A Breath Away. Wendy Etherington

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СКАЧАТЬ from thieves. Even politicians, who always seemed dogged by threats and stalkers, called her and her team every election year.

      They all did what she said without question, either out of fear for themselves or their families. They relied on her expertise.

      No one had ever been so cocky as to order her services through a third party, then not even bother to show up for his purchase. She was sure the contrast wasn’t lost on Tremaine.

      At l:00 a.m., she locked the guest-bedroom door, showered, re-dressed, then lay on top of the bed. She might as well get some rest if her client was going to continue to ignore her.

      In a fitful sleep, she dreamed about her parents. They stood behind their ancient walnut bar at Beau’s, their arms crossed over their chests, their faces set with disappointment. Guilt washed over her. She wanted to tell them she hadn’t failed them. She wanted to explain she was sorry she hadn’t been there to protect them….

      Then she was hugging Lucas. She lay her head against his chest and delighted in the beat of his heart, realizing there was still one person in the world who loved her unconditionally, who shared her blood. She relaxed, letting the feeling of security wash through her.

      His lips whispered over her cheek. “I need your help,” he said softly.

      In less than a second, she realized she was no longer dreaming. There were indeed lips against her cheek. Warm, soft, persuasive lips attached to a warm, hard, male body. Neither of which belonged to her cousin.

      Though training and instincts screamed danger, she paused to breathe in the scent of a spicy, exotic cologne and a faint smell of whiskey and realized the rumors about her new client must be true.

      He was very good with his hands.

      By the moonlight streaming through the window, she could see he lay on his side, pressed against her, his lips sending shivers of delight skating down her spine, his clever fingers gliding up her stomach. Under her shirt. That simple touch ignited sensual sparks inside her, creating a longing she fought to ignore.

      Did he intend to disarm her before seducing her? Somehow, she doubted he’d bother.

      “Move your hand up another inch, Tremaine, and you’ll lose it.”

      With a quick flip, she’d straddled him and pressed her Beretta to the center of his forehead.

      The rogue had the nerve to smile. “My, my, Ms. Broussard. Is this how you greet all your clients?”

      “Only the ones who pick the lock to my bedroom.”

      “You could hardly call that thing on the door a lock.”

      No doubt she could have gotten past it herself, but what infuriated her was that she hadn’t heard him. He’d come through the outer door, crossed the living room, opened the bedroom door, crossed that room, then slid into bed with her before she’d been aware. Normally, she’d have heard him when he put the key card in the exterior door lock. Either she was really tired, or he was even more skilled than she’d imagined.

      She also wasn’t crazy about the way she’d responded to his touch. For a moment she’d relished the contact with him and wanted more. Staring down into his sculpted face, his silvery eyes glittering back at her, his jet-black hair gleaming almost blue in the low light, she wanted him still. His innate sensuality was even more potent in person than in pictures, though some part of her managed to recognize that an attraction to her client was a weakness she couldn’t afford.

      More aggravated at herself than him, she holstered her pistol. “Is there a particular reason you’re in bed with me?”

      “It’s my bed.”

      “It’s the wrong bed. This is the guest room.”

      He grinned. “My mistake.”

      “I’m sure. Where the hell have you been?”

      “On an errand of mercy.”

      She rolled her eyes.

      “Pictures don’t do you justice, Agent Broussard.”

      “That’s former Agent Broussard, and I’ll have to return the compliment.” Her body still hummed from the feel of his fingers. Men—especially male clients—didn’t overwhelm her. They didn’t affect her personally.

      He braced his hands at her waist. “We could continue what we started.”

      To her surprise, Jade was tempted. She held nearly everyone at a distance, so she rarely took the time to indulge in sex. She was definitely aware of the hard ridge of male flesh pressed intimately between her legs. She already knew his hands promised magic.

      Their physical attraction was as obvious in the room as the bed they were lying on. Her stomach fluttered with need. Her fingers tingled. All she had to do was lean down, press her lips to his…

      “Bad idea,” she said, jerking back.

      As she climbed off him, his eyes darkened with seemingly genuine regret. “Perhaps another time.”

      She didn’t comment and glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 4:00 a.m. It was time to get back to business. “You want to tell me who shot you and why?”

      “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you, would I?”

      “Why do you need me? Why don’t you trot back to Washington and let the NSA deal with this?”

      He rolled off the bed and gained his feet with a grace that she was certain had gotten him through more than one second-story window undetected and unscathed. “I’ll tell you everything over coffee.”

      Somehow I doubt that.

      Watching him stride from the room, Jade’s gaze slid down his lean body, covered in tailored black pants and a black ribbed turtleneck, and wondered if he’d really given up his former profession.

      How many people had he made a fool of in his murky past? How many beds had he crawled into? Was his present just as devious? She knew that less than half of the rumors about her were accurate. Was it the same for him? What was his real story?

      He intrigued her more than was wise. In her line of work, she had to maintain a professional distance in order to serve her clients well. In her private life, space was just as welcome. But the moments of personal intimacy she’d just shared with Tremaine already had her thinking of him as something more than a client, and she couldn’t quite shake the lingering tremors of desire.

      Not good. Not good at all.

      Was she really crazy enough to help him?

      Apparently, since she sighed and stalked after him.

      She did, however, double-check to be sure her ammunition clip was fully loaded first.

      2

      REMY EYED JADE “The Arrow” Broussard over the rim of his coffee mug and again marveled that the hard, determined woman now pacing in front of him had been melting in his arms only moments earlier, her fiery hair tangled around his fingers, СКАЧАТЬ