Dangerous to Know (31 page)

Adam removed his own jacket, as well, but didn't offer it to her out of any misguided sense of male gallantry. He knew as well as she that the exertion of walking through the snow would work up a sweat, which had to be allowed to evaporate, or it would freeze their clothes to their bodies.

They left the vehicle buried under a nest of branches. As she trudged up the slope, trailing a screen of branches to cover their tracks, Maggie repeated to herself over and over the principle her instructors had drilled into her during survival training. Stay dry. In the jungle. In the Arctic. Stay dry. Foot rot from wet boots while slogging through swamps was as dangerous as frostbite from sweat-dampened undergarments in cold climates.

With that in mind, she tugged the hem of her turtleneck out of her waistband to let air circulate. Adam did the same with his plaid flannel shirt. Maggie saw that he wore the same style of high-tech long johns she did—under his shirt, at least. She didn't see how anything would fit under those snug jeans.

As they neared the crest, the trees thinned, as did the snow. Bare, windswept slabs of granite made the going easier, but also made Maggie feel far too vulnerable. The skin between her shoulder blades just above the bulletproof corset itched as though a big round circle had been painted on it.

Once over the top of the ridge, they scouted for a spot that would protect them from both the elements and searching eyes while they decided on their game plan.

“There,” she panted, out of breath from the steep climb. “Under that tree.”

The conifer she pointed to was at least sixty feet tall and shaped much like a pointed stake. Its branches grew wide at the bottom to catch the sun and narrowed dramatically toward the top. Laden with snow, the lower limbs drooped to the ground. They'd provide both concealment and natural insulation.

Maggie and Adam scrambled down the slope, brushing away their tracks as best they could. Squatting, he peered under the sagging branches.

“Perfect. I'll tunnel us in. You gather some branches.”

She smiled wryly at his ingrained habit of assuming command, but decided not to take issue with it. In this instance, it didn't matter who dug and who gathered, as long as the tasks got done, and fast. Besides, she didn't have enough breath right now to argue.

Using the fender from the snowmobile, Adam knelt on one knee and set to work scooping a shallow trench in the snow under the drooping limbs. He worked quickly, but took great care not to disturb the thick layer of white coating the branches.

When Maggie came back with the first armload of pine branches, she stopped abruptly a few feet away. Adam had shed his plaid shirt to keep it dry. His thermal undershirt showed damp patches, attesting to the strenuous effort physical labor
required at this elevation. It also attested to his superb physical condition. The silky white fabric clung to his body with a loving attention to detail that made Maggie's mouth go dry.

His upper torso might have been sculpted by Michelangelo. Broad and well toned at the shoulders, narrow and lean at the waist, he was basic, elemental male. When he bent forward, his jeans rode low on narrow hips. A curl of dark hair at the small of his back drew Maggie's fascinated gaze. With each scoop, his muscles rippled with a primitive, utterly beautiful poetry.

At the sight, something wrenched inside her, and she knew she'd never view Adam the same way again. The image of the cool aristocrat that she'd carried for so long in her mind and her heart shattered.

“Want me to dig the rest?” she asked, dumping the prickly pine branches beside the entrance.

“No, I'm all right. We'll need more branches to line the interior walls, though.”

She nodded, stooping to check his progress. “Better not make the opening too narrow,” she advised him with a wry smile. “As Lillian is so fond of pointing out, I'm not quite a perfect size eight.”

Adam rested an arm on the bent fender and watched her retrace her footsteps in the snow. A tantalizing snatch of conversation he'd overheard between her and Lillian the night of the Kennedy Center benefit came back to him. Maggie had protested then that she wasn't a perfect anything, and he'd silently agreed. He hadn't changed his opinion. If anything, the past few days had reinforced it.

Fiercely independent
didn't begin to describe this woman. Her adamant refusal to follow his orders today came as close to insubordination as he'd ever allowed an OMEGA operative. Only her acid reminder that she was the field commander on this mission had stopped him from shredding her to pieces on the spot. That, and the fact that Maggie Sinclair wasn't particularly shreddable.

But Adam knew he'd never erase from his mind his stunned fury when she'd sprung up out of the snow and dashed for the
snowmobile. Or his sudden, swamping fear. He'd expected a bullet to slam into her body at any second. To see her thrown back by the force of a hit. He'd kept his mind focused and his hand steady as he provided covering fire, but a silent litany had reverberated through him with every step she took.

No more talk.

No more waiting.

No more denying the raw need that gripped him. And her.

That same refrain echoed in his mind now as he bent to scoop fenderful after fenderful of snow out of the shallow trench.

No more talk.

No more waiting.

If they lived through this day, neither of them would ever be the same. Soon had become now.

While he dug, Maggie rounded up enough pine branches to construct a thick, springy mat that would keep them off the snow. More feathery branches provided insulation for the walls Adam built up around the depression. Above these walls the sagging tree limbs formed a natural sloping ceiling.

Within a remarkably short time, their hidden lair was complete. While Adam crawled inside to spread the lightweight solar blanket over the springy mat, Maggie gathered their meager gear.

She handed him the items one by one, still panting a little from her foraging trips. Pine needles stuck to her white turtleneck, which in turn stuck to her back and shoulders.

Adam got to his feet and dusted the snow from his knees, frowning as he took in the damp hair curling around her face.

“You crawl inside. I'll brush the rest of the tracks and seal the entrance.”

Maggie nodded and dropped to her knees.

“Strip off as much as you can. I'll help you with the body shield when I'm done here, so you can get out of those damp long johns.”

She paused halfway through the narrow tunnel. Bottom wiggling, she backed out again.

“Let's just review the situation here. We're in the middle of
nowhere. Two, possibly three stalkers are searching for us as we speak. We don't know who sent them, we can't contact headquarters for help, and we have no idea at this moment how long we're going to be stranded here.”

“That about sums it up.”

“Not quite.”

She eyed his chest, which was damp from exertion. Her fingers dug into her thighs with the need to stroke its broad planes. Dry them. Curl into their warmth.

Lifting her gaze to his face, she grinned. It wasn't much of a grin, more a grimace than an expression of mirth, but it was the best Maggie could do at the moment.

“If we crawl into that hole and get naked together, I'm not going to be held responsible for my actions.”

He smiled at her then. Not the smooth, easy smile he'd given “Taylor” the past few days. Not the cool half smile he allowed himself on occasion at OMEGA headquarters. This was a slow, satisfied, devastatingly predatory twist of his lips.

“Maggie, my darling, when we get naked together, responsibility is the last thing I want from you.”

At her start of surprise, his smile lost its razor's edge. “Go on, get inside. You know as well as I do that the next few minutes could make the difference between life and death.”

M
ind racing, heart pumping, Maggie crawled through the narrow tunnel.

Okay. All right. It was a matter of survival. Hers and his. They had to strip off. They had to stay dry. In the Arctic. In the jungle.

She was a professional. She'd been trained for situations like this. It was a matter of survival.

Yet when she entered the chamber Adam had carved for them under the spreading boughs of the majestic fir, her chaotic thoughts centered on a different kind of survival. The kind that had to do with the continuation of the species.

Her blood rushed through her veins, bringing with it a heat that added to the moisture dewing her neck. Breathing hard, she made herself sit back on her heels. While she waited for her pulse to slow, she admired the fruits of their labors.

Both the size and the warmth of this subterranean nest surprised her. The tree's massive trunk formed a solid, rounded back wall. Mounded snow defined the rest of the area. Overhead, drooping, snow-laden branches slanted down at an angle from
the base of the tree to the outer walls. The fragrant pine boughs Maggie had gathered lined the interior walls and made a thick mat for the floor, adding an extra layer of insulation.

Amazing. They'd constructed a tight, neat lean-to using nature's own materials, with no tools or modern implements except a fiberglass fender scoop. Adam had spread the thin Mylar blanket over the mat, but Maggie knew they could have survived without it.

Survival.

The pulse that had slowed a fraction leaped into action again.

It was a matter of survival.

And, as Adam had said, the next few minutes could make the difference between life and death.

Settling cross-legged on the shifting mat, she pulled off her gloves. Carefully she placed her weapon atop her folded pink ski jacket to keep it both dry and close at hand, then went to work on her bootlaces. Within moments, her brown pants hung from one of the overhead branches. She was just reaching for the hem of her white turtleneck when Adam backed into the chamber.

Suddenly the pine-scented nest didn't seem nearly as spacious as it had a moment ago.

Maggie edged over to make room for him. The springy mat shifted under her and tipped her sideways. Her elbow dug into his thigh. His shoulder thumped her chest. It took a bit of doing, but they finally maneuvered themselves back into sitting positions. He laid his weapon next to hers and glanced around the interior. A half smile curved his lips as he surveyed his work.

“The hole seemed a lot bigger when I was digging it. It's kind of tight in here.”

“At least it'll be warm.”

He nodded, eyeing the mounded walls. “When the snow sets, this cave will be as well insulated as any house. Better than most.”

Maggie believed him. She already felt the extra heat his presence generated in the small chamber. He'd brought a musky warmth into the dim interior, which combined with hers to drive
off the chill. The trapped air warmed perceptibly around them while he unlaced his boots. And when his hand went to the zipper of his jeans, Maggie could have sworn the temperature shot up another dozen degrees or so.

It was a matter of survival. It was…

Hastily she dragged her turtleneck over her head.

Matter-of-factly he shoved the well-worn denim down over his hips. He rose up on one knee to drape his pants over the limb beside her top.

To Maggie's intense relief and equally intense disappointment, he did wear high-tech long johns under those snug jeans. But where her bottoms covered her from waist to ankle, his came only to midthigh, like running or biking shorts. They might have been meant for his warmth, but they contributed greatly to hers.

If his upper torso had been sculpted by Michelangelo, his lower body was by the same unknown Greek artist who'd created the statue of Hercules she'd once seen in a museum in Athens. All long lines and corded sinews. Sleek. Powerful. Well muscled. And bulging in places that sent a shaft of heat spearing straight through Maggie.

“Are your socks wet?”

She dragged her gaze up to his face. “My socks?”

“Your socks. Are they wet?”

“No.”

“Good. You'd better keep them on, along with the thermal underwear. But the body shield needs to come off. Bend over.”

Maggie bit her lip.

“You're damp under the Kevlar. You need to dry off. It's a matter of—”

“I know. A matter of survival.”

Pushing herself to her knees, she twisted to one side. The rasp of Velcro echoed through the nest. Once. Twice. When the corset fell away, she felt strangely naked. Without the constraining shield, her breasts regained their fuller, firmer shape. Beneath the thin covering of her undershirt, her nipples puckered with the cold. Or the heat. At this point, she couldn't have said which.

The damp, silky underwear molded to every line of her chest
as faithfully as it did to Adam's. Maggie felt an instinctive urge, as old as woman herself, to hunch her shoulders and hide herself.

Immediately, another, even older urge flowed through her. The need to claim her man. Her mate. Her forever.

They might have only this hour together. Only these few moments. Yet Maggie knew they would last her a lifetime. Slowly she straightened her shoulders. Sitting back on her heels, she met Adam's eyes. The blue fire in them ignited the flames licking at her blood.

His gaze drifted from her face to her throat. Her breasts. Her stomach. Involuntarily her thighs clenched.

A muscle ticked in the side of his jaw, shadowed with the night's growth.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

A momentary doubt shivered through her as she remembered the artificial bone that shaped her nose and chin. The violet contacts. The auburn hair. Who did he see? Who did he find beautiful? She had to know.

“Who, Adam? Me, or Taylor? Who do you see?”

In answer, he smiled and lifted a hand to curve her cheek. “I see you, Maggie. A woman of incredible courage and vibrant, glowing life.”

That pretty well satisfied her doubts, but she had no objection when Adam expanded a bit.

“I see the same woman who sailed out of my office swathed from head to foot in a black nun's habit. I see the high-class hooker who took off for France in a slithery shoestring halter that kept me awake for a solid week.”

She tilted her head into his hand. “A week, huh?”

“At least.”

“Who else? Who else do you see?”

His thumb brushed her lower lip. “I see the woman who infuriates me on occasion, and intrigues me at all times. Who makes me want to lock my office door and throw her down on that damned conference table she always perches on.”

Maggie's brows shot up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Hmm…”

The idea that he'd harbored a few fantasies about her thrilled Maggie to her core. Almost as much as the thumb rubbing across her lip. Incredible, what a single touch could do.

“Adam?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any idea how many times I've imagined…us? Together? Alone?”

His hand curled around the back of her neck, urging her closer. Branches shifted. Mylar crinkled. They were chest to chest. Mouth to mouth.

“No. Tell me.”

“A few.”

“Only a few?” He kissed her right eyelid.

“Okay, more than a few. A dozen.”

“Only a dozen?” He kissed her left eyelid.

She smiled up at him. “A hundred or two.”

“And?”

“And never, ever, in any one of those thousands of times, did I picture us making love underground. In a nest of pine needles. Fully clothed. Well, one of us fully clothed.”

“Maggie, my darling, I've pictured us underground and aboveground and on the ground.”

Laughter welled inside her. “All that was going on behind your Mr. In Control, always-so-cool exterior?”

“All that, and more.”

“Well, well…”

He kissed her mouth then, and brought her down with him. Legs entangled, she sprawled across his chest. Hungrily she explored his mouth with her tongue and teeth. His unshaven chin rasped against hers. The tiny, stinging sensation sent a rush of liquid warmth to Maggie's belly. Her hand slithered down his chest, and she discovered that clothes were no impediment to a determined woman. He filled her fist, rock-hard, ridged, sheathed in satiny softness.

His hand tugged up the hem of her shirt and found her breast. It swelled in his hold, the nipple throbbing with an ache that
matched the one between her legs. An ache that grew with every kiss, every thrust of his thigh between hers.

Time and space dissolved. Merged. Melted into two bodies and one need. When she couldn't bear their separateness any longer, she lifted slightly and arched her pelvis against his hardness.

His hands stilled her hips. “Wait, Maggie. Wait.”

“No. No more waiting.”

“Not this way.”

“Why not?”

His eyes glinted with regret. “Because, sweetheart, even my vivid fantasies didn't include making love to you in the snow beside a frozen lake. I didn't bring any protection when I walked out to view the sunrise with you.”

Nonplussed, Maggie stared at him helplessly.

With a surge of his powerful body, he rolled her over. “Let me love you in a way that's safe. In a way that will still give us pleasure.”

His hand found the convenient opening in the bottoms of her long johns. The wayward thought shot through Maggie that the manufacturers of winter survival wear knew what they were doing. A person didn't have to undress to perform any vital function. And taking Adam into her body was becoming more vital by the second.

He slid a finger inside her welcoming wetness, then another. His thumb pressed the hard core at her center. Gasping, she arched under him.

The scent of crushed pine needles, sharp and pungent, rose around her. Maggie knew she would never again walk through a forest or touch a Christmas wreath or open a bottle of kitchen cleaner without thinking of this man and this moment. Then his mouth came down on hers, and Maggie forgot about kitchen cleaners and walks and everything else.

Their breathing grew more labored. Their bodies hardened. As his hands and his mouth worked their magic, wave after wave of sensation washed through Maggie, drawing her closer to the edge.

With infinite skill, he primed her.

With infinite need, she caught his face between her hands. Panting, breathless, she could only gasp her desperate desire.

“Adam. Listen to me. We're in the middle of nowhere. On our own. We may never make it out of here alive. This could be the only moment we ever have.”

“Maggie…”

“This could be our once. Our forever. I don't want protection. Not from you. I want you.”

They fit together the way she'd always known they would. Female and male. Woman and man. Maggie and Adam.

He rose up and thrust into her. She lifted her hips and thrust against him.

He filled her, full and powerful and hard and urgent. She took him into her, wrapping her body and heart and soul around him.

Mylar twisted around their legs. Branches poked at backs and knees and elbows and bottoms. Maggie didn't feel any of it. Her entire being was focused on Adam.

When he reached down between their bodies and rubbed her tight, aching core, she climaxed in an explosion of white light and red, searing pleasure. She arched under him, groaning, flexing her muscles in an instinctive need to take him with her.

The violent movement dislodged a clump of snow from the branch overhead. It landed on Adam's shoulder, slid down to Maggie's chest.

Her eyes opened in shock, and she laughed.

Adam groaned at the sound and surged into her a final time.

 

Afterward, long afterward, they exchanged the clothes that clung to their slick bodies for the dry ones hanging over their heads. With a rustle of boughs, Adam propped his back against the tree trunk, stretched out his legs and brought Maggie into his lap. She laid her head against his shoulder, sighing.

“How much time do we have?”

Adam smiled at the reluctant question. He wasn't in any more of a hurry than Maggie to leave this small den. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he drew her closer into his warmth. The
scaly bark of the tree trunk bit into his back through the flannel shirt, but he barely noticed. With one hand, he reached out to check his gold watch.

“It's not even ten. We have a long time to wait before we contact Jaguar and call in an extraction team.”

She shifted a little. “Let's talk about that.”

“What is there to talk about? As soon as the sun goes down, we go up on the net. We evade any searchers until the team arrives. They can have you—can have us out in fifteen minutes.”

Adam cursed his slip, and Maggie didn't miss it. She twisted around in his arms.

“You're not going, are you?”

“No.”

“Neither am I.”

“The hell you're not.”

One wine-colored brow arched, and Adam moderated his tone. “As you said yourself, our mission parameters have changed. Drastically. We're not trying to lure a lone assassin out in the open any longer. We're facing a strike team.”

“And I'm their target.”

Her words triggered a staggering suspicion in Adam. With great effort, he kept his face impassive. Before he said anything to Maggie, he needed to think this through.

She mistook his sudden silence for disagreement. Pushing herself out of his arms, she got to her knees. “I'm the only one who can bring them into the open, Adam. I'm the only one who can—”

A long, rolling growl filled the air, cutting Maggie off in midsentence. She clamped a hand across her stomach.

“Good grief. Sorry 'bout that.”

Adam forced a smile. “Sounds like the natives are getting restless.”

She sent him a sheepish grin. “Well, hungry, anyway.”