Dare Me (3 page)

“What does he want in exchange for his unexpected
cooperation?” Abe asked.

Macy glanced over her shoulder.  Dante remained standing
near the threshold to the parlor, his incredible body framed by the archway,
his silver eyes locked on her with pure, unadulterated lust.

“He wants a copy of the counter-code in case our clients
don’t use the combination to benefit the United States.”

Abe paused.  Macy turned back toward the window and pressed
her eyelids closed, waiting for the question that was sure to come.

“That’s not all he wants.  Damn it, Macy, he wants you,
doesn’t he?”

“Affirmative.”

“I should order you out of there,” Abe said, his deep voice
brimming with anger.

“Why?  There are worse things a woman could do to save the
world, right?”

With a smirk, she disconnected the communication and turned
back to Dante, straightening her spine and tilting her chin upward so he knew
he hadn’t beaten her.  Despite the traitorous thrill that snaked through her
bloodstream at the thought of his hands on her flesh again, pleasuring her in
ways only he ever had, she knew one thing with perfect clarity—he could have
her body, but he’d never, ever, sneak back into her soul.

Exhaustion pressed Macy onto the bed around one o’clock in
the morning, her body jostling the secured laptop computer she’d tossed onto the
mattress.  Even after she closed her eyes, her vision swam with schematics,
code markers and patterns.  The key points from the dozens of Arm reports she’d
read before daybreak repeated in her brain like mantras to failure, all spoken
to her in the melodious baritone voice of Dante Burke.  The sensual timbre of
his voice so invaded her mind that she didn’t hear him when he actually called
her name from the doorway.

She grunted in response.

“Have a hard day?” he asked.

With annoyance giving a shot of spitfire to her spent
energy, she turned her head to see him leaning against the threshold to her
room.  In a white shirt rolled up at the sleeves and expertly tailored slacks
in cool slate gray, he was the epitome of casual style.  He’d loosened his hair
so that his rakish dark locks nearly touched his strong, square shoulders. 
He’d pulled out all the stops in ensuring that at least physically, he was
perfect.

She, on the other hand, undoubtedly resembled a well-used dishrag. 
Working through the puzzles that were Bogdanov’s kitchen and parlor from dawn
until long after dusk wiped the sparkle off a woman.  If he didn’t find her
irresistible tonight, so much the better.

“What do you want?” she asked, knowing full well the range
his desires might include.  She’d finished her search for the day.  The time
had come for her to pay the price for his cooperation.

“Find anything?” he asked.

“Nothing beyond all the hidden cameras you’ve had installed
throughout the house.  You were watching me the whole time.”

He shrugged.  “Voyeuristic tendencies are prevalent in our
profession.”

She shifted to lean up on her elbows.  Her arms ached, but
she spared him a wry smile.  “It’s more prevalent in some than in others.”

“Depends on who is being watched.  Some people are innately…impossible
to ignore.”

He stepped into the threshold, but she had her gun drawn and
sighted before his foot crossed from the carpet in the hall to the wood in her
room.

“We had an agreement, remember?  This room is mine.”

And hers alone.  After assuring her boss that she was
prepared to take Dante’s offer in exchange for full access to the Prytania
Street house, she’d created a private haven within the walls of this small
bedroom just off the hallway to the kitchen.  He’d agreed that she could search
the tiny maid’s quarters to her heart’s content and Dante would refrain from
invading her personal space for the duration of her stay.

Unlike all the other rooms in the house.  Those rooms came
with a price.

When she’d agreed to his challenge last night, she’d never
expected the twist he’d introduce to the deal.  She should have anticipated
he’d up the stakes at some point, but for the briefest instant, she’d actually
thought he cared about saving the world from destruction more than he cared
about his sex life.

How wrong she’d been.

But to gain full access to each room, she’d agreed to his
erotic demand.  Once she’d searched a room top to bottom—once they knew that
the code would not be found there, he would disengage the hidden cameras and
she would make love to him there.  She had no right of refusal, no voice in how
he reintroduced her to the delights of their lovemaking.

She had to submit entirely to his amorous intentions, no
questions asked.

Since she’d already agreed to his desperate plan to win her
back, she didn’t balk at his added terms.  Maybe this interplay would be good—for
both of them.

He needed to understand that they were over.  She was
looking forward to some hot, sweaty, mindless sex.  And in the end, Dante would
accept that while he might still possess the power to excite her body, he would
never again invade her heart.

He stepped away from her weapon, his eyebrow quirked in
amusement.

“You shouldn’t pull a weapon if you don’t intend to use it,”
he warned.

She slid the 9mm beneath her pillow.  “Who said I don’t
intend to use it?”

“You’re not a killer.”

“You have no idea how I’ve changed,” she insisted, despite
the fact that he was essentially right.  Macy had the skills and training to
take care of herself, but she preferred using her wit to work her way out of
danger.  “Since I left you, Dante, I’ve been living a very different life. 
Working for T-45 is light years from employment with the Arm.  You have rules. 
A government to answer to.”

“And you have Abercrombie Marshall.  He’s not exactly a
wild-eyed rogue.”

She nodded.  “He’s the most ethical man I’ve met in this
world of traitors, liars and thieves.”

“What does he think of our little deal?”

Macy rolled to the edge of the bed, sitting upright as she
stretched her shoulders to loosen the tightness settling between her joints. 
“He doesn’t know the particulars.  And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

She glanced up at Dante.  God, how could he look so utterly
smug and superior when he’d had to resort to blackmail to get her into his bed
again?  Did nothing shake this man’s limitless confidence?

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt you either, Macy.  I hope
you’re prepared to enjoy yourself.”

“I could enjoy myself just fine here alone in my room.”

“But that’s not our deal.  Unless you want to change the
terms?  Maybe you’d like to be the one who seduces me?”

She marched to the door.  He was attempting to push her
buttons, but she preferred to deal straight up rather than expend her energy in
some fruitless game of cat and mouse.

“Stuff it, Dante.  You want to screw around, that’s fine.  I
agreed to your offer.  But know this—you’re wasting your time if you think I’ll
ever go back to you.”

She’d come too close.  When the tip of his finger skimmed
her chin and cheek, igniting a warm sensation before she had a chance to move
away, she had no choice but stand firm.  She couldn’t show any weakness or he’d
use the vulnerability against her.

He pressed his full palm against her skin, reminding her
with a simple touch of the intimacy they’d once shared.  Score one for him,
except Macy hadn’t needed reminding.  In nine long years, she’d never once
forgotten the intensity of his sweet caresses, their all-night-long chats about
everything and nothing, or the lovemaking that lasted until both their bodies
grew numb from sensual overload.

In fact, the night before he’d betrayed her to her
superiors, he’d lured her to a favorite hideaway, a cabin deep in the Virginia
forest where they could escape the world of covert operations that had come to
rule both their lives.  In the seclusion of their private escape, he’d seduced
her with all her favorite indulgences from a scalding shower with multiple
streams of water beating down on them as they made love against the tiles to a
wild game of hide and seek in the woods outside that ended with a session under
the stars that had left her satiated for hours.

Then she’d awoken the next morning alone in bed, laughing
innocently as she picked twigs and leaves from various places on her body,
never for one minute suspecting that while she languished in the sweet soreness
of incredible sex, Dante had returned to headquarters to file a crucial piece
of intel that ended up saving several agents from detection and, ultimately,
death.  Intelligence she’d gathered—and had shared with him.

Now, she was about to charge headlong into the same brand of
hot, mind-altering sex.  Only this time, the outcome wouldn’t be nearly the
same.  He couldn’t break her heart, not after she’d worked so hard to make sure
the brittle, delicate pieces never reformed.  Not with him.  Not with anyone.

Dante released her, breaking the tentative spell that had
lured her into the past.  He stepped back and gestured to the hallway.  He was
ready for his payment and she had no choice but to comply.  “You are back with
me, Macy, at least in body.  For now, I’m willing to work with what I have.”

“I need a shower,” she snapped.

“No time.  I’ve calculated this evening down to the minute. 
At some point, you will need sleep, so you’ll have to stick to my schedule.”

She hated the way he said “schedule” without using the hard
k sound.  She hated the way he disappeared into the hallway without looking
back, so certain that she’d follow.  She hated that she did as he asked and
joined him in the kitchen—a room she’d searched all day without finding
anything of use.

The only thing that made the situation bearable was that after
picking through every cabinet and examining every plate, cup and saucer in the
entire twenty-by-twenty room, she wasn’t as grimy as she expected.  Bogdanov’s
wife had employed a meticulous housekeeper, one that the Arm had no doubt
debriefed and likely had in custody since T-45 had been unable to locate her.

Macy tried to throw her mind into working out the odds that
the woman was worth the effort of finding, but red pepper scents drifted off
the stove and stole her attention.  Mingling with the incredible aroma of
garlic that had been cooked in a slathering of extra virgin olive oil, the
combination was heady and irresistible.

“You cooked?” she asked.

“You’re hungry, yes?”

Her stomach growled loudly, effectively answering the
question.

He winked.  “I’ve been here two weeks, more than long enough
to develop an addiction to Cajun and Creole cuisine.”

She attempted to fight a grin, then decided that she had to
save her energy for more crucial battles.

“You’ve never cooked for me before,” she commented, walking
fully into the kitchen and attempting to leave her wariness at the door.  She
hadn’t expected this pampering, damn him, but she was pleased nonetheless.  When
he’d informed her that he wanted their first tryst to take place in the
kitchen, she’d imagined they’d recreate a hot and heavy scene from their past—the
night she’d attempted her first home-cooked meal and they’d ended up fucking on
the butcher-block table surrounded by the stench of charred game hen and
overcooked asparagus.

But this table, a delicate cherrywood covered in lace and
set with the fine bone china and sparkling lead crystal she’d examined only a
few hours ago, would surely collapse under the weight of two humping bodies.

He strolled to the stove, lifted a heavy pot lid and inhaled
the fragrant steam that wafted from inside.  “I’ve broadened my interests since
taking over the Arm.  I’m not in the field as much anymore.  Waiting for
operatives to report in can be very tedious.”

She wandered to the table, flicking a soft linen napkin and
displacing the carefully set silverware a millimeter from perfection.

“Do you regret your move?” she asked, then pressed her lips
together, feeling her own wave of regret from posing the question in the first
place.  Damn it, she didn’t want to know anything about who he was now—not
beyond the monthly reports T-45 provided on the leadership of the intelligence
organizations around the globe.  How could she retain her distance if she
delved into his personal life?

“Never mind,” she said, holding up her hand before he had a
chance to respond. “Forget I asked.”

He slid the chair out for her. “As you wish.”

But she’d done the damage, despite his gracious response.  She’d
shown her hand, even briefly, implying that her interest in him hadn’t ended
when she’d walked out his door.  He’d use that knowledge against her.  He’d be
a fool not to—and Dante Burke was anything but a fool.

Watching her eat became Dante’s immediate and torturous
reward.  The way she slid the food into her mouth, the way her lips pressed
together tightly as she chewed, the way her eyes drifted closed when the
flavors exploded lusciously on her tongue nearly drove him insane.  At first, she’d
tried to shovel the Oysters Bienville into her mouth as if she were wolfing
down a fast-food hamburger, but her finely honed appreciation for sensual
pleasures quickly won out over her need to rush through the meal.  Fascinated, he
watched her lick the creamy parmesan and garlic sauce from the corner of her
mouth.  He silently thanked the chef at Arnaud’s for teaching him the secret to
the dish.

Encouraged, he refilled her wine glass halfway, wondering if
she had any idea what he had in store for her next—or that his carefully
planned seduction was already well under way.  She may have spent the entire
day searching for the code, but he’d personally examined every inch of the
house over the past two weeks and had found nothing.