Dance with the Devil (3 page)

She smiled at Sandy. “Oh honey, you're so sweet to try to make Jack feel better.”

“Better about what?” Sandy gave Jack a speculative glance.

Mia playfully punched Jack's arm and managed to get a good pinch in while she was at it. “He's always been a charmer and now that he's losing his hair, well, he's a little self-conscious.”

Jack's attention was on Mia's mouth. Mia paid no attention and leaned into Sandy. “He's in denial.”

“I'll tell you what I am,” he said mildly, meeting her gaze with a dangerous glint in his blue eyes and a crocodile smile showing brilliantly white teeth.

“Oh honey…I'm sure Sandy doesn't mind hearing about your…
problems.
”

“There's more?” Sandy gasped, eyes twinkling.

“No,” Jack took hold of Mia's arm. “See you later, beautiful.” He dragged her off through the crowd. “What was that about?” he asked smoothing his thumb up her back in a subtle caress. “Jealousy?”

She snorted softly. “Just trying to remind you that we are
not
the couple of the social set anymore.” She shrugged Jack's hand from around her waist. “Don't pet me, don't stroke me. We are not together—not now, not ever again. Keep your mind on the job. Got it?”

A muscle in his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed into slits that shot fire. “Got it.”

“I'm serious, Jack.”

“So am I, darling. So am I. Want something to eat?”

He wasn't losing his hair. Or his appeal, damn it all to hell. One smile from Jack and she was tempted to forget his lack of commitment. One touch of his arm on any part of her body and she was willing to cancel out a future for the promise of a great here and now.

He still had it. In spades. And she was probably in very deep trouble here. So the best thing to do would be to get the job done and get gone. But meanwhile…

“Yes, I'm hungry. Too bad I'm not in that nice restaurant with the ever so charming Davis Sloan. I should've known better, shouldn't I? Nobody is that sensitive, amusing and in tune with someone other than himself.”

“I told you I didn't lie to you. Everything Davis Sloan said came direct from
me.
”

He again rested his hand lightly on the small of her back to cross the room to the buffet table.

She wished she could believe him. He'd said so many…
nice
things in the past couple of weeks. She'd actually reached the point where she'd lunged for the phone when it rang, hoping it would be Davis—Jack. But painful experience warned against trusting him again. Although…as she thought about some of the things he'd said, she looked at him a little differently. Had he really been that lonely little boy, growing up knowing no one wanted him? She refused to be swayed by a vulnerability he no longer possessed. “Why Jack? Why bother playing this elaborate game? Why not just call me and say, hey, we need you for a job?”

“You would've said no.”

“Exactly my point. Freedom of choice.”

“You're the best.”

“
Was
the best.”

“Still are, darling.” He dipped his head and whispered in her ear. “Together we were unstoppable, in every way, and you know it.”

Pride and pleasure slid down her spine. Probably not a good sign.

“Anyway,” Jack said briskly, “we're here now. Are you going to bitch all night?”

She cocked her head as if giving it some thought. “I might.”

He almost smiled. “Fair enough. Do this and you can bitch to your heart's content.”

“Gee, thanks. Since when we're finished, you won't be around to hear me.”

They were briefly separated by a laughing foursome, but Mia distinctly heard him mutter, “Don't bank on it, sweetheart. Don't bank on it.”

Fine. Jack always had his own agenda. Just because she'd once loved his agendas and everything else about him, didn't mean she
still
did. She was immune now. Eight months of celibacy had been just what the doctor ordered. Regular sex with Jack had clouded her mind.

Damned if she didn't miss that cloud sometimes.

“They have that imported smoked salmon you like,” he said scanning the long table.

“I don't eat it anymore. Makes me break out.” Mia grabbed a gold-rimmed plate and started loading it with roast beef and small mushrooms. The last time she'd eaten salmon Jack had fed it to her between long bouts of insanely acrobatic lovemaking on the beach one hot summer night. Salmon made her break out with regret. Very bad for her mental health.

There were too many people to make a private conversation possible or advisable and they were forced to greet dozens of people while they searched for somewhere to sit. “There?” he asked, indicating a wide window seat just vacated.

“Sure.” She wanted a glass of South African wine, maybe two—three would be better. She wanted to be in a well-lit restaurant with Davis Sloan, the man she'd thought she was seeing—
Stop it, Mia. Just get over it.
While Jack's methods sucked, and her mother was going to be blackballed for quite a while, the reason Mia was here was valid.

She was the best.

She'd do this one last job with her old partner and then she'd be done.

There was no need to talk. They'd worked together enough times to know the drill. As much as she didn't want to be here, her natural instincts had come back into sharp focus—almost as if she'd never left the agency. As if she and Ryan were still the best team in undercover work.

The house was overflowing with guests. The doors, conveniently left open wide to dispel the body heat, also made it much easier to do a little second-story work. The converted mansions that comprised Embassy Row dated to the turn of the twentieth century. They were similarly laid out and Mia knew the floor plans as well as she knew her way around the local Hecht's Department store. Tuxedo-clad undercover agents guarded the entrances and exits to the building, mandatory in the terrorist climate of the times. But she knew that the security force was there to keep people out, not monitor people within.

Mia slid her plate onto a half-round table against the wall.

“Ready?”

He gave her a heavy-lidded look. “Always.”

B
EING SO WELL CONNECTED
proved to be a curse and a blessing. It was easy to maneuver the maze of guests with the comfortable ease of familiarity. However, they couldn't move two feet without being stopped. Everyone wanted to chat.

Jack wasn't the only one to have missed Mia in the past eight months. She was well liked. And God only knew Jack loved to watch her interact with people. Even though her face was the first thing he imagined in the morning, and the last thing he imagined every night, the
reality
of Mia Rossi couldn't be replicated—even in his fertile imagination.

She was the only woman there not wearing a fortune in gems. A serviceable gold-plated watch, and a pair of quarter carat diamond studs she'd bought with her first dividend check, were all she wore with the understated black dress. And she
still
looked more beautiful, more elegant, than any woman in the room.

Jack had bought Mia a fortune in jewelry during their time together. He'd tried it all. Diamonds, emeralds, gold and silver. Made no difference. She'd returned everything with a smile and a no thank you. She'd refused to accept expensive presents from him. He couldn't, wouldn't give her what she wanted most.

The sound of her musical laughter, the sparkle of amusement in her big brown eyes, the habit she had of absently tucking a short strand of dark hair behind her ear as she listened, head half-cocked, to a long story by the terminally boring senator from Arkansas. Everything about her was achingly familiar, comfortable. And so tempting. He had never felt this kind of completeness with anyone. Even though it felt right, somehow things had gone terribly, terribly wrong for them. Jack mentally cursed. This was not the path his brain should be on. It was too dangerous on too many levels.

Mia Rossi was a complete pain in his ass. Opinionated. Stubborn. Unyielding. And worst of all,
unforgiving.

She wanted nothing to do with him. Yet he wanted to do everything with her. To her.

Hell.

Beautiful. Courageous. Sexy as hell. He fanned his fingers out on the small of her back and felt a visceral jolt as her skin warmed under his touch and she unconsciously shifted under his hand. She'd always been responsive to the smallest of his touches.

Just as he was responding to the knowledge that under that sleek little dress she wore that amazing thong. The thong he still had dreams about. The thong she'd wear whenever she wanted to drive him crazy.

Man. He had it bad.

It took almost twenty minutes to cruise from one side of the enormous reception room to the other. Jack kept his arm around Mia's slender waist, his hand intimately brushing her hip. Her active little brain might be as annoyed as hell at him, but her lush body responded as it always had. Her skin felt hot beneath his palm, and her eyes held that fiery glint that promised either retribution or mind-blowing sex. Tonight he knew it would be retribution.

There were a few groups of people standing around chatting in the wide corridor, which led to the library cum study and to the rest rooms available to the guests. Jack backed Mia against the inlaid mahogany paneling.

“Wha—”

He leaned into her and crushed his mouth down on hers. He dove into the kiss like a man with heat-stroke diving into the cool aqua waters of a swimming pool.

Her mouth tasted achingly familiar. Slick, wet from the wine she'd drunk. God. Mia…Jack wasn't going to waste this. He ignored her nails digging into his forearms through his shirt and jacket. Ignored the strength of her grip. He wrapped his arms around her slender body, leaned into her and drank from her mouth until he was dizzy with want, blazing with need.

He slid one hand up her back to cup the nape of her neck. His other palm slipped down to cup her bottom. She murmured against his marauding lips. Jack wasn't sure if it was a protest or compliance and he was very close to that state where he didn't much care. Knowing Mia, her brain was complaining and her body had already started softening. At least, he hoped so. It wasn't possible to even think that she wasn't feeling this. It was too intense, too encompassing. Too…
huge.

Acutely aware that people milled around them, Jack kept his attention on Mia's mouth. The feel of her peaked nipples were hidden against his shirt-front, and for his pleasure alone.

Her lips, once soft, were now avid against his. She might believe—hell, he wanted her to believe—that this was all part of his game plan. God only knew they'd done it before. Appeared about to rip each other's clothes off and snuck into a dark library, office or locked room to heist something for Uncle Sam.

For Jack this was far more than a game plan to get them into the privacy of the library. Reluctantly, he eased his mouth from hers, lifting his head to look at her. Her eyes were glazed and slightly unfocused. He brushed moisture from her mouth with the side of his thumb. “Ready?”

“A-absolutely.” She straightened away from the wall. When he didn't automatically step back, she scowled and shoved at his chest with her palms.

“Don't push your luck, Ryan,” she said in a husky whisper.

If observed from more than three feet away they would appear to be nothing other than two lovers engaged in intimate conversation. He wrapped his arm about her slender waist.

“Let's do it.” He guided her toward the closed double doors of the library. “Hope to hell there's no one in here,” Jack said in a stage whisper.

Mia, as good as she ever was, played right along. “Oh, honey…do you really think we should?”

Jack shoved open the door with an impatient hand, almost dragged her inside and slammed the door, knowing what everyone on the other side would think.

The second the door closed, Mia turned and twisted the lock.

“You didn't have to paint my tonsils, Jack,” she complained. The heavy, dark green velvet drapes were open to the night. Without a doubt, security guards were perambulating on the wide patio beyond the French doors. “Close the drapes and let's just get this over with.”

Jack started walking past her to cross the room. He felt eyes on them and used the opportunity to touch her cheek. “I've missed you.”

“Good, you're well-practiced then. You won't have a hard time adjusting when you miss me again.” The daggers in her eyes met their mark. In fact, her marksmanship was a legend at the agency. Legendarily bad. She couldn't hit a barn door at high noon.

“Let's get this farce on the road.” She put a slender hand, palm down on his chest. With the other hand she reached behind her for the long zipper that curved up her back.

He wished it was real and not staged for their unseen audience. “I'll get the drapes.”

“Make it snappy.” The dress parted revealing slender, creamy pale shoulders. Jack yanked at the drapes, but kept his eyes on the woman pretending to strip.

“Stop ogling. I'm doing this for the benefit of those guys outside,
not
for you,” Mia said impatiently. “Hurry up and close the drapes, would you?”

Honest to God, looking at her face anyone would be forgiven for believing she was as hot for him as he was for her. But Jack knew that look in her eyes too well. It wasn't lust—it was blood lust. Big difference.

And he was as hard as a pistol despite knowing that Mia was stripping only for the benefit of the job. “The pull's on the left side.”

He used the pull and the heavy drapes slowly slid closed, blocking out the square black eyes of the French doors.

All business now, Mia pulled the dress back up over her shoulders and struggled with the zipper as she moved swiftly to the painting on the far wall. “Just for the record, a Hollywood kiss would have done the job.”

“You know I strive for authenticity,” he told her, handing her a pair of thin latex gloves from his pocket. He leaned against the door and observed her slender, gloved fingers feel around the perimeter of the painting, studying the frame for any creative security feature.

“Anything?” he asked quietly.

“Hand me my purse.”

He dug the small clutch out of his pocket and opened it.

His lips twitched. A .22, a wedge of folded tissues, a credit card, lip gloss, twenty dollars and…“God damn it, Mia!”

She spun around. “What?”

“You have rubbers in here.”

She lifted a brow. “And your point is?”

“You have
three
rubbers in here.”

“You know, Jack,” Mia said mildly, “this is absolutely the perfect time to be discussing the items in my purse—while we're breaking and entering an ambassador's personal safe. Your timing, as usual, is impeccable.”

“Davis would've brought his own rubbers.”

“As it turns out, Davis—that would be you—can inflate the rubbers and float them to the moon for all I care. Hand me the compact of pressed powder.” She shot him a glare. “Please.”

She took the everyday object and turned it into a trick of the trade. Jack noted that after loosening some of the face powder, she brought the silver compact close to her lips. His body reacted with more than just admiration as she pursed her mouth and blew the smallest stream of flesh-colored dust around the painting.

“No lasers,” she said, more to herself than to him, he was sure. Mia was so focused he doubted she even remembered he was in the room. She yanked a hair from her scalp, rubbed the spot absently, then, on tiptoes, slipped the hair a few inches around and under the painting.

A painting which, Jack thought, was a monstrosity of flowers that looked suspiciously like a woman's vulva.

Mia dropped the strand of hair and slid her finger beneath the bottom edge. He heard a quick but distinct click. Then the painting hinged open to reveal a small, black, older model wall safe trimmed in gold.

“Can you—?”

Mia made a small dismissive noise. “Please. Don't insult me.”

Jack, ears tuned to the hum of conversation outside the door, watched as she cocked her head and her nimble fingers moved with precision around the old-fashioned dial.

She twisted the knob to the left, then the right, then left again. “Too bad I don't have my—”

He laid a small black velvet pouch on the credenza in front of her. Her custom-made tools.

Mia shot him a frowning glance. “How'd you ge—”

“Left them on your desk your last day.”

The day she'd walked away from both the job she'd loved—and him.

Jack straightened as someone rattled the door handle. Mia reached for her loaded handbag and Jack touched the butt of his own weapon hidden beneath his jacket. He held his breath, and after a few seconds, heard them move off down the corridor.

Mia returned to the safe. They each had their job to do.

“Damn.”

“What?”

She frowned. “Got any C4 on you?”

“Oh, Jesus. It's not going to open?”

Mia grinned. “Hell, yeah. It's only a TRTL-30.” A burglary performance rating of thirty minutes max to open it by common hand tools or mechanical tools—such as a grinder or drill. Mia had the best tool of all. Excellent hearing and perfect pitch. She could
hear
the internal tumblers as they fell into place. She stepped aside and the door swung open a few inches. “Just kidding, Jack. Geez, where's your sense of humor?”

He wasn't amused, didn't appreciate her moment of levity. “Grab the disk and let's book.” Other than seeing Mia tonight, he had a bad feeling about this too simple job. Something didn't feel right, hadn't right from the beginning. Something felt…off.

“No disk in here,” Mia said softly, after she riffled through the contents of the safe.

“Be sure.” He didn't leave his post at the door. He kept one ear tuned to the party outside the thick doors, the music, the ebb and flow of voices, footsteps moving down the carpeted corridor outside.

She was efficient and methodical. After a few more seconds, she said quietly. “Definitely not here. Upstairs safe?”

“Must be.”

“How long have we been in here?” They'd been in some tight spots together in their partnership. They may have redefined passion together, and had an eight-month lapse, but as thieves their association was still magical.

“Long enough,” he told her grimly, as she replaced the contents of the safe and shut the door.

He didn't budge as she moved to avoid the swing of the painting, stepping back into him. Her silky dark hair brushed his chin. The smell of her skin made him dizzy with longing.

As soon as the picture was back in place, Mia took a step forward, away from him. “Open the door, Jack. You conned me here to help you do a job. Let's just do it, okay?”

He unlocked the door. This was neither the time nor the place. “I'm going to have to kiss you again.”

She sighed and tilted up her face. “Fine. Get it over with.”