White Hot (38 page)

Doing his best to shrink his six foot three frame down to blend in with the shorter tourists around him—the newscast would surely have mentioned his height—he slowly picked his way toward the woman until he was standing a few yards away from her at the other end of a large stall. Her companion had quickly become absorbed in examining the textiles on offer, and the stall’s owner was smiling and chattering nonstop as she spread out more and more weavings for them to look at. Ms. Sensible was translating.

He waited patiently, hanging back until the stall’s owner hurried off to fetch the inevitable offering of tea, over which they would start price negotiations.

He stepped in close to Ms. Sensible. She glanced up at him, startled, and started to say something in Chinese.

He cut her off. “I’m American. I need your help,” he said in a voice for her ears only.

She did a double take, her eyes darting up to meet his in surprise. Hers were large and blue. And really pretty. He did his own double take.

Suddenly, they widened as recognition dawned. “You! Oh, my— You’re that—” She swallowed the offending word, and glanced around nervously before turning back to him. “Major Llowell, I presume?”

It was his turn to be mildly surprised. “How did you know?”

Her brows flickered. Those blue eyes tracked down his body, then up again. “You really think that hat is a disguise?”

He stared back at her. Of all the— “It’s what I had. Got a better idea?” he asked defensively.

Her gaze glided across the breadth of his chest. “Nope.” She turned aside and cleared her throat.

For a second his jaw slackened. Wait. Was she
cruising
him?

An unexpected rush of physical awareness flooded through his body. He took another look at her. A good look. And his earlier opinion resolved into something quite different.

Yeah, she was wearing the typical drab uniform of a government bureaucrat, but the skirt actually hugged her shapely hips nicely, and her white blouse was soft and clung to a really outstanding set of—

“What do you want?” she asked, jerking him out of his reassessment.

He blinked. “What?”

“You said you needed help.”

Right.
Damn, what was wrong with him? He forced his focus back where it belonged. “A ride,” he said.

She shot him a look.

“Down to the coast,” he clarified with an inner wince. Had his voice betrayed his inappropriate thoughts?

Christ.

“You do realize,” she said evenly, “there are at least three military checkpoints between here and Sanya.”

He shrugged. “Yeah.” They could be dealt with.

She didn’t look particularly happy. She indicated his rucksack. “Anything in there I should know about?”

“No.”

Which was true. She shouldn’t know about it. For her own good.

She nodded, and he had the distinct feeling he wasn’t fooling her for a nanosecond. His respect went up another notch.

“What the hey,” she said at length, her eyes meeting his. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a Chinese prison.”

U.S. Department of State Foreign Service Officer DeAnne Lovejoy almost smiled at his expression. The major looked majorly taken aback. Poor man. Apparently he wasn’t used to a foreign service officer with a sense of humor.

Well, what was she supposed to say? “No, forget it, you’re not coming with us?” Hardly. As an FSO, it was her job to protect American citizens abroad. Besides, her boss would kill her if she let anything happen to him. The hotlines to State and the Pentagon had been burning up since dawn with speculation as to the alleged spy’s health and whereabouts, and here he’d walked right into her hands, healthy as a lion and asking her for help.

“DeAnne! Look at these fabulous— Oh!” Chrissie Tanner faltered at the sight of the tall, broad man standing so close to her.

Oops.
DeAnne took a step away from him. “Chrissie, this is Mr. Llow…enstein. He’s here, um…”

“On business,” the major supplied smoothly, extending his large hand. Which was attached to a muscular arm. Which in turn led to an impressive body. “My rental car conked out and Mrs….uh…”

A
very
impressive body.

He looked at her expectantly. Was she supposed to say something?

She lurched out of her lustful thoughts. “Oh. Lovejoy.
Miss
Lovejoy.” Okay, maybe not completely out. “DeAnne,” she said determinedly businesslike.

He inclined his head politely. “DeAnne offered me a ride down the mountain.”

“Oh?” Chrissie appeared flummoxed for a moment as she tipped her head back to look up at him, but then brightened. “So you’re here for the weaving, Mr. Llowenstein?”

DeAnne interrupted before the major could say anything. Lord, that body was a problem. It was far too noticeable. And not in a good way. “Chrissie, will you be all right on your own for a few minutes? I’m pretty sure my cell phone won’t work up here,” she said, “but I thought I’d give
it a try, to see if I can get hold of the rental company for him. It’s in the car.”

“Oh. Sure,” Chrissie said, and good-naturedly indicated the stall’s owner returning with a tray of refreshments. “I’ll just drink tea, nod, and smile a lot.”

“Sounds like a plan,” DeAnne said with a chuckle. “Sir?” She gestured toward where the SUV was parked. “Shall we?”

“Please,” he said when they were out of earshot. “Call me Kip.”

“All right, Kip. We need to get you out of sight. You stick out like a sore thumb.”

He made a noise of agreement. They passed a vendor selling rolls of fried rice, lamb, and vegetables wrapped in pak choi leaves. It smelled delicious, and she could see him eyeing the food. She stopped and ordered a half dozen from the vendor, then glanced at that large body again and changed the order to a dozen with a cup of coconut milk to wash them down.

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked as they hurried on toward the car. The television “wanted” broadcasts detailing his “treachery” had started cycling yesterday afternoon.

“This morning,” he said, as he accepted the newspaper cone of fried rolls from her. “There are fruit trees everywhere. But these smell great.” He put a hand on her arm to slow her down. “We’ll share.”

She shook her head. “We really need to get you—” But the words died in her throat as he plucked a roll from the paper, pursed his lips, and blew on it.
Oh, man.
Those lips were— The guy was—

Oh my God.
Feeding her.

She felt herself flush hotly as he put the roll to her open mouth and waited for her to take a bite.

This was crazy. Kiptyn Llowell was a fugitive. A
spy
. And no doubt was being hunted by every cop, security agent, and PLA soldier on Hainan. His life was in danger. Heck,
her
life was probably in danger just being with him.

And he was
flirting
with her?

Ho-boy.

She took a bite.

He smiled a slow, sexy smile, and her heart did a high dive off the cliff of serious attraction. Man, oh, man, was she ever in deep, deep trouble.

“Major Llowell,” she said sternly after she’d managed to chew and swallow. And avoid looking at his mouth. “You don’t seem to be taking me—your situation—very seriously.”

“Hey, you’re the one who stopped for lunch.”

She glared at him. “And this is the thanks I get.”

He waggled his brows. “I’d be happy to thank you properly,” he said, and popped another veggie roll in his mouth.

She didn’t know whether to roll her eyes or smack him. She definitely didn’t want to think about any other possibilities. “The only thanks I need,” she said primly, “is you staying well out of sight until we can figure out—”

He let out a curse.

She frowned. “I’m really not a big fan of profan—Oof!”

She suddenly found herself jerked to a halt against a set of hard masculine ribs. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Honestly, Kip,” she began. But that’s when she saw them—a trio of army Jeeps, overflowing with soldiers, barreling up the dirt track toward the village. “Shit,” she echoed, her voice going up two octaves as her pulse took off.

Kip grabbed her by the arms and pushed her toward the SUV. “Get in. Quickly.” He sprinted around to the driver’s side and vaulted in.

“But wait!” She looked wildly around for their hired driver, who was nowhere to be seen.

“Now!”
Kip ordered, reaching across the seat to pull her inside. “Buckle up!”

The SUV’s engine roared to life.

By now the Jeeps had reached the outskirts of the village.

Kip ground the SUV into gear and it lurched forward.
Her door slammed shut with a bang like a rifle shot. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

“What about Chrissie?” she squeaked, grappling for the seat belt.

“Forget Chrissie,” he gritted out, steering the vehicle into a rooster tail to head in the opposite direction. He jerked his chin at the advancing Jeeps. “You’ve got more important things to worry about.”

Her belt snapped home.

Just as the soldiers started shooting.