Kat had a split second to react to the weapon. She had two choices: aggression or evasion. He was a Special Forces operator-the gun would be loaded and the safety off. She opted for both responses. She dodged low and across his body from the gun, and then launched herself upward. Like most shooters, he’d turned his gun shoulder forward slightly, which threw him slightly off balance. She slammed her body into him to accentuate his balance problem. A quick hook with her ankle, a karate thrust with the heel of her hand to his shoulder, and he spun to the ground, his gun arm trapped underneath him.
He made a credible grab for her in the jiujitsu style, but she ducked and slipped the grappling hold. This time she rolled him swiftly to his back and straddled his chest. She wanted to look him in the eye when she told him to cut out the martial arts crap. To that end, she maintained a simple thumb hold on him. It was enough to control him if he got any crazy ideas, but it wasn’t as psychologically overwhelming as the armlock she’d put on him earlier.
He relaxed beneath her legs. She glared down at him and…and her thoughts derailed completely. Wow. Now those were blue eyes. A bright cobalt color lifted straight from the Caribbean Sea.
His mouth curved up into a disarming smile. “I can’t believe it took pulling a gun to get you to show your true feelings for me, darlin’.”
She leaned back on her heels, which put most of her weight on his stomach. His abdominal muscles contracted into a hard washboard beneath her rear end, supporting her body weight easily. Yowza. It was a struggle to maintain her usual even expression.
“Are you done pulling stupid stunts on me, Captain Steiger, or am I out of here?”
His grinned widened. “Depends on how you define stupid.”
She arched an eyebrow and replied dryly, “Are you sure you want me to respond to that remark? I’m not sure your ego could take it.”
“Ouch. No wonder they call you Cobra. The lady has fangs.”
She shrugged. “I thought it was because I spit so well.”
Startled laughter escaped him. “How ’bout I put down the cap gun and you let me up off the playground before the other kids start calling me a sissy? As a show of good faith, I’ll go first.”
She watched impassively as he laid the pistol down by her left knee and slowly lifted his hand away from it. She released his other thumb, her senses on high alert.
She leaned forward, preparatory to climbing off him, when he murmured, “Where are you going? I kinda like you like this.”
It wasn’t his words that froze her in place. It was the low purr of his voice, sliding roughly over her skin, no longer boyish but suddenly all man. Or perhaps it was the explosion of…something…low in her belly in response to that black velvet tone of voice.
Her gaze lifted to his in shock. Blue met brown. And to his credit, he didn’t smirk at her. In fact, he looked nearly as stunned as she did. They stared deeply at one another for an eternity. Instinctive recognition flared between them. If she didn’t know better, she’d say they’d met before. Been passionate lovers in some previous place and time.
“Little Kitty Kat,” he crooned.
Shock exploded in her. How did he know that was what Hidoshi called her in his rare affectionate moments? He couldn’t possibly…It was just coincidence…but a superstitious chill shivered through her, nonetheless.
His big hands moved slowly-smart man-and came to rest on the tops of her thighs, by her hips. Through the thin fabric of her bodysuit, his palms scalded her.
“Don’t go,” he murmured, half order, half plea.
“What’s happening?” she breathed.
“Don’t you know?”
She shook her head, wide-eyed.
“Grandmère called it Cupid’s Bolt.”
She frowned. Sometimes she felt at a real disadvantage with American slang. Having spent her childhood abroad, she often missed pop-culture references. “I’m sorry-what?”
The last thing she expected entered his brilliant gaze. Unmistakable tenderness. He replied softly, “Cupid’s Bolt. It’s when you meet someone and it feels like you’ve been gob-smacked by a big ol’ bolt of lighting. Grandmère says it doesn’t happen to many folks. But to a lucky few…”
“What happens?” Kat prompted when he didn’t continue.
He shrugged. “Game over. True love. Soul mates. Till death do us part.”
She was so stunned her jaw actually sagged open.
“We’ve been struck by Cupid’s Bolt, darlin’. It’s inevitable. You and me. Get used to it.”
“You’re telling me we shared a look, and you’ve declared me your future…what?…sex kitten?”
He laughed. “That doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Panic threatened to creep into her voice. She managed to force it down, but it was a close call. “What then? Wife? Mother of your children? Soul mate? That’s absurd. I’m not even in the market for a relationship, let alone that other stuff.”
“Glad to hear it because you’re plumb off the market, effective now. You’re mine.”
“Oh, puh-lease.”
He grinned up at her. “I get dibs on telling you I told you so.”
He was positively out of his mind. Sure, a tiny part of her twittered like some green girl at how romantic the whole notion was. And he certainly was easy on the eye. But soul mates? Happily ever after? So not in the cards for her.
Long ago she’d dedicated her life to a principle, junjo-do, the way of the pure heart. She hadn’t dedicated part of her life to that way. She’d dedicated her entire self to the pursuit.
He shrugged philosophically, causing movement between her thighs that drew her attention sharply and completely. His voice was dead serious. “You wait and see. That was Cupid’s Bolt, or my name’s not Jefferson Delacroix Steiger.”
Desperate to lighten the mood and distract him, she quipped, “Delacroix? Did your parents hate you?”
He grinned. Better. Although, man, that thousand-watt smile went right through her. She became aware of his thumbs rubbing absent circles on her legs, straying disturbingly near the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. She was torn as to whether to ignore it or call attention to it by asking him to stop.
“Delacroix is my mother’s maiden name. Our firstborn can have your maiden name, if you like. Although with a name like Kim, I sure hope it’s a girl. I’d hate to stick our son with Kim for a middle name.”
“Our-” She was speechless. He was already naming their children? He was certifiable!
He continued blithely, “I suppose growing up with a name like that would help a boy develop character, though.”
“Or a hell of a right hook,” she added wryly.
Jeff nodded gravely. “If you teach him to fight, he’ll have nothing to worry about on that score.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. This was the craziest conversation she’d ever had while sitting on someone’s chest. “You’re nuts.”
She rocked onto the balls of her feet and stood up. She stepped aside lightly and held a hand down to him to help him up. He was tall enough-and she was short enough-that he didn’t have to sit all the way up to grasp her hand. He gave a swift yank, and before she knew it, she was sprawled on her stomach across his big body, her face inches from him.
“See, I knew you’d fall for me sooner or later,” he murmured.
Oh, my. He smelled good. “Let me up,” she demanded.
“Gotta say please. It’s important to teach our kids good manners, you know. And we have to set the example for them.”
She contemplated fighting him for her freedom, but in this position, his strength would work to her disadvantage. Part of being a warrior of the way was knowing when to back down, too. She sighed. “Pretty please?”
“Pretty, am I?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re pretty, too. Beyond pretty. Perfect, in fact.”
He thought she was perfect? A rush of warmth shot through her before she knew what had hit her. Then hard, cold reality set in. It didn’t matter what he thought of her. They were coworkers. Colleagues. Professional acquaintances. Nothing more. And she had neither the time nor the inclination to allow a man into her life.
His hand, splayed intimately on her lower back, began moving in small, slow circles, expertly massaging away her tension. Her entire lower body turned to jelly right there on the spot. Oh, Lord, that felt good. Coworkers, darn it!
She stiffened reluctantly.
He sighed. “Okay, baby. We can go back to work. For now. But tonight, I’m taking you out for a romantic, candlelit dinner.”
He turned her loose without warning. His magic touch was gone, and she felt…bereft.
What in the hell was he doing to her?
Jeff climbed cautiously to his feet, watching the woman who’d not once but twice dropped him with an ease that was breathtaking. This tiny little thing-she didn’t even reach his chin, for crying out loud-had absolutely manhandled him. Of course, maybe he was just so damned distracted by her he wasn’t thinking straight. But, Cupid’s Bolt or not, he had a hard time believing that decades of finely honed fighting skills had deserted him at the sight of a pretty face.
Although, pretty didn’t quite cover it. She was mesmerizing. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Everything about her was as he’d declared. Perfect. Her skin was flawless-all shades of ivory and cherry blossom pink. Her glossy, black hair was smoothed back into a ponytail with not a single hair daring to stray out of place. And her body-in that wet-dry suit, not a whole hell of a lot was left to the imagination, and every inch of it was exquisite.
To his consternation, she took the chair across from his desk in the gray suit and seemed in no great hurry to get out of it. Maybe she knew the effect it had on him and was using it to throw him off balance. It was working, whether she intended it or not.
He opened the file sitting in the middle of his desk. He didn’t actually need it; he knew every fact in it by heart. But it gave him something to look at other than her hypnotic beauty. He cleared his throat. Work. Concentrate on work. “A string of robberies have taken place over the past several months in Barbados along a stretch of real estate known as the Golden Mile. Are you familiar with it?”
“No.”
Her voice reminded him of wind chimes. Work, dammit. “It’s a string of mega-mansion getaways for the super-rich, lining several beachfront miles. A who’s who of the world’s richest people own these places. And that leads to a healthy dose of one-upmanship in the homes and their decorations.”
A faint smile flickered in her eyes, but her features otherwise remained impassive. So self-contained, she was. Made him wonder what was going on behind that still façade of hers.
“Recently, it has become the vogue to cram these winter hideaways with art. But not just any art. The most expensive art the collectors can find and flaunt.”
She replied, “And now this collection has attracted the finest art thieves the world has to offer. Don’t these places have pretty outrageous security? The owners can afford it.”
Intelligent. She’d already made the next logical leap ahead of his narrative. He nodded. “Go on. Continue your line of thought.”
“The U.S. government has been asked to help catch this guy. Which means the local police have failed. I’d guess some influential Americans have been robbed, and they’re raising a stink with their congressmen golfing buddies. In a smashing display of not understanding the limitations under which various government agencies operate, said congressmen have had their aides call the FBI, who threw up their hands and declared it outside their jurisdiction. Compounding their blunder, the aides called the CIA and possibly even Interpol. Eventually, their complaints ended up in the Pentagon’s lap, and the whole mess has rolled downhill and landed on your desk.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. “That’s so accurate it’s frightening.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been in the Spec Ops community a while. I’ve seen a few ops get hosed from above.”
He grimaced and didn’t bother to reply. They both knew precisely what she was talking about. The bane of the Special Forces world-bureaucratic intervention from desk jockeys thousands of miles from the field of battle.
She looked him square in the eye. “So why am I here? What do you need from me?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. He answered dryly, “The possible answers to that question beggar the mind. Let’s start by reviewing the robberies. I have a few theories about how our thief is pulling off the jobs, but I’d like to hear your thoughts before I share mine.”
They put their heads together over all the information he’d painstakingly gathered: police reports, blueprints of homes, schematics of security systems. It took them several hours to sort through all the data. Kat didn’t say much. She asked occasional questions, but mostly she just absorbed it all. He dumped a ton of information on her, yet several times near the end, she asked pointed questions about details he’d mentioned briefly, hours earlier. Yup, definitely some extra chocolate chips in this smart cookie.
Finally, she leaned back, staring at nothing in particular. He could all but hear her mind humming as she processed the briefing. He didn’t disturb her. Besides, it gave him a chance to study Kat more closely.
She had small ears. Her fingernails were almond shaped, done in one of those pink-and-white manicures. Her skin was satin smooth, noticeably devoid of body hair. The veins in her hands and neck, faintly visible beneath the transparency of her skin were well-defined for a woman’s. Runner’s veins.
After the past few hours, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was exactly who and what she said she was. He didn’t know whether to be dismayed, appalled, or impressed to death that a woman had managed to breach the testosterone fortress of Special Ops.
“You hungry?” he blurted.
She blinked, called back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. “Umm, yes. I guess so.”
“Let’s go topside. I know a little place on the beach…under the palm trees, drippy candles…the best seafood you ever tasted.”
Was that alarm flickering through her gaze? She was so damn hard to read.
She said quietly, “I didn’t know we could go to the surface.”
“Most of the staff is assigned two-week periods yearly to go topside and act like tourists visiting the island. A few staff members get to pose as people living here, and they can go topside anytime they want.”
“Which are you?”
“I’m in the first week of a two-week ‘vacation’ to the island. I can go up anytime I like. Because you’re only here temporarily, you can go up, too.”
“Well, then, I guess we’re having dinner at your little place on the beach.”
Hot damn. And he hadn’t even had to let her take him down to get her to agree.