Special Ops Exclusive

chapter 3



Damn, this woman was appealing. Her mouth fascinated him entirely too much. Sexy and pouty and rosy-red, with a plump bottom lip that made Nick’s own mouth tingle with the urge to kiss her. And his fingers itched to explore those delectable curves. Her jeans and T-shirt weren’t skintight, but they hugged a set of round, high breasts and a pair of shapely legs that would probably feel incredible wrapped around his waist while he thrust into her and—

Whoa.

The wicked images had come out of left field, flooding his mind and making his mouth water. He’d been celibate for so long that the force of his lust didn’t surprise him, but his lusty urges didn’t normally catch him off guard like this. He quickly forced his libido in check, hoping Rebecca hadn’t noticed that flare of heat in his eyes.

Her tiny smirk revealed that she’d noticed all right.

“So...Nick,” she said, his name rolling off her tongue like a sensual melody. “How can I thank you for what you did back there?”

Half a dozen naughty responses came to mind, but he was nothing if not a gentleman. He all but tipped his imaginary hat and smiled graciously. “No thanks necessary. Saving you from that stampede was my pleasure.”

Her lips twitched as if she were fighting a laugh. “Uh-huh. Well, even so, my daddy taught me that every debt must be repaid. So how about I buy you a drink tonight?”

When her voice took on a Southern drawl, a smile tugged at his lips. “Do I hear Georgia in your voice or is that just a damn good fake accent?”

“Atlanta born and raised,” she confirmed.

“I didn’t know that. I always assumed you were from D.C.”

“The network forced voice lessons on me when I got hired. They wanted me to tone down the accent because it was too low-brow.” A twinkle lit her green eyes. “And I can guarantee that there are many other interesting things you don’t know about me.”

He didn’t doubt it one bit. This woman was intriguing as hell, and he was swiftly realizing she was much more than the fearless correspondent he’d seen on the TV screen countless times before. In person, it was hard to miss the laughter in her eyes, or the subtle sexuality radiating from her petite frame. And even though he hated stereotyping people, he was fairly confident that Rebecca Parker’s flaming red hair was a surefire sign that the woman was stubborn as a mule.

“We’ll get to know each other over drinks,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I won’t take no for an answer, so don’t bother turning me down.”

Yup, stubborn.

Nick couldn’t help but chuckle. “Should I be insulted that you immediately assume I don’t have other plans?”

She arched her brow. “Do you?”

He grinned. “No.”

“You also aren’t wearing a wedding ring,” she pointed out, “which leads me to believe you’re not married.” She cocked her head. “Unless you’re that breed of a-hole that hides the ring in his suitcase when he travels?”

“I assure you, I’m not that kind of a-hole.”

Her answering laughter was a sweet song that made his pulse speed up. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Nick Prescott?” Now her expression went shrewd.

Heat rippled through him, pulsing in his blood and stirring his groin. If she could read his dirty mind at the moment, she might be inclined to alter that opinion, but he decided not to voice that thought out loud.

“Something wrong with good guys?” he said lightly.

Her eyes grew pensive. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever gone out with bad boys.” She shrugged. “But I guess I’ll find out tonight. What hotel are you staying at?”

“The Liberty.”

Those sexy lips quirked. “What do you know? That’s where I’m staying, too. We’ll meet downstairs at the bar, then. I’d ask you to dinner but I eat with my crew—it’s sort of a tradition. How’s nine o’clock for drinks?”

Nick knew he ought to say no. He was here to track down that snake Waverly, not to go out with a beautiful redhead he suspected might be nothing but trouble.

Yet as he met Rebecca Parker’s expectant green eyes, he couldn’t find the willpower to turn her down.

“Nine o’clock,” he agreed.

Pleasure washed over her pretty face. “Good. I’ll see you tonight.” She took a step back, then met his eyes and grinned. “And thanks again for helping me out of that little jam back there.”

She dashed off while he stared after her with a combination of disbelief and amusement.

Little jam? She’d nearly been trampled to death, for Chrissake. He didn’t think he’d ever met a woman as blasé about danger as this one. That recklessness was definitely a turnoff—if he was planning on marrying the woman.

But if he planned on taking her to bed...well, then he could totally see the advantages of having a wildcat like Rebecca Parker between the sheets.

* * *

Nine o’clock didn’t come soon enough. Nick had been holed up in his hotel room for the past two hours, watching the clock and mentally urging it to tick faster.

The rest of his afternoon and most of his evening had been a total wash. None of the forgers he’d questioned had recognized Paul Waverly’s photo or admitted to procuring any documents for him, but Nick wasn’t discouraged. The men he’d spoken to were small players in Cortega’s shady underworld. There was really only one person Waverly would’ve gone to, a criminal kingpin known only as El Nuevo Diablo.

The New Devil.

The moniker made Nick roll his eyes. Damn melodramatic. According to the grapevine, though, El Nuevo Diablo was the man to talk to if you wanted to get something done. Enrique Salazar had been supposed to arrange the meeting between Nick and the crime boss, but the corrupt government guard had rescheduled their rendezvous for tomorrow, so Nick had no choice but to wait around for Salazar’s phone call.

But at least he could amuse himself while he waited.

Anticipation gathered in his groin as he left the room and crossed the carpeted hallway toward the elevator. Fine, so he might be getting ahead of himself here. Chances were, his date with Rebecca Parker would begin and end with drinks and not a foray into the bedroom, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to complain if they somehow wound up naked.

Which was shocking in and of itself, because he wasn’t the kind of man to indulge in casual flings. The other guys in his former unit used to rag him mercilessly about his self-proclaimed gentleman status. Whenever they were stateside, Diaz and Berkowski would attempt to drag him out on the town in search of a hot piece of ass, but although Nick often tagged along, he usually went home alone.

He was twenty-eight-years old, but he’d never sown any wild oats. Never had the urge to either. Hell, if he found a woman who made him half as happy as his mother had made his father, then he’d consider himself the luckiest man on earth.

Tonight, though...he could totally be satisfied with a casual lay. It had been that long.

Swallowing a rush of frustration, he rode the elevator down to the lobby and headed for the hotel bar.

The Liberty was one of the nicer hotels in Cortega, boasting clean marble floors, expensive furnishings and extremely professional staff. Nick hadn’t visited the bar yet, and when he strode in, he was surprised to discover how cozy it was. The large room offered plush sofas, big armchairs and low tables situated in a way that provided patrons with the illusion of privacy. Huge ceramic planters containing green leafy ferns added to that feeling of seclusion.

Nick spotted her immediately—it was hard to miss all that gorgeous red hair tumbling down her shoulders. She was sitting with her back turned to him, but her head shifted as he began walking in her direction.

Their eyes locked, and he went hard so swiftly that he was actually taken aback. He’d never been turned on from eye contact before and he might’ve laughed at his own pathetic eagerness if he weren’t so entranced by the woman across the room.

She wore a dress, an emerald-green number that swirled around her bare knees as she stood up to greet him. The bodice wasn’t low cut, revealing only a modest amount of cleavage, yet the sight hit him with a punch of lust.

Rebecca looked amused. “You okay there, Nick?”

His mouth had gone dry, so he was forced to gulp a few times before he could make his voice work. “I’m fine.” He swept his gaze over her once more. “You look amazing.”

Pleasure colored her cheeks. “Thank you. You clean up well yourself.”

His gaze lowered to his khaki cargo pants and plain white T-shirt, the nicest items of clothing he’d packed in his go bag. “If you say so,” he said wryly.

“Oh, I say so.”

Their eyes met and held again. Awareness crackled in the air between them.

Nick cleared his throat. “Let’s sit down.”

They settled in the armchairs, which were positioned side by side but angled in a way that allowed them to sit face-to-face. When Rebecca demurely crossed her legs, the bottom of her dress rode up her thighs, drawing Nick’s attention to her creamy white flesh. Her skin looked so soft he had to press his palms on his thighs to stop himself from putting his hands all over her.

Fortunately, a waiter approached the table before Nick committed a major faux pas on the first date he’d had in nearly a year.

Nick ordered whiskey, and he wasn’t at all surprised when Rebecca ordered the same. The woman was bold and fiery—of course she’d order a drink that matched that personality of hers.

“No appletinis for you, huh?” he said with a wry smile.

“Do I look like a sorority girl to you?”

He laughed. “Not in the slightest.”

“Good, because I’m not.” A gleam of challenge crept into her eyes. “How did the rest of your day go, by the way? Did you stick around to report on the riot?”

“Nah, I came back to the hotel to write. But I caught the tail end of your segment on ABN. That was a great interview with the leader of the tactical team.”

“Thanks.” She twined a strand of hair around her fingers, tilting her head pensively. “What angle are you using for your piece? Big bad government or ungrateful out-of-line citizens?”

He lifted his brows. “Uh-uh, Parker, you know we’re not supposed to show bias. Journalism 101.”

She snorted. “That’s bullcrap and you effing know it.”

A laugh flew out of his mouth. “Okay, before we debate this, you’ve got to explain the weird nonexpletives. I don’t think I’ve heard you utter a single curse word since we’ve met.”

“That’s because I don’t curse.” She gave a self-deprecating sigh. “I used to swear like a sailor, but I had to rid myself of the habit after I accidentally dropped an F-bomb on air. I almost got fired for it, and I knew I couldn’t let it happen again, so I quickly learned to clean up my language. But I still swear creatively. Shoot, fudge, eff, crap, gee-dee—” When he looked at her questioningly, she lowered her voice to a whisper and clarified, “Goddamn. But don’t tell anyone I just said that.”

Nick laughed again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this entertained. Rebecca Parker was not at all what he’d expected her to be. On camera she came off as assertive and serious, though she did reveal a sassy, seductive side on occasion. Still, she was clearly sassier and more seductive than her audience knew, not to mention playful, funny, intelligent, outrageously sexy....

“Anyway, let’s skip the bias debate,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Because we both know every reporter’s got one. Where are you from, Nick?”

To his relief, the waiter returned before he could answer. With a quick thanks, Nick slipped a twenty into the man’s hand, all the while going over his cover story in his head. Tate’s fiancée, Eva, had used her hacking skills to create an entire fake career for Nick Prescott the journalist, and his “work” was all over the internet. He’d read most of the articles on the plane ride here, but he sincerely hoped that Rebecca wouldn’t ask any specific questions.

He had a sinking suspicion that she would. The woman was a lot sharper than he’d given her credit for.

“I’m from Vermont,” he replied before taking a sip of his drink. The alcohol heated his gut and fueled his confidence. “But my family moved around a lot when I was a kid. I was a military brat.” He paused. “What about you?”

Rebecca brought her glass to her lips and downed half her whiskey, then proceeded to chat about herself for a few minutes. She told him a few stories about growing up in Atlanta, explained how she’d wanted to go into journalism ever since she was a little girl, and then she promptly steered the conversation back to him, much to his discomfort.

If it were any other woman, he would’ve felt better about his responses, confident that she was buying his bogus backstory, but this was Rebecca Parker. Each time he answered a question, those green eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were analyzing every single word that left his mouth.

“What about you?” he asked after he’d told her he’d studied journalism at Columbia. “Where did you go to school?”

“Northwestern.” She lobbed another query his way. “How did you like living in New York?”

Nick stifled a groan. The back and forth went on in the same fashion for the next twenty minutes. It was like a game of ping-pong. Question, answer. Question, answer.

By the time they’d finished a second round of drinks, it became glaringly obvious that Rebecca had an agenda.

She’s fishing.

Crap. She was absolutely, indisputably fishing.

Nick’s shoulders stiffened, his guard shooting up as he studied Rebecca’s knowing expression.

“Everything okay, Nick?” she drawled.

His hackles rose. The little minx knew he’d figured her out.

“Everything’s great,” he responded.

He polished off the rest of his drink, but didn’t signal the waiter for another. Nope, because it had become imperative that he keep a clear head.

So much for getting laid tonight.

What started out as a promising evening had turned into an aggravating battle of wits. Did Rebecca know who he was? Was she somehow connected to the people who’d killed his unit, the people trying to kill him? Or did she think he was simply a rival journalist and was trying to unnerve him for some reason?

“Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh right, finding material to report on,” she said casually. “You know where to find the best scoops? D.C. Seriously, all you’ve gotta do is walk down the street and you’ll stumble across no less than ten scandals.” She met his eyes. “Have you ever been to D.C.?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be a good freelancer if I didn’t pay frequent visits to our nation’s capital.” He kept his voice light.

She cocked her head. “What do you think of our current administration? A little too military-focused, wouldn’t you agree?”

He shrugged. “Defense is important.”

“Of course it is. But should we really spend so much money on it?”

According to his father, hell to the yes. In fact, Nick’s dad was partially responsible for the president’s defense-focused platform.

But he kept that tidbit to himself.

“Where do you think the funds should go?” he countered, yet again pitching the proverbial ping-pong ball her way.

“Education, health care, social reform.” Her tone was absent, and frustration creased her forehead, as if she couldn’t decide the best way to regain ground.

He suppressed a chuckle. “Everything okay, Rebecca?” he mimicked.

Annoyance ignited those big green eyes of hers, but it faded fast. As the corners of her mouth lifted in resignation, she leaned forward and set her glass on the table, then straightened her shoulders and met his gaze head-on.

“All right, let’s cut the crap,” she announced. “I know exactly who you are, so save your lies for a woman who’s stupid enough to believe them. All I want to know is, why did you lie about your name and what on earth are you doing in South America?”