Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
IBIZA
“You’re gonna twist your ankle. Would you wait up?”
Natasha shot a quick look back at Wyatt trailing behind her as she made her way down the rocky path.
The access to Aguas Blancas was difficult.
Actually, getting to the beach wasn’t as difficult as trying to get the hell out of the area where the estate was located.
It was perched at the top of a steep cliff in the middle of nowhere, and she’d spent an hour trying to get away.
Since she couldn’t manage to escape, she’d been pissed and needed a moment alone.
But no, Wyatt, the hot guy from her past with the most incredible blue-gray eyes ever, wouldn’t leave her the hell alone. He was too afraid she’d attempt to make another run for it.
Maybe she could hitch a ride with one of the early morning beachgoers doing a little body surfing with the wind kicking up today. Head back to Algeria and finish the job she’d started.
Damn her father and his connections.
Damn the Chief of Station who did whatever the hell the admiral wanted because her dad was golf buddies with POTUS.
“Would you, at least, let me walk next to you, so if you start to fall off the bloody cliff, I have a shot at saving your arse?” he rasped, his smooth and sexy English accent sliding through his words a bit more.
She ignored him and kept moving along the winding trail. Sweat bloomed between her breasts even though it wasn’t that hot out yet. She was still in the same jeans and long-sleeved shirt she had on from when she’d been abducted yesterday.
The sun was only beginning to rise in the distance like a ball of fire. She spied the stretch of sand up ahead. The waves were white and frothy, whipped up by the wind like the top of a latte.
The beach was empty as far as she could see, but maybe if she waited, someone would show up.
When she reached the sand, she snuck another look behind her, but he was still there.
Actually, he was right freaking there. She smacked into a muscled wall, AKA his chest, and he snatched her biceps as if she might float away in the breeze.
A scowl marred his lips, lips that were fuller than most men but definitely not feminine—lips she’d never forget kissing.
There was a slight scar that cut through the edge of his blond brow, and it became more pronounced when curiosity crossed his face.
“I need to get out of here, and you guys have me trapped like a prisoner.” She remained rooted in place, wanting to get out of his grasp as much as she wanted to stay in it.
He’d saved her. Saved her friend. But she was a trained operations officer, and she didn’t need a babysitter. And if Jack hadn’t been ordered back to Algeria the second they’d arrived in Ibiza, she would’ve begged him for help out of this SEAL prison.
“My father is overstepping, and by keeping me here under his orders, so are you,” she bit out, still not moving. Still not able to detach herself from the warmth of his hold. She could feel the heat of his palms even through the cotton fabric of her shirt.
“I don’t work for the CIA. My job is to keep you safe, and I’m going to do that, even if it means keeping you safe from yourself.” A familiar sound echoed throughout his tone—a hint of her father’s concern about her safety.
“I can handle myself.” She lifted her hand to his chest, intending to push away, but his heartbeat was steady beneath her touch, and she was once again confused by the feelings this man evoked in her.
“And it would’ve been nice if you could have brought one of those assholes back alive so we could interrogate him for information. ”
A lazy smile crossed his face, an indication he was holding out on her.
“What aren’t you saying?”
“I can’t tell you now, but I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” His smile stretched after his cryptic words, and she wanted to—well, she wanted to kiss him, damn it.
She did her best to return her focus to the mission. “Well, I appreciate the save, but I have work to get back to.”
“Your legend, or whatever you people call it, was blown. You go back to Algiers and you’ll have a target on your head.” His words were low. Smooth. Soft like the sand.
She stole a look over at the sun above the turquoise sea.
If she wasn’t so pissed about being held against her will, she’d take a moment to admire the gorgeous sheet of oranges, pinks, and reds slicing across the sky in layers.
As that ball of fire lifted higher and higher, it was as if God had scooped it up and cradled it.
With her tongue pinned to the roof of her mouth, she considered her plan, her next words. How could she convince this rock-hard former operator to give in to her? To break the chain of command and ignore the admiral’s orders?
If he was truly retired, he didn’t owe anything to her father.
“You don’t understand, I can’t abandon my mission.”
“And I can’t abandon mine,” he countered in a deep, husky voice. A tone of authority, one that said Don’t try me, honey—or whatever people who weren’t from the South would say. “Tell me what’s so important that has you willing to risk your life.”
Light continued to stream the area, throwing streaks of gold onto the high cliffs that sheltered the beach. “Classified.”
He released hold of her arms and tucked his hands into his pockets.
She removed her shoes, peeled off her socks, and started for the water. Water so clear it begged to be swam in, but she only took one step in.
“Why’d you retire?” she asked when he stepped alongside her, water splashing onto his military-style khaki-colored boots. He lacked the regulation haircut, but most SEALs never followed typical Navy regs, especially DEVGRU guys, which, in her research after the wedding, she discovered he’d been.
His hair was longer, nearly flipping up beneath his plain black ball cap. His beard full. His eyes still as magnificent as she remembered, that gorgeous shade of blue-gray.
“Classified.” He released the word like a breath, a long hiss of I can play that game, too. “How’d you know I retired?” He had her there. “A Google search or your spy computer at work?” He peered over at her.
He had eyes that could penetrate steel. Melt titanium. Put Henry Cavill as Superman to shame.
“Why didn’t you come back the night of the wedding?” she asked instead.
“And why didn’t you call me if you went to the trouble of looking me up?”
“You still live in Colorado? I only found one residence, and it was pretty well hidden from public record. Hiding something from Uncle Sam?”
“What is it about this mission that has you willing to risk your life so freely?”
She faced him, the water still running over her toes. Her feet sank into the soft, wet sand. Her imprint would fade soon after she left. That was her life. It was her job to come and go without being noticed.
She’d been noticed in Algeria, though. Weeks of work lost. Her cover blown. Farid had set her up, and it was her fault for being so determined to get her mark she’d missed the telltale signs of manipulation.
“Who do you really work for?” she asked.
He angled his head and folded his arms across his chest, his biceps straining against the fabric of his olive-green tee. She resisted the impulse to view the ink on his right arm that edged close to the top of his elbow.
“Are we going to keep answering every question with a question?”
She lifted her chin and captured his eyes. “That’s another question.”
He released a long sigh. “I got called away to work after the wedding. I do have a place in Colorado. It’s my only permanent home, and I like my privacy.
I work for a security company, and we’re contractors for hire.
” A whisper of a growl pushed through his lips.
A rumbling that stemmed from deep within his chest. “Your turn.”
Her defenses, normally indestructible, were crumbling with his eyes on her.
“I asked Clara for your last name.” She’d covertly worked it into conversation since neither her brother nor Jack had the stones to do it.
“I used Google until Google wasn’t cutting it.
I was going to call but then I got pulled away for work. ”
“And the other part? The mission?” He stroked his thick beard, a beard she couldn’t help but imagine gliding along the inside of her leg as his mouth met the sensitive area of her—
“Still classified.” His question should have served as an effective buzzkill to the highly inappropriate thoughts swimming around in her head, but it didn’t.
She’d been working nonstop and somewhere along the line had forgotten the art of a good fantasy.
This man, standing before her like temptation personified, had woken up her libido and pushed it onto a runaway train.
She’d gone months without orgasms, even self-induced, and her body needed one.
Being held hostage—this wasn’t her first time, either—had never left her feeling horny afterward.
Why would it? But this was the first time she’d been rescued by a sexier and taller version of Tom Hardy, or maybe that Scottish actor she’d pined over a few years ago.
What was his name? And even Wyatt’s presence had her forgetting famous men’s names? Great.
“You’re after the AQIM members responsible for the Black Hawk crash. And the hacker who sold them the intel.” Wyatt’s knowledge of her mission startled her back to reality.
“How the hell do you know about the hacker?” This time, she was the one grabbing hold of his arm.
“Classified.” He winked and turned back toward the sea, and she lost her hold of him. “While I respect your desire to complete your mission, I feel like there’s more to it than that. Like it’s become personal.” His voice grew deeper. Gravelly. A don’t try me, I’ll pin you down kind of tone.