DAMIAN

Caine Brothers

Margaret Madigan

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The characters and events portrayed in

this book are fictitious. Any similarities

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coincidental and not intended by the

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Table of Contents

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

CONTACT MARGARET

FOR THE READER

DEDICATION

To Charlotte for giving me the key that

finally unlocked Damian’s story.

CHAPTER 1

Damian Caine eyed the senator’s pool
with a longing that bordered on
inappropriate. As a Navy SEAL he
swam like a fish—better than a fish,
actually—and was always ready to get
in the water at any moment. Too bad at
this moment he found himself surrounded
by his father, sibs, and the senator
himself.

“Hot enough for you, Damian?” his

brother Colton asked.

“Shut up, smartass,” Damian growled.
He swiped the sweat from his

forehead, but could do nothing about the

rivulets running down his chest and
back, underneath his shirt. The only
concession to early-July Texas heat at
the senator’s fundraising Fourth of July
barbecue was that dress was 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

a relationship than you do, so no
worries.”

***

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

Unlike most men, she had the sense he

didn’t put on airs. He was pretty much

what you see is what you get, which she
found refreshing. And unusual. And her
complete opposite. The nature of her job
required her to be a chameleon. Even
when she wasn’t on assignment, she
couldn’t be her real self for fear of
giving herself away.

It never really bothered her, until now.

She’d already let her guard down too
much with him, as it was. Not that it
mattered, since they’d go their separate
ways, back to their separate lives, but
just once she wished she could have a
genuine connection with a man.

“I’m cool,” he said
She glanced down at his re-inflating

erection, then back up at his face and

waggled her brows. “All evidence to the
contrary.”

“What can I say? You bring out the

beast in me.”

“You mean best?”
“That, too.”
She giggled—something she rarely did,

but she liked the luxury of feeling a little
silly—and leaned in to kiss him. His
stubble tickled her lips before his tongue
came out to play, seeking entry to her
mouth. She gladly gave it, craving
another taste of him.

His hands came up and snatched at her

hair, fisting it tight at the roots. The sting
and

pressure,

his

brute

strength,

dissolved her into a pool of desire.

Some primitive part of her liked giving
in to him, which gave her pause. She
usually preferred being in control. Since
when would she want to give that over
to someone else? Yet, it didn’t feel
threatening. It felt indulgent, sensuous,
hedonistic, sumptuous. If she were a
puppy, she’d flop over and let him rub
her belly, wriggling and wagging her tail
in sheer happiness.

Using the fistful of hair to guide her, he

rolled her to her back on the floor and
crawled over the top of her, his presence
looming and filling the space around
them. The cool hardwood raised
gooseflesh on her skin, narrowing her
focus to the heat between them where his

cock nudged at her opening.

He kissed her lips—his dog tags

dangling from his neck and resting on her
chest—then moved to her ear, nipping it
just enough to burn before kissing and
licking his way down her neck to her
collarbone. That, he took between his
teeth like a drumstick.

She put her hands on his shoulders and

pushed him up enough to look in his
eyes. “Try not to leave any marks, there,
hotshot.”

He grinned, a teasing look if she’d

ever seen one. “Can’t promise anything.”

“Oh really?”
His teasing had her feeling her oats.

She didn’t want to think about caution.

She wanted to have real fun. Enjoy him
for this one night. So while he still wore
his confident grin, she used her thigh to
sweep his knee out from under him, and
at the same time shoved his chest with
her hands, forcing him into a roll. She
expected to end up on top of him,
triumphant that she’d taken him by
surprise and subdued him, but she should
have known it wouldn’t be that easy with
a SEAL.

He used the momentum of the roll to

not only get back on top of her, but to
grab her waist and flip her face down.
She didn’t like being bettered, and her
first instinct was to counter his moves, to
grapple and wrestle, but then he bent

over her back to speak into her ear, his
voice and breath heating the skin of her
neck even through the mess of her hair.

“I’m impressed.”
Something inside her took pride in that.

Then his hard cock slid between her ass
cheeks as he grabbed her hands with one
of his own, trapping them behind her
back, and her insides clenched with
need.

“I know a thing or two,” she said.
With his other hand he swiped the hair

away from her face. He was so close the
heat of his skin warmed her check. In her
peripheral vision his dilated pupils and
gritted teeth screamed feral, all of which
made her so wet she couldn’t help

squirming her ass, hoping his cock might
bump her clit.

“What else do you know?”
“I know I want that big fucking cock of

yours inside me.”

He chuckled in her ear. “You have a

dirty little mouth.”

“I guess you bring out the beast in me,

too.”

“Okay, then.”
He released her hands and hauled her

up onto all fours. Grasping her hips, he
pulled her back against his cock. Doggie
style. She could work with that.

One hand left her waist and next thing

his fingers slid through the wetness of

her folds on the way to her clit, which he
flicked a couple of times—making her
twitch and jump—before settling for a
rough caress.

Holy shit jeez fucking Louise...
He played her body like a virtuoso and

all she could do was make inarticulate
mewling sounds and arch her back,
pressing herself into his hand.

When her arms started to tremble, she

reached for the windowsill and pulled
herself up, crossing her arms and
propping her elbows on the sill for
support. He followed behind her and
used his knee to push her thighs open
wider, giving him space to fit between
them. As another firework burst in the

sky outside, her body throbbed in time to
both the powder blast and his fingers
pinching her clit.

She groaned and arched her back

again, her body instinctively seeking his
cock, hunting for the only thing that
would give it release.

With a growl so primal it spoke to a

deep, desperate place inside her, he
gripped her hips and lifted her onto his
cock, plunging deep inside her. They
both moaned the pleasure of it, their
voices a strange, primitive harmony in
that frozen moment before their bodies
gave in to the need to move.

His first thrust broke the trance, and

every thrust after that pushed her nose to

the window. The fireworks had to be
ending soon. It was the longest show her
father had ever put together. Had to be to
impress potential donors.

A green and purple firework exploded,

showering golden sparks as it finished.
Damian grunted with every thrust,
pulling her hips backward in a bruising
grip as he drove deeper.

Elena let herself go, sinking into the

rhythm, the pressure, the delicious
throbbing ache of her orgasm building in
the muscles around his cock. She basked
in the light of the fireworks, and the dark
in between; the explosive blasts outside
and the frenzied gusts of breath as they
panted from the exertion of chasing their

climaxes; the heady mix of gunpowder,
sweat, and sex as she inhaled a deep
breath.

The first tendrils of her orgasm tingled

deep in her belly just as the first
fireworks of the finale burst in the night
sky. Another thrust triggered it and she
gave herself up to the waves of velvety
bliss as her body melted and she came
apart at the seams. Damian’s climax
followed on his next thrust and he buried
himself into her farthest recesses,
leaving part of himself behind on a long,
low, rolling growl she felt as much as
heard.

The free-for-all of the fireworks finale

came to a close as they caught their

breath, the last red, white, and blue
sparks drifting down in the sudden quiet.

Elena swiped a bead of sweat from her

forehead, and unable to suppress a joyful
laugh she said, “Best. Fourth. Ever.”

CHAPTER 4

Elena left Damian lying flat on his back
on the floor with a stupid grin on his
face, as she headed for the bathroom.
She cleaned up, threw on some sweats
and a tank, and put her hair up in a messy
bun.

Back in the bedroom, Damian hadn’t

moved other than to lace his fingers
behind his head and close his eyes.

“I’m heading to the kitchen to rummage

for some food. You want something?”

“No. I’m going to go catch up with

Jaxon. I missed most of his show, but I
need to stroke his ego for what I heard.

Mind if I use your bathroom?”

He climbed to his feet, all six-plus feet

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

headed out to prep for the mission.

Damian’s mind focused on Elena. He

hoped she could hang on until he got
there.

CHAPTER 6

It had been two days of forced
pleasantness, surrounded by an army of
cartel redshirts—Elena had lost count
somewhere north of a hundred, which
meant there had to be a lot more—all the
while pretending not only that she didn’t
speak Spanish, but that she was a
terrified senator’s daughter and not a
competent intelligence agent.

On the plus side, she had access to a

place and people nobody in the agency
ever had, so she did her best to be
inconspicuous and listen.

“Querida,” Ramos said. “Are you

comfortable?”

She sat in a cozy chair in the library—

a surprisingly erudite collection, given
the owner—and pretended to read. The
library was adjacent to the office where
he did business, and in the last couple of
days he’d kept her close the whole time,
assuming because she didn’t speak
Spanish he was free to do business
while he kept an eye on her. It precluded
her from exploring, but at least she could
eavesdrop on everything he said and did.

“I am, thank you,” she said. He’d had

one of his many lackeys bring dresses
for her from God knew where. The last
thing she wanted to wear was a dress,
but she could hardly say so. Today she

wore a gauzy yellow sundress and
sandals.

“Good.” He flopped into the seat

across from her, letting out an exhausted
sigh and putting his feet up on an
ottoman. “It has been a long day.”

She held the book she’d been reading

against her chest as a timid shield.
“Have you heard from my father?”

After her initial meeting with Ramos

where he’d informed her of the original
message, he’d come back to tell her that
her father had responded by begging
Ramos not to hurt Elena, and asking for
time to collect the ransom.

“He still has twelve hours before the

exchange in Cartagena.”

“When do we leave?”
He cocked his head, a confused look

scrunching his brows. “We?”

“Aren’t you trading me for the

money?”

His face cleared and he smiled. “Ah, I

see where you’ve become confused. You
won’t be traded.”

Now it was her turn to look confused.

Though in her gut she had a bad feeling
about the answer she still asked, “Why
not?”

He spoke to her as if he was teaching a

child. “Your father must learn a lesson. I
will meet him and he will pay back
everything I’ve ever paid him, and to
stress the consequences of crossing Los

Reyes, I will return your body to him
later this week.”

Well, fuck. Things just got serious.
She swallowed hard and forced tears

into her eyes and panic into her voice. It
wasn’t too much of a stretch. “Please,
don’t,” she said, her voice a terrified
whisper. “You don’t have to kill me.
He’ll do whatever you want. I don’t
want to die.”

El Jefe sat forward in his seat and

placed his hand on her knee. “I hate to
have to kill such a pretty girl, but your
father has forced my hand. When I return
from our meeting, I will make your last
few days comfortable.”

Elena planned to be gone before then.

She had the information she needed

about Ramos’ plan for her father, plus
plenty of other useful intel about his
organization, so it was time to figure a
way out.

She could probably get her hands on

some kind of weapon and get out of the
house. The problem came once she was
out. She had no idea where she was—
other than Colombia—and had never
taken any wilderness survival training,
not to mention she wasn’t up to the task
of jungle warfare with over a hundred—
possibly hundreds—of cartel soldiers.

Which left her with a choice: sit

around waiting for Ramos to kill her or
make a run for it and take her chances in

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

In the meantime, she needed to

continue her charade with Ramos, so she
let the book drop to the floor and she
slid down next to it on her knees.

Pleading with Ramos, she said, “Please
don’t. I’ll do anything.”

One of his thick, dark brows arched

slowly as he looked down at her
crumpled in a pathetic heap at his feet.
She could only imagine the ‘anything’ he
conjured up and it made her skin crawl.
Her training said to bring him in to face
justice—and

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

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

CHAPTER 10

Elena rested her crossed arms on the
edge of the infinity pool and watched the
sun blaze a fiery orange inferno as it
made its way behind the horizon.

Damian swam up beside her, echoing

her pose of crossed arms resting on the
edge of the pool.

“Another

beautiful

Costa

Rican

sunset,” he said.

“I can’t get enough of them,” she said.

“This jungle is way better than the last
one.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. The last few days

have been great. I could get used to this

place.”

They’d hauled ass out of Colombia and

driven all the way to Costa Rica,
stopping only once for Damian to
communicate with his superiors. He
reported that he and Elena were safe and
where they were headed, that they’d call
when

they

got

there

and

make

arrangements from there.

They’d learned her father had been

shot in the firefight between El Jefe and
the SEALs, and that he’d died making
sure El Jefe didn’t get away. Because of
him, at least in part, El Jefe would face
justice. Elena grieved for her father, but
wondered if he’d given his life more to
avoid the humiliation of prosecution and

jail than as some heroic deed. She’d
never know.

She glanced over at Damian then back

at the sunset. “Liar. You’re itching to get
out of here.”

“I didn’t know I was that transparent,”

he dunked under the water and came
back up a few feet away, his tan body
and blond hair dripping with water
turned golden by the setting sun. He
propped his elbows back on the edge of
the pool. “I don’t like to sit still for
long.”

Did

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

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

THE END

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.

Making it Right

By Margaret
Madigan and
Merissa McCain

Adrenaline junkie Nina Osborne never
misses a hockey game or an MMA fight
on TV. After the storage facility she
owns is burglarized, one of her favorite
MMA fighters, Drew “Juggernaut”
Warner, shows up furious and blames
her for his stuff getting stolen. When
Drew returns to apologize and clean up
his storage unit, Nina parlays it into a
first date and burgeoning relationship,
which comes with an introduction to the
exhilarating world of live MMA.

Drew has no idea when he brings

smart, sassy, and super-sexy Nina into
his life that she’ll rock the foundations of
his carefully planned-out career. But
when she decides that law enforcement

isn’t doing enough to solve the burglary
and takes the investigation into her own
hands, protecting her jeopardizes his
career. The smart thing to do would be
to leave her be. Problem is, while he
wasn’t looking Nina took a firm grip on
his heart.

Nina’s determined to make things right;

however, her investigating leads to big
trouble, forcing Drew to fight both
inside the cage and out if he and Nina
are to have any hope of a future together.

Faerie Fate

By Margaret
Madigan

Holly Spencer is a
22-year-old

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

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

Depending on the

Doctor

By Margaret
Madigan

Lydia

Templeton

teaches

other

people’s

children,

but dreams of having
a home and family of
her own. Plain and
mousy, she protects
her heart and relies

on herself, accepting that she may never
find a place where she really belongs.

Emmett Wilder served as a Civil War

battlefield surgeon. After the war he
dosed himself with plenty of alcohol to
forget

the

blood

and

violence.

Unfortunately, drunk doctors make
mistakes, and Emmett's no exception, so
now he travels the country selling
homemade medicinal tonics and trying to
outrun his demons. Keeping to himself
he can’t hurt anyone else and he likes it
that way.

But Emmett owes a favor to Lydia’s

brother, Randall, who decides it’s time
to collect. After their mother dies,
Randall sends Emmett to Nevada to find
Lydia and bring her home to Nebraska.
Along the way Lydia and Emmett tangle
with train robbers, natives, and an

accidental marriage only to find that
Randall is the worst enemy of all.

As Lydia journeys across the country

with Emmett, she’s forced to face her
worst fears and deepest desires,
discovering along the way that her real
strength comes from Depending on the
Doctor.

ABOUT

MARGARET

I write historical romance for Entangled
Publishing and paranormal romance for
Evernight

Publishing.

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.

CONTACT

MARGARET

FACEBOOK

WEBSITE

BLOG

TWITTER: @mmadiganauthor

GOODREADS

FOR THE

READER

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.

FORMAT &

LAYOUT

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Document Outline

DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
BOOKS BY MARGARET
ABOUT MARGARET
- CONTACT MARGARET
FOR THE READER

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