Tempting trouble, p.5
Tempting Trouble, page 5
“Be sure you repeat to the senator in English word for word what we say. His aide understands Chinese also, but we do not trust his phrasing,” the man said to Grace. She nodded obediently. Asking for the names of the various gentlemen around her, she then turned to smile at her employer. Of course, the man didn’t know she was really his part-time contract employee for that week; most of the senators were too busy to know every underling.
“Good evening, Senator,” she greeted pleasantly. He seemed distracted, nodding back slightly. The aide judiciously took out his notepad, as if to catch her mistakes. “I’ll repeat exactly what the Chinese ambassador and Mr. Wang and Mr. Lee say. They were just unsure of several things being discussed.”
The senator nodded again.
The one named Mr. Lee calmly said, “We are sorry we missed our sick little brother. He’s a long way from home.”
Grace repeated, translating his words, very carefully emphasizing on the “little,” since the Chinese language used different words for elder and younger siblings.
Senator Richards smiled and replied, “I’m sure you’ll be glad to see him.” He had a wonderful speaking voice, the kind hired to tell a good story on the radio, and it flowed out of him like soft silk. “I’ll see what I can do about his health.”
“We are grateful that you have taken care of him for us and we are indebted to you for your kindness,” the same Chinese man continued.
Grace noted he spoke in polite rather than personal terms when mentioning this brother. Regretfully, she couldn’t convey this in English, except perhaps to use stilted formal English.
“It was the least we could do, Mr. Lee. I know you’d have helped me too if I were ever in need of your aid,” the senator said, sipping his champagne, his eyes intently on Mr. Lee. “I’ve heard he is still unwell and needs your attention.”
“Of course. We always take care of our own. ‘The wind blows and the grass moves’. Your generosity is most appreciated. You will definitely hear good news on Monday regarding our trade contract.”
Grace frowned. Mr. Lee used an old Chinese proverb. Depending on the situation, it could mean several things. It was up to her to get it right. She considered for a second, then chose the most likely pertaining to the conversation. Knowing Mr. Lee was closely listening, she translated his words, replacing the proverb with, “It’s just a small problem.” She looked at him questioningly when she came to that particular line and, after a moment, he nodded.
“How wonderful,” enthused Senator Richards, his face alight with pleasure. “I’m so glad that my state’s doing business with your country. My constituents will be happy with the news.”
“And they will remember come voting day,” one of the other gentlemen commented, a slight smile tugging the corners of his lips. Grace translated; the senator had no comment.
“When that is done, we will be free to take care of our responsibilities,” Mr. Lee stated.
“Oh, of course. Our Charity Invitation on Tuesday night, if you like, is the perfect time. You know how important charity is to me, so I cannot be with you then, but it’ll all be ready in Room 103.”
“It is not wise to do business in the evening, Senator,” the third Chinese gentleman observed.
Grace studied the very distinguished looking man, with his neatly trimmed beard and haughty eyes. The others seemed to defer to him.
“It’s always good if it’s for charity, Mr. Ambassador. Besides, the Chinese government will look good with a big donation. The media will be at the function.” Senator Richard’s voice was persuasive.
“I see. And this donation is, of course, to the usual foundation?”
There was slight amusement among the men after Grace translated that question.
“That would be wonderful,” the senator answered, smiling and composed. “And you can leave from the private entrance after our business in Room 103 to avoid any unnecessary delays with the media.”
“Thank you, we don’t want any delays at all,” replied Mr. Lee. “We are confident that our agreement will be carried out successfully.”
***
Lance caught glimpses of Grace throughout the evening. She appeared hard at work; constantly the mouthpiece for some senator or key aide who had been instructed to discuss with certain Chinese aides.
In those clothes, she looked the part, earnest and perfectly conservative, but Lance remembered the curves underneath. She checked out on the guest list, so she was who she’d said she was. However, the coincidence of her being here was still suspicious.
At least, that was what Lance told himself, as he followed her movements whenever she was in the vicinity. There was something about her that drew him to her—that surprising tart sense of humor, the liquid brown eyes that could light up with anger or laughter, the fluid grace. He wanted to know who this young woman was, and he was determined to see her without her current disguise. He quirked his lips. She couldn’t keep running away every time, not when he intended to catch her by surprise.
It was long past her bedtime when Grace unlocked the door to her apartment, humming her favorite group’s latest hit. Whew. Home. Translation was more work than she’d anticipated. Throwing her satchel on the armchair, she strolled into her dark bedroom, impatiently unbuttoning her jacket blouse and shrugging it off. She sat down on the vanity stool and unstrapped her heels, giving a moan of pleasure after discarding the tortuous things. Ugh, how did anyone wear these things for more than three hours? Closing her eyes, she grumbled softly as she rubbed her arches, savoring the feel of her thumbs. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to have Tim there to give her a foot rub.
She arched her back like a cat, yawned and blinked sleepily as she went over the events of the night. Lazily, she unhooked the back of her bra. So much to think about—what with debriefing and then trying to understand that mysterious—
Grace froze. Slowly, she turned her head toward the direction of her bed. Her heart started thudding hard when she confirmed the slight movement she’d caught in the darkness. Someone was in her bed. Someone big, lying there with his hands clasped behind his head. She could pick out his outline from the stream of light coming from her living room.
“Pity. I’d hoped to see more of you before you caught me.”
Lance had been lying there for at least half an hour, after walking around her apartment and picking things up here and there to clue himself in about the woman’s personality. He’d enjoyed being in her bed, taking in her slightly fruity scent, imagining her curling up where he was. He refused to picture her there with that boy in the photo on one of the dressers, the one with his arm casually across her shoulders.
Lance hadn’t expected her to drop her top so quickly, and the whole spectacle of her sitting there in the half-darkness with only her bra and skirt, rubbing her feet, her eyes closed, making throaty moans, had kept him silent. Here was Grace O’Connor without her disguise, all sensuous and sexy, with the shadows and light adding an intimacy to her movements. His quick arousal—fierce and sudden—took him by surprise. He’d watched more intimate revelations in his line of business and very little elicited this kind of reaction any more.
But she appeared to have breached that part of him too. He’d silently willed her to take her bra off and when she’d reached back to comply, he was all but ready to stride off the bed and drag her back into it with him. It was both a relief and a disappointment when she finally realized she wasn’t alone.
Grace heard the voice of the very devil she’d been thinking about, and half-naked as she was, she pivoted to make a mad dash out of her bedroom. Her intruder was faster than she’d thought. One moment, he was lounging there on her sheets, all heavy with indolence, and the next he leapt like a big hunting cat and pounced.
She gasped as he gave her a linebacker’s tackle, and as his weight came down, she shrieked in furious protest, pulling herself back enough to try to land a punch into his solar plexus. She didn’t miss her target by much and it was a solid enough punch that produced a grunt from her assailant. Fear and panic gave her the strength to push him off enough so she could roll over to get up. His hand grasped her right ankle as she got to her knees, pulling her off balance. She landed on her front, sprawled every which way. Desperately, she reached down with one hand and pried his third finger out, pulling it back cruelly. He yelped, cursing loud and strong, and let her ankle go.
Breathlessly gasping for air now, Grace made another attempt to stand up, her tight skirt restricting her movements. The door was just a scant few yards away, and if she could just get to it¼.Lance rolled over like a log against the back of her feet, flipping her backwards as she made her frantic flight. She landed on her posterior, legs flailing as his limbs and hers tangled together in a ball of flesh and clothing.
The next few minutes were a furious rugby-like grapple. In the darkness, Grace wasn’t even sure which part of him she was punching and biting, and she didn’t particularly care. A part of her registered her attacker wasn’t trying to kill her, just subdue her, and her fear turned into anger as she felt him hold her down limb by limb until she lay panting and perspiring under his male heat.
To her humiliation, she realized that they were upside down to each other: his knees held down her arms, his body lay between her legs, his hands were bands of steel around her calves, while his arms gripped her thighs. She was trapped in a classic wrestling pin down, unable to move. She didn’t want to know where his head was.
Her skirt had ridden up during their struggle and she could feel his rasped breathing against the inside of her naked thighs. Oh…shit.
“You little hellcat,” Lance muttered, soft and grim, after he caught his breath. “You just betrayed your training with those moves.” She’d stunned him with her agility. Although he knew she fought him out of panic, part of him refused to allay her fears. She’d almost got him where it hurt. If it hadn’t been for his superb reflexes, he’d be lying flat on his back right now. “So, little Miss Intern, care to tell me what agency you work for?”
Grace tried unsuccessfully to pry loose. She dared not buck under him. She had an uncomfortable feeling about the location of his face. Dripping sweat ran down her neck as she tried to calm down. Agency. He thought she was an operative, which made him one too, since he recognized her evasive tactics.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. After a few more minutes of trying to break his hold, she demanded, “Let me go! How did you know where I live, anyway?”
“I made it my business to know as much as possible about you since last Monday. And let’s stop this nonsense about your innocence, OK? I know you’re somehow involved. Your every move shouts covert training, Grace. And, being that,” there was a pause, then he softly challenged, “you ought to have an idea what I am.”
Grace felt the deliberate scrape of Lance’s day-old stubble against the inside of her thigh. Shock reverberated through her system. Wild hysteria bubbled up. Of all the luck. Damn, damn, damn. She should have known, should have recognized his specialty.
Why, oh why didn’t she think of her father’s lessons about spy classifications and operative specialties? Loner type, an expert in search and destroy, mode of operation focused on seduction of mind and senses. Lance Mercy was a trained tracker. She could have kicked herself. She’d felt the pull of his powerful personality from the very beginning. Why hadn’t she realized it sooner?
As if to punish her silence, Lance scraped his chin along her skin again, and it took all her will power not to propel her hip upward in response. “Stop it.” Her voice was hushed, as realization of her predicament dried her throat up.
“I want an answer.” His tone was deceptively quiet.
“I’m thinking,” she muttered back.
She needed time to prepare herself, time she didn’t have. A tracker—a good one—came from the school of interrogation. They were taught to be ruthless in order to get answers. A tracker on seduction mode knew all the points of pain and pleasure to manipulate the human body, knew where to touch to stimulate and elicit a response from the victim, whether through fear, pain, or pleasure. A tracker hunted, retrieved, destroyed. Her father had warned her of the nature of this kind of trained field operative. She knew she had to hold him off while she worked to control her own surging emotions.
“Don’t!” This time Grace shouted, as she felt his teeth nibble on her flesh. She was hot. Feverish.
“Are you going to keep pretending you know nothing?”
“But it’s the truth!” She bit out between clenched teeth. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
“So tell me what you know.”
If he was working for an outfit that planned to kill that disguised nun, Grace sure wasn’t going to give him any helpful information. She tried desperately to remember her instructions. Sexual intimidation was to be countered with either indifference or retaliation. She didn’t think she was up to try the latter, not with his heady musky scent slowly enveloping her senses in the heavy darkness. She gave another strangled cry as the nibbling started again. Soft, then hard. Again.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She curbed the urge to thrash her legs.
“You know exactly what I’m doing,” Lance told her, in between bites. She was too still. Her body was rigid from trying not to move under him. He listened to her heightened breathing. She might be afraid but her fear wasn’t the kind a woman showed when being attacked by a stranger. No, she was still very much in control. It was that odd mix of fear and anticipation again, as if she liked being on the edge. And it excited him.
Lance understood desire; he was trained to control and enjoy it. The emotion had never blinded or overcome him like it was threatening to now. His need to take her was almost supplanting the tracker initiative of first mastering the intended victim. Somehow, he couldn’t see Grace O’Connor as a victim. He wanted a response from her and he would have one tonight. Easing his weight off her a little, he waited with cunning for her first deep intake of air. And attacked. He laid his chin gently against her crotch and at the same time slid his hands from her calves down to her firm little buttocks. He smiled in the dark at the loud whoosh of air that escaped her lips at this assault. But she still didn’t move a damned muscle. He frowned.
Grace squeezed her eyes tightly shut, concentrating on her muscles rather than the intimate sensations roiling through her. She knew she mustn’t give in to that need to respond physically to Lance Mercy’s sexual onslaught. Indifference. You told me what to expect, Dad, but you didn’t tell me I might like it! That was what made it so difficult to be indifferent. She wanted his touch, had wanted him since setting eyes on his masculine form at the rally. Now she didn’t know how long she could resist his expertise.
Lance wanted to have her so badly he realized that he would have to stop soon. He couldn’t achieve his end if he satisfied his own need. That wouldn’t serve any purpose except his own. He was suddenly even unsure whether there was ever any other purpose except his own when he’d decided to break into her apartment. She pulled at him without even trying, even when she obviously intensely disliked him.
Grace’s eyes flew open as soon as he released her. She lay there staring up into the darkness as she felt him nearby where he’d rolled away from her body, his breathing heavy, as if he was having trouble controlling himself. He was granting her a reprieve. Why?
Sitting up carefully, she scooted back a little ways, still looking at Lance’s inert body. Sheer relief sent shivers up and down her spine. Another minute and she didn’t think she could have resisted him any longer. She wondered whether he knew how close to victory he was. She pulled her skirt back down, covering her thighs. She resnapped her bra.
“A little late for that, sweetheart,” he drawled, amused.
Grace glared back. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave my apartment now,” she warned him, at the same time considering her sanity for possibly jeopardizing her life.
Lance sat up, raking his hair with one careless hand. “No, you won’t. I let you go because I wanted to, Grace. Don’t make me change my mind.”
She swallowed. No, next time he might succeed. “Then leave,” she said, as calmly as she could. “I told you the truth tonight. I know nothing about what’s going on. And, I’m not an…agent.”
He snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, and you didn’t know what I was doing either, I bet.”
Grace was silent about that. She knew what he’d started to do but to admit that meant having to explain her own knowledge, about how she knew how to evade trackers and their methods. At least, she corrected herself wryly, thanks to Dad, in theory.
“You were trying to seduce me,” she finally conceded, knowing if she weren’t honest, he would know. “It’s an easy enough conclusion, Mr. Mercy. You were¼using your mouth in a very explicit manner.” She refused to recall the feel of those white teeth of his against her thighs.
Lance smiled at her words. The woman knew how to play with fire, he would grant her that. “Mr. Mercy sounds a little stilted after we’ve enjoyed such close rapport, don’t you think?” he taunted, standing up and walking toward her.
His movements once again reminded Grace of a lion stalking his prey. She scooted back even more, until her back hit the side of her bed. Light flooded the room when he turned on her bedside lamp. She blinked several times, focusing her attention on his body as he loomed over her. He was clothed all in black, looking dangerous and sexy. Shadows caused by his light stubble added contours to his face. His blue eyes glittered with a suppressed emotion she couldn’t quite describe. His hair was enticingly mussed up. A scratch lined one side of his face from cheek to jawbone. Obviously, she’d given him a mark to remember for a few days, she noted with satisfaction. Funny how a few hours could change a man’s face. All clean-cut one hour and downright macho and remote another. She tried to imagine how he would look in the morning, just awakened. It was a disturbing little fantasy.
