They weren’t saying anything particularly interesting, talking about the heat, the hotel, and laughing about the food they would have to eat. But the fact they were even in the same room, let alone talking, was interesting enough. I knew the real discussions would take place behind closed doors. I’d give my left nut to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.
Then I glanced across at Caro. Nope, I didn’t want to give up either of my balls, no matter how good the intel might be.
She was talking to a Marine Captain—and I recognized him from his photograph in the file I’d read earlier. A cold feeling washed through me. Shit a brick! Caro was talking to my new boss—which could only mean that she’d be on embed with me. How the fuck would I be able to keep my hands off of her then? And, more importantly, why the hell was she going to one of the most dangerous Provinces in Afghanistan? What fucking brass neck dickwad had okayed that scenario? Who the fuck did her editor know that she’d been sent with us? What part of top fucking secret gave anyone a problem?
Shit! Shit! Shit!
I followed the Afghans to the long table, greeting a few people in English, and looked for my place card. I knew that I was supposed to be near the Afghan end of the table, so I was confused when I couldn’t find my name. I wandered down the long table and finally saw my name and … oh hell.
Natalie Arnaud smiled up at me, her eyes fucking my body in a way that told me she liked what she saw. She was a cold bitch, but hot as hell in bed. We’d had a couple of all-nighters when I was stationed in Paris, but now my dick couldn’t have cared less, and neither could I.
I slid into the chair next to her and her eyes lit up like Christmas.
“Quelle surprise!” she said, licking her lips. “Sergeant Hunter! Bon soir, Sebastian.”
I motioned to the red and gold markings on my shoulder.
“A promotion. Très bon! I like the sound of that! Does that mean you’ll give me orders, sir? You always did like being on top.”
“I’m on duty, Natalie,” I growled at her.
But she just looked amused.
“There’s always time to play later. I’m staying here—room 705,” and then she rested her hand on my thigh.
I tried to remove it subtly, but Natalie’s grin just grew wider.
“Oh, are you a good boy now? Because I remember you liked to be very, very bad.”
“Fuck’s sake!”
I brushed her hand aside. “My CO is here, Nat.”
“So? You never used to care about things like that,” and her bare foot pushed up inside my pants leg, her toes stroking my calf.
I moved my leg away and she laughed.
“It’s not a fucking joke!” I snapped. “And you need to cover up your tits—that shit won’t fly here.”
She leaned forward, giving me an eyeful of her surgically enhanced chest, which I had to admit was pretty impressive, but nothing like my girl’s natural beauty.
I glanced across and saw Caro talking to my boss as well as the scary British woman she’d been with in Geneva. All three of them looked at me at the same time. I was so fucked. Grant looked pissed, the Brit looked amused, and Caro … she looked upset. Shit. And then Natalie chose that moment to reach across my body to touch my Afghanistan Campaign medal and whisper in my ear some of the things she wanted a repeat performance of.
I saw Grant frown, then stand up and walk towards me.
I sprang out of my chair, glad for the reprieve, and snapped a salute.
“Hunter?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Why are you sitting here? You were supposed to be further up on the other side of the table.”
He eyed Natalie coolly.
“Mix up with the place settings, sir.”
“A word, please, Hunter.”
He took me to one side, glancing across at Natalie who looked like someone had told her that Jimmy Choo had gone out of business. Yeah, I’d lived in Paris for two years.
“You think this shit is acceptable, Hunter? Because your old CO doesn’t have anything good to say about you, and your present CO told me you’d be on your best fucking behavior. But all you can think about is getting your dick wet. Un-fucking-acceptable. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“No excuse, sir.”
It was the only answer to give when your commanding officer was on the warpath, no matter how unfair it might be.
“You are jeopardizing the mission, Hunter. You were supposed to pick up additional intel, but instead you’ve become a liability. And you can bet your ass that one more mistake and you’ll be very damn sorry. Be ready for an oh-five-hundred pick up tomorrow. But for now, get the fuck out of my sight.”
I saluted again and left.
That fucking French bitch had a lot to answer for … or maybe it was just a few chickens coming home to roost. It was a fucked up situation—and one of my own making.
I called my driver and got him to take me to Caro’s hotel. I invited him to have a meal with me; it was the least I could do since I’d cost him his dinner as well as my own.
We talked shit about baseball, a sport we’d both played in high school, and ate some indeterminate meat in a spicy sauce—goat, probably.
I kept an eye open for Caro’s return, taking notice of the other members of the Press Corps who used the Mustafa hotel as their base.
I didn’t see Caro, but the British woman sailed into the bar, scaring a few of the locals. I was glad she was here, because it meant Caro had the room to herself. I gave it five minutes then headed up.
I knocked quietly on the door, and immediately heard hushed voices.
Shit? She had someone in there with her? I hadn’t seen the British woman leave the bar, although it had gotten pretty crowded.
“Yes?”
Yep, the Brit’s voice.
“Ma’am, I’m looking for Lee Venzi?”
There was another muted conversation, then the door swung open and I stepped inside quickly.
Caro stared at me, a small frown on her face.
“Sebastian, you’ve met my friend Liz Ashton.”
“Yes,” I said, nodding stiffly at the disgusted expression on the British woman’s face.
“Hunter,” she replied icily.
Caro rubbed her forehead.
“I’m sorry about this, Liz, but can you give us some time alone?”
The Brit snorted and shook her head, muttering something that sounded like, “bloody fool”.
I wasn’t sure if she meant me or Caro—both, probably.
“Two hours, Lee,” she said, glancing at her watch with zero subtlety. “I’ll be downstairs in the bar if you need me.”
She threw me an accusing look and left.
Caro was clearly mad at me, so my cunning plan was to kiss the hell out of her.
I pulled her into my arms and kissed her hard, my tongue in her mouth and my hands pressing into the flesh of her ass. She responded quickly, a surprised gasp huffing out as her hands wrapped around my neck, pressing her body against mine, chasing all thoughts but one from my overheated brain and desperate dick.
Then she pushed me away, her eyes bright with anger and lust, her cheeks flushed.
“What the hell are you doing, Sebastian?”
I shrugged and grinned at her. “I thought I’d kiss you before you yelled at me. Guess it didn’t work.”
“You think this is a joke?” she snapped, her voice rising with anger. “First David, now Liz. Why don’t you just skywrite it?”
I hated hearing that bastard’s name on her lips.
“What did the asshole say to you?”
She sighed. “He’s not going to tell anyone—he was really nice about it.”
He was ‘nice’ to her? What did that fucker want? I didn’t trust him any further than I could throw him.
“Liz won’t say anything to anyone either—I’ll just have to listen to her chewing me out later. But I’d have much rather she didn’t know just now—she’s my work colleague. You’ve got to stop taking these risks, Sebastian. For my sake, if you won’t do it for yourself.”
I grimaced. I hadn’t thought about it like that. Shit, I should have.