Dare Me, page 18
"What do you want?" she asked, knowing full well what the wide range of his desires might include. She'd finished her search for the day. The time had come for her to pay the price for his cooperation.
"Find anything?" he asked.
"Nothing beyond all the hidden cameras you've had installed throughout the house. You were watching me the whole time."
He shrugged. "Voyeuristic tendencies are prevalent in our profession."
She rolled her eyes and shifted to lean up on her elbows. Her arms ached, but she spared him a wry smile. "It's more prevalent in some than in others."
"Depends on who is being watched. Some people are innately . . . impossible to ignore."
He stepped toward the threshold, but she had her gun drawn and sighted before his foot crossed from the carpet in the hall to the wood in her room.
"We had an agreement, remember? This room is mine."
And hers alone. After assuring her boss that she was prepared to take Dante's offer in exchange for full access to the Prytania Street house, she'd created a private haven within the walls of this small bedroom just off the hallway to the kitchen. He'd agreed that she could search the tiny maid's qua ters to her heart's content and Dante would refrain from invading her personal space for the duration of her stay.
Unlike all the other rooms in the house. Those rooms came with a price.
When she'd agreed to his challenge last night with a stiff and cold handshake, she'd never expected the twist he'd introduce to the deal. She should have anticipated he'd up the stakes at some point, but for the briefest instant, she'd actually thought he cared about saving some unnamed American city from destruction more than he cared about his sex life.
How wrong she'd been.
In order to gain full access to each room, she'd agreed to his erotic demand. Once she'd searched a room top to bottom—once they knew that the code would not be found there—he would disengage the hidden cameras and she would make love to him in that room. She'd have no right of refusal, no voice in how he reintroduced her to the delights of their lovemaking. She'd have to submit entirely to his amorous intentions, no questions asked.
Since she'd already agreed to his clearly desperate plan to win her back, she didn't balk at his added terms. Maybe this interplay would be good—for both of them. Clearly, the man needed to understand that the relationship they'd shared years ago was over. For her part, she was looking forward to some hot, sweaty, mindless sex, especially since in the end, Dante would learn that while he might still possess the power to excite her body, he'd never again hold any influence over her heart.
He stepped away from her weapon, his eyebrow quirked in amusement.
"You shouldn't pull a weapon if you don't intend to use it," he warned.
She slid the 9mm beneath her pillow. "Who said I don't intend to use it?"
"You're not a killer."
"You have no idea how I've changed," she insisted, despite the fact that he was essentially right. Macy had the skills and training to take care of herself, but she preferred using her wit to, work her way out of dangerous spots. "Since I left you, Dante, I've been living a very different life. Working for T-45 is light years from my experience with the Arm. You have rules. A government to answer to."
"And you have Abercrombie Marshall. He's not exactly a wild-eyed rogue."
She nodded, unable to argue with such a widely known fact.
"He's the most ethical man I've met in this world of traitors, liars and thieves."
"What does he think of our little deal?"
Macy rolled to the edge of the bed, sitting upright as she stretched her shoulders to loosen the tightness settling between her joints. "He doesn't know the particulars, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him."
She glanced up at Dante. God, how could he look so utterly smug and superior when he'd had to resort to blackmail to get her into his bed again? Did nothing shake this man's limitless confidence?
"What he doesn't know won't hurt you either, Macy. I hope you're prepared to enjoy yourself."
"I could enjoy myself just fine here alone in my room."
He straightened, a sarcastic slant to his quirked grin of a mouth. "I can hardly believe what I'm witnessing. You're not afraid of me."
She stood and marched to the door, knowing full well he was attempting to manipulate her. She responded all the same, preferring to deal straight up rather than expend her energy in some fruitless game of cat and mouse.
"Stuff it, Dante. You want to screw around, that's fine. I agreed to your offer. But know this—you're wasting your time if you think I'll ever come back to you."
She'd come too close. When the tip of his finger skimmed her chin and cheek, igniting a warm sensation before she had a chance to move away or object, she had no choice but stand firm. Once engaged, she couldn't pull back. She couldn't show him the least indication of weakness or he'd surely use her vulnerability against her.
He pressed his full palm against her skin, reminding her with a simple touch of the intimacy they'd once shared. Score one for him, except Macy hadn't needed reminding. In nine long years, she'd never once forgotten the intensity of his sweet caresses, their all-night-long chats about everything and nothing, or the lovemaking that lasted until both their bodies grew numb from sensual overload.
In fact, the night before he'd betrayed her to her superiors, he'd lured her to a favorite hideaway, a cabin deep in the Virginia forest where they could escape the world of covert operations that had come to rule both their lives. In the seclusion of their private escape, he'd seduced her with all her favorite indulgences, from a scalding shower with multiple streams of water beating down on them as they made love against the glass to a wild game of hide-and-seek in the woods outside that ended with a session under the stars that had left her satiated for hours.
Then she'd awoken the next morning alone in bed, laughing innocently as she picked twigs and leaves from various places on her body, never for one minute suspecting that while she languished in the sweet soreness of incredible sex, Dante had returned to headquarters to file a crucial piece of intel that ended up saving several agents from detection and, ultimately, death. Intelligence she'd gathered—and had shared with him.
Now, she was about to charge headlong into the same brand of hot, mind-altering sex. Only this time, the outcome wouldn't be nearly the same. He couldn't break her heart, not after she'd worked so hard to make sure the brittle, delicate pieces never formed again. Not with him. Not with anyone.
Dante released her, breaking the tentative spell that had lured her into the past. He stepped back and gestured to the hallway. He was ready for his payment and she had no choice but to comply. "You are back with me, Macy, at least in body. For now, I'm willing to work with what I have."
"I need a shower," she snapped.
"No time. I've calculated this evening down to the minute. You'll simply have to enjoy my plan for you as best you can."
He led her across the hall to the kitchen and Macy was forced to admit to herself that even after picking through every cabinet and examining every plate, cup and saucer in the entire twenty-by-twenty room, she wasn't as grimy as she expected. Bogdanov's wife had employed a meticulous housekeeper, one whom the Arm had no doubt debriefed and likely had in custody since T-45 had been unable to locate her. Macy tried to throw her mind into working out the odds that the woman was worth the effort of finding, but she couldn't resist the distraction of red-pepper scents drifting off the stove, mingling with the incredible aroma of garlic that had been cooked to perfection in a slathering of extra-virgin olive oil.
She spun in his direction. "You cooked?"
"You're hungry, yes?"
Her stomach growled loudly, effectively answering the question.
He grinned. "I hope you like the native food. I've been here two weeks, more than long enough to develop an addiction to Cajun and Creole cuisine."
She attempted to fight a grin, then decided that she had to save her energy for more crucial battles.
"You've never cooked for me before," she commented, walking fully into the kitchen and attempting to leave her wariness at the door. She hadn't expected this pampering, damn him, but she was pleased nonetheless. When he'd informed her that he wanted their first tryst to take place in the kitchen, she'd imagined they'd recreate a hot and heavy scene from their past—the night she'd attempted her first home-cooked meal and they'd ended up fucking on the butcher-block table surrounded by the scent of charred game hen and overooked asparagus.
But this table, a delicate cherrywood covered in lace and set with the fine bone china and sparkling lead crystal she'd examined only a few hours ago, would surely collapse under the weight of two humping bodies.
He strolled to the stove, lifted a heavy pot lid and inhaled the fragrant steam that wafted from inside. "I've broadened my interests since taking over the Arm. I'm not in the field as much anymore. Waiting for operatives to report in can be very tedious."
She wandered to the table and flicked a soft linen napkin, displacing the carefully set silverware a millimeter from perfection.
"Do you regret your move?" she asked, then pressed her lips together, feeling her own wave of regret from posing the question in the first place. Damn it, she didn't want to know anything about who he was now—not beyond the monthly reports T-45 provided on the leadership of the intelligence organizations around the globe. How could she retain her distance if she delved into his personal life?
"Never mind," she said, holding up her hand before he had a chance to respond. "Forget I asked."
He slid the chair out for her. "As you wish."
But she'd done the damage, despite his gracious response. She'd shown her hand, even briefly, implying that her interest in him hadn't ended when she'd walked out his door. He'd use that knowledge against her. He'd be a fool not to—and Dante Burke was anything but a fool.
Watching her eat became Dante's immediate and torturous reward. The way she slid the food into her mouth, the way her lips pressed together tightly as she chewed, the way her eyes drifted closed when the flavors exploded lusciously on her tongue nearly drove him insane. At first, she'd tried to shovel the oysters Bienville into her mouth as if she were wolfing down a fast-food hamburger, but her finely honed appreciation for sensual pleasures quickly won out over her dire need to rush through the meal. With utter fascination, he watched her delight as she licked a dab of the creamy Parmesan and garlic sauce from the corner of her mouth. He silently thanked the chef at Arnaud's for teaching him the secret to the delectable dish.
Encouraged, he refilled her wineglass halfway, wondering if she had any idea what he had in store
for her next—or that his carefully planned seduction was already well under way.
She reached for her wine. "You're not planning on getting me drunk, are you? If you are, I should warn you. I've developed a much stronger constitution against the effects of alcohol while living in France."
He topped off his own glass, then returned the crisp Chardonnay to the table. "I'm keeping up with you. Either we'll both be drunk, or neither. Isn't it bad enough that I've had to force you to share a meal with me? My obsession with you only goes so far."
She snorted gently with laughter, holding the glass carefully by the stem, swirling the golden liquid just beneath her nose so she could inhale the exquisite aromas from the fine French wine. "Still, you must be fairly beyond help if you'd jeopardize a mission just to lure me into bed."
"I'm jeopardizing nothing. You conducted your searches today without interference, didn't you? Completed two rooms with intense precision, by my estimation. And you do have to eat, whether I'm here or not."
She tore a piece of rustic French bread from the loaf in the center of the table and dipped a corner in the remaining Bienville sauce. "I also have to sleep."
He sipped his wine and chuckled. "You forget how well I know you, Macy. When you're on a mission, you rarely sleep more than an hour or two at a time.
You caught a catnap between rooms today. I watched you."
With an intense gaze, he leaned forward, catching the momentary pinkening in the apples of her cheeks. "Are you aware that you snore?"
She slid the glass into place, not the least bit ruffled by his comment. Okay, so he was exaggerating. She didn't snore . . . exactly. But she did make tiny little noises while dreaming, the kind that enticed a man to consider all the sweet possibilities of what might be going on in her resting subconscious. He could only hope that she was reliving some liaison of theirs from their past, though he knew she'd never admit something so revealing—or so intimate.
She popped the last of the bread into her mouth, chewed, swallowed and pierced him with an unshakable ice-blue stare. "What's next?"
"A salad with tasso ham—"
"That's not what I meant."
Her gaze skewered him, but not without a hint of humor. Nine years had changed Macy, something he hadn't wanted to acknowledge before now. She wasn't the same bright-eyed, excitable agent she'd been before, beating everyone to the briefing room in the mornings, volunteering for extra assignments so she could amass more experience in various aspects of the business. She wasn't so intense, so focused on proving herself that she couldn't laugh with her colleagues or take the natural ribbing offered by operatives who'd spent more time in the trenches than she had. No, this Macy took her time, savored her wine and her food, only raised her hand for assignments that appealed to her expertise. This Macy had the ability to laugh at herself, not take every situation with the utmost seriousness, even when gravity might have been warranted. This Macy provided a whole new challenge—one entirely more suited for the man that nine years without her had forced him to become.
"What do you want to happen next?" he asked.
She lifted her napkin from her lap, tossed it on the table, took one last swig from her wine and stood. Sensing an attack, Dante scooted his chair back. He had a clear agenda for tonight, but figured a moment's deviation wouldn't affect the final outcome— not when she seemed so intent on proving some point.
As he expected, she swung a leg over him and landed on his lap, her sweet center instantly pressing against his sex. She speared her fingers through his hair and smashed her mouth down on his for a hard, hungry, explosive kiss.
The flavors nearly knocked the sense right out of him. Garlic and spice from the appetizer, woodsy undertones of oak from the wine and the innately sweet and addictive flavor that belonged to Macy and Macy alone. Despite his plans for a slow, drawn-out and carefully orchestrated seduction, he couldn't help but surrender to her assault, if only for a moment.
He slid his hands around her back. Her muscles, tense and bunched, did not loosen beneath his touch. Even her tongue seemed intent on winning a war rather than participating in a fair exchange of thrust and parry. The realization forced him to tear her off him and curse his moment of pure male weakness.
She kicked her leg over him again and stood up straight, her eyes blazing. She swiped her wrist over her lips before she spoke.
"What's wrong, Burke? Too hot for you?"
He straightened his shirt and retrieved his fallen napkin from the floor. "Just the opposite. Too cold."
She stepped back, her balance tentative and her eyes glazed with an emotion that could have been either anger or lust. With Macy, it was sometimes hard to tell.
"You didn't specify how I was supposed to react to you," she said. "I just assumed you wanted your sex hot and heavy and fast. That's how we've always been, you and me."
She slowly reached out and touched his shoulder, and he had to exert all his self-control not to recoil. He'd underestimated her. She could weave the web of mind games just as well as he—except that his motivation would keep him on top. She might try to turn the tables on him, but he wasn't about to allow her enough room to completely spin.
He snatched her hand in one quick grab, then turned her wrist and placed a soft kiss on the sensitive skin near her pulse. Then, standing, he led her back around to her chair, seated her again and then cleared the plates away.
"Things have changed, Macy. I've changed. Nothing will be as it was before, if I have my way. Which I will, of course."
He retrieved the second course, complete with a new bottle of wine to complement the lightly dressed salad. He had five courses planned, each more delicious than the last, each paired with a fine wine that he'd pour with elegance and patience and attention to sensual detail. She'd tried to take over the seduction and she'd failed. He wouldn't allow her the upper hand.
Without a word, she picked up her fork and sampled the salad, and just as he expected, the piquant combination of ingredients knocked her anger away. He uncorked the wine and, after placing new glasses in front of them, poured the Pinot Grigio he'd discovered last year in Venice. By the end of the meal, Macy's senses would be so primed, the idea of jumping him in order to do the deed and be done for the night would be the farthest thing from her mind.
* * *
Macy watched Dante carefully stack the dishes in the sink while she finished off the last of the brandy he'd served to complement the delicious crème brûlée. She'd had many five-star meals in her worldwide explorations and this one definitely landed in the top ten—not so much for the quality of the food, which had been superb, but because never in her life had she expected such attention and personal service from a man like Dante Burke.
She knew what he was up to. Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out his modus operandi. But at the moment, sated with exquisite food and even more delectable wines and spirits, she hardly cared. If that meant surrender, so be it. At this point, she had nothing to lose but another hour's sleep.
