From the catalog, Jeff picked out the likeliest painting of the three that were still left to steal here in Barbados, and he and Kat obtained grudging permission from Detective D’Abeau to stake it out. But after Kat had advanced a plausible “theory” of how the Ghost had gained entrance to the Valliard estate, the cop had owed her one. Not to mention that she’d flirted with him some more. The memory of her casting come-hither looks at that cop continued to set Jeff’s teeth on edge. It might be just business, but he still didn’t like it.
Kat’s buddy in London had sent them the house layouts and security plans of the likely target, along with a note that of the three properties they’d identified as being probable targets, this one had the least extensive security system. If the Ghost was going to strike again, Jeff was betting they’d pegged his next mark correctly.
He and Kat spent all afternoon poring over the house plans and wiring diagrams, planning how they’d rob the place if they were the Ghost. Anticipation at the idea of nabbing the bastard made Jeff edgy. His tension had nothing to do with the mesmerizing woman leaning over the drawings across from him, giving him tantalizingly incomplete glimpses down her shirt of small but perfect breasts that his hands itched to touch and his mouth itched to taste. He was a cad to look, but his gaze broke completely out of his control every time she leaned across the table just so.
This mansion, a sprawling one-story affair unoriginally called Shangri-La, had copious security measures inside the house as well as out. Kat suggested several outrageous methods of bypassing the system…things even an acrobat of her caliber would surely not be able to pull off.
But when he challenged her on it, she casually claimed she could do everything she was suggesting. And somehow, he believed her. He’d about passed out when she took off down that railing last night. She’d looked like a circus performer running along a tightrope. He’d never met another operator who could do some of the things she could. And damn if his imagination didn’t keep straying to adventurous things he’d love to try with her in bed that took advantage of her athleticism and flexibility.
After hours of brainstorming together, they arrived at the conclusion that the Ghost would have to disable the entire security system, or simply set it off and move in fast to make the hit and leave before the police arrived. And, frankly, if there was a way to turn off the security system and not have the police know about it instantly, the two of them couldn’t find it.
Which was outstanding news for them. If the Ghost were operating in a two- or three-minute window to get in and get out, they reasoned he’d have to eschew fancy circus maneuvers and just make a fast grab at the painting in question. Which also meant they stood a decent chance of nabbing the guy.
Jeff was exultant. Finally, the setup he’d been waiting for to move in and catch this bastard.
Ideally, they’d be inside the mansion for this stakeout, but the Bajan police didn’t trust them that much, flirting or no. And frankly, neither he nor Kat wanted the exposure to suspicion if something went wrong and the Ghost got away. In that event, they’d be left as the only people known to have been inside the house when the painting went missing.
The painting was one of Turner’s smaller landscapes, a brilliant piece. If Jeff were an art collector with ten million bucks burning a hole in his pocket, he’d snap it up in a heartbeat. The art catalog Viper had sent them raved about the piece, claiming it was one of the finest privately owned landscapes in the world. Oh yeah. Their greedy collector wouldn’t be able to resist this tasty morsel.
Jeff retired to take a nap before the night’s festivities began. He slept restlessly, dreaming of dark eyes and ivory skin and silky black hair falling down around him. That girl was a fever in his blood. He thought about her constantly, and none of his thoughts were platonic in nature. How in hell he was going to keep his hands off her for days or weeks to come, he hadn’t the faintest idea. And he suspected this torturous itch would get a whole lot worse before it got better. He wanted her worse than any woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
When he finally got up and went out into the living room, he was startled by the sight that greeted him. Kat had pushed all the furniture back to the walls, and was in the midst of performing a complex and insanely difficult martial arts routine. Oh, Lord. And now he had these images to add to his fantasies of her. The thought of what they could do with a few of her contortions plumb stole his breath away.
He didn’t know whether to be grateful or dismayed when she caught sight of him and froze. He mumbled, “Don’t stop on my account.”
“It’s okay. I just needed to clear my mind.”
He nodded in understanding. “Sweat does wonders for my thought processes, too.” He moved over to the sofa, which was now tucked underneath the window, and flopped down on it. “What style of martial art was that you were practicing?”
“It’s a hybrid form. Part judo. Part kung fu. Part…other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
She frowned. “Just stuff Hidoshi-san showed me. I don’t know where he got it from.”
“Liar.”
He said the word so calmly it seemed to take Kat a moment to register it. Then she whirled to face him, staring.
He explained, “You’ve studied your whole life, or darned near all of it, to have achieved your level of proficiency. You’re not some casual hobbyist, you’re a martial arts master. And every practitioner with your level of dedication knows the pedigree and sources of his art back as far as it goes.”
“You overestimate my skill.”
“My dear, I think not only I, but also the United States government, have grossly underestimated your skill. Do General Wittenauer or your teammates have any idea what you can really do?”
“Why do you ask such a thing?” she asked sharply.
“Because if anybody knew what you’re capable of, you’d be famous in the Spec Ops community. Hell, you’d be a legend.”
Something approaching panic flitted across her face. “Nobody must know,” she choked out.
“Why not? Why not shout to the heavens about your abilities? Do you have any idea the things you could do for our country?”
Panic flashed openly in her gaze now.
“My vow-” She broke off.
“What vow?”
She shook her head quickly. “I mustn’t speak of it.”
“Let me guess. Hidoshi-san taught you the ancient family fighting form. You’re sworn to silence and mustn’t ever reveal the family secrets.”
“Close enough,” she replied reluctantly.
“And it’s only to be shared with blood relatives.”
That caused a pained look to cross her face, but she made no reply.
“Your secret’s safe with me, darlin’. After all, we’re practically family already. Once we’re married, will you be able to teach it to me? I’d love to learn some of what you can do.”
She burst out, “Will you stop talking like that?”
He surged to his feet and closed the space between them quickly. “I’m serious, Kat. I want you and I’m going to have you. I’ve never met another woman like you. Cupid’s Bolt or not, I’d still go after you full bore.”
She stared up at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
Irritation flooded through him. “What’s so damn hard to believe about that?”
She just shook her head.
Throwing caution to the winds, he grabbed her shoulders in both hands. Thankfully, she didn’t toss him to the floor. He asked low and furiously, “Why won’t you believe me?”
“I don’t…I can’t…”
“Can’t what? Can’t talk to me? Can’t tell me how you feel or what you’re thinking? Can’t-or won’t, Kat? I’m sick to death of this strong, silent act of yours.”
Her mouth quirked wryly. “I thought that was usually the girl’s line.”
“Hah. You’re the ninja in this relationship.”
Kat went completely still. Horror flowed through her and into his hands. What the-
He burst out, “Oh, God. A ninja? Is that what your grandfather trained you to be?” It made perfect sense. The acrobatic things he’d seen her do…the amazing fighting skills…the crazy climbing ability…He swore again under his breath.
It was her turn to grab him by the arms. “Nobody must know, Jeff. Nobody.”
“Why not? My God, think of the training you could give our Special Forces-”
“But that’s the point. That’s not how it’s done. I can’t pick and choose cool pieces of the Way and share them with outsiders. There’s a code…consequences.”
He studied her intently. “You’re really worried about this. Is there some super-secret ninja society that’ll come and get you if you give away their secrets?”
Momentary humor flickered in her eyes. “No, nothing like that. But I took a solemn vow. I can’t break it. It would dishonor Hidoshi-san’s memory.” She threw up her hands. “I know to a Westerner that sounds completely lame. But it’s a big deal to me.”
He captured her restless hands and drew them against his chest. “It doesn’t sound lame to me. Hey, I’m a soldier, too. Honor counts in my world. Promises matter to me. I get it.”
She blinked up at him, suddenly still. “Do you mean that?”
He frowned. “Yes, I mean it. If you don’t want me to tell anyone about your training, I won’t.”
“Just like that?”
He flung her hands away from him and turned to pace the room. “Why do you always question everything I say? Why can’t you accept that I stand by my word? Are we Westerners that weak and untrustworthy in your eyes?”
“I…You…No…”
He stopped prowling and crossed his arms over his chest as she sputtered to a stop. “Darlin’, that was not the most convincing denial I’ve ever heard.”
She huffed. “Fine. I admit it. I don’t generally think too highly of Western promises.”
Ouch. He had to give her credit, though. She didn’t flinch from speaking the truth. “What about your teammates? These Medusas you speak so highly of? Do you trust them?”
That got a rise out of her. Oh, she didn’t stomp or yell or anything so crass, but abrupt anger rolled off her. Only a faint tightness in her voice betrayed her irritation. “I trust them with my life.”
Such control she had. Were it not for the inexplicable, but very real, connection between the two of them, he doubted he’d have had any clue she was so pissed off at the moment.
He asked reasonably, “Why them and not me? Is it because you and I haven’t come under hostile fire together yet? Do I need to take you out with my team the next time we take a stroll through hell to gain your trust?”
Her forehead twitched, but she never actually frowned. He waited her out while she mulled over his question. Finally, she replied, “You would have had to have been there when the Medusas formed to understand. The powers that be did everything they could to make us fail. The only reason we made it through our initial training is because we all-every one of us Medusas-committed everything we had to each other.”
He nodded in total comprehension. An operator’s team was much more than a bunch of coworkers. More than family, even. Facing death together time and again forged a bond unlike anything else. It went way beyond words.
He asked matter-of-factly, “You’ve worked with other special operators, haven’t you? Men, yes? Do you trust them? Or is it something special about me that causes you not to trust me?”
She sighed. “I do trust you.”
“But not enough to believe what I say.”
Her face went expressionless, her voice flat. “Why are you pushing this argument?”
She was pulling back from him. Again. Every time they approached a truly intimate moment, physical or emotional, she backed away like a big dog. Enough was enough. He wasn’t going to stand by and let it happen again.
He stepped into her personal space until she leaned away from him uncomfortably, and spoke silkily. “Am I making you mad, Kat? Is that why you’re shutting down on me? More of that stoic Eastern fatalism you’re so proud of?”
“Fatalism?” she echoed ominously.
“Yeah. And it’s a load of crap, by the way.”
He all but saw her hackles rise at that. “Emotional control is all well and good. But there’s a time and place for it. I thought balance was part of your precious Eastern philosophy. Where’s the balance in never allowing yourself to feel a damn thing?”
“I feel things,” she said, flaring.
Ahh. Better. “Right,” he grunted skeptically. “That’s why you always run and hide behind your superhuman self-control. Because you’re so busy feeling stuff.”
Her voice was very nearly snippy when she retorted, “Just because I choose not to wear my every thought or feeling on my sleeve doesn’t make me overcontrolled. If you want to live your entire life as a wide-open book for any old passerby to see, that’s your choice. But it doesn’t make my choice wrong.”
He allowed himself a smile at that not-so-subtle jab. Finally. He’d gotten a visible rise out of her. “Very good, Kat,” he said approvingly. “You’re learning. Now if we can just get you to shout now and then, you’ll be on your way to a healthier balance in your life.”
She stared at him, clearly surprised out of her snit.
“Honey, you’re not the only one who can mask feelings and motives. Just because I choose to express mine honestly and openly to you doesn’t mean I’m not capable of reining them in or disguising them outright.”
“So you set out deliberately to make me angry?” she asked, dangerously softly.
Instinct screamed at him to beat a hasty retreat from this lethal woman. Instead, he shrugged with what he hoped was enough arrogance to really tick her off. “What of it?”
Even though he expected the move, when she leaped at him, it happened so fast he had no chance whatsoever to react. Even if he had managed to throw up a block in time, he wouldn’t have done it today. If it took letting her knock his head off to get her to open up to him, so be it.
Her foot flew past his nose so close that he actually felt the faintest brush of it on his skin, as light as butterfly wings, but deadly in its explosive power. The edge of her hand, as stiff as a knife blade, stopped a millimeter from his neck. He dared to glance down and saw her other fist poised in front of his sternum, stopped midblow in a strike that would have crushed it like glass.
He looked up, capturing her furious gaze. He asked much more calmly than he felt, “Why didn’t you hurt me?”
Frustration seeped into her eyes.
“Go ahead. Say it,” he challenged.
Still the silent war within her raged, a lifetime’s worth of repressing thoughts and feelings winning out over what he knew she really wanted to say and do.
“Need me to help you?”
She opened her mouth but no words came out.
He reached out and wrapped her, lethal hands and all, in his arms, dragging her up roughly against him. He kissed her then, holding nothing back. She was too angry for finesse, too wrapped up in her repressed rage for anything other than extreme measures to register. Kissing an enraged woman wasn’t his first choice in self-preservation, but if it was what she needed, he’d take his chances.
There was nothing elegant about their kiss. He flattened her lips against her teeth as she fought him, flatly insisting that she acknowledge and react to him. She tried to hold out, but he tightened his grip on her, forcing her body to arch backward beneath his onslaught.
She fought, but not with real intent to harm him. She could’ve just as easily bitten his lip, kneed him in the groin, or executed a dozen other moves to incapacitate him. And yet, she did none of those things. As he’d thought. She wanted him to force her out of her emotional shell. And he was good and ready to have her emerge from it himself. She tested his strength, trying to pull out of his arms, and he obliged her by engaging his superior strength to hold her right there against him.
In spite of their wrestling embrace, he couldn’t help but register that she tasted like plums, rich and sweet and tangy. Her mouth was ripe and juicy, and he devoured her hungrily, sucking in the taste of her, drawing her into him until she became a part of him. He’d love to gentle the kiss, to savor the rich taste of her, to enjoy her languidly and completely.
But first, he wanted all of her-no reservations. He felt the piece she was holding back. It dangled tantalizingly, just beyond his reach. But he also felt her control of that piece of herself slipping.
He schooled himself to patience, following through on the forceful embrace cautiously, making dead sure not to lose himself in the violence of the moment. He would never, ever attack a woman in anger, particularly with a strong sexual element in the mix. He might be forcing the issue, but he refused to force the woman.
Finally, she tore her mouth away from his, swearing in several languages he did recognize and a couple he didn’t. “You’re a beast,” she hissed.
He maintained his grip on her, keeping her arms safely pinned between them. After all, he wasn’t a complete fool, and she was still one very pissed off ninja at the moment.
“Passion is not bestiality, Katrina. Nor is it lack of control. If I had no control, you’d be on the floor right now beneath me while I had at you like a true beast. Like it or not, darlin’, I’m bigger and stronger than you are. You might be a ninja, but I’ve got you in a position where I can outmuscle you. And yet, I’m not mauling you, nor am I falling upon you mindlessly. This is about you letting go-not me.”
She still vibrated with anger, but her explosive readiness to do violence seemed to diminish slightly.
He spoke gently then, silken strands of her hair lightly caressing his lips. “Human emotions are not bad things. In fact, they can be wonderful things. Why do you deny yourself pleasure-hell, real happiness-like this? Surely, your grandfather didn’t want that for you.”
More of the tension drained from her, replaced by something else he recognized very well indeed. A humming sexual awareness of him, of her body, of how he made her feel. Nonetheless, he didn’t loosen his grip quite yet. After all, deception was part of both their training.
“Give it a try,” he murmured. “Let go. Allow yourself to really feel something. Just for a minute or two. It’ll be our secret, like your ninja training.”
When she still hesitated, he took a mental deep breath and made an enormous leap of faith. He turned her loose.
She stood there for a second, gazing up at him, her fists resting lightly on his chest, her body so close to his he felt her warmth radiating through their clothes.
Had he blown it? Would she turn away from him now and never look back? Or kill him, perhaps? He had no doubt she could do it with her bare hands. And he didn’t have it in him to stop her if she tried. He could never hurt her that way.
Lord, he felt exposed. Like he was standing in front of a firing squad.
And then her hands moved slightly on his chest, her fingers splaying open gradually until her palms rested against him, warm through his shirt. Her hands slid so slowly, and he held his breath, not sure if he was experiencing a miracle or slow-motion murder.
She swayed slightly toward him. He could swear that was wonderment dawning in her eyes. He stood perfectly still, letting her do whatever she liked to him. Thus encouraged, her hands strayed from his shoulders to his face, her fingertips lightly tracing his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, his mouth.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
His eyes widened. Could it be?
Slowly, she rose up on tiptoe, leaning lightly against him. Her right hand went around the back of his neck and tugged lightly. He bent his head down for her, never breaking eye contact with her as she raised her mouth by slow degrees to his.
Their lips touched.
Where before they’d met in violence, this time they came together with the lightest of touches, igniting an aching ardor in his soul that was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. This transcended lust, went beyond simple pleasure. It was as if something sacred and rare were unfolding within his soul.
All from the barest touch of her lips to his?
Maybe there was something to this Eastern control stuff after all.
Kat stepped back. “There,” she murmured. “That’s a proper beginning between us.”