Beyond the Edge

Damn him. Not even undressing was to be her choice. Fallon should have been annoyed. But his taking all control had her so aroused that she could barely stand. “May I undress?”

“Are you certain you want to stand in front of me naked?”

“Yes.”

“For as long as I like?”

“Yes.”

Her nipples tightened and poked into the lace of the gown, showing Kane exactly how much she liked his suggestion. Doing what he wished excited her in a way she hadn’t known was possible.

“Fine. Then you may take off your dress. But I want you to understand that you have no rights except those that I give you. You will have no pleasure except what I allow you to have.”

Oh…God. She was shaking with the need—he knew exactly how to turn her on, yet he hadn’t so much as touched her. And she was going to be standing there naked. Waiting for him.

And loving every second of it…

Dear Reader,

When my Harlequin editor told me that
Beyond the Edge
was going to be the first Extreme Blaze book, my first reaction was
wow!
—quickly followed by the question “How far can I go?”

When she responded, “As far as you need to,” I knew I was going to love this project. After all, those are the words that every writer longs to hear. And I had no intention of disappointing.

So I kicked my very vivid imagination into overdrive and wrote an outrageous tale of conflict, love and happily ever after with a good bit of submission/domination thrown in—just for fun.

I’d love to know what you think of this story. You can contact me through my Web site at www.susankearney.com.

Best,

Susan Kearney

CLASSIFIED

For Your Information.

Read and Destroy.

The Shey Group is a private paramilitary organization headed by Logan Kincaid whose purpose is to take on high-risk, high-stakes missions in accord with U.S. government policy. All members are former CIA, FBI or military with top-level clearances and specialized skills. Members maintain close ties to the intelligence community and conduct high-level behind-the-scenes operations for the government as well as for private individuals and corporations.

The U.S. government will deny any connection with this group.

Employ at your own risk.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

“I’
D GIVE ANYTHING
to meet a real man.” Fallon Hanover sighed into the speakerphone. Easing back in her chair, she ignored the stack of papers on her desk awaiting her signature as well as her view of the twinkling Sunshine Skyway bridge that connected Florida’s beaches with the mainland.

Her best friend since boarding school, Jaycee Ketner spoke slowly in her warm Alabama drawl, her voice reverberating through the empty office as if she were there instead of a state and a half away. “Darling, you’re just too picky.”

Fallon didn’t bother keeping her voice down. No one else worked this late. Her employees had gone home to their families long ago, but she’d stayed in a futile attempt to clear her desk. “The last time I wasn’t picky, it ended up costing me five million—and that was despite a prenup.”

The two women had always been night owls and Jaycee’s late-night calls boosted Fallon’s spirits. Jaycee might speak slowly, but there was nothing slow about her mind. “Maybe you should give away all your wealth, have plastic surgery to make you ugly and change your name.”

Jaycee’s sarcasm had pegged Fallon’s problem right on the nose. And she appreciated her friend, who understood that there was more to life than appearances and money. In fact, the most important thing—love—had been missing from Fallon’s life for so long that she wondered if it simply wasn’t her destiny to find that perfect soul mate—a man who loved her for herself.

Perhaps that’s why she’d secretly gone to work for the CIA right out of college. The sense of adventure had called to her on a primal level. She’d reveled in the excitement of her secret identity as she’d ferreted out secrets for her government.

Fallon arched her back and rubbed her neck, realizing she’d been sitting so long she was stiff. “What’s wrong with a guy wanting me for me?”

“Absolutely nothing. But how can you ever know if a man’s attracted to you for the right reasons when you come with so much baggage?”

“Yeah, and I sure messed that one up with Allen.” Her marriage to him had been a disaster. The only good thing about it was that she’d refused to allow the experience to keep her from going after what she really desired. Allen had been smooth, sophisticated and wealthy—not as wealthy as her, but comfortable. Once she’d figured out he’d married her only to fund his Internet start-up, she’d cut off the funds and he’d turned nasty. The divorce had taught her to be more careful, but she wasn’t so burned that she still didn’t believe that the perfect man was out there—she simply had to find him.

“Allen’s ancient history,” Jaycee said, “but the baggage is still there. Your charity foundation that requires constant direction, a playboy father who drinks from midafternoon until he falls down stinking drunk in the early hours of the morning, a neurotic mother in therapy and on happy pills, and a spendthrift stepbrother who also likes to drink, not to mention that you’re the brains behind the Hanover conglomerate’s success. What real man wouldn’t feel threatened?”

“Jaycee, you aren’t helping. I can’t just ignore my responsibilities.”

“You already know what I think.”

Fallon rubbed her brow. “How can I simplify my life? Just suppose I upped and ran away, my father might drink himself to death.”

“He’s a grown man. You aren’t his keeper.”

“But it would be irresponsible of me to allow—”

“It’s irresponsible of your family to burden you to the point that you don’t have a life.”

“Sometimes I wish I
could
run away to a place where I had no responsibilities, but that’s a fantasy. Too many people depend upon me.”

“Did you ever consider that if you weren’t there to prop them all up, they’d have to stand on their own two feet?”

Fallon shuddered. “Last time I refused to take one of Mom’s middle-of-the-night phone calls, she almost overdosed. I can’t have her death on my conscience.”

“God…I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were on vacation and in love with that Swiss ski instructor. I didn’t want to intrude on your fun time.” Although her family’s wealth meant that Jaycee lived very comfortably, she’d started a magazine and worked damn hard to keep it running. When she’d taken her first vacation in a year, Fallon hadn’t wanted to intrude. Besides, Jaycee couldn’t have done anything. Fallon had handled it just fine by arranging for the best care for her mother that money could buy.

“That was a wonderful fling.” Jaycee’s tone softened at the memory. “That’s what you need.”

“A fling?” Fallon smiled. “I’m not so picky that I wasn’t just thinking the same thing. Hot sex. No responsibilities. No strings. You know if I can’t have love, I’m just about desperate enough for affection to go for a man who wants nothing more than my body.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Except as soon as the paparazzi spotted me, we’d be on the cover of every rag. Mom would relapse. My sister would tell me that her kids were taking heat in school. My stepbrother would use my fling to try and undermine me with the stockholders.”

“You know what you need?”

“What?”

“A secret identity.”

For a second the words hung in the air over the phone line as Fallon’s fingers tightened around the receiver. Fallon tried to assess her friend’s tone, searched for humor, accusation,
something
to indi
cate whether Jaycee understood the significance of that statement. A secret identity? She already had one.

Jaycee couldn’t possibly know. No one knew that the CIA had, in fact, recruited Fallon right out of college. One of the reasons she’d joined the CIA, other than to help her country, was that she enjoyed adding a little spice to her life while ditching her normal responsibilities. She liked each day to be different—not same old, same old. So while she’d supposedly been touring Europe as a graduation present like most young women in her privileged class, she’d secretly been training at Langley. And she’d proven her worth by partying with a Saudi family on the southern coast of France and successfully picking up gossip that had helped the CIA track Saudi money to terrorist organizations. Fallon didn’t believe Jaycee had ever suspected her undercover role, but perhaps she’d slipped up.

“Come on, I have enough trouble being me.” Fallon forced a lightness into her tone that she didn’t feel. “I couldn’t be someone else, too.”

“You can do anything you put your mind to,” Jaycee countered. “And that includes finding a good man. Your problem is that you’re so damn busy solving everyone else’s problems that you have no time for your own.”

“Nag. Nag. Nag.” Fallon teased, though Jaycee’s words had struck a chord. Fallon was all too aware of her need to fix the world—ever since she was a kid and her six-year-old friend from across the street
had died of cancer. She’d felt so helpless and scared as she’d watched her friend sicken. The adults wouldn’t tell Fallon what was going on. As an adult, she’d thrown herself into causes, trying to right the wrongs of the world. Coincidence? She didn’t think so.

Jaycee laughed. “I may be nagging, but I speak the truth.” She paused. “You need a man to sweep you away from your normal life.”

“I think you’ve been spending too much time editing the fiction stories in your—” Fallon sniffed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I smell roasting almonds. Let me call you back.” Fallon hung up the phone. Still sitting behind her desk, she tilted her head and inhaled the unusual odor. The last of her employees had left well before seven, and except for the security guard downstairs, she remained the sole occupant of the Hanover Research Institute.

She inhaled again. Could a fire cause such a smell? Unlikely. The detectors would have set off the alarms. And the Chinese takeout she’d eaten at ten smelled nothing like sweet almonds. Yet, she couldn’t deny the odd odor, pleasantly pungent, permeating the room like an enticing cologne.

Listening intently, she heard nothing except the computer humming, the coffee perking and the water cooler cycling on in the dim hallway outside her office door. The elevator had remained silent all evening.

The scent filled her nostrils—a smell that didn’t
belong. Fallon set down her papers, glanced at her watch. Ten past midnight. Time to go home. She’d mention the odor to the security guard on the way out.

She stood, reached for her purse and shut down her computer. The air crackled. Reddish sparks sputtered as if someone had set off fireworks, creating an eerie glow on the high-gloss walls, lacquered desk, and smoked mirrors. Fallon almost gagged on the overpowering stench of burning almonds.

Raising her hand to shield her face, she squinted through ruby, vermillion and crimson sparks. Was there an electrical short? Had heat lightning somehow bounced into the office building? She retreated until her backside pressed against the glass pane overlooking Tampa Bay. Just what the hell was going on?

Right before her astonished eyes, a man’s black silhouette emerged amidst starlike bursts of streaking light. She blinked hard. Where had he come from? One moment she’d been alone, the next, as if her thoughts had summoned him, he’d appeared out of nowhere. Scarlet surges of electricity zapped his barrel-like chest, zigzagged down his wide-spread legs, smoked beneath his black boots. The intruder stood unaffected by the energy spattering around him and ignored the smoke spiraling about his feet.

Fallon rocked back on her heels, stunned by his astounding arrival. Who was he? What was he? Perhaps his strange clothing shielded him, but she wore no such protection. Before the electric energy could
shock her, she dashed toward the door, but tripped on a lamp cord, and bumped into an end table, spilling a box of Godiva chocolates. She sprawled across the floor, dropping her purse, scattering the contents, including her gun and cell phone, which skidded out of reach under the credenza. He could have her wallet, her credit cards, her jewelry and her gun—as long as she got away from the zapping electricity…and him.

Scrambling on her knees toward the office door, she looked behind her—but he’d disappeared. How odd. She had no idea where he was hiding and didn’t stop to look. However, her office didn’t offer many possibilities to conceal a man of his height. As long as he stayed out of sight, she could keep hoping she wouldn’t need to employ her rusty hand-to-hand combat skills, especially against a man so powerfully built.

She moved forward, toward the only exit—and saw him standing directly in her path, his black seamless boots blocking her escape. She swallowed down her surprise and climbed to her feet, looking up. The sparks had disappeared, and there was nothing out of the ordinary in the rest of the room—no fire, no blackened ceiling, no smoke. Even the burning scent was disappearing quickly.

She focused on the man. A glimmering black faceplate, set flush in a helmet that covered his face, gave him the appearance of leaning aggressively forward. A strange one-piece garment constructed of black shiny material strained over the rest of him, outlining every muscle.

She didn’t recognize his uniform, but she recognized the type. Military. A specialist. And if she hadn’t been notified of his appearance, he couldn’t be CIA—not unless the Agency had royally screwed up. And if he wasn’t one of them, he had to be the enemy.

Not even her CIA training had prepared her for these circumstances. Working the party crowd was much more her speed—not bumping into mysterious men in black who arrived unannounced in a shower of sparks in the middle of the night.

He folded his arms across his chest. “What are you doing here?”

She wasn’t buying into his controlled, I-won’t-hurt-you attitude. His voice vibrated with life, yet sounded both warm and resigned, and she couldn’t place the accent. Since he’d asked why she was in her own office, he obviously didn’t recognize her, a definite point in her favor. Hopefully, he’d have no idea of her secret work for the Agency. And if he didn’t know she controlled one of the largest fortunes in the United States, she had no intention of enlightening him.

“I was just leaving.”

She edged toward the door. She didn’t know how the man had sneaked past security, or where the sparks had come from, or why the electricity hadn’t killed him. Only a man with superpowers or superior technology could have withstood such high voltage. While he more than looked the part of futuristic superhero—the body beneath that form-fitting ma
terial rivaled Brad Pitt’s—he was blocking her exit and she wanted out—now. She tingled from head to foot even though the electricity had long since disappeared and she wondered if that scent could have drugged her. Nevertheless she sidled three more steps toward the door. Perhaps her nerves were simply warning her of danger—a very dangerous attraction to the stranger, which had her questioning her sanity.

Fallon must have blinked because he suddenly blocked her path again. She never saw him take a step, never heard a footfall. No one could move so fast and yet…That almond scent must have drugged her. She had to be hallucinating. And she certainly shouldn’t be so aware of his attractive body, those wide shoulders that didn’t quit, his tapered torso and powerful arms.

“Is it after midnight?” A tinge of confusion colored his tone, but perhaps it was just the helmet muffling his voice. He wasn’t necessarily a terrorist. Perhaps he’d escaped from a mental institution and that explained the strange clothing. Or he might be a thief after one of their highly classified research projects.

Humor him. Stall for time. Ignore the sizzling electrical charge through your veins.

She glanced at her watch. “It’s twelve-twenty.”

His broad shoulders stiffened. “And the date?”

Refusing to let him draw her into small chat, she sidestepped away once more. “My money and credit cards are in my wallet. Take what you want.”
And let me go.

“You were not supposed to be here. It’s inconvenient.”

Fallon gave him an incredulous frown. “Excuse me. You find it inconvenient that I’m working in
my
office?”

“You will make my work more difficult.”

His work? She wondered exactly what that was, but now wasn’t the time for a chat. If he thought of her as an obstacle he might be glad to be rid of her. She tried not to think of his alternative to letting her go.