangers here and Dad schmoozing everyone for money.” “Trust me, I can relate to a father who’s all about money.” A big sparkly red white and blue firework burst, lighting up the sky. “Oh, that one was pretty,” she said. “We usually go watch the parade in town,

then come home and make all kinds of food, swim, play football and yard darts and horseshoes, and Dad and my brothers always put together a wonderful fireworks show for us. It’s one of the few times every year when we all get together and forget all the shitty stuff and just have fun as a family.” She glanced sideways at him, trying to watch him and the fireworks. “Your family was here for at least one Fourth, weren’t they?” “I remember one. I think I was fifteen? Maybe sixteen?” “That would have made me thirteen or fourteen. What about you? What’s your favorite holiday?” “Same. Fourth of July. It’s the perfect

holiday for six brothers who want to stuff their faces, beat the shit out of each other playing sports, then blow crap up.” She turned to face him and laughed, her eyes sparkly each time a firework burst outside. She cupped his face and kissed his lips, a sweet gesture that felt normal. “It’s too bad we won’t see each other again. I think you’d be all kinds of fun to get to know as an adult, Damian.” “Yeah, I’m always out on missions. Never know when I’ll be home, so relationships are tough.” She snorted. “Don’t worry, hotshot. I’m not trying to put a leash on you. Your man card’s safe. I travel a lot, too. I don’t have any more room in my life for

a relationship than you do, so no worries.” ***

For the first time ever, Elena really did regret that she couldn’t spend more time with a man. With her body still humming from the sex, she wished for more—not more sex, but more time. Ten years ago she’d pined for him to look at her once as anything other than a tomboy. She would have killed to be his girlfriend. Now that he seemed to want her, at least for sex, it wasn’t possible. Damian was flat out adorable. Sure, he was a giant, blond, chiseled, alpha hunk of man, but she felt comfortable enough with him to be herself—which, unfortunately, she couldn’t do. Unlike most men, she had the sense he didn’t put on airs. He was pretty much

what you see is what you get, which she found refreshing. And unusual. And her complete opposite. The nature of her job required her to be a chameleon. Even when she wasn’t on assignment, she couldn’t be her real self for fear of giving herself away. It never really bothered her, until now. She’d already let her guard down too much with him, as it was. Not that it mattered, since they’d go their separate ways, back to their separate lives, but just once she wished she could have a genuine connection with a man. “I’m cool,” he said She glanced down at his re-inflating erection, then back up at his face and

waggled her brows. “All evidence to the contrary.” “What can I say? You bring out the beast in me.” “You mean best?” “That, too.” She giggled—something she rarely did, but she liked the luxury of feeling a little silly—and leaned in to kiss him. His stubble tickled her lips before his tongue came out to play, seeking entry to her mouth. She gladly gave it, craving another taste of him. His hands came up and snatched at her hair, fisting it tight at the roots. The sting and pressure, his brute strength, dissolved her into a pool of desire.

Some primitive part of her liked giving in to him, which gave her pause. She usually preferred being in control. Since when would she want to give that over to someone else? Yet, it didn’t feel threatening. It felt indulgent, sensuous, hedonistic, sumptuous. If she were a puppy, she’d flop over and let him rub her belly, wriggling and wagging her tail in sheer happiness. Using the fistful of hair to guide her, he rolled her to her back on the floor and crawled over the top of her, his presence looming and filling the space around them. The cool hardwood raised gooseflesh on her skin, narrowing her focus to the heat between them where his

cock nudged at her opening. He kissed her lips—his dog tags dangling from his neck and resting on her chest—then moved to her ear, nipping it just enough to burn before kissing and licking his way down her neck to her collarbone. That, he took between his teeth like a drumstick. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him up enough to look in his eyes. “Try not to leave any marks, there, hotshot.” He grinned, a teasing look if she’d ever seen one. “Can’t promise anything.” “Oh really?” His teasing had her feeling her oats. She didn’t want to think about caution.

She wanted to have real fun. Enjoy him for this one night. So while he still wore his confident grin, she used her thigh to sweep his knee out from under him, and at the same time shoved his chest with her hands, forcing him into a roll. She expected to end up on top of him, triumphant that she’d taken him by surprise and subdued him, but she should have known it wouldn’t be that easy with a SEAL. He used the momentum of the roll to not only get back on top of her, but to grab her waist and flip her face down. She didn’t like being bettered, and her first instinct was to counter his moves, to grapple and wrestle, but then he bent

over her back to speak into her ear, his voice and breath heating the skin of her neck even through the mess of her hair. “I’m impressed.” Something inside her took pride in that. Then his hard cock slid between her ass cheeks as he grabbed her hands with one of his own, trapping them behind her back, and her insides clenched with need. “I know a thing or two,” she said. With his other hand he swiped the hair away from her face. He was so close the heat of his skin warmed her check. In her peripheral vision his dilated pupils and gritted teeth screamed feral, all of which made her so wet she couldn’t help

squirming her ass, hoping his cock might bump her clit. “What else do you know?” “I know I want that big fucking cock of yours inside me.” He chuckled in her ear. “You have a dirty little mouth.” “I guess you bring out the beast in me, too.” “Okay, then.” He released her hands and hauled her up onto all fours. Grasping her hips, he pulled her back against his cock. Doggie style. She could work with that. One hand left her waist and next thing his fingers slid through the wetness of

her folds on the way to her clit, which he flicked a couple of times—making her twitch and jump—before settling for a rough caress. Holy shit jeez fucking Louise... He played her body like a virtuoso and all she could do was make inarticulate mewling sounds and arch her back, pressing herself into his hand. When her arms started to tremble, she reached for the windowsill and pulled herself up, crossing her arms and propping her elbows on the sill for support. He followed behind her and used his knee to push her thighs open wider, giving him space to fit between them. As another firework burst in the

sky outside, her body throbbed in time to both the powder blast and his fingers pinching her clit. She groaned and arched her back again, her body instinctively seeking his cock, hunting for the only thing that would give it release. With a growl so primal it spoke to a deep, desperate place inside her, he gripped her hips and lifted her onto his cock, plunging deep inside her. They both moaned the pleasure of it, their voices a strange, primitive harmony in that frozen moment before their bodies gave in to the need to move. His first thrust broke the trance, and every thrust after that pushed her nose to

the window. The fireworks had to be ending soon. It was the longest show her father had ever put together. Had to be to impress potential donors. A green and purple firework exploded, showering golden sparks as it finished. Damian grunted with every thrust, pulling her hips backward in a bruising grip as he drove deeper. Elena let herself go, sinking into the rhythm, the pressure, the delicious throbbing ache of her orgasm building in the muscles around his cock. She basked in the light of the fireworks, and the dark in between; the explosive blasts outside and the frenzied gusts of breath as they panted from the exertion of chasing their

climaxes; the heady mix of gunpowder, sweat, and sex as she inhaled a deep breath. The first tendrils of her orgasm tingled deep in her belly just as the first fireworks of the finale burst in the night sky. Another thrust triggered it and she gave herself up to the waves of velvety bliss as her body melted and she came apart at the seams. Damian’s climax followed on his next thrust and he buried himself into her farthest recesses, leaving part of himself behind on a long, low, rolling growl she felt as much as heard. The free-for-all of the fireworks finale came to a close as they caught their

breath, the last red, white, and blue sparks drifting down in the sudden quiet. Elena swiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, and unable to suppress a joyful laugh she said, “Best. Fourth. Ever.”

CHAPTER 4 Elena left Damian lying flat on his back on the floor with a stupid grin on his face, as she headed for the bathroom. She cleaned up, threw on some sweats and a tank, and put her hair up in a messy bun. Back in the bedroom, Damian hadn’t moved other than to lace his fingers behind his head and close his eyes. “I’m heading to the kitchen to rummage for some food. You want something?” “No. I’m going to go catch up with Jaxon. I missed most of his show, but I need to stroke his ego for what I heard.

Mind if I use your bathroom?” He climbed to his feet, all six-plus feet of his naked glory making her contemplate another round. But her stomach rumbled, so she smiled and said, “Go ahead.” She slipped out the bedroom door and padded down the hall on bare feet, wondering if he’d be gone when she got back. Sadness threatened her good mood at the thought of him leaving, but she quashed the urge to go back and say goodbye. How would that go, anyway? Thanks for the sex after all these years? It’s been fun spending a couple hours together?

Bye, have a good life? It seemed better just to respect the moment. Leave on a high note. They’d both made it clear relationships didn’t fit into their lives—not that either of them had implied interest in a relationship. Although, she could be interested. She might be. But it didn’t matter. This had been nothing but sex—fabulous, earthshaking, best-ever sex—and a memory she’d take out and replay over and over. She’d be fine. She might wish for the chance for more, but in the end it couldn’t work so she put the dream away and moved on. She trotted down the stairs, craving a turkey sandwich on whole grain bread,

slathered in mayo and mustard, with Swiss cheese and plenty of crunchy lettuce. Her mouth watered at the thought of it. Throw in a handful of wavy Lay’s and she’d be in post-coital food heaven. In the kitchen, the caterers scurried around in a clean-up craze. There must have been a dozen people dashing around doing dishes, wrapping and packing food, wiping counters, and running in and out the door like pack mules. She paused in the doorway, not sure if she should jump into the fray. It seemed wrong to barge in and interrupt their work. But her belly felt like an empty cavern.

“Can I get something for you, miss?” The same man from earlier with the thick accent asked. “I’d love a sandwich, but I don’t want to get in the way.” “I can get it for you.” He gripped her elbow and guided her toward the dining room. “You wait in here. I’ll bring it.” Darkness crowded the empty room, just like the alarm crowding her brain. She shrugged in an effort to pull out of his grip—a weird intrusion on her personal space—but before she could, something pricked her neck from behind and she recognized the burn of chemicals flooding her veins as the world blurred around her and her legs turned to

noodles. She had just a moment to kick herself for falling into whatever trap she’d fallen into. Then everything went black. *** Damian cleaned up and dressed. Despite sitting in a discarded heap, his clothes had dried enough in the summer heat to be wearably damp. He’d worn worse. He headed outside, the post-sex buzz about as good as any other high he’d ever experienced. He lived in an almost constant state of craving the adrenaline of combat or extreme sports or anything that would get him jazzed. Sex with

Elena left him with that languid, satisfied feeling he got after a long, hard-fought water rescue. His body felt buoyant and drained and fucking happy. And he missed her already. What the hell? He never missed women. He had sex, enjoyed it, and moved on. Period. Maybe it was just because they had a past. The connection made it feel like there was something more. Still, he wondered about seeing her again. At the very least, there was a lot more sex to experience. He smiled. That had to be it. He looked forward to seeing what else was there.

The party had started to disperse now that the fireworks were done and the caterers were clearing the food and alcohol. He found Jaxon and Colton near the stage, which was in mid-teardown. “Where have you been, slacker?” Colton asked. “Busy,” Damian said. Jaxon snickered and slapped him on the shoulder. “You dog. But you missed the show, so you’ll have to come to another one.” “I caught part of it. It was good.” “I heard you played hero, too,” Colton said. “Dad and the senator have been

looking for you to suck up.” “Don’t tell them you were off fucking the senator’s daughter,” Jaxon said. Colton’s mouth fell open. “Seriously? You did his daughter at his own party? Wow.” “Yeah. Wow,” Damian said. He couldn’t help grinning. It had been pretty damn wow. His brothers snorted and punched his shoulders. Nothing like naughty sex to bring brothers together. He helped Colton tear down Jaxon’s show, and about the time they returned from hauling the last load to the band’s truck, Damian and his brothers ran into Dalton and Gwen heading around the

front of the mansion. “Hey Dad,” Colton said. “Heading home?” “Yes. Thank you, boys, for being here.” “You were really good, tonight, Jaxon,” Gwen said. Jaxon looked like a kid again, basking in the compliment. “Thanks, Gwen. I’m glad you enjoyed the show.” “How’s Cassie doing?” Colton asked. “We haven’t seen her in a while.” Gwen patted his arm. “She’s fine. She’s spending the summer abroad on a work-study program. She’s interested in a European model of education and how it can be applied here.”

“She’ll be a good teacher,” Colton said. If Damian wasn’t mistaken he heard a little something in Colton’s voice when he talked about their stepsister Cassie. If Dalton would lose it over Damian fucking the senator’s daughter, he’d crap his pants over Colton fucking his stepsister. Damian looked forward to being a spectator to that disaster. “I hear you saved somebody’s kid from drowning?” Dalton asked. Just then the senator caught up to them. “Damian,” he bellowed. “I’ve been looking for you.” “Sorry I missed you, Senator.” But I was balls-deep in your daughter.

The senator offered his hand and Damian accepted it, ending up on the receiving end of a vigorous shake. “You saved Roger Sanders’ son from drowning tonight.” “Just doing my job, sir.” “I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Navy man. The admiral was happy with how you conducted yourself. Reflects on him and the whole program. He was sorry he didn’t get to have a few words with you.” “I’ll catch up with him soon, I’m sure.” “Well, Sanders is vice president of South Texas Oil. He called from the hospital to let me know the doctors said whoever saved the kid did an expert job.

The kid’s just fine and went home tonight. Sanders is tickled and will be making a sizable donation to my campaign. So, I owe you, son.” Damian stifled an eye roll and sarcastic comment. He didn’t really give a shit about the senator’s reelection, and it seemed dirty that the man would use Damian and that kid to collect cash. “I’m just glad I could help.” “Me, too,” The senator said. He turned to Dalton and shook his hand. “Thank you for being here, Dalton, and for your donation. It’s good to see you again, and you, too, Gwen. You’re always a beautiful addition to any party.” “Gag,” Colton whispered from behind

Damian. Damian had to smother a chuckle. “Thank you, Senator. It was a lovely party,” Gwen said. After more hand-shaking and congratulations, the senator drifted away to thank other guests, and Dalton and Gwen headed out to the valet to retrieve their car and head home. “Okay, bro, I’m out of here. We have another gig next week so we have to hit the road. It’s good to see you guys,” Jaxon said. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t see the whole show. I’ll make it up to you,” Damian said. “Hey, man, I’m happy you caught some

of it, and I’m all for getting laid when you can, so no worries.” “Safe travels, both of you. I’m going home to get some sleep.” Damian took a few steps to follow his family, but stopped and looked up at the house. He didn’t know which window was Elena’s, but somewhere on the second floor. He should probably find her and say goodbye. Maybe steal one last kiss. The girl could sure as hell kiss. He licked his lips, the ghost of her mouth on his mocking him with all the kisses and sex they wouldn’t have. All the things they wouldn’t do and say together. Jeez. He shook his head and turned away, marching around the house to find

the valet. He didn’t do regret. He tipped the valet when the guy handed Damian his keys, and climbed in the car, then roared down the driveway. They’d had some smoking hot sex and that was it. Time to get back to his life.

CHAPTER 5 The first thing Elena noticed when consciousness finally sifted into her brain was the pounding headache that throbbed in her temples. The next thing was her dry mouth. Her swallow mechanism didn’t work the first couple of times until she managed enough saliva to coat the inside of her mouth and throat. Her memory came back in bits and pieces. She remembered being drugged at her parents’ house by the traitorous caterer. After that she only had flashes of being bound and gagged, the queasiness

of takeoff in an airplane, being jounced around in the back of a truck. That was it. She rolled over onto her back and her muscles protested. Everything ached and throbbed in time to her headache. Although she had no idea who would kidnap her or why, the first thing she needed to do was assess her situation. She started with her peripheral senses. Sometimes when people relied too heavily on vision they missed things, so she listened, and felt, and breathed deeply to catch any scents in the air. No sounds of human activity in her immediate surroundings—even the quiet noises of sniffing, breathing, or shifting

in a seat or from foot to foot—meant she must be alone. Ambient sounds included male voices outside the room—both inside the building and out, but beyond that the call of birds and screech of monkeys echoed in the space outside. So, she must be in a jungle somewhere with some open space around the buildings. Otherwise, she heard no other manmade sounds—no road or car noise, no aircraft, no sounds of human industry. So the location was remote. Heat and humidity dampened her skin and hair, but she lay on soft bedding so at the very least she was in some sort of civilized structure rather than a dirtfloored hut or cement warehouse.

Remote jungle was bad, but she upgraded the situation given the state of her lodgings. A hint of breeze carried the smell of green in the air—the humid, loamy scent of thick green growth—with an overlay of coffee. She didn’t need to see anything to know she had to be in the home or compound of someone with money, probably somewhere in a Central or South American jungle country. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots to drug lord. A well-appointed room greeted her when she opened her eyes. She lay on a queen-sized bed in a room with white and gilt décor, still wearing her sweats

and tank top. It certainly wasn’t the ideal work outfit, especially since she had no shoes and no bra. A closet and dresser looked promising, though. She rolled off the bed and headed for the windows. Outside looked pretty much like she expected—a hilltop compound with sizeable grounds surrounded by dense jungle as far as the eye could see. A dirt road snaked off into the trees at the back of the building, but she did see several men with AK47s patrolling the perimeter. The top two drawers of the dresser were full of men’s socks and underwear —not useful. In the middle drawer she found button down shirts, and sweaters

filled the bottom drawer. Several men’s suits and a camo jacket hung in the closet. For now she chose the smallest of the button down shirts she could find —a crisp white one—and put it on, rolling the sleeves to her elbows. It was a disappointment not to find shoes. She hadn’t worked on any drug-related projects recently, and unless there was a mole somewhere, nobody knew she was even an agent. So who had taken her and why? The only way she’d find out was to talk to someone, so she marched over to the door and turned the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. However, out in the hall two men with the ever-present AK-

47s guarded the door. Seemed like overkill to her, but whatever. “Por favor, señorita…” one of them started. Elena spoke enough Spanish to be moderately fluent, but letting on that she did gave away an advantage. “No hablo Español,” she said in her best American accent. He held up a finger for her to wait and said, “Un momento.” The two of them discussed that El Jefe —the boss—wanted to talk to her when she woke up and about whether to bring him here, or take Elena to him. They decided to fetch him so the other guy took off to find him, while the one

who’d talked to her stayed put. He smiled and made a shooing motion for her to go back into the room. She complied and spent the waiting time watching the guards outside to figure out their routine, if they even had one. They looked pretty bored, but welltrained and well-armed. Given that drugs and guns often went hand in hand, she wondered if El Jefe bought and sold both. Before long the rattle of the door handle preceded a man and the guards from outside her door entering the room. The man stood somewhere around five nine or five ten, about her height. Broad in the shoulders and thickly muscled

with dark skin, black hair, and a thick mustache, his features gave away his Hispanic heritage. He smiled and offered his hand to shake. This had to be the most bizarre kidnapping ever. Elena accepted his hand. “Do you speak English?” she asked. “Si, querida. I do.” His accent was thick, but she understood him. “Please, have a seat. You must be very confused.” She sat in one of two chairs opposite the bed. He settled into the other, while the guards stood by the door. “I am. Who are you?” “My name is Renaldo Ramos. I’m

known as El Jefe. I’m the leader of the Los Reyes cartel.” Shit. Not a great development. “Can you tell me what’s going on, please?” “Certainly. Your father is an American senator, is he not?” “Yes.” “We do a lot of business in America, especially through Texas, and your father has always been a friend, for a price.” Elena froze. No way her dad took payoffs from a drug lord. What for? Blocking drug legislation? Keeping borders open? Turning a blind eye? Being eyes, ears, and a voice in America for a Latin American drug cartel? Good

God, the idea left her queasy. But how well did she really know him? Nobody in Congress was clean, and her dad had been putting a lot more energy than usual into fundraising, so maybe he’d tried to change his arrangement with this guy. “I don’t believe you,” she said. Whether or not she really did, she’d be better off playing the role he expected of her, which seemed to be meek senator’s daughter. She’d probably survive this a lot easier in that role than as a CIA agent. She had no illusions that despite his courteous façade, he was ruthless enough to kill her where she sat. He shrugged in a way that suggested his sorrow for her lost innocence. “We

never really know those we’re closest to, no?” “Even if what you say is true, why would you kidnap me?” “Kidnap is a strong word. You’re my guest until your father responds to my request to talk.” “Guest implies I can come and go.” “You work for the CIA?” His questions turned on a dime. “Yes. I’m an accountant.” “You know all the secrets, chiquita?” His voice and smile implied teasing, but she doubted that. How often did he get his hands on a CIA employee? Of course he’d ask questions.

“No, sir. Only how much my boss spends on candy bars every month.” She threw in a nervous laugh for effect. She wanted to change the subject before he decided to interrogate her to find out what she knew about the agency. “Where am I, exactly?” “My home in Colombia.” At least now she knew what continent she was on. “And you sent a message to my father?” She had no idea what her father would do in response to her kidnapping. Would he talk to Ramos? Would he leave her there? He couldn’t very well go to anyone in authority for help. He’d have

to tell them he’d been associating illegally with a drug lord. She thought of Damian. She could use a SEAL team about now. “Yes, carina. If he wants his daughter back alive, he’ll be in touch.” Great. She swallowed hard and opened her eyes wide in mock fear. It wasn’t hard to imitate. She had no weapon and no means of escape, at least not yet. If he wanted to kill her, he could. “Please don’t kill me,” she said. His shrug was discouragingly noncommittal. It conveyed how short her life was likely to be. “How long did you give him to respond?”

“Twenty-four hours.” The likelihood was that she’d have to get out on her own, but she’d wait long enough to see how her father responded. In the meantime, she’d learn everything she could, and prepare for an escape. “He’ll get back to you. He wouldn’t let you kill me.” She added a little waver to her voice. He stood and offered his hand. “Are you hungry?” She actually was, but it didn’t escape her attention that he ignored her reference to killing her, which to her meant he planned to kill her. “Yes,” she said, but she had one other concern first. “Can I get some shoes?”

*** Damian hauled ass to the war room of the carrier, anchored in the Caribbean near Panama. He and his team had been recalled from leave for an urgent mission. The other teams had been on maneuvers, but still managed to get there faster than collecting his teammates scattered all over the country. He’d spent his flight wishing he’d gone back to say goodbye to Elena. He wanted another taste of her. He wanted to dig his fingers deep into her hair again, feel her lips wrap warm and tight around his cock, wake up with her in his arms.

Jesus. Get out of my head. He’d never been so whipped by a woman. It was stupid. Their team leader, Cory “Compass” West stood outside the room with the rest of the guys. “Way to bring up the rear, Beast,” Terrell “Hung” Hull said. “Shut up, Dick.” “It’s Hung.” “I think you gave yourself that name, man,” Wolfe “Big Bad” Jarrett said. Terrell smiled and shrugged. “Evidence speaks for itself.” “Keep the evidence to yourself. Nobody here needs proof,” Dante

“Chill” Winters said. West shot them a warning glare. “Cool it. Let’s head in.” One at a time they ducked through the hatch into the war room. Lieutenant Decker, the officer in charge, stood at the front of the room chatting with Admiral Preston and a suit. “Why’s Preston here?” Tyson “Suede” Monroe asked. “Shut your hole and we’ll find out,” Grady “Buck” McCormick said. Decker turned to face the room as Damian and his team took their seats. Both Preston and the suit stood stonefaced behind him. “Okay, guys, let’s get started.” He clicked a remote and a map

of Central and northern South America filled the screen. “We’ve been assigned a hostage rescue—a high value target. You all know the commander. This is Agent Dorsey. He’s a Case Officer with Langley. Commander? You want to address the men before we go over mission specs?” Preston stepped up “I do. Gentlemen, this mission is time sensitive. The target is an agency employee who’s been kidnapped by Los Reyes and is being held at their compound in Colombia. We’ll be coordinating with the CIA to retrieve her.” “Her?” West asked. “Is she an agent?” Dorsey stepped up. “She’s an auditor

in the accounting department.” “Wait, what?” Damian blurted. “Stow it,” Decker barked. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” Damian said. His gut had wrenched at Dorsey’s announcement. He had to be talking about Elena. How many female auditors did the CIA have? Okay, probably a few, but the coincidence was too much. So why in the world would a drug cartel kidnap Elena? “Her father is Texas senator Mitchell. The daughter’s name is Elena Mitchell. She was taken from the family home in Houston on July fourth—two days ago. Renaldo Ramos, also known as El Jefe, the head of Los Reyes, sent a ransom

demand.” West’s hand shot up. “Sir, why her?” Dorsey focused on West and frowned. “She’s a senator’s daughter and she’s CIA. That’s a high profile target.” “Sorry, sir. Sure she’s high profile, but not a good target of opportunity. I mean, they had to put together a complex plan to take her from her father’s home on a holiday.” “In the middle of a big party,” Damian added. Everyone looked at him. “I was there. So was Admiral Preston. It was packed with people. Like West said, certainly not based on opportunity.” Dorsey’s lips thinned to a disapproving line, but Preston answered.

“That’s need to know, and you don’t need to know it. Your job is to go in and get the girl out.” “Our agent on the ground in Bogota puts the compound here,” Dorsey used his finger to draw a circle on the interactive board around a remote mountain jungle area of Colombia. “We’ve provided the intel we have on the compound and the cartel.” Decker waved a packet of papers in the air to demonstrate the available information. “You’ll read this on the way to the site.” “We have a twenty-four hour window to get in. We’ve been working with the senator, and he’s informed Ramos that he

needs the time to collect the ransom and get it to the drop-off location,” Dorsey said. Decker clicked another button on the remote and a satellite map of the compound popped up on the screen. It covered a plateau on top of a mountain. A river snaked near the base of the property, but dense, dark green jungle covered the whole fucking map, otherwise. “Here’s the main house—mansion really—and surrounding outbuildings. There’s an air strip at this end of the property, but only one road in from civilization.” Decker pointed at a narrow dirt road that wound through the

jungle foothills, twisting back and forth until it appeared in the large clearing fronting the mansion. “This road in back leads out into the jungle and presumably to other cartel properties.” “We don’t have an accurate guard count,” Dorsey said, “but Ramos has a reputation for keeping a large army. Attempts have been made on his life by rivals, so he’s well protected at all times. Assume a large opposition force.” “We believe Ramos is holding the girl at the main house,” Decker continued. “Squad one and two, your mission will be to infiltrate the mansion, locate, and extract the hostage.” West nodded, as did Ewing, leader of

squad two. Damian was glad he’d be on one of the squads searching for Elena. If they’d had him on some shit duty, he’d have done it, but it would have been a hard sell to keep from going after her. Sitting there listening to Decker give them the details of the mission, Damian couldn’t help thinking if he’d gone back to say goodbye, maybe he could have thwarted the kidnapping. That made her his responsibility. Sure, he wanted her anyway. She was practically his, so damn right he’d go get her out of there. Then he’d teach her how to be safe. Hell, he’d keep her safe. “Squad three, you clear and hold the extraction site here, at the airstrip,”

Decker pointed out the location. “We’ll send in Chinooks for pickup at your radio request. Squad four, you’ll clear and hold the south front of the mansion, and Squad five you’ll clear and hold the north back of the mansion.” Nods and murmurs of acknowledgement drifted through the room as the men received their assignments. Decker clicked the remote again, and a picture of Elena filled the screen. “This is your target. Elena Mitchell. Five nine, one hundred forty-ish pounds, brown hair, blue eyes.” Damian’s heart lurched. She was more beautiful than he remembered, and he

remembered her as pretty damn gorgeous. Her eyes sparkled with mischief in the picture, and her lips curled into an impish smirk. “She’s fucking hot,” Terrell whispered. “Keep your giant dick in your pants, asshole,” Damian growled. Terrell shot him a ‘what-the-fuck’ glance. Jesus. When Damian looked at Elena all he could think was mine, which threw him for a loop. What was his problem? He couldn’t do his job if emotions clouded his judgment. “Problem, gentlemen?” Decker asked. “No, sir,” Terrell said.

Damian didn’t like the idea of some scumbag drug lord holding Elena captive. Sure, she was smart and athletic, but she was in the middle of a jungle and she shuffled paper for a living. She was completely unequipped for the situation. “Ms Mitchell speaks Spanish and is healthy and fit,” Dorsey said. “So, as long as Ramos keeps her at the mansion, she’ll be fine, but we only have the short window to get her out. After that, there’s no telling what Ramos will do. He’s been known to make examples of his enemies and their families.” Damian shuddered at the thought of Ramos sending bits and pieces of Elena

back to her father to motivate him, until Ramos lost patience and just sent her head. Not on his watch. “So, the mission will be a high altitude night drop,” Decker said, clicking back to the satellite shot of the compound. “Since the total area of the plateau is small, we’ll do two consecutive drops and you’ll need to be precise in targeting your landing zone. You’re going in hot, so once you’re on the ground, proceed to your assigned areas and clear the enemy asap. Squad one and two, you’ll land on the roof, here,” he pointed at the mansion. “The place is equipped for helicopter landing, so has roof access

into the building. Get inside, clear the enemy, find the hostage, and make your way back to the extraction site.” “Yes, sir,” West said. “What if things go bad?” Ewing asked. “Secondary extraction is here,” Decker pointed to a small clearing along a river at the base of the mountain and several miles east. “If you’re unable to make it to the primary extraction point, head here. This location will get you away from the cartel compound to a place we can do a pickup. Okay, that’s it, boys. We deploy in an hour. Get your gear together.” A chorus of ‘yes, sir’ circled the room, as the men collected their things and

headed out to prep for the mission. Damian’s mind focused on Elena. He hoped she could hang on until he got there.

CHAPTER 6 It had been two days of forced pleasantness, surrounded by an army of cartel redshirts—Elena had lost count somewhere north of a hundred, which meant there had to be a lot more—all the while pretending not only that she didn’t speak Spanish, but that she was a terrified senator’s daughter and not a competent intelligence agent. On the plus side, she had access to a place and people nobody in the agency ever had, so she did her best to be inconspicuous and listen. “Querida,” Ramos said. “Are you

comfortable?” She sat in a cozy chair in the library— a surprisingly erudite collection, given the owner—and pretended to read. The library was adjacent to the office where he did business, and in the last couple of days he’d kept her close the whole time, assuming because she didn’t speak Spanish he was free to do business while he kept an eye on her. It precluded her from exploring, but at least she could eavesdrop on everything he said and did. “I am, thank you,” she said. He’d had one of his many lackeys bring dresses for her from God knew where. The last thing she wanted to wear was a dress, but she could hardly say so. Today she

wore a gauzy yellow sundress and sandals. “Good.” He flopped into the seat across from her, letting out an exhausted sigh and putting his feet up on an ottoman. “It has been a long day.” She held the book she’d been reading against her chest as a timid shield. “Have you heard from my father?” After her initial meeting with Ramos where he’d informed her of the original message, he’d come back to tell her that her father had responded by begging Ramos not to hurt Elena, and asking for time to collect the ransom. “He still has twelve hours before the exchange in Cartagena.”

“When do we leave?” He cocked his head, a confused look scrunching his brows. “We?” “Aren’t you trading me for the money?” His face cleared and he smiled. “Ah, I see where you’ve become confused. You won’t be traded.” Now it was her turn to look confused. Though in her gut she had a bad feeling about the answer she still asked, “Why not?” He spoke to her as if he was teaching a child. “Your father must learn a lesson. I will meet him and he will pay back everything I’ve ever paid him, and to stress the consequences of crossing Los

Reyes, I will return your body to him later this week.” Well, fuck. Things just got serious. She swallowed hard and forced tears into her eyes and panic into her voice. It wasn’t too much of a stretch. “Please, don’t,” she said, her voice a terrified whisper. “You don’t have to kill me. He’ll do whatever you want. I don’t want to die.” El Jefe sat forward in his seat and placed his hand on her knee. “I hate to have to kill such a pretty girl, but your father has forced my hand. When I return from our meeting, I will make your last few days comfortable.” Elena planned to be gone before then.

She had the information she needed about Ramos’ plan for her father, plus plenty of other useful intel about his organization, so it was time to figure a way out. She could probably get her hands on some kind of weapon and get out of the house. The problem came once she was out. She had no idea where she was— other than Colombia—and had never taken any wilderness survival training, not to mention she wasn’t up to the task of jungle warfare with over a hundred— possibly hundreds—of cartel soldiers. Which left her with a choice: sit around waiting for Ramos to kill her or make a run for it and take her chances in

the jungle. Given those options, staying at the house kept her in her comfort zone. They had no idea she spoke Spanish or that she could fight. If she could get her hands on some weapons, she could probably kill her way through guards— and maybe even Ramos himself if she got to him before he left. That might give her enough time to get to a garage and steal a car. Too bad she couldn’t fly a plane. Learning to fly would have to go on her to-do list if she managed to get out alive. In the meantime, she needed to continue her charade with Ramos, so she let the book drop to the floor and she slid down next to it on her knees.

Pleading with Ramos, she said, “Please don’t. I’ll do anything.” One of his thick, dark brows arched slowly as he looked down at her crumpled in a pathetic heap at his feet. She could only imagine the ‘anything’ he conjured up and it made her skin crawl. Her training said to bring him in to face justice—and to extract whatever information they could from him—but if he laid a hand on her, she’d bring him in damaged. He reached for her, tucking hair behind her ear. “It gives me no pleasure, mija, but it must be done. I promise, it will be fast. You won’t feel any pain.” She forced tears into her eyes, then

scrambled to her feet and ran from the room. As she headed for the stairs, she heard Ramos order some of his men to follow her. In her room, she slammed the door behind her and paced the floor, swiping at the tears. Her skin buzzed with tension. She needed a plan. Taking and holding the house single-handedly would be the biggest challenge she’d ever faced, but no way she’d roll over and give up. If she was going to die, it would be in an effort to save herself. The first thing she had to do was get her hands on a weapon. She might be able to snatch a knife at dinner. It would be a lame steak knife, but sharp and

stabby was sharp and stabby and she’d take what she could get. Once armed, she’d wait until late into the night when more people slept than were awake, and start by taking out her guards. She could trade up her weapon from whatever they had, then start a stealthy trip through the house until she had Ramos. Hopefully with him in hand, everyone else would fall in line. Hope in one and shit in the other, see which one fills up first… An image of Damian’s confident grin popped into her head and bolstered her courage. She’d channel her inner SEAL, and if she made it out alive, she’d track him down no matter where on the planet

he hid and have words with him about a possible future. And have sex with him. Lots of that. In the meantime, her plan wasn’t much but it was the best she could hope for given her circumstances, so she’d have to make it work. Elongated shadows and a barely perceptible cooling of the breeze heralded the oncoming evening. Elena had spent the rest of the afternoon in her room psyching herself up for her upcoming mission. She could only imagine her father’s horror when he realized he wouldn’t get her back in the exchange. Her heart went out to him on a human level. Nobody should face that

kind of news about their child. On the other hand, he’d really fucked up taking payoffs from a drug lord, so she had a hard time affording him too much pity. When she got home, he’d catch hell from her right before she turned him in to face the consequences of his actions. What if Ramos had kidnapped Janine from the party instead of her? Elena shuddered at the thought. She used her anger at her father for endangering his family, redirecting and focusing it on the task ahead. Her sundress didn’t afford much in the way of hiding places for a knife, so she tore a piece of sheet and tied it around her thigh. She’d tuck the knife in there.

Otherwise, her only preparation was mental. A knock at the door signaled game on. One of her guards opened it and gestured for her to follow. “Cena, señorita.” She forced herself to appear subdued. She slumped her shoulders, hung her head, and shuffled downstairs between the two guards. While she did, she assessed their personal arsenals. Each carried an AK-47, but they also wore holstered handguns and tactical knives. In the dining room, Ramos and his lieutenant, Romero Camacho, stood when she entered. The irony of their gentlemanly manners almost made her snort. They lived by a twisted code

which, when she thought about it, probably wasn’t so different from a lot of warrior cultures throughout history. That didn’t make it right, and she refused to play the part they expected of her. She was no sacrificial lamb. Once she’d taken her seat, they resumed theirs, and the guards went to stand by the door. Presumably they’d eat later and somewhere else. “I’ve had my chef prepare a special meal for you,” Ramos said. Lucky me. “I’m not very hungry,” she said, even though she was. The chef backed into the dining room, pushing the door open behind him, and

turned to reveal two plates heaping with food. He placed one in front of Elena, and one in front of Ramos, then hurried back to the kitchen and returned with a plate for Camacho. “This is called bandeja paisa,” Ramos said. “It will fill your belly and make you happy.” And then you’ll kill me. No thanks. Elena clamped down on the sarcastic retort that bubbled up in her mind. Instead, she said, “How do I know it’s not poisoned?” “You have my word.” Oddly, she trusted him. So far from everything she’d learned, he always kept his word. It may be twisted and brutal,

but when he promised something, he did it. The plate in front of her was a mixed pile of chorizo, steak, friend pork rind, beans, rice, a fried egg, a slice of avocado, and banana chips. She’d never be able to eat it all, but she was glad for the protein and carbs, and most of all, she was glad for the sharp knife on the napkin next to her plate. She tucked into the meal, which was as delicious and satisfying as he’d promised. They ate in silence for a while before she finally asked, “Will you be leaving soon to meet my father?” “Yes.” She nodded and scooped some beans

and rice onto her fork. When she didn’t respond, Ramos and Camacho started a discussion—in Spanish—of an upcoming meeting of what she assumed was middle management of his organization. They talked about production and distribution and planning for how to improve the operation overall. While they talked, they ignored her so she took the opportunity to place her napkin over top of the knife, then after a couple of minutes she casually scooped the napkin and knife into her lap. From there it was easy to tuck it into the makeshift garter on her thigh. For another half hour or so she pushed food around her plate, tried to appear

defeated, and listened. Finally, she used the napkin to wipe her mouth, then dropped it on the plate and stood, signaling her intent to leave. The men stopped mid-sentence and looked up at her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to my room.” Camacho went back to his plate, and Ramos nodded, making a shooing gesture to dismiss her. She headed for the stairs and her two guards followed. Hours later she jolted awake from a nap to the rumble and whine of a small aircraft engine landing at the airstrip. Her gut clenched at the sound. It had to

be Ramos’ plane coming to pick him up and take him to meet with her father. If she had any hope of using him in her escape, she’d have to move now. She rolled off the bed and padded to the dresser where she pulled out her sweatpants and tank, along with a dark gray button down shirt, and went about changing. It was easier to move in sweats than in a dress. She debated the shoes. With only one pair to choose from —leather sandals—she waffled between the quiet stealth of bare feet versus not knowing where the night would go and the possible need to protect her feet if she had to escape outdoors. Shoes won out.

Once she’d slipped her feet into the sandals, she did a perimeter check from her windows. The weak light of a crescent moon made it difficult to make out the number of guards on patrol. For all she knew, a small army swarmed in and out of the jungle. She took a deep breath to steady her thumping heart. If she survived the night, it would be a fucking miracle, but all she needed to do was subdue the guards inside and get to Ramos. After that, she had something to bargain with. Hopefully. She pulled her hair up and secured it in a knot on her head, then rolled her neck and shook out her arms, heaving in and

out a couple of breaths like a weightlifter about to do a deadlift. “You’ve got this, Mitchell,” she whispered. Gripping the handle of the steak knife tight in her left hand, she considered how critical the next few moments would be. She’d run the plan through her mind over and over before napping, like counting sheep. Now was the time to change her mind, but she really had no choice. It was either this or let Ramos kill her, and she wouldn’t go without a fight. Damian’s face came to mind, and she took a moment to savor that memory. She only wished she had more time with him,

to get to know him. “If you survive this thing, you can find him and screw his brains out,” she said. “Now, focus.” She pushed Damian out of her mind and headed for the door. Resting her hand on the door knob, she closed her eyes and centered herself, calming her roaring heart. She had one chance to get this right, and it all depended on speed and surprise. She yanked the door with her right hand and rushed the guard standing to the left, stabbing the steak knife square into his neck, then ducking and reaching for the tactical knife strapped to the rightside guard’s thigh. She’d been fast

enough that the guard on the right didn’t even have time to react to the door opening, and it wasn’t until the guard on the left slumped to the floor with a muted thump that he finally turned all the way around. In the span of less than a second he saw her—and his comrade in a bloody heap—and his face went from open-mouthed surprise, to angry frown. Before he could haul his weapon up and point it, Elena thrust his own knife into his chest under his ribs and up into his heart. It took a lot of strength, but adrenaline fueled the effort. “Sorry,” she whispered as he crumpled to the floor. She took a deep breath. Step one, done.

Squatting on her haunches, she rummaged the corpses, collecting handguns from both of the men, along with extra clips and the other knife. She cocked her head at the distant drone of an engine. It sounded more like a plane than a vehicle, so she dismissed it. Just a jet flying overhead. While she unbuckled the utility belt from the more slender of the two guys and secured it around her own waist, her mind had already moved to the next step in her plan. When she stood, she adjusted the belt with the weapons then headed down the hall on sneaking feet. She’d almost reached the stairs when she heard thumping noises on the roof above and

excited male voices yelling outside, then gunshots. What the fuck? *** Damian and his guys made the roof, no problem, as did Ewing’s team. Practice makes perfect, and they’d done enough precision drops that if they hadn’t hit the roof, they didn’t deserve to be SEALs. They all shucked out of their chutes and switched to assault gear, bringing weapons up, locked and loaded. West took lead, and they followed his signals to execute their prearranged plan to disperse around the perimeter of the roof

and scan the scene using their night vision goggles. Damian hurried to the east side of the building and took a knee. He scanned the area, watching as the other teams crept into position from their landings, a big circle of SEALs closing in on the unsuspecting building. West gave the signal to regroup, then murmured quietly into his comm. Damian heard him as if he spoke right into his ear. “We’re a go.” West took point and headed for the door. Everyone took up position to the side, out of range of anyone who might be standing inside. West tried the handle, careful to be slow and quiet, and when he found it unlocked, he opened it. As

the next in line Terrell swept the opening. “Clear,” he hissed into the comm. They funneled in one by one, down the stairs and into a hallway with doors along both sides, some closed and some open. The most striking feature, though, were the two dead men sprawled on the floor in pools of their own blood. Damian had to wonder who’d got there before them. Using hand signals, West indicated they should disperse and check all the rooms. Like wraiths in the night, the men scattered to check and clear the rooms. Damian and Cox—one of the guys from Ewing’s team—took the room with the

dead guys outside. As soon as Damian entered the room, he knew Elena had been held there. Not only did he catch a whiff of her scent, but a yellow dress lay in a pile on the floor, and he sensed the ghost of her presence. Call it instinct, but her energy filled the space. The big question was, where had she gone? Damian gave the swirling finger roundit-up-and-let’s-go signal to Cox, and they hurried back out into the hall. Some of the guys indicated by hand gestures the number of men they’d neutralized in the other rooms—four total. “Sir,” Damian whispered into his

comm. “She was held in the room with the bodies outside, but she’s not there anymore.” West nodded. “We’ll keep searching.” Outside, the sounds of surprised and angry male voices were followed by gunshots, so the assault had begun out there. West gave the signal to move forward. At the stairs, West and Ewing took point and crept down to the next landing, followed by Damian and the rest of the men. At the second floor landing Ewing’s team continued on to the first floor while West and his team spread out to clear the second. It wasn’t long before the sounds of

battle started from below, including shouts and gunfire. Damian took up the rear as his team fanned out to clear these rooms. He headed for the closest door, opening carefully to find a large bathroom with a glass-enclosed shower—which was empty—and another door to the left of the shower. Behind him and to the right, a third door stood open, leading to a walk-in linen closet. He poked the muzzle of his weapon into the closet space, then stepped inside, checking all the nooks and crannies—the green of the night vision goggles eerie in the tiny room—only to find it empty. He left the space, closing the door behind him, and

returned to the main bathroom. He passed the glass shower and at the second door, he pulled it open and swung his weapon inside to clear. All he found inside was an empty toilet space. When he turned to leave the bathroom, the main door swung shut revealing a woman standing in the space behind it, a handgun pointed at his head. She flipped the switch on the wall and the light burst on above his head, searing his retinas with brightness. “You want to lower that weapon, soldier?” she said. “I’m really twitchy right now.” He recognized the voice. He should, given how it had been slithering around

his brain like melted chocolate since the Fourth of July. “Elena?” Damian yanked his goggles up over his helmet to see her better. She looked like Lara Croft in her sweats and utility belt bristling with guns and knives. If he hadn’t been in the middle of a mission, it would have turned him on. It kind of did anyway, especially with their sex still fresh in his mind. “Damian?” “What the hell? Give me that thing before you kill me,” he said, marching toward her, his hand outstretched to seize the gun. “Hell no. I’m not giving up my

weapon,” she said, but she did lower it. “We’re here to rescue you,” he said. “Why? Seems like a lot of risk for one person.” “Your father’s a senator. You work for the CIA. That’s enough to consider you a high-profile target.” One of her eyebrows went up while her lips thinned, an expression that said she wasn’t overly impressed. “I had it under control.” Damian took offense. He couldn’t believe how naïve and ungrateful she was. He’d been worried sick about her and all the awful things Ramos and his men could be doing to her, and now she had the balls to stand in the middle of the

bathroom and question all that. “Really? How’d you think you’d get out of here? It’s not like you can just jump on a fucking bus.” “I had a plan.” “So do we. It includes taking out all the bad guys, then hitching a ride outta here on a Chinook.” “Okay, that’s a good plan, too. Kind of loud and messy, but if it works, I’ll take it.” “We’re SEALs. Our plans always work.” She snorted. Actually snorted. “Whatever you say, hotshot. Can we go now?” The conversation was unreal,

especially given the sounds of gunfire and conflict out in the hall, downstairs, and out in the compound. His jittery nerves concerned him, made him afraid he wouldn’t be able to focus on his job. He was used to adrenaline and watching out for his guys, but they were all trained to do their jobs, so he trusted them to do them and get out alive. He wasn’t used to this fear twisting his gut. Elena had no idea what she was up against and it scared the shit out of him. “Listen, Elena, this isn’t pretend CIA spy time. My team is out there getting shot at for you.” He grabbed her by the biceps and squeezed, getting in her face. “I’m here to get you out alive and in one

piece, so put the gun away, stay behind me, and do what I say. No questions, just do it.” Her eyes opened wide in surprise, then she opened her mouth like she wanted to say something. Knowing her, she’d argue, so he gave her his best SEAL glower. His best shut the fuck up and behave glare. Anger and exasperation bubbled in his chest. He and his team literally risked their lives to save her— yeah it was their job, and they went where they were told—but she treated it like a joke. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to wake up and take the situation seriously. She must have got the message because

she holstered her weapon and said, “Yes, sir.” He sensed a hint of sarcasm in the sir but let it slide. They’d spent too much time talking, and by the sounds of weapon fire and yelling, things weren’t going well. Using the grip he still had on her arm, he traded places with her, putting her behind him and himself closest to the door, before releasing her. She rubbed her arm. Maybe he’d squeezed too hard. He didn’t care. Let it be a reminder to her. Into the comm he said, “Caine. Target acquired. Over.” West’s voice blasted into his ear.

“Copy. Hold your position. We’re taking fire. Heavy resistance. Will advise. Out.” “Fuck.” “What?” Elena asked. “Ramos’s men are putting up a fight. Squad leader advised us to stay put until further notice.” “I’m not crazy about that idea.” He checked the door, latching and locking it, then turned off the light closing his eyes as he did so they’d adjust to the dark. Not that a locked bathroom door would be much of a barrier, but it was better than standing out in the open. He moved out of the way of the door, pushing her along behind

him. The door was solid wood, but he didn’t want to take any chances of bullets cutting through. “Not like we have a lot of choices,” he said, opening his eyes. They’d started to adjust to the darkness. Elena was a shadow slightly deeper than the darkness around her. He caught her movement as she crossed her arms over her chest and harrumphed. He stifled the urge to sidle up to her, force her against the wall, and give her a rough, punishing kiss, but only barely. Instead, he said, “If you’re so unhappy with our rescue, what was your genius plan?” “I was going to stealth my way through

the house, find Ramos and use him as a hostage to get out of here.” It was Damian’s turn to snort. “You’re an accountant, Elena. You’re not trained for that kind of thing.” She cocked her hip and he felt the weight of her gaze heavy on him. The noise of battle made Damian itch to get out in it. He hated not having his teams’ backs, but not only was Elena the mission objective, she was his objective, so he’d protect her. She scrutinized him, and he could see her well enough to recognize her biting her lip like she struggled with a decision. How she could be so calm in the midst of the chaos around them set

off a little warning bell in his head. A pampered senator’s daughter who worked as a financial auditor—even for the CIA—should be panicked, crying, freaking out. Elena seemed alert and tense, but she stood in the middle of the dark bathroom looking as if she couldn’t decide between the red shoes or the black shoes. “How did those guards die outside your room?” he asked. “How do you know it was my room?” “How do you know which room I’m talking about? Are there a lot of rooms here with dead guards outside them?” “Touché. Although, you’d have to assume if you’re looking for someone

held hostage, there would be guards outside the room so it’s a safe assumption it was my room.” He had to give her that. “You didn’t answer my question.” “Would you buy it if I said I’d have to kill you if I told you?” “For Christ’s sake, this is no time for jokes.” “You’re right, it’s not. This whole thing has gone—what do you guys call it, tits up?” “Yeah.” “I killed those guys.” His blood ran cold. If she’d killed them, it hadn’t been luck or accident.

He’d seen those bodies. She’d had to know what she was doing. “You’re not just an accountant, are you?” She shook her head. “Nope.” “Jesus. So what are you?” She sighed. “I’ll tell you, but you have to keep this secret. I can’t have my cover blown.” He gave her his sourest look. “I’m a SEAL, for fuck’s sake. Every mission I go on is a secret. I can get in deep shit if I talk, so I’m good at keeping secrets.” “Okay, fine,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. “I’m an operations officer. An agent, basically.” “A spy?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve worked various levels of undercover, including covert operations, but I’m between assignments right now.” His mind was officially blown. “Well, fuck.” “Yeah. Nobody knows. My family doesn’t know, even the people in my ‘fake’ job at the agency don’t know. I’m guessing since you didn’t know my handlers didn’t tell your commanding officer, either.” “No. We were only told you’d been kidnapped and we’d be doing extraction.” “You didn’t wonder why they’d put so much effort into rescuing a CIA

accountant?” “You’re the daughter of a senator’s who’s connected with the Navy.” “Still, seems like a lot of resources, just for me.” A thud against the door made them both jump. The pop of gunfire in the hall, and the thunk of a couple of bullets lodging in the wood of the door had Damian jumping in front of Elena and bringing his weapon up. West’s voice roared in his ear again. “Caine. Where are you?” “Second floor bathroom. Top of the stairs. Door’s closed. Over.” A few seconds later, someone pounded on the door. “Open up,” West said.

Damian hurried for the door and opened it, his weapon up and ready, but found West and some of the other guys on the other side. “Good to see you guys,” Damian said, grinning. “We’re outta here,” West said. “Bring the girl out. Ewing’s team will meet us at the bottom of the stairs and clear ahead of us, and we’ll surround her.” “Yes, sir,” Damian said. “What about Ramos?” “Ewing says he ran with his tail between his legs.” “Shit.” West nodded. “It would have been nice to take him out or take him in, but he wasn’t the mission. Now let’s go. We’re

heading out the back of the house and making a run for the LZ.” Damian gestured for Elena to step up behind him. She’d dumped the utility belt, but held a knife in one hand and handgun in the other. “Ma’am,” West said, holding out his hand. “I know this is scary, but we don’t need anyone getting hurt accidentally. Just give me the gun, and we’ll keep you safe.” Damian bit his lips to keep from laughing out loud as Elena struggled with how to keep her weapon and still remain believably civilian. “I’m from Texas. You think I don’t know how to use a gun?” she asked.

West considered her for a moment before giving her one curt nod. Score one point for Elena. “Just stay in the middle of my men and try to keep your head down.” “No problem. Thank you, sir.” She managed the perfect waver of fear and strength in her voice. Damian was impressed by her acting. A little spark of pride swelled in his chest. West spoke to the squad. “This floor’s clear. Ewing says he’s cleared the first floor. Squads three, four, and five are holding our path to the LZ and managing wounded. We just need to thread the needle, boys. Let’s go.” West radioed for pickup, trigging a

round of hooahs as they moved out, keeping Elena in the middle of the group. They hauled ass downstairs and through the foyer, where they met Ewing’s men. They all circled around to the back of the house, through the kitchen —careful to hop over the dead bodies. Ewing’s guys threw open the back door and out hurried across the porch before spilling down onto the ground and heading toward the landing strip. Looked like they’d make it. Until Ewing’s men made it out into the open and a hail of gunfire erupted from the jungle to the south. West and most of Damian’s squad had just stepped off the porch, including

Damian and Elena, who brought up the rear. “Fuck,” Damian said, grabbing Elena by the arm and running back up the porch steps and into the house. A fresh wave of guerillas swarmed out of the woods like ninja shadows in the dark, cutting them off from the rest of the men. “Jesus. How many men does Ramos have?” Damian asked. “Too many,” Elena said. “C’mon.” Damian clutched her hand and hurried through the kitchen—hopping over the dead—and back into the foyer. At the front door Damian squatted down and

motioned for Elena to do the same. He spoke into the comm. “West. We got cut off by hostiles. I’m going to attempt to get her to the secondary extraction site. I’ll radio when we get there. Over.” “Roger. Out.” “What if they’re out front, too?” she asked. “Then we’ll need a plan C.” “Let’s just go with plan C.” “Why?” “A couple of reasons. First, Ramos took off when things got messy. It’s likely he went to meet my father in Cartagena and I’m worried that now he’ll be really pissed about this rescue

effort and kill my dad.” “That doesn’t change our immediate situation. We can’t do anything about it until we get out of here.” “True. But once we’re out, I have to go to Cartagena to try to stop him.” “We’ll be way behind him, you know.” “How about you radio your team and send them after Ramos and dad?” Damian ground his teeth together to keep from saying something particularly insensitive. The mission didn’t include chasing after a drug lord to keep him from killing a senator. The mission was Elena-specific. “If I don’t?” “I’ll head to Cartagena myself. I can’t leave the country without knowing.”

If Elena took off after her father, he’d follow. He’d never let her face Ramos alone, spy or not. That meant the rest of the team would end up shifting mission parameters anyway. “Fine.” He clicked the radio again. “West. I’ve got a hiccup. Over.” “What is it, Caine? Over.” “Elena’s concerned Ramos has gone to Cartagena to kill her father as revenge for our rescue. She wants the rest of the team to go after him. Over.” Damian recognized a grasp at patience in the long pause before West’s response. “Elena is the mission. Over.” “That’s what I told her, but she’ll go after him if we don’t. Over.”

Damian imagined West’s expletives as he slammed a fist into something, but he sounded composed when he came back. “I’ll have to clear the change in mission with command. I imagine saving a senator’s life will make it easier to swallow. Over.” “We’ll head to the secondary extraction site and radio for additional instructions. Over.” “Roger. Out.” Damian turned to Elena and asked, “Satisfied?” “Thank you,” she said. He’d expected sarcasm. Her sincerity took him by surprise, requiring him to turn on a dime. He cleared his throat and

asked, “So what’s the other reason we should go with plan C?” “Do you want to open this door to find out if there’s a guerilla army in the front yard?” “There might not be. They might all be out in the back.” Elena scooted backward and gestured for him to open the door. “Be my guest, hotshot.”

CHAPTER 7 Elena watched as Damian sat on his haunches rubbing his chin, trying to magic up a plan C. Even in the midst of a drug lord’s compound in the middle of a Colombian jungle she could appreciate the man. The fact that Damian’s team had been the one called in to rescue her— and that she had him with her now— bolstered her confidence. Having him by her side made her feel like she could do anything. That said a lot. But as much as she loved a good rush, they didn’t really have the time to vet a plan. It was time to fly by the seat of

their pants. When it came down to it, she really had no idea where Ramos had gone, but it made sense that he’d connect her father to an attempted rescue and rage would send him to Cartagena to take his anger out on the senator. She’d learned to depend on her instincts in the field, and they told her she was right about Ramos. She took a deep breath and compartmentalized. She couldn’t worry about her father. Damian’s team would go after him. They’d save him. Right now, she and Damian needed to save themselves. “Garage, maybe?” she asked.

“And go where? It’s not like there’s a super highway nearby we can hop on. The secondary extraction site is downriver a ways, so we have to head that way.” “We’ll need a distraction for that, otherwise they’ll just follow us. Plus, how are we going to get down to the river? We can’t just run. They’ll mow us down.” Her nerves were strung too tight to sit there and debate with him. Who knew when the guerillas would burst through the kitchen or the front door, and there could still be men in the house. Not to mention that the cover of night offered them some advantage, but dawn

approached quickly. It wouldn’t be long before the sun laid everything bare. She stood and headed through the empty living room and paused at the doorway into the dining room, peeking in but finding nobody there. “Hey,” Damian said, catching up. “You can’t just take off without me.” Elena put a finger to her lips, urging him to shush, which only earned her a pissed off SEAL. She tried not to laugh, but she really liked poking this particular bear. It got her all kinds of worked up. Granted, it really wasn’t the best time to be thinking about how stupid sexy Damian was, and how much she enjoyed

yanking his chain, or wishing she could get in his pants again. If she had half a brain she’d knuckle down and take the situation seriously. It could very well mean her life. But she’d never experienced a more surreal mission. The whole thing had her skimming the edge of unhinged. The only thing missing was maniacal laughter. “This way,” she said, leading him down a hall past the library and Ramos’ office. “This is a bad idea, Elena,” Damian whispered from behind her. “You can’t just go off half-cocked and assume you know what you’re doing.” “Excuse me?” She asked, spinning to

face him. “You didn’t offer any better ideas.” “Look, between the two of us, I’m more experienced at rescue and extraction. Why don’t you just let me do my job?” “I’m stepping on your delicate toes, am I?” She turned to resume her search, not interested in his hurt feelings. If the layout of the mansion had any logic to it, the garage should be somewhere at the end of this corridor. “I’m trained for this. I know what I’m doing. It’s literally why I’m here.” “So I’m just supposed to sit back and be the damsel in distress? Let you rescue

me?” “Would that be so hard for you?” “Yes. It would. Now stop being such a Neanderthal and let’s get out of here.” He grumbled something under his breath, but she only caught, “…fucking women…” which made her smile. The hall opened out into some sort of sunroom greenhouse conservatory thing with a glass dome and a forest of houseplants. The sky above them had turned predawn gray. “What the hell is the point of this room?” Damian asked. A hail of bullets shattered the glass and the two of them dove for the ground.

“I’m getting really tired of these guys,” Elena said. “Yeah. Me too.” From her belly on the floor, she armycrawled across the room and into the adjoining passage. Given the sounds of shuffling and clinking of broken glass, she assumed he followed her. “I see a door out here,” she said. Once away from the window, she stood and gripped the door handle, readying her weapon. Damian joined her, bringing his up ready to shoot whatever greeted them on the other side. At least he was playing along, despite her exasperatingly independent behavior. But when she opened it, the only thing

inside was a small warehouse full of cars. “Thank God,” she said. A pegboard on the wall inside the door held all the keys. Damian swiped one for a Range Rover. “Let’s go.” Elena scooped up all the rest of the keys and when she got to the Rover, she dumped them in the back seat. When he gave her a questioning look, she said, “They can’t drive any of the rest of the cars without the keys.” “Good thinking.” The car started up with a roar, and he pulled it out of the line while pushing the garage door opener, as if they were just

headed out for a casual drive. Except, her heart thundered in her chest and her mouth felt like the Sahara. She strapped on her seat belt and scooched down to avoid being shot in the head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” “I have a plan,” he said. “Oh good.” She didn’t say finally even though she thought it. No need to piss him off more. He revved the engine and when the door had opened enough, he gunned it and they shot out of the garage into the dawn. Gunshots immediately rang out and pinged the car, breaking windows. “Stay down,” Damian yelled, trying to follow his own advice.

Suddenly, a bullet pierced one of the tires and it blew, and steering became squirrely. Damian veered down a steep, dirt side road, heading toward the river, fighting to keep control. At the bottom of the hill a boathouse loomed, crouched at the edge of the river like it would dive in at any moment. At the rate they were going, they’d be the ones diving in—car and all. “Uh, Damian? Brakes would be good.” He shook his head. “Plan, remember?” “Oh, great,” she said, and latched onto the handhold above the window. Damian muscled the Rover through the muddy tracks on the dirt road, pointing the vehicle toward the river to the left of

the boathouse. “You see anybody behind us?” he asked. Elena twisted in her seat. The road was eerily empty behind them. “Nope.” Ramos’s men must have seen them turn down the road, but not having vehicles themselves, they’d have to follow on foot, which meant there would be a lag before they caught up. In the meantime, Damian barreled toward the river. Elena gripped the handle and screamed as he plowed the front end of the Rover into the raging river. “Are you crazy?” she squealed. He grinned like an idiot. “Maybe a little. Come on.”

She tumbled out of the vehicle and hurried around to meet him on the driver’s side. She gave his shoulder a shove-punch. “You could have killed us.” Clearly high on adrenaline and unwarranted self-confidence, he gave her a condescending snort. “I’m an expert, Elena. I know exactly what I’m doing.” “Okay, Mr. Expert. What’s next in this crazy-ass escape?” “Rescue.” “Oh, right. I forgot. It feels so much like an escape.” He glowered at her and grabbed her hand, dragging her to the bank of the

river. “Okay, so the plan is to make footprints heading upriver, then veer off uphill into the jungle where it’s more difficult to track.” “Then what?” “We get in the river and backtrack to the boathouse and hide underneath it until they either take the bait or lose interest. Then we can head downriver for the secondary extraction site.” She quirked a skeptical brow at him. “I’ll grant you, these guys aren’t terribly bright, but there are a lot of them and I don’t know if they’re dumb enough to fall for that kind of fake-out. Or lose interest.” “Never underestimate how dumb

people can be,” he said. “If they don’t fall for the ruse, they might assume we headed downriver and start searching in that direction, but without any footprints they’ll probably give up fast. Since Ramos isn’t around to give them orders, they’ll just go back to the house. They’re paid to follow, not think for themselves. Either way, we’ll be underneath the boathouse and we’ll be able to see which way they go.” “Okay,” she said. Still not sure such a simple trick would work. “You’re the expert.” “Damn straight.” With her hand still held tight in his, he dragged her along the river bank making

sure they left a trail of footprints. She slipped a couple of times in the mud, but caught herself and trudged on. When he found a spot he liked—where grassy undergrowth would mask footprints and make it more difficult to track—he led them up into the trees. When he was sure their footprints pointed anyone following them into the jungle, but the prints started to disappear in the foliage, he picked up a fallen branch and led them back down to the river, wiping out their tracks as they went. He climbed down onto the boulders above the water itself and held out a hand to her. They’d traipsed about fifty

yards upriver and away from the boathouse. She joined him on the rocks. “That water’s moving pretty damn fast,” she said. He tossed the branch into the water. The river snagged it in its greedy grasp and sucked it away. Damian shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ve seen worse.” “You’re trained for this shit. I’m not a great swimmer.” “I’ve got you, Kim Possible.” “Ha ha. Very funny.” He waded into the river, and braced his legs against the current long enough for her to pick her way in with him.

Standing on his sturdy SEAL legs, he looked like an immovable object, like he’d planted roots in the river and the damn thing could just go around him. When she got into the water, she felt like a ping-pong ball, bouncing and careening at the whim of the river. Damian snatched her around the waist, his firm grip like a comforting steel band anchoring her to him. “Hold on,” he said. She clung to his back as he made riding the current look like a graceful dance. He guided them around a couple of boulders and a fallen branch as if he lived in the water and could command it to do his bidding, and the time he spent

on land was a grudging necessity. By contrast, despite clinging desperately to him, her legs bounced against rocks and water splashed in her face blinding and choking her. When they finally made it over to the pilings under the boathouse she was tense, drenched, and freezing. He was cool as the proverbial cucumber. “Okay, let’s take a look under here,” he said, inching them under the building. The limited space tended more toward claustrophobia than cozy. The riverbed sloped up to the bank, and the water lapped within a couple of feet of the underside of the building. A ledge in the bank above the water line gave them a

somewhat dry area, but it didn’t leave much space to squeeze them both in. It was a great hidey hole, but cramped. She doubted the guerillas would even check under the building, but if they did, the darkness of the space would keep them hidden. Before she could voice her concerns about the tiny space and if they’d even fit into it, she heard voices filtering through the trees and down the road. In Spanish, they chattered about the car crashing into the river. They milled around the wreck nattering for a bit about the prints, sounding excited that she and Damian would be so stupid as to leave them. They debated about it being

a trap, but the majority opinion was that the prints led upriver, not downriver or into the boathouse. Finally, the voices became more distant as they followed the prints, heading upriver. They didn’t even check the boathouse. “I can’t believe they fell for that,” Elena said. “They haven’t fallen yet. They’re just following the lead. They may catch on and come back. In the meantime, we should get comfortable.” “Is that even possible here?” He clambered up into the muddy ledge, laying on his side and scooting back to leave space in front of him, then patted the dirt and waggled his brows at her.

“We can make it comfortable.” She laughed despite herself. “You’re incorrigible.” She climbed up on the ledge with him, stretching out in front of him. When their bodies touched, it was the fireworks from the barbecue all over again, but with an undercurrent of fuzzy warm. He made her feel safe—something she’d never before experienced from another human being. She’d spent her adult life independent. The nature of her career required her to push people away, and for the most part she’d been fine with that. Now, Damian made her question that choice. Maybe—the nature of his career

being similar to hers—he was someone she could be honest with; be herself with. It was a novel concept. At the moment, lust superseded the warm fuzzy safety of having him with her. Maybe it was the excitement or the danger, but it didn’t matter that their little niche smelled like a musty algaefilled fish tank, or that it was muddy, or that they were both drenched from head to toe, or that God knew what kind of bugs lived on the ledge. The fact that Damian’s hard body formed itself to hers had her all kinds of hot and bothered. This definitely was not the time or place to be getting horny; yet she couldn’t help wiggling her ass backward

until it fit against his pelvis. She smiled when the hard bulge of his erection nudged her ass. He groaned and bent over her neck to whisper into her ear. “Be careful there, Perry.” She snorted. “I’m impressed you know who Perry the Platypus is.” “That’s what you took from that?” “I’m not too worried. It’s not like we’re going to have sex here on a muddy ledge under a boathouse with a bunch of drug cartel guerillas scurrying around searching for us.” “Are you saying we can’t or we shouldn’t? Because I’m pretty sure we can.”

He brushed her wet hair away from her neck and leaned down to plant his lips there. Their warmth against her cool, wet skin sent a delicious shiver down her spine, settling as a warm glow between her legs. She cleared her throat and tried to keep her voice from sounding husky. “I’m sure we could manage the sex just fine. I meant we probably shouldn’t. It’s not really the best timing.” “Chicken,” he whispered against her neck just before sliding his hand up under her shirt and caressing her belly. No coherent response came to mind, especially when his hand moved up and discovered she wasn’t wearing a bra. A

deep, warm chuckle—evil and intensely erotic—vibrated from his lips into the skin behind her ear. Given how her body reacted—her nipples hardened into lusty pebbles and her core clenched like greedy kid hands begging for Halloween candy—all arguments against sex had been shelved. This would definitely go on the weirdest-things-she’d-ever-done list. She gave one last valiant effort to be the practical one in the situation. “I’m not chicken. I’m sane.” “Sanity’s boring.” Okay, he had a point there. He tweaked her nipple and the point became slippery in her mind. What had they been talking

about? A needy sound escaped her lips and she rolled onto her back so she could reach up and grab a handful of his hair and pull him down into a kiss. Maybe she was just happy none of the hundreds of bullets whizzing through the air had hit her or Damian, maybe he was just the sexiest man she’d ever met, or maybe somewhere inside she’d decided he belonged to her, but suddenly the idea of sex was the best one ever. Who cared where they did it as long as they did it together? She kissed him like she couldn’t get enough. He kissed her like they’d never kiss again and he needed this one to be

enough to last the rest of his life. She had a feeling Damian had already ruined her for any other men, ever—and she was okay with that. “Damn, Elena…” he said. She agreed. Damn. She fumbled with her sweats, but he rested a hand on hers, stilling it. “Let me,” he said. He loosened the tie then slid his hand under the waistband. Her body vibrated with the anticipation of his touch. When his fingers reached her clit, she about came unglued. In the cramped space, she adjusted her position, opening her legs the best she could to give him access. He took advantage dipping his fingers

into the wetness of her folds, then sliding them up to find her clit. She arched her back like a taut bowstring as he caressed, stroked, flicked, pinched, and fondled, and when her orgasm gathered deep inside and rushed to explode under his fingers she bit her lips to keep from groaning shamelessly and alerting the guerillas to their presence. As she floated back to herself and calmed her breathing, it occurred to her that someday she’d like to be in their own bed after having had sex and say, remember the time we did the sexy stuff while running from guerillas? That would assume something long term, which they’d both made clear didn’t fit

into their lifestyles. But what if it could? She brushed the thought aside. Stupid. But the thought was stubborn and refused to go away. It lingered, teasing her with possibility. Instead, she said, “Your turn.”

CHAPTER 8 As hip as Damian was to a hand-job from Elena—and it took a lot of willpower to resist—they needed to get moving while the guerilla patrols were elsewhere. “It’s going to have to wait,” he said. “We should get moving to the secondary extraction site.” “But that’s not fair. It won’t take long.” He kissed her forehead, then pulled back enough to look into her eyes. “So you’ll owe me.” “Okay. I can live with that,” she said. He grinned. “Good. Don’t think I won’t

collect.” “I’m counting on it.” Elena was growing on him in an uncomfortable way. He liked her in a way he’d never liked a woman before— because she was smart, funny, and tough as hell. He even liked her stubbornness. Nothing bored him more than meek, compliant women. He liked challenge and surprise, and Elena offered that in spades. He pushed aside the sentimental bullshit to focus on the job at hand. It wouldn’t matter how he felt about her if he didn’t get them out of the jungle. They’d have plenty of time to think about dating—or whatever—later.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, giving her a little push to let her know she should slide off into the river. “In broad daylight? Won’t it be easier for them to see us? Shouldn’t we wait for night?” she asked, her face tight with anxiety. “It’s only an hour or so past dawn. We can’t stay in one place that long. They won’t see us now if they’re off chasing us elsewhere. Besides, we’re not just going to dive out into the river. I’m going to do a little recon first.” He slid off the ledge to join her in the calm water at the edge of the river. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.” He kissed her forehead again, then

swam to the upriver edge of the building before ducking underwater and swimming to where the front bumper of the Rover hung over into the river. Using the vehicle as cover he pulled himself up to eye level so he could see the riverbank. He cocked his head to listen, but all he heard was the rush of the river, monkeys in the trees, and the buzz of millions of bugs. No human sounds. He took the chance and crawled out of the river and squatted near the rear bumper of the Rover to scan the perimeter. There was no unusual movement among the trees, and nothing on the road. He circled to the other side of the car and watched downriver.

Nothing. “Damian?” Elena had poked her head out from under the boathouse. He could see her shivering even from the shore, which meant swimming was out as a means of escape. “It’s clear for now. Come on out.” He met her at the edge of the river and offered a hand, then pulled her up next to him. She looked like a drowned rat— soaking wet, muddy, and shivering—and he almost laughed, but he probably didn’t look much better. Besides, even bedraggled she was gorgeous, which reminded him of how her body had responded to his fingers, her soft moans,

and that look of ecstasy he’d put on her face. Suddenly his pants were too tight. “Okay, Mr. Expert,” she said, her teeth chattering. “How do we get out of here?” He gave her a once over and smiled. She’d crossed her arms under her breasts, but her tight, dark nipples showed through her wet shirt. His cock throbbed against the zipper of his fatigues. Jesus. She had his head so fucked up he couldn’t concentrate on doing his job. “I don’t think several miles in the freezing river will do either of us any good, and since the car is out of order

we’re going to have to walk.” “We could check the boathouse for a boat,” she offered. “A boat with an engine is going to draw attention, but if they have a canoe or kayak…” “Okay, maybe not. Water makes me nervous, and this river is moving too fast for me.” “You really can’t swim?” “No. I can’t. I can bob and splash in a pool. I can dog paddle and do a passable breast stroke. But I’m not comfortable in the water.” He took her hand in his to reassure her. “When we get home, I’ll teach you how to swim.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. The last thing he needed was to insinuate some future between them when neither of them could really afford such a thing. There was no house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and two point five kids in their future. They did their jobs so other people could have that. “I’d like that,” she said, a genuine desire flashing in her eyes that made him wonder. “But for today, water still scares me.” He didn’t like the idea of her scared. It didn’t fit who she was. “I’d never let anything happen to you, Elena. You’re always safe with me. Even in the water.”

“Still. I’d rather walk.” “Then we’d better get started.” Damian still had his SIG P226, and removed it from the holster to have it at the ready. A shit lot of good it would do against a bunch of guys armed with AK47s, if it came to that, but it felt better than having nothing. Elena’s weapon wasn’t meant to be submerged, so it was useless. He still had some grenades—which he hoped were still viable despite being dunked in the river—and his knife, but all in all, it would just be better if they could avoid the enemy altogether. As they walked, he kept Elena on his river side, since she had no body armor.

If the guerillas surprised them from out of the jungle he wanted to be between them and her. The riverbank near the boathouse had been cleared of foliage, but as they moved farther east, the brush and plant life grew nearer the river—at some points right up to the edge—forcing them to walk single file and climb over and through all kinds of branches, fronds, and bushes. A few times they had to step into the river and walk in the shallows just to get around the overgrowth. They walked for what he figured to be a couple of miles. The sky became brighter, and the air hotter and filled with typical tropical humidity. Their

clothes dried of river water only to become wet again with sweat. The river made a gentle turn, but another leafy green obstacle blocked their path. Damian reached his arm under the big leaves and lifted them for Elena to pass. She slipped under the leafy arbor and he followed only to ram into her back a few steps on. “Elena, what the hell?” “Damian…” He looked over her shoulder to find a half dozen or so guerillas on a bridge over the river, all with AKs pointed at them. “Fuck.” A tall-ish man with dark skin, black

hair, a cheesy mustache, and dressed in fatigues stepped up. “Good morning, Miss Mitchell.” “That’s Romero Camacho, Ramos’s lieutenant,” Elena whispered over her shoulder. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” Camacho asked. His heavy accent made it difficult to understand him. “Why should I?” Elena asked. “What do you want?” Camacho nodded and a couple of his men peeled off and headed for Damian and Elena. He could try a grenade and hope it worked, but the movement alone would draw attention. He’d never be

able to shoot them all from this distance without getting Elena killed. “I want you to do as you’re told,” Camacho said. Damian doubted that would ever happen. The two men approached with their weapons up and ready. One of them grabbed Elena by the arm and pulled on her. She yanked her arm away. “No me toques, asshole.” “Don’t cause trouble, Miss Mitchell.” “Fuck you, Mr. Camacho,” she said. She kicked one of the guerillas square in the gut, earning a loud oof in return. As the man doubled over and toppled to his ass, his trigger finger twitched on

reflex and the AK rattled off several bullets, one of which slammed into Damian’s chest, knocking him off balance. His chest plate stopped the bullet, but the impact punched the wind out of him and he stumbled a few steps and tripped into the river, landing on his back in the swirling current. While he struggled to get his breath back without choking on water, the river latched onto him and dragged him away. The last thing he saw before he passed under the bridge was the other guerilla seizing Elena and shoving her in front of him with the gun at her back. She struggled and screamed his name, over

and over. It occurred to him she must think he was dead. He couldn’t do anything about that since he wanted the bad guys to think he was dead, so she’d just have to suck it up for now. On the other side of the bridge he looked up into the barrels of more weapons. Instead of testing how many bullets the chest plate could handle, he rolled onto his belly and submerged as far as he could, doing his best to move out of the center of the river since that’s where most of the fire would be concentrated. The muffled report of gunfire came as he expected, and from his vantage near

the edge of the river, he watched the bullets slice through the water and bury themselves in the riverbed. A few came uncomfortably close, but as predicted they assumed he’d continued swimming down the middle of the river. He could hold his breath for a long time, but even he had to breathe sometime and just as white sparkles invaded his peripheral vision, the gunfire stopped. Damian took a chance and rolled to his back, just barely allowing his lips and nose to break the surface. He sucked in sweet oxygen, hoping he wouldn’t earn a bullet to the face as reward. But nothing happened, so he chanced a look around.

At the opposite end of the bridge he caught a glimpse of the guerillas loading Elena into the back of a van. Damian climbed out of the water and crept into the trees. No way would these assholes get away with this shit. Elena belonged to him. She was his responsibility, and by damn he’d rescue her if it was the last fucking thing he did. *** Elena woke suddenly, in a fog of pain. Assholes hadn’t used drugs this time. They’d gone with the good oldfashioned knock-out blow to the head. She opened her eyes to get a look at

her surroundings. Pain lanced through her head, and she squeezed one eye shut against it. Camacho’s meaty fist packed a wallop, she’d give him that. Her head hurt enough that her teeth throbbed with the pain. Then she remembered Damian. Being shot in the chest. Falling into the river and washing away. SEALs wore body armor, right? He couldn’t be dead. If he wasn’t, she’d hunt him down and kill him for letting her think he was. When she managed to ease her other eye open, she took in her surroundings. They’d tied her to a chair and dumped her in an office. One wall consisted of windows which gave her a view out

onto a warehouse full of crates and a bunch of other stuff she couldn’t readily identify. How original. Trapped in a drug lord’s distribution warehouse. She struggled against the bonds, but from the way they bit into her wrists and ankles she assumed them to be plastic ties. The office was on the second floor, but from her vantage she made note of men with guns guarding all the visible exits, and patrolling the walkway in front of the office. Why hadn’t Camacho killed her already? She had no illusions about surviving

this escapade. She knew too much about them and their operation, now she’d seen their warehouse, and she’d brought down a swarm of American military onto their compound. They’d have to move their headquarters, and God knew how many men they’d lost. Before they killed her, though, they’d want information. The military didn’t come after a nobody, so they had to assume she was important and important people had information. Withstanding torture was part of her training, but so far she’d never had to make use of that particular curriculum. Not to this extent, anyway. She’d been hoping to avoid it, but in her line of

work it was bound to catch up with her eventually. While she waited for Camacho to show up, she worked on psyching herself up to face the worst. Accepting her fate was the first step. Understanding there was no hope of rescue or survival was supposed to make it easier, to free the mind to deal with the challenge of keeping one’s mouth shut. Under no circumstances would she make any deals for her life, or believe anything Camacho offered. She’d face her death with dignity and be proud she’d taken everything they could dish out and never broken. It helped knowing that if she talked she put

other people—colleagues—at risk. Her job was to protect people, not throw them under the bus to save herself. She’s win this fight even though it cost her life. Her mind wandered and she worried about Damian, hoping he hadn’t died either from the bullet or from drowning. She smiled. If he were with her, he’d scoff at her and tell her, ‘Elena, SEALs DO NOT drown.’ She could just imagine the look of disgust on his face, and the disdain in his voice. For a moment, she regretted not having a future to spend with him because now she wanted one. Camacho made her wait and stew, but by the time he finally showed up she’d put Damian in a compartment in her

brain along with anything else important in her life and shut the door. She was as ready as she’d ever be. “Miss Mitchell.” His voice made her jump. After all the tension of waiting, his loud voice in the quiet room startled her. He sauntered in and rested one butt cheek on the corner of the desk, a few feet away. “Mr. Camacho,” she returned the greeting, working a quiver into her voice. Plan A was to stick to the meek, scared girl scenario. It might buy her some time—for what, she didn’t know. But the more she kept him talking, the less he tortured her, and she was all for

that. “What are you going to do to me?” She let her voice finish the question off high pitched on panic. He cocked his head and studied her. She opened her eyes wide, made a sad, scared puppy face, and let tears well. Then, she broke eye contact and looked down at her lap, working hard to produce tears and let them fall. May as well go the whole nine. All the while, her heart hammered so fast she couldn’t have counted the beats if she tried. “Here’s my problem, Miss, and forgive me if I’m wrong, but I don’t buy into your act.” She brought her face up to meet his

gaze, sniffing for effect. “What act? I’m not acting. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to go home.” “You will not be going home. Not alive, anyway. My problem is this: you’re a very good actress. You convince me you are afraid, you make tears fall. I think you are just a frightened girl. But I think you speak Spanish just fine, and I saw the men you killed at the house, and you fought my men at the river. You know what you’re doing.” “One of the soldiers killed the men at the house.” It was worth a try. He stood and moved surprisingly fast. She didn’t even see his hand come swinging out of nowhere and slap her

hard across the face. “Ouch,” she said, swinging her jaw back and forth to work the pain out. “Now I know you are lying,” he said. “One man was killed with a knife from the kitchen, the other with his own knife. Which makes me wonder, who are you, really, Senorita?” He loomed over her, squeezing his fingers into beefy fists. “I’m an accountant. That’s all. It’s not my fault my dad’s a senator.” “You work for the CIA, no?” “Yes. As an accountant.” He snatched a handful of her hair and yanked her head around at an awkward

angle. Her scalp burned and her neck stretched. “I do not believe you.” “Sorry,” she said, remembering at the last second to add a scared squeak to her voice. He leaned in until his face hung so close to hers that his hot breath wheezed into her open mouth. “I think I can persuade you to tell me the truth.” Then he stuck out his slimy tongue and licked her cheek from chin to temple. So much yuck. She’d prepared herself for being beaten or flayed or waterboarded. She’d thought about rape and hoped it wouldn’t be on the table, but how could it not be? It was an age-old

use of power and control. She thought she’d prepared for that, too, but licking? That was just weird. “I guess you’re right, you can persuade me to tell the truth, because I already told you the truth.” Apparently her default reaction to interrogation was angry sarcasm. She really wanted to unleash on him. He quirked a surprised brow at her. “You are what they call sassy? Am I right? You have spunk?” “Not really.” “Here’s what I think. I think you are an agent for the CIA. I think you found out the senator was taking money from El Jefe so the agency planted you in the

senator’s family, then had the senator betray El Jefe, knowing El Jefe would seek revenge. When he kidnapped you, it got you inside. And now you know too much. If the military hadn’t messed things up, you would have escaped on your own.” “Why would the military come after me if it was such a big elaborate plan to get me inside?” “Because El Jefe kidnapped a senator’s daughter. They had to respond to that.” She just stared at him, baffled by the backward reasoning. “You’re insane. Flat out, batshit crazy.” This time he punched her. Her

cheekbone crunched and she bit her tongue, tasting blood. Her ears rang. Fuck. He hit hard. “I will enjoy you.” He reached down and took one of her breasts in his hand, squeezing it until it hurt, leaving no doubt what he meant by enjoy. “I like breaking sassy women.” Shit. “I don’t break easily, asshole.” “Good. My men will be pleased to hear that. They’ll be happy to help.” She had to go and open her big fat mouth. He fumbled with his belt, sliding it out of the loops and pulling it free. Until now, she’d paid no attention to the man’s

crotch, but when his actions drew her attention down there she noticed his erection. So he got off on violence. Great. When he released the erection from his pants, it sprang out at eye level, big, hard, purple, and gross. In some detached part of her brain two things occurred to her: first, that maybe there was some truth to the urban legend about penis size corresponding to hand size; secondly, that penises were such funny-looking appendages. Without any attraction to the man it was attached to, it was just a thick, fleshy, and very vulnerable piece of meat. Why did men get so fucking worked up about it?

Then she thought about Damian’s cock and that was a completely different story. What that man could do with his cock made her body sing. However, now was not the time to be thinking about Damian and his magical cock. “Put that thing away before you hurt someone,” she said, earning herself another blow to the face. “You have a smart mouth.” He looped his belt around her neck, slipping the loose end through the buckle and pulling it snug. “I think I can put it to better use.” He stepped in between her thighs bringing his cock to within an inch of her mouth. It stank like sweat and stale piss.

She thought she might gag. Perhaps she didn’t have the fortitude for this kind of torture. She could tolerate being slapped around, some broken bones, cigarette burns, maybe even having her fingernails yanked off. Eventually she’d get numb to it, or at least she assumed she would. The worse it got, the better the prize of death at the end would seem. This, though, didn’t seem like something worth tolerating. She could only imagine how things would escalate from here, and she’d be happy to pass on that thank you very much. He pulled the belt tight, and like a dog’s choke chain it cut off her air,

strangling her. He held it there until the edges of her vision turned black and white stars sparkled in front of her eyes. She opened her mouth and tried to suck in air, but nothing came. He pitched his hips forward and rested the tip of his penis on her bottom lip. “You behave and do what I want, you get to breathe. You do anything else, you don’t get to breathe. If you’re a good girl, I might even let you live. Understand?” She nodded. No way in hell she planned to behave the way he wanted. Surviving only meant more of the same. She’d rather die than become Camacho’s sex slave, so she formulated a plan.

When he stuck that ugly shit in her mouth, she’d bite it off and spit it out in his face. Hopefully his reaction would be to strangle her and she’d be done. When he released the belt, she gasped for air, coughing when she sucked in too much and gagged on it. She wished she’d had the forethought to puke on him. As she sat up and breathed easier, a sound outside the room caught her attention. It wasn’t much, just a muffled thud, but it got Camacho’s attention too. He glanced over at the window at the same time she did. Elena spit a raspberry then burst out laughing at what she saw. Damian stood outside the window

looking for all the world like an avenging angel in camo. She had to assume every guy in the warehouse was dead if he’d made it this far. He stood tall and glorious, pointing his weapon at Camacho, the scariest look on his face she’d ever seen on another human being. If she was Camacho, she’d be terrified, but her heart squeezed at the sight of him. He’d come for her. She just might fall in love with him for that. “Dude, you are so fucking dead,” she said just as Damian pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER 9 Damian just about lost his mind when he looked in the window and saw Elena tied to a chair with a belt around her neck and a dick in her face. But when she looked at him and her face lit up, happy to see him, he felt stronger than ever, like everything clicked into place where it belonged. He hurried into the room and shoved the dead asshole out of the way so he could get to Elena. He had the urge to empty his clip into the corpse, but he contained it. Elena was more important. He took her face in his hands—her

swollen, bruised face—and looked her in the eyes. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” “I’m fine now that you’re here.” Blue pools full of humor and adoration looked back at him. Real tears slid down her cheeks. He knelt and slid his blade from the scabbard, and worked at cutting the bindings on her ankles. When he got to her wrists, he grinned up at her and said, “I suppose you had a plan to get out of this?” She nodded, then whispered, “I was going to try to piss him off enough he’d kill me fast instead of doing it slowly.” His gut roiled at the thought of her

sitting here working that out as the best option. “That’s not a very good plan.” “It was the best I could do.” As he finished cutting her free, he offered up the most stable smile he could manage. “Will you let me rescue you this time?” She let out a snuffling laugh. “Do I look like a damsel in distress?” “Hell yes, you do.” “Well then, you’d better do your damn job, hotshot.” He huffed a laugh, but it turned into a choked sob. He tossed his helmet to the floor and ran his hands through his hair. “Jesus, Elena. I was so scared I wouldn’t get to you in time. I was

fucking out of my mind. I’ve never felt that way before. Never. I don’t even know what to do with that.” With her hands and feet free, she slid out of the chair into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms went around her body and he held on tight, while he buried his face in her shoulder. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “I hoped you were wearing body armor, but I didn’t know. And when you fell in the river and disappeared, I thought you’d drowned.” “SEALs don’t drown, Elena.” She giggled. “I knew you’d say that.” She pulled back and looked him in the eye, serious now. “You came for me.”

He took her face in his hands again, using his thumbs to wipe her tears. She hissed when he touched her swollen cheek and he cringed that he’d hurt her. “How could I not?” “You didn’t have to. You could have called for backup and waited.” “No, I couldn’t.” He tipped her head up and placed his lips on hers, a sweet, gentle, deeply passionate kiss that made his heart ache with needing her. “You’re not just a mission to me, Elena. You’re far more than that.” Climbing up to her knees, she kissed him again, a fierce, determined, possessive kiss, as if she wanted to climb inside his very soul. When she

finished, she collapsed into his arms. “Can we please get out of this place? I think I’ve had enough of Colombia.”

CHAPTER 10 Elena rested her crossed arms on the edge of the infinity pool and watched the sun blaze a fiery orange inferno as it made its way behind the horizon. Damian swam up beside her, echoing her pose of crossed arms resting on the edge of the pool. “Another beautiful Costa Rican sunset,” he said. “I can’t get enough of them,” she said. “This jungle is way better than the last one.” He chuckled. “Yeah. The last few days have been great. I could get used to this

place.” They’d hauled ass out of Colombia and driven all the way to Costa Rica, stopping only once for Damian to communicate with his superiors. He reported that he and Elena were safe and where they were headed, that they’d call when they got there and make arrangements from there. They’d learned her father had been shot in the firefight between El Jefe and the SEALs, and that he’d died making sure El Jefe didn’t get away. Because of him, at least in part, El Jefe would face justice. Elena grieved for her father, but wondered if he’d given his life more to avoid the humiliation of prosecution and

jail than as some heroic deed. She’d never know. She glanced over at Damian then back at the sunset. “Liar. You’re itching to get out of here.” “I didn’t know I was that transparent,” he dunked under the water and came back up a few feet away, his tan body and blond hair dripping with water turned golden by the setting sun. He propped his elbows back on the edge of the pool. “I don’t like to sit still for long.” Did he mean literally or metaphorically? He’d been damn cryptic since they’d left Colombia. “I don’t either, usually. But I’m kind of

exhausted after the last couple of weeks.” A massive understatement. “Yeah.” She waited for more, but he didn’t offer anything else. The awkward silence was maddening. “It was nice of your brother to let us stay here indefinitely, anyway.” Damian waved away her comment. “Not like he can’t afford it. The resort’s making money hand over fist, and he never needed the money to start with.” The small talk was killing her. They hadn’t talked about anything of consequence—including everything that had happened to them—since they stumbled into the resort filthy, bloody,

and beat. She’d thought after they got cleaned up, they’d be tripping over words, falling into each other’s arms full of relief and emotion and possibility. Instead, it had been the exact opposite. “It won’t be long before the Navy and CIA come to drag us back for debriefing.” “I imagine.” She couldn’t stand it anymore. If they didn’t talk soon, she’d more than likely strangle him, so she took a deep breath and picked around the edges of the things they needed to talk about. “You didn’t have to stay here with me.” He swam closer, tucking a tendril of wet hair behind her ear. They’d been at

the resort for several days and he had yet to make any physical contact with her beyond a few tender yet mostly platonic kisses or touches. He wouldn’t even share the same bed with her, offering the lamest of excuses, like she needed to heal. Right now, her raw, wounded heart and mind needed more attention than her body. Well, her body screamed for him, but not because of her injuries. “Yes, I did.” The first honest words he’d shared with her in days. Hope flickered to life in her heart. “Why?” Anger flashed in his eyes, followed closely by something that looked

suspiciously like shame, before he looked away. “I failed you,” he said. He flopped into the water, diving to the bottom of the pool and swimming like a dolphin across to the other side before jumping out onto the deck and plucked a towel from one of the chairs. Despite her fear of the water, she’d tolerated it—even enjoyed it—as long as he was there with her. But she had no intention of letting him take advantage of her poor swimming as a means of escape. They’d talk, dammit, even if she had to dog paddle across the pool to make it happen. He’d been working with her, so she’d progressed beyond awkward flailing,

and managed to get to the other side of the pool and haul herself out. She snagged her towel and marched after him. “Don’t you walk away from me.” He spun at the doorway into their suite. The look of surprise on his face would have made her laugh if anger didn’t fuel her with purpose. “You’re getting better in the pool.” Poking him in the chest, she said, “Don’t change the subject.” He backed into the room and she followed, both of them dripping on the carpet. “What was the subject, again?” he asked.

From the look on his face—pained, sad, desperate—he understood the subject perfectly, but still fought to avoid it. The scrunched lines between his brows, the haunted shadow in his eyes, the tight, closed-off way he held himself away from her all came into crystalclear focus in an instant. The attraction and feelings they had for each other couldn’t have disappeared, so for some reason he ran from them or shoved them away. Not if she had anything to say about it, and as half of the pair of them, she did. “Us,” she said stepping up into his personal space. “We are the topic.” Raising up onto her tiptoes, she placed

her hands on his shoulders and reached to kiss him. He responded with a peck on her lips. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said. She took him by the hand and dragged him into the bedroom. “Sit,” she said, pointing at the bed. “Elena…” “No. You’ve been running from me since we left Colombia. No more running.” His expression closed into a scowl, but he sat on the end of the bed. She stood in front of him and untied the top of her bikini, tossing it to the floor in a wet splat. She followed it with the bottoms, until she stood naked in front of

him, one hip cocked to the side and her hands planted on her hips. At first, his brows went up in surprise, then he looked down at his hands in his lap. She glanced at his hands, too, but the beginning of a bulge in his swim trunks didn’t escape her attention. Good. At least there was still a little life left in him. “Damian, look at me.” “Put your clothes back on and I will.” “Do you not find me attractive anymore?” His gaze shot up to meet hers. She thought she caught him trying not to cringe when he looked at her. “Of course I do.”

“But you can’t look at this,” she pointed to her bruised cheekbone. “Without feeling like you failed me.” He glanced down at his lap again. Bingo. She glared at him for a minute, but he didn’t move. How was she supposed to get through to him? She could force herself on him. They’d probably have pretty good sex, but in the end it wouldn’t accomplish anything. It had to be his idea. “Fine,” she said. “You win. Go ahead and feel sorry for yourself. Blame yourself for whatever it is you’re blaming yourself for. But leave me the hell out of it.”

She marched to the bathroom and snatched a robe, then walked past him to the kitchen. Throwing open the refrigerator door made the few glass bottles jangle against each other. She snagged a bottle of beer and slammed the fridge closed, then threw the cap into the sink where it clanked around before coming to rest. Tipping the bottle to her lips, she guzzled half of it before turning and resting her ass against the counter only to find Damian leaning in the bedroom doorway. His arms crossed over his broad chest, and the scowl still furrowed his brow. “What?” she barked.

“Reverse psychology won’t work on me.” “Fuck you, Damian. I’m not using any psychology on you. I just want you to talk to me.” “There’s nothing to say. I let you down. I let them capture you, and beat the shit out of you, and…” He couldn’t finish, just looked down at the floor, kicking at some imaginary thing. “Here’s the way I see it, and since it happened to me, I think my version wins.” She took another long pull on the beer. “The SEALs had a plan. It was a good plan, but like any plan, there are always variables you can’t account for,

so the plan went south and didn’t work the way it was supposed to. You and I worked together and got out of there. You gave me a lovely, if muddy, orgasm. I still owe you for that, by the way.” A tiny twitch flickered at the corner of his mouth. She took that as a good sign, and continued. “After that, we discovered that we overestimated the guerillas’ gullibility. Lesson learned there. But what happened to me with Camacho was not your fault. If you’d come out of the river and charged the vehicles while they were hauling me away, you’d be dead and I’d still be at their warehouse a victim of a lot of unpleasantness.”

He grunted and tensed, likely thinking about all the ugly rapey things they would have done to her. She forged ahead. “But none of that happened exactly because you didn’t fail. You. Saved. Me.” She enunciated each word slowly and clearly for him. “I’m an agent for the CIA, Damian. I’m trained to fight, trained to assess risk, trained to withstand torture. Did I want to? Hell no. But I did have a plan.” ***

Damian brought his gaze up and glared at her. The swelling on her face had gone down some, but the bruises were still livid. He hated seeing her that way. It only reminded him he hadn’t got to her in time. “Your plan was to get yourself killed.” “Would you rather I stayed alive for whatever Camacho had planned for me? I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t really up for that.” He stalked away from the door and up into her face. “What if I’d got there right after he choked you to death?” Surprise flickered in her eyes, as if that hadn’t occurred to her. “I thought you

were dead.” “It takes a lot more than a bullet to kill me.” She bit her lip. As if he’d said something funny. He glared harder at her. “Well, I know that now. But I didn’t then.” Her expression softened as she continued. “I’m sure in all your selfflagellation it never occurred to you that maybe I felt guilty about that?” He scoffed at her. “Why? I was doing my job.” “Because we were in it together. Look, the point is…” “No, the point is this,” he interrupted her, poking her in the chest as an echo of her earlier gesture. “I almost lost you. I

almost didn’t get there in time, and that’s my fault. It’s my fault you got captured at all because I let myself fall in love…” He shut his mouth with a snap and staggered back a couple of steps. He hadn’t meant to say that. Goddammit, she had him so fucking confused. A grin started at the corners of her mouth, then spread until he thought it might burst her face. “You fell in love with me?” “That’s not the point,” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. “It is the point, exactly. You think caring about someone clouds your judgment, makes it difficult to do your job—in this case saving me. But if you

have a family at home, you think you won’t be able to give yourself completely to a mission because you don’t want to leave your family without you.” All he could manage was a grunt of acknowledgement. She might be able to express the sentiment in words, but he doubted she understood it in principle. “Damian, you are so dense.” “What did you just say?” “Dense. You are dense. Okay, first, I fell in love with you, too, so that deal is sealed. Secondly, I’m a CIA agent. Do you think I don’t live in the same world you do? I may not wear a uniform and carry weapons and run into the middle of

combat missions, but my life is in danger every time I go under cover. Having a family could compromise me, too.” That hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d always figured his job was the most dangerous on the planet, but living undercover, alone, with the constant threat of discovery, without a team bristling with weapons to cover your ass might be pretty close to as dangerous as his job. “Okay, fine. So we walk away and go back to our lives. That way, we don’t put each other in danger.” She cocked her head and scrunched her brows together as if he’d spoken a foreign language and she didn’t

understand it. He’d thought he’d been pretty clear. “I have a counter-proposal. How about we explore a relationship. Get to know each other some.” “How are we supposed to make a relationship work? What if we get in so deep we can’t get out?” “You mean, if we fall in love so much we want to get married?” He winced at the ‘M’ word. He’d assumed he’d never marry, and he’d been okay with that. “Okay, if you want to put it that way.” She snorted. “Then we get married. I’m going out on a limb here in guessing you don’t plan to give up your career any

time soon, and I don’t plan to give up mine, either. So any relationship between us will definitely be nontraditional. That works for me, if it works for you.” “Don’t you want kids and a home and stuff?” “Do you?” “No, but you’re a woman. Women want that stuff.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Good grief, Damian. Not all women are the same. I don’t want kids, as it turns out. But I do want you. We can figure out the rest.” Apparently done with the conversation, she put her bottle on the counter and

stepped up to him, reaching a hand around his neck and dragging him down for a kiss. He could work with that. The last few days had been torture having her so close, but believing he didn’t deserve to touch her. He’d beat himself up over not saving her soon enough. He couldn’t get the image of that asshole’s dick in her face out of his mind. But if it didn’t haunt her the same way, why should it haunt him? Maybe she was right. He may not have got there faster, but it could have been worse. Elena was unlike any woman he’d ever known—smart, tough as any soldier he’d ever met, gorgeous, and all his. She

loved him. She wanted him. Maybe he could make room in his life for a partner. They might not come home to each other every night, but did that matter? Was that what made a marriage? The “M” word still freaked him out. But at least he’d let it creep into his vocabulary. That was a start. For now, he needed Elena. He needed to feel her skin on his, her breath mingled with his, her heart beating in time with his. She was in his blood and he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her. When he’d suggested walking away, the idea had been like a blow to the gut. His old life seemed like a lonely, pathetic, empty hull. How could he go

back to that now that he had her? He wouldn’t. With a deep, growl, satisfied that things were settled, he reached for her, digging his fingers into her hair and cupping her face between his hands. “You need to lose that robe,” he said. He dropped kisses on her forehead, her cheeks—even the bruises—and her gorgeous, delicious lips. The little plaintive sounds she made when she opened her mouth to him had his cock inflating in record time. God, he loved those sounds. Her robe dropped to the floor in a whisper of terry cloth and her fingers moved to his trunks, fumbling with the

wet fabric and his growing erection. Finally she gave up and huffed at him. “You do it,” she said, her voice halfway between a command and a plea. Shoving the trunks off and kicking them away took less than a second. He went back to her, but she stopped him. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and caressed it in a long, slow stroke. He held onto the counter to keep his balance while his eyes closed and his head dropped back. “Jesus, Elena. You’re killing me.” “Mm-hmm.” The syllables came out in a low, sultry voice. Then he felt something warm and wet circle his cock. His eyes popped open

and he looked down to find her on her knees with the tip of him in her mouth. He panicked for a split-second, not wanting to subject her to the same thing she faced in that warehouse. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to pull her to her feet. “Elena, you don’t have to…” She took her mouth off him and shot him a quizzical look. “What’s the matter?” “I just don’t want you to have to…” he couldn’t finish the thought, so let it drift incomplete in the air. Her brows shot up when she realized what he meant. “You think there’s any way in the world that piece of filth

would be in my mind when I take you in my mouth? No. Not even close. You want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking you’re so ridiculously gorgeous and you’re all mine. I want to taste every bit of you. Your body is my playground now, and I want you to remember my touch on every inch of you, so why not start here?” Who was he to deny her? There was plenty of him for her to explore. Let her have her fun. “Well, I can’t argue with that.” He braced his feet wide because if she was going suck him off, he didn’t want to embarrass himself with noodle legs. When she took a firm grip on him at the

base and took him in her mouth, he just about collapsed it felt so damn good. Hot and wet was heaven enough, but when she sucked, and squeezed with her hand at the same time, it pulled a groan from somewhere deep inside. When she slid her lips further down his length, he felt his tip slip into her throat and held himself as still as possible. He didn’t want to buck his hips and choke her, but holy crap it felt good. Then she grazed her teeth along the length of him as she pulled back and it shot electricity to his balls. As much as he wanted to give her what she wanted and let her finish him, he wanted to come inside her—as deeply

connected to her as two people could be. Again, he reached down and took her by the shoulders and pulled her up. “My turn,” he said. Grabbing her by the waist he hitched her ass up onto the counter. Her claim on him went both ways. He looked forward to playing with her body, too. Her chestnut hair tumbled around her shoulders in a still-damp-from-the-pool mass, and her pupils dark with desire almost eclipsed the blue corneas. Her nipples had puckered and pebbled and begged to be sucked and nibbled, but by damn he didn’t think he could hold back long enough. Instead he caught hold of her legs and scooted her until her

ass cheeks hung at the edge of the counter, then opened her thighs wide enough to step into that glorious space between them. She placed her palms on the counter behind her and threw her head back, offering the whole of herself to him. Dear God, how could he say no to that? Not that he was inclined to, but… “You’re taking too long, hotshot,” she said, wrapping her legs around his back and pulling her to him until the tip of his cock rested in the warmth of her opening. “Hey, you can’t rush these things.” “Oh?” “I’m an expert, remember? I know

what I’m doing.” “Then do it already.” She looked him right in the eyes, her gaze concentrated desire. “I need you in me. Now.” He didn’t need any more invitation than that, so he drove himself in to the hilt in one sure stroke, drawing a long, satisfied moan from her lips. “Yes. That’s it,” she said. He chuckled. “Glad to be of service.” Gathering her in his arms, he pulled her close and started a slow rhythm, grinding his hips into her pelvis every time he filled her. He needed to brand her as his as much as she wanted to make him hers. He thrust himself into her—pouring his

hopes, his fears, his desires, his love— into each and every one, faster, harder, more insistent, making her his, making them one. Her body responded, pulling him tighter, her yearning sounds seeking some mutual place of communion When her orgasm hit, it gripped him tight and triggered his own. He thrust hard and deep and stayed there, riding the rippling waves as her muscles stroked him from the inside. As they spiraled back down and became two people again, instead of one, she wrapped herself around him, a soft, warm balm for his soul. He disengaged himself from her, gathered her into his arms, and carried her into

the bedroom. They climbed into bed and for the first time since they’d returned from Colombia snuggled into each other’s arms. She fit perfectly against his side, forcing him to admit that he was hopelessly lost to her. She heaved a deep, satisfied sigh and said in a sleepy voice, “who needs fireworks when we can make our own?”

EPILOGUE One Year Later Damian couldn’t keep his eyes off his wife. Or believe that he should call anyone by that word. She wore a wedding dress with a white lace top and yellow chiffon skirt, and half a garden of flowers in her hair. Easily the most gorgeous woman there, he still couldn’t believe she was all his. They’d spent a year figuring out how to make a relationship work until it had become obvious to both of them they’d

never be able to live without each other, so they planned a Fourth of July wedding, and what better place for it than the Mitchell estate? Despite the heat, the place crawled with people. A wedding with “just family” between the two of them meant a huge crowd. Damian had taken a moment for himself on the deck to survey the party. It had been going on for a while now with lots of booze and music—Jaxon had found a great local band. They’d even done karaoke with some really bad renditions of all the typical hits. He’d discovered his fellow SEALs should never go near microphones again.

Speaking of which, as he surveyed the crowd he didn’t see any Navy dress uniforms. Even in a crowd this size, six men in uniform would stand out. He hoped they weren’t off somewhere planning some crazy shit. He watched Elena laugh at something one of the other women had said, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so content. It kind of freaked him out. He needed his edge for work. But he had confidence both he and Elena knew how to do their jobs—she assured him they were sufficiently expert—and that the focus would be there when he needed it, and afterward they would come home to each other. He still worried about the

day one or the other of them didn’t come home from a mission, but being in love meant it didn’t matter if they were married or not, they’d still face the same loss. So he went with it. Better to have all they days they could than none at all. Today, though, he’d allow himself to bask in pure, unadulterated happiness. “One more bites the dust,” Hunter said, climbing the stairs and presenting him with a beribboned bottle of scotch. “My wedding gift to you.” It seemed inevitable his brothers would eventually find him and give him shit. He grinned like an idiot. He didn’t care. Xander, Jaxon, Colton, and Bishop

followed Hunter, all carrying glasses like they expected to share. Colton held out his glass, waiting. “Fuck off, man. This is mine,” Damian said. The hurt look on Colton’s face made him laugh. “Okay, fine. If you’re going to be a baby about it.” He poured for all of them. “Here’s to married bliss,” Xander said, offering his glass up for a toast. “I’m not toasting to that,” Jaxon said. “You guys may buy into the marriage thing, but I’m a bachelor to the end.” “Right,” Xander said. He tossed back his drink. “Just wait. You’ll meet a woman one day out of the blue and before you know it we’ll be toasting

you.” “Never. Going. To. Happen,” Jaxon said. Bishop snorted, then gulped his drink. “You’re next.” “No way,” Jaxon said. But the panic in his eyes belied his confidence. Bishop shrugged as if he didn’t care what Jaxon believed. “So when’s the rugrat due, Hunter?” Colton asked. Everyone turned to find a very pregnant Allison out in the crowd. She stood with Gracie and Elena and a bunch of older women. “Another month or so,” Hunter said,

looking for all the world like he’d just taken over another billion-dollar empire. “You two better get to work if you’re going to catch up,” Jaxon said, waggling his finger between Xander and Damian, maybe trying to shift attention away from him again. “I’m not making any babies,” Damian said. “You’ll have to do it yourself. Now, if you assholes will excuse me, I’m going to go dance with my wife.” “Never thought you’d say that, did you?” Xander said, laughing as he poured himself another glass of Damian’s scotch. “Not in a million years, bro,” Damian said.

“Feels good though, doesn’t it?” “You know it.” Damian made his way through the crowd, accepting congratulations along the way, until he reached Elena. He placed his hand on her waist and she leaned into him. “Dance, Mrs. Caine?” “Vertically or horizontally?” Gracie asked, wiggling her brows. “I…” Rarely left speechless, he still wasn’t used to his blunt sister-in-law so just sputtered in response. This had the ladies giggling. He tried not to blush in response. How the hell had he fallen so far? Elena patted his arm. “I told you you

didn’t have the proper training for this kind of crowd.” He squared his shoulders and stretched to his full height. The hell he’d let a bunch of girls intimidate him. “I can handle a few women.” He gave them the full weight of his SEAL glower. They all froze for a moment, then broke out into fits of giggles and raspberries. “Oh, God, I think I’m going into labor,” Allison managed between wheezes of laughter. His withering gaze didn’t seem to have any effect on them, so he took Elena’s hand and dragged her away from the pit of humiliation. “Don’t blame me,” she said, snorting

as she trotted along behind to keep up with his long, determined strides. “Where are we going?” “In the house so I can assert my dominance over you and regain my manhood.” “Oooh, that sounds like fun.” He rolled his eyes. “You could at least pretend to be intimidated by my power and virility.” They climbed the steps to the deck where his brothers had nearly finished his scotch. No respect. “Oh I am, hotshot. Really. I am. In fact, I’m shaking in my shoes. Quivering, really.” “Did I hear the lady say she was

quivering?” Jaxon asked. “Way to go, bro.” He offered a high-five, which Damian ignored. “Shut-up and drink my expensive booze. I’m going to go teach my wife who’s boss.” This earned him more raspberries, and a gaggle of snort-laughs. “Keep telling yourself that, man,” Xander said. “At least you get sex out of it. That’s the important thing.” He stalked into the house and into the kitchen, then stopped. At this point a lot of his blood had rushed south in an effort to inflate his cock, which had made his uniform pants too tight, so all he could think of was getting out of them. He

forgot the layout of the house. All he needed was a fucking room with a door. He turned and headed down a hall, shoving open the first door he came to, only to be greeted by a squeal and a grunt. When he focused on the scene he realized first, that he’d found the library —which he didn’t know even existed in the first place—beyond that he saw Wolfe banging one of the bridesmaids up against the shelves. “What the hell?” he asked “They don’t call me Big Bad for nothing.” Wolfe grinned and thrusted for emphasis. “Ugh.” Damian slammed the door.

“Not a word from you,” he said to Elena who bit her lip to keep from laughing. He marched her back out through the kitchen and upstairs. Her room was up there somewhere. At this point his balls ached. At the top of the stairs he threw open the first door he came to, only to find Chill Winters humping another bridesmaid on a huge four-poster bed. “Jesus,” he said, banging the door shut. “Is everyone but me having sex right now?” “Looks like it,” Elena said. He tried the door across the hall. Sure enough, Suede Monroe had some girl spread across a plush rug on the floor.

“Hey, Beast. Nice reception,” Suede said. Elena burst out laughing as Damian shut the door and moved down the hall. “My room’s at the end,” she said. “If that helps.” “I don’t think I can wait.” The next door was an enormous bathroom where Buck McCormick was busy with a redhead; and finally in another bedroom he found Terrell cavorting on a California King with two women. “What the fuck, Dick-for-brains?” Damian barked. A blonde had her lips wrapped around the reason Terrell’s nickname was Hung,

while a brunette sat very nearly on his face. Damian struggled not to smirk. Terrell looked up from the tangle of limbs, “Hey beast. How’s it hanging?” “It’s not.” Terrell glanced down at Damian’s pants then back up, a bright grin on his face. “You’d better do something about that.” “I’m trying,” Damian said through gritted teeth. Elena popped her head in and grinned. “Hey Hung. Looks like you hit the jackpot.” The brunette said, “Other way around, Elena.”

“Okay, we’re outta here. Clean up before you leave,” Elena called over her shoulder as she hauled Damian out of the room. “Follow me, hotshot.” She led him to the end of the hall and into her room. Thank God it was empty. Once inside, he pushed her against the door and crushed his lips to her. He pressed his body to hers, trapping her against the door and ravishing her mouth. He could never get enough of her. Just when he thought, okay, I’m sated, all it took was another look at her and he needed her again. Talk about prisoner of desire. Sometimes he wanted her so badly it hurt. “Get that dress off,” he said as he

worked the buttons of his shirt, practically ripping the damn thing to get it off. “I can’t reach the back.” She contorted her arms around her back as proof. By now he had his pants undone. He let them drop the floor and kicked them away. “It didn’t occur to you to wear something easy to get out of? I’m ready to just tear the damn thing off you,” he growled. He stalked toward her, but the look on her face made him stop in his tracks. “What?” She swallowed hard, her eyes wide, dark pools of desire. “I will never get tired of seeing that naked body. Holy shit, you’re gorgeous”

“And I’m all yours.” “Damn straight, you are.” He couldn’t wait for her to get out of the dress. They had the rest of the night and a two-week honeymoon they could spend rolling around naked in bed or wherever else they wanted. For now, he just wanted to be inside her. Bracketing her waist with his hands, he pushed her to the bed, picked her up and threw her onto her back. He stood over her, fists on his hips and cock standing hard and tall. “You better not be wearing anything under that dress.” Her gaze crawled up and down his body as real as a caress, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, but then she

licked her lips and waggled her brows as she inched the dress up her legs in a slow reveal. When the hem floated up past her naked pussy he just about shot his wad where he stood. Then something happened he hadn’t expected—his throat tightened and he had to swallow hard past a wave of emotion that almost brought him to his knees. She was his. She loved him, and wanted him. How had he got so lucky? “You’re drooling,” she said, a wicked look in her eyes. “Cocky much?” he asked climbing over the top of her. “On no, hotshot, that’s your job,” she

said reaching down to wrap her fingers around his cock. “Now, bring it…”

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGE To Wren and Anne: Thank you for your sharp eyes and spot-on suggestions and attention to detail. You helped polish the story and whip it into shape! To the Relentless Writers: Thank you for helping me with all my out-of-theblue panic when scenes don’t work, and for always being there to listen to my whining and still offering your help anyway! You guys are my homies. To Wren: Thank you for commiserating, for making me laugh, for tolerating me, and for sparking the idea that has grown into the Caine Brothers.

To the Badass Book Bitches: Thank you for all your helpful advice, your tips, your resources, and your continuing generosity of spirit. To my family: As always, thank you for being there for me. I love you. To my readers: Thank you for your support and for your enthusiasm for my books. I’d be nowhere without you! To Deena and eBookBuilders, the formatting wizard.

BOOKS BY MARGARET HUNTER By Margaret Madigan He had a billion reasons to be happy… until he met her. Then only one reason mattered. When Hunter Caine takes over the CEO position at his father’s multibillion dollar real estate development

company, he also inherits his father’s sexy blonde personal assistant, Allison McDowell. Allison doesn’t appreciate being passed around like property, but when she meets Hunter, sparks fly. Sure, he’s gorgeous, but if Hunter’s anything like his misogynistic father, Allison’s ready to resign. Hunter’s considering the purchase of a resort in Costa Rica. It’s currently a couples-only resort, so he asks Allison to go undercover with him, posing as

newlyweds. Allison’s skeptical, but it’s a free trip to Costa Rica, and Hunter’s easy on the eyes, so why not? Those sparks turn into raging hot flames as Hunter and Allison explore the resort—and each other—and discover that what happens in Costa Rica may or may not actually stay in Costa Rica.

XANDER By Margaret Madigan Falling for the daughter of his sworn enemy means making a choice between passion and peace. When Xander Caine administers a little biker justice to a wife-beating scumbag from the rival Ravagers, he and his fellow Huntsmen walk a fine line between keeping the peace and breaking a long-standing truce.

Gracie Buckner is the daughter of the Ravagers’ president, but she left the biker life a long time ago for college and a career as a photographer. When her sister’s husband beats her yet again, Gracie hires the Huntsmen for due process—the biker way. Showing up at the Huntsmen’s tavern to confirm the job’s been done turns into an episode of hot—anonymous—sex when Gracie runs into the irresistible Xander. Horrified, Gracie bolts, only to run into him again—leading to more anonymous sex—at a local bike rally. The bigger problem is the instant—and deeper— connection that haunts them both. Once they finally reveal their identities, their

fates are sealed. The Huntsmen-Ravagers feud is the stuff of legends, and finally reaches a tipping point when the rivals learn of Xander and Gracie’s relationship, leading to an epic battle in the middle of the rally. When the dust settles the landscape of both clubs looks vastly different, but Xander and Gracie are determined to stand together in peace and celebrate their star-crossed passion.

Making it Right By Margaret Madigan and Merissa McCain

Adrenaline junkie Nina Osborne never misses a hockey game or an MMA fight on TV. After the storage facility she owns is burglarized, one of her favorite MMA fighters, Drew “Juggernaut” Warner, shows up furious and blames her for his stuff getting stolen. When Drew returns to apologize and clean up his storage unit, Nina parlays it into a first date and burgeoning relationship, which comes with an introduction to the exhilarating world of live MMA. Drew has no idea when he brings smart, sassy, and super-sexy Nina into his life that she’ll rock the foundations of his carefully planned-out career. But when she decides that law enforcement

isn’t doing enough to solve the burglary and takes the investigation into her own hands, protecting her jeopardizes his career. The smart thing to do would be to leave her be. Problem is, while he wasn’t looking Nina took a firm grip on his heart. Nina’s determined to make things right; however, her investigating leads to big trouble, forcing Drew to fight both inside the cage and out if he and Nina are to have any hope of a future together.

Faerie Fate By Margaret Madigan Holly Spencer is a 22-year-old IT major who’s ready to graduate and find her place in the world. What she really wants is a good job and a condo with a view. But when she’s rescued twice in one day by a mysterious man who claims to

be a fae warrior, she’s plunged into a world she grew up believing existed only in fairy tales, and is forced to run for her life from warring factions who all want her dead. Shadow’s on a routine mission when he runs headlong into Holly—the soul mate he’d given up on ever finding. Even when she refuses to believe they’re meant for each other, he fights to protect her from the very thing that brought them together, even when it means making a dangerous deal with Fate to save her life.

Gambling on the Outlaw By Margaret Madigan He’s gambled everything…except his heart. Beth Caldwell is no man’s property. A gambler’s widow with a willful, independent streak, she’s already courting trouble after

rejecting an offer of marriage from a foul-tempered and land-hungry cattle baron. But when Beth discovers a handsome outlaw hiding in her barn, she lands in a whole new heap of trouble… Isaac Collins survived the Civil War only to find himself scapegoated for stagecoach robbery and murder. With nothing left to lose, he gambled everything on revenge and barely escaped with his life. Now he’s relying on the kindness of a fierce, strong-willed woman…and God help him if there isn’t something both sweet and forbidden simmering between them. But Beth’s rejected suitor is no gentleman. He’ll do whatever it takes to

get her land. And in Nevada, sometimes everything can ride on one high-stakes game of chance.

Depending on the Doctor By Margaret Madigan Lydia Templeton teaches other people’s children, but dreams of having a home and family of her own. Plain and mousy, she protects her heart and relies on herself, accepting that she may never find a place where she really belongs. Emmett Wilder served as a Civil War

battlefield surgeon. After the war he dosed himself with plenty of alcohol to forget the blood and violence. Unfortunately, drunk doctors make mistakes, and Emmett's no exception, so now he travels the country selling homemade medicinal tonics and trying to outrun his demons. Keeping to himself he can’t hurt anyone else and he likes it that way. But Emmett owes a favor to Lydia’s brother, Randall, who decides it’s time to collect. After their mother dies, Randall sends Emmett to Nevada to find Lydia and bring her home to Nebraska. Along the way Lydia and Emmett tangle with train robbers, natives, and an

accidental marriage only to find that Randall is the worst enemy of all. As Lydia journeys across the country with Emmett, she’s forced to face her worst fears and deepest desires, discovering along the way that her real strength comes from Depending on the Doctor.

ABOUT MARGARET I write historical romance for Entangled Publishing and paranormal romance for Evernight Publishing. I write contemporary romance and science fiction through M&M Publishing. I’m an Oregon Ducks fan. I’m a donut and pastry addict (pretty much any carbs, really). I like cats. I’m terrified of balloons. When I’m not writing you’ll find me in a college classroom teaching English, or

working as a literary agent for an amazing agency…and of course, wrangling my family.

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Thanks for purchasing and reading this ebook. Authors love it when readers review their work on Amazon, Goodreads, Barnes and Noble, blogs, or wherever else they think of. When you talk about something you’ve read, not only does it make authors ridiculously happy, it also lets other readers know it’s a great read and they should run out and buy it. So if you enjoy something you’ve read (like this book), please review it! Authors will love you forever if you do.

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