God help her, she needed to orgasm.
"Might as well answer me." He blew another breath over the tight, tormented peak. "What are you up to, Trouble?"
"Trouble," she agreed, a moan filling the word as his fingers shifted inside her, reached higher and found the most amazing little bunch of nerve endings. Hell, where had those come from? That wasn't the G-spot, it might even be better than the G-spot.
The I-spot. The Ian spot.
"Oh God, just let me come," she panted, her hands tightening in his hair as her breathing became harder, rougher.
"Tell me," he whispered, but despite his seeming determination, he wasn't unaffected.
Kira stared into his eyes and saw the near black irises, the burgundy glow of lust, and the flush mantling his cheekbones. Heavy sensuality shaped his lips and gave his gaze a drowsy, wicked appearance.
"I swear on my uncle's bank account. Business. Just business. Now get me off, dammit." She tried to writhe beneath him, tried to go that last little sensation into orgasm without his help.
"Goddamn you!"
Before Kira could react his fingers had slid from her body, jerked from beneath her pants, and he was jackknifing from the bed to glare at her as he stood over her.
And there she lay, panting, her nipples standing as straight and tall as the imperial guard and her vagina still gushing with need.
"Tease!" She rolled to the other side of the bed, sat on the edge, and jerked her boots off first, then tugged her pants from her legs.
Clad in nothing but a white silk thong, she jerked the bronze silk robe from the chair by the bed and shrugged it on as she turned to face him.
"You know, Ian, this habit you have of leaving me a second before I get off is becoming annoying."
"Your habit of poking your nose into my business could become dangerous," he snapped, fury contorting his expression. But lust gleamed thick and bright in his eyes.
Kira pushed her fingers through her tangled hair, shook it out, and cast him a mocking look from beneath her lashes.
"Oh really, Ian," she drawled then. "You brought your business to me, remember? The night you slipped into my condo and crawled that tight ass of yours into my bed during that op in Atlanta. Don't start crying foul now. You're just pissed off because you finally met a woman unwilling to play the ready-and-willing submissive. Speaking of those, didn't you ever get bored?"
His lips thinned and she swore that muscle jumping in his jaw was going to tear right out of the tightly stretched flesh of his cheek.
Damn, he was a tad upset.
Poor baby.
"What kind of deal is Homeland Security running here, Kira? Don't fuck with me. Not now. Mess in my business here and I might have to kill you."
And damn if he didn't sound as though he meant it. He was almost believable. Maybe. If she were on mind-altering drugs, she thought with a sniff.
"The big bad cartel leader now, are you?" She tossed her head back and let a low, seductive laugh whisper from her throat. "Come on, Ian, you enjoy the game too much to kill me. Besides." She moved closer to him, ran a finger down his heaving chest, and whispered the words that she knew had the potential to rock his little world. "Why would they run an op against their favorite bad boy spy?"
It was a guess, nothing more. A supposition. A hope, but the reaction was far more than she anticipated.
The change was frightening. The lust in his eyes was instantly replaced with icy fury. His expression tightened further, the harsh planes and angles of his face cast into savage relief a second before he grabbed her.
Between one breath and the next Kira found herself, arms locked behind her back, her back to his chest, and his powerful arm braced around her neck as his lips lowered to her ear.
"Get out of Aruba, and take your accusations with you. Get as far away from me as possible or I'll fuck you until you're dying from the orgasms. And once I've had my fill of you, I'll break your pretty neck."
His arm tightened around her neck for emphasis as his hard, corded body vibrated with tension against her. She should have felt at least a frisson of fear. She assumed that was the point behind the hold on her. It wasn't painful, but it reminded her to the very core of her being that he was broader, stronger, and a hell of a lot more experienced in violence than she was.
She didn't try to break loose. She knew better. For every move she had, Ian had one to counter it. Instead, she relaxed into the embrace, became soft and pliant, aware that he only tensed further behind her.
"Go ahead, Ian," she said softly. "Kill me. If you can."
HE COULDN'T.
Ian stared down at her face, felt her body relax into him, and felt like a drowning man. Only it was soft, willing woman he was drowning in. The scent and feel of the one woman he had learned was a weakness he could ill afford.
"You're playing a very dangerous game," he whispered against the soft silk of her hair as he felt her ass flex against the hard length of his cock.
Her unique, pretty little ears were at his lips, the little slant and soft curve of the lobe tempting his lips.
His dick was throbbing, aching. Just the thought of her could do this to him, make him crazy to fuck her, to hold her to him and bury himself inside her.
Luck had been on his side in Atlanta eight months before. There hadn't been the time or the opportunity to take her, and each time he'd managed to get his hands on her there had been an interruption.
There would be no interruptions now, the wild side of his brain reminded him with frantic lust. He could push her against the wall, bury himself inside the hot grip of her pussy, and find the relief he needed with teeth-clenching desperation.
"And you're not?" she asked him as he slowly released her hands.
Hands that slid down and curled over the hard ridge of his erection, stealing his breath.
"Do you think you really managed to slip into that naval clinic unseen, Ian?" she whispered then. "You're good, big boy, but you're not that good. Don't you know that entry point you found unsecured was unsecured for a reason? That the guard was napping, for a reason. That Nathan's bathroom door was closed. For a reason. I knew you would be there. I knew, all I had to do was wait, because I knew the signs that a path had been made for you. You're working an op here and we both know it."
He released her slowly, his hands curling over her shoulders as he pushed her away from his body, despite every cell in his cock screaming no.
She turned slowly to face him, wearing nothing but the bronze silk robe and panties so tiny he wondered why she bothered. Witchy gray eyes stared up at him, the cloudy color ringed with a thin circle of gray-blue that had always fascinated him.
The dangerous statement had cleared the mind-numbing lust from his brain and left him chilled to the bone. His contact at DHS had arranged the visit, he knew that. But how had Kira known it?
"There's no op in progress."
He breathed in through his nose before he moved away from her, pacing to the chair where his expensive silk jacket had been laid. Shrugging it on, he turned back to her, remembering the job, the dangers, and the price of failure.
"He saved my life when I was a kid," he stated, hearing his own raspy voice and recalling that his screams at that time had nearly broken it. Nathan's was worse. His voice was so ruined that the sound of it would always remind the other man of the hell he had endured.
Kira nodded. "He told me about that."
Ian clenched his teeth. "I needed to say goodbye. That was all."
Her lips pursed. "Just saying goodbye? All security measures were allowed to lapse so a drug lord could say goodbye? Give me a break, Ian."
"Money in the right hands works wonders," he assured her, staring back at her with the same icy expression he had perfected over the past several years. "I'm here by choice, Ms. Porter, don't make the mistake of thinking otherwise. And trust me when I say, I don't intend to leave."
Her gaze flickered then, whether with indecision or belief, he couldn't be su
re. Reading Kira was like trying to navigate through lake fog. Damned near impossible.
Finally, another of those irritating, knowing smiles shaped her lips and she shrugged with a graceful shift of her slender shoulders.
That smile was designed to make men crazy. To make them dream of wiping it off her face with passion, or with their dick filling that hot little mouth. Ian had quite a few fantasies concerning the latter.
"Whatever," she finally answered smoothly. "Uncle Jason is considering buying a villa here, did I mention that? He's flying in tomorrow to check out a few possibilities that I found today. You go ahead and play your little games, Ian, I'm sure I can find a way to occupy myself."
"Get the hell out of Aruba, Kira," he ordered her harshly. "Don't turn this into a pissing match, because you'll lose. The hard way."
She clicked her tongue then. "Really, Ian, you're losing your perspective. Drug cartel leaders don't give warnings, they act. I guess you'll just have to try the cement slippers next." Her eyes widened. "Or are they using something else here in the Caribbean? Sometimes it's just so hard to keep up."
He'd had enough. He'd warned her. She was an experienced agent, she knew the game, the rules and the dangers. If she got her ass killed, then it was out of his hands. He'd warned her.
"Good night, Ms. Porter." He moved across the room and headed for the door. "I trust you'll take ample care of yourself while you're here."
"I always do, lover."
He jerked the door open then slammed it behind him as he stepped into the hall. Deke straightened from the wall, his gaze narrowing, his eyes flickering with interest as he glanced at the suite door.
"Let's move." Ian stalked down the hallway without explanations. He'd be damned if there was any way to explain Kira, even if Deke was aware of exactly who and what she was.
Oh yeah, she was the niece to Jason Maclane all right. And one of the most clever damned contract agents Homeland Security had on its payroll.
The Chameleon, that was her code name. And why was that her code name? Because she was as changeable in her appearance as she was in her moods. Because her job wasn't to confront a damned thing, it was to watch and listen and flit around the elite little parties that catered to the rich and notorious, and the dirty little deal makers. To shift and change according to her location, to become seductive or dangerous, to fit in with the diseased, disgusting parasites of the world.
And he should remember that one, he told himself as he followed Deke into the elevator. Kira knew the rules of the game. She didn't need him to protect her.
* * *
Four
IAN'S MOOD THE NEXT MORNING was less than cheerful. He always awoke quickly, but opened his eyes slowly. He felt his surroundings out, let his senses hone in to detect any shifts or dangers before he allowed himself to move from the bed.
This morning, he awoke in a mood designed to piss even himself off. His skin felt stretched, irritation tightened his guts, and damn if he didn't still have the hard-on from hell throbbing between his thighs.
He took care of the hard-on in the shower, masturbating as he closed his eyes and imagined Kira, on her knees, her lips surrounding him, her tongue licking and stroking as she sucked him to her throat and made his teeth clench with the need to hold back.
Not that his hand came anywhere close to the imagined feel of her mouth, but the thought succeeded in spilling his semen to the shower floor and taking the bitter edge off his lust.
Hell, he could have gone to Astra's room and awakened her last night. He could have fucked her all night long, and rather than giving him grief, she would have smiled and licked her lips in anticipation.
She was one of many women that Diego seemed to delight in filling the villa with. He liked pretty women, and he liked having them near. Women who liked rough sex. Hell, they went beyond a little rough sex. They were women who enjoyed the pain Diego could mete out.
Ian grimaced at the thought of that. He had seen one of the maids, Eleanor's, back beaded with blood from the stroke of Diego's whip, and still she had begged for more. Not more sex. Not more fucking or a deeper penetration, because Diego rarely fucked one of his toys. No, it was the pain that got both of them off. Diego got off giving it, and Eleanor could climax from it. Ecstasy would wash over her face and her body would tremble with it.
It was enough to make a jaded man wonder what the hell had gone wrong with the world. For all his cynicism and experience, he still couldn't understand that one. But it wasn't Astra he wanted, it was Kira.
Stalking into the breakfast room nearly an hour later, he found Diego at the breakfast table. Just what he needed that morning, a healthy dose of dear old pop.
"Ah, good morning, Ian." A smile creased Diego's swarthy face as he laid his forearms on the table and regarded him with something resembling pride. "I trust you slept well?"
Could his morning get any worse?
"Morning, pop." It was the most disrespectful title Ian could come up with. It was the one thing that had earned him his stepfather's ire when he used it.
John Richards wasn't a man to stand on ceremony, but he did demand respect, and he earned it. Ian could call him John or Dad, his choice, John had informed him. But call him pop again and he would show Ian a pop he wouldn't forget. Ian almost smiled at the memory.
Diego frowned. He didn't like the title any more than John Richards had.
" 'Father' would be a much better greeting," Diego informed him, not for the first time.
"Too stiff." Ian moved to the sideboard, piled his plate high with fluffy scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast. For all his faults, Diego had an excellent cook, and she seemed to have grown fond of Ian. "'Father' sounds like something from the fifties," he continued, passing over the fruit and various sweets the cook had laid out as he turned and moved to the glass-topped breakfast table.
Sunlight spilled through the open doors and tall windows that surrounded the room as Ian took his seat and let the little dark-haired maid pour his coffee.
"Thanks, Liss." He smiled as she moved back.
"You are welcome, Mr. Fuentes." Her lilting English was a little shy, but Ian had learned early just where this little cat's loyalties lay. And they weren't with him.
"Set the coffee on the table, Liss," he directed her. "And then you can leave."
She looked to Diego. The obvious cut was irritating.
"Liss, he didn't give you the order, I did," he told her softly, meeting her dark eyes with the promise of retaliation in his own gaze if she didn't do as ordered.
"Of course, Mr. Fuentes." She set the silver pot in the center of the table, between him and Diego, and then headed for the wide double doors, the short skirt of her uniform swishing.
"Close the doors behind you," he ordered, before nodding to Mendez to follow her out. The other man would stand guard at the doors. Deke and another bodyguard stood guard at the patio and the fourth had positioned himself at the door leading to the kitchen.
Only Deke knew his true purpose there, but the other three were slowly proving their loyalty to Ian rather than the cartel.
"I do not like how you require that I serve myself," Diego snapped as he reach for the coffeepot and refilled his cup. "I have the servants for a reason."
"And I'm always amazed that they survive it." Ian grunted at the thought of the perversions the maids shared with Diego. "But I see no reason to have to kill one of them because they overheard the wrong thing."
"You should not discuss business with breakfast," Diego instructed him. "It is bad for the digestion."
"Right now, business is bad for health, period." Ian sipped at his coffee as he stared back at Diego. "I'm canceling our relationship with the Radacchio consortium. My men were hijacked on the way to the delivery point and I lost two of them. We nearly lost the shipment."
The report of the lost coca shipment hadn't been as bad as learning that the two men he had lost were handpicked agents he had put in place. That pissed him off.
"Sorrell?" Diego narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he watched Ian.
Sorrell was the reason Ian was there. The elusive terrorist, as yet unidentified, had managed to slip through every net that several countries and more than a dozen law enforcement agencies had attempted to use to catch him.
"That's what I suspect." Ian shrugged as he dug into his breakfast. "Valence Radacchio claims otherwise, but the strike was well prepared and centered where security should have been the tightest. They dropped the ball, and rather than getting embroiled in a blood feud with them, I'd rather sever ties instead."
"Valence has worked with me for many years," Diego mused. "He has always moved our product through Colombia and onto the ships. If we sever this relationship, we will be forced to forge a new one."
Ian shook his head. "We move our own product. Why use a middleman when we have the necessary manpower and the network to do it efficiently? It saves time, money, and risks."
The product, of course, was drugs. Radacchio collected the bales of cocaine from the processing warehouses and transported it across the mountains to waiting ships. From there, he delivered it to various points to another drop-off where others then collected it, broke it down, and shipped it to other points.
Until Sorrell had begun hitting the processing warehouses. The first thing Ian had done when he took over the Fuentes business was to relocate the warehouses and have his men deliver the goods to Radacchio instead.
"Is Valence aligned with Sorrell, do you think? Or has the bastard merely managed to obtain information about our supply lines?"
Ian shook his head. "I don't know and I don't care. But Radacchio knew the location of the former warehouses. We changed our locations and began delivering to them rather than having them pick up the bales from us and the hijackings stopped. Now this strike? I'm inclined to once again cut them out of the loop. We'll see what happens then."
"He will not be pleased over this," Diego warned him. "We pay him well for his consortium's work."