"You're not hungry?" What did the woman take for energy?

"Mmm...well, food wasn't on my mind a minute ago," she teased, smiling, "but let's raid the fridge you claimed is full of my favorite things. See what we can come up with."

He remembered the cold cut chicken. The big carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream. And groaned. Surely he was going nuts. He was thinking about food when he had a woman under him, in a bed. Where were his priorities?

She read his mind and chuckled again. "My ego is shot all to h.e.l.l, Stash honey. To lose to food...I guess the tummy complaints weren't the moving violation you had in mind?"

"No." Reluctantly he lifted himself to a sitting position.

They had both forgotten about the necklace tangled around them, and Steve pulled Marlena up with him as well. Laughing aloud, she steadied herself by flattening her palms against his chest.

"Mmm," she murmured, distracted. Her splayed fingers traveled up and down the front of his T-shirt. "Nice and hard. I was quite jealous of that tailor today. He was touching you all over. You must work out a lot. I can feel all your muscles."

Oh-oh. Warning bells rang in his head. His kind of body was not sculpted in the gym. "I like outdoor sports," he told her, trying to ignore what her hands were doing to him.

"What kind?"

The lady was good with her hands, but he wasn't going to be conned into slipping up. "Jogging, running, swimming, outdoor stuff."

"We'll have to exercise together if we have time," she said.

"Sure." He doubted that she would like the stuff he did. He began to unwind the long necklace, taking it off her first, since it had somehow twisted into a double knot near his neck.

She barely paid attention, seemingly finding the hard ridges of his abs fascinating. She tried to pull his T-shirt out of his pants. Normally Steve wouldn't stop any beautiful woman wanting to explore his chest, but her questions had left him wary. He had learned that she was always after something else.

He looped her hands with a chain of pearls and brought them to his lips, kissing her fingertips softly. Her blue eyes gleamed back at him, but he couldn't tell what she was thinking. "Fair is fair," he told her. "You want to see what's underneath, you have to show me what's underneath that silly Tweety Bird shirt."

"It's not silly. Tweety Bird is my favorite cartoon character." She pulled her hands loose and worked on the knot holding them both prisoners.

"Your favorite cartoon is a bird?" Steve asked incredulously. Somehow he couldn't picture Marlena watching cartoons. And certainly not a bird. At her gesture he lifted his chin up and patiently let her untwist and unwind.

"Yup, even have a tattoo of Tweety."

"Where?"

Her answering smile was small and secretive and instantly made him want to go on search mode. "Where?" he demanded again.

"There, free at last," Marlena said. The long double strand of pearls swung loose. She eyed it admiringly. "I must say you look good in pearls."

"It doesn't go with my shoes," Steve dryly mocked. "I want to see that Tweety Bird."

"All in good time, Stash, all in good time. Let's go fix you something to eat first, hmm? Are you as good at cooking as kissing?"

Steve reluctantly stood up. "We'll both find out." He didn't want to go but he remembered the tablecloth he had used to handle her things. With her keen eyes, he should really double-check to make sure there were no smudges.

Marlena folded up the clothes on the bed while sounds of dishes and silverware clanging came from the kitchen. She was glad about the interruption. Another minute and she would have forgotten her self-control. She couldn't afford to forget anything, not at this time. She gathered up the wires, walked deliberately to stand a few feet from a portrait placed strategically facing the bed, and dumped the electronics leftovers like trash. Staring straight ahead, she lifted her chin in a silent challenge.

A little over an hour later, Marlena came back into the room and with a small blade dislodged the tiny electronic micro eye hidden in the frame. She had returned that device there on purpose earlier. Disabling it, she dropped the useless chip into the pile on the carpet. It had served its purpose.

She walked out to the mini bar. She shoved aside the bottle of whiskey. She needed something smooth and rich. Cognac. Yes, that might put her in a mellow mood.

It hadn't been easy saying no to a man like Stash. He had left after dinner, given her one of his long looks that almost had her changing her mind. Her attraction for him was stronger than she'd thought. It had been a long time since she had actually l.u.s.ted after a man from the other side, and she knew how high a price that could be.

Marlena wasn't willing to pay that price again. Except for one thing. She frowned and took a long swallow of the brandy, feeling its fiery heat go straight down her throat into her tummy. The last time the l.u.s.t she had felt was never like this. She'd never been so aware of a man as she was of Stash McMillan. She felt it down to her toenails whenever he followed her with his dark gaze. He reminded her of a caged animal for some reason. She had tested his depths and knew that he had a mind of his own. It was in the way he stood watching her with those brooding eyes, in the way he demanded her attention by merely quirking his beautiful mouth, in the way he pretended to be just what he claimed to be. And he made her laugh. She couldn't remember a day when she had laughed so much. He was good. Very good.

The phone rang. It still wasn't whom she was expecting. Picking up the receiver in the kitchen, she didn't bother to be polite. "Yes?"

"Marlena Maxwell, your bodyguard is useless against us. We want what you have. Hand it over or we'll come after you from all sides, wherever you are."

Marlena sighed. "Dear me, and if I give it up, you'll just leave me alone." She studied her hand, frowning at a chipped fingernail.

"You don't have an option. Give us what we want, or die."

"Um, sorry, you just gave me two options."

"You think you can joke with us over this?"

"Why not? Only clowns would talk over a bugged phone this long."

The line went dead. Marlena tapped her chin with the receiver as she thoughtfully looked overhead, at the micro eye and bug she knew were above her. No doubt, whoever was on the other end of those stupid things had heard every word exchanged, just as they had this morning, when Stash answered the phone. She also knew that they wouldn't be able to trace those calls.

Probabilities and percentages. That was the tightrope she balanced on. The probability of these two parties working together was low, and the percentage that they might help her cause by getting in each other's way was higher. Thus it didn't hurt to let whoever was monitoring her know that other people were after her, too. She was used to different groups trying to get what she had, thinking they could handle one woman. She smiled mirthlessly.

It was easy to let her gender blind them all. From the moment she had walked into this apartment with Steve, she had been ready for a setup. What she had come to D.C. for was big enough to attract those who couldn't afford to pay its real worth. She was used to shady types coming after her. Apparently it might not even be just the usual kind of crooks.

The special CIA-originated electronic devices betrayed them. They didn't think she'd know the difference, but she had contacts, and there were plenty of CIA boys who were greedy for money, showing off new inventions being tried out by the agency. So the question of the day was-which side was Steve working for? Good CIA or bad CIA? It was going to be a challenge to find out. Her contact had been very careful thus far, doing everything through middlemen. She would have to take a few more risks than usual. And letting those others know her phone was bugged was one of them.

The thought of putting Stash in danger made her heart skip a beat. Marlena frowned. Why would she be concerned about that, if he were just someone hired to keep an eye on her? He shouldn't mean a thing, not a d.a.m.n thing.

Confusion in the enemy camp was good. Steve's commander from his SEAL team had told him that, quoting some ancient Chinese text called The Art of War. He was right. Steve was confused, tired, and frustrated. He had this simple plan. Charm the shoes off a beautiful woman. Get some names. Send her to the Department of Justice. His task force team would then get some action, going after whoever had ordered a contract on...on whom? That was the problem. Too many things missing in this a.s.signment.

When he was with his former team, he knew who the enemy was, why they were there, what they were after. Black STAR's objective was to search and destroy paramilitary enemies with an agenda against the U.S. government. The wars were always covert, out of the public eye, but they were real. There was a procedure to each maneuver-his allotment of ammo, location of a target, a timetable, and a clear briefing on the goals of the operation.

Since his transfer he'd been trying very hard to adjust to this new kind of war. Admiral Madison had told him that he was needed here for now, and he had accepted the orders after voicing a few objections. The higher pay was an incentive; he needed the money. From the beginning, the friction between him and his new team had been obvious. It wasn't that they disliked one another-it was just his style didn't suit theirs.

This was the first real test. At least Steve saw it that way. For the first time in months there was something tangible happening. He could feel in his bones that it was big. This operation would show him why he'd been transferred, why Admiral Madison told him his skills were needed here.

His mind skimmed quickly through the important things from the day. There was the early morning call with the threats. No one had followed Marlena and him all day, except for his own task force men who were now outside the apartment building for the night. Then there was the quick search of Marlena's suitcase that hadn't yielded anything of significance.

When he entered the surveillance room, he found Harden there alone. Great. That was all he needed, another clash with the operations chief.

It wasn't that he disliked his O.C. Harden had been nothing but fair to him, but the man had a black hole where his personality should be. In the hallways, Steve heard them whisper his nickname, Hard-On, and the reference wasn't meant to be complimentary.

"Where are the others?" Steve asked as he walked over to the desk where his O.C. sat. As usual he sensed disapproval from the man, even though nothing in his face betrayed it.

"I sent them home. They're on call in case your target does something between now and tomorrow."

"My target?" Steve raised an eyebrow.

"You've made it personal. Once you let your emotions get involved, you crossed the line." Harden looked back at him steadily, challenging him to deny the accusation.

Steve kept his gaze level. "I haven't done anything to suggest that I can't handle this."

It was Harden's turn to lift an eyebrow. "No?" He leaned forward and clicked a b.u.t.ton on a console. "Watch this."

One of the many screens showing the few rooms at Marlena's apartment flickered, catching Steve's attention. The couple on the bed. The necklace. The intimacy of shared laughter. There were no sounds, since the mikes had been destroyed, but the evidence was d.a.m.ning. Steve didn't move or say a word, letting the tape run its course.

"She got you, man. How are you going to catch her if you're doing your thinking with your gonads?" Harden asked, his voice laced with acid sarcasm.

Now wasn't the time to think of Marlena's betrayal, Steve told himself. He turned to face his chief. "I know what I'm doing," he said levelly. "She's just trying to cast confusion among her enemies. She knows you're watching her."

"Of course she knows. She placed that eye there herself." Harden smacked his hand on the desk in disgust, showing his anger for the first time since Steve walked in. "She's telling her watchers-me, specifically-that she has got you, that we can't fully trust you anymore."

"Sir," Steve reverted back to formality. There was no way to defend himself by being familiar. "Marlena Maxwell wants you to think a certain way. She's good at this; I know, I've been around the woman long enough to experience her manipulative ways. That"-he pointed to the screen-"was meant to create problems for me. We just have to figure out why she did it."

Of course Steve knew the reason, but he wasn't going to admit it. It had to do with a bet they had made that day. It was just Marlena's way of showing whose a.s.s was being had. Another time he might even have found what she did amusing, but not tonight. He was too frustrated to be amused. And she had so cleverly backed him into a corner with his own men. How could he tell them that he knew her so well, that he understood her message here, without them turning suspicious? His own O.C. was skeptical of his motives, for G.o.d's sake.

"You think I don't know what she's up to?" Harden asked in disgust. He leaned back and sank deeply into his chair, his eyes flint-hard as he looked at Steve. "I've been in this kind of stuff a lot longer than you. You're used to playing Superman, McMillan. Don your gear and go out and fight the bad evil dudes. Well, that kind of mentality isn't suited for TIARA. We use intel to fight the enemy, not firepower."

Steve didn't think it appropriate to point out that Superman always won. He might not have the kind of cloak-and-dagger training that Harden had, but he was a SEAL, and he held his team's record in the BUD/S infamous O course, an obstacle course created not just to test mental toughness and confidence, but to teach the trainees there was always a better way. "Each enemy needs a different approach," he said. "I just think there are more things happening here than a quick a.s.sa.s.sination. Marlena is-"

"Playing hide-and-seek," Harden cut in. "She hides and you seek, except that we don't know what she's hiding, and she's picking things for you to find. That is pretty obvious. What isn't obvious to you is that you're falling for her. What isn't obvious is that every time she manipulates you, over here, on this end, it adds another nail into your coffin. I'm not the only one a.s.sessing these videos, and believe me, I'm only voicing the conclusions of those who are going to see this. One wrong misstep and it's free fall, McMillan."

"The order was to get close to the target," Steve reminded. He no longer cared if he was stepping out of formal protocol. "I've been doing that."

"And your emotions weren't involved in your decision-making process?"

Steve straightened. There was more here than his being accused of impropriety, whatever the h.e.l.l that meant. On some other level, Harden was being personal here, but Steve couldn't figure out why.

"Of course emotions are involved," he answered, frowning slightly. "Every decision always has an underlying emotion. The point is not to let it affect one's better judgment. That is, sir, how I approach my job."

Steve caught the glint of something in the eyes of the man across the desk from him. Something else going on here, the line kept repeating in his head.

It was impossible to crack a tough nut like Harden. Steve had tried to be friendly, aloof, distant, formal, conversational, every way he could think of, to connect with his operations chief. He wanted to get along well with the man because he was the main focus in any sensitive operation. In his special operations group, every commander in charge of each team took time to make sure that everyone was on the same page. TIARA Task Force Two's operations chief gave orders without instructions and expected them done his way. For Steve, that meant hit and miss. Obviously he'd missed by a mile in this a.s.signment.

Steve decided to feel around for the missing instructions. "So what do you want me to do, sir? Just let it go and let you have a shot with her?"

"It would be easier to take her in and grill her."

"Like I said before, suppose she says nothing?"

"Suppose we make her? There are ways."

Steve carefully studied Harden. Ruthlessness was part of the job, but for him there had to be a very good reason for it. One just didn't randomly hurt a civilian without proof of intent. This wasn't jungle warfare, after all. Plus the thought of Marlena in a cell...He quelled the thought immediately. Don't even go there.

He shook his head. "From those threatening calls, someone else thinks she has something valuable. I think she's here for this something, and keeping her locked up could end up with us never knowing what it is. And let's say even if she did tell what it is, how are we going to get it without her? It's important enough that someone else is going after her for it."

Not the most brilliant argument, Steve admitted, but that was the best he could come up with at the moment. He really, really wanted to go back to Marlena's apartment and...and...what? He had no idea.

"Relax, McMillan," Harden interrupted his reverie, a corner of his mouth lifted wryly. "It's out of my hands right now. Your report from this morning obviously pushed some right b.u.t.tons for you because I've got orders to nail Miss Maxwell this time. Seems that no one had ever had concrete evidence of her crimes, not enough to stick to that leather outfit she loves so much, anyway. She's all yours for now. Who knows? If you actually get her what is due to the likes of her, that would be a serious notch in your belt, Superman. That is, if you get her, of course, before she gets you." He jerked his chin toward the screen. "So far, she's winning."

Steve knew he couldn't say a thing to defend Marlena. She already had him twisted up enough to even consider making such a stupid move to his own team, no less. Of course, if he were stupid enough to even voice some sort of defense, she would get her wish-his whole team would never fully trust him. He just had to work his way out of this emotional web she'd weaved around him on his own. p.r.o.nto.

"As long as we watch her every move, sir, we'll find out what we're after."

Harden nodded. "Let's hear what happened today from your own mouth. Then you can go home and get some beauty sleep. Seems like your Miss M. likes her men pretty. We'll keep watch while you play."

Steve ignored the insult. He was used to being tested. Besides, he heard the underlying warning. He would be watched as well.

Chapter Four.

W ow, if he looked like that when he was p.i.s.sed off, Marlena couldn't wait till she really pushed him over the edge. This Stash had a brooding look that spelled dangerous with a capital D. He looked as if he had been up most of the night-his hair was wind-tossed and he hadn't shaved. He must have thrown on his oldest things-a dirty old sweatshirt and jeans so faded there were white creases in the most interesting places.

Marlena had never had a wild animal waiting on her doorstep before. She took in his appearance silently, from the top of his messy hair down, down those long Levi's-pausing a moment there-to the scuffed-up shoes. There was a backpack by his feet.

She returned her gaze to his. "Bad night?" she asked lightly, holding the door ajar.

"What makes you think so?" he retorted, picking up the backpack and coming in.

Steve waited till they walked past the surveillance device that he knew she had left out in the hallway (she was a sensible a.s.sa.s.sin, if there were such a thing), until they were in the living room. Without another word, he pulled her around by the elbow and pushed her against the wall.

Maybe if he kissed her in anger, he would get rid of the constant craving to taste her. Maybe if he was a little rough this time, he would get under her skin and she would push back. Show him that hidden side of her that would repulse him. Then maybe he could get past the idea of actually liking her.

Instead of fighting him, her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled herself up, twining her legs around his waist. Then she opened her mouth invitingly. That maddened him even more. He grabbed her hands and held them prisoner against the wall, grinding his hips against hers as he savaged her mouth. Why did she have to smell so d.a.m.n good? He tried to ignore its seductive grip, concentrating on conquering the woman instead. He would conquer this strange weakness in himself.

She shouldn't be responding to him. She wasn't a submissive woman. Why wasn't she fighting him, d.a.m.n her? He pushed her hands high up above her head and locked one hand around both wrists, then he roughly pushed up her blouse and cupped her breast. He muttered a curse against her lips-she didn't have a bra on. Why the h.e.l.l didn't she have a bra on?

And suddenly her scent, her compliant mouth, the taste of her, the yielding softness of her breast engulfed his senses, and with a groan he settled more comfortably between her open legs. She gave a throaty response of her own when he gently played with her nipple, arching up against him. He wanted more. He wanted a response from every part of her.

In the back of her mind, somewhere back where she stored caution and sanity, Marlena reminded herself that she could break out of his grip. The problem was, she didn't want to. He was p.i.s.sed off as h.e.l.l, and it excited her. He tasted male and menacing, his lips were hard and punishing. His morning stubble sc.r.a.ped her cheeks, as he silently and insistently took his fill of her. His hold was anything but tender, yet she found herself responding to him, giving in to his demands. It was exhilarating to have this man focused entirely on her-his attention, all his emotions, all thought was zeroed in on her.

This just couldn't be. She never ever let a man take over. Not in this kind of situation. But here she was, hands locked above her head, at her most vulnerable. She would not be dominated like this-should not-and the thought of stopping surfaced for a moment before he slipped his hand inside her blouse and touched her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. A moan escaped from deep inside her. The feel of his fingers brushing her nipple gently was a direct contrast to his conquering mouth. She felt weak, breathless. She forgot about stopping him. There was only his scent and the taste of him as his kiss became less urgent, but not less commanding. And always, always, that soft caress of his fingers on her sensitive skin. Back and forth, his thumb rolled and teased.

Steve tried to hang on to his disappearing anger. He didn't want it gone. It was the only excuse he had to kiss her, to want her. He felt a certain charge of power when he was angry, as if he could handle this woman without letting his emotions get involved. To his surprise, instead of fighting him like the control freak she was, the d.a.m.n woman was giving in to him. That not only dampened the edge of his temper, but now the thought of her weak and yielding only increased his desire. d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n.

He broke off the kiss, fighting himself more than her. Her soft moan of protest didn't help, either, and he sucked in his breath when the strong legs around his waist pulled him even harder against her lower body. She opened her eyes and they were so blue they looked violet. Her expression was so shatteringly open, he forgot to discharge the air in his lungs. Not the usual amused mockery. None of the confident and knowing gaze. Instead she had that startled, vulnerable look in her eyes again. And a hunger in them that caught him by surprise. Beneath his hand, her heart beat as rapidly as his. She blinked. The look disappeared.

Marlena licked her swollen lips slowly, willing that thundering sound in her head to slow down. The heat of his lower body burned through her cotton shorts. She had to say something-anything-to establish control again.

"Are you hungry again?" she asked, trying to clear the huskiness from her voice. She jerked her imprisoned hands a little, testing his strength. His hold remained viselike. Yet she didn't feel at all threatened.