Risk of Exposure (Alpha Ops Book 6) (3 page)

 
W
here would you like me to drop you?” she asked, slowing down at the outskirts of the town.

“Wherever you recommend we go for dinner. I haven’t eaten all day and I’m starving.” He knew full well that she was in two minds about going to eat with him, so he framed his answer in a way that it was a foregone conclusion.

“Don’t worry.” She flashed a smile at him. “I wasn’t planning on ditching you. We’ll go eat. I’m looking forward to seeing how impressive you are with a spoon. Honestly, it’s all I can think about. I just didn’t know if you wanted to go to your hotel first.” She frowned. “Or…wait, do you have a hotel here, or are you staying in another town?”

“I’m staying here. Close to the town center. I still don’t exactly know where everything is yet, though. I’ve only been here a few days.” Kind of the truth at least.

“Oh, well certainly you need to see the splendor of the tobacco shop on Sebastopol—it dates back to the 1980s, I believe. Also the supermarket that only sells vodka and sardines should certainly be on your sightseeing itinerary. There’s so much to do around here.”

He laughed. She was as funny in person as she had been in her apartment the previous day. Such a departure from the previous two weeks he’d been watching her. “Not a great town?” he asked.

“It’s actually not bad. Everyone is quite friendly, and you can get what you need, if not always what you want.”

“How very Rolling Stones of you,” he said, looking out into the darkness. There was nothing out here—no lights, no nothing. He could just as well be gazing out to a dark sea. Good to know.

“How long are you in the country for?” she asked, using her indicator absurdly late, and turning into a broad tree-lined road with streetlights.

As long as you are, probably.
“Undecided. It all depends on my boss,” he said. “What about you?”

They pulled up in front of what looked like an old sewing machine store and she turned off the engine. “Ditto.”

“Are we here?” He looked around and saw nothing that could be construed as a restaurant.

“Trust me. You’ve got to really want something here to find it.” She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets, her long brown hair slightly unkempt, and all the more sexy for it, looking like temptation.

Like wicked, wicked temptation. He should have known that meeting her was a bad idea. He should have known that he’d like her. He should have known to keep away. “Lead on,” he said.

“You’re very trusting,” she said, nodding up an alley and then leading the way. “I could be leading you into a den of organized crime and terrorists.”

“Frankly, at this stage, as long as they fed me, I wouldn’t even care.”

A gratifying chuckle floated back in the cold air.

At the end of the alley, there was a metal door; the only sign was a tiny plaque with Cyrillic lettering on it. She yanked open the door and took the metal stairs two at a time. Maybe she
was
taking him somewhere sketchy.

By the time they’d reached the second landing, he could hear voices and clinking of plates and glasses. She opened another metal door and stood back for him to enter. He laughed. “How did you ever find this place?”

For all the metal doors and stairs, the huge room was decked out like an Alpine lodge, wooden floors, walls, and ceilings, with thick wooden bench tables. The smell of food and beer almost brought him to his knees. In the short time he’d been in country, he’d found only snack foods at the train station.

“The owner of the orphanage recommended it. He used to come here all the time with his family. Hans, the guy who owns the restaurant, is the third generation to run it. Everyone in town knows this place—and out-of-towners don’t. Which suits everyone quite well.”

The guy behind the bar looked exactly how a Hans should look: tall, beefy, with hands the size of frying pans.

She held up her hand to get Hans’s attention and then pointed at a free table. He nodded at her, but his eyes were on Mal.

“Are you going to be in trouble for bringing an outsider here?” he asked, taking a seat opposite her.

“Probably, but I’m a risk taker.” She grinned, took her leather jacket off, and shivered. “Surprising how cold it can get here so early in the year, isn’t it?”

“Why don’t you keep your jacket on, then?” he asked, still wondering about the trouble she thought may be coming.

“The food I’m ordering is hot. Super hot. Trust me,” she said.

“I have no idea why I keep trusting you, but okay. I’m in your hands. All evening.” Dammit, why had he said that?

“Good to know, Malone. Good to know.” She leaned back and tilted her head. “So why are you here again? How long have you been here, and where did you come in from?”

“Wow. You kiss the Spanish Inquisition with that mouth?” He smiled.

She laughed, tipping her head back, showing the creamy, smooth skin of her neck. He wondered what she smelled like. What she tasted like.
Shit, Mal. She’s Baston’s daughter. Take it down a notch.

Hans rumbled to the table and brought two beers with what looked like vodka chasers. “Raclette?” he asked.

“Please,” she said. “Hans, this is my brother, Malone.”

What? What the fuck?
He fished around in his repertoire for an American accent that sounded approximately like Baston’s. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, standing and holding out his hand.

Hans’s face broke into a wide smile as he shook hands with Mal. “Indeed, indeed. Welcome to you, sir.”

“Thank you.” He retook his seat as Hans bustled off. “What was that all about?”

She shrugged. “Hans is a lovely man, and he likes me. I didn’t want to admit that I’d picked up a man on the side of the road—a man I know nothing about—and brought him to his restaurant. He would worry. Now he won’t worry.”

He sat back in admiration. “Wow, you can lie really well. I mean, it just came out of you, no hesitation, no planning.
Are
you a sociopath?”

She downed her shot of vodka in one and it could have been water for the reaction she showed. “I don’t know. I’ve never been tested. Maybe.” She raised her eyebrows at him as she took a sip of the frothy beer. “Then again, you’re the one who came up with the accent in a split second. Nicely done, by the way. Are you sure you’re not American, just pretending to be all mysterious and British?”

He laughed and took a longer swig of beer. He set the glass down and laced his hands on the table. “So, tell me again why I’m mysterious and sexy?”

“I didn’t say sexy.”

“But I know that’s what you meant.” He shouldn’t be doing this; there was no way of getting around it. She was sexy, intelligent, and funny. Why couldn’t he have a little fun?
Because of Baston.

Before she could reply, their dinner arrived. Even though he wasn’t quite as hungry as he’d claimed to be, his mouth watered at the sight of the food being piled on the table. Chunks of white bread, cold meats, and steaming potatoes and a contraption he’d never seen before. “Torture device?” he asked.

“Ve have vays of making you talk,” she said in a passable circa World War II German accent. “It’s a cheese melter. Watch.”

Hans came back with a half round of cheese that he impaled on a spike. He moved around a hot grill so it was about an inch from the face of the cheese. “
Smačnoho
,” he said as he left to attend to another table.

“
Diakuju
,” she replied, thanking him.

Mal watched as Abby put a potato, a slice of meat, and a cornichon on her plate. Then she scraped melted cheese onto her plate and started eating. She paused as her first forkful approached her mouth. “I thought you were hungry?” She slid the food into her mouth and closed her eyes briefly as she savored the dish.

“Oh, I am,” he said, eyes on her mouth.
Shut up. Shut your bloody mouth.

She gestured to Hans for more vodka and nodded toward the food as she took another mouthful.

He started piling food onto his plate, and when he took his first bite, he understood Abby’s initial, eyes-closed appreciation. “How have I not had this before?” he asked between mouthfuls.

“Hmmm,” she said, dabbing her napkin on her mouth. “You were a poor, deprived child, slightly nervous. Never wanted to rock the boat until you found yourself in an institution. Boy Scouts? Boarding school? Juvenile detention? Military? Who knows? But as soon as you got there, you didn’t like any of the rules, and you became addicted to breaking them. You’ve never done anything conventional, like being in a relationship, taking vacations, going skiing, eating raclette, because that would make you feel constrained, bound by rules. You’re a lone wolf, destined to roam alone.” She paused. “Or, you know, you’ve never been to the Alps.”

He nearly choked on his mouthful. She was right about nearly all of that. Nearly. “Oh my God, that was amazing. You nailed absolutely
nothing
there. I mean, I thought you’d have picked up one thing, maybe just by pure luck, but nice try.” He tipped his refilled shot glass at her and clinked her glass.

“So weird. I keep thinking if I say that to all the men I meet, I’ll be right at least one time. I guess you’re not the right guy.” He could have sworn that her smile was seductive. Like she was thinking something impossibly naughty. Or was that just wishful thinking?

Okay, he wasn’t going to make a move, but if she made a move on him, he’d totally go with it. He made the deal with himself, not knowing which way he hoped it would go. Definitely knowing which way he wanted it to go. They ate in silence for a bit, but when the immediate need of sustenance was satisfied, he put his fork down and leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“So tell me about yourself. What gives you the guts to pick up a strange man on the side of the road, close to nighttime, in a foreign country? Or was it not guts but a death wish?” he asked, leaning back and almost groaning with the amount of cheese he’d eaten.

She took a sip of her drink this time and pushed her plate away. “I prefer to consider it good karma to help people in need. That’s all. Don’t you like to help people?”

“Not really, no. Not unless I know them. Not unless there’s a good reason,” he said honestly.

“Wow. That makes you kind of hard-hearted, doesn’t it?” She smiled into her glass.

“Why would anyone want to be thought of as softhearted? Although I am extremely thankful for your incredibly soft…heart.” He grinned as she nearly choked on her beer.

“Will you be able to get someone out there to fix your car in the morning?” she asked after clearing her throat.

“I’m sure I passed a workshop on the way out of town this morning. I’ll just walk up there tomorrow. No rush.”

“Well, I’m not going to offer you a ride since you derided my softheartedness. So you’ll have to manage on your own.” She finished her drink. “Do you want another one?”

He slugged back the remainder of his vodka and was about to say yes when she continued.

“My place or yours?”

It was his turn to choke.

She laughed, a glorious, rich laugh that seemed to come from her soul.
Her soul?
He looked at his glass. That was some fine alcohol right there.

“Are you up for it?” she asked frankly.

“Up for what?” He was still trying to clear his throat from the burn of the vodka and catch up with the direction the evening was taking.

She tipped her head. She put some local currency on the table and shrugged into her coat. “Well if you don’t know, then I guess I have my answer.”

She was already at the door by the time he’d collected his jacket and his wits. If she was offering what he thought she was offering, then according to his earlier deal with himself, he could fuck the hell out of her without worrying about the repercussions. It was the universe telling him he could. He was sure.

“Wait a minute,” he said as soon as the door closed behind them. “What if I do know?”

She turned back, face mere inches from his. “Let’s go to your place.”

He leaned in and kissed her, pressing her up against the metal door and tasting the burning vodka still in her mouth. Her tongue stroked his, and his world tilted on its axis. He pulled away, his mouth millimeters away from hers.

“I don’t like people in my space. Let’s go to yours.” It was the truth, although more pressing was the surveillance equipment directed at her apartment window.

“I don’t like people in
my
space.”

They were silent for a moment. She opened her mouth to speak when a family came out of the restaurant door. He jumped away from her—realizing instantly that it probably wouldn’t do to be found French-kissing his sister with a hard-on the size of Big Ben.

“Come,” she said, and started running up the metal stairs toward the roof.

The roof he could work with.

T
his was like all her dreams come true. She’d been so desperate for company, for some human interaction. But this man, so handsome, and big, and
oh my God
the smell of him, all man and musk. She’d wanted him since they chatted in the car. Since he sparred verbally with her over dinner. She watched him tear at the bread with his huge hands and listened to him speak with his James Bond accent.

She just wanted him. For today, for now. He was a perfect distraction. Just passing through and kissed like a god, and she would lay money on the fact that he was just as skilled in other areas too. She couldn’t tell if he had turned her knees to butter or if it had been the liquor, but either way, she wanted the fuck out of him. And she’d never have to see him again.

She opened the door to the roof, where Hans set out tables when it was warmer. There was nowhere to sit except the wall surrounding the rooftop.

As soon as she stopped to look at the town beneath them, he grabbed her arm and spun her around. His mouth crashed down on hers without warning. She opened her mouth under him, wanting to feel the urgency of the kiss. His tongue moved in her mouth like he already knew how to slay her. Her breath heaved in and out as she held him as tight as she could.

She needed this. She needed a release, some semblance of human closeness. He pulled her head back with her hair, and she moaned as his mouth sucked and bit at her neck. She slid her jacket off, despite the cold air. Heat was flowing through her like she was the Torch.

“You’re fucking glorious, you know that?” he said in a gravelly voice. “I can’t wait to be inside you, watching your eyes as I make you come.”

A dirty talker too. Her hormones went into overdrive. She gasped for air as he yanked her head back to be kissed again. His hand slipped under her T-shirt and without stopping she pulled away from him and held her arms up. He slid the shirt off and lifted her so she could wrap her legs around him. His mouth went to her nipple, sucking and biting it through her bra.

She shivered and he put her down. “Are you too cold?” he rasped.

Not fucking likely.
She reached behind her and took off her bra, allowing him to see her, wanting him to see her. His darkening eyes made her stomach clench with need.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” He swallowed visibly and dragged her to him again. This time he bit and pulled at her nipples until they were so hard they were virtually throbbing in the cold night air.

Not stopping to ask, or to say anything else, he ripped open the button on her jeans and dragged them halfway down her thighs. His hand plunged between her legs, under her panties, his large fingers diving into her folds.

“You’re so wet. So fucking wet. How long have you been wet?”

“Since we sat down for dinner,” she said, and then felt compelled to keep speaking. “I knew I wanted you right then, and the seam of my jeans was so perfectly placed for pressure…”

He groaned as his fingers played in her wetness. He pressed against her clitoris and she squirmed against him, needing more friction. Her hands reached for his jeans. She undid them and found he went commando. His dick was already hard and strong. “Do you have a condom?” she asked as she stroked him. “If you don’t, I—”

“I’ve got one,” he groaned as her fist tightened around the head of his dick.

She couldn’t wait. “I need you inside me.” She slid her jeans down a little farther, and as she bent to do so, she slid him into her mouth. He went completely still.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to come. If you want me to fuck you, you better get back up here,” he said.

She stood and turned away from him, looking over her shoulder at him as she put her hands on the wall. His hand slowly slid from her neck to her ass, and as he reached there, he pushed into her. Hard and fast, using her wetness. She half rose with the feeling of being so totally impaled. She moaned, heat pulsing out from her body as he thrust into her. He pulled her closer to him, one arm around her breasts, fingers pinching her nipple, and the other around her hips, sliding his fingers against her clit.

She felt her orgasm start from the pit of her stomach, arching toward her and ebbing away, only to reemerge again, stronger. As he pushed into her, her nipple and clit seemed to join with the rhythm of his fingers.

“Oh God,” she breathed, and then spasmed as the hot wave crashed around her, jerking against him. He shook off his restraint and came, almost roaring with the intensity.

As soon as the warmth in her body started to dissipate, she waited for the shame to kick in. She pulled her jeans up and tugged her T-shirt and jacket back on, barely acknowledging his presence. When she was ready to go, she stood up straight and looked him in the eye. She smiled involuntarily at his confusion, then realized she felt zero shame.

“Thanks, I needed that,” she said, almost urging the surge of shame and embarrassment to come.

“Glad I could assist?” he said, frowning with what seemed like uncertainty.

“Can you find your way back to your hotel?” she asked, reaching for the door. Why wasn’t she feeling anything except satiation and calm and…peace? Should she stay? Indulge in a little more small talk? She could. But if she were to go now, she would have a perfect memory of him. She didn’t want to spoil the moment finding out that he was a jerk or, worse, a Yankees fan or something. She paused at the door and smiled at him. Just to cement the experience in her mind. He stepped toward her.

“Yup. Listen, is everything—” he started.

She put a finger on his lips, then took it away and quickly kissed him. “Okay, bye.” She let the door swing shut and ran as quietly down the stairs as she could. She didn’t want him to think she was running away from him, although she was, and she didn’t want Hans to wonder who had been on the roof and come out to check. She hit the alleyway, made sure her car wouldn’t be obstructing anything in the morning, and walked briskly around the corner of the block.

She took a shaky, deep breath. Still no shame.

She got to her apartment building a few minutes later, not realizing that she had a wide smile on her face until she caught her reflection in the glass door to the building.

“Well, that escalated quickly,” he murmured to himself. Mal had no idea how long he’d been on the roof after she left, looking at the door and looking at the wall he’d just bent her over.

Then the reality set in. He’d fucked the boss’s daughter—the one he was supposed to be protecting—and then let her walk home in the middle of the night.
Nice work, you wanker.

Even then, he didn’t make a move to the door. He looked at the roof again, wondering if the whole thing had been some kind of hallucination. Maybe she’d put something in his drink. Or maybe he’d been seduced and abandoned by the one woman he couldn’t have.

Didn’t want to have.

He ran for the door. He could at least get to his apartment in time to ensure she got home safely. Damn. What had he done? Was he supposed to find her? Try to date her? What did she want?

And why did he care what she wanted? He never had before. Rarely saw a woman more than once, in fact. He always made it clear what the score was, so no one left disappointed. It was a skill, finding a woman who wouldn’t be upset by a one-night stand and who wouldn’t hold a grudge and let herself into his apartment and burn all his clothes. Because women did that kind of shit, right?

Not to him. Hit and quit, but in a respectful way. He never led them on, never left them anything but happy. He thought of himself as a year-round Santa—spreading only happiness and joy.

Not like Abby. She’d hit and quit him, and it had totally thrown him off balance. What was up with that? By the time he let himself into his apartment, he’d shaken it off. He looked through his camera lens and found her curtains closed as usual and a light on behind them. A shadow suggested she was walking around in there, before it all went dark.

He sighed. At least she’d got home safely, and he hadn’t put her in danger. He sat on the bare mattress and dragged his PC toward him.