The Perfect Hostage (A Super Agent Novella) (Entangled Edge) (3 page)

Glancing at her lips, he lowered his voice. “Lucie, I—”

“Please.” She touched his chin, ran her fingers over the stubble there. “Stay with me tonight. One night. That is all I ask. You don’t have to make promises.”

There was sex in those blue eyes when they met hers again. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. The chemistry between them had been there since their first meeting, when she’d looked like hell and he’d looked like the action hero he was, saving her from guns and bullets and a madman with a biological weapon. The one thing he couldn’t save her from was her heart.

John was a workaholic. Everyone in America was. Even her father, who was rich enough to retire ten times over. He never stopped talking business, and John never stopped leaving on missions.

Was he actually saving people and taking out terrorists, or was he running from her?

She almost said “please” again, but held her tongue. When she and Zara had discussed her “kidnapping” plan, it had seemed so easy. Lucie had felt energized, alive, and Zara had told her to be direct and assertive. That’s what guys like Lawson and John needed, she’d said. A woman who could hold her own and tell them what she wanted.

In twenty-nine years and three hundred and sixty-three days, Lucie had never had trouble telling a man what she wanted. But John was different.

“I want…” She took a deep breath, forced her gaze to stay on his. “I want you.”

There. Simple. Direct. Assertive.

Something flashed in his eyes. Surprise?

More like regret.

Was he going to tell her no? Reject her?

Rejection. A familiar shadow these days. Her heart broke into a thousand tiny grains of sand. She started to step back.

John grabbed her by the arms. “Where you goin’, darlin’?”

Darlin’
. The drawl sent shivers up and down her spine. “The cake. I need to cut the cake and plate it.”

“The cake can wait.” He lowered his lips to hers. “I can’t.”

The kiss was as hot as the man. He crushed her lips, drew back, and licked her bottom one. Crushed them again. His tongue pushed its way in—as if she would resist him—and
bam
. His hands were all over her. Grabbing her ass, running up and down her spine, cupping her breasts.

Lucie’s hands weren’t exactly still. Fire ignited under her skin, and she tore off his hat, raking her hands through his long hair. Tugging on it. Clutching at his shoulders to bring him closer.

In the other room, the music continued to play. Zara laughed.

John spun them both around, grabbed her by the ass cheeks, and lifted her onto the island’s countertop. A tray of mini quiches went flying.

“What the…” he said, drawing his hand away and examining his finger.

Lucie’s pulse beat a staccato in her ears. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Just a scratch, but something back here…” He peered over her shoulder, held up the silver cake server. “Are you cutting cake with this or severing a limb?”

Don’t get distracted
. Lucie took the cake server with its serrated edge and tossed it over to the kitchen sink.
Be direct
.
Assertive
.

Let me kiss it and make it better
. She’d heard American women say that to their kids. The skin wasn’t broken, so cheeks heating, she met his eyes with a half-lidded look, drew his finger to her mouth, and wrapped her lips around it. Slow and seductive, she slid her tongue over the tip and down. Back up.

A French kiss to make it better.

He shuddered under her hands.

Tightening her lips, she sucked.

Hard.

His body jerked. Pushing between her legs, he shoved up her dress with his free hand and spread her legs wide. She released his finger and clung to him. He was hard and she was soft, and she opened for him, cradling him and wanting more. He moaned softly into her mouth as he kissed her again, and she wrapped her legs around him.

The real thing, even with her clothes on and her family in the next room, was even hotter than in her dreams.

Embracing his strong shoulders, she hung on as the room spun. Tongue to tongue, her breasts smashed against his rock-hard chest, his erection pressed into the spot between her legs.

The only barrier between them was the clothing. Flimsy stuff, that. Lucie gripped the lapels of John’s flannel shirt and gave them a yank.

Buttons flew. His chest emerged. All that luscious skin, a tattoo over his left pec. Those rippling muscles.

In the background, someone cleared his throat. Loudly. “What in God’s name is going on in here?”

Chapter Three

John jerked back, breaking the kiss and sucking in a breath. He spun around, saw Charles’s attention drop to his very out-there erection—thank God he still had on his pants—and spun back.

“Um…” Words evaded him. His brain was trapped in his zipper. When was the last time he’d been caught making out with a hot girl by her dad? Hell, when was the last time he’d lost control like that? “We were just, um, getting ready to cut the cake.”

Somehow that came out wrong, at least to John’s ears. Agitated, he looked at Lucie just in time to see a sly grin cross her lips. Lips that were swollen from his kisses. She tried to re-button his shirt. There were only two buttons left.

“I see.” Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Charles looking at the floor and the scattering of food. “What was that crash?”

He knew damn well what the crash was. Bastard wanted to put them further on the hooks. See if he could draw blood from Lucie.

Sharks always did. They thought they were better than everyone else, even their own flesh and blood.

Anger simmered in John’s gut. He’d been swimming with sharks his whole life. One thing he knew: sharks could bleed, too.

But this was Lucie’s dad. He had to play it cool. “An accident, sir. I slipped and dropped a tray.”

“Lucie?” Charles asked.

Lucie popped her head up over John’s shoulder, the grin smothered. “
Oui
?”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, Father.”

“Then get down from there and clean up this mess.”

Her body deflated. She looked down, eyelashes dark against her pale skin, and nodded. “I’ll get a broom.”

John backed away and helped her off the island, hating it when she pulled down the knit dress to cover her gorgeous legs. Hating the way all the life went out of her at her dad’s orders.

Get a broom? What was she, the Morgans’ personal maid? John covertly straightened his pants. “I’ll get the broom. Tell me where it is.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “I’ll take care of it.”

She disappeared through a side door. John, erection now gone, faced Charles.
The sharks are circling…
“Nice party. Lucie’s amazing, isn’t she? Doing all this for Z and Lawson? You must be very proud of her.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. “Have you been drinking, son?”

Son. The word stuck in his craw. Nobody had the right to call him that. Never had.

It would have been easy to put the shark in his place. Make him regret he’d ever said it. Easy, but not smart. “No, sir.”

The two of them glared at each other across the kitchen tiles. Charles’s attention traveled from John’s mussed hair down to his boots. His face said he found John lacking in every area. “Perhaps it’s time you left, Mr. Quick.”

How ironic. He hadn’t wanted to be here, and now no one was going to force him to leave. John leaned against the island and crossed his feet at the ankles, making himself comfortable. “Think I’ll stick around. I have a thing for cake.”
And your daughter. Whom you don’t appreciate, but I do.

Charles stood his ground. “I know why you’re here. What you’re up to.”

Seemed obvious after the island ordeal. “And?”

“You’ll never get your hands on my money.”

Wait.
What?
John scoffed. “I assure you I have no interest in your money.”

Another scathing inventory of his hair, clothes, and boots. “Every man who has dated a female member of my family has been after the Morgan money. Lucie’s trust fund could set you up for life.”

The anger threatened to break free. “I don’t know anything about a goddamn trust fund, and believe me, neither Lawson nor I care about your money. Maybe you should stop judging everyone by your standards, since money seems to be more important to you than your own family.”

Charles’s jaw worked, an angry flush coloring his cheeks. “Careful, son. You don’t know me or my family, but I know all about men like you. Playing on a young woman’s vulnerability. Convincing her you love her.”

I
do
love—

Whoa. The shark needed a reality check and so did he. “Lucie and I are…friends.” They were more than that, obviously, but what exactly
were
they? “Good friends fixin’ to spend the weekend together.”

One of Charles’s brows rose. Because of the redneck accent or the fact John was planning on spending the weekend in his vacation home? “You expect me to believe your intentions are proper?”

Proper? Yeah, right. “I don’t care what you believe, Mr. Morgan, but my intentions are to treat Lucie the way she deserves to be treated. You might do the same.”

Broom and dustpan in hand, Lucie returned and stopped. Just froze, scanning both their faces. She knew trouble when she saw it, and she pasted on a fake smile. “Everything okay?”

The tension in the room was as thick as the frosting on the cake. John took the broom and dustpan from her and started sweeping. “Your pop was saying what an amazing party this was, weren’t you, Mr. Morgan?”

The man harrumphed and opened his mouth to respond when his cell phone rang. Setting his jaw, he gave John the stink eye and turned on his heel, answering the phone with a terse, “Morgan.”

As he left through the side door, Lucie gave John a worried glance. “What happened?”

He made work of cleaning up the kitchen floor. “Just bonding with your ol’ man.”

She was silent for a long minute. So long, he almost dropped the broom and resumed their make-out session. Anything to get her to stop worrying about gaining her father’s approval.

John knew from experience that hanging out in your head only led to regret. Guilt. Embarrassment.

Way to go, John
. He may not have cared about family, but like Lawson and Zara, Lucie did.

And now, here he was dropping to hands and knees to scoop up the last of the crumbs on the kitchen floor, wishing all the messes he made in life were as easy to clean up.

Two pink shoes came into view, planting themselves in his way. He didn’t look up, just sat back on his haunches. “Look, Luce. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“The sooner we feed them cake,” she interrupted, “the sooner they’ll leave.”

Taking his time, he did a slow perusal from her feet up her shapely calves, then higher, soaking her in just the way he’d planned. He had to touch her thighs, so he did, running his hands up under her dress. Lucie’s chest heaved in and out. She swallowed hard.

Her cheeks were still flushed. Her hair as mussed as his.

He stood, set the broom aside. “Cake it is.”

She went for the cake server, washing it off in the sink. He grabbed the plates.

The sharks were circling, but not for much longer. No one—not even the billionaire who owned the place—was going to make John leave Lucie’s side.

She called it. Lawson and Zara were still eating cake when the other Morgans began packing up and drifting out the door, parting with air kisses and promises of future get-togethers. Agent Saunders was long gone, saying he wanted to beat the incoming weather, but not before he’d taken a minute to thank Lucie for inviting him, holding her hand and complimenting her on the food and decorations. Lucie had beamed and John had felt a spurt of pride.

Snow fell in earnest as Zara’s mother, Olivia, stood at the door, wrapped in a fur and tapping an impatient foot. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Zara said. Lawson had taken some plates to the kitchen, so she looked at John with pleading eyes. “Would you see if you can find my father?”

Gaining the Morgans’ trust was John’s first step in building an insurgency inside enemy territory. “I’ll be happy to look for him.”

“Thank you,” she said, and Olivia offered him a reserved smile.

In the past twenty minutes, Charles had been on his cell phone constantly, disappearing into the bowels of the house every time it rang, and looking disgruntled when he came back. When he did rejoin them, all he did was complain about the cell service. And how the whole world wanted a piece of him and his money.

When he’d said that, he’d looked at John.

John acted oblivious. Let him think whatever he wanted. Meanwhile, every time Charles left the room, John went to work infiltrating the Morgan clan. While surreptitiously holding his shirt together, he befriended Charles’s brother, chatted with Zara’s mother, and had several of Lucie’s cousins laughing at his jokes, all in short order. He made sure his good ol’ boy charm was hard to resist. Anything to piss off Charles Morgan.

He headed in the direction Charles had disappeared to earlier. The living room, dining room, and a library were lumped into one great room. Beyond that, he didn’t know what he’d find. Stairs to the second floor, it turned out. A bathroom and a hallway that led to the back of the house where an indoor pool overlooked the woods. Back to the hall and around the corner and he was next to the kitchen.

This house was a damn maze.

During the time Charles was on the phone, John identified several Morgans who were not happy with the man. Mostly they were pissed that Charles was giving Lucie money—not hard to figure that out—but underneath the surface, their discontent ran deeper. Some recent investments he’d recommended had gone south. They’d lost money.

Too bad he didn’t have more time to get the details, and maybe it was no big deal. Everyone got disgruntled when money was on the line. Sure, Charles acted like an ass every time John was around, and some of the distant relatives at the party confirmed he was a taciturn and somewhat eccentric billionaire, but he was also a self-starter. A man to admire. He’d built an entire empire in his lifetime. Done some good things with his money. Probably done some shitty things, too.

From John’s perspective, he was all hat and no cattle. It all came easy to Charles Morgan. Too easy.

And from the sound of it, Lucie’s father seemed to think he had to make it hard for everyone else. Especially Lucie. It wasn’t any of John’s business, but he couldn’t stand the way Charles treated her like a second-class citizen. He didn’t understand why she put up with it.

Midway down the hall, John heard a man’s voice, urgent and aggravated behind a wooden door.

Definitely Charles. He started to knock, caught part of Charles’s words, and stilled.

“Why won’t you leave me alone? I told you, I had nothing to do with that. Your mother made her choices, and…”

His voice trailed off as if listening to the person on the other end.

“No. I will not be threatened. You come near me or my family again, and I’ll go to the police.”

Whoa. Charles was being threatened? By whom?

He should ask. Help the guy out. But billionaires received threats every day, didn’t they? Didn’t they have people to handle that?

Your mother made her choices.

John lowered his fist. Did Charles have another secret kid running around?

Lucie and Zara would have accepted another member of this dysfunctional family without pause. The rest of the Morgans? Not so much.

Whatever
. Family dramas didn’t interest him. He just wanted the man out of the cabin. He had business to take care of with a certain beautiful woman.

Bam, bam, bam
. The wooden door was solid as a rock under his fist. “Hey, Chuck. Your wife’s looking for you.”

Silence, and then the door flew open. The man stood there, red-faced and practically blowing steam out his ears. The phone was clutched in his hand, an office with expensive furniture and heavy drapes behind him. “Don’t you ever call me that again.”

John couldn’t help but smile at the veiled threat.
Or what?
he wanted to say. Instead, he motioned at the phone. “Someone bothering you?”

“Yes.” Charles brushed him aside. “You.”

Charles took the long way around to the great room and the front door, and John followed at a respectful distance, until he could sneak into the kitchen to avoid the good-byes. Lawson, hiding out in the kitchen as well, handed him a beer and they clinked bottles and stood in unison by the sink, drinking and not talking.

Perfect
.

John’s mind went back to a time after the kidnapping. He and Lucie working on that rundown house to turn it into a ballet studio. They’d had plenty of quiet moments together, not talking, just working. He’d shown her how to sand floors, wire new lights, and they’d painted a few walls side by side. It was easy to be with her. She didn’t pry, didn’t ask a million questions he couldn’t answer.

She accepted him for the way he was.

Perfect.

Lucie and Zara joined them in the kitchen after seeing Charles and Olivia out. The four of them seemed to heave a collective sigh.

“Maybe you should spend the night,” Lucie said to Zara. “The snow is coming fast.”

Not perfect
. He wanted Lucie alone.

Zara snuck a finger of frosting into her mouth. “We’ll be fine. We only have to get into town where we’re staying at a bed and breakfast. Tomorrow, it’s Madison Avenue for shopping.”

Lucie frowned. “The roads may be too snowy to get to New York City.”

Lawson patted Zara’s stomach. “And you’re supposed to be taking it easy. Doctor’s orders.”

“I need baby clothes! And nursery items.”

There had to be sixteen boxes of exactly those things stacked in the living room from the shower. Lawson jabbed John, obviously thinking the same thing. “Help me get that stuff out to the SUV, will you?”

John followed him and started picking up boxes. “Hey, man, if y’all want to stay here tonight, there’s plenty of room.”

“I know.” Lawson tugged on his coat, zipped it. “Zara doesn’t like it here. Bad memories or some shit. We’ll be fine at the B&B. You and Lucie hang here. Have some alone time. You
are
staying, right?”

He tried not to look too eager. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Lawson grinned. “Maybe you’ll get snowed in.”

“What if Pegasus gets called up? I’m second-in-command and you’re already on vacation.”

“Flynn’s got it covered. CJ and the rest of the guys can handle whatever comes up.”

John sighed. Flynn and CJ. A conceited spook and a crazy jarhead. Great.