Enemy Mine (The Base Branch Series Book 1) (8 page)

He leaned in and draped the terrycloth sheet around her. His breath was hot on her ear when he whispered, “You’re so much more than a dime trick whore. See you tonight.”

While her breathing stilled in her chest he turned and walked away.

S
he didn’t have
the time or inclination to be angry or embarrassed while the drama unfolded in the hallway. But she had the rest of the damn day to go over it time and again in her head. Now as she evened her lipstick for the evening’s festivities it was no more than a jumbled heap of ten different kinds of crap.

You’re so much more than a dime trick whore.

The words played over in her mind for the thousandth time. And again she tried to discern their meaning. He hadn’t come during the afternoon to try his hand at killing her as she’d half expected. But he’d said he’d see her tonight. So, maybe he’d try this evening. A small part of her held out hope the words hadn’t been a threat at all, but praise for the caliber of woman she was.

Yeah right.
Hope didn’t live long in the pit of Sloan’s soul.

Hope hadn’t gotten her many places in life. After her parents’ murder and her enslavement at the Kendrick Estate in Lungi, Baine’s friendship had given her hope. She clung to it after Devereaux sent him away. When she’d been shipped across an ocean in a metal container with a loaf of bread and a jug of water, hope saw her through the terrifying week of night. Hope bloomed anew when she met the beautiful American couple to whom she’d been given.

But more than anything she remembered the day her hope died.

Sloan’s instincts and training were all she had. Instinct said Baine knew what she was and planned to stop her. Then again, her instincts, or more accurately, her body, had betrayed her once already today.

Her hand trembled as she guided the cascade of diamonds to the hole in her lobe. Instead of cursing the weakness, she ignored it. Pheromones were to blame.

In high school while all the other kids were busy underage drinking and having backseat sex, she focused on academic excellence, archery, debate, and becoming proficient in eight languages. Got into Princeton and worked day and night to get the Bureau’s or Agency’s attention. There was no room for friends or relationships of any kind.

As graduation neared it became apparent that she was socially awkward and asexual at best. Since the CIA liked their agents well adjusted—she’d had no clue to the existence of the Base Branch—she made it her goal to adapt. Like a checklist, experiment, or mission, she had sex with people. She found men more easily manipulated than women, but not for the obvious sexist reasons. Women were more self-conscious, and therefore wary of compliments and seduction. Hell, she even had a “relationship” for nearly a year with a man she felt little for, just to see if she could.

So, this jitterbug in her stomach was inconvenient, considering her track record, but nothing more. If his smell got to her, she’d hold her damn breath.

A knock sounded at the door and dread filled her belly. She wouldn’t allow him to kill her, but she wouldn’t relish taking his life either. Dressed and ready for the festivities, Sloan grabbed the sparkly clutch with a knife hidden in the frame, straightened her shoulders, and headed for the door.

“What the hell was all the chaos you caused at the pool,” Lana asked as she stormed the room. “We are paid to entertain. Not stir up trouble.” Her form fitting dress accentuated every curve as she turned on Sloan, palms up in question.

At least it wasn’t Baine. “They have some rivalry going. I was just in the wrong place at the—”

“Save it,” she cut in. “Devereaux heard all about it and wasn’t pleased. You need to diffuse the situation. If anything happens at dinner, you’ll be sent away.”

The porcelain palms dropped to her sides and her brow knit together. She added, “And I’m not certain it’ll be in one pretty piece. So...”

“I’ve got it. Make nice.”

Lana released the breath she’d been holding. “Good.” Her stilettos tapped as her rear swung in time to the movement. At the doorway she turned. “Don’t be late.”

The moment Sloan crossed the threshold into the sitting room all eyes were on her. Not in the, “Wow, she looks so good,” way, but in the, “Oh, she just stumbled on the high wire,” way. Lana perched on the edge of a settee next to Devereaux, legs crossed, leaning toward him, but her eyes sparkled with interest in Sloan’s direction. She, and the other ladies in the room, awaited her fall.

The Devil, busy tapping the display of his phone, paid her no attention. So, Sloan smiled sweetly and nodded to Lana like a good little escort. The damn butler stood next to the dining room door all prim and proper, waiting to be called upon.

Yeah right.

Kobi had yet to arrive, but her real problem leaned against the frame of the French doors studying her.

Sloan knew how to take a hit. It was second nature for her to roll a shoulder, step back, block, weave, or absorb the force and use the momentum to throw her attacker off balance. Yet, there was nothing she could do to stave off the impact of Baine’s steady gaze. He looked at her and saw...everything. Like every secret she harbored, every hope and fear, were unveiled for his eyes alone.

She huffed out a breath at the idiocy of the notion, but still struggled to discredit it. Especially when he beckoned her with the slightest nod of his head. As she steadied her quivering nerves with bold steps in his direction, she examined him, looking for any signs of weapons or weakness.

His most prominent weapons called her attention first. Hooded by dark lashes, Baine’s blue eyes glinted in the final shreds of daylight. A fine suit matching the color of his dark hair covered his body and nearly hid the butts of two handguns nestled below his shoulders. Thighs about the diameter of her waist fit easily in his slacks and revealed no trace of a holster. Not that she discounted the probability he had one or two somewhere on his lower half. The scruff on his chin had turned into the makings of a close-cropped beard, and she discounted its significance...right up until she was forced to swallow the saliva that had pooled in her mouth.

The man was a weapon. Finely honed with little to no weakness about him. Not a lawyer. Not a friend.

“You look stunning,” he said when the toes of her heels were only a few feet away from his surely custom dress shoes.

“You don’t look stunned to me,” she replied, searching his face for any reaction.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Good. I can’t give you any advantage over me.”

“Why not?”

He scanned the room before returning to her, then said in a quiet rumble, “When I answer, keep in mind where we are.”

Confusion furrowed her brow. Caution told her to back away. Curiosity kept her in place. “Okay?”

He waved the butler over and placed his empty glass on the tray he carried. “Scotch. Straight.”

Lawrence nodded. “Anything for you, miss?”

Sloan cleared her throat before she was able to speak, suspense and irritation having tightened it. “No, thank you.”

The butler winked at her playfully before turning away from them.

Baine ripped her gaze from the butler’s back by settling his hands on either side of her neck. Heat radiated from his big palms to the pads of each finger and sent what should have been a warning alert, but instead launched a pang of desire to her belly. He gathered her hair in his hands. The weight of it lifted from her chest and back for a moment before he settled it, running his hands down the back of her neck and spine to her tail bone. The motion pulled her to him. Her head automatically snuggled into the hollow of his neck, as he cupped her ass and pulled her closer still.

A hint of cologne and sex shot up her nose. Like the cocaine she’d been offered the previous night, his scent was a drug she’d best let alone. She exhaled him slowly, trying not to savor him or dread the room’s plain air she tilted up to inhale. Before she had a moment to lament, his teeth nipped a trail up her neck.

When he reached her lobe his lips enveloped it, diamond and all. She bit down on a moan. He removed the grip she hadn’t realized she had on his coat and kept her hands burrowed in his, not giving an inch of space between them.

“I wouldn’t have expected such an honest reaction from an undercover Branch Agent.”

As every muscle in Sloan’s body went taut, Baine’s grip tightened on her hands. Not painfully so. Just enough to pull her back from the edge of sanity. Back from pulling her knife and going to work on everyone in the room she could get to before she got blown to bits.

“Relax,” he whispered. “I don't want to fight you. I watched you take out Bull in D.C. and I know how handy you are with a knife.”

His lips grazed her cheek, and then he was there, resting his forehead on hers. Those deep blue eyes exploring hers.

“So,” he added, “do us both a favor and keep that purse tucked under your arm.”

Bastard
.

He released her hands and straightened, her gaze now level with his throat. Sloan stood stunned like a piece of petrified wood. How in the fuck did he know she was a Branch Agent? Even Branch Agents didn’t know all of the other Branch Agents. She wasn’t one for profanities, but if ever a situation called for one or a hundred…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His lips spread into a thin smile and he leaned closer. “It takes brass balls to stand there after that kind of blow. I’m impressed.”

She smiled back, mirthlessly. “Don’t be. It doesn’t take balls when you’re a person with nothing to lose.”

Baine’s brow pinched and his smile faded. “That’s unfortunate, because I need you to have a bit of self-preservation, if we’re going to make it through this week.”

Sloan ran her hand up his tie, ignoring the hard topography of his chest. At his collar she looped in three fingers and pulled. To anyone else it would look like an embrace. Her other hand snaked up his throat, ready to strike him hard and fast in the esophagus. Big or small, people went down when they couldn’t breathe.

In turn he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“Maybe,” she growled into his ear. “Why didn’t you kill me in D.C. and why am I still alive?”

“I hate to see such a nice rack go to waste?”

“Try again,” she threatened, adding pressure with both her hands.

“All right.” His head turned and his lips captured hers.

She didn’t fight him. There was no use, in a room full of people who expected her to do exactly what she was doing—seducing Baine Kendrick. Being seduced by him wasn’t in either of her job descriptions. But damn, if his lips weren’t the hottest things she’d ever felt. They melted her resolve into a puddle and had her hands breaking rank. Her fingers left the stubble of his neck and delved into his hair. She clutched the softness, holding him to her.

His tongue caressed her top lip and without hesitation she opened and allowed him in. Their tongues collided in battle. One overpowering the other again and again until they both panted for air.

He turned his head gently, breaking the kiss. “How was that?”

“Just playing a role, Kendrick.”

“Ah, you keep on telling yourself that, lovely. Maybe you’ll believe it, but I wouldn’t count on it. And how about you stick to Baine, when you call my name?”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” she said against his pulse, which wasn’t the only one in the room galloping.

“Would you look at that,” he said in feigned disappointment. “No time to chat. Dinner is served.”

E
very time
his son walked into the room, pride swelled Devereaux’s chest. Not that his fit torso needed any help standing out. Mid-fifties and he bagged babes less than half his age. Without paying for it. Still, he’d created a work of art from thin air, starting by sharing his impeccable genes and ending with the way he had carved out his son’s ruthless nature.

He rubbed his hand over the lump at his heart.

It had been touch and go for a while. A long while. Baine was such a damn nice kid. It took years of paring to find his selfish core. Maturity helped. The testosterone, sheer size, and power sharpened his patsy edges. He’d thought that losing his mother would have helped remove the final vestiges of protectiveness. He’d been so fucking wrong. It almost cost him everything.

With no heir to pass his power and fortune, what good was having it? Kobi had been eager to take Baine’s spot. The sewer rat was kidding himself if he thought for a minute Devereaux would leave his empire in his addicted hands. He’d snort through it in a month.
Never.
The loyal dog had a place at the table. Just not at the head.

His boy finally came around, as he’d felt certain he would. Power. Money. Pussy. Gets a man every time.

Little by little, Devereaux fed his son all three. And now, Baine was the man to take the helm. He’d proven it by taking out Bakou, and even his own men. Brutality harnessed power, and his son learned from the best.

He’d answered the who. The only question left was the when. When would he give the day-to-day dealings over? Devereaux tapped the date on his calendar. Not the date he would cede control. The date he’d gain control of five territories at once. By the end of the week he’d double his wealth and cement his place as the number one arms trafficker of all time.

Again his hand found his heart.

“Dinner is served.” The butler's call pulled him out of his thoughts and into the present. Which was a pretty damn good place to be with a hot tongue on his neck and an eager hand crawling up his thigh.

Devereaux put his phone in his pocket and turned to his latest lady. He’d already found her hot in all the right places, except one. This lady was hot for a husband. A rich one. Disappointment would come knocking on her door pretty damn soon. He’d already been saddled once out of necessity, and when the necessity died, so did his one and only wife.

“You can finish me off after dinner,” he said.

She smiled. “My pleasure.”

No, it’d be his.

He left the couch and the escort followed. For the first time he noticed his son tangled like a fuck-pretzel with the troublemaker. How the hell could he have missed that kind of display? Shit, he got wood just looking at them all but devouring each other.

Devereaux waited until they disentangled and walked his way.

“Son,” he greeted.

“Father.” He nodded.

“And who do we have here?” he asked, offering his hand.

Her smile, hesitant and coy, captivated him. “My name is Sloan, Mr. Kendrick. Nice to meet you.”

He cupped her small hand in his and brought it to his lips. Lord, she was smooth as silk. “I hear you’ve stirred quite the ruckus between my son and Mr. Ross.”

Her eyes dropped. “It was never my intent—”

“Yes. Yes. I’m sure. Those two are merely sublimating. They fight over you because I won’t allow them to fight over me.”

Again she gave him that smile.

“But,” he added, looking at the siren and his son in turn, “don’t cause trouble where there’s already plenty.”

“Yes, sir,” she complied.

“I’ll screw who I choose, when I choose,” Baine said unapologetically. “That dog of yours can look elsewhere.”

“I see you’re not getting soft on me, Son, which is all I hoped to assure myself of with this little tribunal. Can’t have you developing protective feelings for the hired help.”

“Feelings,” the man snorted. “Don’t confuse them with fucking. Besides, you beat them out of me long ago, Father.”

“One can never be too sure. Speaking of trouble, where is ole’ Mr. Ross?” he asked the room. “He can’t miss dinner. We have much to discuss.”

“I’ll get him,” one of his men said.

After the salads were taken away, Kobi Ross weaved his way into the dinning room and onto the chair across from him and next to Baine.

Devereaux addressed the latecomer. “I see you’ve already partaken of the spirits this evening.”

“Surry bosss, it won’t happen again,” he slurred.

“If it does, I’ll take you out back and shoot you myself.”

His hands gripped the wooden table and the whites of his eyes grew. The conversations around the table stopped.

“I see I have your attention.” Devereaux smiled. “This is a critical time in our negotiations. We have important things to discuss, but I can see tonight is lost. I need everyone at the top of their game. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” Ross bowed his head.

Conversation carried on after a quiet minute.

Devereaux dug out his phone. His finger tapped harder on the date. His pulse raced like it only did when success was imminent. Fucking didn’t hold a candle to this kind of rush. Nothing did. A smile crept onto his face. If only his father were here. God, how he’d love to rub his nose in it. The sorry S.O.B. Hell, he’d like to show his mother what a real man looked like—unafraid of success and the undesirable things you had to do to get it. Able to fend off the temptations of artificial uppers and the fake thrills of the gaming scene.

He patted his hand reassuringly over his heart.