Maverick (Elite Ops 2)

“If you prefer not to see his plan through, then I completely understand,” she stated as she tried to focus on her job. “I’m certain Jordan can find someone else. Maybe Jordan can find a double for you, Micah; that way Orion will never guess you couldn’t stomach the job.”

Silence filled the room behind her.

When Micah finally spoke, the sound of his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“Jordan can risk his life in such a manner if it pleases him,” he stated, ice coating every word. “Be warned, Risa, as long as this operation is in effect, any man that attempts to even consider taking my place in your bed had better take out life insurance.”

She turned to face him then. He was watching her, his black eyes brooding, icy, dangerous.

“As you’re no longer welcome in that bed, either, Micah, then it’s not your choice to make.”

Micah watched her stiff back as she turned back to the computer. His nostrils flared; his back teeth clenched.

Okay, he hadn’t handled that so well, but then, neither had Jordan. The son of a bitch had sabotaged him as effectively as anyone ever had.

He moved to the couch and sat down slowly, forcing himself to remain in control.

He was Mossad, he reminded himself. Just because he was no longer a member of the elite force didn’t change who or what he was. He was one of the most lethal killers, one of the most advanced agents, in the world. He’d killed for years. He’d faced opponents who had never made him sweat. Even his death had barely been a glitch on his radar. It had allowed him to exact revenge, nothing more. It allowed him to work with an autonomy and a security that Mossad hadn’t given him.

The Elite Ops went beyond even black ops. They were privately funded but enjoyed a political backing that went beyond t

he American agencies.

He was one of the most advanced agents on the face of the earth, yet he couldn’t handle one small woman with anything even remotely resembling grace.

He’d hurt her. The thought of that made him think of Ariela Abijah, the mother who had counseled him until her death. And he felt shame. She had taken the time to try to teach her son the intricacies of a woman’s heart. With his father at her side, she had shown Micah the value of a loving, secure relationship. She had warned him to always remember that a woman’s strength had little to do with how well she could fight physically but had more to do with where a woman’s heart lay.

He’d forgotten that lesson with Risa.

She found her strength in pushing the memories aside and going on. He’d been unfair to her, and now he had no idea how to reach out to her. And perhaps that was for the best, he told himself. If she stayed angry, then she wouldn’t lose her heart. If she stayed angry, then perhaps he wouldn’t lose his, either.

One thing was for damned certain: She had torn him in so many different directions that at the moment, he had no idea how to deal with her.

He hadn’t expected her fury or her hurt at the thought of going to a safe house. Honestly, he thought she would feel secure.

He’d known the moment Jordan had let the information out that Micah wanted her moved, that Risa wasn’t feeling in the least secure.

Fury had pumped inside her small body, it had filled her eyes and her voice, and amazingly it had made his cock swell harder, tighter, than ever before.

The pure shimmering defiance in her expression had done something to him that he hadn’t expected. It had made him want her more than ever before. As though he hadn’t desired her enough. As though every time he touched her, kissed her, stroked her rounded curves, he didn’t burn for her in a way that he had never burned for another woman.

She was a hunger he couldn’t get control of, and that concerned him. It worried him.

And now, she thought that she could actually order him from her bed? Obviously she believed that her defiance was going to go unrewarded.

“The bed is not negotiable.” He felt the need to warn her of that right up front.

She turned slowly, the office chair squeaking a bit as she faced him fully.

“No, it isn’t negotiable,” she promised with a smile so falsely sweet that he wondered if it were possible to develop a sugar high from it. “My bed. Period. You, Mr. Sloane, can sleep on the damned floor for all I care.”

Micah propped his booted feet on the coffee table, laced his hands over his abs, and smiled back at her. “Bet me.”

CHAPTER 16

BET ME!

It was a damned good thing she hadn’t bet him, because he had ended up sleeping in her bed. Right in the middle. His hand on her hip all night long.