Two Hot!

Was she subconsciously getting lost because she was having second thoughts?

No. Zoë gripped the steering wheel hard. She wasn’t eighteen anymore, and she didn’t have unrealistic expectations about sex or men. She hadn’t made her decision in a fit of passion or rebellion or even while she was still affected by the champagne.

And she wasn’t wearing rose-colored glasses. She’d run a check on Jed Calhoun, and he wasn’t married. Her boss at the CIA had been, and she’d learned her lesson about steering clear of married men like Hadley Richards. If she’d just been a bit more worldly, she would have known that having business lunches with him and delivering reports to his hotel at night might give the appearance of their having an affair.

That was the reason Hadley Richards had given her when he’d asked for her resignation. Zoë felt the swift pang of regret that she always felt when she thought of having to leave her job at the CIA. She’d really liked the work, and up until she’d handed in her final report on Lucifer, Mr. Richards had been so enthusiastic about the jobs she’d done for him.

Even now, she wondered if she could have handled the situation differently. Of course, in private, Hadley Richards had apologized profusely. After all she’d only done what he’d asked her to do. He’d blamed the urgency for the work she’d been doing on Lucifer for his lapse in judgment. But he’d been firm about his request for her resignation.

Zoë dragged her thoughts back to her current problem. She was not that naive young woman anymore. And she’d discovered quite a bit about Jed Calhoun. He was rich, or at least his family was. His grandmother had founded a very successful cosmetics company which was still family owned, and it was currently being run by his parents and his sister. Jed hadn’t gone into the family business. Instead, he’d elected to work for his government.

She hadn’t been able to completely satisfy her curiosity about that aspect of his life because most of his files were classified. The one thing that had caught her attention was that he often used disguises, and that made her think of Lucifer again. Probably all CIA agents were skillful at using disguises.

She’d decided that it was good news that he worked for the government. He was probably in between jobs and he’d be gone before long. She’d also decided that since the chemistry between them was so strong—especially for her—it was highly likely that when they did make love, she could get him out of her system once and for all. Like a flash fire, what she was feeling would burn itself out and be gone.

She was banking on that, and there were plenty of narratives in the data she’d been collecting for Sierra that supported this theory. One round of hot, sweaty sex and she’d be free. One round and she could cross the man right out of her notebook. She could have her well-ordered life back.

She’d made a calm, well thought out, rational decision to have sex with Jed Calhoun, and she was not having second thoughts. Of course, if she’d had more time, she could have made the transition from nerd to sexpot a bit more fashionably. Instead, she’d barely had time after Sierra’s call to change into a pair of new jeans and a tank top. The sexy underwear she’d intended to buy was still on her to-do list. The plain white cotton briefs in her bureau drawer were simply not appropriate, so she’d elected not to wear them.

Zoë drew in a deep breath and let it out. She was as ready as she could be to have sex with Jed Calhoun, so why then was she sitting here staring at the Chesapeake instead of propositioning Jed on Ryder Kane’s houseboat?

Closing her eyes, Zoë rested her head against the steering wheel. Because she was afraid. What if he said no? What if he didn’t feel the same way that she did? He’d pulled away from that kiss, hadn’t he? When he’d walked away from her at the Blue Pepper, she’d had to lean against that wall for three full minutes before the feeling had come back into her legs.

Interesting is what he’d called that kiss. Devastating is what she’d called it. Zoë raised her head from the steering wheel and opened her eyes. Bottom line—she was afraid of what she’d always been afraid of—that she wouldn’t, couldn’t, live up to someone else’s expectations.

Zoë lifted her chin. Well, Jed Calhoun might reject her. She was just going to have to risk it.

For the third time, she picked up the set of directions Sierra had dictated over the phone and studied them. She was going to find that houseboat. Wasn’t the third time supposed to be the charm? And then one way or another, she was going to find a way to handle the Jed problem once and for all.

Shifting the car into reverse, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a dark SUV move through the crossroad twenty yards behind her. She might not have given it a second glance if it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d seen it before—once on the main highway, and another time on the maze of roads that all seemed to inevitably dead-end at the water. So she wasn’t the only one challenged by the dead-end roads in the area. Feeling somewhat cheered, she backed up, turned the car around and sped up the road.

THE BREEZE off the Chesapeake was cool and steady. Though it wasn’t strong enough to move the hammock he was lying in, it still offered a pleasant contrast to the hot sun that managed to make its way through the leaves overhead. September was still hot in the D.C. area. But Jed Calhoun was growing tired of the lazy days of summer—tired of being trapped in limbo. And he was especially tired of being a “dead” man.

Two weeks of living on his friend Ryder’s houseboat had allowed him to finish recovering from the injuries he’d sustained on his last mission, a contract job for the CIA that he’d very nearly not returned from.

Even now, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t died six months ago in that alley in Bogotá. He’d suffered first a gunshot wound to the shoulder and then the leg. His last conscious thought as he’d faced the CIA agent who’d just shot him in the leg was that he was a goner.

Instead, he’d awakened in a small private hospital where the medical care had been surprisingly good. There was only one small problem. He’d discovered that Jed Calhoun was officially listed as dead, terminated by the agent who’d shot him in the leg. The real kicker was that the orders to take him out had come from the director of the CIA because he, Jed Calhoun, had killed Frank Medici, a career operative with the CIA who’d penetrated a large drug cartel in Colombia.

It was a lie. But he’d been in a bar with Frank and delivered a message to him moments before a bomb had destroyed the entire building.

During the past two weeks, Ryder had called in a few favors from his contacts at CIA headquarters and learned that Jed’s motive for killing Frank Medici had been money. Supposedly someone in the Vidal drug cartel had learned of Frank’s true identity and hired Jed to take him out. Right now there was a million in American dollars in an offshore account in Jed’s name.

The frame was neat and conclusive. He’d been in that bar. He could have planted that bomb. And the money trail led to him. As long as Jed Calhoun remained “dead,” the case was closed. And until Ryder and he could prove that Jed hadn’t killed Frank Medici, he couldn’t rise from the dead.

He was trapped in limbo all right. The one thing he did know was who’d shot him and left him in that alley. Agent Bailey Montgomery, who was currently one of the best data analysts at the CIA. They’d sent a desk jockey to terminate him. That part grated a little, but it had been clever of them to send a woman. It had made him less suspicious when she’d suggested an alley for their meeting. He’d slipped up there, but so had she. He was still alive.

But it wasn’t just his own frustration that was grating on him. He also had a feeling deep in his gut that his time was running out. A week ago he’d helped Ryder out with a case involving Ryder’s fiancé, Sierra Gibbs, and he’d had to appear briefly at a major D.C. party. A lot of the capital’s movers and shakers had been there, including Bailey Montgomery. She might have spotted him. A nagging little hunch told him that she had, and if she had, he had no doubt she’d come after him.

What he needed was just a little something to go on. All it would take was a thread that he could pull on until the whole fabric unraveled. Since Ryder had finished the case involving Sierra, his friend had been working 24/7 to come up with something, but so far Ryder had been drawing blanks.

A short burst of laughter—Sierra’s and Ryder’s—carried clearly to him despite that the hammock was a good three hundred yards from the houseboat and blocked from view by some trees. Jed’s frustration increased.

In the short time that Dr. Sierra Gibbs and Ryder Kane had been together, Jed had found himself envying Ryder. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to have a serious relationship with a woman. Doing freelance contract work for various government agencies was not conducive to having a stable love life.

Which was another reason why he was determined to get his life back. Restlessly, Jed shifted again in the hammock.

Another burst of laughter floated to him on the breeze. He missed that sharing of jokes, the after-sex conversations—and hell, he might as well be honest. He missed the sex, too. No doubt that was why he found himself spinning erotic fantasies about Sierra’s mousy little research assistant, Zoë McNamara.

From the time that he’d first laid eyes on her, he hadn’t been able to shake her loose from his mind. At first he’d found that curious because she wasn’t his type. Usually he was drawn to tall, leggy blondes.

Zoë McNamara was the total opposite of that. In terms of appearance, the most he could give her was cute. She was short, barely an inch or so above five feet tall, she had glossy, dark brown hair that she wore pulled back in a ponytail or a braid. He’d never seen her legs because she usually hid them under long skirts. She hid her eyes, too, behind oversize black-framed glasses. Maybe that was why so many of his dreams were fueled by the challenge of getting her out of those ugly clothes and out from behind those nerdy specs.

She was a prickly little thing, too—didn’t like her personal space invaded. Naturally, it had amused him to invade it at every opportunity. But each time he got close to her, he had an urge to get closer still.

A couple of nights ago at Ryder and Sierra’s engagement party, he’d asked her to dance. And he’d kissed her. Or at least that had been his intention when he’d drawn her behind that cluster of potted palms on the patio of the Blue Pepper.

But he hadn’t kissed her, not fully, not the way he wanted to kiss her. Something had made him step away at the last moment. That wasn’t like him. Jed frowned as he thought about it. The last woman who’d made him hesitate like that was Molly Jo Beckworth in third grade. Jed smiled at the memory. Molly Jo had been tall, blond and beautiful, and on his second attempt to kiss her he hadn’t been hesitant at all.

But Zoë McNamara wasn’t his first love—or any kind of love at all. She was a woman who had attracted him on first sight. Sometimes the chemistry worked that way. In Zoë’s case, the magnetic pull between them had increased each and every time he was anywhere near her. He should have ignored it. Ignored her. He had no business making a move on a woman, any woman, until he got his life back. But he couldn’t seem to resist her. Kissing her had probably been inevitable. And it had shaken him to the core.

In his mind, Jed let himself drift back to the moment. She’d certainly been willing. The moment he’d brushed his mouth over hers, her lips had parted in a welcoming invitation. When she’d risen on her toes to close the distance between them, he’d taken his first sample of her taste.

Oh, she’d been so much sweeter than he’d expected. Even sweeter than the sugar cookies he used to swipe from his mom as fast as she could make them. He’d barely absorbed her flavor when her breath had shuddered out, and the sound of her surrender had nearly sliced right through his control. Then, in the next instant, her hands had gripped his T-shirt and she’d demanded, “More.”

It was that sudden irrefutable proof of the bright passion that lay beneath the surface of Zoë McNamara, struggling to be free, that nearly shattered him.

Oh, how he’d wanted to forget where they were and touch her. He’d wanted her out of that oversize man’s shirt and that skirt. He’d wanted to strip away the practical underwear he knew was underneath.

The desire to use his hands on her, to let his fingers and palms explore her skin, molding every inch of her, had become a knife-sharp ache.

An image had filled his mind of taking her right where they stood. The music was loud enough, the palms thick enough to conceal them. He’d pictured it so clearly in his mind—her legs wrapped around him, her back pressed against the brick wall as he took that first hot, wet slide into her. It would have been wild, reckless, and wonderful. He was skilled enough and she’d been ready.

He still wasn’t sure what had given him the strength to pull back. He suspected that it had something to do with his carefully honed survival instinct, and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with that explanation.

What he was sure of was that when he’d learned she was coming today to deliver some research to Sierra, he’d stuffed a couple of condoms in his shorts pocket. In case he got lucky? Or in case this time he wouldn’t be able to control himself? Either way, that one small action of making sure they would have protection clearly revealed just how much of a pull the woman had on him.

In the days since that kiss, he’d done some research on her. She was the daughter of two very highly acclaimed professors, and from what he’d gathered, she’d been a sort of joint project of theirs, a highly intelligent child that they’d pushed and prodded, supervising every aspect of her education. Each of them had published articles about her.

He thought of his own happily married parents and his kid sister, and all the fun they’d had growing up. He suspected that in comparison, Zoë had had a very lonely childhood as well as a highly pressured one.

Her academic credentials were certainly impressive, and Sierra raved about her work. It was the two months she’d spent as a data analyst at the CIA that had surprised him. She’d resigned shortly before he’d been “terminated,” and her short tenure there had given him his first clue that the real Zoë McNamara might be a sharp right turn from the academic nerd she so carefully projected to the people around her.

The kiss they’d shared certainly provided evidence of that. Maybe it was the contrast that fascinated him so.

With a sigh, Jed shifted again in the hammock. He shouldn’t be thinking of Zoë McNamara. He shouldn’t be thinking of the fact that she’d be here in a short time. Or of the fact that he had condoms in his pocket. Nevertheless, his lips curved in a grin. In the past few days, he’d created some very interesting fantasies about Sierra’s little assistant, some of them in this very hammock. Sex in a hammock called for invention and ingenuity, but it was invariably worth it.

A muffled crash came from the houseboat. Lifting his baseball cap, Jed flicked a glance in that direction. Speaking of sex…

Jed sighed again. He really had to get on with his life. He was growing tired of feeling like a third wheel now that his host and old friend had forged a solid relationship with Sierra Gibbs. She was spending more and more time on the houseboat, and he tried to give them privacy. In deference to his presence, they retired pretty frequently to Ryder’s cabin, but it was clear he was restricting their freedom of sexual expression.

He had to do something and soon. It wasn’t just boredom or restlessness motivating him. It was also that slim possibility that Bailey Montgomery, his would-be assassin, had spotted him at that party.

And there’d been something else that had occurred on the night he’d kissed Zoë. After the party, he and Ryder and Sierra had driven her home, and he was pretty sure that they’d been followed by a dark-colored car—a van or an SUV. It hadn’t gotten close enough for him to be sure. He’d been driving Ryder’s car, and it hadn’t taken much to lose the tail. He’d delayed telling Ryder this weekend because Sierra was here, but he was going to have to tell him soon.

Maybe his best strategy was to make the first move. What did he have to lose if Bailey Montgomery already knew he was alive?

Jed pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes to block out the sun. It was a big if, but certainly worth considering. In the meantime, he was going to take a nap. In some of the toughest situations he’d found himself in, he’d always relied on his subconscious mind to come up with a plan.

He hoped it wouldn’t fail him now.

3

ZOË BRAKED HER MIATA to a stop, then peered at Sierra’s directions. Ahead of her was a houseboat, white with green shutters just as Sierra had described it. To the right was Ryder Kane’s sporty red convertible. Sufficiently reassured that she’d finally arrived at her destination, she climbed out of the car, lifted the box of note cards from behind the driver’s seat and walked toward the boat.

Nerves knotted in her stomach, but she made herself put one foot in front of the other. The time for analysis was over. She was going to act. She should feel relieved instead of feeling like Joan of Arc climbing up her funeral pyre.

She was ten feet away from the houseboat when she heard a muffled moan. Dropping the box, she raced forward, but when she heard the second moan, louder this time, she stopped short. The third moan was longer and accompanied by a rapping sound as if something was bumping against the wall in a steady rhythm. Zoë was pretty sure that no one was in trouble or pain. Chances were good that Sierra and Ryder were making love.

And she’d been about to break in on them. Not her best move under the circumstances. As the rhythm of the rapping noise increased and she realized that she was just standing there eavesdropping, she turned and hurried back to the box she’d dropped.

Dropping to her knees, she began to gather up the note cards that had fallen out of the box. But in one part of her mind, she was picturing what Ryder and Sierra were doing, and the images triggered a hot lick of lust inside of her.

Pushing the mental pictures away, she focused on the note cards. Sierra used blue ones and hers were white. Methodically she began sorting them into two piles. But the images slipped back into her mind—only this time, it wasn’t Ryder and Sierra that she saw. It was Jed Calhoun and herself, limbs entwined, bodies locked and moving in that quickly escalating rhythm that she was listening to. Heat flooded through her with such intensity that for a moment, she thought she just might melt into a pool on the ground. So vivid were the pictures in her mind that she could almost feel Jed’s long, hard body pressing against hers, and she could imagine quite vividly what it would feel like to have him pushing into her, withdrawing and pushing in again. She wanted, oh, she wanted…

There was another sound, a long feminine cry, and there was no mistaking the satisfaction in it. Then there was silence. Zoë pressed a hand against her stomach. Her insides were so hot, so empty, and longing for…something. When was the last time she’d achieved that kind of release? That kind of pleasure? Years ago.

She should leave. She should get back into her car and drive around a bit. After bunching all the note cards together, she stuffed them back into the box.

And then suddenly, she felt him. It wasn’t a sound that warned her. It was her body’s reaction that told her Jed Calhoun was there even before she turned and saw him standing at the edge of the trees, wearing nothing but cutoff shorts and a baseball cap.

Her mouth went dry as dust, and a rush of sensations cartwheeled through her. Heat. Cold. An electric shock of lust. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even think.

He was watching her in that intent way he had. Even at this distance, she could feel his eyes moving over her, the heat of his gaze on her skin. The sensation was as real as if he were touching her.

She wanted him to touch her. She wanted his hands on her. More than that, she wanted her hands on him. But he wasn’t moving. He was a man who could wait for what he wanted.

Lifting her chin, she rose to her feet. Well, she wasn’t going to wait for what she wanted.

JED HADN’T THOUGHT it was possible for his body to get any harder, but it did with the first step she took toward him. He’d been watching her for some time, and the sounds coming from the houseboat had made his head spin with images of what it would be like to touch her until she was hot and wet and slick, to thrust inside of her and feel her close around him….

If he’d gone to her now, he wasn’t sure he could have kept himself from taking her right here on the spot. Control was something he’d always prided himself on. But it seemed to disappear around Zoë. Case in point, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from getting out of the hammock and coming to see her. Now he was willing her to come to him.

That’s what she’d done in the little daydream he’d been having in the hammock before he’d heard her car. The woman he’d conjured up in his mind had risen out of the water like a nymph or some kind of sea sprite, and she’d walked toward him just as she was doing now. Her hair had been loose, just as it was now.

The punch of desire that hit him low and hard was new and very real. So was the sharp need to bury his hands in that hair.

In the daydream, she’d been out of those baggy, drab clothes of hers. He’d imagined her in a bikini, but in the snug jeans and tank top, she looked even sexier. That slender, compact body was more appealing, and those legs were much longer than he’d imagined.

How often in life was reality better than a fantasy?

She didn’t stop until she was nearly toe-to-toe with him. Though amber-colored sunglasses covered her eyes, he felt it like another little punch in the gut the minute her gaze locked on his.

She cleared her throat. “Would you like to have sex with me?”

Jed felt his mind begin to empty, and he was pretty sure his mouth had dropped open. Talk about fantasies. But this was real, right? He badly wanted to pinch himself to make sure, but he didn’t think he could move his hands. He concentrated on finding his voice.

She certainly wasn’t having any trouble using hers. He could see her lips moving, and through the buzzing sound in his head, some of the words were getting through.

“I’m not crazy—don’t think I am—it’s just that you keep slipping into my thoughts and my dreams.”

He could understand that and even sympathize with the annoyance he heard in her voice. That was real. And so was her scent: sunshine and something that reminded him again of homemade sugar cookies. He wasn’t sure how long he could wait to take a bite of her.

“So…what I’m thinking is we have sex—if you think that you’d be open to that?”

Open? He felt another punch of desire and struggled to focus.

“I’m not suggesting anything long-term. Just a brief liaison.”

“Liaison.” Relief streamed through him that he’d not only found his voice, but he’d managed to get his tongue around the word.

She waved a hand. “I just need to get you out of my system so that I can think again.”

“I’m in your system?” That was good to know, since she was definitely in his. Some of the blood seemed to have returned to his brain because he was thinking again, and he was pretty sure he could move.

Nodding, she drew a deep breath, then hurried on. “I know that you may not be as attracted to me as I am to you, but maybe there’s something that I could do. Some particular fantasy that you’re into. I’d be willing to experiment a—”

“Hold up.” He was tempted to let her go on, just to hear what she’d say, but he was even more tempted to see her eyes. He reached over and pulled off the sunglasses. Her eyes were almond shaped, like a cat’s eye. Funny that he’d never noticed that when she’d worn the owl glasses. And this close, they were the color of rich, dark chocolate flecked with gold.