Dare Me (Take Me 2)

“Everywhere. Consider me a citizen of the world.”

“What does your passport say in the ‘Nationality,’ ‘Place of Birth’ and ‘Authority’ boxes?” she challenged.

Damen grinned at her verve. He liked it. He liked her.

His grin faded.

Liking her was irrelevant. And dangerous.

With a crooked brow, he asked, “Which passport?”

“Oh, Jesus,” she mumbled. And sipped her wine.

He eyed her more closely. For an international spy, she seemed sort of…on-edge…when it came to the grittiness of the job.

Yes, she most definitely had the femme fatale aspect nailed.

Hell, he’d been coming out of a coma in the hospital and had been ready to spring into sexual action from listening to her provocative voice alone. Then his eyelids had fluttered open as she’d been leaving his room and… Holy Christ. The sway of those alluring hips was forever etched on his brain.

Along with all that gorgeous red hair of hers.

Shit, he’d gotten hard just thinking of those silky-looking strands sweeping over his bare chest, teasing his skin. Threading his fingers through the exotic mass…

He shifted slightly in his seat now, feeling his groin tighten and his gut clench.

Without doubt, he wanted Nikki Kane in the basest, rawest way. Primal urges gripped him even as he knew—straight to his core—that he couldn’t trust this woman. That he couldn’t fully engage with her.

She was harboring secrets he had to recover from her.

That was his mission.

Yes, if it meant seducing her to get to the information he needed, Damen would do whatever necessary to fulfill his assignment. He’d enjoy the hell out of coming inside her, he was already certain of this. But his ultimate objective would be to get his hands on the data she had stashed in her laptop bag.

He’d secured a seat next to her on this flight back to the States for one purpose and one purpose only. He had to remember that. Not get drawn in by her breathy sighs and her mesmerizing eyes. Not fantasize about those manicured nails skating along his flesh, delicately at first. Then clawing at him as he drove deep into her and made her scream his name as she came.

Fuck my life.

He drained his scotch. Chances were damn good even the sting of alcohol wouldn’t alleviate the sexual tension gripping him.

Damen didn’t need his suddenly raging libido to be a complication right now. He didn’t need any complications at all, now that he was out of the hospital.

He had an orphaned niece waiting for him back in D.C., who wanted to see, in-person—not over Skype—that he was fine. That he’d survived the explosions in Mexico City.

She’d lost her parents in an earthquake in China, so Madalena “Mads” Castillo was incredibly sensitive about Damen’s whereabouts and his wellbeing. Given that he was now her legal guardian, he had to keep her concern for his welfare in mind while he worked an inherently hazardous job.

He’d love to be able to tell her he was a salesman who traveled frequently. That would certainly put her at ease. But Damen’s older brother, Ricky, had accidentally “outed” Damen one night—and now Mads knew her uncle was a government agent.

One who tended to live life on the sharp tip of the blade.

Thinking about his familial obligation—and the fact that he was absolutely nuts over Mads and her rainbow-striped blonde hair and love of all things under the sun…except for earthquakes and death—Damen considered that he needed to quickly wrap up this addition to his Mexico City assignment and get back to his home. And Mads.

The statement that had been jointly issued by the U.S. and Mexican governments had been meant to buy him a little time. The news announcement was presented as a conclusion to the incident in Mexico City; when, in reality, there would be no conclusion until Damen had the information in-hand that he needed. The information Nikki Kane was smuggling out of the country. And either dropping off in New York…or couriering into Switzerland.

As the in-flight meal was served, he spared another glance toward his row-mate

, doing his damnedest not to fixate on how breathtakingly beautiful she was.

He needed to ask her questions that would lead him to the device that contained the data he wanted to retrieve—and help him discern who had collected it in the first place, what their nefarious intentions were, what diabolical plot had to be thwarted. Yet recalling how rich and velvety her voice was made Damen think he’d screw this whole mission to high hell, because he couldn’t listen to her with an objective ear. He’d hear every wispy breath, every sultry octave, every seductive quaver.