Overkill (The Mammoth Book of Special Ops) (3 page)

His words echoed. “You’re the boss...”

Tanner cursed himself and then he cursed Laine Derek. Himself for losing his grip on whatever cool he’d managed to salvage from the jungle and panting after a woman he hadn’t seen in years, and her for turning out to be exactly what he’d expected—the woman who’d starred in his adolescent fantasies, and quite few since then.

Not that she knew it, nor would he tell her, but it hadn’t been fifteen years since he’d seen her. No. He’d clapped eyes on her twice in the last six years. Cairo first, then Madrid last year. She’d made his knees weak then, and she did the same now. Not good, considering his current job description, and the fact that he was as far from being Laine’s type as a lion was from a Siamese cat.

So shut the fuck up, Cross, and quit with the sex signals. Get yourself some working clothes and get away from her as fast as your ass will move.

The menswear department was on the ground floor, so he headed straight for it.

He pulled a half dozen white shirts off the rack, found a clerk, told him his sizes, and asked him to bring him three suits, one navy and two black, whatever ties would work, and some dress shoes – his feet hurt just thinking about them – and to toss in some jeans and underwear while he was at it.

After a double-take on Tanner’s African-market-chic outfit, the clerk gave him a quick “Yes, sir” and set out as though on a mission to save a dying species.
 
He had to hand it to the guy, he worked fast; in no time he was back swishing expensive clothes under Tanner’s nose.

“Will these be suitable, sir,” he asked.

“Fine.” Tanner pulled out his credit card and handed it over. “Wrap ‘em up.”

“You’ll need a tux.” Laine stepped up beside him, her eyes scanning the clothes laid out on the counter, while the clerk did his tally. “I suggest Armani. And switch one of the black suits for a gray. And maybe add a couple of pale blue shirts.”

The clerk looked at her, then him.

Tanner dropped his gaze to hers; she was smiling. Without looking at the clerk, he said, “What the lady says.”

“And put them on my account.”

Again the clerk looked at him.

“Negative that.”

Laine shrugged. “What the man says.”

When the clerk left to make the changes, Tanner looked down at Laine; raised a brow. “You trying to buy me.”

“It crossed my mind... given you’ve ruled out friendship.” She wandered away, fingering suits, shirts, whatever, as she went, and occasionally glancing back at him.

He followed her. Like a damn puppet on a string. Toward the private dressing rooms.

They paused outside a door. Tanner opened it. Laine stepped inside.

They were alone in the heart of London.

Tanner planted his hands on the wall, one on each side of Laine, careful not to touch her. But he could feel her warmth through his cheap shirt, see her heart pounding under the silk of her blouse, smell her million-dollar perfume—the million dollar woman. If there was sound outside their tight and cozy world, he didn’t hear it. What he heard was the whisper of her breath, the flurry of it on his throat. “You sure about this?” he asked.

She placed her hands on his chest—and his lungs damn near stopped pumping. “Absolutely not.” She moved her palms, grazing his nipples. He sucked in a breath. Their eyes met. Held. “Are you?”

He brought his mouth down, brushed it over hers. A taste. The barest of tastes. “I’m sure it’s the biggest mistake of my life.”

“Good.”

He cocked a brow in question.

“We never forget our mistakes.” She continued, then slipped her arms around his neck.

Running her hands through his hair, she pulled his mouth to hers. Took it hard and greedily. And in that moment, he went deaf, dumb, and blind to everything but her lips pressed to his. On a moan, she took his tongue, played with it. His temperature shot to stratospheric, and the down-low, intelligence-starved anatomy behind his cheap Congo zipper turned to hot steel, raw and rough with lust.

Wanting closer, wanting in, he ground himself against her, his reward only the crush of her breasts to his chest. He tugged at her blouse, slid a hand under the silk of it, then over the satin and lace of her bra. He pressed his thumb against the pebbled jut of her nipple—and she pushed back, whimpered. His brain went primordial.

The kiss deepened—Him? Her?—he couldn’t tell, but when she sagged in his arms, he locked her body to his, his hands sliding over her hips, her ass. He wanted her. He wanted her now. Here!

In a fucking Harrods changing room?

He pulled back. “Jesus...” He put his forehead to hers. Their uneven breathing a storm between them—hot, gusty, and trapped in a dense silence.

“Well... that was, uh, interesting,” Laine finally said, burying her face in his shoulder.

“That’s one description.” His voice sounded broken, too low.

“And yours?”

“A hell of a good beginning.” He looked around the well-appointed dressing room and smiled. “But your choice of venue is seriously lacking.”

She gave him a small smile in return, and started tucking in her blouse; her hands were trembling. “I didn’t exactly plan ahead for this.”

He pulled her to him, again brushed his lips over hers. Damn near killed him to hold back. “But you did plan.”

She studied him intently. “I’m not sure I did.” Frowning, she added, “I just suddenly felt... wild.”

“And now?”

“Now? I don’t know what I feel.” Turning away from him, she said. “Except we’d better get out of here. I think Harrods would agree.”

When they arrived at Joe Derek’s Mayfair mansion, Laine asked Collier to show Tanner to his room. And yes, she might have been brusque, but she was more than a little desperate to get away from him—and do some thinking. Something she hadn’t managed to do when she’d seduced him in a men’s dressing room. Tanner gave her no argument, but the last look he shot her before turning to follow Collier told her he was making a pretty good guess about what was going on inside her.

Good for him, because she had no idea.

Still light-headed, she drifted into the library to wait for her father. She might not understand her body’s response to Tanner, but what she really wanted to know was why her father brought him here. Why him?

“Hello, love.” Her father strode into the room, walked directly to her, and gave her the usual kiss on the cheek.

His valet, Jacobsen, came in a few steps behind him. “Is there anything you need, Mister Derek?” He nodded in her direction. “Miss?”

“No, we’re fine. Thank you, Jacobsen.”

“Very good,” he said, in his odd stiff way. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

When Jacobsen was gone, Laine eyed her father’s suit and tie. “Are you going out?”

“A late meeting.”

She wished he wouldn’t tire himself, but knew it was useless to tell him so. “I’d have thought you’d want to see Tanner. I brought him here straight from the airport.”

“Really? You picked him up?”

She nodded but offered no explanation. How do you explain a whim fed by curiosity. “I understand he’s joining your security staff.” She studied her father closely, as she’d taken to doing ever since his diagnosis. It always surprised her how well he looked, tall, straight—thinner than six months ago—but his color was still good. Other than looking tired he wore his sixty-three years with polished grace. She called him her gray fox. A gray fox she was terrified she’d lose.

“I’ve got a few minutes. Would you like a drink?” He walked to the bar, poured himself a brandy.

“No. And don’t try changing the subject.”

He sighed, and despite her refusal, poured her a glass of Chardonnay. Handing her the glass, he said, “That’s what I get for raising a too darn smart, pit-bull of a daughter. I can’t get away with anything.”

“Tanner said he was hired by Holister. That Holister told him about your surgery. Why? Holister has never had anything to do with Derek security before. Why now? Why didn’t you use our usual firm?” She paused, softened her tone, and tried not to show her fear. “What’s going on, Dad? Is there something—some threat—that I don’t know about?”

“No, darling. Nothing like that. Tanner’s just a temporary replacement for one of my men who needed some unexpected time off.
 
When I mentioned the situation to Holister, he brought up Tanner’s name. I remembered him, of course, and I thought it would be interesting to see him again.” He smiled. “Nothing dire, no devious plots.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“He knows about your surgery. You’re okay with that?”

He shrugged easily. “Security is the man’s business, Laine. If Holister trusts him to be discreet, I accept his judgment. Besides, in a few days the surgery will be behind us, and Tanner will be gone. Let’s not make a big thing of it. All right?”

Something wasn’t right...
She had a million questions, but rather than cause her father stress, she lifted her glass and nodded. “And in those few days, you’ll be on the mend and driving the staff crazy.” She forced a smile.

He tapped her glass with his, his expression oddly grim. “Amen to that.”

Tanner dropped his duffel bag on the bench at the foot of the four-poster bed. His room, with its lofty ceilings, ornate moldings, and antique furniture, was as far from the jungle as a man could get in one day.

Walking to the window, he watched Collier from the corner of his eye, as the driver grudgingly hung Tanner’s newly acquired Harrods haberdashery in the closet. Tanner couldn’t resist issuing an instruction. “Leave the jeans on the bed. I’d appreciate it.”

Collier shot him a fiery look. “You’re a pretend guest, Cross. Don’t push it.”

Tanner smiled and turned away from the window—nothing but a street outside with slow moving traffic—and sat his butt on the edge of the window seat. “How long did you say you’d been with the Dereks?”

“I didn’t.” Collier faced him, his face tight. Not a man used to taking orders, Tanner thought, or being asked questions. “Four weeks. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Cushy job, driving a beautiful woman around.”

Collier said nothing, then, “If you’re finished asking me about things that are none of your business, I have to drive Mister Derek to a late engagement.” His expression was dark as if something black and ugly was on his mind. “There’s a dinner tomorrow night. You’re expected to be there. Try not to be a complete asshole.” He strode from the room, his back as rigid as the doorway he walked through.

Tanner watched him go and smiled. Cross, you really need to work on your people skills.

A half hour later—he was coming out of the shower—the phone rang. It was the woman on his mind. Laine.

“I don’t imagine you’ve eaten,” she said, her tone brisk.

“Some plastic wrapped stuff on the plane.”

“Come down to the kitchen, then. We can talk while we eat.”

Being a man of few words, he decided to use some, “Laine, about what happened—”

“See you in fifteen minutes.” She hung up.