The dangerous statement had cleared the mind-numbing lust from his brain and left him chilled to the bone. His contact at DHS had arranged the visit, he knew that. But how had Kira known it?
“There’s no op in progress.”
He breathed in through his nose before he moved away from her, pacing to the chair where his expensive silk jacket had been laid. Shrugging it on, he turned back to her, remembering the job, the dangers, and the price of failure.
“He saved my life when I was a kid,” he stated, hearing his own raspy voice and recalling that his screams at that time had nearly broken it. Nathan’s was worse. His voice was so ruined that the sound of it would always remind the other man of the hell he had endured.
Kira nodded. “He told me about that.”
Ian clenched his teeth. “I needed to say goodbye. That was all.”
Her lips pursed. “Just saying goodbye? All security measures were allowed to lapse so a drug lord could say goodbye? Give me a break, Ian.”
“Money in the right hands works wonders,” he assured her, staring back at her with the same icy expression he had perfected over the past several years. “I’m here by choice, Ms. Porter, don’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise. And trust me when I say, I don’t intend to leave.”
Her gaze flickered then, whether with indecision or belief, he couldn’t be sure. Reading Kira was like trying to navigate through lake fog. Damned near impossible.
Finally, another of those irritating, knowing smiles shaped her lips and she shrugged with a graceful shift of her slender shoulders.
That smile was designed to make men crazy. To make them dream of wiping it off her face with passion, or with their dick filling that hot little mouth. Ian had quite a few fantasies concerning the latter.
“Whatever,” she finally answered smoothly. “Uncle Jason is considering buying a villa here, did I mention that? He’s flying in tomorrow to check out a few possibilities that I found today. You go ahead and play your little games, Ian, I’m sure I can find a way to occupy myself.”
“Get the hell out of Aruba, Kira,” he ordered her harshly. “Don’t turn this into a pissing match, because you’ll lose. The hard way.”
She clicked her tongue then. “Really, Ian, you’re losing your perspective. Drug cartel leaders don’t give warnings, they act. I guess you’ll just have to try the cement slippers next.” Her eyes widened. “Or are they using something else here in the Caribbean? Sometimes it’s just so hard to keep up.”
He’d had enough. He’d warned her. She was an experienced agent, she knew the game, the rules and the dangers. If she got her ass killed, then it was out of his hands. He’d warned her.
“Good night, Ms. Porter.” He moved across the room and headed for the door. “I trust you’ll take ample care of yourself while you’re here.”
“I always do, lover.”
He jerked the door open then slammed it behind him as he stepped into the hall. Deke straightened from the wall, his gaze narrowing, his eyes flickering with interest as he glanced at the suite door.
“Let’s move.” Ian stalked down the hallway without explanations. He’d be damned if there was any way to explain Kira, even if Deke was aware of exactly who and what she was.
Oh yeah, she was the niece to Jason Maclane all right. And one of the most clever damned contract agents Homeland Security had on its payroll.
The Chameleon, that was her code name. And why was that her code name? Because she was as changeable in her appearance as she was in her moods. Because her job wasn’t to confront a damned thing, it was to watch and listen and flit around the elite little parties that catered to the rich and notorious, and the dirty little deal makers. To shift and change according to her location, to become seductive or dangerous, to fit in with the diseased, disgusting parasites of the world.
And he should remember that one, he told himself as he followed Deke into the elevator. Kira knew the rules of the game. She didn’t need him to protect her.
Four
IAN’S MOOD THE NEXT MORNING was less than cheerful. He always awoke quickly, but opened his eyes slowly. He felt his surroundings out, let his senses hone in to detect any shifts or dangers before he allowed himself to move from the bed.
This morning, he awoke in a mood designed to piss even himself off. His skin felt stretched, irritation tightened his guts, and damn if he didn’t still have the hard-on from hell throbbing between his thighs.
He took care of the hard-on in the shower, masturbating as he closed his eyes and imagined Kira, on her knees, her lips surrounding him, her tongue licking and stroking as she sucked him to her throat and made his teeth clench with the need to hold back.
Not that his hand came anywhere close to the imagined feel of her mouth, but the thought succeeded in spilling his semen to the shower floor and taking the bitter edge off his lust.
Hell, he could have gone to Astra’s room and awakened her last night. He could have fucked her all night long, and rather than giving him grief, she would have smiled and licked her lips in anticipation.
She was one of many women that Diego seemed to delight in filling the villa with. He liked pretty women, and he liked having them near. Women who liked rough sex. Hell, they went beyond a little rough sex. They were women who enjoyed the pain Diego could mete out.
Ian grimaced at the thought of that. He had seen one of the maids, Eleanor’s, back beaded with blood from the stroke of Diego’s whip, and still she had begged for more. Not more sex. Not more fucking or a deeper penetration, because Diego rarely fucked one of his toys. No, it was the pain that got both of them off. Diego got off giving it, and Eleanor could climax from it. Ecstasy would wash over her face and her body would tremble with it.
It was enough to make a jaded man wonder what the hell had gone wrong with the world. For all his cynicism and experience, he still couldn’t understand that one. But it wasn’t Astra he wanted, it was Kira.
Stalking into the breakfast room nearly an hour later, he found Diego at the breakfast table. Just what he needed that morning, a healthy dose of dear old pop.
“Ah, good morning, Ian.” A smile creased Diego’s swarthy face as he laid his forearms on the table and regarded him with something resembling pride. “I trust you slept well?”
Could his morning get any worse?
“Morning, pop.” It was the most disrespectful title Ian could come up with. It was the one thing that had earned him his stepfather’s ire when he used it.