Secret Agent Seduction (3 page)

Other than to answer a few questions about their travel itinerary, she'd spoken very little since they had boarded the helicopter. Armand had known she was worried about her men, though she'd tried her best to hide it. When she had finally received confirmation that they were safe and would be picked up by the second chopper, she'd closed her eyes for a moment and whispered shakily under her breath,
“Thank God.”

Armand had been intrigued by the trace of vulnerability he'd glimpsed beneath her steel veneer.

And now as he stared at her, he had to resist the urge to touch the smooth curve of her cheek, to caress the slender column of her throat, to loosen the austere knot at the nape of her neck and work his fingers through the thick, lustrous strands of her hair.

He didn't think she'd take too kindly to being touched—even by the man whose life she'd just saved.

In his thirty-two years on earth, Armand had never known another woman like her. Not only was she exquisitely beautiful, but she was also strong and fiercely courageous. She fought like a warrior and led with a confidence that dared anyone to defy her just because she was a woman.

He'd been stunned when she had removed her helmet inside the cabin and he had realized that she was the same beautiful, alluring woman who had haunted his dreams for the past eight years, ever since the first moment he had first laid eyes on her.

He remembered it as if it were yesterday. He'd been a brash young soldier in the Muwaitian army, stationed in his hometown of Port le Duc. On that fateful afternoon, he and a fellow soldier had been on their way to a neighboring military base to deliver medical equipment and supplies. They'd taken a detour through the bustling port city and found themselves stuck in a traffic jam caused by an accident that had just been cleared.

While their truck was idling at an intersection, waiting for the light to change, Armand had glanced out the passenger window.

And that's when he saw her.

She was standing with a group of peace corps volunteers who had set up a booth outside the town clinic to administer free vaccines to children from the village. A long procession of mothers, with infants balanced on tired hips and small children in tow, inched along the narrow, winding road lined with palm and banana trees.

The moment Armand saw the beautiful young American, a hot rush of need swept through him, taking his breath away. Her long black hair was caught up in a loose ponytail, her smooth brown skin glowed beneath the Caribbean sun and her long shapely legs poured from a pair of khaki shorts that hugged her lush, round bottom.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

His heart constricted as he watched her interacting with the children, who were terrified of the scary-looking needles. Lia distracted them while they were getting vaccinated, telling jokes and making funny faces that coaxed shy giggles from them.

Armand had silently willed her to look his way, but she never did. As the truck lurched away, he watched her through the side-view mirror until she disappeared from sight. When he returned to the clinic the next day to find her, he was told that the American peace corps volunteers had left the island that morning. He felt an acute sense of disappointment.

And loss.

He never forgot her.

Even in the dark years that would follow, as his life became consumed with fighting Biassou's reign of terror and violence, at night the beautiful American girl with the exotic Gypsy eyes and entrancing smile would come to Armand in his dreams.

And now, by some incredible stroke of fate, she was back in his life.

Armand had never been one to indulge in sentimentality. Life's harsh realities had robbed him of any such tendencies. Yet he couldn't dismiss the fact that Lia's sudden reappearance in his life was nothing short of a miracle. And he couldn't banish the uncanny sense that she had been sent there for a reason, one that transcended any political mission.

As the chopper swept out over the black ocean, bringing him closer to a foreign land, Armand realized that his destiny was irrevocably intertwined with the woman who sat quietly beside him.

Only time would reveal what that destiny was.

Saturday, September 6, 2008
1900 hours
Thurmont, Maryland
Day 2

D
usk had fallen by the time an armored stretch limousine carrying Armand Magliore, Lia and three additional Secret Service agents approached an electronic gate manned by unsmiling marine guard patrols. After clearing the final security checkpoint, the limo began its gradual ascent up a steep hill that overlooked ninety forested acres nestled deep in Maryland's Catoctin Mountains. The secluded retreat, located some seventy miles northwest of Washington, D.C., featured several comfortably furnished cabins, scenic mountain views, miles of hiking trails and a stocked trout lake.

But this was no idyllic retreat for lovebirds seeking a romantic weekend getaway. The rural property was one of several owned by the U.S. government and reserved for foreign heads of state, as well as other visiting dignitaries and high-level persons under Secret Service protection. Its proximity to Camp David all but guaranteed that there was no safer place on earth to stash a revolutionary leader pursued by a ruthless, bloodthirsty despot.

Or at least that's what the Secret Service was counting on.

After the hot extraction in Muwaiti, the sleek, powerful chopper transporting Lia and Magliore had arrived at an undisclosed military base along the Gulf of Mexico just a little after 3:00 a.m. There they had been met by various top-ranking Secret Service officials, including Lia's boss, Bill McManus. He had thanked Magliore for cooperating with the United States government and conveyed a personal message from the president, who lauded Magliore for his “remarkable courage and commitment to ensuring liberation and peace for the people of Muwaiti.”

While they had waited for the chopper carrying the rest of Lia's team to arrive, she and Magliore had been fed and given clean clothes. A young medic had tended to the small wound above Magliore's right eye, raising a censorious brow when he was told that Lia—not one of Biassou's mercenaries—had put it there. She hadn't bothered to defend herself, even when Magliore insolently referred to her as G.I. Jane.

Two hours later her team had arrived at the base—bedraggled, bleary-eyed, foul-tempered, but glad to be alive. When Dutch had hoisted Lia into his arms and spun her around in a dizzying circle, Magliore had watched them through cool, assessing eyes.

After an initial group debriefing with the brass, Lia and her men had been dispatched to their separate assignments—they went back to Washington, D.C., for another round of debriefing, while she was headed to the mountain retreat in rural Maryland.

Now she watched as the limo drove past a nondescript lodge used for clandestine intelligence briefings, and continued up the road before pulling into a circular driveway shared by two rustic cabins.

Lia remained inside the limo with Magliore while both buildings were checked by the other three agents who comprised the protection detail, tall men wearing dark suits, white shirts, subdued ties, dark sunglasses and the requisite earpieces. They wore microphones on their wrists and carried automatic weapons under their jackets. Lia had worked with all three men before and was satisfied that the assistant director had chosen the best for this protection detail.

While she waited for the agents to give the all-clear, Lia glanced over at Magliore, who'd been mostly silent during the ninety-minute drive from Andrews Air Force Base. He'd gazed out the window at the passing scenery, seemingly oblivious to the exchange of light banter between Lia and her colleagues. As she stole glances at him, she couldn't help wondering what he was thinking about—which, of course, would have been unnecessary if she'd been able to read his mind.

Between extracting him from Muwaiti and sitting through hours of debriefing, Lia had had little time to dwell on the startling discovery she'd made back at the cabin. But once they were comfortably ensconced in the limo, bound for their new destination, the questions had resurfaced. Her inability to read Armand Magliore's mind completely baffled her. She had never met anyone whose thoughts she couldn't intercept, and the fact that Magliore was the first made him that much more intriguing to her. Was he the yang to her yin? she wondered. Did he possess some sort of rare gene that worked as an antidote, counteracting her psychic ability? Did such a thing even exist? If her great-grandmother Genevieve were still alive, Lia definitely would have asked her. After all, she reasoned, the notion of such an antidote couldn't be any crazier than the phenomenon of mind reading.

At various intervals during the ride Lia had found herself studying Magliore's handsome profile, admiring the strong bridge of his nose and the sensual curve of those full, masculine lips before she realized what she was doing and jerked her gaze away.

This time, however, she was startled to realize he was staring right back at her. Those unusual, amber-colored eyes roamed across her face in a way that trapped the air in her lungs.

“You've had a long day,” he murmured softly.

Lia glanced away, cognizant of her travel-worn appearance. “So have you. I'm sure you'll want to lie down and rest after we have dinner.”

“Will you be joining me?”

When her eyes flew to his face, a hint of a wolfish smile curved the corners of his mouth. “For dinner,” he clarified.

Of course that's what he meant! Get your mind out of the gutter, Lia!

She swallowed. “Yes. I mean, if you want me to.”

“I want you to,” he said huskily.

She nodded, shaken by the masculine heat and energy that surrounded him like a crackling force field. She averted her gaze. “All right.”

After what seemed an eternity, the other agents returned from securing the premises. Lia was almost as relieved to see them as she'd been to see the approaching chopper in the night sky over the jungle.

It had been agreed that Lia, as head of the protection detail, would share the two-bedroom cabin with Magliore while the other three agents would occupy the larger cabin next door. What had seemed like a perfectly logical decision at the time—
before
Lia had met the potently virile Magliore—now sent a whisper of alarm through her as the door closed behind them.

To mask her unease, Lia gestured airily around the living room, which featured rustic pine furnishings, a high ceiling supported by rough-hewn cedar crossbeams and an enormous brick fireplace carved into the wall above a raised hearth.

“Welcome to your home away from home for the next ten days,” Lia said.

Magliore cast an appraising glance over the cozily furnished room, then looked back at her. “You mean, we're to share this cabin…alone?”

Her pulse reacted to the low, velvety timbre of his voice. She cleared her throat briskly. “The other agents will be less than fifteen feet away in the next building. You'll be more than safe.”

Magliore chuckled low in his throat. “Believe me, Miss Charles,” he drawled, trapping her in the smoldering beam of his gaze, “that was never my concern. No man in his right mind would protest forced confinement with such an exquisitely beautiful woman as yourself.”

Lia's heart thudded.

Damn.
She was losing control of the situation, of herself. In the six years she'd worked for the Secret Service, not once had she ever crossed the line with a protectee. She'd never even been tempted. But Armand Magliore, with his dark good looks and raw animal magnetism, was the living, breathing embodiment of temptation. This was a man who could persuade a nun to cross the line into sin with one little crook of his finger. Lia doubted he'd ever met a woman he couldn't bend to his will.

But Lia wasn't just
any
woman. She was a highly trained Secret Service agent who'd been assigned to protect him. To do that, she needed to remain focused, professional. Detached.

And the first step would be to establish some ground rules.

Magliore was watching her, his eyes alight with keen interest. “Is something wrong, Miss Charles?”

“No.
Yes.
” Exasperated, Lia blew out a deep breath. “Look, Mr. Magliore—”

“Armand.”

“Excuse me?”

His mouth twitched. “After everything we've been through in the last twenty-four hours, don't you think we've earned the right to be on a first-name basis with each other?”

Lia gave him a cool, measured look. “What I think,
Mr.
Magliore, is that I'm not here to amuse or entertain you or to keep your bed warm at night. I'm here for one reason and one reason only. To keep you alive until the date of your hearing before the United Nations. I don't expect you to like the fact that your life has been entrusted to a woman. I think you made your feelings known back in Muwaiti. You may not respect my qualifications, but I
do
expect you to respect my authority and judgment—as well as my boundaries—for the duration of our stay here.
Comprenez vous?
”

Magliore held her eyes for several long beats, as if deciding whether to even answer her.

“Do you understand?” Lia repeated in a deceptively soft tone.

After another moment he inclined his head. “
Oui.
I understand perfectly, Miss Charles.”

“Good.” Lia nodded briskly, then glanced at her watch. “Dinner will be here shortly. Everyone usually walks to the main lodge for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but since we arrived so late this evening, we're getting our meal delivered right to our front door. I hope you're hungry, because it's going to be quite a spread. One of the top White House stewards is on staff for the duration of the summer.”

“I look forward to it,” Magliore murmured. “Are there many others on the property at this time? It seems a little deserted.”

“It is—for now. Sometime tomorrow we're expecting a delegation of high-ranking military officials for a three-day intelligence summit that couldn't be rescheduled. We tried to keep the number of guests as low as possible, to minimize the risk of your exposure. Only a few people know that you're here, and we'd like to keep it that way.”

Magliore smiled faintly. “Am I to wear a disguise for the next ten days? Dark sunglasses and a fake mustache?”

Lia chuckled softly. “That won't be necessary. We've managed to keep the story out of the media, so even if someone were to recognize you over the next several days—which is a very remote possibility—they wouldn't know why you were here anyway. Like I said, your presence in the United States is highly classified information that only a select few are privy to.”

When Magliore nodded wordlessly, she said, “If you'd like to shower and change before dinner, you'll find everything you need in your bathroom. Towels, soap, toothpaste, shaving cream—whatever you need.”

Again he nodded, already starting toward one of two doorways that opened off the living room. Suddenly he stopped, looking expectantly at her over his shoulder. “Aren't you coming?”

Lia stared at him, nonplussed. “Where?”

He frowned a little. “I was under the impression you would be guarding me at all times.” He paused. “Even when I'm taking a shower.”

Lia felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought of herself posted outside his shower stall, trying not to peek through the steamy glass door as ribbons of water sluiced down his hard, sculpted chest and taut abdomen before rolling down those long, powerful legs.

Her mouth went dry. “I, ah, don't think that will be necessary. I'll be right outside your bedroom door if you, ah, need me.”

Magliore nodded, a ghost of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “I won't be long.”

“Take all the time you need,” Lia muttered to his retreating back.

When the bedroom door had closed firmly behind him, she let out a long, shuddering breath.

At that moment, with her pulse hammering wildly and her knees shaking, she realized that extracting Armand Magliore from the dark, treacherous jungles of Muwaiti had been the easy part.

Resisting her attraction to him would test the very limits of her endurance.

Dinner, as Armand discovered that evening, was everything Lia had promised it would be.

The lavish meal—prime rib, lobster, herbed potatoes and exotic pasta dishes he'd never heard of before—was far more palatable than anything he'd eaten in the past year during his self-imposed exile to the jungles of Muwaiti. And being seated at a table draped in fine linen made him feel almost civilized again.

The only thing that would have made the meal perfect, in his opinion, was having Lia as his only dinner companion.

He'd wanted her all to himself, but she'd made sure that they were joined by the other three Secret Service agents—no doubt to serve as a buffer between her and Armand. He didn't know whether to be offended or encouraged by the fact that she thought she needed a buffer from him.

After she put him in his place earlier, he couldn't help wondering if he'd only imagined the attraction between them, the powerful connection he'd sensed back at the cabin in Muwaiti.

But then he'd watched her reaction when he had asked her whether she would be guarding him while he took a shower. It was an outrageous question, one he'd fully expected to receive another tongue lashing for. But she hadn't berated him. Instead he'd watched as a telltale flush spread across her cheeks, as those luminous, dark eyes turned smoky with desire while she tried her damnedest not to imagine him naked.