Trained for Seduction

Spy Games:

Trained For

Seduction

by

Mia Downing

Emma Walters leaned against the bed in Alexander Bishop’s room and waited impatiently. Her father had woken her with an insistent phone call that had sent her here, to his room, to wait for his new business associate’s return. She had no clue why, and she didn’t dare ask. So she waited as expected, even though it was two in the morning.

Her father, in so many words, was crazy, and he scared the wits out of her. As a genius scientist, his work in the lab was ground-breaking and awe-inspiring, and she was just shy of worshipping that side of the man. But outside the lab he was fractious, obsessive compulsive and downright mean, even to his only child. She would bet good money he was schizophrenic, too, but he’d refused medical help. So it was she, alone, with her father and his demons.

The door opened and Alexander entered, looking slightly unkempt for his usual pristinely suited self. His coat had been abandoned, his shirt untucked, his tie nowhere to be seen. His dark hair was long enough to just brush his collar in the back and had just a touch of gray at the temples.

She liked the way his right cheek dimpled when he smiled, finally seeing her leaning against the foot of his bed. She thought the dark stubble on his jaw looked dark, dangerous—almost as dangerous as the glitter in his deep brown eyes. She swallowed and nervously tugged at the neck of her robe, the sexual appeal he radiated far too strong for her.

“Can I help you?” His voice was deep, soft, sensual, and accented in a way she couldn’t place—European, maybe?

“My father sent me.”

“You’re Emma.”

“Yes.” Her fingers clenched the bar at the foot of his bed as he drew near, his light, citrusy cologne tickling her nose as he bent to grab something off the floor right at her side—his tie. He smelled delicious, and she wanted to bury her face in his neck and just inhale him forever.

“And you want?” He tossed his tie to a chair and crossed his arms over his muscled chest, the emotion in his eyes unreadable.

What would it be like to have a man like this, waiting for her every night? She licked her lips, assessing the width of his shoulders, then tilting her head again to look at him. He was probably six-one, not much taller than her five-nine, but he felt oh-so-much bigger, larger than life.

“I don’t know.” She swallowed again. It was hard to tell how old he was. He didn’t look that old, but the gray definitely made her think older than appropriate. But that didn’t seem to matter to her libido. Her skin tingled with awareness, and areas of her that a man had never touched were definitely singing to their own tune. If he decided to kiss her, her mind might protest, but her body would be more than happy to accommodate whatever he wanted.

“Me, perhaps?”

Her entire being screamed, yes! But her mind warned her away from him—way too dangerous. Way too sexy. He wasn’t a ticket out of her father’s prison. He was a business associate, and probably had a family of his own somewhere, just like the others, while she was trapped here, bound to the lab for all of eternity. Not that she minded the lab. Science was her calling, her life. But if she could just get her father to set her free, to see she wouldn’t run with his secrets…

“Earth to Emma.” He stepped between her legs, his lean form radiating way too much sexual energy. He pulled her to her feet and she found herself square against his chest. She closed her eyes, absorbing the heat, her breasts tingling at the contact. Then he lifted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers.

His kiss wasn’t something she expected, but sure as hell enjoyed. His mouth slanted over hers, his lips firm. He opened his mouth slightly and coaxed her to do the same with the tip of his tongue. Who was she to not do as she was told? She tentatively touched her tongue to his and was rewarded with a jolt of pleasure that raced down her spine straight to her belly. He groaned appreciatively, the sound vibrating in her mouth. He deepened the kiss, his mouth firmer, more demanding, his tongue showing hers where to move, how to tangle with his.

Unsure what to do with her hands, she brought them up and rested them on his chest, his muscles firm, hot under her hands. She leaned into him a bit and let her hands roam, sliding upward to cup the back of his head, her fingers exploring the longer hair at his nape.

His hand left her chin to trail down her throat, untying her robe to run along the opening of her nightgown. His fingers unbuttoned first one, then two buttons and then slid into the opening, ticking the swell of her breast. She arched against his hand, giving him permission, and his hand then cradled almost reverently, and kneaded the flesh.

A moan escaped her, almost as shocking as the jolt of sinful lust that shook her to her toes. She could feel every tug on her nipple between her thighs, deep inside, awakening her pussy. No one had ever touched her breasts except her, and she sure as hell didn’t give herself this much pleasure. She arched upward, wanting him to squeeze her breasts harder. Maybe move the other hand further down to see if he could give her a better orgasm than her own fingers gave.

He backed her one last step and pushed her back on the bed, straddling her a moment and then maneuvering himself to the side, never once taking his mouth from hers. He tugged at her nightgown and she raised her hips. He yanked it upward, over her hips but not off, his hand on her inner thigh, his fingers so close to her pussy, brushing the material of her panties.

Yes, she wanted his hand there. Years of feeling unloved, alone, had her desperate under his hand, needy for his attention, even if he was a stranger. It was better than the alternative. It was better than being alone.

He broke the kiss and his mouth slid along her jaw, down her throat to her chest. The kisses were hot, sinful, and she couldn’t wait until he found her nipple. But he kissed around, under, his tongue making a spiraling path that tantalized her skin, caressed the globe of her breast.

She held her breath a moment and his tongue finally slid over her nipple. He took it gently into his mouth, his tongue lapping, then his teeth teasing, tugging. She wanted him to suck harder so she ran her fingers over his head, though his hair, and urged him closer, deeper, harder.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he murmured against her breast. His fingers dipped into the side of her panties and found the dampness pooling there. The intimate touch was shocking and at the same time incredibly sexy. Her hips had a mind of their own and the timid part of her screamed for them to stop, but she arched into his hand, urging his fingers to find the spot she needed him to touch.

He slid upward, the tip of one finger finding her clit. He rubbed the sensitive nub then dipped down to gather her juices to lubricate the bud again, his touch harder this time. Another finger slipped between the folds, and into her core.

Stop him. The timid voice screamed louder, and Emma listened. She froze as his finger slid home, deep inside her, curling upward to hit that soft pad of flesh with all of the delicious nerve endings. She was so close to coming. She could feel it in the quivering in her pussy, her muscles contracting, her belly tight with anticipation. But it felt wrong to come under his hand when she didn’t know more than his name. A horrible time to grow a conscience.

He lifted his mouth from her breast. “Something wrong? You can come if you want. We have all night.” His fingers remained in place, one still rubbing her clit, the others now starting to gently thrust in and out of her pussy.

Her orgasm loomed nearer, and she clamped her thighs on his hand, the pure, chaste part of her panicking. “I need you to stop. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He kissed her neck. “Nonsense. Your father said I had a present in my room, for my birthday tomorrow. Well, today. I thought that present was you.”

A present. Terror rumbled into her chest, up her throat and she bit back the bile it brought. Her father had instigated this. She hated to think he was pimping her out, but there was no mistaking what Alex thought. She was his birthday gift. Had anyone had ever given him a virgin for his birthday before?

A sick part of her laughed inside, finding it even more horrible that indirectly, she was getting a present as well; they shared the same birthday. She shoved his chest, trying to get him to roll off.

He did roll, and his fingers left her pussy to prop himself up on an elbow. “Are you okay?”

Alex had to be in on this. None of her father’s associates had been interested in her before. Plain, boring her. She looked at him with new, calculating eyes and promptly brought a knee up and into his hard groin.

“Ow! Jesus, what’s—”

She ended all conversation by head-butting him right in the face. He groaned and then rolled to the side, eyes closed.

“Alex?” Good lord, she’d knocked him out. She lingered for a moment, rubbing her forehead. She put a hand to his chest. His breath was slightly labored but there, so she kissed his lips one last time, and scrambled from the bed. “I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’m not becoming a whore for my crazy father’s friends.”

She clutched the neck of her nightgown to her throat and glanced at his gorgeous, unconscious form one last time, wishing it could be different. Maybe in another life, another time. But Alexander Bishop wasn’t meant to be hers.

She had to leave—tonight. Before it was too late.

****

A year later…

Emma hid behind a tree, her towel around her shoulders, her breaths coming in pants from the hard work out, unable to believe he was here, laughing with her new work partner, Jake Anderson.

Alexander Bishop—if that was even his name—wore a black suit and a skinny black tie, the shirt beneath crisp and white. He was a bit taller than Jake, and she remembered from that night that felt so long ago how he had loomed over her, his mouth and fingers blissfully divine…

She frowned and peeked around the tree. He didn’t look as old. His hair was now jet black, a little shorter, spikier. Maybe a younger brother? But that dimple was still there in his right cheek as he laughed at something Jake said.

“Hey, Kate. Come meet your new boss.” Jake beckoned to her, and she started forward, reluctance in her stride.

Kate. She kept forgetting the government had renamed her—she was Katelyn Wells now—when they’d rescued her from the plane that had crashed a year ago, killing her father, leaving her at the edge of death. After she had left Alex, she had run away, getting as far as New York City before her father’s men had found her and dragged her back. She was much, much too valuable to be set free in the world.

Obviously the government thought so as well, because when her father’s jet had crashed, the government had stepped in, rescuing her, giving her a new identity and plastic surgery. She still couldn’t believe what she saw now when she glanced in the mirror. She was no longer plain but beautiful, with a nicer nose, better cheeks, lighter blonde hair. A nice set of boobs. Only the American government would set her up with a nice rack, not too big, not too small.

When she was conscious enough to be coherent, the government had informed her she had to either go with the flow or be jailed for conspiracy and treason for what her father had done—sold weapons of mass destruction to undesirable foreign countries. How stupid was she? Her father had told her they were making weapons for the U.S. government and other friendly nations. She’d believed him.

She agreed to become a special agent for them as long as she could continue her work in the lab. They had set her up with a lab position and imported all of his documentations—boxes and boxes, since the man hated computers. They trained her as a spy—marksmanship, martial arts, weapons. She was leaner, stronger, faster, and her new self, Kate, loved most parts of the training, though she never once believed she’d make a good spy. Emma would have curled up and died in a corner.

And now, Kate realized that the man that had given Emma her first trip to third base was now also a part of her future. As her boss.

She stopped before them—Jake Anderson, six foot and blond, built like a football god and was every bit the player. She took in her new boss. Yes, it was him, six-one, leaner than Jake, darker haired, and every bit as dangerous as she remembered.

Jake took her arm. “This is Chase Sanders—my buddy, and also, our boss.”

Chase didn’t offer his hand, and she didn’t move in like she wanted to shake anything on him.

“We know each other,” Chase said, his voice all American, his hands still in his pockets, his face a mask that hid everything.

“Yeah? How?” Jake looked at Kate, then at Chase. “Why don’t I know about this?”

“Am I allowed to tell him?” Chase nodded slightly, and she said, “I left him unconscious, in his bed.”

“Ouch.” Jake winced. “How’d that happen, buddy? You’re slipping.”

Chase shrugged, and even the graceful shift of his shoulders was sexy. Damn him. “Too much vodka. It will never happen again.” His hot gaze leveled in on hers, intense. This man didn’t miss anything. “You and I have to talk. Half an hour, in my office.”