Ice Cold, page 18
The orgasm hit him with the shock wave of a bomb blast. An exothermic reaction of light, overpressure, fragmentation, and the violent release of energy. He cried out her name and let the explosion take him.
NINETEEN
N aked, Navarro leaned against the open door of the head, watching her transform in front of the mirror. Cleopatra-style, short, black wig. Smoky, dark brown eyes, and red lips. She didn’t recognized herself. She’d briefly met Andriy Kobevko seven years ago. The bomber was reputed to have an almost photographic memory. She wasn’t taking any changes that he’d recognize her.
She met Navarro’s heated gaze in the mirror. His penetrating gaze made her feel transparent. Or maybe that was because he’d made her come in glorious Technicolor and refused to take no as an answer. Either way, she felt more emotionally raw and exposed than she had in her life. Honey wasn’t sure what to make of that. How she felt emotional, it was too soon to tell, but physically. . . She was relaxed, and still buzzing with sexual energy.
She at least wore a sweater, just a sweater over her naked body, but he was still deliciously naked. She cleared her throat. “Are you going to get dressed before we land?”
He looked so sexy Honey wanted to walk him backward to the narrow bed and jump his bones again. Hair, ruffled from her fingers, begged to be smoothed. His mouth, like hers, flushed from kissing. The love bite on his right shoulder shocked her. She had no recollection of doing that. She shifted her body so she could get the full frontal view of him standing there as if he owned the Universe.
His penis, thick and curved against his flat belly was apparently not done with her.
“Yeah, eventually. You look like another woman. Now I know why legions of men fall at your feet in adoration.”
No one she knew had ever seen her in disguise—not and known it was her. Honey rolled her eyes at his nonsense. “They try to buy my love, but of course, my affections can’t be bought because I’m stupid rich.”
She sounded like the ultimate bored, rich bitch, a combination of WASP lockjaw and drawl. In fact, she sounded exactly like her mother. She must’ve studied Roxann more than she realized.
“This is true,” he agreed in a lazy tone.
“I have everything a woman could possibly want. In fact, I probably have ten of-” She waved an airy hand, gesturing with her mascara wand —“Whatever. Maybe a dozen. I have so many of everything, I’ve lost count.”
“I will not try to buy your affection with paltry gifts, I promise.”
“I’ll never know if you’re having sex with me for the expensive gifts I’d give you.”
“Like what?” His eyes lit up. “A yellow Bugatti-Veyron?”
She lifted a brow. “That goes for what? A couple of mil?” She considered him from top to penis, for a second before meeting his amused gaze. “You’re very good in bed. Maybe two.”
“What would a man do with two? Can I trade one for a Vacheron Constantine? They run about a mil and half.”
“A million and a half dollars for a watch? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Although she really could buy him all those toys and more, her pose as a languid, jaded socialite went right out the window. “Can it tell you when your oxygen is running out? I don’t think so. Can it be used to—?”
He dipped his head, taking her mouth in a kiss that stole her breath and made her heart go from zero to sixty in half a second. “Okay,” she murmured, blinking him back into focus when he lifted his mouth from hers. “A Bugatti and a watch. You’re worth at least that.”
“Damn, you’re very generous. Do you treat all your lovers this well?”
“Of course. I have no favorites. Little gifts to keep them sweet so they don’t notice that I’m cruel and have no heart. I’m an Ice Princess, remember? I freeze my ex-lovers when they bore me.”
“It saves you from breaking their hearts. A quick and merciful death instead of being spurned by you wou—”
She smiled. “Spurned?”
The smile slipped from his mouth, and he gave her a far too serious look as he brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “I’ll make sure to keep you entertained.”
Feeling unaccountably awkward, she stepped out of his arms. She couldn’t go far, as the sink was right behind her. She turned so her back was to him and met his eyes in the mirror.
I could fall in love with you, Rafael Navarro, Honey thought, a familiar panicky feeling surging through her body. Just thinking it made her feel incredibly exposed and embarrassed for the first time in living memory. “You’re crowding me.”
Black eyes glittered. “You fascinate me.”
She attempted a cool look. “Yeah, well, we know how that turned out.”
“Remarkably well.”
His smile made Honey’s insides do a ridiculous happy dance. She felt as though she was a teenager with her first lover. Jittery and excited, embarrassed and eager to do it all over again. She tamped down the dangerous feeling. “Bully for you. Your reputation as the Spanish Stallion is fully intact.” As soon as she said it, Honey wished the words back. “I didn’t me-”
Apparently unoffended, Navarro’s smile widened. My, what big teeth you have. “And yours, I’m delighted to say, is shot to hell.”
The glacier had thawed. Hell, he’d caused the polar ice caps to melt, and the frozen tundra burst into flower. “There’s no need to gloat.” She did her best to sound annoyed, but she felt too good to do a convincing job.
Grinning, he bracketed her hips with strong, sure hands, tugging her back against his still semi-erectness. “Best present anyone ever gave me.”
Pale eyes glowing, lips curved, she turned in the circle of his arms. Leaning into him, she lifted her face. “Mine, too.” Honey knew what she was feeling was the giddy rush of endorphins from multiple sexual releases. Knew it and for just this sliver of time, didn’t give a damn. She was happy. Euphoric and crazy happy. Later would take care of itself. Nothing lasted forever. However, for now . . .
“What’s your greatest wish, Honey Winston?”
“Well, I just got that.”
“Other than your first mind blowing orgasm.”
“Seriously? I’ve never told a single soul this. I want to be a real girl.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “A real girl? You feel very real to me.”
“You know how Pinocchio wanted to be a real boy? Well I always wanted to be a real girl. Not a dress up doll taken out for photo ops.” She stroked a path down the crisp dark hair on his chest. Then lifted her eyes to meet his.
“I was painfully shy as a kid. They’d dress me up, parade me out there like a fashion doll for photo ops. Their perfect little princess. Then, of course, it was inevitable that I couldn’t answer questions or say anything suitably cute because the whole time I was wishing with all my heart that either the ground would open up and swallow me or the monster under my bed would race into the garden and eat everybody.”
She waited for him to say “Aw, poor little rich girl”, but he didn’t. “They’d get furious because I refused to perform for the press like a trained monkey. The problem was, to please them, I would’ve done anything, I just wasn’t capable of being what they wanted. The harder they pushed, the more withdrawn I became. My painful shyness annoyed the shit out of them, they took it as an insult to their fabulous, gregarious, spotlight loving DNA.”
“My parents were so in your face that I retreated, and it became easier not to show emotion when they seem to suck life right out of a room.”
“You show emotion.”
“For analysis and intelligence, but I’m terrible with people And sometimes, I’m not sure I have it in me to feel it, either. There’s something wrong with me, I think.”
“There’s not a damned thing wrong with you. You just need reprogramming.”
She smiled, spreading her fingers over his hard pectoral muscle so she could feel his heart. “I’m not sure that’s possible.” A couple of great climaxes didn’t make her something she was not. She deflected by kissing his chin, then saying against his mouth, “What’s your biggest wish?”
“Right now? That we share another screaming O.”
“Twenty minutes to touchdown,” Blinston announced over the PA, making her start slightly, something she wouldn’t normally have done. Damn it, Navarro had cast some sort of sensual spell over her. Honey glided a finger over his parted lips as if her body was functioning independently from her brain.
“Do you think . . . ?”
“I’d rather wait for a nice wide bed and more time.”
Thank God, one of them had some sense. She wished it had been her. “Got it. Move, Navarro,” she gave him a firm shove with one hand. “I have to finish getting ready.”
He obediently stepped back, meeting her eyes in the mirror when she turned around. “You look ready for anything to me.”
A shiver skittered through her as if a changer virus had infected her. Somehow, without her being aware of it, he’d changed her DNS settings, reconfiguring her previously preconceived notions about intimacy, leaving her open and dangerously vulnerable to further attack.
Where was her firewall when she needed it? “Almost ready.” She started pulling at the lining inside her tote, shoving aside assorted items to pull it free. “Just one more thing.” She removed the thick, curved piece of stiff, beige foam rubber, smoothing it out with her palm on the counter.
She was an intelligent woman, as scary smart as some people insisted. She knew malware when she encountered it, knew how to diagnose and fix the problem. But interpersonal viruses were a lot more complex and troubling than computer viruses. She had just cause for avoiding relationships—her lips twitched—like the plague.
When a computer told her something, there was no subtext. Filled with minefields, relationships had codes she had no idea how to interpret. She didn’t like being out of her depth. And God, Navarro had her completely off-kilter with his mobile mouth and clever fingers.
“That smile would make a wise man step back.”
She slanted him a glance and cursed her foolish heart for skipping a beat at his cocky smile.
“I stand in awe at whatever you plan on doing with that thing.” Rafael crowded behind her to look at the prosthetic with interest. “What are you doing with—”
“Don’t look so happy, Navarro. No time for a quickie, remember?” The sound of the engines changed, and they heard the landing gear coming down. They needed to get to their seats.
Lifting her sweater in both hands, she exposed the white-gold triangle between her legs. The heat index in the small bathroom rose by several scorching degrees as Navarro looked his fill. “God, you have gorgeous legs.”
His eyes reminded her of how she’d wrapped those legs around his waist, his shoulders, his head . . . She swallowed dryly as she fitted the faux belly around her middle and reached back to tie the strings to hold it in place. “Why don’t you go buckle up while I finish here?” Tugging her sweater down, she adjusted it around her newly six-months-pregnant tummy.
The skin across his cheeks tightened, and his eyes glittered black and focused as he stared at her middle. “Pregnant?” His gaze rose slowly to her face. “Jesus, Winston, you know how to bring a man to his knees. This is the sexiest thing I’ve seen since—Hell, ever.”
“You’re turned on by a pregnant woman?” she demanded incredulously, stuffing her makeup bag back into her tote, as she observed him in the mirror.
“Never before. But suddenly—Yeah.” She tamped down the odd flutter in her chest.
“You’re crazy. Move. We need to get back to our seats.”
They’d barely strapped in, when Navarro’s comm rang. Saved by the bell. Honey observed the fuzzy lights of Prague as they circled the city before landing.
“About to land at Ruzyne,” Navarro said in response to a question, then mouthed, “Nielson,” before saying out loud, “Not a surprise.” He listened for several minutes. “Want us to refuel and divert? Okay. Keep us apprised of further developments.” He stuck his comm into his breast pocket.
Honey absently brushed a strand of chin-length black hair from her cheek. “Where?”
“Algiers. Banque Al Djazair was bombed several hours ago. It was after closing. Human collateral damage minimal. Structural damage of surrounding buildings on a par with the others.”
“There is still significant violence there,” Honey pointed out, even though, like Navarro, she was damn sure it was their serial bomber. “The shift on the part of several extremist groups to join under the title of al-Qa’ida in the Islamic Maghreb has made AQIM the main perpetrator of terrorist violence there, particularly in urban and suburban Algeria. We know they’ve created a new and more regional threat extending well into the sub-Saharan part of the continent. Could be them . . .”
She met his eyes. It wasn’t. “Nielson doesn’t want us on the ground in Algiers?”
He shook his head. “Orders are to bring Kobevko in.”
The wheels touched down with a sustained screech. “So that’s what we’ll do.” Honey let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Business as usual she could handle.
“Let’s go bag ourselves a bad guy, Navarro.”
TWENTY
Prague
Czech Republic
K obevko is laying low,” Operative Marika Weber informed them as she pulled out of the private terminal at Ruzyne in a zippy red sports car. A bit conspicuous for a spy, Rafael thought, feeling mellow. Weber was a slender woman with short, dark, curly hair, and a no-nonsense attitude despite her questionable choice of vehicles.
Honey took the front, while he stretched out at an angle in the small backseat to give himself legroom. It was a tight fit. Late-night traffic was sparse, and the distant lights of the city looked milky through a film of snow flurries. Not much stuck; the roads were wet but clear. Rafael suddenly wished for white sand beaches, hot sun, and Winston in a bikini. Or nothing at all.
He liked sex as much as the next man, maybe more. But never in his entire career had he fantasized about or been distracted by a woman while on a mission. This was unprecedented. He’d do well to remember that their adversaries weren’t similarly preoccupied.
“The picture I sent you on your comms shows what Kobevko looks like now.” Weber merged onto the Pražský okruh onramp heading south.
Rafael took out his comm and opened the message. T-FLAC had remarkably few images of the bomber. Three images spanning two decades. Rafael had never met the man face-to-face, but he knew his work well. His bomb-making skills were probably the best in the world. Methodical, specific. And sophisticated.
Bomb-makers were creatures of habit. They used tried and tested techniques that identified their work almost like a fingerprint or an autograph, and they usually didn’t veer from their modus operandi by more than incremental refinements. Kobevko had been dormant for almost five years, but his signature was unmistakable.
The bomb-maker had changed his appearance, Rafael saw. Bleached and slicked-back hair made him appear, in the picture at least, to be almost bald. He used to have a thick head of black hair. One of his vanities, as Rafael recalled from the thick dossier T-FLAC had on the man. His heavy brows had been manicured and thinned, making his eyes appear more deeply set. The biggest change was a dramatic loss of weight. He appeared skeletal.
Honey’s comm pinged. Message, not a call. “Update?” he asked, seeing the light of the screen reflected on her features.
“Yeah.” She frowned. “I’ll fill you in later. Weber?”
“He’s using the alias Vasily Dikau,” the operative informed them. “Goes to the casino every night at oh one hundred, leaves at oh two hundred; you can set your clock by him. Four ‘friends,’ packing, accompany him. He uses valet parking. Crowds of bystanders and too hard to snatch him in plain view. My rec is we follow his vehicle to an underpass one point two miles east of the hotel and take him where indicated on the map I sent you.”
“You have the man power?”
“I do. All info on your comms. We good with that plan? I’ll fill in the rest of the teams. I’ve booked you a room at the hotel under the name Laurie and Kirk Peterson, Seattle.”
She handed them their new passports, paperwork, and two old-fashioned keys, as she drove. She slanted Honey’s belly a wry glance. “Good thing I married you two.”
Two Americans showing up solo would attract more notice than a married couple would. It only made sense. Rafael reined in his vision of getting Honey naked again and fast. They were here to work. Not cavort about a hotel room having wild monkey sex.
The hotel was most likely bugged, his libido interjected. It could be part of their cover.
“Serendipitous,” Honey responded mildly. Navarro chuckled.
The lights of oncoming vehicles illuminated Honey’s slight frown. Rafael hid a smile. Man, she didn’t want to share a room, he already knew that much about her. She would be trying to distance herself physically as well as emotionally. Well, too damn bad and much too late. He’d already touched her everywhere, inside and out. He knew her body almost as well as he knew his own. Yet, he was deliciously aware how much more there was to discover. All they needed was another opportunity.
Despite a spectacular bout of sweaty sex and a hasty shower, she looked unruffled and business as usual. The Ice Princess was back in place and good to go. No one seeing or hearing her now would know just an hour ago she’d fallen apart in his arms, sobbing his name.
“You’re checked in, luggage in your room. I took the liberty of adding formal wear to what you requested,” she told Honey. “You’ll need it for the casino. There’s a detailed map and schematic of the hotel and casino, extra clips, trackers, headsets, and everything else you requested. If you need anything, text me. My team is already in position. We have a holding room ready for him on the third floor near a service elevator.”
