Midnight Games: A Killer Instincts Novel (18 page)

Shit. Fucking
shit
. Flirting came as naturally to Valerie Parker-Smith as brushing her teeth in the morning. She didn’t get flustered or hesitate or forget how to string together a few seductive words to create a provocative response.

A spark of anger lit Isabel’s belly. This wasn’t the way she operated, damn it. She worked solo, not with a team, and she certainly didn’t have someone blabbering in her ear in the middle of an op.

“I do tend to have that effect on men,” she said cheekily, finally managing to regroup.

When she crossed her legs, Meiro’s dark eyes instantly homed in on the creamy expanse of thigh revealed by the dress’s perilously high slit. Appreciation and desire washed over his face, fueling her returning confidence.

His voice lowered to a smoky pitch. “Tell me about yourself,
chérie
. I want to know everything about you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Everything?”

“Everything.” Meiro slid closer. So close she could smell his spicy aftershave again, feel the heat of his body. He placed a hand on her knee, his touch possessive. “I want to know you inside and out.”

Sullivan laughed in her ear.

Isabel had officially had enough.

Fortunately, the waiter chose that exact moment to approach their table with a bottle of Romanée-Conti and two wineglasses in his hands.

Meiro insisted on uncorking the expensive vintage himself, and Isabel waited until he was focused on the task before reaching up and unclipping her right earring. She let the dangling string of diamonds slip through her fingers and land in her lap, then released an exasperated squeal.

“This bloody clasp!” she huffed. “This is the third time tonight it’s come undone by itself.”

Meiro glanced over with an indulgent smile. “Perhaps the hotel jeweler can take a look at it.”

She feigned annoyance. “Yes, I might need to get it fixed. For now, I’ll just take them off before I end up losing one.”

With a sigh, she removed her other earring and proceeded to drop both into her clutch.

Then she snapped the little purse closed.

Effectively cutting off contact with the team.

•
   •   •

Son of a bitch.

Trevor had no clue what Isabel was up to, but he was so furious his vision turned into a red haze. He tried to concentrate on the spinning roulette wheel, but it was hard to cheer for a fucking ball to land on black when one of his team members had deliberately gone dark.

“What is she doing?” Sullivan demanded.

Trevor scratched the side of his face to activate his mic and muttered, “No clue, man.”

A chorus of cheers rang out as the ball landed on black thirteen.

“Lucky thirteen!” the dealer announced before raking the unlucky chips off the table.

Rather than place another bet, Trevor left the game. His gaze gravitated to the curtained archway a hundred feet away.

“Don’t even think about it,” Juliet’s voice warned. “Down, boy.”

An unexpected vise of panic squeezed his chest. Fuck. He didn’t like knowing Isabel was in that lounge with Meiro. Tossing suggestive remarks his way. Batting her eyelashes and flashing him coquettish little smiles. Flicking an imaginary piece of lint off the man’s lapel, touching his arm in a teasing caress.

Each thought made Trevor’s gut clench. He’d worked with Isabel before. He was well aware that she was a pro. Well aware that she could take care of herself, and that she utilized certain methods to pry information out of her targets.

At the moment, however, that awareness was overshadowed by a streak of jealousy and the rush of protectiveness currently wreaking havoc on his body.

Tomas Meiro sounded like a total slimeball. The man was too smooth, too confident, and clearly this was a routine of his—invite beautiful female guests to the VIP lounge, shower them with compliments and pump them full of expensive wine, all for the purpose of luring them into his bed.

Trevor promptly saw red again.

If that son of a bitch so much as touched a hair on Isabel’s head—

“For fuck’s sake, Callaghan, what are you doing?”

Juliet’s incredulous voice penetrated his irrational train of thought, made him realize he was fifteen feet from the VIP entrance. His legs had carried him there of their own volition, similar to the way he would sometimes drive home on autopilot and find himself in his driveway without remembering how he’d gotten there.

He inhaled a calming breath. Shit. What was the matter with him? Why couldn’t he control the tornado of panic swirling inside him?

He quickly repeated a silent mantra.

Isabel was fine. She was a professional. He had to stop worrying about her.

Fine. Professional. Stop worrying.

“Hey there, darling. Buy a lady a drink?”

Trevor’s head jerked up at the sound of Juliet’s femme fatale voice—which hadn’t come from his earpiece.

No, the brunette was standing directly in front of him, a come-hither smile on her lush mouth. He hadn’t seen her leave the bar, yet here she was, blocking his path.

“What are you doing?” He summoned a smile to his face even as a bite entered his voice.

“Damage control.” She kept up the flirtatious act by letting out a loud, musical laugh, then moved closer and brought her mouth right up to his ear. “You’re this close to fucking blowing this, Trevor. I’m pulling you out.”

He perpetuated the charade by laughing in return and linking his arm through hers. All the while grinding his molars.

“Says who?” he asked cheerfully.

“Me. I made an executive decision. So now you and I are going to have a drink and calm ourselves down.”

The only reason he allowed Juliet to lead him toward the bar was because he didn’t want to make a scene. Not with the pit boss standing ten feet away, not to mention the various floor supervisors whose cagey eyes flicked over them as they strolled past.

A few minutes later, a bartender placed a glass of scotch in front of Trevor and a martini in front of Juliet.

One look from the brunette and Trevor’s ass sank into one of the high-backed stools, but his jaw was tighter than a drum as he raised the glass to his lips.

“Good boy.” A resigned look settled over Juliet’s face. “And now we’re not moving an inch until Isabel has concluded tonight’s business.”

Trevor drained the rest of his scotch and ordered another.

•   •   •

The next hour was pure torture. Neither Isabel nor Meiro reappeared on the main floor, which told Trevor that Isabel must be making headway in the VIP lounge and had succeeded in hooking her target.

Her
target
.

The word loitered in his head like an unwanted visitor. Christ, he didn’t want Isabel anywhere near someone like Tomas Meiro. A man who passed himself off as a legitimate businessman, all the while operating in the seedy underworld of Europe and treating young women like commodities.

Granted, most of Meiro’s brothels were actually legal—but the tourist scheme he had going? His dossier had included far too many details about that particular venture, leaving Trevor feeling sick to his stomach.

Meiro had a standing deal with an Asian crime outfit. The majority of the abducted female tourists were shipped to Hong Kong and Tokyo, where blond hair and Western features were in high demand among the whorehouses that needed fresh meat or the men who were in the market for a sex slave. As far as Trevor was concerned, Tomas Meiro deserved to rot in hell for the role he played in that vile operation.

So, yeah, could anyone really blame him for wanting to protect Isabel from the motherfucker?

Apparently, yes, considering that the woman beside him looked ready to kill him.

“Still haven’t calmed down, have you?” she drawled.

He casually sipped his scotch, but every muscle in his body ached from being coiled so tight. “I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

“Who does? But you’re just gonna have to deal with it.” Juliet popped her martini olive into her mouth. “Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

“Yeah? Do you have some secret way of monitoring what’s going on in there? Astral projection, maybe?”

“Nope. I just have faith in the greatest chameleon I know.”

He wished he possessed that same level of faith, but Isabel’s radio silence was discouraging. Why the hell had she cut off contact?

“See,” Juliet said a second later, sounding very smug. “Just fine.”

Relief washed over him as he saw Isabel emerge from the curtained lounge.

On Meiro’s arm.

Laughing. They were laughing. And Meiro was taking too many damn liberties—touching her bare shoulder, stroking her upper arm, bringing his lips much too close to her neck.

Trevor tightened his grip on his scotch glass.

Isabel and Meiro strolled across the gaming floor, lost in their own private world.

When he realized they were leaving the casino, panic spiked in his blood again. “Sully,” he hissed. “Blackjack’s knocking on your front door.”

Sullivan, who was out on the street with a line of sight into the Palace lobby, replied with a brisk “Got ’em. He’s escorting her to the elevator.”

Some of the panic dimmed. “Is he getting in with her?”

“Negative. She’s giving him a kiss on the cheek, getting into the elevator alone. Blackjack is chatting with the concierge now.”

Trevor polished off his scotch and stood up, extending a hand to the woman he was supposed to be interested in. “Care to join me for a nightcap in my suite?”

Her dark eyes narrowed, but she still accepted his hand. “I would love to.”

He and Juliet had just stepped into the lobby when Isabel rejoined the feed.

“Sorry, guys. Didn’t mean to go dark on you. I couldn’t stay in character. The chatter on the line was too distracting.”

Trevor was in no way appeased by her explanation. She was part of the team, damn it. When you worked with a fucking team, you didn’t break communication. Ever.

“Anyway, I’ll make my way over to you when I feel like I can slip away,” she added in a soft tone. “I’m having lunch with him tomorrow. I’ll brief you on the rest later tonight.”

And then she was gone again.

I’ll brief you.

Damn right she would.

“Hey, Callaghan, flap those wings and fly back to the nest.”

For the first time all evening, Noelle’s voice finally made an appearance on the comm. And she didn’t sound the least bit happy.

“Uh-oh,” Juliet said mockingly. “Someone’s in trouble.”

He stifled a groan. Fuck. Looked like Isabel wasn’t the only one who needed to explain herself tonight.

When Isabel strode into the suite at White Sands several hours later, it took a valiant effort on Trevor’s part not to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. He couldn’t, though. Not with Noelle’s blue eyes already shooting daggers at him.

The “boss” was
pissed
. When he’d returned to the hotel earlier, the blonde had given him a tongue-lashing in a voice so sharp it could have cut glass. She’d finished the scolding by informing him that he was being replaced; Liam would take over casino duty, while Trevor joined Ethan on mansion surveillance.

Trevor hadn’t argued with the woman. Because . . . well, fuck. Because she was making the right call. Killed him to admit it, but it was the truth.

He’d nearly blown it tonight by marching into the VIP lounge. His sole focus had been on protecting Isabel from Tomas Meiro, and the man hadn’t even done anything wrong. Whatever his past crimes, the only offense Meiro committed tonight was flirting with the woman Trevor happened to be in love with.

Whoa—what?

The thought came out of nowhere, whizzing into his head like a sniper’s bullet.

The woman he was in love with?

No. He couldn’t be in love with Isabel.

Could he?

He did his best to stop the confusion and shock from showing on his face. He took a breath, tried to focus on the briefing, but his concentration was shot to hell.

He kept sneaking peeks at Isabel, but clearly he wasn’t being at all covert, because each time he looked at her, she looked right back.

And each time their gazes held, her expression grew increasingly troubled.

Fuck, why did he get the feeling she could read his thoughts?

Trevor’s pulse sped up. Did she somehow know that the L-word had breached his consciousness? That he was, at this very moment, questioning whether he’d fallen in love with her?

How was it possible, though? He’d been in love before, and he didn’t remember it feeling like this.

His love for Gina had filled him with an overpowering sense of peace. Yes, there had been passion and arguments, and sure, Gina’s kisses definitely made his heart beat a whole lot faster, but at the end of the day, when he’d looked into her big brown eyes he’d seen his best friend and his soul mate, not a woman he wanted to . . . to
possess
, damn it.

So why did he feel this crazy urge to possess Isabel, body and soul? Why were his emotions so much more heightened in her presence? Passion became raw lust. Anger became red-hot fury. Peace became bone-numbing serenity.

When he looked into Isabel’s eyes, he saw . . . his other half. He saw a missing piece of himself, and that was beyond fucked up, because he’d never thought of himself as lacking.

What did that mean? And why didn’t he feel like he was betraying Gina by considering that he was meant to be with Isabel?

“Keep a close eye on the wife.” Noelle interrupted his thoughts. “She might know more than we think.”

“I doubt it, but sure,” Trevor replied.

As the briefing came to an end, Noelle disappeared onto the terrace, while Juliet and Liam walked over to the wet bar on the other side of the suite. Sully, D, and Ethan were on surveillance duty, which meant Trevor would be bunking alone tonight.

He glanced at Isabel and lowered his voice. “We should probably talk.”

“Damn right.” Her dark expression followed them all the way to his room. “What the hell happened tonight, Trevor? Why did Noelle reassign you?”

He closed the door and locked it. He didn’t bother with a lie or an excuse; when it came to Isabel, he always found himself being totally honest, no matter how painful or embarrassing it was.

“I didn’t like listening to you flirt with him,” he said gruffly.

“Are you serious?”

“I got jealous, okay? Your voice was in my ear, cooing and giggling and being all sexy, and it pissed me off.” He offered a sheepish shrug. “I may have been on my way to crash the VIP lounge when Juliet stopped me.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Her visible displeasure grated. “I wouldn’t have felt the need to do that if you hadn’t gone dark. What the hell were you thinking, shutting off your comm like that?”

“I told you, the chatter was too big of a distraction. I can’t work when I’ve got half a dozen voices chirping in my ear.”

“Well, tough fucking luck. We’re here to back you up, and that’s something we can’t do unless we’re in contact with you.”

“Tough fucking luck,” she mimicked. “I work solo, and I can’t do my job unless I have total concentration. How am I supposed to play the part of Valerie when I’m constantly being reminded that I’m Isabel?”

“I won’t let you out in the field without a comm.”

“You won’t
let
me? Sorry to burst your bubble, but you’re not running this op. Noelle is, and I follow her orders, not yours.” Her cheeks flushed with indignation. “And you know what? Even if you
were
running the show, I still wouldn’t give in, because frankly, the request is insulting. I’m a pro, and I work better without a freaking mic in my ear.”

He gritted his teeth. “You’re not working solo on this op. You’re part of a team, and—”

“I can’t be an asset to the team if I’m distracted,” she interrupted. “Besides, we both know your reaction has nothing to do with a teammate being out of contact. This is about you being overprotective and trying to keep me out of danger. Well, screw that. I’ve had men thinking they know what’s best for me my entire life. My dad, my brother, my supervisor at the bureau. There’s no way I’m letting another man run my life, or tell me what I can or can’t do in the field.”

Trevor fell silent, suddenly feeling flustered. Isabel’s blowup was unexpected, but as her angry words hung in the air, he realized she was right. He
was
being overprotective. The mere thought of Isabel anywhere near a criminal like Meiro scared the shit out of him, and yet he wouldn’t have batted an eye if, say, Sully or Liam had been assigned to Meiro.

Fuck. He hadn’t viewed her as a teammate earlier, but as a woman he cared deeply about and needed to protect, and that
was
an insult to her skills. A really crappy move on his part.

He swallowed a lump of guilt. “Isabel—”

“You’re not going to win this one, Trevor. I tried the earpiece thing. It didn’t work. From now on, I do it my way. I was a federal agent, remember? I know how to take care of myself.”

She sat down on the bed and angrily started to pull out the bobby pins keeping her wig in place. A moment later, the blond tresses slid off to reveal the sexy red bob underneath.

“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “You’re right on all counts. I
know
you can take care of yourself, and I know you excel in undercover work. I guess I just lost sight of that tonight. I was overprotective and jealous and I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

She shifted, and his gaze landed on the bottom of the black dress she now wore instead of the green gown. It had ridden up to reveal her creamy thighs, and even with the jumble of confusing emotions knotted around his insides, his body was still capable of getting turned on. Saliva promptly flooded his mouth, his fingers tingling with the need to touch all that firm, silky flesh.

“Were you jealous with Gina, too?” she asked, her voice tight.

Trevor slowly shook his head.

“Did she ever flirt with other men in front of you?”

“Sometimes. It wasn’t really a big deal, though.”

Something flickered in Isabel’s eyes. She looked almost . . . wounded.

“What’s that look for?” he said roughly.

“I was just thinking you must have trusted her a lot more than you trust me. You must have had complete faith that she would never, ever stray.”

Surprise filtered through him. “That’s not true. I mean, yes, I trusted her. I trusted her implicitly. But you’ve got that same level of trust from me.”

“Really?”

He approached the bed and knelt in front of her. “You would never stray either. Look, I didn’t freak out tonight because I thought you might wind up in bed with Meiro. When you told me you don’t use sex as a weapon, I believed you.”

Her breath hitched when he rested his hands on her bare knees. “Why did you freak out, then?”

A strangled groan left his mouth. “Because the thought of another man touching you drives me insane. Nobody else is allowed to touch you. Nobody but me.”

Astonishment widened her eyes, and then the animosity she’d been radiating dissolved and she let out the warm, melodic laugh he loved so damn much. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“Guessed what?”

“That you’re a caveman at heart.” She laughed again. “Pure alpha male, just like the rest of your men.” She tilted her head pensively. “But you weren’t like that with Gina, were you?”

As much as he hated drawing comparisons between the woman sitting in front of him and the woman he’d lost two years ago, he had to acknowledge that Isabel was right.

“Protective? Yes. Possessive? No,” he confessed.

With her typical Isabel frankness, she said, “I don’t want to be treated like a possession. That’s how my father and brother saw me, and I hated it. In their eyes, I belonged to them.”

He cleared the gravel from his throat. “I don’t see you as a possession or a piece of arm candy or some object I need to conquer. I just . . .” He shrugged helplessly. “I just need you, Iz. I fucking
crave
you.”

All the frustration, anger, and jealousy he’d bottled up tonight came spilling out, leaving his body in the form of a desperate growl that had him grabbing Isabel by the hair and kissing her senseless.

He swallowed her surprised squeak with his kiss, thrust his tongue in her mouth without waiting for permission. His heart pounded like a jackhammer, each frantic beat vibrating in his groin, every ounce of blood in his body pooling south, until his cock was harder than steel, thick and heavy and aching.

When her tongue touched his, he groaned and slanted his head to drive the kiss deeper. They were both panting when they came up for air.

Isabel’s green eyes were glazed, her chest heaving with each breath, and she was clutching the front of his dress shirt between her fingers as if she couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again. “If you don’t want to wear a mic, I won’t push the issue. From this point on, I won’t question any move you make during this op. I promise you that.”

“Thank you.” Her fingers toyed with the top button of his shirt, her expression conveying indecision. “I guess I should head back to—”

“Unbutton my shirt.” His hoarse demand caused her eyes to widen again.

“I . . . really can’t be away from the Palace for too long.”

“I know.”

Trevor brushed his mouth over hers in a fleeting kiss, then captured her bottom lip with his teeth and nipped at it.

She responded with a tiny moan. “We . . .” She sighed in pleasure when he pressed his mouth to her neck and licked her hot flesh. “We can’t . . .”

“We can’t what?”

And then he slid his hand underneath her dress and between her legs, and she stopped talking altogether.

Chuckling, Trevor rubbed her over her panties. He loved the dampness he felt on his palm, the way she parted her thighs to grant him better access, the pink flush of arousal that rose on her cheeks.

She made a disappointed noise when he abruptly withdrew his hand.

He laughed again. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. This isn’t over, not by a long shot. Stand up and turn around.”

Evidently she was done searching for reasons why they shouldn’t do this, because she stood up without question and offered him her back.

Trevor dragged his hand down the length of her body, trailing his fingers over the fragile bumps of her spine. Her short black dress had a zipper running down the center of her back. He undid the little silver hook at the top, then pulled the zipper down, slowly, one tooth at a time.

His breathing went shallow when her bra became visible, a strip of black held together by a flimsy clasp.

Despite the lust burning in his blood like jet fuel and the internal order to ravish the living hell out of this woman, he miraculously managed to keep his ravishing instincts under control.

Swallowing, he stroked her bare shoulders for a moment, then tugged on the soft material of her dress and peeled it off her body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her.

Her laughter tickled his ears. “You realize you’re looking at my back, right?”

“Mmm-hmmm. And it’s a very beautiful back.”

He toyed with that intriguing bra clasp, then glided his hands down to her firm buttocks. Deliciously bare, thanks to the dental-floss thong wedged between them.

When he squeezed her ass, Isabel let out a moan that sent a spike of heat straight to his cock. His heart went Formula 1 on him. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, primed, ready for this.

After he’d lost Gina, he hadn’t thought he would ever desire another woman, but he wanted Isabel so badly he could barely see straight. Each time he took a breath, he inhaled her intoxicating, feminine scent. Roses. She smelled like roses.

He gripped her hips and brought her ass to his groin. Rotated his hips, letting her feel how hard she made him, how much he wanted her.

“Trevor.” She spoke in a husky whisper, her tone resonating with longing and desire and a twinge of confusion.

He pressed a kiss on her shoulder, enjoying the way she shivered. “What is it?”

There was a long pause, then a wobbly breath. “Why can’t I resist you?”

“Because you don’t want to.”

Before she could reply, he spun her around and kissed her again.

Her arms looped around his neck as he lowered them both onto the mattress. He was fully dressed, his clothing a bothersome hindrance that made Isabel curse as she yanked the tail of his shirt from his waistband.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she mumbled. “Damn it, Trevor.”

He laughed at the outrage in her voice. “You’re right. This is a travesty.”

Working together, the two of them swiftly remedied that, his hands clawing at his tuxedo jacket while her eager fingers tackled his shirt buttons. Soon both items of clothing were tossed aside, followed by his pants and boxers.