Secret Agent Seduction (17 page)

“Henri is analytical and reserved, while Felicite is free-spirited, emotional and impulsive. They're both headstrong, but while Henri likes to present clear, rational arguments to make his point, Felicite tends to become feisty and combative. If that fails, her backup strategy is to win you over by the sheer force of her charming personality, and she's not above using her feminine wiles to get what she wants.”

“Poor Agent Rollins.” Lia sighed heavily.
She
definitely knew what it was like to find herself at the mercy of a Magliore sibling. It was like swimming against a very powerful, dangerous current.

Magliore chuckled dryly. “Agent Rollins will be fine. If anyone can keep Felicite in line, Henri can. He's been doing it his entire life, though it hasn't been the easiest job in the world.”

Lia smiled. “Is that why you call your sister
'tite chatte—
little cat? Because she's so feisty?”

Magliore grinned. “That, and because she used to bring home every stray cat she could find and beg my parents to let her keep them. They refused each time, but that didn't stop her from sneaking home a new stray every week. My father finally gave her an ultimatum—he could either feed and shelter
her,
or feed and shelter the damn cat that would replace her in the family. You can guess which choice she made.”

Lia laughed. “Smart girl.”

“Yep.”

After another moment, Lia mused, “I always wanted a pet.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “I used to beg my parents for a dog.”

Magliore eyed her curiously. “Why didn't they let you have one? I always thought most American families had dogs.”

“Well, since we moved around so much, my parents thought it would be too stressful to own a pet.” She didn't add the part about animals having a particular aversion to her.

She didn't have to. Magliore brought it up. “I don't really see you owning a dog, anyway. Even now that you're an adult.”

“Why?” Lia asked warily. “Because of my job?”

“That's one reason.”

“What's another reason?”

He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Truth be told, you don't seem like much of an animal lover. You were extremely uncomfortable on that horse yesterday, and I think he picked up on that, which is why he was so difficult to manage. Horses are very sensitive animals.”

“I know that,” Lia snarled, incensed by the reminder of yesterday's humiliating horseback ride. It was bad enough that he and Tiffany had been all over each other the entire time. Now he had the nerve to disparage her riding skills? To lecture her about her failure to put the horse at ease? Talk about adding insult to injury!

Watching her eyes turn to angry slits, Magliore laughed. “Hey, I'm not saying you did anything wrong! I'm just making an observation.”

“Oh, really? An observation based on what? The five seconds your eyes
weren't
plastered all over Tiffany's—”

He groaned in exasperation, throwing his hands up in the air. “
Merde!
Are we back to that again? Are you still jealous because I was paying more attention to that woman than you?”

Lia's nostrils flared. “I was not—”

His raucous bark of laughter cut her off. “And you're still denying it. God, woman, you are so stubborn!”

Lia ground her teeth, glaring mutinously at him. “All right, fine. Maybe I
was
a little annoyed by all the PDA that was going on—”

“PDA?”

“Public display of affection.”

“Oh, right.” His mouth twitched with suppressed humor. “Please continue.”

Thrown off balance by the interruption, Lia opened and closed her mouth, struggling vainly to remember what had seemed so important a moment ago.

Magliore watched her, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “Let me help you out. You were in the middle of denying, for the second time, that you were seethingly jealous of Tiffany yesterday.”

“What?
Seethingly
jealous of—Oh, forget it. Just forget it!” Lia jabbed a finger at him, her eyes narrowed in challenge. “You know what, Magliore? If you want to sleep with Tiffany, be my guest!”

“Really?” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now all of a sudden I have your permission?”

“Absolutely. If you want, I'll even walk you over to her cabin right now. I'm sure she misses you and is wondering at this very minute where you are and why you haven't made an attempt to see her today. So here's your chance. Far be it from
me
to keep young lovers apart!”

Magliore stared at her in amused disbelief. “Let me get this straight. Just to prove that you
aren't
jealous of Tiffany, you're willing to get up right now and escort me to her cabin so that I can have sex with her?”

“That's right,” Lia shot back without flinching. “I'm ready to go whenever you are.”

“Are you?” He held her gaze, his voice deepening to a low, husky caress as he said, “So while I'm in there, holding Tiffany in my arms, stroking every inch of her body, kissing her mouth, her breasts, between her thighs…While I'm in there making love to her, where will you be?”

Lia swallowed. “R-right outside the room. In the living room.”

“Are you sure?” he said silkily. “We'd probably be making
a lot
of noise. All that moaning and groaning and heavy breathing. You might want to wait out on the porch instead. But then again, Tiffany might be a screamer, so—”

Averting her gaze, Lia snatched the remote control from the ottoman and viciously stabbed the Play button. “Let's just watch the damn movie,” she snapped.

Magliore chuckled deep in his throat. “That's what I thought,” he said softly.

This time, Lia didn't argue.

T
wenty minutes into the movie, Lia realized she'd made a very bad choice.

It wasn't the mediocre acting, the slow pace or even the convoluted plot that led her to this conclusion.

It was the first love scene.

The film had been billed as a “taut cat-and-mouse thriller” between an ambitious federal agent and the sultry femme fatale art thief he'd been sent overseas to pursue and capture. The couple's first sexual encounter took place inside a locked vault at a Roman bank. The love scene was so blatantly sensual, so graphic, that Lia was tempted to get up and check the DVD case to see whether the movie was rated X instead of R.

As if it weren't torturous enough that she'd just been forced to visualize Magliore and Tiffany having sex while she waited outside the bedroom, now she had to sit here, less than a foot away from him, and watch a fictional couple thrust and gyrate their way through an explicit sexual encounter. She assiduously avoided looking at Magliore, keeping her eyes trained on the television screen.

As the actress's convincing cries and moans filled the silence of the living room, a slow, burning flush crept up Lia's neck and spread across her face. To conceal her embarrassment, she relaxed her features into a blank mask, as if she were watching nothing more stimulating than a documentary on the mating habits of insects.

Still, no documentary had ever made her so painfully aware of how long it had been since she'd had sex. Long enough that when the male lead rammed the woman against the wall and savagely took her from behind, Lia's nipples tightened and heat bloomed between her legs. Whatever she thought of the rest of the movie, she could not doubt the authenticity of the actors' passionate performance in
this
scene.

When Magliore leaned over, reaching inside the bowl of popcorn cradled in her lap, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Here, just take it,” she snapped, shoving the bowl into his hands without meeting his gaze.

“Thank you.”

She heard a trace of wicked amusement in his voice, even though she still refused to look at him. Her face had grown hotter and her hips suddenly felt restless; she actually had to control the urge to squirm on the sofa.

After what seemed an eternity, the steamy love scene finally ended. Only then did Lia hazard a surreptitious glance at Magliore. His hooded, speculative gaze held hers for a long, heated moment before she looked away, feeling breathless and undeniably aroused.

She didn't turn her head again until the movie was over and the credits were rolling.

When she looked over at Magliore, she was surprised, and a little relieved, to discover that he'd fallen asleep. His breathing was deep and even, one hand rested on his flat abdomen, and one long, jean-clad leg was propped on the ottoman. Lia found herself staring at him, her eyes tracing the sculpted line of his thick black brows, the strong bridge of his nose, the new growth that darkened his rugged jaw, the sensuous curve of those full, masculine lips. His dense black lashes fanned out in perfect formation from his closed eyelids, tempting Lia to touch them to see if they felt as silky as they looked. She felt a pang of guilt when her gaze landed on the small scar above his right eye where she'd kicked him the night of his extraction. But it was
his
fault for attacking her in the first place, she told herself. And somehow the scar only managed to heighten his dark, dangerous appeal.

While sleep did not soften his features, she noted, he looked peaceful. Unguarded in a way he would never allow when he was awake.

She toyed with the idea of playing a prank on him—stuffing popcorn up his nose or pouring beer over his head—to repay him for the way he'd startled her awake earlier, but she couldn't bring herself to move. And she didn't want him to wake up. Not until she'd drank her fill of him, committed every last feature to memory. Because when this assignment was over, and he and his family returned to Muwaiti to begin their new lives, Lia knew she would never see him again. And that knowledge filled her with indescribable sorrow.

That's when she knew she was in love with him.

Against her better judgment, against her
will,
she had fallen in love with a protectee. She had fallen in love with Armand Magliore.

Lia knew there was no use denying it. She'd been courting this outcome for days. Every time she looked at him, touched him, saw him smile or heard him laugh, she felt herself falling harder. Listening to his stories about Muwaiti, and then watching his poignant interactions with his family that morning, had left her utterly captivated. Afterward, when he'd kissed her so tenderly and thanked her with tears shimmering in his eyes, Lia knew she was a goner.

She loved that he was strong and fearless, yet tender and vulnerable to his sister's tears. She loved that he could be brooding and intense one minute, lighthearted and playful the very next. She loved that he could bring her to her knees with one smoldering look, yet infuriate her enough to want to strangle him.

She loved him with a fierce protectiveness that made her want to shelter him from all hurt, harm and danger. She loved him with a blind desperation that left her feeling exposed and helpless and completely at his mercy. There was no precedence for these alien, terrifyingly wonderful feelings she was having. Nothing like this—nothing like
him
—had ever happened to her before.

Lia was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't notice Magliore stirring awake, his amber-colored eyes opening and focusing on her face.

By the time she realized he was staring at her, watching the revealing play of emotions across her face, it was too late.

Their gazes locked for an arrested moment.

Lia's heart pounded painfully in her chest. Afraid that he'd seen the truth reflected in her eyes, she jumped up from the sofa, prepared to do what she always did—run like hell.

Already anticipating her reaction, Magliore leaped to his feet and grabbed her, forestalling her retreat. Lia shivered as his arms banded tightly around her waist, imprisoning her against his body as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “No more running.”

All she could manage was a pathetic whimper.

Roughly he cupped her face, angled it upward and crushed his mouth to hers. He kissed her greedily, brutally, his tongue thrusting deep. She responded with a hungry desperation fueled by her recent discovery. She
loved
him. And right or wrong, she would have him. Right here, right now.

Breaking the kiss, he shoved his hands into the sides of her hair, loosening her ponytail and forcing her head back to expose her neck. She shivered, her insides clenching as his lips and tongue trailed a simmering path of nerves along her throat and collarbone, scraping his teeth along her sensitized flesh. He was pulling at her hair, hurting her, but somehow the pain only intensified the sweet, throbbing ache in her loins.

She reached down with trembling hands, grasping his T-shirt and tugging it over his shoulders and head. As she tossed it to the floor, her gaze was already devouring the sight of his bare chest. He had the body of a warrior who had seen his share of battles. Lean and powerful, hard and ridged with muscle. His deep-mahogany skin bore more than a few scars, which only enhanced his brutally male beauty.

No sooner had she removed his T-shirt than he reached for hers, his warm, calloused knuckles rasping her flesh as he impatiently stripped her of her shirt, then her black lace bra. Her legs quivered as she stood before him, her full, aching breasts bared to the smoldering intensity of his gaze.

“You're even more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered huskily.

Lia sucked in a sharp breath as he cupped her breasts in his hands. Lowering his head, he drew one erect nipple into the moist heat of his mouth. Her back arched, a ragged moan escaping her throat. He sucked first on one nipple, then the other, until she felt the exquisite pull of his mouth everywhere—in the pit of her stomach, between her trembling thighs. As if that weren't tormenting enough, he ground his hips provocatively against hers, stroking her against his rigid erection until her panties were soaked, and she felt dangerously close to climaxing.

Dropping to his haunches, he finished undressing her, peeling off her sweatpants and underwear with an economy of motion. For several moments he just stared, as if hypnotized, at the nest of black curls at the juncture of her thighs, which only made her wetter. Her breath stalled in her lungs. And then finally, with a low, guttural oath, he bent his head and pressed a hot, carnal kiss to her pulsing center. Lia sobbed in mindless ecstasy, her knees buckling beneath her. He caught her in his arms, surging to his feet.

Through the fog bank of desire clouding her brain, she realized that he was still wearing his jeans. She reached out, fumbling blindly with his zipper. Her hands shook as she yanked his jeans and dark briefs over his taut, powerful thighs and endless legs. His erection jutted toward her, long, thick and impossibly hard. Her loins ached, her
whole body
ached with the primal need to have him buried deep inside her. Their gazes locked as she curled her fingers around his throbbing penis and stroked him, making him swear hoarsely.

Too ravenous to wait any longer, he grasped her buttocks and lifted her into his arms. They both shuddered violently the moment their bodies collided. Lia closed her eyes and clung to him, her arms clasped around his neck, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

Lost to everything but the anticipation of finally having him inside her, she didn't realize he'd carried her halfway across the room until her back hit the smooth warmth of the pine wall.

With one savage thrust he entered her, burying himself to the hilt. Lia cried out wildly, clawing at the corded muscles of his back, her thighs quaking uncontrollably. She was already on the verge of an orgasm when suddenly he froze, stiffening against her.

She whimpered in protest, opening her eyes to stare up at him in panicked confusion. Why had he stopped? What was he waiting for?

His eyes were tightly closed, as if he was in agony. As if he, too, was already on the brink of losing control. “You feel so damn good,” he uttered raggedly. “I don't…I can't…”

Lia rocked her hips desperately against him. “Please don't stop,” she begged. “Please. Please.
Please.
”

She nearly sobbed with relief when he began moving inside her, plunging deep and retreating in a slow, blatantly erotic rhythm that threatened to send her over the edge. “You have no idea how long I've waited for this,
chère,
” he groaned thickly. “A lifetime.”

Lia would have made some sort of response, but she was beyond forming coherent speech. How was it possible she'd lived this long without experiencing this kind of pleasure? How had she survived?

Armand—for he was no longer Magliore—slanted his mouth over hers, seizing her lips in a kiss of such searing passion her head swam. As his mouth opened and closed over hers in hungry demand, their tongues mated feverishly. Heat encapsulated her entire body. A bead of perspiration pooled in the hollow at the base of her throat and trickled down. He chased it with his lips, making her shiver.

The rhythm of their lovemaking changed, from slow and sensual to fast and frenetic. Every nerve ending, every cell in her body clamored for release. As he drove into her, staring into her eyes, she didn't need to read his mind to understand what he was communicating to her. The message was clear—he didn't want her to ever forget that it was he at her center, moving through her core, possessing her body. There would be no room for doubt or confusion.

Lia knew she would never,
ever
forget. This moment, this man, would be permanently branded upon her memory, her very soul, long after he was out of her life.

Her nails raked his back as he pounded ruthlessly into her. She arched backward, pressing her sweaty body closer to his as she felt pressure building inside her, as intense as the storm raging outside.

Watching her face with a look of feral possession, he whispered huskily, “You belong to me now.” She whimpered as he eased out of her with excruciating slowness, almost to the tip. “Do you know why?”

Lia thought she shook her head frantically, but she couldn't be sure.

“Let me show you.”

He surged back inside her and she came. Violently.

As wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through her, she screamed his name loud enough to drown out the clap of thunder that suddenly shook the cabin.

With a powerful thrust and a triumphant shout, Armand joined her moments later, shuddering so deeply she nearly came again. She clung to him tightly, her body still reeling from the aftershocks of the most mind-blowing orgasm she'd ever had.

She didn't know how long they remained like that, their bodies locked together as they panted and trembled against each other.

It was only when the lights flickered, then went out completely, that she raised her head weakly from his shoulder and glanced around the dark cabin in dazed confusion.

Chuckling softly, Armand nibbled her bottom lip. “We must have knocked out the power,
chère.
Even the backup generators.”