Into Danger Part 1

Into Danger.

Gennita Low.

Chapter One.

Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.

T here were many ways of kissing a woman. And many reasons to taste her. There were kisses that asked permission. And then there were kisses that sought an answer.

Steve McMillan had once a.s.sured the amused leader of Black STAR, his elite covert operations team, that there was a difference, at Admiral Jack Madison's bachelor party when things had gotten a bit rowdy, and the topic a bit...salty among the men. In real, everyday life, Steve McMillan wouldn't have dared bring up kissing and women, but everyone was having a good time ribbing the admiral about his young bride, and how he was going to kiss her after the ceremony. When someone brought up the subject of kissing...well, everyone started hooting his name to give advice to the old man.

It wasn't as if the admiral needed lessons, Steve reflected wryly, as he recalled the festivities from a year ago. If there was a man who didn't have to work at looking good, his leader was the one. In his early fifties, he still rated enough female sighs in the navy grapevine. But the navy grapevine had voted Steve McMillan the Best Kisser of the Millennium during some cornball poll on a website that had somehow became public snicker fodder on the naval bases. So now his buddies teased him mercilessly.

That was okay. Steve McMillan liked kissing women.

Which was not what he should be thinking about right now. He looked across the room at his target. She was a lot taller than he had expected; dressed in black leather, she made a striking figure standing against the bar, calmly sipping a drink. She didn't look like she was waiting for someone. Her stance was relaxed, her smile a little bored. One or two men had approached with interested smiles, but she had sent them away with a few words.

In the dark corner of the bar, he had been watching her for almost an hour now, and her patience seemed endless, because she hadn't glanced once at her watch or looked around at the patrons. She didn't fidget with her dark auburn hair. She didn't make small conversation. She didn't smoke. Once in a while she would turn around and lean back on her elbows to watch the baseball game in progress on a giant television set above the bar.

At exactly an hour later, she finished her drink, picked up the small suitcase by the bar stool, and walked off. She didn't look back, so she didn't see the appreciative glances admiring her long, leather-encased, shapely legs. Steve stood up and followed. It was dark and cool outside. He pulled on his jean jacket as he looked around for the woman. She was nowhere to be seen. He turned the corner, keeping to the shadows.

He was a trained operative. He knew not to show his training. So he allowed her to have the advantage for now.

Movement. Speed.

He was pinned hard against the wall, and a husky voice, whiskey-laced, drawled in his ear, "It's been an hour, sweetheart. If you plan to make a move, you mustn't make a lady wait."

Steve angled his head sideways, and the light out of the windows was just enough for him to make out her face. Her eyes gleamed back, no fear in them. Her lips were temptingly close and perfectly shaped.

There were kisses that stole. And there were kisses that gave away secrets. Steve wondered which kind would persuade a hired a.s.sa.s.sin to reveal who her target was.

Her strength didn't surprise him. After all, everything he had profiled about Marlena Maxwell showed a woman who knew how to take care of herself. What caught him by surprise was how his body responded to her. From his table watching her, he had appreciated her tall, sultry beauty, but up close and personal, the appreciation became a growing private interest.

"What's the matter?" she asked, when he didn't say a word. "Don't you like it when a woman comes after you?"

"It depends on what she's after," Steve answered.

"Oh? Like what?"

"I don't mind a lady after my body," Steve replied dryly, "but I do draw the line if it's my dead body."

She pushed an elbow hard against his lower back, forcing him to buckle against the wall. "Let's not bicker over details. It would save me time if you introduce yourself," she said, still in that husky drawl, "and I hope you don't mind. I have to make sure you aren't armed, sweetheart."

d.a.m.n, but the woman's elbow was sharp. The hard stucco of the building cut into the side of his face. "No problem," Steve a.s.sured her. "Look all you want."

She slid a hand into his jean jacket, checking for secret pockets. Then her hand glided down his chest to his jeans, obviously knowledgeable about the places a man could hide a weapon.

"Lower," Steve suggested, reckless desire spurring him now, "and you might find something loaded."

There was a pause. Her eyes looked into his for a moment, then she took up his challenge. And went lower.

Steve didn't blink. Or breathe. The woman, if nothing else, was bold. He supposed there was a first time for everything, even having his zipper down in front of a bar. He vaguely wondered what she would do if someone came out right now, but there was no time to think of such things when a woman's hand was down his pants. She felt cool against his skin, moving left then right. And she certainly was taking her time.

"No small weapons, not even a knife," she murmured. "There is nothing stashed here. This is very unprofessional."

"Sweetheart, now you're hurting my feelings," he murmured back, in the same low tone.

"I'm going to let you go and you may turn around very slowly." Her voice had a tinge of amus.e.m.e.nt. "Be careful, though, Stash, because unlike you, I'm armed. Do you hear me?"

"Yeah."

Steve did as he was told, letting his arms hang loosely. He looked down at her as she, too, spent a few moments studying him.

"Well," she finally said, "you're not whom I thought they would send."

Of course not. Said subject had been knocked out and was currently under protective custody. That middle man unfortunately knew nothing. He only had instructions to take care of Miss Maxwell. Whoever set this up had been careful, covering his tracks with fake ident.i.ties. So Steve became his subst.i.tute to help Miss Maxwell find a place to stay, get her whatever she needed, give her all the company she wanted, play goon-and wait for her contact to show up. Or contacts. Their info hadn't been clear about that. Only one thing was certain. Marlena Maxwell wasn't in town to visit the Library of Congress.

"Name," she requested, her voice turning a little cooler.

"Steve," he answered. After a moment, he lifted a shoulder, "Just Steve, sweetheart."

She took a step back and folded her arms. "It's Miss Maxwell to you, Stash." She smiled suddenly. "And you'd better zip up those pants before you take me to the apartment."

Marlena Maxwell had specific instructions in all her jobs. A luxury apartment. A foreign-made top-of-the-line automobile rented under someone else's name. Ten thousand dollars in cash spending money, not part of the deal. Finally, a lackey to do her bidding.

Steve zipped up his pants. A lackey, he supposed, had to be obedient.

Marlena watched as the man picked up her small suitcase and headed toward the parking lot. She had to admit she was impressed. Very cool, under the circ.u.mstances. No one had ever sat and calmly waited for her first move before.

Of course she had noticed him sitting there. Who wouldn't? He wasn't exactly hard on the eyes. Dark and handsome, with the kind of eyes that asked all kinds of intimate questions. He gave himself away by hiding in a corner like that, but then he wasn't a professional like her.

Steve. She smiled in the dark as she followed him, looking around her once in a while. The view was spectacular, even in the shadows. The man wore his jeans well.

Sometimes Marlena wanted a normal life. But only sometimes. The perks were nice. Like this car, for instance. A Porsche Boxter. She climbed into the pa.s.senger seat while he held the door open. Breathing in the new leather smell, she ran an idle finger along the seat. Others like her preferred not to flaunt, but then she wasn't like the others. Flamboyance was her style. She turned to face the man by her side in the car, lifting one leg onto the seat so she could rest her elbow on it. And now for the other perk.

She liked starting with an aggressive stance. It amused her how an aggressive female would affect a male psyche. Leisurely, she ran her eyes over the man sitting next to her as he backed out of the s.p.a.ce and drove into the street.

Strong masculine features. She couldn't tell his eye color, but his gaze had been bold. Strong nose. Stubborn chin. She remembered the imprint of his body against hers when she leaned on him, and she hid a smile. No, there was certainly nothing small about him.

She hadn't meant to touch him as she had, but a challenge was a challenge. Most of the others had never been quite this interesting. The last one had been so nervous, she was sure he had peed in his pants when she'd jokingly bared her teeth at him. No, this one...well, she could feel that he was different.

He stopped at a traffic light and finally turned to face her. He wasn't unnerved by her scrutiny at all. Instead he smiled, a slow easy curve of his lips that heated her insides.

"I'm new at this," he said. "What do you expect of me?"

Marlena lifted a brow. "Obedience."

"Do you get it?" He c.o.c.ked his head, a curious glint in his eye.

Yes, she did. She deliberately cultivated fear so she could get it. Fewer questions that way, and fewer missteps. But for once she didn't mind questions. Normally she would ignore these lackeys they sent her, giving them the silent treatment most of the time, but then all the others were s.h.i.+fty-eyed and boring. "The light is green," she said, turning away from him.

He s.h.i.+fted. The powerful car sped forward. "A woman who doesn't want to talk; there is a G.o.d," he muttered.

Marlena glanced back at him. "Stash, you're very annoying." She leaned back in the seat. "Speed up. We're being followed."

Steve looked in the rearview mirror. "How do you know? There are four cars behind us?"

The man had to learn to be quiet, she decided. At least he obeyed her and sped up. "That's because I watch out for these things. I obviously can't count on you for my own safety."

He gave her a brief smile. "Wanna bet? I can lose them for you."

She looked at the side mirror at the car steadily keeping up with them. Her arrival in town hadn't exactly been a secret for those who wanted to find out, so she had expected to be followed. But she didn't need to make it easy for them.

And frankly her companion amused her. "Sure," she said. "What's the bet?"

Oh, she had thought him amusing a second ago. Strike that. The smile he gave her sent her insides churning. The man wasn't amusing; he was one s.e.xy devil.

"If I lose the car, I get a kiss," he told her.

Marlena's mind went blank for a second. A kiss? When was the last time she had kissed anybody spontaneously? She narrowed her eyes, considering the wager. "How good are you?"

"The best," Steve a.s.sured her gravely. He s.h.i.+fted to a higher gear. "I can kiss in more ways than you can...move."

It was her turn to smile. She had yet to meet someone bold enough to challenge her, twice in a night, at that. She laid her head back and closed her eyes. "In that case you're in charge here, Stash." She opened her eyes again as a thought occurred. "What if you lose the bet?"

His eyes never left the road. "I won't," he said and s.h.i.+fted gears.

An arrogant man indeed. Marlena watched as he coolly adjusted and looked at the rearview and side mirrors, as if studying his options. He seemed to know what he was doing as he cut out into the speeding lane. The Porsche's slow hum became a distinct rumble as its engine raced. She peeked at her side of the mirror again. Even though she had told the man beside her that he was in charge, well-there was no such thing.

She didn't know what surprised her more-the wager or the fact that she had relinquished control. Kissing wasn't something she did often. It was an offering, a sharing of intimate time, and she didn't offer or share her time very generously. Agreeing with such an outrageous bet with a stranger was something new.

The pair of headlights behind them moved closer. He might lose, she thought, and glanced sideways at him. Traffic was uneven, with patches of cars interrupting open lanes. He seemed in no hurry to lose them as he kept enough speed to just pa.s.s the cars in the right lane.

Marlena a.n.a.lyzed people who interested her. A man who took his time like this intimated more than a deliberate thinker. A man who took charge without hesitation suggested leaders.h.i.+p, someone who didn't intend to lose. She sat there quietly, intrigued at the thought, half studying him and half keeping an eye on his actions. The change from c.o.c.ky s.e.xiness to this self-a.s.sured determination was exciting to watch. For the first time she wished she could see his face closely, see exactly what he looked like.

The Porsche caught up with a long line of slow traffic on the right. His driving was very smooth, and there was a certain calmness in his execution that suggested he had done this before. She frowned slightly, but her thoughts were interrupted when he swerved sharply back into the slow lane, in front of several cars. Any vehicle, if it was following them, would have to pull up to settle back into the same lane or stay where it was, with the slower cars in the way. All of them honked as the Porsche surfed sideways right down the exit ramp.

The ramp was dark as the long line of lights roared by. Steve slowed only enough to merge, and then he sped up again. Marlena led out a slow breath. That was beautiful to watch.

"You know," he said conversationally, "fast cars are nice, but easily recognized. If it were daylight, it would be more difficult to lose them."

"With moves like that, I don't have to worry too much, do I?"

He looked at her for a second and smiled, almost wolfishly. "Guess not." Then his expression became serious again. "But who's following us, do you know?"

Marlena smiled wryly. Well, maybe her suspicions were unfounded. Someone used to her kind of life didn't need to ask silly questions like that. No, the man was just some young minion given to her for a few days.

She shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"h.e.l.l, yeah."

"Stash, not to you it shouldn't."

He was silent as he drove on. Ten minutes later they were in a secured, well-lit underground parking garage. He cut the engine.

Now Marlena could see him. She already knew he had dark hair but now she saw that he had dark eyes too. High cheekbones. Vertical slashes on each side of shapely masculine lips. A deep dimple in his chin kept her eyes focused on his mouth. He was also older than she had first thought-in his thirties.

"I suppose you want your kiss," she said, suddenly very aware of the small s.p.a.ce in the car.

His dark eyes glinted back at her. "No suppose about it, lady. I've wanted that since you put your hand in my pants."

"A move not intended to excite," she explained in a soft, low voice.

"Want to try that move again?" he asked. Somehow he had moved closer.

"Our bet was a kiss," she reminded him, but allowed her eyes to stray down.

"So it was," he agreed. "I'll have to think of another wager next time."

Did he move closer? She was sure he did. Either that or the car had gotten smaller. She took her eyes off his pants and looked back up. His lips were beautiful. Reaching out, she traced their outline with a finger. They parted slightly.

"I suppose you want it now," she said.

His lips caressed her finger as he said, "Now is good."

Her heart was beating a little quicker. A kiss. She must be going out of her mind. Calmly she said, "Let's see how good you are, then."

His dark head dipped down even before she finished her sentence.

Lightning. That was the only way to describe his kiss. The first touch of his lips seared every nerve with a current of desire that made her gasp. A mistake. His tongue, like a thief, slipped inside her mouth. And stole away reality.

He kissed her as if he were trying some exotic fruit for the first time. A slow, silky dance of tongues as he took that first taste of her. Apparently liking what he found, the lazy exploration deepened into something more than mere tasting. He slanted his head, nudging her back so he could get more of her. She curled one arm around his neck and ran her fingers through thick, soft hair. He bit her lip softly, and the feverish longing to have him pooled hot and needy in her.

She had expected casual desire-he was a desirable man, after all-but not this heady need to be taken. She wanted to say yes to everything he was silently asking her as he pulled her into his mouth and let her taste him. He was like dark chocolate-the kind that wasn't too sweet, a smooth and bold flavor that was totally masculine. And she wanted more.

It was too much. Losing control over one kiss was not an option. Marlena placed her other hand on his chest and pushed. Not too hard, but just enough to remind herself that she was still in charge. She forced her eyes to remain open.

Steve felt her hand pus.h.i.+ng him away. Her mouth was his, but she didn't trust him enough to close her eyes. It maddened him. She had spent the last hour successfully evading his questions; he wasn't going to let her win this round, too. Not when he was going crazy trying to keep himself from pus.h.i.+ng her down on the seat and just having her right then.

He took the offending hand in his and slid it down, all the way, and held it firmly where he wanted it, right between his legs. She made a sound, and he didn't care whether it was surprise or outrage, he went in for the kill, tilting her head back even more, and gave in to baser needs. No time for exploration anymore. He just wanted her to give in to him.

She tried to squirm her hand away, and the friction had him groaning in her mouth; then she squeezed, and he almost lost it. To his satisfaction, her eyes finally closed. So did his, as her hand kept in rhythm with his tongue.