Operation Proof of Life (23 page)

She arched into the thumb now rubbing her nipple through her bra’s lace. He kissed her cheek, her chin, her neck. “No I’m not, but I don’t care as long as you don’t.”

His chuckle was deep and seductive. It made her smile. He leaned his forehead against hers and cupped her breast under the sweater. “How long does Peter have?”

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she brought their already impossibly close lower halves even closer. “Why?”

His other hand slid under her sweater and over her head the wool went, landing on the floor with the umbrella’s guts. “I need him alive for my plan to get your father back.”

He gazed at her breasts, running his fingers over her cleavage. His touch was so soft and so opposite of the conversation they were having, Brigit’s breath stuck in the back of her throat. Interrogation by seduction, that’s what this was. A sweet, exquisite torture.

Two could play at that game. “Exactly what is the plan?”

“Not telling.” Michael dipped a finger inside her bra and scooped out her nipple. “I don’t want you running off again trying to save my career.”

Damn him. Refusing to be outmaneuvered, even in her hormone-induced stupor, she undid his belt, ran the zipper down and slid her hand inside.

Contact. Hot skin, stretched to the max, met her touch and she gasped. “No knickers?” She couldn’t control the giggle that escaped her mouth.

The moment she’d touched him, he’d gone still as marble. Now his voice came out strained as he scanned her face with annoyance. “You find that funny?”

Not funny at all. Just…surprising…and sexy. “I think
I’m
turned on.”

He laughed, the deep, full sound echoing in the small room. Finally having the upper hand, she smiled and gave him a little squeeze. His laughter came to an abrupt halt. “But I am going with you to help with this plan, right?”

“Right.” He squeezed her nipple, and it was her turn to freeze. “As long as you behave.”

She released him to push his pants down over his hips, never breaking eye contact. His gun, stored in the waistband at his back, thumped to the floor. “Define
behave
.”

Before she could blink her bra was unhooked. The pile on the floor grew as Michael added the flimsy piece of spandex to it. Her breasts heaved in his hands as her breath came faster. “Following my orders down to the last detail.”

“Is that all?”

Again, his laughter cascaded over her. “That seems to be hard for you.”

The hardest thing ever. “Try me. Right now. Give me an order.”

Instantly the dangerous predator was back. “Shut up while I kiss you senseless.”

I laugh in the face of danger,
she reminded herself as she tipped her mouth up and parted her lips.

Chapter Thirty-Five

High-octane desire hit Michael like a wildfire as Brigit parted her lips for his kiss. He grasped her chin and tilted her face up more, catching the image of her hair cascading down her back in the bureau’s mirror.

The dark waves brushed her back and contrasted deeply with her pale, flawless skin. He played up her spine with his fingertips, letting his hand disappear under her hair.

As he brought his full attention back to her face, her lashes dipped, her gaze following him in as he claimed her mouth. She wasn’t bashful about what she wanted either, sucking at his tongue and teasing him with hers.

The half a synapse still firing in his brain told him this was wrong for many, many reasons, but he couldn’t recall one of them, especially with Brigit unbuttoning his shirt and slipping her hands inside to stroke his chest.

Using the hand buried in her hair, he tilted her back another fraction and shifted his mouth to her exposed neck. Her moan was so soft, he wondered if he’d imagined it. As he licked the spot under her earlobe he liked, he palmed one breast, tweaking the nipple. This time he heard her moan loud and clear.

Keeping her upper half prisoner under his lips, he moved his erection to replace it with his hand, thumbing her through her pants. Her voice was hoarse as she cried his name and arched even more.

Glancing in the mirror again, he surveyed her back. He wanted to see the reflection of her fine ass there. Wanted his hands on it. “The pants have to go,” he murmured in her ear as his fingers popped the top button of her pants and ran the zipper down.

She came right back at him, pushing the shirt off his shoulders. “Quid pro quo.”

His shirt dropped to the floor, and he helped her off the edge of the bureau so she could get her pants off. While she slipped her feet out of her shoes and then out of the garment, she eyed his body, head to toe, over and over, constantly flicking unabashedly back to his lower center. Approval was evident on her face.

He was doing the same to her as he kicked off his shoes and pants and watched her full breasts bounce as she bent to tug the pant legs off her feet.

Swinging around to face the bureau, she eyed him in the mirror. “You’re amazing.”

She wasn’t wearing underwear and, sweet Jesus, he might just explode right there without even touching her again. Noticing his fixation, she waggled her ass in a slow circle. “You’re one of those guys who carries a condom so you’re prepared for sex at the drop of a hat, right?”

“What?” The synapses fired. Condom.
Shit.
“Tell me you’re on the pill.”

“I’m on the pill. Aren’t you concerned about disease?”

He palmed her butt cheeks and parted her legs so he could step between them. Bending his knees, he slid his erection into the end zone like a magnet drawn to steel. “We’re both clean.”

She wiggled again, teasing him, and raised her brows. “How do you…?” Her voice trailed off. “You read my health records too?”

“Not per se.” He couldn’t believe they were once again engaged in unnecessary conversation. “Your file stated your medical assessments were clean.”

She gripped the edges of the bureau, bracing herself, and leaned over the top, baring herself to give him better access. “I’m not really on the pill.”

He froze, his fat tip pulsing with fresh need in her hot, slick folds. “You just said you were.”

“You told me to say I was, and I’m trying to follow orders.”

Everything from his brain to his toes cramped. She might as well have kneed him in the balls. He couldn’t even utter the curse circling the fog in his cranium. Setting his palms on either side of her hips, he bent at the waist and pulled back, slamming the thinnest coat of control down on his uncontrollable lust.

“Nice withdrawal.” She giggled. “But we’re safe. I get Depo shots.”

Lifting his head, he met her gaze in the mirror again. Exhaled the breath he’d been holding. Straightened up. Leaned in over her so close he could touch the back of her neck with his tongue. “You did that on purpose.”

The laugh started low in her belly, and as he grabbed her and aimed for home, it broke free into a half laugh, half whoop of ecstasy.

“Like I mentioned earlier,” she panted. “I’m not your kind of woman.”

The hell she wasn’t. Driving home in a single hard thrust, he relished how tight she was. How soft. “I like…a challenge.”

Her softness pillowed his hardness so completely, he was once again a virgin ready to lose it on the first stroke.

He should have taken it slow, figured out what she liked and found a place nicer than this abandoned upstairs dump of an apartment to explore it with her. There wasn’t even a bed. For some insane reason, she didn’t seem to care.

Instead of a slow, enjoyable lovemaking session, they were going at it like dogs. While her assertiveness might be an act, he didn’t think so. She liked power, was drawn to it.

Maybe she was as sex-starved as he was, or maybe it was the adrenaline of the mission fueling their actions. Either way, her no-holes-barred approach, and the way she twisted and teased him as mercilessly as he did her, was the biggest turn-on he’d ever experienced.

They weren’t making love, but it wasn’t a casual fuck either. There was something between them. He just wasn’t sure what.

As he rode her, he let his gaze switch between her actual body under him and her reflection in the mirror. The skin on her back was satin white. Her hair, wild and tangled, fell forward, curtaining her face, but he didn’t want her hiding from him. Combing the mass away with his fingers, he held it with his hand so he could read her expression.

Her eyes were closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed. She looked…

Euphoric.

Exactly.

Dropping his mouth to her uncovered neck, he kissed and nipped and licked at her, running his tongue down her spine as he worked himself in and out, finding her rhythm, enjoying how she met his. Self-control had left the building, and if he didn’t slow down, he would lose it before she did.

He was so not going that route.

Using his free hand, he slid it over her breast, down her stomach and fingered her between her legs. On contact, her eyes flew open and they locked gazes.

Her hips undulated under him, getting the most bang for her buck, he imagined, as he sandwiched her between his hips and his hand. She moved in sexy little jerks, her breath coming out in bursts and her core tightening around him like a band.

“Michael?” she whispered.

He could tell she was so close, why didn’t she let go? It was as if she were trying to match him, trying not to give in until he did.

Her eyes were pleading, dark pools of desire. “Can I…can…I…?”

Damn it. She was waiting for his order. “Yes,” he answered, his voice a Brillo Pad. He was lost in her eyes, in her heat. “Now.”

Her eyes closed, her head fell back and she gave in, a low, guttural moan escaping her lips as she pushed into him hard. Time spun out as she peaked and then, without warning, went limp under him.

He wrapped his arms around her to keep her upright and two seconds later, with her soft folds spasming around him, the half a synapse in his brain winked out completely and his body released with a jerk.

As he held her gently trapped between him and the bureau, he laid his forehead on her back.
Hell, yes, my kind of woman
…

On the tail of that thought came
my woman
.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Brigit hung limp in Michael’s arms as time came back to her in snippets. The beat of her heart, thudding in her ears. The beat of Michael’s, thudding against her back, thin vibrations pulsing through her skin. Rain tickling the glass window, lulling her further into bliss.

In the mirror, her reflection was flushed. She’d just been taken over the waterfall and looked to have enjoyed it thoroughly. Which was an understatement. There’d been no bed, no romantic gestures, not even a glass of wine between them. Just carnal, demanding lust.

The voice in her head chastised her. Pricked her with guilt. An intelligent woman did not throw herself at a man she barely knew. As if he didn’t already believe her to be a liar and a blackmailer, what would Michael think of her now?

Turning her head to avoid her reflection, she considered her actions. Shove a powerful man in front of her and she was a goner. Shove a drop-dead gorgeous, powerful man in front of her and she was a slut.

Well, not exactly. In her profession, she was around powerful men all the time. Some of them were wicked attractive too. And yet she’d never slept with any of them. Even the single ones who flirted with her. She’d never let her shields down. Never shared anything about her family. Never challenged or teased them like she had Michael.

So where did that leave her in her current situation?

Having the best sex of my life.

Michael’s lips brushed the back of her neck. “You okay?”

Just like before, an irreverent response shot out of her mouth. “You’re a little big for me, but I managed.”

His soft chuckle jiggled her body against his and all her nerve endings flared hot again. “What a trooper.”

He turned her around and she leaned her hips against the bureau, legs still entirely too shaky. He planted his hands on the bureau top on either side of her and gave her a gentle kiss. “Next time, we find a bed.”

Next time? Her heart tap-danced like an Irish clogger in her chest. “Whatever you want.”

He straightened and flexed his arms as if shaking out a cramp. “What I want is a shower and some food.” As he picked up her pile of clothes, he sighed deeply. “Neither of which is going to happen at the moment.”

She took her bra from his outstretched fingers and put it on. “We could go back to my place.”

He handed her her pants. “And where is that?”

She stuck her legs in, heaved the pants over her hips and zipped them up. “A few blocks from here. A rented room, much like this, above a retail business.”

“Any security?”

“Deadbolt on the door.”

Ignoring his hard look and commentary about it being unsafe, she took her shirt from him and went to the bathroom.

The moment she was alone, she sagged against the door. Her heart continued to tap dance…
next time, next time, next time
. It drowned out the voice in her head.

She cleaned herself up best she could, a smug smile on her lips. Her nerve endings sang an opera. Her psyche was performing lazy cartwheels. She was living in the here and now. Not the past and not the future. The only rules she had to follow were Michael’s.

For now, that was okay.

Leaving the bathroom, she was going to ask about the plan to get her father back, but the pile of clothes on the floor was gone and so was the man who wore them.

She trailed out to the living room. His gaze locked on her, but before either of them could say anything, the outside door opened and people started filing in.

Del Hoffman, Brad Kinnick, Conrad Flynn and Julia Torrison.

Julia.

Why was she here? As the group passed out nods and murmured greetings to her and Michael, all Brigit could do was watch Michael’s face looking for any hint of…

“Thanks,” he said, already opening the white bag Julia handed him to see what was inside.

“One fish. One corned beef.” Julia gave Brigit a small smile. She was dressed in a rich leather jacket and form-fitting designer jeans. Her hair was flat-iron perfect, smooth and glossy as it fell over her collar. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

Michael grabbed Brigit by the hand and led her to the small table and chairs in the kitchen. The others followed, Julia bringing one of the living room candles for light.

“Where’s Vaughn?” Michael asked no one in particular. “Sit,” he said to her.

She sat and watched him pull the two sandwiches, chips and pickles from the bag. Conrad leaned against the sink, crossing his legs at the ankles. “He’s back at the hotel with Zara.”

Julia placed the candle on the counter and leaned next to him. “They needed to talk.”

Michael glanced at her and something passed over his face. Sadness? Brigit’s stomach cramped. But then he shifted his gaze to Conrad. “No drinks?”

From his coat pockets, the Director of Operations pulled two sodas.

Michael popped the lid of one soda and set it in front of Brigit. “Sandwich?”

She toyed with the can, skimming the cold, damp aluminum with her fingers, wishing with all her might she didn’t like Julia. “I’m not hungry.”

The fish sandwich instantly replaced the soda under her fingers. “Eat,” Michael commanded.

Meeting his gaze, she saw concern in his face. “Please,” he added.

The jealousy leaked out of her like the rain running down the window. He was taking care of her again. She took a bite of the sandwich and chewed. The concern lessened a fraction.

“Why did you let Donovan escape?” Conrad asked.

Michael worked on his sandwich, swallowed. “Didn’t want the cops to end up with him.”

Brigit started to ask her own question, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Michael stuck a chip in it. As the others discussed what had happened and what was going to happen, Michael continued to feed her. Every time she tried to add her opinion or disagree with an element of the plan, he shoved more chips at her or a pickle. Once he even gave her back the soda.

He was worse than Truman.

Truman
. She swallowed the last of her fish. “Where’s Truman? Did he go back to London?”

“I sent him back,” Michael said around a mouthful of corned beef. “He’s negotiating with the Bolivian government on Jeffries’ behalf to turn over Donovan in exchange.”

“You think you can trade Peter for my dad? Why would the Bolivian government want Peter?”

Del raised his hand from the corner. “Because I implicated Peter in the 2007 uprising between the farmers and the cocoa growers. You know the one where the factory blew up and the cokeheads lost a million pounds of pure snort?”

Brigit almost laughed in disbelief. “Do I want to know how you did that?”

Del wiggled his fingers as if typing. “Master geeks never reveal their secrets.”

“Nice play on Donovan in the bar,” Conrad said. He was staring at her, his dark brows hung low over his hard eyes. There was measured mischief in them though. “He shot out of there looking like he’d seen a ghost.”

Suddenly everyone was staring at her, including Michael. She smiled at the group. “He did.”

Conspiratorial smiles returned hers. A flush crept up her neck, over her cheeks. In the blink of an eye, she was one of them. They respected her, she could see it in their eyes. Even Julia was wearing a big
you go, girl
grin.

The sensation was heady, like Michael’s arms around her, holding her up and tucked against his solid body. Remembering their earlier encounter, the flush spread over her skin. Slipping her focus to his face, she saw in his smile he was remembering the sex too.

Oh, for the love of God, she was going to giggle.

The one sure way to get her back on track was to think about Donovan.

Donovan? When did I stop thinking of him as Peter?

Everyone was still watching her. She cleared her throat. “Your plan to capture Donovan will work, but I have a better one.”

Michael tensed, and he opened his mouth to say something, probably disagree, before he’d even heard her plan. But then he stopped, nodded at her. “You’re the expert on him.”

Another wave of confidence rolled over her. All the years she’d been without family, without roots. Wandering from one country to another, trying to fit in, blend in, find acceptance. Here in this small group, she now had it.

Because of Michael. The men and women who had come with him to Ireland had accepted her into their secret society.

Now it was time to earn their acceptance on her own merit. “O’Bern’s memorial service is tomorrow. Donovan will be there. In fact, he might even try to blow something up, just to make a point. Either way, that’s our best bet to catch him.”

Michael crumpled the empty sandwich bag. “If he’s still alive.”

Confusion marked Conrad’s face as he glanced between Michael and Brigit.

Michael motioned at her. “She poisoned him. In the bar.”

“No way.” Conrad’s dark eyes assessed her with approval. “How’d’ya do that? Put something in his drink?”

Heat rose in her cheeks again. “Assassin’s umbrella.”

“Seriously?” Julia straightened. “You know how to build one of those?”

“Yep.”

Conrad pushed away from the sink, eager as Julia. “That red umbrella?”

“Yep.”

“Will you show me how it works?” Julia again.

Brigit glanced at Michael. He gave a nod of assent. “It’s in the bedroom,” she told the others, rising from her chair. “I’ll go get it.”