Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series) (20 page)

I roll my eyes
. I feel like I am being treated like a child, but I can't help my bashful smile. "How is it you can make me feel so fragile sometimes?"

He grins, his eyes reflecting his happiness in their glittering depths
. "Maybe it's because I am crazy about you."

I can't contain myself any longer. I lean up, grabbing his face and forcing him to my lips. I open his mouth, letting our tongues tangle around one another
, and he presses his body into mine.

It
is obvious that this conversation is officially over.

Hello & Goodbye

MARCUS GIBBS

As I insert my ID card into the slot on the wall, the familiar clearance
beep
sounds, unlocking the door to my lab. I realize my lips are beyond chapped, cracking at any movement of my lips. I keep my eyes on the floor as I robotically begin my day. This is an average Thursday morning, and the only thing on my agenda as of right now is to get myself a glass of water.

I rub at the skin under my chin, still aching to feel like I'm not coming down with the flu
—but it isn't the flu. The drip at the back of my throat is constant, like a draining of streaming numbness. It makes my throat feel coated and phlegmy, though I can't seem to scratch it to subdue the numbing sensation. It's one of the many repercussions of doing a drug like cocaine.

I push through my lab door, rubbing my nose out of habit. The moment the door closes behind
me, I hear an unfamiliar sound. The clicking of what I assume is ... high heels?

My head shoots up
, and I lock eyes with an attractive woman in maybe her early thirties. She's wearing skin-tight, somewhat business-appropriate attire. Her black dress shirt hugs her curves, and is open at the top, revealing her cleavage. It is tucked into a sleek, black pencil skirt that pulls one's eyes down her long, slender legs to the skin above her knees. However, the most distracting item in the outfit is her bright red heels.

"You must be Marcus Gibbs. They didn't tell me you were so attractive." The voice is like a smooth, warm cup of hot-buttered rum on a cold, crisp morning. It's entrancing.

My eyes shoot to hers. They are sharp and a piercing black, complementing her dark, straight hair. Her naturally red lips are curled upward, but for some reason, her smile reminds me of the Grinch's. I immediately distrust her but I can't deny her beauty. Her skin is a flawless mocha, and displayed by her high cheekbones. The sight of her makes my throat itchier than it was before. She makes me uneasy, and I'm unsure if I want to know why.

"Excuse me? How did you get in here?"

She bares her pearly white grin, but it's a deadly smile. I see her eyes heat. "Oh, I have my ways." What the hell does that mean?

She slinks toward me with complete confidence, and I
freeze to the spot by the strange temptress. She walks up to me, and adjusts my collar with her manicured hands while keeping her onyx eyes locked with mine. Her nails are as sharp and red as her pointed red heels. I worry for a moment that she might claw my face off if I say the wrong thing, but another part of me thinks I might not mind.

I focus on my breathing rather than forming words. Her perfume is thick and musky
, and I worry that it will never leave my nose.

When she is done adjusting my collar
, she takes a small, deliberate step back, and leans back against the counter to give me a good once-over. "Mr. Gibbs, I am Adessa Moradi. Luc Olivier might have mentioned me."

I run my hand through my hair, already overwhelmed by the
woman. Her accent is obvious when she pronounces her name, and I realize who she might be.

"Luc never mentioned you, unless you are the person who is supposed to check up on me." I thought
she would be a dude.

She flashes me another grin. "Yes. So, he did mention me."

I wouldn't say that, but whatever.

Her open shirt is distracting. My dick twitches at the thought. How long has it been since I last had sex?

As if she can read my thoughts, she runs her tongue over her white teeth. My face heats like a boy in school caught with a boner.
Get a grip, Gibbs.

"So, Miss Moradi, is it? How can I help you
, then? I was expecting you tomorrow." I'm anxious to get out of her overwhelming presence. I can show her my batch, tell her things are going as planned, and then maybe she will be on her fucking way.

"All in good time, Mr. Gibbs." She lifts her slender fingers to my face
, touches my nose, and rubs something away like you would for a small child who had dirt on his face. I must have had some snow left on my face from this morning. My face heats again, and my eyes go wide at her maneuver. Her rose lips twist as she whispers, "Let's keep
that
type of secret a secret, shall we?" Her obvious jab at my drug habit has me squirming, and I get the sinking feeling that I am at her whim. I gulp. "I can't tell if you're a man of few words or not, but for now, I like it. Show me where you live."

"W-where I live? Why?"

She shrugs as if the inquiry is preposterous. "I'd like to partake in some extra curricular activities while in town." She rubs at my nose once more. "I was assured you'd show me a good time."

Her accent isn't as easy to place as her Iranian name, but it drips with an educated British tone.

Her smile slips as if she is getting impatient.

"W-what about the product?" Doesn't she want to get down to business?

She rolls her eyes, and I wonder if she might throw a tantrum. "Mr. Gibbs, I have been traveling an awful long time, and would like you to take me to your place. It will benefit both of us, trust me."

JEREMY HUNT

Alex is wrapped around me like a child recovering from a night of thunderstorms
, and I can't help but cherish it as I listen to the quiet humming of her breath against my chest. I run my thumb down her arm, wondering what time it is. I am not ready to board that plane and head back to the chaos. I had spent most of my night exploring every inch of this mysterious girl's body, asking anything and everything I wanted, and I've realized that I've only managed to uncover the tip of the iceberg that is Agent Alex Turner. How can one girl feel like such a whodunit? Each story, scar, or word she slips in is simply another clue to another path of her life. Will I ever have the time to figure her out?

After having a taste of what being thousands of miles away feels like, I've decided I am taking Alex away after all this is solved. I will do whatever it takes to whisk her away where we have no telephone reception,
Wi-Fi, hell, somewhere mail can't even be delivered. I want to give us the opportunity our relationship deserves, and if I have the means, then why not?

She
stirs in my grasp, and her hazel eyes glow gold as they look up at me.

"Morning," she squeaks
.

I lean down and press my lips to hers. She accepts them willingly, wrapping her arms around my neck.

As if sensing my desperation to savor these moments, she pulls away, her eyes searching mine. "Jeremy, what's wrong?"

I smile and worry that she is too good at reading my mind. How am I supposed to keep anything from her? Not that I should, but a man needs his moments of emotional secrecy, right?

"I don't want to leave," I confess.

"It will be
fine. It's almost over. We are about to reach the climax." I know she's talking about the case and catching Marcus, but her eyes heat seductively. Sometimes I think God put this creature on this Earth for me.

To emphasize that she has decided the conversation is over
, she places a chaste kiss at the corner of my mouth and slips out of bed. I watch her naked body slink into the bathroom for a shower. I debate whether to get up and join her.

Who am I kidding? I practically scurry off the bed to follow her.

She owns me, and that is dangerous.

ALEX TURNER

I watch Jeremy say his final goodbye to his dad. I swear we have said bye at least five times now. I know I have received at least three hugs from the man, but I watch, hiding my smirk.

Jeremy shakes his father's hand and says, "I'll be back soon. I'm glad we got to talking about everything."

"Of course, son. Just be safe. I have approved clearance for Miss Turner and her team to take anything they need, so expect a few memos coming your way. You will probably have to sign off on clearance into any of the private labs."

"All right, Dad." Jeremy is about to walk away but he whips back around. "I forgot to tell you something."

"What's that, Jeremy?"

"Has Marcus called?" I can see Jeremy's eyes frost over at the mention.

William rubs at his temples, and peers over at me as if he might be in trouble
. "Marcus did call yesterday evening, but I didn't answer. I should have mentioned it."

I smile. I am not in the business of scolding, but he
should notify me of things like that.

"He's calling to check up on you. I can't believe it slipped my mind. I had to tell Marcus you were sick again." I notice Jeremy's words
catch in his throat, as if even now he hates having to do it, but he pulls himself together. "Just humor him for now. He was pretty mad at me for something." Jeremy can't help darting his eyes to me. "And I had to convince him to let it go, so I lied. I told him you were sick, and he kind of went into a panic. So if he calls, go along with it."

William's lips are set into a hard line now, his distaste for the topic obvious. Cancer is not a joking matter.
"Fine. I will," his father snaps in a brusque, icy tone. I can see where Jeremy gets it.

I watch father and son tense
, and I wish we weren't leaving on such a sorrowful note. It's not up to me to save the mood, is it? However, I need to make this right.

I am not good at these situations. I don't have a family to manage, so how can I manage Jeremy's? Doing the only thing I know how, I step between the men, hugging William one last time. His shoulders are tense
. "Goodbye, sir." I place a sweet kiss on his stubbly cheek. "It was a pleasure." My face heats up, but I am doing this for Jeremy, whose eyes blast into me like an arctic storm.

William's body releases the tension
, and I see his warm grin again. "Just call me William. None of that sir crap anymore." He places a fatherly kiss on my forehead.

My mouth goes dry
, and my eyes widen in surprise at the endearing return from William. Speechless, I shrug. I turn back to Jeremy, who has a smile playing on his lips. He takes my hand and pulls me to the waiting car.

As we slip inside the
vehicle, I recognize the oddly familiar sense of warmth from the other night swelling from within my gut.

The car begins its journey to the airport. Jeremy smiles as he grabs the hand sitting on my lap, and brings it to his lips, kissing my
fingers. "Thank you." It's sincere and wonderful.

I decide in that moment that
this is my favorite Jeremy smile.

Seduction & Surveillance

MARCUS GIBBS

I watch
Adessa do a line off my coffee table, and I keep running over how I ended up in this position in my head. I know I'd better do what she says, because at this point, I don't know what the consequences will be if I choose otherwise.

"Tell me about yourself, Marcus," she asks, as if I am her jester and must entertain her
—though her smile is sweeter and more tempting than any tyrant I've read about. Since when are we on a first name basis?

"There isn't much to know." I scratch the back of my head. I don't want to talk about me. "What about you? All I know is your name."

Her face lights up. She offers me my drugs, handing off my worn straw. This girl is a brat. I take it from her grasp, debating whether it's better to keep a clear head around this one, but her penetrating stare tells me I don't have a choice.

She rubs the corners of her mouth
, and I can see the shift in her demeanor as the drugs seep into her spine and her body relaxes. Her eyes heat as they bore into mine. I don't know what I am in for.

"Well, obviously you know why I am here. My father likes to keep me busy with the transportation of important items. Customs rarely checks a pretty
woman." Her smile was made for the devil as she bats her long lashes.

She watches me lean over my table and sweep over the goods, inhaling the sweet powder. I get
a burning itch in my nose and I hope I don't bleed everywhere again. I heave in another breath, recounting her words. "Your father? Who is your father?"

She rolls her eyes like a spoiled teenage girl
. "Don't you know anything? Didn't Luc tell you who I am, and who I work for?"

I shake my head, rubbing my nose
, checking for blood. "Luc doesn't tell me jack shit," I sneer.

She raises her eyebrows at
my obvious dislike for the man. "I don't like that dirty slob either. He is always trying to put his hands on me. If I told my father, he would end that fucker."

Her foul attitude makes her a little more human, and I don't know if it is the drugs or what, but it makes me want to like her.
Although, her father seems to be a deadly man with a serious case of don't fuck with me.

"There's that word again. Who is your father?"

Her lips curl upward again. "Shariff Moradi, of course. Didn't my name sound familiar? He's the one buying your product. He plans to use it on a small area in Ethiopia. There is a large Coltan mine there that the villagers won't give up without a fight. It isn't worth the fight to us, so why not nip it in the bud with your solution?"

My throat goes dry. I don't like the sound of that. I wish she wouldn't tell me these awful details. It's too much blood on my hands, cure or
no cure.

I rub my temples with my eyes closed, trying to grasp her words, but I'm distracted by a movement on the couch. I open my eyes
, and notice she has scooted closer to me. Trying to keep the moment level, I ask, "Coltan? Isn't that what's in cell phones?"

She runs her slender hands through her thick, long mane of hair. It's distracting. "Yes. Very lucrative business in that part of the world."

"Hmm," is the only thing I manage.

"My father owns a lot of those mines already in the Republic of the Congo. It's a dirty business." I swear her eyes twinkle at the mention, as if she's proud of her old man.

"All you do is deal with Coltan?"

Another slinking smile appears. "No, of course not, silly.
That is not for you to know. Let's just say my father has his fingers in all sorts of different dangerous pies." Without any hesitation, she scoots a bit closer.

Is that a warning?
Her demeanor is shifting more to a young girl seeking attention, and I have to look away. If her dad is a scary son of a bitch, then I don't want to mess with his daughter.

"That reminds me,” she squeaks, causing me to jump
. “I have something for you. It's from my father. Partial payment as incentive to follow through."

Well, this I
isn't expected. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise as I watch her lean over the coffee table, and grab her purse. As if this space is hers, she starts pulling things out of her purse and placing them right next to my drugs. She rummages, haphazardly pulling out her cell phone, mascara, and a compact. An eerie giggle escapes her lips. I try to hide it, but I can't help tensing as she pulls out a small pistol and lays it next to her other stuff. She shoots me a snide glance, and a smile as if to say, try me, I dare you.

I wonder if she pulled out the gun on
purpose. Is she showing it to me to confirm that she is a threat? Or is it to show me that I can trust her, and she trusts me enough to lay her weapon out in the open?
I have never been good at dealing with these people.

Finally, she pulls out a bulging envelope and hands it over.

"Ten grand. Cash. Just for you." She pouts.

I take it from her grasp, worried there is a catch, but she watches me place it back on the table without a word
.

"Thanks." I don't know what else to say. Even though this
woman has my blood pressure running high, I want her to leave. Her proximity is dangerous. I lick my lips at the thought. I worry that this girl—and yes, I mean girl—is going to want something in return. Maybe something her daddy didn't anticipate.

"You're a
n attractive man, Marcus Gibbs. Rarely are the men I have to deal with as handsome as you."

I turn to look at her, though I know it's a mistake. I can't believe she said that, but I have to admit
that it's nice to hear. I remain speechless as I watch her slinking smile rise. I'm afraid to offend her, because I get the sinking feeling she has a mean streak buried behind the piercing eyes and lush lips.

"Do you find me attractive, Marcus?"

My eyebrows furrow at her direct question, and she looks downright, deliciously evil. She is already sitting too close to me. I am frozen, staring at her, and I realize my mouth is watering.

She leans a little closer. "You can tell me if you do." It's a breathy whisper.

"Yes." It's barely an answer.

She grins, satisfied. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Would it even matter to this temptress? My breathing is shallow. She is obviously dangerous. My eyes shoot to the pistol still sitting on my coffee table, and then back to her onyx eyes.

"No. I don't have a girlfriend." I get a flashback of Jeremy in his doorway a few days ago with a girl I wanted. My face flushes.

Boldly, this woman continues her seduction. She leans into my neck, and her warm, humid breath caresses my skin. "Do you want me?"

I know the answer to that, but I do not want to answer
—so I don't.

She places a singular kiss under my ear, and my hypersensitive body tingles all the way down to my toes, but I still don't want to speak. I scrunch my eyes closed. I'm bad at doing the right thing, but I have to try.

"Y-you should stop," I stutter.

A maniacal laugh escapes her lips as she pulls away. "Open your eyes, Marcus. I don't bite
." It's another demand. I bet you she has a bigger bite than she lets on.

I reluctantly obey. Her look makes me want to readjust my pants. What would this girl want to do with me?

She grabs my hand and pulls it toward her, deliberately placing it on the bare thigh of her crossed leg. Her skin is warm, soft, and ever-so tempting. She knows it too, and she forces my hand up farther.

"It's
OK, Marcus. I'll be good to you."

Her voice could melt butter, and I wonder if she has done this to other confused men like myself. She seems practiced in seduction, or maybe she’s is used to getting what she wants.

I manage to turn my glance toward her. Why the hell not? What do I have to lose at this point?

"What about why you're here? What about the product?" I take in another breath
, and my brain-to-mouth filter malfunctions. "You're dangerous."

She giggles
, and it's almost cute; well, cute like if the Care Bears decided to go on a killing spree. "You are right about one thing: I am dangerous. But would you really rather we go back to your silly lab to discuss diseases and directions?"

I bite my lip, refusing to respond. I know what I want, and she's right. It isn't found in my lab. Dangerous or not. She leans in closer, knowing what my unspoken answer is. She presses her lush lips against mine, letting go of my hand, trusting me to do the right thing. The right thing? Isn't that a matter of perspective?

I don't refuse her soft lips as they guide mine, and she hums. She smiles against my lips, saying, "Pleasure now, business later."

Who am I to argue at this point?

ALEX TURNER

Back home and back to reality.
I sigh. I get comfortable in the plush leather seat and fiddle with my seat belt with one hand. Jeremy holds my other as we begin take off, knowing that I hate those shaky turbulent moments.

H
is lips brush against my temple as we gain altitude, and he nuzzles my ear, sending calming chills down my back. I take a deep breath, popping my ears as the plane levels out.

"Babe, you mind if I put in a bit of work right now?"

I bat my lashes. "I almost forgot you worked," I say playfully.

He rewards me
with his boyish grin. "Well, being the big man on top has its advantages, but all good things must come to an end. I checked my phone and I have to tackle a load of e-mails. Is that OK?"

Why is he asking me permission?

"As long as I can work too."

He furrows his eyebrows
, as if he has no idea what that even means when it comes out of my mouth. "Sure."

He kisses me on the lips and gets up to grab his laptop from his suitcase.

I lean down for my backpack and pull out my own. I should catch up on my own caseload. I have been ignoring my e-mail, and I need to log in to peruse the surveillance cameras of the Sunscape building that Derek managed to get access to. Jeremy comes and takes a seat next to me. He adjusts his casual, plain-black V-neck and his worn jeans, and with a business-like air, he swings his leg over his knee and places his laptop on his lap, all the while peering over to see what I am up to.

"Any news with what's going on?"

I can't help but twitch at the question. It really is the first time Jeremy has voluntarily shown any interest in the case. For a while there, he was too preoccupied catching up with his bizarrely complicated girlfriend—that being me—to really get a grasp on much of anything else. His mouth is set in a hard line. I wonder if maybe the topic is still hard for him.

I kiss him on the chin to show my appreciation. "Little developments here and there."

The ping of my e-mail distracts the both of us.

I notice it's from Derek, and it has a video clip attached. The e-mail reads:

Turner,

Doesn't she look familiar? I can't place the face. It looks like she is avoiding the security cameras. After 45 seconds, scan to 7:38.

Jeremy turns away to avoid seeming rude, but he peeks over every moment or so as his computer boots up. I know he is more curious than he lets on.

I begin the video and watch the grainy image of an empty, sterile-looking hallway appear. When the video hits the forty-five
-second mark, a fast-moving figure appears at the far end of the hallway, making its way straight toward the camera. As the person gets closer, it becomes obvious she's a woman by her curvaceous form, but she is wearing sunglasses.
How inconspicuous of her
.

The woman does look familiar
, and I can't figure out why. She keeps her head down. She moves swiftly past the camera, and the image shifts to a different camera. The image is now of the empty doorway of a locked lab. I can guess where this is leading.

Sure
enough, the woman appears again, but her back is to the camera. I can't imagine her being one of Marcus's interns. She looks too old to be a college student desperate for intern hours. She stands in front of the secure door, rifling through her purse, and then pulls out a couple items. She confidently places something that looks like a credit card into the card reader next to the door. The image is poor quality, but it's obvious the card doesn't exactly open the door, but confuses the system, causing a little light to flash. She isn't even checking if anyone is around. Either she is a rookie or she has done this a million times.

She
pulls out two thin metal sticks, similar to sewing needles. I am able to identify them immediately. I use them in my job, and any greedy, delinquent teen that has half a mind to look into it could get their hands on these items as well. They are used to pick locks. With skill and precision, she inserts them into the lock and fiddles for only a moment before the door opens. She pulls the fake key card out of the reader and moves inside, the door shutting behind her.