Tempted by His Target (20 page)

They were acquainted, all right. Intimately acquainted.

“He has a warrant for your arrest and a plane ticket with your name on it. Everything checks out.”

“I won’t go with him,” she said, brimming with defiance.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sanborn. You don’t have a choice.”

She turned her gaze to Brandon, who appeared tired rather than triumphant. With his heavy beard stubble and mismatched clothes, he was an irresistible wreck. He must have tailed her here and allowed her to surrender, doing her one last kindness before he moved in for the kill. Or maybe he’d only been looking out for number one, avoiding a dramatic confrontation and flying fists.

She covered her face with a shaking hand, defeated and humiliated. If only she could crawl into a little ball and have a good cry. Instead she wiped away the tears and lifted her chin, pulling herself together.

“Can we get some breakfast?” he asked Lutz. “My detainee is obviously starving.”

Chapter 16

B
randon read her the Miranda rights over breakfast.

The experience was surreal, but Isabel was too hungry to dwell on it. She cleaned her plate and pretended he wasn’t there. The man she thought she knew didn’t exist, and she hated Deputy Knox with a passion.

Before they left the embassy, a local doctor checked her ear, confirming a minor tear in the tympanic membrane. Air pressure couldn’t harm an eardrum that had already been ruptured, so she was cleared to fly. Officer Lutz drove them to the airport, where they boarded a plane to Los Angeles within the hour.

The takeoff was unremarkable; the tension, unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his face taut.

She ignored him.

“I shouldn’t have touched you. It was wrong and I regret it.”

His apology hurt, like hard fingers poking a bruise. She wanted him to regret lying to her, not taking her to bed. “Are you going to tell your superior?”

“Yes.”

“Will you get fired?”

“Probably.”

The vindictive satisfaction she expected to feel didn’t come. There was only a vague emptiness inside her, dark and quiet.

He swore under his breath. “I wish you’d just let me have it.”

She frowned at him. “What?”

“Get mad at me,” he said in a furious whisper. “I can’t stand your silence!”

Her eyes widened in faux concern. “Oh, no! Are you uncomfortable? How terrible. Let’s talk it out so you can feel at ease.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I don’t give a damn about feeling at ease. I want to make things right between us.”

“Nothing will ever be right between us.”

He studied her mouth for a moment. “You begged me to make love to you.”

She gritted her teeth, longing for a dagger to brandish. “Don’t flatter yourself, Deputy Knox.”

“Deputy Marshal Knox,” he corrected. “But you can call me Brandon.”

“I didn’t beg
you
to make love to me. I begged someone else to make love to me. I don’t even know you.”

“Almost everything I told you about myself was true.”

“Oh, really? Are you a self-defense expert who assesses risk for a living?”

“I teach self defense at the academy,” he said, frowning. “And my last assignment involved risk management.”

“Your last undercover assignment?”

He inclined his head.

Bastard. “You told me you’d planned this trip with your dead friend. I can’t think of a more despicable lie.”

His gaze darkened. “It wasn’t a lie.”

“And I suppose my article really inspired you?”

He flinched, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “It was a great article, Isabel.”

“Oh, shut up. Everything you told me about yourself was designed to appeal to me on an intimate level. You knew exactly which angle to play.”

“No. I was being real.”

“You lied to me.”

“Not about my family. Not about my feelings.”

She glanced away, refusing to listen.

“Everything I said in that hotel room was true, Isabel.”

Her throat went tight. “You used me.”

“And you didn’t use me?” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You snuck out the door as soon as I fell asleep! Tell me that wasn’t planned.”

She shook her head, mute.

“Were you just saying what I wanted to hear in bed? Wearing me out so you could slip away?”

“Yes.”

His mouth thinned with anger, though she doubted he believed her.

“Let’s just forget it happened,” she said.

“Not a chance. Even if you faked every orgasm, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, holding the tears at bay. He knew she hadn’t faked anything. “Damn you,” she whispered, wishing she could hate him.

He stared out the window for a long time, pensive. “I don’t think any charges will be brought against you for the incidents in Mexico. The stabbing was obviously done in self-defense and my reports will reflect that. I have to advise you to cooperate with the D.A.’s office and tell the truth about Jaime Carranza’s death.”

“Can I call my mother when we get to L.A.?”

“Of course,” he said, his tone softening. “She’s already been notified. You’ll be able to speak to her as soon as we arrive.”

Her stomach twisted with tension. She wasn’t sure her mom would be happy to hear from her, after everything Isabel had put her through. “Carranza threatened to pay her a visit,” she said, shuddering at the memory. “When?”

She gave him an abbreviated version of what happened in the tomb before he arrived, describing the conference call from Carranza.

“He won’t stop hunting you,” Brandon said. “At some point you’ll be asked to enter a Witness Protection Program. For your mother’s safety as well as your own. If she doesn’t know where you are, Carranza has no reason to go after her.”

She raked a trembling hand through her hair. The news wasn’t unexpected, but she was still devastated by the prospect of assuming another false persona. Which was worse, being locked up or continuing to live in exile?

“It’s an excellent program,” he said.

“Who runs it?”

“The U.S. Marshals Service.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Will you know where I am?”

“No. I don’t work for that department. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have access to your information unless I was assigned to protect you.”

She nodded, feeling bleak. It wasn’t easy to accept that she was never going to see anyone she loved again.

“Try to get some rest,” he suggested. “You look exhausted.”

Taking the pillow and blanket he offered, she turned her face away, hiding the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

Brandon watched Isabel sleep for few moments, struck by her beauty. He wished he could smooth the dark hair away from her brow and press his lips to her cool forehead. Draw her into his arms, kiss away the pain.

He glanced out at the snow-white clouds, squinting a little. His eyes felt grainy from lack of sleep, oversensitive to light. Shutting the window shade, he reclined his seat, needing the rest. But his mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

He hadn’t lied to Isabel—much. He’d loved her article. He missed his friend Jacob. And he’d meant every word he’d said in bed. Every hushed compliment, every hoarse whisper. He regretted the circumstances, not the sex.

He would probably get fired.

She shifted beside him, moaning in her sleep. Her face looked troubled, as if she was having a bad dream. He readjusted her pillow against his shoulder and put his arm around her, bringing her head to his chest. When she relaxed instantly, snuggling closer, a strong wave of protectiveness washed over him.

He didn’t want to let her go.

Even if he kept his job, and requested a transfer to WITSEC, he couldn’t choose his placement. He wouldn’t be assigned to protect a woman with whom he’d had a personal relationship. And he couldn’t go into hiding with her. Only spouses and children were allowed to enter the program with a witness.

Feeling numb, he stroked her slender arm. She murmured his name, her soft breath fanning his neck. Her dark hair was spilled over his shoulder, and the hem of her dress had ridden partway up, revealing her slender thighs.

Smothering a groan, he looked away. But he couldn’t stop the barrage of sensual images. He’d done almost everything he could think of to her in that hotel room. He’d turned her on her belly and rained kisses on her lush little bottom. When that didn’t seem like quite enough, he’d spanked her soft flesh, watching it turn pink. She’d squirmed and moaned and gotten deliciously wet, begging him to finish her.

He’d always had an active sex life, but he’d never been so insatiable, or so demanding. And she’d given as good as she got, driving him crazy with her hungry mouth.

He flushed at the memories, his erection swelling against his fly. After burying himself inside her a number of times yesterday, he should have been slow to react, and quick to settle. He wasn’t.

The flight attendant passed by, preparing a lunch cart. They were in the back row of first class, which was typical for fugitive transport, and the flight was nowhere near capacity. Several empty rows stood between them and a handful of other passengers.

The extra privacy didn’t help his condition.

Isabel stirred at the sound of drinks service, lifting her head. He gave her an even stare. She moved her sleepy gaze from his taut face to his distended fly. She straightened abruptly, pushing away from him.

Brandon lowered his lunch tray, heat creeping up his neck.

A flight attendant appeared beside him, offering cool refreshments. In addition to lemon-lime soda, she brought a bland lunch that he ate but barely tasted. The only notable item on the menu was a tangerine, and that was because he enjoyed watching Isabel fondle it. She peeled the skin and ate it section by section, her eyes half-lidded.

“I have to pee,” she announced after the trays were cleared.

He rose at once, escorting her to the restroom at the back of the plane. It was less than ten feet from their seats, but he waited outside as per procedure. She flushed the toilet and pushed open the sliding door a moment later. Instead of stepping out, she looked down the aisle, as if making sure no one was watching them.

They exchanged a heated glance.

Brandon couldn’t have explained what happened next. He’d apologized for touching her and knew better than to do it again. She was his prisoner now, not just his target, and so off-limits it wasn’t even funny.

But his professional ethics, already in shreds, dissolved under one come-hither gaze. When she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forward, he went eagerly, locking the door behind him.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed him, smashing her breasts to his chest, winding her tongue around his. It was a sultry kiss, hot and impatient and a little angry. When she bit his lower lip, harder than was playful, he groaned and trapped her against the door, plundering her mouth.

She shoved at his chest, as if he was being too aggressive. He released her at once, breaking contact. To his surprise, she drew back her arm and slapped him across the face, hard. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

He touched his stinging cheek. “What does it mean?”

Her eyes filled with tears. She wouldn’t say.

Brandon didn’t want to talk anyway. He crushed his mouth over hers, ending the painful conversation. She made an urgent sound and put her hands all over him, gripping his shoulders and tugging at his shirt buttons. She tasted like citrus, tart and sweet. Desperate to have her, he raked her skirt up, palming her beautiful backside.

She tore her mouth from his and turned around, gathering the dress at her waist. Then she pushed her panties down her thighs, baring her bottom. “Hurry,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. With limited space, and no flat surface to lift her up against, this was the only position they could manage.

Shaking with excitement, he fumbled with the zipper of his pants.

She braced herself against the door and bent forward slightly, standing on tiptoe to deal with their height differential. He gripped the base of his shaft and placed the tip against her, nudging her hot little sex. “I don’t have a condom.”

“It should be okay. Wrong time of month.”

Taking a shocking risk, he entered her with one thrust, plunging into her. She gasped, holding on to the handrail to steady herself. He gritted his teeth at the heady sensation of being inside her with no barriers between them. She felt sleek, wet, tight, luscious. He wasn’t going to last a minute.

Raising his hands to her breasts, he cupped her soft flesh, squeezing gently. Her nipples poked at the thin fabric of her dress, burning into the centers of his palms. Pushing aside the bodice, he pinched one taut peak, then the other. She shuddered with pleasure, her inner muscles clenching him like a silky fist.

Groaning, he kissed the side of her neck and smoothed his hand down her belly, feathering his fingertips between her legs. She was stretched open, her tender flesh exposed to his touch. He told her how sweet she felt, panting against her ear. “Wet my fingers,” he said, lifting them to her mouth.

She licked his fingertips daintily. His erection throbbed inside her.

“More,” he demanded.

Drawing two fingers inside her mouth, she sucked harder, getting him really wet.

“Good,” he said, lowering his slick fingertips to her swollen cleft. He strummed her sweet spot, bringing her to the edge of orgasm. Then he backed off, raising his hand to her lips again. Moaning, she sucked his fingers and squirmed on his shaft, driving him crazy. He grasped her hips tightly, lifting her up and letting her slide back down on him.

They both groaned, wanting more.

“Please,” she said, biting the end of his finger.

He stroked her needy sex again, circling her plump little nub. “Like this?” he asked, flicking his tongue over her earlobe.

She came apart in his arms, her hips bucking, body convulsing around him. Unable to hold back a moment longer, he withdrew a few inches and buried himself to the hilt. She sobbed his name, lost in the throes of orgasm. Loving the feel of her, loving
her,
he drove deep, thrusting hard enough to rattle the door. He knew he was using her too vigorously, but she wasn’t complaining, and he couldn’t stop.