Damian (The Caine Brothers #3)

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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.

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  semi-
casual,  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

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

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

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

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  self-
satisfaction  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 mid-

forearm,  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

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-so-
usual  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

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

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

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

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,  earth-
shaking,  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

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  dirt-
floored  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 AK-
47s 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 well-
trained  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  stone-
faced  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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

upcoming meeting of what she assumed
was

middle

management

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  right-
side  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 round-

it-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

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

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

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

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

experienced

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 army-

crawled  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  algae-
filled 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 AK-
47s, 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

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  old-
fashioned 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  water-
boarded.  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

Jefe

kidnapped

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

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,

fierce,

determined,

possessive kiss, as if she wanted to
climb inside his very soul. When she

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

mean

literally

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

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  crystal-
clear  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 self-
flagellation 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  non-
traditional.  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

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

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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-the-
blue 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.

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 multi-
billion 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

his

sworn enemy means
making

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

course,

wrangling my family.

Thanks for purchasing and reading this
ebook. Authors love it when readers
review

their

work

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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