UndercoverSurrender (11 page)

He sat up slowly in bed.

Her hair was up too. With the dark heavy strands of it wound
into some kind of bun at the base of her neck, she looked like a librarian. A
wildly sexy, hot librarian, but a librarian all the same.

The look she flashed him had nothing of the sex kitten from
the previous night, or, for that matter, the scared, sullen girl from before
that. She looked well rested, confident, but definitely…untouchable.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said.

“Yeah.” He tried a smile. “I was kind of sorry I couldn’t
join you in the shower.”

“Well, about that.”

God, that was a phrase a man hated to hear out of the mouth
of the woman he had just slept with, several times especially.

“I appreciate what you did for me last night.”

“Fucking you?” he asked, hoping the crudeness of it would
fluster a little of the librarian out of her.

But no such luck.

“Yes,” she said calmly. “Thank you. It was just what I
needed.”

“Glad to oblige.” The sarcasm did not register with her, or
if it did, she didn’t let on.

“Yes. But I meant for it to be a one-time thing.”

“You forgot to mention that.”

“Yes.”

“And it wasn’t one-time anyway, it was—I guess I lost count.
Are you including the blowjob?”

“Yes, well, whatever. My point is it accomplished what I needed
and there’s no need for it to continue.”

He stared at her, speechless. After teasing him senseless
until he abandoned all of his ethics and slept with her and then fucking his
brains out so thoroughly he couldn’t even tell you what his mission even was
anymore, now she was giving him the brush-off? Dismissing him, just as she
undoubtedly did with her legion of servants and sycophants and
pussy-waxers?

The spoiled little bitch.

He got out of bed. “There was no
need
for it to have
even started, babe. That was all you if you recall.”

“Of course I recall,” she said testily. “And I suppose now
you’re going to try to hurt my feelings by implying I’m a slut or something.”

“Well, I’d hate like hell to hurt your feelings, Miss High
and Mighty. But don’t worry about it. I don’t really think you’re a slut. Your
pussy was so tight, you couldn’t possibly have had many men before. Oh,” he
paused as if it had just occurred to him, “unless of course they’d all had
really tiny pricks and so couldn’t stretch you out much yet.”

She scoffed.

“But in any case, no big deal. You wore me out. I can do
without it if you can.” He headed to the bathroom. “But don’t forget we still
got to put on a show for our pals out there. So unbutton a few of your buttons,
babe, and show a little of those gorgeous tits.”

He slammed the bathroom door on her scowl.

Samantha glanced around at the yacht’s galley as if she’d
never seen it before.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Santiago muttered, “can your
new toy at least make us some coffee or pancakes or something? I’m sick of
eating corn chips for breakfast.”

Vik nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Go check on our course and get me
an ETA. She’ll put something on the table.”

When the other man was gone, Samantha turned her huge brown
eyes on him. “Coffee?” she asked, as if he had demanded she levitate in the
air.

Vik nodded, pointing at the espresso machine. “Yeah. Coffee.
The fancy kind there if you’re up to it.”

“I don’t know how to use that.” Again, as if he’d asked her
to complete some impossible, out-of-the-question task.

He looked around, rummaging through the state-of-the-art
cupboards, finding an ordinary coffeemaker. “Okay, just use this instead.”

Again with the big eyes. Then, “I don’t know how to make
coffee.”

He shook his head, muttering, “Incredible.”

“What? I’ve never had to
make
coffee.”

“How do you get coffee in the morning?”

“Someone
brings
it to me.”

He rubbed his eyes.

“What?” she demanded. She snatched the coffeemaker away,
almost unsettling the glass carafe at its base, which he grabbed at the last
minute and set on the counter. “Give me that. I’m sure it’s not too difficult.”

She looked around and he pointed at a canister in the
cabinet he’d opened, offering helpfully, “It takes coffee grounds.”

With a sardonic look, she said, “I know that.” Once she had
unsealed the lid, though, she looked into the dark granules as if trying to
decipher the next step.

“Just use a spoon.” He wanted to put her out of her misery.

“A spoon. Of course, which are, ah…”

As she rooted around, he asked, “Have you really never been
in here?”

“Why would I?” she snapped back defensively. “We have cooks
and stewards and things for that. But since I’m dying to prove my worth as your
new
toy
, I’d be happy to wait on you and your fellow cutthroats if it’ll
get me some points for good behavior.”

He wrapped his hands around her waist, taking her off guard,
saying loudly, “The only points you need to earn are in bed, babe.” And his
hand went up to feel her boob as he whispered in her ear, “Careful, we have
company.”

He had caught sight of a shadow in the entrance to the
galley just in time. She stiffened, but at his words, reached one arm around to
his neck, replying brightly, “That’s where I like to be on my best behavior.”

He gave a noisy kiss to her neck and smacked her on the ass.
“Go on. I need some caffeine. Man can’t live by fucking alone, gorgeous.”

“Too bad.” She shot him a sultry smile, which, even though
he knew she was playacting, hit him hard. She was getting sort of good at this.

“Vik.” It wasn’t Santiago back, but one of the other men,
Nguyen.

Speaking in Vietnamese, Nguyen asked him if the girl had
been worth it.

“Yeah,” Vik responded in English, pretty much meaning it
too.

Santiago tried the cabin door. They hadn’t left it locked.
That was reassuring at least. Maybe they did have nothing to hide. Before he
made contact with Visto, though, he wanted to make sure he had nothing more to
tell them than that Vik had killed Gunny in a knife fight over a girl they’d
taken from the boat. That was a simple story. But something about the whole
thing, the girl’s skittishness the night before and her self-satisfied air this
morning, rubbed him the wrong way. He wanted to confirm the story wasn’t
something more complicated. What he didn’t know. But checking the cabin they’d
spent the night in was a good start.

He surveyed the suite, the cool blue walls and that huge
flatscreen. Nice. The room he’d had last night was cool, but this was obviously
the princess’s pad. The bed was unmade and looked slept in, on both sides. He
leaned down and smelled the sheets, taking a deep whiff.

Sex. There was no mistaking that sweet smell. He rummaged in
the wastebasket near the bed and confirmed it. Several spent condoms, knotted
at the end to keep in Vik’s wad.

Okay. Just a quick glance around to make sure nothing else
was out of place and he was ready to send an email to the men who ran the
operation to let them know how close the yacht was to Visto. Oh, and about what
had happened to Gunny.

Not that they’d care about that part.

By the time Samantha had managed to get the coffeepot going,
he broke the bad news to her that she was making breakfast for everybody too.
Maybe it was because Nguyen was still standing there watching her, but she took
the news pretty well, rummaging around in the Sub-Zero refrigerator for a crate
of eggs and placing them next to the Viking stove.

Vik wasn’t the type who liked to see comedies when he
watched a movie. He didn’t find a hell of a lot in life to be funny. And when
it came to women, he wouldn’t exactly have listed amusing as one of his top
qualifications.

But there was something damn appealing about watching this
little rich girl fumble around in the kitchen, trying to make up for a lifetime
so pampered she apparently didn’t know how to crack an egg. Standing over the
skillet that he’d already magnanimously put the butter in since she probably
didn’t have a clue that something nonstick was required, she tapped the egg on
the edge once and then waited, as if there might be some delayed reaction time
involved. When nothing happened, she tried again, a little harder. The third
try took half the shell into the pan with it, but she beamed at him. “See?
There you go.”

Then she watched it as it sizzled.

“You need a spatula.”

She bit her lip.

“You know, a spatula. That flippy thing.” He gestured with
his wrist.

“Oh yes, of course.”

He didn’t know where the spatula was any more than she did,
but he guessed his chances of finding it, not to mention recognizing it, were
probably better than hers. Opening drawers, he located one and handed it to
her.

By the time she peeled the egg off the bottom of the pan and
flipped it over, the smoke alarm was going off.

She ignored it and he reached up to push the button that
would make the sound stop while she slid, or rather scraped, the egg out of the
pan and onto a plate that he had set out for it.

Her smile as she held it out to him was sweet. And genuine.
It did something to him, maybe even more than when she had smiled at him during
her seduction last night.

“I did it.”

He smiled back, unable to help himself, and reached for a
fork. What the hell. He’d eaten a lot worse than egg shells in his day.

“Delicious,” he lied.

Later, after Vik had forced several of the other crew
members to eat Samantha’s inedible eggs—and to shut up about it too—they took a
walk around the deck. Samantha managed to let no more than a few inches pass
between their bodies at all times. She may have found her own measure of power
bewitching him in bed last night, but it looked as if she felt the balance
distinctly shifting out here.

Vik observed the other members of the crew. They eyed her,
but made no overt moves. It wouldn’t be long now, one way or the other.

Making his way along the railing, he stopped abruptly and
Samantha almost bumped into him.

“Chill out,” he said quietly. “As a matter of fact, why
don’t you just relax out here for a while? Take a lounger there and read or
listen to music or do whatever it is you do.”

She eyed him tentatively. “Where will you be?”

He stroked her cheek lightly with his thumb. “Why? Will you
miss me?”

She looked around. Two of the guys were dipping their bare
feet in the hot tub, beers in hand despite that it was barely noon. Gunderson
always had a crew of at least seven or eight on hand when they hijacked a
yacht, big, tough sons of bitches ready for anything. But often they weren’t
needed and just hung around waiting to collect their take. That was a dangerous
situation with a gorgeous girl around.

“Go down and watch some T.V. or something,” he called out to
them.

He couldn’t hear their mutters in response, but at least
they got up and made themselves scarce.

“There,” he told her. “All clear now.”

She nodded.

“I’m going to go find Santiago.”

“Couldn’t I come with you?”

He sighed. “No, but maybe you should go back down to the
cabin.”

“No, please, never mind. I don’t want to be locked up in
there. I’m okay. I’ll be okay out here.” She wandered over to the lounger,
stretching out on it.

He watched her. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back. And if anybody bothers you in the
meantime, scream your head off. I’ll hear it.”

She nodded.

The truth was he needed to talk to Santiago and he didn’t
want her around. But he was second-guessing himself on whether it was safe to
leave her.

Hell, though. He was supposed to have a mission here. He
could hold off babysitting her for five minutes.

The deck was empty. The lounger was soft and luxurious. The
sun was hot. But she just wasn’t the same person. She couldn’t lie down and
sunbathe
as if she was, as if nothing had happened.

Besides, she wasn’t even in a bathing suit—not that she
would wear one with these animals around—and she hadn’t any sunscreen on. She’d
burn to a crisp if she stayed out in this heat for more than a few minutes.
When she put a palm up to her hot face, she realized she hadn’t even
moisturized this morning or put on any makeup. Perversely, the thought struck
her as hilarious and she laughed, startled by the sound and abruptly stifling
it. She got up from the lounger and wandered down the deck, intending to go
below after all. But when she passed the wheelhouse, she saw it was empty.

She glanced to either side of her and then slipped in. She
might not know how to work a coffeemaker or cook an egg, but computers in any
form, including those devoted to communications technology, had always
fascinated her. Her father probably had never known it, but there had been more
than one sleepless night as a little girl on this yacht spent in the wheel room
taking apart the computerized radio to see how it functioned and then surreptitiously
putting it back together again. She’d graduated of course to more sophisticated
computer play, such as hacking into Yale’s grading database, but she still
remembered the basics of the apparatus that ran this ship’s radio and computer
links to shore.

A quick inventory of the control panel and a couple of
diagnostic clicks showed her that the wireless for the yacht had been
disengaged. She could flip it back on easily, but any message she might send
would leave a trail she would need some time to eradicate and she didn’t want
to risk getting caught doing it. The radio was a much easier bet.

Perhaps she could contact Michael and he could send a search
party out for her father and then—

“Hey, Chica.”