WOULD-BE CHRISTMAS WEDDING (15 page)

Chapter Fifteen

As he pulled into the parking lot, he regretted choosing a cut-rate place like this one. She’d been through an ordeal and she deserved finer things than he would offer her tonight.

“Are we here?”

He nodded, wishing they were anywhere else. “Cash works here.”

“And cash is untraceable.” She reached out and caught his hand. “It’s smart. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t need five-star accommodations all the time. Thank you for protecting me.”

When she looked at him that way, protection wasn’t what he wanted to give her. He leashed his unruly desire and led her through the back door and up to their room for tonight.

The door closed and her warm scent filled the small space. “Your things are by the dresser.”

“Thanks. I’d like to change.”

“In a minute.” He had to focus on business. The mission. Anything but the thought of being near her when she removed that dress. “Now that we’re alone, you need to tell me what happened today.” He knew there was something, and she’d asked that question about this being about her instead of her brother.

“Do we have to do that now?” She reached up and removed the elegant jeweled choker. “You said rest and regroup. Surely it can wait a few hours.”

He inhaled and shoved his hands into his pockets before he grabbed her and tossed that voluminous skirt up over her head. She needed his respect on a professional level, and somehow he couldn’t not give it. “Does whatever happened pose an immediate threat?”

“Not unless they can find us.”

“They being?”

“Isely.”

“He has no idea where we are and I’ve sent him a message that I want to meet tomorrow.”

“To turn me over.”

“Of course, but—”

“I trust you to have a plan. Tell me later. Let’s rest. And regroup.”

Any argument he might have offered fled as she raised her hands to her hair, her full breasts testing the limits of her strapless gown. It was an entirely underrated form of torture to watch her free those long blond locks from the sleek, upswept style she’d worn all night. And she had a point. They were both mentally and physically exhausted.

He might have fantasized about the elegant stretch of her neck a little longer, but suddenly his fingers itched to fist in her hair.

Beware
was right, he thought, staring at her. Isely had given the warning for an entirely different purpose, but it couldn’t be more appropriate than right here in this room.

She gave him her back, drawing her hair forward over her shoulder. “A little help?” she asked, glancing over one bare shoulder.

Her lashes lowered, but her blue eyes smoldered. She was clearly daring him to help her out of the gown. He wasn’t strong enough to resist.

He found the small hook at the top and released it, but the line of tiny buttons down her back posed a new temptation. He swallowed.

She was a siren and he’d willingly dash himself against the rocks for this moment with her. His fingers trembled as he loosened each button, revealing her skin one slow, beautiful inch at a time.

She was the most delectable present he’d ever had the pleasure of unwrapping.

His cynical arguments about holiday attire turned into an instant appreciation as the festive red of her lingerie against her creamy skin stoked the fire already raging inside him.

His fingers brushed along her spine, resting at the curve of her bottom as the last button popped free.

Desire slid through his system in a warm rush as she let the dress fall to the floor. She turned to face him and his knees threatened to buckle. She was a vision beyond his ability to imagine, her breasts barely contained in those hot red cups of shimmering fabric, the matching panties a wonderful target dividing the creamy skin of her midriff and thighs. But the lace-topped stockings in lethal black nearly stopped his heart.

Who would’ve guessed the prim, perfectly coiffed Widow Manning had an arsenal like this?

Of all the pictures he’d used to export hidden data, this would have been his favorite.

But definitely the least effective. He nearly laughed thinking of how the director would delete this one immediately—or kill him for having it at all.

Didn’t matter. This image of her was burned into Holt’s mind and would be there the rest of his days—no matter how few or how many remained.

“You’re frowning,” she said, taking a step closer.

He smiled, but it took work. “You’re so damned beautiful.” He drew back a step, cursed himself for being a coward. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“I disagree.”

Of course she would. But it was a mistake, more on her part than his. He just needed to redirect enough blood flow to his brain to think of it. Raw need for her was riding him too hard. His control was nearly shredded. He knew he couldn’t hold out. Better she had informed consent here.

“I don’t want to be gentle with you.” He wanted to scare her a bit, wanted to back her off so he could regain his balance. But it wasn’t fear or worry he saw in her eyes, it was...anticipation.

God help him.

“So don’t be gentle.” She took another step and her red bra brushed against the white of his tuxedo shirt, making his pulse jump. She tugged the ends of his bow tie and slid it out of his collar.

“Cecelia.” It was the only coherent word he could get past his lips.

“I’m right here.”

He knew that. Her fragrance crashed over him in vivid, sensual waves. The things he wanted to do to that body...the things he wanted her to do to him.

Her hands gripped his shirt and she tugged, popping the studs free. Her white-tipped fingernails scraped lightly across his chest. Her gasp proved plenty of reward for all those hard workouts.

“I’m not that white knight you’re looking for,” he said with an ache that almost undid him.

“I don’t care.” She flatted her hands on his skin and smoothed those silky palms over his chest.

He groaned. She was killing him, but a woman like Cecelia deserved tenderness from a gentleman with an Ivy League degree and the manners to match. Not the hot, rough, fast kind of sex he craved tonight. His hands hovered at her waist to set her away. His mind told him to behave but his body argued just the opposite.

She took his hands in hers and pressed the palms down against her soft flesh. He stopped breathing as she dragged them up her sides to cup her full breasts. Her nipples peaked under his palms and she used his hands to squeeze and caress them as she arched into his touch.

Keeping one of his hands trapped between hers and one full breast, she raised the other to her face and drew his thumb into her mouth, sucking hard then giving the sensitive pad a light nip.

He wasn’t sure his heart could take much more.

“I’m not fragile, Emmett.”

He hoped she meant it. He bent his head to kiss her. Hard. Her lips parted and her tongue tangled with his. She tasted of champagne and a shocking dark desire that matched his.

Reaching lower, he palmed her bottom and then hitched her up, beyond pleased when she wrapped her legs around his waist. She rocked her hips, grinding herself against him. As if he wasn’t aroused enough, she gave a sigh of sheer pleasure.

No turning back now.

He’d be lucky if he could find his way to the bed. The world with all its complications and consequences just didn’t exist beyond the woman in his arms. He dropped her to the bed and her laughter spurred him on as he stripped away his shirt and slacks. The view of her in that sexy lingerie made him as hard as he’d ever been.

“No,” he rasped as she started to push off one of her strappy high-heel shoes. “Leave them on.”

Her blue eyes sparkled and the curve of her lips was nothing short of wicked. “As you wish.”

He watched her eyes travel over his body, enjoying her obvious appreciation of the view he presented. One she liked, apparently. The idea spurred his confidence—something he’d never needed before.

He knelt between her parted legs, then traced the lacy tops of her stockings. First with his fingers, then his mouth. He planted hot kisses across her bare belly, taking his time as he freed her lush breasts from that bra. She speared her hands into his hair, holding him close. He made a study out of the curve of her throat until finally claiming her mouth. She opened under him, her tongue stroking his as her hands explored his body.

He was so close to the edge already. He tore her panties aside and found her wet and ready. When he pressed his fingers deep inside her, she bucked against his hand and her body arched. Moments later she cried out with a hard climax.

His eyes locked with hers as he gripped her hips. She rose to meet him and he drove himself into her with one swift thrust. Her body clutched around him as he gave in to the heavy rhythm pushing him. Those sexy heels dug into his hips as she tightened her legs around him. Her hands fisted in the linen; her eyes were dark with passion.

She moaned his name and he felt like a god at the sound. Her body strung tight as she reached her next climax. This one dragged him over the edge with her, and he thrust deep one last time before he sagged against the mattress.

* * *

H
E
WAS
WAY
better than some fantasy about a white knight, Cecelia thought as she drew the sheet up over her body. The cool air chilled her skin as her heart rate returned to normal. She wanted to burrow closer to Emmett’s warmth, but he wasn’t giving off an inviting vibe. She settled for resting her fingers lightly on his arm.

It wasn’t as though she expected a declaration of love. She didn’t think she was capable of giving him one. They were two consenting adults who’d given in to a mutually intense attraction and need. Simple. Straightforward.

Stockholm syndrome.

The idea made her giggle. She wasn’t his prisoner any more than he was hers. Maybe the intensity of the whole situation had rendered her helpless. She just wanted to laugh at it all. She’d just made love with a man besides the one she’d been married to for twenty-five years. She had lost the shadow of widowhood just now...somehow. Kind of like losing her virginity with William. The whole idea had her shaking with the need to laugh. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Dear God, she was hysterical.

“That’s not what a man wants to hear about now,” he murmured, rolling to his side, stretching his arm under her pillow. His eyes sparkled in the light of the lamp by the table, but a darkness still shadowed his face.

“It’s not you, it’s me. Is that better?”

“Not really.” He smoothed her hair away from her face. “What were you thinking that made you laugh?”

She sighed into his touch even as she sent her fingers roaming across that magnificent chest. “I was thinking about rapid-onset Stockholm syndrome.”

“You know you’re free to go anytime,” he reminded her unnecessarily.

She smoothed her fingertips across his brow, easing the frown. Going might be a viable option, but it wouldn’t be the prudent choice. Not just because she wasn’t done with him, but because she didn’t think she could outwit the enemy on her own. And she wasn’t leaving him to do that on his own, either.

Tonight’s adventure proved once more he was caught in a vise, and she refused to leave him to deal with it alone. Despite being chased by both her brother’s team and Isely’s men, the biggest obstacle she could see was Emmett himself. When would he open up and give her enough information to help?

He shocked her, bringing his face close and rubbing her nose with his. It was an unexpected tenderness from a man who claimed with body and words he wasn’t capable of such things.

“You’re still thinking.” His thumb caressed the furrow between her brows.

No amount of wrinkle cream would ever completely erase the tiny lines there. She was well into forty...middle-aged. Was this part of her crisis?

“I am.”

“That may be worse than the giggles.”

He rolled to his back again and she immediately missed the heat of his body, the hard planes and thick ropes of his muscles against her more pliant frame. No matter what happened in the coming hours, she wouldn’t have traded this stunning, sexy moment for any amount of caution or safety.

“Don’t worry. I was just thinking that
this
was worth all the rumors we’ve no doubt started. But I’m not in the mood for pillow talk.” Not yet. She shifted closer to him, pressed her lips to the crisp hair of his chest.

“You’re not?”

“Nope,” she whispered against his skin, and was rewarded when he trembled as she worked her way down to his navel, and lower still. “Not even close.”

Chapter Sixteen

The Senate Inn
Saturday, December 20, 7:05 a.m.

Holt slipped out of Cecelia’s warm embrace and peered around in the darkness until he found his discarded tuxedo pants on the floor. Pulling them on, he went and turned on his laptop, hoping to find some good news to share with her when she woke up.

Sometime after their third round, they’d managed to turn off the lights and sleep. He hadn’t felt this rested in months. It should have been a comfort, but it worried him. Cecelia wasn’t meant to be part of his future. And right now he couldn’t imagine her not in it.

He turned his back to her so he could focus on the mission instead of the glorious temptation of her body. He logged into the email account he used only for Isely. Judging by the messages, the bastard had had a grand time watching Thomas angst over Cecelia’s disappearance. A terse acceptance was his only acknowledgement of the meeting Emmett had requested.

He scanned local news headlines online rather than risk waking her with the television. No one had reported her disappearance as a kidnapping, but it was hardly a victory. After months of behaving with a single-minded, ruthless efficiency, now Isely was unpredictable, changing the rules of the game at the last minute.

The bastard had been thinking it over for months and had finally come to the conclusion that something was wrong with the virus. Now that Holt knew the biologist was dead, it only added to the mystery. A bioweapon was a powerful thing, and Isely was just too damned casual about it. The man had thrown a fit and promised retribution when the CIA had grabbed one of the two remaining vials in Vegas last month, but Holt didn’t believe the performance.

“Working already?”

He hadn’t heard her leave the bed, more proof he was far too comfortable with her.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll make coffee.” Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders and her hair teased the bare skin of his shoulders when she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Did he agree to the meeting?”

“Yes.” He realized he didn’t want to lie to her. “But he’s not happy about it.”

“No surprise.”

“Yeah.” He watched her walk toward the little niche where the coffeemaker, microwave and minifridge were clustered together. She was wearing his tuxedo shirt and nothing else. He was instantly hard for her, all too ready to forget enemy plans, betrayals and furious brothers who knew a dozen ways to kill a man without leaving trace evidence.

“Would you please tell me more about Isely? So I’m ready for the meet,” she coaxed.

“Why? Having sex doesn’t make us a team.” He said this as coldly as possible.

She turned, crossed her arms and made that shirt ride up a bit higher on her thighs. “I asked you to stop doing that.”

He stood up, stretching his arms over his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “I shouldn’t have to push you away. You should have the good sense to run.”

She licked her lips. “I know who’s who in this little drama.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “I ran from the bad guys last night.” She blatantly looked him over from head to toe and back again. “And right into your arms.” She walked over and wound her arms around him. It wasn’t anything like yesterday’s hug, as they were both wearing considerably less this time. “You’re beautiful.”

“Flattery? That’s your next tactic? Sweetheart, it’s no use. I know I’m gorgeous.”

“Keep it up,” she said, giving the back of his arm a hard pinch.

“Ow!” But he couldn’t help laughing, then he stopped short, trying to recall the last time he’d really laughed. He couldn’t bring a recent memory to mind, not to mention a moment of shared laughter with a woman. “Why does it matter? As long as you’re safe and I get the job done, you don’t need to worry about Isely.”

“Thomas said something last night.”

“About Isely?”
Please let it be about Isely.

“More about teamwork. He said fresh eyes never hurt.”

Couldn’t argue that adage. “He’s right. Maybe you can find a reason for Isely’s abrupt change of behavior.”

She poured them both a cup of coffee and joined him at the small table. “So talk.”

“This is all still classified—”

“My clearance is current and this place isn’t bugged.” She shuddered. “Unless they’re bed bugs.”

“Ease up,” he said, patting her knee. “I’m going down regardless. I just want you to know what not to say when you’re rescued.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Just talk. Tell me about Isely. And maybe I’ll tell you some things.”

“Five years ago, Thomas infiltrated the Isely group and interrupted the first scheduled sale of a lethal new virus. Isely’s father got killed in the crossfire when the deal was blown. The vials Thomas turned in when he got back to the States weren’t any deadlier than a saline solution.”

She frowned. “But Thomas would never have kept a deadly bioweapon.”

“When the deal went sideways, everyone assumed Isely had planned to double-cross his original buyer all along. The reports Thomas filed on the operation were verified, and nothing more came of it until a few months ago when a deadly strain of flu wiped out a remote village in the Middle East.”

“That was on the Pakistan border, right?”

“Good guess.”

She shrugged. “I heard about it through other channels.”

“Other channels,” he echoed.

She leaned forward and her shirt gaped, giving him a distracting view of her cleavage. “You know exactly where I’ve spent my low-profile career. And knowing that along with who my husband was, you find it surprising I’ve made a few connections through the years? Please.”

“I didn’t give that much thought.” When this had started, he hadn’t thought about her husband because he wasn’t relevant to the situation. After spending time with her online and especially after last night, Holt didn’t want to think about her husband at all.

It was a double standard considering his storied and colorful past, but a relationship wasn’t in their future. No way would she stick by him if he survived long enough to be charged with working for Isely. She was accustomed to heroes and good guys, not that gray place he represented.

His possessiveness for her was irrational and unexpected. It wasn’t even based in reality. He’d started an online relationship as a means to an end. But he didn’t want it to end.

“Hey.”

He glanced down to where her palm gently covered his knee. His whole body reacted, zeroing in on that small point of contact. His pulse kicked, his breath hitched and his hands warmed with the urge to touch and take. He shook his head and gulped air deep into his lungs.

“Sorry. Wandering thoughts,” he muttered.

“You’ve been working undercover for too long. Who else knows about your mission?”

“No one. That’s just it. No one else in Mission Recovery was cleared on the Germany job. Despite that, no one could know or Isely would never have taken the bait.”

She sat back, taking her warmth with her, and he knew she was doubting his story. And why shouldn’t she? It was his word against the evidence. Evidence he’d purposely stacked against himself to keep Isely on the hook.

“Then why did we meet with Jason and Gin?”

“He doesn’t know how far I’ve gone,” Holt insisted. “I only asked him to look up the biologist who created the virus. And I handed over the last vial of the virus Isely gave me weeks ago.”

She stared at him but he couldn’t read her at all. “You’d better tell me everything. And fast,” she warned.

Somehow he found himself answering to her demand. Way, way outside his normal protocol. “I wasn’t supposed to see him again ever. It was kidnap you, deliver you to the address he chose and I’d be out.”

“But you went on the offensive and demanded a meeting instead.”

“Correct.”

“And you don’t have any idea what he was going to do with me?”

“The way I put it together, kidnapping you puts me in the rogue-agent category, which embarrasses the director and jeopardizes his career. Isely can also use your capture to further expose and antagonize your brother.”

“Right.” She sipped her coffee. “What about the virus?”

“I dispersed that last night at the gala.”

“You did what?”

The flash of horror on her face proved he’d finally found the one thing to push her away. He regretted it instantly. “Isely wanted the virus dispersed at the gala so it would cause more blowback for Thomas. I arranged it so a couple of his guys were on the security detail, remember?”

“Yes.” Her horrified reaction had already reverted back to what he considered her crisis face. The still, serene expression effectively concealed how fast her mind was working through the problem at hand. He wondered when she’d act on the disgust and fury she must be feeling.

“One of his men was supposed to contaminate someone or something. If the virus works as advertised, later tonight people will show symptoms and eventually a good many of them will die.”

“And pathology will show it was a designer strain of the flu and call it a terrorist attack.”

“Yes. The people who matter in the intelligence community will link it back to your brother and blame him because it happened on his watch.”

“Isely gave this a great deal of thought.”

“He’s been working it out for years. Colorado, Vegas, those were just building blocks for last night.”

“But...”

“Why do you assume there’s a ‘but’?”

She simply stared at him, waited him out. He supposed it was a dumb question. For whatever reason, she didn’t view him the way the rest of the world viewed him—as a spook too quiet and withdrawn for his own good.

“I met the courier, let him inject me with the virus and then returned to the party. I danced and mingled and they reported it to Isely. Later I sent the remaining product and a blood sample to the lab.”

“How?”

“My assistant was close by.”

“But you never left the gala.”

He smiled. “Only for a moment. I’m quick and I have good hands.”

“Yes, you do.” She traced the rim of her coffee cup with her fingertip. “What did you inject instead of the virus?”

“I used one of the bogus vials Thomas originally brought back.” He waved his hands in the air. “Hand is quicker than the eye.”

“Apparently.” She uncurled from the chair and poured more coffee into her cup. “Sounds like you’ve got this under control.”

“Everything but Isely’s sudden urgency.”

“He tried to jump the gun on the kidnapping but didn’t succeed, so you’re back on schedule, right?”

He shook his head. “It will fall apart when no one gets sick. And that possible exchange at sea is all wrong.” He paced away from her.

“Talk to me, Emmett. Let me help. You’re not giving me everything.”

What the hell was he doing? But he couldn’t not tell her everything. “He knows the virus is useless. He has to. He just doesn’t care about it enough.”

“But it wiped out those villagers.”

“I can’t explain that. Maybe it breaks down. Maybe they used a different formula.”

“Is there anyone here in the States who can help him with the virus?”

“Probably, but he hasn’t made contact. My gut is telling me we’re in serious trouble here. If I leave you alone to go to the meet, either Mission Recovery or Isely’s crew will find you. Isely will learn this quickly, and then we’ll never know what he’s up to.”

“So take me along.”

“What, like a date?”

“No, like a partner who has your back.”

“You’re not trained for that.”

“My fresh eyes see it as your only option. You go alone, you walk into a trap and I’m stuck dealing with him.”

He shook his head.

“Emmett, are you this good at everything you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You purposely painted yourself into a corner. Who were you going to hand over to Isely in my place? What was your exit strategy?”

He scrubbed at his face and braced for her shock and righteous indignation. “Originally, I’d planned to hand you over, but with a GPS tag so I could follow you. Everything the director needed to clear himself and protect the team is scheduled to automatically dump into his inbox after the exchange. A precaution in case I lost your trail. You probably don’t believe me, but I wouldn’t have let them hurt you.”

“I believe you.”

He wanted to believe her, but anything might be going on behind her crisis face. “But now, with Isely shifting the plan...”

“You don’t trust your own instincts or your own decisions.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, the man has reason to hate Thomas, and it’s obvious he wants him to suffer. How did you get yourself between them?”

“Just doing my job.”

“Emmett, if you don’t start sharing what’s really on your mind, I can’t help you sort out the solution.”

“The best solution is for you to go into protective custody with Mission Recovery while I take down Isely at the meet. The evidence will show up on schedule. Combined with what I’ve told you, Thomas will be satisfied and safe.”

“That sounds like the easiest and prettiest solution, but it might not be the best.”

* * *

C
ECELIA
STRUGGLED
NOT
to flinch under the weight of that iron stare. She wasn’t about to let him take the fall for this, not when he’d so selflessly given himself to protect her and her brother.

Her feelings were a tangled mess of guilt, expectations, lust and fragile new hope, but one thing was clear. Emmett needed her. Even more astounding, she knew she could be helpful, even if he didn’t give her more insight.

Isely thought she knew something. She just had to figure out how to use that to help Emmett. If she dared tell him about that meet, he would definitely lock her away just as Thomas had wanted to. How could she help anyone then?

While the work she did for the CIA was straightforward and boring, she’d been honest with Emmett about making connections.

She should probably consult her daughter, but that would only negate the text message she’d sent last night declaring she was fine and wishing her and Levi a Merry Christmas.

“How old is Isely?” she asked, trying hard to reconcile anything Emmett knew with something she might know and not realize the importance of.