Dare Me (5 page)

When she’d finally stood, dusted off her hands, glared
straight into the so-called hidden camera and announced the room was clear, he
hadn’t known whether to grin or frown.  Now that she’d completed the room, they
were one step closer to a second night of sensual delights, but as agents, they
were also no nearer to finding the code they’d both been sent to discover.

Sean scooted onto the desk behind Dante and peered over his
shoulder.  “Is that who I think it is?”

Dante flipped off the screen.  “Why are you here?”

Though his eyes narrowed, Sean dropped the topic of Macy and
her unorthodox presence in the operation.  Though he trusted his good friend
with the secrets of his personal life, Dante had never been one to kiss and
tell.  Particularly when he’d hardly even kissed Macy yet.

“Heard you were in New Orleans,” Sean said casually, as if
his appearance in the middle of a top-secret operation was completely
ordinary.  “Wanted to check out the action.”

Dante grunted.  Sean had no more interest in
intelligence-related action than Dante did in the current National Football
League standings, which Sean undoubtedly knew by heart.

“You’re checking up on me,” Dante decided.

“Isn’t that what friends do?”

Sean poked around Dante’s desk, chuckling triumphantly when
he found the small humidor tucked beneath a status report from an operation in
St. Louis.  Never mind that the document was marked
CONFIDENTIAL
and had the name of a celebrity
and several political dignitaries scribbled on the outer flap.  Sean didn’t
spare the file a second glance when he tossed it aside.

“Friends who have phones can call,” Dante reminded him.

“Not when the other friend is in New Orleans.  Have you
checked out that club near Tchoupitoulas and Canal?  I hear it rocks.”

“I have no time for clubbing.”

“Man, you gotta make time.”  Sean selected a premiere
Romeo
y Julieta
cigar, bit off the end, spit out the tip and then shuffled around
for a match.

Dante extracted his Colibri lighter from his jacket pocket.

Sean grinned in thanks, igniting a steady flame and then
rolled the cigar in the bluest part of the fire.  “That’s what’s missing from
your life,” he said between puffs.  “Time for fun…and a good woman.”

“One in particular or will any do?”

Sean wiggled his eyebrows and rolled off the desk, suddenly
interested in the technology around him rather than answering the question
Dante had posed.  Dante didn’t need Sean to point out that his life had been
missing much more than time for relaxation and a good woman.  He’d been missing
Macy, who probably wouldn’t fall into anyone’s definition of “good” except his
own.  She was cunning, cool and aloof.  If ordered to, she could lie without
conscience and kill without regret.

She also loved her family, considered loyalty the most
important virtue and would gladly take a bullet to keep an innocent alive.

So much like him.  How could he resist her?

Unfortunately, he’d needed a gunshot wound and a brush with
cold death to bring the depth of his feelings for her back to the surface. 
Ever since Sean had orchestrated Dante’s rescue from a drug lord’s den, Dante
hadn’t been content with the status-quo.  When Macy had first left, he’d accepted
that his betrayal could not be forgiven, even if his motives had been pure.

After dying twice on the operating table, he decided anything
was possible.

Including winning Macy back.

That’s why he’d sought her out when the first report of the
terrorists in Russia hit his desk.  That’s why he’d made sure the Arm bought
the Garden District house before T-45 could get their hands on it.

He’d known they’d send Macy.

And once he had her, he could prove to her that the love
they’d once shared shouldn’t have been thrown away—even if he’d royally screwed
up.

But he certainly didn’t need Sean to remind him of what was
at stake.

“Why are you really here, Sean?”

Sean stopped fiddling with a prototype night scope and
turned to Dante.  His expression was benign, his stance relaxed, but his eyes
flamed with ominous gravity.

“Word on the street is that you’re in collusion with T-45.”

Dante chuckled.  He’d thought he’d been so careful about
keeping this operation under wraps, but he couldn’t control the other side. 
And Sean had contacts everywhere, even though he insisted he was out of the spy
business for good.

“T-45 and the Arm are working on a cooperative mission,
yes.”

“You can’t trust those guys, Dante.  They’re mercenaries.”

He thought about Macy, imagined how she’d probably slipped
into her shower right about now to wash the rich, black soil she’d dug into off
her skin.  She’d grab a quick protein bar from her backpack, then indulge in a
powernap until she searched the next room on her agenda—the master suite.

“So you came here to warn me,” Dante concluded, pushing the
erotic possibilities of tonight’s activities from his mind.  He’d primed Macy’s
senses last night with the delicious food and exquisite wines, then slow,
sensual dancing that forced their bodies close.  But in her eyes, he’d seen the
spark of curiosity, interest, even desire.  He had successfully whet her
appetite for another, more intimate interlude.

Tonight, he’d test the true limits of her resistance.

“I only came to check out that club,” Sean said, “but thought
a friendly warning about our counterparts at T-45 might go a long way. 
Abercrombie Marshall is a good man, but he can’t control all his agents all the
time.  They have their own agendas.”

Dante leaned across the desk and retrieved a cigar for
himself.  He could only hope Sean was right.  If he could break past Macy’s
mistrust and force her to confront her deepest, most secret desires, he might
have a chance at winning her back.

* * *

Macy returned to her bedroom around eight-thirty, her vision
blurry after her search of the master suite.  She’d finally thought she was on
to something when she’d found an odd mathematical pattern embroidered into the
fabric of Bogdanov’s custom-designed duvet cover.  Unfortunately, once she had
the numbers identified and sequenced, she recognized the pattern as the
combination to the man’s safe—the same safe that the Arm had already unlocked and
rifled through.  Nothing had proved useful then or today.

What had surprised her about the search was the way the
luxurious master suite had grabbed her personal attention.  Usually, when she
worked a space, she completely disassociated herself with the things inside. 
She loved fine art and furnishings, but when she was on the job, she inserted
her in the minds of the people who owned them and left her personal opinions
out of the mix.  But in Bogdanov’s master bedroom, she’d had a hell of a lot of
trouble ignoring the fact that in just a few hours, Dante would have her at his
mercy on that huge, fluffy bed.

Macy locked her bedroom door, knowing Dante could pick his
way through with something as common as a kitchen knife, then stripped down to her
lingerie.  She didn’t know when he’d call for her, but he had been nice enough to
send up a meal of cold cheese, fruits and wine to sustain her until he invited
her to their next interlude.

She still couldn’t believe he’d done nothing more in the
parlor last night than dance her around the room.  They’d shared slow, sensuous
dances, yes, with amazingly provocative music, but except for smoothing his
warm palm down her back or across her shoulder, he’d barely touched her.  His
chest had been pressed intimately against hers.  More than once, the thud of
his heartbeat vibrated against her breasts.  His subtle, spicy cologne had
played havoc with her senses until the natural heat sizzling off his body made
her feel like she might melt.

By the end of the hour, the sound of his voice sparked a
purely Pavlovian—and intimately exquisite sensual response.

Her nipples had tightened.  Her labia throbbed.  A teardrop
of hot moisture creamed between her legs.

When he’d kissed the top of her and informed her that the
night was over, she’d almost thought he was teasing.  Which he was—in the most
powerful way she’d ever experienced.

Just what did he have in store for her tonight?

A soft knock sounded on her door and just like last night,
her nipples peaked.  A warm thrill simmered through her bloodstream and she had
to inhale and exhale several times to restore her normal temperature.

She had no idea what she’d experience tonight or what, if
anything, he would demand of her.  But unlike last night, she was actually
eager to find out.

She opened the door, but no one was there.  On the threshold,
he’d tacked a lavender hothouse rose tied with a filmy, iridescent ribbon that
curled all the way down to the floor.  She detached his invitation to the
arboretum and drew the petals to her nose.  The sweet, earthy scent nearly
weakened her knees.

After shrugging into her robe, she retraced her steps to the
indoor garden.  She shut the French doors behind her and then cleared her
throat.

He turned around slowly, an inscrutable grin toying with his
lips.

“How was your dinner?” he asked.

“Filling,” she answered simply.

Through the overflowing ferns and nearly ceiling high crotons
in an array of wild color from gold to green to pink and burgundy, Macy watched
Dante grab a towel and innocently dry off his hands.  With the doors and
windows closed, she had no choice but breathe in the fertile smell of the
earth.  It was warm and piquant and rich.

He held out his hand.  “Last night, I attempted to appeal to
your sense of taste and hearing.  The delicious food, fine wine, incredible
music.  Tonight, I’d like to concentrate on your other senses.”

A thrill tripped through her bloodstream.  So far as Macy
was concerned, Dante had hit every sense last night with full force.

But if he wanted to work hard at this seduction, who was she
to argue?

“Like?”

He inhaled deeply.  “Scent, obviously.”

Then, they’d head for the bedroom.  “And then?”

His smile revealed nothing.  “You’ll have to wait and see. 
Anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac, don’t you agree?”

She took his hand.  He tugged her forward, then stopped—forcing
her to walk through a curtain of foliage on her own.  Clever man.  For his
seduction to have maximum impact, she had to walk in willingly.  Little by
little, he was altering the atmosphere and changing the rules without really
changing a thing.  Intrigued, she couldn’t stop her curiosity, not even after
she spotted the large, claw-foot porcelain tub sitting just to the left of the
impressive marble fountain.

Steam slithered off the top of the water.  The dim lights,
enhanced by two or three strategically placed candles, added a romantic
ambience than even the coolest woman on earth couldn’t ignore.  Two days ago,
Macy might have considered herself in the running for that designation, but not
anymore.  Like it or not, Dante had melted through her icy exterior, exposing
the woman within.

And judging from the way he filled the tub with a fragrant
powder that turned the bath water a milky, opaque pink, he intended for her to
expose quite a bit more.  And soon.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“An indulgence.”

He exchanged the bottle of bath salts for a silver wicker
basket overflowing with pink and lavender rose petals, which he scattered over the
surface of the water.  Macy couldn’t help but watch the incongruous scene with
boundless curiosity.  Even with the light muted and the scents of a hundred
flowers buzzing in her head like the bees, she couldn’t put together the image
of Dante drawing a bath for her and the man she’d once known.  Once loved.

He knew she never took baths.  She hadn’t even liked the
whirlpool he’d installed on the balcony outside the Georgetown condominium they’d
shared.  She’d never been one for a long soak, much preferring a scalding hot
blast of a shower that practically burned the sweat and dirt of a day’s work
off her skin.  Growing up in a household with four brothers—two on either side
of the age scale—and parents who thought one bathroom was sufficient for their
progeny, she imagined she hadn’t had a bath since she’d been a baby.  And Dante
wanted her in one now?

“What do you really want from me?” she asked, suspicious and
suddenly angry.  She’d worked damned hard all day and while she couldn’t deny
that she’d slept soundly after indulging Dante’s requests last night, sated
with amazing food and lulled into relaxation while dancing, she suddenly felt
wired and antsy, likely because in order to take a bath, she’d have to get
naked.

And yet, she suspected he still didn’t want to have sex. 
His game was both transparent and unfortunately, effective.  He wanted her to
drop her guard.  With her senses and libido primed and needful, she’d forget
how he betrayed her and would remember only how much he pleasured her.  How
much they’d once meant to each other.

Then, he’d have her right where he wanted her.

“I want you to relax.”

“I don’t want to relax,” she insisted, wondering what
compelled her to argue when the inevitable was as clear as the water had been
before he’d tossed in the bath salts.  She’d have to give in.  But now that she
understood his plan, she’d find a defense.  Hopefully, sooner rather than
later—because little by little, her nine-year-old grudge was no longer enough.

Dante turned the basket over the tub so that the last of the
rose petals floated into the water.  “You’d probably enjoy relaxing, if you had
any idea how to do it.”

She ran her hands through her hair.  “Let’s not play games,
Dante.  We’ve been apart for a long time.  You have no idea how I spend my free
time.”

Dante grinned indulgently.  “Do you really need me to send
for your dossier?”