Naked In His Arms

Naked in His Arms

Sandra Marton

UNCUT

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

COMING NEXT MONTH

PROLOGUE

HE WAS a hard-bodied, six foot four inches of angry male.

His hair was midnight-black, his eyes deep-sea green. He had the high cheekbones of his half-Comanche mother; the firm jaw of his Texas father.

Tonight, the elegant savagery of his mother’s people ran hot in his blood.

He stood in a room where darkness was broken by ivory swaths of moonlight. Shadows lurked in the corners, lending an ominous chill to the air. The sighing of the wind through the trees outside the house added to the sense of disquiet.

The restless stirrings of the woman asleep in the big four-poster bed were a manifestation of it.

She was alone, this woman he’d thought he loved. This woman he knew. Knew, intimately.

The delicacy of her scent, a whisper of spring lilacs. The silky glide of her gold-streaked chestnut hair against his skin. The taste of her nipples, warm and sweet on his tongue.

His jaw tightened. Oh, yes. He knew her. At least, that was what he’d thought.

Long moments passed. The woman murmured in her sleep and tossed her head uneasily. Was she dreaming of him? Of what a fool she’d made of him?

All the more reason to have come here tonight.

Closure. The glib catchall of overpaid twenty-first-century shrinks who didn’t have the damnedest idea of what it really meant.

Alex did. And closure was what he’d have as he took the woman in this bed, one final time.

Took her, knowing what she was. Knowing that she had used him. That everything they’d shared had been a lie.

He would wake her from her dream. Strip her naked. Pin her hands high over her head and make sure she looked into his eyes as he took her so that she could see it meant nothing to him, that having sex with her was a physical release and nothing more.

There’d been dozens of women before her and there’d be dozens after her. Nothing about her, or what they’d done in each other’s arms, was memorable.

He understood that.

Now, he needed to be sure she did, too.

Alex bent over the bed. Grasped the edge of the duvet that covered her and drew it aside.

She was wearing a nightgown. Silk, probably. She liked silk. So did he. He liked the feel of it under his fingers, the way it had slid over her skin all those times he’d made love to her with his body, his hands, his mouth.

He looked down at her. She was beautiful; there was no denying that. She had a magnificent body. Long. Ripe. Made for sex.

He could see the shape of her breasts through the thin silk. Rounded like apples, tipped with pale pink nipples so responsive that he knew he had only to bend his head to her, let the tip of his tongue drift across the delicate flesh, breathe against it to draw a guttural moan of pleasure from her throat.

His gaze moved lower, to the shadow of her mons, a dark umbra visible through the silk gown. He remembered the softness of the curls there. The dark, honey-gold color. The little cries she’d made when he stroked her, parted her labia with the tips of his fingers, put his mouth against her, sought out the hidden bud that awaited him and licked it, drew it into his mouth as she arched toward him and sobbed his name.

Lies, all of it. No surprise. She was a woman who loved books and the fantasy world in them.

But he was a warrior, his very survival grounded in reality. How come he’d forgotten that?

How come his body was turning hard, just watching her? That he still wanted her enraged him.

He told himself it was normal. That it was simple biology. Part A fit into part B, and part A had a mind all its own.

Maybe. And maybe that was why he had to do this. One last encounter, especially in this bed. One last time to taste her. To bury himself deep between her silken thighs. Surely, that would burn the rage out of him.

Now, he thought, and he feathered his fingers lightly across her nipples.

“Cara.”

His voice was strained. She whimpered in her sleep but she didn’t awaken. He said her name again, touched her again, and her eyes flew open. He watched as they filled with terror.

Just before she could scream, he pulled off his black ski mask and let her see his face.

Her expression changed, went from terror to something he couldn’t identify.

“Alex?” she whispered.

“Uh-huh. The proverbial bad penny, baby.”

“But how…how did you get in?”

His smile was slow and chilling. “Did you really think a security system could keep me out?”

For the first time, she seemed to realize she was almost naked. Her face colored; she reached for the duvet but he shook his head.

“You’re not going to need that.”

“Alexander. I know you’re angry…”

“Is that what you think I am?” His lips curved in a smile that used to strike fear in the hearts of those he’d dealt with in what he thought of as his other life. “Take off that nightgown.”

“No! Alex, please! You can’t—”

He bent and put his mouth against hers, kissing her savagely even as she struggled against him. Then he grasped the neckline of the flimsy nightgown and ripped it from her.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “I can do anything tonight, Cara. And I promise you, I will.”

CHAPTER ONE

NOBODY had ever asked Alexander Knight if a man’s belly could really knot with anxiety but if someone had, he’d have laughed and said bellies couldn’t knot any more than pigs could fly.

Besides, why ask him?

Anxiety wasn’t a word in his vocabulary.

He knew what it meant to feel his nerves tense, his blood pound. Taut anticipation, after all, had been part of his life for a long time. You couldn’t put in years in Special Forces and then in covert ops without experiencing moments of stress, but that wasn’t the same thing.

Why would a man be anxious when he’d trained himself to face danger?

Alex pulled his BMW into a parking slot behind the building he hadn’t seen in three years. Hadn’t seen, hadn’t thought of….

Hell, that was a lie. There’d been too many dreams where he’d awakened, heart pounding, sheets tangled and sweaty.

The first thing he and his brothers had agreed on, even before they’d come up with the idea of starting a company called Risk Management Specialists, was that there wasn’t a way in hell they’d ever walk through these smoked-glass doors again.

“Not me,” Matt had said grimly.

“Or me,” Cam had added.

And Alex had said, Damned right. It would be a hot day in January before he so much as drove by the freaking place.

His jaw tightened.

So much for promises. It was November in D.C., the weather gray and cold, and he was going through those damned doors, walking across the tiled floor to the security desk.

The hell of it was, it all felt as familiar as if he’d never left. He even found himself reaching into his pocket for his ID card but, of course, there was no card in his pocket, there was only the letter that had brought him here today.

He gave his name to the guard, who checked it first against a list on his clipboard, then on his computer monitor.

“Move forward, please, Mr. Knight.”

Alex stepped into the seemingly benign embrace of the security gate.

Checkpoint one, he thought, as the electronic snoops did a preliminary scan. This was his last chance to turn and walk straight out the doors.

A second guard handed him a visitor’s ID badge.

“Elevators are straight ahead, sir.”

He knew where the damned elevators where. Knew, after he stepped inside and pressed the button, that it would take two seconds for the doors to slide shut, seven for the ride up to the sixteenth floor. Knew he’d step out into what looked like a corridor in any office building—except that the luminescent ceiling was filled with lasers and God only knew what else, all checking him from head to toe, and that the plain black door marked Authorized Entry Only would open after he touched his thumb to a keypad and looked straight ahead so that another laser could scan his retina and verify that he really was Alexander Knight, spook.

Ex-spook, Alex reminded himself. Still, he pressed his thumb to the pad, just to see what would happen. To his surprise, it activated the retinal scan and a couple of seconds later, the black door swung open exactly as it had years ago.

Nothing had changed, not even the woman wearing a dark gray suit seated behind the long desk facing the door. She rose to her feet as she had a hundred times in the past.

“The director’s expecting you, Mr. Knight.”

No “Hello.” No “How have you been?” Just the same brusque greeting she’d always offered when he’d had to stop here between assignments.

Alex followed her down a long hall to another closed door. This one, however, opened at the turn of a knob, revealing a large office with bulletproof glass windows overlooking the Beltway that circled Washington.

The man at the cherrywood desk looked up, smiled and rose from his chair. He was the only change in this place. The old director who Alex had worked for was gone. His assistant had replaced him, his name was Shaw, and Alex had never liked him.

“Alex,” Shaw said. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Alex replied.

It was a lie, but lies were the lifeblood of the Agency.

“Sit down, please. Make yourself comfortable. Have you had breakfast? Would you like some coffee or tea?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

The director sat back in his leather swivel chair and folded his hands over his slight paunch.

“Well, Alex. I hear you’re doing quite well.”

Alex nodded.

“That company of yours—Risk Management Specialists, is that the name? I hear excellent things about the work you and your brothers do.” The director gave a just-between-us-boys chuckle. “Quite a compliment to us, I think. It’s nice to know the techniques you learned here haven’t gone to waste.”

Alex’s smile was tight. “Nothing we learned here has gone to waste. We’ll always remember all of it.”

“Will you?” the director said, and suddenly the phony smile was gone. He sat forward, folded his hands on his desk, his blue eyes boring into Alex’s. “I hope so. I hope you remember the pledge you took when you joined the Agency. To honor, defend and serve your nation.”

“To honor and defend,” Alex said coldly. To hell with phony pleasantries. It was time to get down to basics. “Yes. I remember. Perhaps you remember that the Agency’s interpretation of that pledge was the primary reason my brothers and I resigned.”

“An attack of schoolboy conscience,” the director said, just as coldly. “Misguided and misplaced.”

“I heard this lecture before. You’ll understand why I’m not interested in hearing it again. If that’s why you asked me to come—”

“I asked you to come because I need you to serve your country again.”

“No,” Alex said, and rose to his feet.

“Damn it, Knight…” The director took a deep breath. “Sit down. At least listen to what I have to say.”

Alex looked at the man who had been second-in-command here for more than two decades. After a moment, his face expressionless, he took his seat again.

“Thank you,” the director said. Alex wondered how much it had cost him to say the two simple words. “We have a problem.”

“You have a problem.”

That garnered a sound that was almost a laugh.

“Please. Let’s not play word games. Let me speak my piece in my own fashion.”

Alex shrugged. He had nothing to lose because no matter what the director said, he’d be walking out the door and away from this place in another few minutes.

Shaw leaned forward. “The FBI’s come to me because of a, uh, a delicate situation.”

Alex’s dark eyebrows rose. The FBI and the Agency didn’t even acknowledge each other’s existence. Not in public, not in Congress, not anywhere it mattered.

“The new head of the FBI is an old acquaintance and…well, as I say, a situation has arisen.”

Silence. Alex swore to himself he wouldn’t be the one to break it but curiosity got the best of him and curiosity, after all, didn’t mean he’d get involved in whatever was happening here.

“What situation?”

The director cleared his throat. “The oath of secrecy you took when you joined us is still binding.”

Alex’s mouth twisted. “I’m aware of that.”

“I hope so.”

“Suggesting I’m not is an insult to my honor. Sir,” Alex added, his tone making a mockery of the honorific.

“Damn it, Knight, let’s drop the nonsense. You were one of our best operatives. Now, we need your help again.”

“I already told you, I’m not interested.”

“Have you heard of the Gennaro family?”

“Yes.”

Everyone in law enforcement had. The Gennaro family was deep into drugs, prostitution and illegal gambling.

“And you know about the indictment against Anthony Gennaro?”

Alex nodded. A couple of months before, a federal prosecutor in Manhattan had announced the indictment of the head of the family on charges that ranged from murder to leaving the toilet seat up. If convicted, Tony Gennaro would live out his life in prison, and the family’s power would be ended.

“The feds tell me they have an excellent case. Wiretaps. Computer files.” The director paused. “But their ace in the hole is a witness.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“The witness has not been cooperative. After initially agreeing to help, the witness balked. Now the Justice Department is uncertain as to what will happen next. The witness has finally agreed to come forward—”

“Under pressure,” Alex said, with a tight smile.

“The witness has agreed to come forward,” the director said calmly, “but—”

“But, the Gennaros might get him first.”

“Yes. Or the witness might decide against testifying.”

“Again.”

The director nodded. “Exactly.”

“I still don’t see—”

“The attorney general and I go back a long way, Alex. A very long way.” The director hesitated. Alex had never seen him do that before; it made the hair on the back of his neck rise in anticipation of what would come next. “He feels that the usual methods of witness protection won’t work in this particular situation. I agree.”

“You mean, he’s not eager to put this witness in a cheap hotel room in Manhattan, hit up his budget for a one-man guard detail 24/7, count on the hotel staff not to talk about their star guest or sell the info to the highest bidder?” Alex smiled thinly. “Maybe they’ve learned something while I’ve been away.”

“What they need—what we need—is an experienced operative. A man who’s been in the line of fire, who knows better than to trust anyone, who isn’t afraid to do whatever it takes—whatever it takes—to keep this witness safe.”

Alex stood up.

“You’re right. That’s exactly the kind of man you need, but it isn’t going to be me.”

The director rose, too. “I’ve given this a great deal of consideration. You’re the right man, the only man, for this assignment.”

“No.”

“Damn it, Knight, you pledged your loyalty to your country!”

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand, Shaw?” Nobody ever used the director’s name. It hung in the air between them, a deliberate reminder of Alex’s removal from the life he’d once led. “I’d say it was nice seeing you again,” he said, reaching for the door, “but hell, why lie about it?”

“They’ll never get a conviction without your help!”

Alex opened the door.

“They’ll kill the witness! Do you want that on your conscience?”

Alex looked at the older man. “My conscience won’t even notice,” he said tonelessly. “You should know that better than any man alive.”

“Knight! Knight, come back here—”

Alex slammed the door behind him and walked away.

He drove the BMW back to the airport, dropped it at the rental place and bought a seat on the shuttle to New York.

Anything was better than another few hours spent breathing the air in a town where politicians kissed babies while the agencies they funded dealt in death plots hatched by cold-eyed men who lived in the shadows.

He knew it was the same in every other government across the planet, but that didn’t make it easier to accept.

He had almost a full hour to kill, so he settled into the first-class lounge. The attendant poured him a double bourbon; the brunette sitting across from him looked up from reading Vanity Fair, looked back down, then did a double-take and looked up again.

Her smile would have made her dentist proud.

Somehow, the already short skirt of her Armani suit slid up another couple of inches. That was fine with Alex.

The lady had great legs.

Come to think of it, she had great everything. When she smiled a second time, he picked up his drink, crossed the room and took the chair beside hers.

A little while later, he knew a lot about her. Actually he knew all a man needed to know, including the fact that she lived in Austin. Not too far from Dallas.

And she was definitely interested.

But even though he kept smiling, Alex suddenly realized that he wasn’t.

Maybe it was that session with the director. Maybe it was being back in D.C. It had stirred up a lot of memories, most of them unwanted, including what a young innocent he’d been when he’d taken the Agency oath.

Nobody had told him that words like “serve” and “honor” could be perverted into something that stole a man’s soul.

His obligation to the Agency had ended the day he’d resigned. Besides, from what Shaw had said, this didn’t have a damned thing to do with defending and serving his country.

It had to do with a crime family and a witness.

A witness whose life was in danger.

The brunette leaned closer, said something and smiled. Alex didn’t hear a word of it, but he smiled back.

Shaw wasn’t given to hyperbole. He used words like those only when he meant them.

Damn it, he should have listened to Matt and Cam. They’d had dinner together at their father’s home. Things had changed in their relationship with the old man. It wasn’t perfect but it was a lot better than when they’d been growing up. All it had taken to accomplish that, Alex thought wryly, was Cam almost dying and Matt involved in a shoot-out.

His sisters-in-law had bustled off to the kitchen to get coffee and dessert. He and his brothers had joked around for a while, even the old man joining in, and then Alex had casually mentioned that the director had asked to see him.

“He wants me to fly down tomorrow.”

Matt laughed. “He must be nuts, thinking you’d come.”

“You told him what he could do with his request, right?” Cam said.

Alex hesitated. “I have to admit, I’m curious.”

“To hell with curiosity,” Matt said bluntly. “Whatever Shaw wants, you can bet your ass it isn’t good.”

Later, his father had drawn him aside. He’d been quiet through the conversation, so quiet Alex had almost forgotten he was there.

“You never talk about your time in the Agency,” Avery said quietly, “which makes me suspect it wasn’t all pleasant. But you must have believed in it once, son, or you’d never have taken the oath that made you part of it.”

It was true. He had believed. In the oath to serve and respect his nation, its people…

Damn it. A pledge was a pledge.

He was on his feet before he remembered the brunette. Hell. He’d completely tuned her out. The fixed smile on her face made him wince.

“Sorry,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I, ah, I’ve changed my plans. I’ll be staying in D.C. Business, you know?”

She looked surprised but she made a quick recovery, dug in her purse and handed him a small vellum card.

“Well, call me,” she said brightly. “When you have the chance.”

He smiled, said all the right things. But he knew he wouldn’t call and, he was sure, so did she.

He parked in the same lot. Went through the same smoked-glass doors, through the same security gate. Rode up in the same elevator. Pressed his thumb against the same keypad, had his eye scanned by the same impersonal machine.

If Shaw’s secretary was surprised to see him, she didn’t show it.

“Take a seat, Mr. Knight,” she said, and scurried down the hall.

Seconds later, Alex stood inside the director’s office. Shaw rose from behind his desk, smiling broadly, and held out his hand. Alex pointedly looked at it, then ignored it.

“Let’s get something straight,” he said coldly. “I do this one thing, you never contact me again.”

Shaw nodded.

“I work alone.”

“I know you’d prefer that, but—”

“I work alone,” Alex said sharply, “or I don’t work at all.”

Shaw’s mouth thinned but he didn’t protest.

“And I have carte blanche. I’ll do whatever it takes to safeguard this witness without interference or second-guessing from you or anybody else.”

Shaw nodded again. “Done.”

“Tell me the basics.”

“The witness lives in New York City.”

“Married? Single? How old is he?”

“Single. Mid-twenties. And it’s a ‘she,’ not a ‘he.’”

A woman. That only complicated things. Women were invariably more difficult to handle. They were emotional, hormonal…

“The witness’s connection to the Gennaros?”

Shaw’s lips curved in a cold smile. “She was Anthony Gennaro’s mistress.”

No wonder she was important to the feds. And hostile. This particular lady would know a lot, including just how vicious Tony Gennaro could be.

The director handed Alex a large manila envelope. “That’s everything we have.”

Alex opened the folder and took out a photo. Gennaro had good taste in women. Excellent taste.

“Her name is Cara Prescott,” Shaw said. “She lived with Gennaro until recently.” He smiled coldly. “She worked for him.”

Alex turned the photo over. All the details were there. Name, DOB, last known address. Hair: brown. Eyes: brown. And yet, the photo told him the words were meaningless.

Cara Prescott’s hair would be the color of ripe chestnuts; her eyes would be flecked with gold, and her mouth would be a tender pink.

She had a look that could only be called delicate, even fragile. He knew it was only that, a look, but scum like Gennaro would have been drawn to it like the proverbial moth to the flame.

He looked up. Shaw was watching him with a little smile on his thin lips.

“Beautiful woman, don’t you think?”

“You said she was Gennaro’s mistress,” Alex said, ignoring the question. “Now you say she worked for him. Which is it?”

“Both.” The little smile twisted. “Then Gennaro took a more personal interest in her.”