Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection (Stark World 2.50)

She turned her head to the side as she spoke softly. "No. Focus, C. D." She smiled, covering the flash of irritation burning through her. Irritation at the creep who'd squeezed her ass and irritation at herself, because Brandon's words had tugged at something soft and warm right in the center of her chest. Something she had no right to feel, given the way she'd treated him.

"Hard to focus with you in that dress, love."

More sparks. "Suck it up. I need you on your A game. If I get shot, we're going to have a big problem."

"Bigger than what I've got in my--"

She turned her face to the wall, speaking in a whispered rush. "I swear to God, I'm going to rip you out of my ear."

"There was a time when you liked having me inside you." Instantly, her traitorous mind conjured up memories of just how much she'd liked it. How wild he'd driven her, how safe and treasured and whole he'd made her feel. When they hadn't been driving each other insane, that is.

She brushed by him, her bare arm grazing the soft wool-cashmere blend of his suit jacket. In a movement so small that everyone around them but her would've missed it, he dipped his head slightly as she passed and inhaled. His eyes closed briefly, and her stomach did a slow turn. Maybe if, after the mission, they snuck away, and didn't talk, and just ...

She shook her head. Talk about a spectacularly bad idea.

She smiled, her teeth clenched together with such force that if she didn't let up, she was likely to crack a molar. "Now isn't the time." She kept moving through the crowd and could feel his eyes on her ass as she strode away.

Through the earpiece, he laughed, his deep, rich voice sending a wave of heat rippling along her spine. Her stomach fluttered, and she swallowed thickly, fighting to regain her composure. He was unraveling her, probably on purpose. Probably as revenge for running scared and bailing out on their marriage.

She shook her head again, refusing to get sucked in to the lust simmering through her veins. She needed to get upstairs, crack the safe, and recover the virus so that she could get the hell out of here and away from Brandon before she did something incredibly stupid.

Again.

NATASHA SLIPPED INTO THE kitchen and set down her now-empty tray, poking her head around the corner and glancing in the direction of the living room and the staircase to her immediate right.

"I'm heading up," she whispered, edging closer to the stairs, her gaze scanning every direction before she darted furtively up the stairs two at a time, not slowing her brisk pace until she reached the top. Finding the hallway dark and quiet, she headed straight for Silayev's office. It was locked; slipping her lock-picking tools from a garter under her dress, she made quick work of the simple pin and tumbler mechanism. Closing the door behind her with a quiet click, she crossed to the far side of the office and began her search for the safe, locating it in a low cabinet nestled into the wall. She pulled her phone out of her bra and started the process of hacking into the house's wireless network.

She snorted out a quiet laugh. "The network's not even encrypted."

Brandon chuckled in her ear. "What is this, amateur hour? I guess we can be grateful that he hasn't had a chance to put in all the upgrades yet."

She smiled, and then a pang of longing and loneliness slipped between her ribs like a knife. God, she'd missed him. She'd known that, but she hadn't realized just how much; seeing him again, arguing with him, flirting and laughing with him brought home the fact that without a doubt, she was still completely in love with Brandon Clarke-Davies.

The enormity of her mistake sat on her chest like a lead weight. It was a mistake for which he'd likely never forgive her. Hell, she'd never forgive herself for leaving him the way she had.

Once she'd accessed the house's wireless network, she opened the CIA's customized safe cracking software on her phone. She tapped a series of numbers into the safe's electronic number pad, connecting it to the wireless network as well. With a swipe of her finger, the software connected to the safe, interfacing with it directly. The program began running through sequences of numbers at lightning speed.

For several tense minutes, there was nothing she could do but stay silent, let the program do its job, and listen to Brandon flirt with some Eurotrash socialite. When she excused herse

lf to go powder her nose--probably with cocaine--Brandon checked in with her.

"How's it coming?"

"I'm still cracking the safe. All clear downstairs?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? I don't like maybe." She stared at her phone's screen, willing the program to work faster, the prickling threat of sweat teasing along her hairline.

"Two blokes headed upstairs. I'm on it."

The safe emitted a series of beeps and popped open as the locking mechanism released. Triumph surging through her, she tucked her phone away and swung the small safe's door wide open.

"Hel-lo," she murmured to herself, pulling free both a small metal briefcase and a silver Walther PPK covered in garish scrollwork. She flipped open the case, verifying that it contained the vials. It did. Then, she checked the Walther's clip and found it loaded.

The office door swung open, cutting a swath of light across the darkened floor. Briefcase in one hand, gun in the other, she dove behind the heavy wood desk as the first bullet, muffled by a silencer, dug into the wood paneling to the left of the window, inches from where her head had been.

"C. D., I need you. I've got company."