TWO HOT!
Cara Summers

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

To Donna and Salvatore Buffa.

Thank you for all your support

(and for reading every book I’ve ever written!)

Most of all, thank you for being such good friends.

I love you both!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Coming Next Month

1

I WANT JED CALHOUN.

Zoë McNamara drew her bottom lip between her teeth and studied the words she’d just written on the first page of a fresh notebook. From the time she’d been a very young girl, she’d developed a habit of writing down her thoughts and feelings. Doing so had always helped her keep her focus and work through problems.

Jed Calhoun definitely qualified as a problem. She’d only known the man for two weeks, yet he could scramble her nerves with nothing more than one of those mocking looks of his. And when he touched her, even in the most casual way—the brush of his arm against hers as they entered a doorway—he sent her pulse rocketing.

Then there was the kiss.

Frowning, Zoë tapped her pen against the edge of the page. It hadn’t been a kiss at all, not really, but it had stirred up desires she hadn’t acted on in a very long time.

The problem was Jed Calhoun made her want to act on them. Ever since that “almost” kiss, he’d haunted her dreams, waking and sleeping. He was even beginning to interfere with her work. All she thought about was what it might have been like if he’d really kissed her.

Zoë badly wanted to pick up the notebook and throw it at the wall of her office. Better still, she wanted to go after Jed Calhoun and demand that he finish what he’d started. But she’d learned that giving in to what her parents referred to as the “wilder” side of her nature, especially with men, never solved a thing. She’d been there, done that her freshman year in college, and she’d learned her lesson. Hadn’t she?

When the phone rang, Zoë jumped. A glance at the caller ID had her stomach knotting. It was her mother, no doubt wanting a progress report on her work.

Letting the call transfer to her voice mail, she rose and circled her desk, then began to pace the small Oriental rug. Lately, her parents had been pleased with her. She was a Ph.D. candidate in Psychology at Georgetown University. The current research she was doing with Dr. Sierra Gibbs on the dating and sexual practices of urban singles would be published, and that together with her degree would ensure her the kind of academic career that her parents felt was right for her.

Genetically, she was very suited to the kind of work she was doing with Sierra Gibbs. Her father, Dr. Michael McNamara, held a chair in theoretical physics at Harvard, and her mother, Dr. Miranda Phelps, was the dean of the engineering school at Stanford. But while raising her they hadn’t been content to trust in genes. They’d schooled her at home, providing her with private tutoring and special classes.

Stifling a little sigh, Zoë glanced around the small, meticulously neat office. This was the kind of world that her parents had raised her to fit into. And she was very good at what she was doing. So why did she feel so…trapped?

Moving to the window, she gazed out at the quad. The slant of the morning sun sent long shadows across the lush green grass. The two times she’d actually done what she’d wanted and strayed from her parents’ expectations of her, she’d messed up. After her experiment with life on the wild side her freshman year in college, they’d insisted she go into therapy. They’d refused even to talk to her during the two months she’d worked at the CIA. Poor judgment and a sinful waste of her talents, they’d called it.

Taking the job at the CIA had been her last little rebellion against their plans for her. She’d thought that her work there would bring her the kind of adventure she’d always secretly dreamed about. She’d even studied karate in the hopes of eventually becoming a field agent.

But the only real excitement that she’d experienced in her work as a CIA data analyst had been of a vicarious nature, reading and analyzing the reports of one particular field agent whose code name was Lucifer.

Her job had been to analyze the probability that he’d carried out a hit on a fellow agent. Of course, he hadn’t, but in the course of gathering intelligence on Lucifer, she’d become insatiably curious about the man.

His reputation was mythic. He was such a master of disguise that no one even knew what he looked like. His track record for getting the job done was flawless. There was even a theory that he didn’t really exist, that Lucifer was merely a code name for a group of agents who performed dangerous and secret missions.

But Zoë didn’t believe that. She’d read all of his reports, and there was something very distinctive about Lucifer’s writing style, a kind of dry humor that appealed to her. And she admired the careful planning that was a hallmark of any mission he worked on. But the thing she’d admired most about Lucifer was the integrity that lay beneath all of his work. Lucifer was a man who could be trusted.

Was it any wonder that he’d become so firmly rooted in her imagination? He was living the life of adventure that she’d always secretly dreamed about. She’d even created a picture of him in her mind. He resembled his dark angel namesake—with longish dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. As she’d continued to gather and analyze information on him, Lucifer had begun to play a very active role in her fantasy life. She supposed that she’d even fallen a bit in love with him just as Shakespeare’s Desdemona had fallen in love with the amazing stories that Othello had told her.

Zoë frowned. Desdemona clearly hadn’t seen the real Othello. And her boss at the CIA, Hadley Richards, had told her that she hadn’t “seen” the real Lucifer. He’d been very displeased with her final report on the superagent.

Zoë turned from the window to glance back at the notebook on her desk. Come to think of it, Jed Calhoun reminded her a bit of Lucifer. Not that he was a superspy. Her lips curved at the absurdity of that idea. But Jed did have a similar air of mystery about him. There had to be a reason why he was staying with his friend Ryder Kane, but not even her boss, Sierra, who was Ryder’s fiancée, seemed to know the particulars. And Jed was living on the houseboat that Ryder kept on the Chesapeake Bay, not in Ryder’s apartment in D.C. It was almost as if Jed Calhoun was in hiding. Why?

The sharp knock at her door had her jumping.

“Zoë, are you in there?”

Zoë recognized Sierra’s voice immediately, but she’d barely turned around when Dr. Sierra Gibbs, her arms full of packages, breezed into the room. A month ago, Zoë mused, her boss would have asked permission before entering her office. But a lot of things had changed about Sierra since she’d met Ryder Kane, her new fiancé.

Before Ryder, Sierra and she had been mirror images of each other—once you subtracted the fact that Sierra was a tall blonde and Zoë was a short brunette. They’d both worn glasses, and they’d both worn their hair pulled back into a ponytail or a braid. They’d even worn the same kind of loose-fitting skirts and sweaters. During the time they’d worked together, she’d not only come to admire Sierra’s work but she’d begun to look on her as a friend.

So she’d been happy to see how Sierra had blossomed since she’d met Ryder Kane. Her boss was currently dressed in a well-tailored suit in a shade Zoë would call pomegranate and high-heeled slingbacks that Zoë immediately envied. Sierra’s hair fell in loose waves to her shoulders, and Zoë couldn’t help admiring the style as her boss turned to glance at her.

It was only then that she saw that Sierra had pulled champagne, two glasses and a bag of imported chocolates out of the packages she’d been carrying.

“Sit down. We’re celebrating,” Sierra said.

“Celebrating what?”

Sierra paused in the midst of uncorking the champagne to stare at Zoë. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. What are we celebrating?” The way Sierra was looking at her made Zoë suddenly feel as if she’d been smeared on a slide.

“Merely the fact that your dissertation committee met this morning. Dr. Holloway just stopped by my office with the good news. Your proposed study has been approved. You’re officially on the fast track to your degree. Did you forget that they were meeting?”

“Yes, I—” Zoë ran a hand through her hair. She’d completely forgotten. No doubt, that had been the reason for her mother’s call, to make sure that her daughter hadn’t fallen off the “fast track” again. “That’s…wonderful.”

Sierra’s eyes narrowed as she handed Zoë a glass brimming with champagne. “You look like you need this, and not just for celebration purposes.”

How could she have forgotten? Zoë wondered as she took a good gulp of the champagne and moved behind her desk to sit down. But she knew the answer. It was because she hadn’t thought of anything but Jed Calhoun since that damn kiss that hadn’t been a kiss at all.

Sierra tore open the bag of candy. “You’d better have some chocolate, too. Ryder gave me these, but on an occasion like this, I’m willing to share.”

Zoë bit into a creamy chocolate truffle and tried to gather her thoughts. Sierra was going to grill her. She had that look on her face that she always got when she was interviewing one of the volunteers in their study. In a research situation, what Sierra went after, she usually got.

Sierra sat down and sipped champagne before she said, “Okay, spill it. What’s wrong?”

Zoë stalled by taking another sip of champagne.

Sierra smiled at her. “I’m going to sit here until you tell me. Confession is good for the soul. That’s what my sisters always tell me.”

Sierra was the youngest of a trio of sisters. Natalie, the oldest, was a cop, and Rory, the middle sister, was a freelance writer who’d been published in several major magazines. All three sisters had recently become engaged.

“Of course, I could try the same technique my sisters always use on me,” Sierra said.

Zoë’s eyes narrowed. “Does it involve torture?”

Sierra’s eyes twinkled. “They haven’t tortured me since I was little. Lately, they just tell me what they think is bothering me, and then launch right into lecture and advice mode.”

Zoë began to relax. She and Sierra had never discussed Jed Calhoun. She’d never even mentioned his name. There was no way that she could know. “Go ahead. Give it a shot. Tell me what’s bothering me.”

“You’re attracted to Jed Calhoun, and you’re wondering if you should act on the attraction.”

Zoë barely kept her mouth from dropping open. “How did you know?”

“Sweetie, the temperature in the room goes up by at least ten degrees whenever the two of you are together. Not to mention that the sparks shooting between you are so intense that the hairs on my arms stand up.”

Zoë badly wanted to pace, but Sierra was now sitting in her pacing space. She was stuck behind her desk just as if she were in an interrogation room. After three beats of silence, she said, “I want him, but I don’t want to want him.”

Sierra smiled and nodded. “That’s exactly how I felt about Ryder the first time I met him. I didn’t know him then. I just knew how he made me feel, and I’d never felt that way before.”

“Yes, that’s it.” Zoë gestured with her glass, then took another sip. “He has no right to make me feel this way.”

“Men. They’re all the same.” Sierra topped off their glasses.

“He invades my personal space.”

“Isn’t that just like a man?”

“And he has no right to look the way he does,” Zoë added.

“Absolutely not. He’s as handsome as sin.”

“Exactly.” Even as she said the word, Zoë found herself picturing Jed in her mind—that long, lean body; the rangy, loose-limbed walk. The man never seemed to hurry. His hair was caught somewhere between sandy brown and blond, and he wore it long enough to pull back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. In the short time that she’d known him, he’d never worn anything but cutoff shorts or jeans and a T-shirt that molded each and every subtly defined muscle. Just thinking about him had the heat pooling in her center. “And his smile. I really hate it when he smiles at me.”

“I hear you,” Sierra said, then took another sip of her champagne.

“It’s as if he knows things about me that he has no right to know.”

“Unforgivable,” Sierra said.

Zoë leaned forward. “You know there’s more to him than meets the eye. On the surface, he seems so laid-back like some kind of California surfer who’s living for the next perfect wave. But underneath, there’s something else, a kind of power. It’s hard to explain…” It was the same hint of power that she’d imagined in Lucifer, she realized. And she was attracted to that as much as she was to the easy, mocking charm. “If Jed Calhoun gets in your path, you won’t get past him.”

“Yes.” Sierra nodded. “I noticed that, too.”

Zoë took another sip of champagne. Maybe it was helping to talk about it. “He didn’t even kiss me,” Zoë said.

Sierra paused as she was reaching for the champagne bottle. “When didn’t he kiss you?”

“The other night at the Blue Pepper when we were celebrating your engagement to Ryder. He invited me to dance and the next thing I knew we were behind one of those potted palms on the patio. He started to kiss me. And…” Zoë’s voice trailed off as images flooded her mind, and her body began to heat. She could recall those minutes when she’d been in Jed’s arms so clearly. Each sensation had been so intense.

There’d been a brick wall at her back and Jed Calhoun had been standing so close that she could see the sheen of dampness on the skin at his throat. Her own throat had gone dry as dust when he’d used two fingers to tilt up her chin so that she had to meet his eyes.

The tips of his fingers had been rough, and his touch had been confident and firm. This close, the flecks of green in those gray eyes had been darker, and for the first time, she’d detected no hint of the mocking laughter that she’d always seen there.

“I wish I knew why I want to kiss you so much.” His voice had been rough, edged with a trace of annoyance.

The words had so clearly echoed what she was thinking that she’d wondered for a moment if he’d read her mind. While she was still thinking about that, he’d wrapped his other hand around the nape of her neck and lowered his mouth to within a breath of hers.

Her mind had emptied so quickly that she’d felt as if someone had pulled a plug. She’d known she should do something. Push him away. But he’d moved closer still until she’d felt the press of his body, firm, lean and strong against hers.

She’d risen on her toes to close the distance between them. Even then, his lips had barely brushed against hers. Still, the contact had sent a shock wave right down to her toes.

“More.”

Zoë wasn’t sure who’d spoken the word, but his mouth had moved against hers again. It wasn’t really a kiss at all, and it was certainly not the kind of kiss that she’d expected from Jed Calhoun.

“You have a habit of biting down on your lower lip,” he’d murmured. “Every time you do it, I want to do this.” He’d drawn her bottom lip into his mouth and nipped it lightly. His breath had slipped between her parted lips and this time the shock wave had set off explosions. Every one of her senses had sharpened; each nerve in her body had snapped to life. She’d curled her fingers into his T-shirt.

“More.”

His tongue had slipped between her lips and touched just the tip of hers, and she’d let out a shuddering breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding.

Then as suddenly as it had begun, the kiss was over. Jed had lifted his mouth from hers and taken a step back. Her head had been spinning so that she hadn’t even protested when he’d gripped her wrists and removed her hands from his shirt. At the abrupt loss of contact, her body had felt both icy and on fire, both weak and exhilarated. And deep inside of her she’d felt an overwhelming greed.

“Interesting,” he’d murmured.

Interesting? She’d never experienced anything like it, and Jed Calhoun had thought the kiss was interesting.

“Earth to Zoë…”

Sierra’s voice pulled Zoë abruptly back to the present.

“That must have been some kiss,” Sierra said with a grin. “You said more twice while you were in that little trance.”

Zoë frowned. “But he didn’t give me more. I mean…” she broke off as pure anger bubbled to the surface of the emotions swirling through her. She pounded her fist on the desk and Sierra quickly rescued both glasses.

“If he were here right now, I’d make him finish what he started!”

“You go, girl!” Sierra said.

Zoë blinked. “But I can’t. I won’t. I—”

Sierra reached out and took her hand. “Why can’t you, Zoë?”

“Because I have terrible judgment when it comes to men.”

“Since when?” Sierra asked. “Seems to me you’ve got Jed Calhoun’s number.”

Zoë shook her head. “I see all men through rose-colored glasses. Take the guy I dated in college my freshman year. Bradley Harper. My therapist said he was my rebellion against my parents’ plans for me. But I thought I was in love with him.”

“What were your parents’ plans?” Sierra asked.

Zoë waved a hand. “What we’re celebrating right now—my upward climb to success in academia.”

Sierra topped off their glasses again. “So what happened with Bradley Harper?”

“College was my first taste of freedom, my first chance to do things that I wanted to do. Bradley was my initial experiment with getting a sex life.”

Sierra’s eyes brightened with interest. “What exactly did you do?”

Zoë took another sip from her glass and leaned back in her chair. “I started with research. I looked like a nerd, acted like a nerd. You don’t get much of a fashion sense when you don’t get out much. So I collected information on sex from all kinds of places: scholarly journals, popular magazines. I observed other girls who were popular with men and I studied how they dressed, what kind of things they talked about. Finally, I did my best to change my appearance from nerd to sexpot.”

“Amazing! I never would have had the courage to do that. If I’d never met Ryder, I would have stayed in nerd mode forever.” Sierra passed Zoë another chocolate. “Did it work?”

“Yes.” Zoë twisted the paper off the chocolate, but she didn’t taste it. “I picked out the boy I wanted to have sex with, and I didn’t have to ask twice.”

“You actually asked him?”

Zoë nodded. “It seemed the most efficient way. I’d watched other girls flirt, but I figured it might take a while to get the knack. Of course, I was a little surprised when he said yes. Bradley was incredibly good-looking and there were always girls around him. Lots of girls. That should have warned me.”

Sierra poured more champagne. “What happened?”

Setting the chocolate aside, Zoë took a long swallow from her glass. She’d never told anyone the whole story, not even her therapist. “For a while everything was wonderful. The sex was great, so great that I suppose I fell a little in love with him. Then the semester ended, and he said he’d had a good time.” Zoë glanced away for a moment and folded her hands in front of her. “He told me that he’d recommended me to a couple of his fraternity brothers and gave me their phone numbers.”

“Did you call them?” Sierra asked carefully.

“Not right away.” Zoë could feel heat rise in her face as she met Sierra’s eyes again. “But I…missed the sex. And I wanted very much to be modern and cool. I thought that I’d been naive to think that Bradley and I would be a couple for very long. I went out with several of his fraternity brothers before I learned that I wasn’t the first girl Bradley had passed along to them. It was something he did all the time. He even had a rating system for sex.” She smiled without humor. “I’d gotten one of the highest ratings.”

Sierra shrugged. “Well, I say good for you.”

“You’re not shocked?”

“I’m impressed by your gutsiness and disgusted with Bradley and his friends.”

Zoë leaned forward a little. “Everyone in the frat house knew what I was like in bed. He’d described in detail things that we’d done together. I assumed the two young men I dated afterward had added to the data.”

Sierra took her hand and squeezed it hard. “You were young and naive, and they were all pigs!”

Zoë felt a little band of pain around her heart ease. “Yes, they were. The next year when I came back to school, I had completely reverted to a nerd, and I buried myself in my studies.”

Sierra studied her for a moment. “I can understand that. What’s a bit harder to figure out is why you’re still hiding from men and sex.”

Zoë opened her mouth and then shut it. Sierra was right. That’s exactly what she was doing, what she’d been doing for years.

“I did the same thing for a very long time. Until I met Ryder.”

“Jed Calhoun is not Ryder.”

“I’m betting he’s not Bradley the jerk either.”

“I don’t know anything about Jed.”

“He’s Ryder’s friend. They went to college together. You can tell a lot about a man from the kind of friends he makes and keeps. Plus, it wasn’t too long ago that your research skills saved my life. If you want to know about Jed, I’ll bet you could find out a lot.”

“I don’t know…”

Sierra squeezed the hand she’d been holding. “Now I’m going to give you some advice my sisters and I got from my father. Sometimes in life, you just have to take a risk.”

2

ZOË SLAMMED DOWN on the brakes of her silver Miata and glared over the steering wheel at the water of the Chesapeake Bay. The directions Sierra had given her to Ryder Kane’s houseboat had seemed simple enough, so why couldn’t she find it?

The sun was glinting playfully off of the water, mocking her. Two days had passed since she and Sierra had talked and gotten a little buzzed on champagne, and she’d reached a decision about Jed Calhoun. She was going to give in to her wild side and have sex with him. But just one time. She had to do something to ease the yearning inside of her. It hadn’t faded one little bit during the past two days. She just hadn’t expected to have to act on her decision today.

The opportunity had presented itself when Sierra had called her two hours ago and asked her to bring the latest research notes out to Ryder Kane’s houseboat and told her that Jed would be there.

Zoë pressed a hand to her stomach. If she’d had more notice, she might not be this nervous. And she might not be lost. This was the second time she’d taken a wrong turn and the second time the road had dead-ended at the water.

Was she subconsciously getting lost because she was having second thoughts?

No. Zoë gripped the steering wheel hard. She wasn’t eighteen anymore, and she didn’t have unrealistic expectations about sex or men. She hadn’t made her decision in a fit of passion or rebellion or even while she was still affected by the champagne.

And she wasn’t wearing rose-colored glasses. She’d run a check on Jed Calhoun, and he wasn’t married. Her boss at the CIA had been, and she’d learned her lesson about steering clear of married men like Hadley Richards. If she’d just been a bit more worldly, she would have known that having business lunches with him and delivering reports to his hotel at night might give the appearance of their having an affair.

That was the reason Hadley Richards had given her when he’d asked for her resignation. Zoë felt the swift pang of regret that she always felt when she thought of having to leave her job at the CIA. She’d really liked the work, and up until she’d handed in her final report on Lucifer, Mr. Richards had been so enthusiastic about the jobs she’d done for him.

Even now, she wondered if she could have handled the situation differently. Of course, in private, Hadley Richards had apologized profusely. After all she’d only done what he’d asked her to do. He’d blamed the urgency for the work she’d been doing on Lucifer for his lapse in judgment. But he’d been firm about his request for her resignation.

Zoë dragged her thoughts back to her current problem. She was not that naive young woman anymore. And she’d discovered quite a bit about Jed Calhoun. He was rich, or at least his family was. His grandmother had founded a very successful cosmetics company which was still family owned, and it was currently being run by his parents and his sister. Jed hadn’t gone into the family business. Instead, he’d elected to work for his government.

She hadn’t been able to completely satisfy her curiosity about that aspect of his life because most of his files were classified. The one thing that had caught her attention was that he often used disguises, and that made her think of Lucifer again. Probably all CIA agents were skillful at using disguises.

She’d decided that it was good news that he worked for the government. He was probably in between jobs and he’d be gone before long. She’d also decided that since the chemistry between them was so strong—especially for her—it was highly likely that when they did make love, she could get him out of her system once and for all. Like a flash fire, what she was feeling would burn itself out and be gone.

She was banking on that, and there were plenty of narratives in the data she’d been collecting for Sierra that supported this theory. One round of hot, sweaty sex and she’d be free. One round and she could cross the man right out of her notebook. She could have her well-ordered life back.

She’d made a calm, well thought out, rational decision to have sex with Jed Calhoun, and she was not having second thoughts. Of course, if she’d had more time, she could have made the transition from nerd to sexpot a bit more fashionably. Instead, she’d barely had time after Sierra’s call to change into a pair of new jeans and a tank top. The sexy underwear she’d intended to buy was still on her to-do list. The plain white cotton briefs in her bureau drawer were simply not appropriate, so she’d elected not to wear them.

Zoë drew in a deep breath and let it out. She was as ready as she could be to have sex with Jed Calhoun, so why then was she sitting here staring at the Chesapeake instead of propositioning Jed on Ryder Kane’s houseboat?

Closing her eyes, Zoë rested her head against the steering wheel. Because she was afraid. What if he said no? What if he didn’t feel the same way that she did? He’d pulled away from that kiss, hadn’t he? When he’d walked away from her at the Blue Pepper, she’d had to lean against that wall for three full minutes before the feeling had come back into her legs.

Interesting is what he’d called that kiss. Devastating is what she’d called it. Zoë raised her head from the steering wheel and opened her eyes. Bottom line—she was afraid of what she’d always been afraid of—that she wouldn’t, couldn’t, live up to someone else’s expectations.

Zoë lifted her chin. Well, Jed Calhoun might reject her. She was just going to have to risk it.

For the third time, she picked up the set of directions Sierra had dictated over the phone and studied them. She was going to find that houseboat. Wasn’t the third time supposed to be the charm? And then one way or another, she was going to find a way to handle the Jed problem once and for all.

Shifting the car into reverse, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a dark SUV move through the crossroad twenty yards behind her. She might not have given it a second glance if it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d seen it before—once on the main highway, and another time on the maze of roads that all seemed to inevitably dead-end at the water. So she wasn’t the only one challenged by the dead-end roads in the area. Feeling somewhat cheered, she backed up, turned the car around and sped up the road.

THE BREEZE off the Chesapeake was cool and steady. Though it wasn’t strong enough to move the hammock he was lying in, it still offered a pleasant contrast to the hot sun that managed to make its way through the leaves overhead. September was still hot in the D.C. area. But Jed Calhoun was growing tired of the lazy days of summer—tired of being trapped in limbo. And he was especially tired of being a “dead” man.

Two weeks of living on his friend Ryder’s houseboat had allowed him to finish recovering from the injuries he’d sustained on his last mission, a contract job for the CIA that he’d very nearly not returned from.

Even now, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t died six months ago in that alley in Bogotá. He’d suffered first a gunshot wound to the shoulder and then the leg. His last conscious thought as he’d faced the CIA agent who’d just shot him in the leg was that he was a goner.

Instead, he’d awakened in a small private hospital where the medical care had been surprisingly good. There was only one small problem. He’d discovered that Jed Calhoun was officially listed as dead, terminated by the agent who’d shot him in the leg. The real kicker was that the orders to take him out had come from the director of the CIA because he, Jed Calhoun, had killed Frank Medici, a career operative with the CIA who’d penetrated a large drug cartel in Colombia.

It was a lie. But he’d been in a bar with Frank and delivered a message to him moments before a bomb had destroyed the entire building.

During the past two weeks, Ryder had called in a few favors from his contacts at CIA headquarters and learned that Jed’s motive for killing Frank Medici had been money. Supposedly someone in the Vidal drug cartel had learned of Frank’s true identity and hired Jed to take him out. Right now there was a million in American dollars in an offshore account in Jed’s name.

The frame was neat and conclusive. He’d been in that bar. He could have planted that bomb. And the money trail led to him. As long as Jed Calhoun remained “dead,” the case was closed. And until Ryder and he could prove that Jed hadn’t killed Frank Medici, he couldn’t rise from the dead.

He was trapped in limbo all right. The one thing he did know was who’d shot him and left him in that alley. Agent Bailey Montgomery, who was currently one of the best data analysts at the CIA. They’d sent a desk jockey to terminate him. That part grated a little, but it had been clever of them to send a woman. It had made him less suspicious when she’d suggested an alley for their meeting. He’d slipped up there, but so had she. He was still alive.

But it wasn’t just his own frustration that was grating on him. He also had a feeling deep in his gut that his time was running out. A week ago he’d helped Ryder out with a case involving Ryder’s fiancé, Sierra Gibbs, and he’d had to appear briefly at a major D.C. party. A lot of the capital’s movers and shakers had been there, including Bailey Montgomery. She might have spotted him. A nagging little hunch told him that she had, and if she had, he had no doubt she’d come after him.

What he needed was just a little something to go on. All it would take was a thread that he could pull on until the whole fabric unraveled. Since Ryder had finished the case involving Sierra, his friend had been working 24/7 to come up with something, but so far Ryder had been drawing blanks.

A short burst of laughter—Sierra’s and Ryder’s—carried clearly to him despite that the hammock was a good three hundred yards from the houseboat and blocked from view by some trees. Jed’s frustration increased.

In the short time that Dr. Sierra Gibbs and Ryder Kane had been together, Jed had found himself envying Ryder. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to have a serious relationship with a woman. Doing freelance contract work for various government agencies was not conducive to having a stable love life.

Which was another reason why he was determined to get his life back. Restlessly, Jed shifted again in the hammock.

Another burst of laughter floated to him on the breeze. He missed that sharing of jokes, the after-sex conversations—and hell, he might as well be honest. He missed the sex, too. No doubt that was why he found himself spinning erotic fantasies about Sierra’s mousy little research assistant, Zoë McNamara.

From the time that he’d first laid eyes on her, he hadn’t been able to shake her loose from his mind. At first he’d found that curious because she wasn’t his type. Usually he was drawn to tall, leggy blondes.

Zoë McNamara was the total opposite of that. In terms of appearance, the most he could give her was cute. She was short, barely an inch or so above five feet tall, she had glossy, dark brown hair that she wore pulled back in a ponytail or a braid. He’d never seen her legs because she usually hid them under long skirts. She hid her eyes, too, behind oversize black-framed glasses. Maybe that was why so many of his dreams were fueled by the challenge of getting her out of those ugly clothes and out from behind those nerdy specs.

She was a prickly little thing, too—didn’t like her personal space invaded. Naturally, it had amused him to invade it at every opportunity. But each time he got close to her, he had an urge to get closer still.

A couple of nights ago at Ryder and Sierra’s engagement party, he’d asked her to dance. And he’d kissed her. Or at least that had been his intention when he’d drawn her behind that cluster of potted palms on the patio of the Blue Pepper.

But he hadn’t kissed her, not fully, not the way he wanted to kiss her. Something had made him step away at the last moment. That wasn’t like him. Jed frowned as he thought about it. The last woman who’d made him hesitate like that was Molly Jo Beckworth in third grade. Jed smiled at the memory. Molly Jo had been tall, blond and beautiful, and on his second attempt to kiss her he hadn’t been hesitant at all.

But Zoë McNamara wasn’t his first love—or any kind of love at all. She was a woman who had attracted him on first sight. Sometimes the chemistry worked that way. In Zoë’s case, the magnetic pull between them had increased each and every time he was anywhere near her. He should have ignored it. Ignored her. He had no business making a move on a woman, any woman, until he got his life back. But he couldn’t seem to resist her. Kissing her had probably been inevitable. And it had shaken him to the core.

In his mind, Jed let himself drift back to the moment. She’d certainly been willing. The moment he’d brushed his mouth over hers, her lips had parted in a welcoming invitation. When she’d risen on her toes to close the distance between them, he’d taken his first sample of her taste.

Oh, she’d been so much sweeter than he’d expected. Even sweeter than the sugar cookies he used to swipe from his mom as fast as she could make them. He’d barely absorbed her flavor when her breath had shuddered out, and the sound of her surrender had nearly sliced right through his control. Then, in the next instant, her hands had gripped his T-shirt and she’d demanded, “More.”

It was that sudden irrefutable proof of the bright passion that lay beneath the surface of Zoë McNamara, struggling to be free, that nearly shattered him.

Oh, how he’d wanted to forget where they were and touch her. He’d wanted her out of that oversize man’s shirt and that skirt. He’d wanted to strip away the practical underwear he knew was underneath.

The desire to use his hands on her, to let his fingers and palms explore her skin, molding every inch of her, had become a knife-sharp ache.

An image had filled his mind of taking her right where they stood. The music was loud enough, the palms thick enough to conceal them. He’d pictured it so clearly in his mind—her legs wrapped around him, her back pressed against the brick wall as he took that first hot, wet slide into her. It would have been wild, reckless, and wonderful. He was skilled enough and she’d been ready.

He still wasn’t sure what had given him the strength to pull back. He suspected that it had something to do with his carefully honed survival instinct, and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with that explanation.

What he was sure of was that when he’d learned she was coming today to deliver some research to Sierra, he’d stuffed a couple of condoms in his shorts pocket. In case he got lucky? Or in case this time he wouldn’t be able to control himself? Either way, that one small action of making sure they would have protection clearly revealed just how much of a pull the woman had on him.

In the days since that kiss, he’d done some research on her. She was the daughter of two very highly acclaimed professors, and from what he’d gathered, she’d been a sort of joint project of theirs, a highly intelligent child that they’d pushed and prodded, supervising every aspect of her education. Each of them had published articles about her.

He thought of his own happily married parents and his kid sister, and all the fun they’d had growing up. He suspected that in comparison, Zoë had had a very lonely childhood as well as a highly pressured one.

Her academic credentials were certainly impressive, and Sierra raved about her work. It was the two months she’d spent as a data analyst at the CIA that had surprised him. She’d resigned shortly before he’d been “terminated,” and her short tenure there had given him his first clue that the real Zoë McNamara might be a sharp right turn from the academic nerd she so carefully projected to the people around her.

The kiss they’d shared certainly provided evidence of that. Maybe it was the contrast that fascinated him so.

With a sigh, Jed shifted again in the hammock. He shouldn’t be thinking of Zoë McNamara. He shouldn’t be thinking of the fact that she’d be here in a short time. Or of the fact that he had condoms in his pocket. Nevertheless, his lips curved in a grin. In the past few days, he’d created some very interesting fantasies about Sierra’s little assistant, some of them in this very hammock. Sex in a hammock called for invention and ingenuity, but it was invariably worth it.

A muffled crash came from the houseboat. Lifting his baseball cap, Jed flicked a glance in that direction. Speaking of sex…

Jed sighed again. He really had to get on with his life. He was growing tired of feeling like a third wheel now that his host and old friend had forged a solid relationship with Sierra Gibbs. She was spending more and more time on the houseboat, and he tried to give them privacy. In deference to his presence, they retired pretty frequently to Ryder’s cabin, but it was clear he was restricting their freedom of sexual expression.

He had to do something and soon. It wasn’t just boredom or restlessness motivating him. It was also that slim possibility that Bailey Montgomery, his would-be assassin, had spotted him at that party.

And there’d been something else that had occurred on the night he’d kissed Zoë. After the party, he and Ryder and Sierra had driven her home, and he was pretty sure that they’d been followed by a dark-colored car—a van or an SUV. It hadn’t gotten close enough for him to be sure. He’d been driving Ryder’s car, and it hadn’t taken much to lose the tail. He’d delayed telling Ryder this weekend because Sierra was here, but he was going to have to tell him soon.

Maybe his best strategy was to make the first move. What did he have to lose if Bailey Montgomery already knew he was alive?

Jed pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes to block out the sun. It was a big if, but certainly worth considering. In the meantime, he was going to take a nap. In some of the toughest situations he’d found himself in, he’d always relied on his subconscious mind to come up with a plan.

He hoped it wouldn’t fail him now.

3

ZOË BRAKED HER MIATA to a stop, then peered at Sierra’s directions. Ahead of her was a houseboat, white with green shutters just as Sierra had described it. To the right was Ryder Kane’s sporty red convertible. Sufficiently reassured that she’d finally arrived at her destination, she climbed out of the car, lifted the box of note cards from behind the driver’s seat and walked toward the boat.

Nerves knotted in her stomach, but she made herself put one foot in front of the other. The time for analysis was over. She was going to act. She should feel relieved instead of feeling like Joan of Arc climbing up her funeral pyre.

She was ten feet away from the houseboat when she heard a muffled moan. Dropping the box, she raced forward, but when she heard the second moan, louder this time, she stopped short. The third moan was longer and accompanied by a rapping sound as if something was bumping against the wall in a steady rhythm. Zoë was pretty sure that no one was in trouble or pain. Chances were good that Sierra and Ryder were making love.

And she’d been about to break in on them. Not her best move under the circumstances. As the rhythm of the rapping noise increased and she realized that she was just standing there eavesdropping, she turned and hurried back to the box she’d dropped.

Dropping to her knees, she began to gather up the note cards that had fallen out of the box. But in one part of her mind, she was picturing what Ryder and Sierra were doing, and the images triggered a hot lick of lust inside of her.

Pushing the mental pictures away, she focused on the note cards. Sierra used blue ones and hers were white. Methodically she began sorting them into two piles. But the images slipped back into her mind—only this time, it wasn’t Ryder and Sierra that she saw. It was Jed Calhoun and herself, limbs entwined, bodies locked and moving in that quickly escalating rhythm that she was listening to. Heat flooded through her with such intensity that for a moment, she thought she just might melt into a pool on the ground. So vivid were the pictures in her mind that she could almost feel Jed’s long, hard body pressing against hers, and she could imagine quite vividly what it would feel like to have him pushing into her, withdrawing and pushing in again. She wanted, oh, she wanted…

There was another sound, a long feminine cry, and there was no mistaking the satisfaction in it. Then there was silence. Zoë pressed a hand against her stomach. Her insides were so hot, so empty, and longing for…something. When was the last time she’d achieved that kind of release? That kind of pleasure? Years ago.

She should leave. She should get back into her car and drive around a bit. After bunching all the note cards together, she stuffed them back into the box.

And then suddenly, she felt him. It wasn’t a sound that warned her. It was her body’s reaction that told her Jed Calhoun was there even before she turned and saw him standing at the edge of the trees, wearing nothing but cutoff shorts and a baseball cap.

Her mouth went dry as dust, and a rush of sensations cartwheeled through her. Heat. Cold. An electric shock of lust. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even think.

He was watching her in that intent way he had. Even at this distance, she could feel his eyes moving over her, the heat of his gaze on her skin. The sensation was as real as if he were touching her.

She wanted him to touch her. She wanted his hands on her. More than that, she wanted her hands on him. But he wasn’t moving. He was a man who could wait for what he wanted.

Lifting her chin, she rose to her feet. Well, she wasn’t going to wait for what she wanted.

JED HADN’T THOUGHT it was possible for his body to get any harder, but it did with the first step she took toward him. He’d been watching her for some time, and the sounds coming from the houseboat had made his head spin with images of what it would be like to touch her until she was hot and wet and slick, to thrust inside of her and feel her close around him….

If he’d gone to her now, he wasn’t sure he could have kept himself from taking her right here on the spot. Control was something he’d always prided himself on. But it seemed to disappear around Zoë. Case in point, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from getting out of the hammock and coming to see her. Now he was willing her to come to him.

That’s what she’d done in the little daydream he’d been having in the hammock before he’d heard her car. The woman he’d conjured up in his mind had risen out of the water like a nymph or some kind of sea sprite, and she’d walked toward him just as she was doing now. Her hair had been loose, just as it was now.

The punch of desire that hit him low and hard was new and very real. So was the sharp need to bury his hands in that hair.

In the daydream, she’d been out of those baggy, drab clothes of hers. He’d imagined her in a bikini, but in the snug jeans and tank top, she looked even sexier. That slender, compact body was more appealing, and those legs were much longer than he’d imagined.

How often in life was reality better than a fantasy?

She didn’t stop until she was nearly toe-to-toe with him. Though amber-colored sunglasses covered her eyes, he felt it like another little punch in the gut the minute her gaze locked on his.

She cleared her throat. “Would you like to have sex with me?”

Jed felt his mind begin to empty, and he was pretty sure his mouth had dropped open. Talk about fantasies. But this was real, right? He badly wanted to pinch himself to make sure, but he didn’t think he could move his hands. He concentrated on finding his voice.

She certainly wasn’t having any trouble using hers. He could see her lips moving, and through the buzzing sound in his head, some of the words were getting through.

“I’m not crazy—don’t think I am—it’s just that you keep slipping into my thoughts and my dreams.”

He could understand that and even sympathize with the annoyance he heard in her voice. That was real. And so was her scent: sunshine and something that reminded him again of homemade sugar cookies. He wasn’t sure how long he could wait to take a bite of her.

“So…what I’m thinking is we have sex—if you think that you’d be open to that?”

Open? He felt another punch of desire and struggled to focus.

“I’m not suggesting anything long-term. Just a brief liaison.”

“Liaison.” Relief streamed through him that he’d not only found his voice, but he’d managed to get his tongue around the word.

She waved a hand. “I just need to get you out of my system so that I can think again.”

“I’m in your system?” That was good to know, since she was definitely in his. Some of the blood seemed to have returned to his brain because he was thinking again, and he was pretty sure he could move.

Nodding, she drew a deep breath, then hurried on. “I know that you may not be as attracted to me as I am to you, but maybe there’s something that I could do. Some particular fantasy that you’re into. I’d be willing to experiment a—”

“Hold up.” He was tempted to let her go on, just to hear what she’d say, but he was even more tempted to see her eyes. He reached over and pulled off the sunglasses. Her eyes were almond shaped, like a cat’s eye. Funny that he’d never noticed that when she’d worn the owl glasses. And this close, they were the color of rich, dark chocolate flecked with gold.

“Why did you do that?” Zoë asked.

“I was curious about what you would look like without glasses,” he said. “In reality. In my fantasies, you’re always underneath me and I’m inside of you when I take them off of you.”

“Oh.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes darken and cloud.

She blinked. “Well…then, I suppose…” She blinked again. “Are you saying that you’ll have sex with me?”

She was so damn cute. He had to touch her then, drawing one finger along her jawline as he’d done so often in his fantasies. Her skin was even softer than he’d imagined. “You had me at ‘Would you like to have sex with me?’ Since then, I’ve been fighting off the impulse to drag you to the ground and take you right here.”

She blinked again and glanced back at the houseboat. “That’s probably not a good idea. We could be interrupted.”

“Good point.” Taking her hand, he drew her into the trees.

ZOË SWALLOWED hard as she walked with Jed. She was going to have sex with Jed Calhoun. In a minute, he would sink in. To her. In a minute, they’d actually do it. When he’d touched her, just that gentle stroke of his finger along her jaw, heat had arrowed through her, and her toes had curled. No man had ever made her toes curl before.

So why was there a little knot of panic forming in her stomach? She stopped short, and he glanced down at her.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked.

“No.” She looked up and met his eyes. He suddenly seemed taller. Sunlight was filtered through the leaves overhead, and in the shifting shadows, Jed Calhoun looked more dangerous, too. For some reason, that made her want him even more. The thought occurred to her that she might just be getting in a little over her head.

“What then?” he asked.

She moistened lips that had gone dry and searched for something to say. “Protection.” She tugged her hand away. “I have some condoms in the car.”

Before she could even turn, he had her hand again. “I’ve got it covered.” With his free hand, he patted his pocket. “And that’s not the only thing that’s got you hesitating. We don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, we do.” She met his eyes then. “I don’t think I could stand it if we don’t. It’s just nerves. I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Good.”

She watched in fascination as his lips softened and curved. Something inside of her eased.

“That means we’re in the same boat, because I haven’t done this in a while, either,” he said as he drew her farther into the woods. “But you know what they say? It’s like riding a bike. I’m banking on the fact that it will come back to me.”

They’d reached a small clearing where a hammock swung between two trees. It was so quiet that she could hear leaves rustling overhead.

“I never learned how to ride a bike,” she confessed as nerves fluttered again in her stomach. There’d been too many classes, all that extra math and science that her parents had insisted she take so that she could live up to their expectations.

Jed squeezed her hand. “Not to worry. From the time I was about seven, bikes were my passion. I had dreams of racing in the Tour de France.”

She met his eyes. But he didn’t say any more. He seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move. She moistened her lips and cleared her throat. “I did offer you a fantasy. Just how kinky do you like them?”

He was studying her now, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. What was he seeing?

But she knew the answer to that. He was seeing a plain-looking woman. She didn’t kid herself that in the short amount of time after Sierra’s phone call she’d had time to transform herself.

Suddenly, he wiggled his eyebrows at her. “On a scale of one to ten, ten being very kinky, I’d say I like my fantasies at about a twelve.” Then he shot her a quick grin. “Just kidding. Why don’t we try this?” Leaning down, he gripped her chin and brushed a quick kiss over her mouth.

A dozen little explosions of pleasure shot through her. His lips couldn’t have been touching hers for more than an instant, yet every single atom in her body seemed to be reaching out to him, and a delicious weakness had attacked her limbs. If he hadn’t been holding her up by her chin, she just might have sagged to the ground.

“Truthfully, on the kinky scale, I’m pretty flexible,” he continued. “How about you? You did say that you’d be willing to experiment a bit. Did you mean it?”

When she moistened her lips this time, she tasted him—something dark and male and delicious. She thought that with Jed she just might be able to get to a twelve herself. “Sure.”

“Good. Because I’ve been having these recurring fantasies about making love to you in this hammock.”

Zoë shot the hammock a quick look. Then she checked out the two trees. They looked pretty sturdy. Still…“What if we fall out?”

“We won’t. I’ve explored the possibilities pretty thoroughly in my mind, and I have a plan.”

“Oh.” Zoë drew in a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Great,” Jed said. “But first, we have to strip.”

4

“STRIP?” Zoë swallowed hard.

Jed unsnapped his shorts. “Yeah. It’ll be challenging to get our clothes off once we get in the hammock. It’s pretty close quarters.”

Her gaze froze on his zipper as he lowered it. Then his cutoffs slid to the ground. He wore only the thinnest pair of black briefs. For a moment, she simply stared. If she’d had any doubt at all that he was enthused about her proposition, it was put to rest.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“No.” She wasn’t going to think about her body. Just do it. She had a wild side. All she had to do was tap into it. Gripping the edges of her tank top, she pulled it over her head and dropped it on the ground. Then she ordered her hands to unsnap her jeans, pull the zipper. Somehow, she managed to wiggle out of the jeans.

“You don’t wear underpants.”

The hoarseness in his voice had her eyes flying to his. “Yes, I do. Usually.” She just hadn’t been able to put on the sensible cotton briefs she usually wore, and…“I didn’t have time to buy anything sexy.”

He smiled at her in that slow way he had. “My good luck. One of my favorite recurring fantasies is about a girl who never wears underpants.”

She stared at him. “That’s…so adolescent.”

He laughed then, the rich sound filling the air, and Zoë felt some of her tension ease.

He took one of her hands. “Are you telling me that you don’t fantasize about guys who don’t wear undershorts?”

She bit back a smile. “Not yet. And you’re still wearing yours.”

“I want you to pull them off.”

“Another fantasy?”

He winked at her. “You’ve got my number.”

She reached out and slipped her fingers beneath the elastic waistband, then slowly tugged the briefs down until they slid to his feet. She caught herself staring again. “I think I have a fantasy now,” she said.

“Good.”

Before she was quite aware of what he was doing, he’d reached behind her and unfastened her bra. She felt a whisper of cotton on her skin as it slid to the ground.

“Lovely.” With one finger he traced a path along the slope of each breast.

“I’m small,” she said.

“You’re neat,” he corrected.

He slipped his hand into hers again and drew her closer. “Before we get to the kinky part, I want to kiss you.” He tipped her chin up as he lowered his head. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you for a long time.”

His mouth was so close that she could feel his breath on her lips. “Me, too.”

“Nice to know that we’re on the same page,” he murmured as he framed her face with his hands and urged her up onto her toes. Even then, he only pressed his mouth lightly against hers before he withdrew. But he followed with another kiss, lingering longer before he broke it. “I’ve been wondering about the fit.”

As far as she could tell, the fit was very good. Each new angle that he tried seemed to get better. And his taste—the wonderful male flavor was as good as chocolate. When his tongue finally touched hers, she had to reach out and grab his waist to steady herself. This time when he drew away, she slid her hands up and grabbed his shoulders to pull him closer. “More.”

“Yes.” Finally, he deepened the kiss. But he was still gentle, still tasting her as if he had all the time in the world and intended to take it. Pleasure streamed through her with an intensity that she’d never felt before. She could smell the heat of the day, the earthy scent of the trees and ground, and the sea. But she could also smell Jed—a mixture of soap and sun and man. She was so aware of that firm yet gentle mouth and the warmth and strength of the hands that framed her face—she felt the pressure of each finger. She was melting, floating, and he wasn’t even touching her. Not really. When he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, the sharp stab of desire took her by surprise. She pushed against him.

When he drew back, she said, “I think it’s time to get into the hammock.”

He drew a thumb over her bottom lip. “Not yet.”

She pressed her hands more firmly against his chest. “Why not?”

“Once we get in there, foreplay becomes problematic. Besides, I’ve never been a fan of the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of sex. I want you ready.”

“I am.” For heaven’s sake, she was pretty sure she’d been ready the first time she’d seen him.

He moved his mouth to her earlobe and gave it a quick nip. “Maybe I’m not. I’ve wanted to be inside you since the first time I saw you. I want you wet and slick.”

The whispered words, the warmth of his breath, had a tremor moving through her. She managed to take in enough air to say, “I’m practically melting.”

His gaze returned to hers, and he smiled that slow, easy grin. She was very much aware that his mouth was only a breath away from hers.

“Are you always in such a big hurry?” he asked.

Heat rose in her cheeks. She’d never thought about it before. “I guess.” But perhaps her sexual experience had been limited to men who’d always been in a hurry.

“Sugar, anticipation is half the fun. But in the interests of compromise, I think we can proceed to step two.”

Before she could react or even think, he spanned her waist with his hands, lifted her and carried her toward the hammock. Then, to her surprise, she found herself on her feet again with her back against one of the trees.

“Why don’t we step up the pace just a bit?” His mouth covered hers again, and this time he probed more deeply with his tongue. His hands weren’t quite gentle as he moved them up her sides and then slid them to cover her breasts. The heat that shot through her was even more intense than what she’d felt before. Her toes curled into the cool grass.

But still he moved slowly as if he had all the time in the world—as if he wanted as much time as he could get. Sensations streamed through her in a series of contrasts: the coolness of the breeze off the water and the furnacelike heat radiating from his body; the strength of those hands stroking down her arms, up her sides, yet the restraint in the patient, thorough exploration of her skin; the hammering race of his heart against the palms of her hands and the slow, gentle movement of his thumbs over her nipples. She felt as if she were sinking and floating at the same time.

When he lifted his mouth from hers, she whispered, “Please.” But she wasn’t sure if she was pleading with him to stop or to go on. And on.

His mouth was poised above hers. “Have I convinced you yet of the benefits of foreplay?”

He was teasing her. Again. She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “Maybe.”

“I guess I’ll just have to try harder,” he said. “You’re a research scientist, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then you probably run experiments all the time.”

Her brows drew together. “No. I mostly gather and analyze data.”

“That’ll work. I’m just going to gather a little data on what you like. We’ll start with this.” Leaning down, he ran a string of nibbling kisses along her shoulder until he reached her throat. Then he nipped at the ligament just where her shoulder joined her neck. She felt her body go limp as a sharp streak of pleasure shot through her.

“Better?” he asked.

“Mmm.” Even her lips had grown weak. She couldn’t seem to form a coherent word.

His chuckle was a rumble that started deep in his chest and vibrated against her fingers. He began to feather kisses along her jaw, down her throat, all around that spot where he’d bitten her before. When would he do it again? Desire coiled and tightened inside her. “Do it again.”

“Sure thing, sugar.”

But it was his tongue she felt first, hot and wet. And the bite was sharper this time. So was the pleasure. Her skin felt icy cold and hot at the same time, and desire tightened into an ache. Suddenly, she had to touch him. She ran her hands up his chest. The hair felt soft, the skin smooth. Both sensations provided a delicious contrast to the rock-hard muscles she felt beneath.

“Yes,” he murmured as he began to nibble again along the line of her throat. “Touch me.”

Encouraged, she ran her palms down his sides and lower over his narrow waist and sharp hip bones, absorbing the hard planes and angles. Each little response he made—a sharp intake of breath when she tried to span his waist, a groan when she moved lower to his thighs—spurred her on. She’d never before received so much enjoyment from merely touching a man. The more she did it, the more she wanted to continue.

To her surprise, her hands seemed to be developing a mind of their own as they moved down and up his thighs, then around to grip his buttocks. And squeeze.

“You’re good,” he said, gripping her waist and pulling her close so that she felt the hard length of his penis press into her stomach.

This time, her groan mixed with his, and the ache inside of her twisted into a pain. Then he set her back against the tree. “Touch me.”

Her hands followed his command and closed around the hard length of him. Once again she marveled at the contrasts—steel hardness covered in velvet. Fascinated, she stroked her hand down, then up. She was about to do it again when he gripped her wrist.

“Am I doing it wrong?” she asked.

For the first time, he wasn’t smiling and the look she saw in his eyes wasn’t amusement. It was something else, something that shot a little shock wave of heat through her.

“Sugar, you’re doing it just right, and if you keep doing it, we won’t make it to the hammock.”

That would have been perfectly fine with her, but she didn’t protest when he drew her hand away and placed it on his waist. “You’re really attached to your fantasies, aren’t you?”

Now his lips curved just the barest fraction. “You got that right. And I haven’t nearly finished collecting data.”

She was absolutely sure that her heart skipped a beat as he slowly lowered his mouth again. His lips brushed hers briefly, then retreated until they were barely a breath away. “Let me see. Where was I?”

Before she could think of an answer, he angled his head and pressed his mouth to the base of her throat. Then using both lips and tongue he journeyed lower inch by inch until he reached the valley between her breasts. Then he lingered there as if some flavor had captured him. Tension coiled inside of her again.

His hands lay at the sides of her breasts and his thumbs were still stroking gently, steadily over her nipples. At any moment she expected him to remove one of his thumbs and replace it with his mouth. Just the thought had her nipples growing harder. She was anticipating the way his mouth would feel, but when he finally moved again it was to brush his lips lower. And Lower. Each lick of his tongue, each press of his mouth sent shivers along her nerve endings.

She shuddered and cried out when he pushed his tongue deep into her navel and pinched her nipples at the same instant. She’d never experienced pleasure so sharp or a need so consuming.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmured as he nipped at her waist. “Better than I ever dreamed.”

The words brought their own kind of pleasure. She felt as if she should respond, but her thoughts were focused on what he was doing with his mouth and where he was headed. At least, she thought she knew where he was headed as he released her breasts, lowered to his knees and drew her legs apart. Anticipation streamed through her, and for the second time she was willing to believe that it was half the fun. But she wanted the rest of it, and she wanted it now.

Her voice was a rasp when she said, “I’m ready.”

“In a minute. I’m really getting into this data collection.”

She wanted to hit him, but she couldn’t seem to lift her arms.

And still he took his time, making her wait, making her want, until the tension building inside of her was almost unbearable. She thought she knew what was coming, what it would feel like when his mouth finally reached its destination, but the quick lick of his tongue shot through her like electricity.

She cried out, arching as her arms shot back to grip the bark of the tree.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured as he gripped her thighs to steady her. Then he pulled her closer for a deeper taste, probing first with his tongue and then more deeply with his fingers. The pleasure grew more intense as he penetrated her again and again in a slow, steady motion. But every time she thought she was close to climaxing, he drew away to trail a line of kisses down her thigh. And then he would start the process all over again.

She wanted to scream but she couldn’t find the breath. She wanted him to go on almost as much as she wanted to end the torture he was putting her through.

When he finally stood up and drew her toward the hammock, she would have done anything he wanted. On the way, he grabbed his shorts, removed a condom, and managed to get it on.

“Getting in is always a bit tricky. Turn around.”

As soon as she did, he slipped an arm around her waist and positioned her back against his chest. “When I sit, I’m going to pull you into my lap and then we’ll tumble in together.”

Her legs felt like jelly. If he hadn’t had a strong grip on her, Zoë was sure she would have landed fanny first on the ground. As it was, they made it into the hammock without a mishap. He’d been right about the close quarters, she decided. They were lying on their sides, pressed together tight like spoons in a silverware drawer. She should have been uncomfortable, yet she wasn’t. He was a solid wall behind her. Their legs were tangled; one of his lay between hers. One of his arms was trapped beneath her, and his free hand was stroking over her hip. She was very aware of his erection pressing hard against her backside, fanning the fire that he’d started inside of her.

“You okay?” he asked.

“No,” she said, suddenly annoyed. “I’m not going to be okay until you’re inside of me. No more data collecting.” But when she tried to turn, intending to get on top of him, he held her still.

“So help me,” she fumed. “You’re going to pay for this.”

His chuckle rumbled again. “I sure hope so, sugar. But trust me. I’ve got a plan.”

“It better be faster than—” She broke off, distracted when he shifted slightly, lifting the leg that was between hers. “Did I mention that getting in is always a bit tricky?” Then he pushed into her in one long, slow stroke.

“Better?” he murmured against her ear.

She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure she could breathe. He was filling her and the pressure was huge. She drew air in. Maybe. “Yes.”

“You don’t sound positive. We could try something else.”

But when he started to withdraw, she reached behind and clamped a hand on his butt. “No.” She didn’t think she could stand it if he withdrew. “This is fine.”

“Fine isn’t what I’m after,” he murmured. “Let’s try this.”

He moved his left hand to cover her breast and slid his right one lower until one finger was between her folds and pressing against her clitoris. At the same moment, he withdrew and then pushed in again. The fierce lash of pleasure made her cry out.

“Shh,” he murmured, holding her still until she steadied. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she managed. “Yes. Do it again.”

He did, slowly for the first few strokes as if he were waiting for her to get used to him. When her nails dug into his butt again, he steadily increased his rhythm. The pleasure streaming through her grew more intense with every stroke. She knew her climax was close, but he still wasn’t moving fast enough, hard enough. She’d never had release build this slowly, this agonizingly. She’d never known a hunger like this. Was this what he’d meant about anticipation?

Desperate, she dug her nails one more time into his butt. “Please. I need—”

He used his mouth on her neck, biting hard on that spot that he’d located before. Then he began to move faster and faster until her orgasm finally erupted in a violent explosion of pleasure.

Even then, he didn’t slow the rhythm, and when he cried out with his own release, she climaxed again.

Afterward, he held her close for a long time until the trembling that she couldn’t seem to control stopped.

And she let him hold her. There was pleasure, a totally different kind, in lying there in the hammock with his arms holding her tight.

That one small piece of data told her that she was in deep trouble.

5

“WE NEED TO TALK,” Jed said.

Ryder turned from the railing of the houseboat where he’d been watching what he could see of Sierra’s car disappear up the dirt road in a cloud of dust. The early-morning sky was pale gray with a sliver of silver moon still visible in the sky. “Right now? What time is it?”

“Six o’clock.” Jed tried to keep the impatience out of his voice. He’d wanted to talk to Ryder since Zoë had left the afternoon before. Since his friend had been occupied with Sierra, he’d bided his time. But the sense that his time was running out had been growing more urgent since Zoë had left. And he knew from experience to trust his instincts. He handed Ryder one of the mugs of coffee he was holding.

“Thanks. You read my mind.” Ryder took a tentative sip, then a long swallow before he narrowed his eyes and studied his friend. “You’re up early.”

“Didn’t sleep much.”

Ryder made a grunt that Jed interpreted as sympathy, then took another long swallow of the coffee. “Give me a minute here. Need the caffeine.”

Jed could appreciate that. He was on his second cup. He didn’t suppose his old friend had gotten much sleep all weekend. Jed himself hadn’t slept much because his thoughts had been filled with Zoë.

It hadn’t been merely the lovemaking that had filled his mind whenever he’d closed his eyes and tried to drift off. Although he’d thought about that. A lot. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake loose the memory of what she’d tasted like, what she’d felt like—that silky, smooth skin, that slender, athletic body.

Also on his mind had been what had happened afterward when he’d held her…and hadn’t wanted to let her go. Even now his body was recalling the pleasure he’d felt simply lying there holding her close. He’d drifted off then, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d slept. But when Zoë had awakened him, she’d been all business, all tightly wound nerves.

He hadn’t been able to resist the urge to loosen her up again. He’d wanted to experience once more what it felt like to make her come. Unfortunately, his attempt had tumbled them both out of the hammock.

She’d laughed. They both had, like idiots. And strangely enough it had been the image of Zoë McNamara, sitting next to him on the ground and laughing that had most persistently haunted his thoughts during the night.

He’d never heard her laugh before and he wanted to hear that rich, delightful sound again almost as much as he wanted to make love to her again.

But he couldn’t follow up on either desire. Jed took a long swallow of coffee, and this time he tasted the bitterness. It suited his current mood. Pursuing any kind of further relationship with Zoë McNamara was impossible as long as he was a “dead” man.

If the gut feeling he’d been experiencing that Bailey Montgomery had spotted him at that big D.C. party hadn’t been enough to spur him to action, the time he’d spent with Zoë certainly had.

“Shit,” Ryder said. “This coffee sucks. It’s been—what?—ten years since we shared an apartment in college, and your coffee hasn’t improved?”

Turning, Jed raised an eyebrow as he studied his friend. “Well, your taste buds are functioning. Are the brain cells up and running yet?”

Ryder ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, glaring down at the mug in his hand. “Making a decent cup of coffee isn’t rocket science. I don’t know anyone who’s a better shot with a rifle than you are.” He waved his free hand. “Except for me, there’s no one who can match you at finessing the information highway to find out anything you want to know, whether it’s classified or not. You know Shakespeare’s plays like the back of your hand. My God, you’re even a brilliant tactical fisherman. If you ever want to give up government work, you can probably get your own show on the fishing channel. I can’t see how you can screw up fixing a simple cup of coffee day after day.”

“Consistency is one of my finer qualities,” Jed said with a grin. “And if you’re through with your rant, I’d like to get down to business. I’ve been imposing on your hospitality for two weeks now, and I know that you’ve put in a good many hours but so far we haven’t even gotten the scent of who framed me for Frank Medici’s murder.”

“Not true,” Ryder said. “We know that Agent Bailey Montgomery executed the hit. She may be in on the frame.”

“Hell, I told you that much. But she didn’t execute the hit alone. It was a sharpshooter who got me in the shoulder. Her bullet was the second one.” Jed reminded him. “In any case, she’s the one person who might know something that would help me.”

Ryder turned and studied him again. His eyes and the set of his face told Jed that either the words or the coffee had done the trick.

“I’m thinking that it’s time I took a more proactive role in this,” Jed said.

“You’ve decided to rise from the dead?” Ryder asked.

Jed rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got this feeling that I may have already risen. I haven’t told you because you’ve been busy with Sierra. And I’ve been trying to come up with a strategy.”

Ryder’s eyes narrowed. “Haven’t told me what?”

“Bailey Montgomery may have spotted me at that D.C. party when I was supposed to be helping you guard Sierra.” He’d been stationed on the patio at the back of the Langford house right outside the room where Sierra was supposed to be meeting with the vice president. Someone had knocked him out. He hadn’t been out for more than a few minutes but it had been enough time for a killer to kidnap Sierra. It had certainly been enough time for someone passing by to get a good look at him.

“I should have insisted that you wear one of your disguises.”

Jed’s brows shot up. “And how would we have explained that to Sierra and her sisters and their significant others and Zoë? Besides, we didn’t plan on my being knocked out.”

“Right.” Ryder sighed. “Why didn’t you mention the possibility that you’d been spotted before?”

“Because I don’t have anything to go on besides a gut feeling. I got it again when we left your little engagement shindig the other night at the Blue Pepper. I think I spotted a car following us—a dark-colored SUV or a van. I lost it easily enough, so I can’t be sure, but I haven’t been able to get rid of the feeling that my time is running out.”

“Great,” Ryder said. “I know you well enough—what your gut instinct is telling you is probably right. That means we have to make some kind of a move.” He took another swallow of his coffee. “That SUV—that’s why you did all that fancy driving on the way back here that night, isn’t it?”

Jed grinned at him. “I thought you were too distracted with Sierra in the backseat to notice.”

Ryder ran a hand through his hair again. “Yeah, I was, or I would have figured it out sooner. But if you’re right and someone saw you with Sierra and me, they’re going to pursue that connection. Good thing no one can trace me to this place. Even if they could, it’s next to impossible to find without specific directions.”

Ryder took another swallow of coffee. “If you think Bailey Montgomery is your best source of information, please don’t tell me that you’re just going to walk into her office and ask her.”

Jed smiled slowly. “It’s a tempting thought. But I was thinking of a more conservative move—to start off with at least. I’m thinking we might break into her office and search it—her desk, her hard drive.”

Ryder’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re talking about breaking into the CIA headquarters in Langley? It’d be a challenge.”

Just the kind of challenge that Ryder would enjoy. Jed was banking on that. Still deep in thought, Ryder took a long sip of his coffee, grimaced and then spat it out over the railing. “Shit. I can’t drink this. We’re going to finish this conversation in the galley.”

Jed followed him down the short flight of stairs. The kitchen was small and well equipped with shiny pots and pans hanging off hooks. Ryder filled the teakettle, rinsed out the French-press pot and measured coffee into it.

“Gage Sinclair might be willing to help us,” Jed said.

Ryder frowned in concentration. “Gage Sinclair. If it’s the same man I’m thinking of, he doesn’t work at the CIA anymore.”

Jed shook his head. “No. But we worked together on a couple of assignments, and I got him out of a messy situation about seven years ago on a job we did together in Jordan. He got shot up pretty bad and lost a leg but it could have been a lot worse. Since then, he’s gotten out of fieldwork.”

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