Code Name: Bikini Page 14

  “If I want this, it’s not taking advantage.” Gina was irritated, confused. What did a woman have to do to get seduced?

  “Want what? Say the words.” His voice fell. “You want hard, impersonal, sweaty sex all night in my bed? Lock the door, anything goes—you’re okay with that?”

  “Of course I am.” She gripped his jacket, feeling her hands tremble, trying to hide the jolt of nerves at his words. Despite a wave of unsteadiness, she raised her chin, defiant. “I just said that, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you said it, all right, but I’m not buying. Something’s wrong. Hell, you’re shaking.”

  “Fine, you’re not interested. Goodbye, sayonara.” She squinted at the dark horizon, feeling disoriented. Why did she feel drunk, too? She’d had barely half a glass of wine. “I think I’ll find someone else.” She swayed slightly, angry as she pushed away his steadying hand. “Don’t need any help. Nice brush-off, Lieutenant.”

  “This isn’t a brush-off, damn it.”

  The back of Gina’s head throbbed. The pain was dull, different from her other headaches, and every movement felt slow and clumsy, like she was swimming through Jell-O.

  Something was wrong here.

  “Look at me.” The voice was too rough, too close. He held her chin, staring down at her in the purple twilight while the first stars shimmered into view over his head.

  She tried to shove away his hands. “You brushed me off, remember?” Her words slurred just a little. “C-cold, I think. Maybe…flu. Need to go now.” She stared around her, blinking.

  Twilight had bled into night. The ship’s lights were reflected in rushing black water.

  None of this was happening the way it was supposed to. Rubbing her forehead, Gina tried to drive away knife points of pain. “Going…now. This has been a r-rotten date.”

  She faced the wind, holding the rail and feeling dizzy. “Too bad. Nice, sweaty sex would be good.” When she rubbed her forehead it felt like slow motion and the deck seemed to shift hard. “Don’t feel so good, Navy. In f-fact—”

  He caught her as she fell.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  TRACE STILL WASN’T SURE exactly what had happened. One second Gina was arguing with him, the next she simply plummeted. Now she was draped over his arm like a wet towel.

  He knew she was tired, cold and stressed out from the sabotage on her computer and kitchen. But more than stress was at work.

  As he stared down at her pale features, he remembered she had rubbed her head, then taken one of the pills from a bottle in her pocket.

  Headache remedy, hell.

  He slid an arm around her waist, steadied her against his chest and managed to take her pulse. Slow but steady. Her color was passable if a little pale, but she’d been pale before. Thigh to thigh, he managed to guide her down the deck. She stirred once, shoving at his arm and muttering something about crème fraîche and a candy thermometer.

  Trace almost smiled. She was back in a world he knew nothing about, and she was damned good at handling that world. His world held death and torture and manipulation, while she spun sugar and layered chocolate into unforgettable fantasies.

  But he couldn’t get the idea of pill tampering out of his mind, and it was making him see red. He considered carrying her down to her cabin, but he didn’t want to cause undue attention. Something told him that taking her to the ship’s doctor wasn’t a good idea for the same reason. Better to go back to his cabin one floor up and let her rest until she came around.

  A young couple passed, smiling as they saw Trace’s arm around Gina and her head on his shoulder. The very picture of romance.

  Except she was completely disoriented, and Trace was sure it was because of tainted medicine.

  Keeping one arm around Gina, he worked his secure cell phone from his pocket. Ryker never stinted on backup hardware for a Foxfire mission, and this phone was enabled for use anywhere in the Caribbean as well as Central and North America. As Trace hit speed dial, he smiled calmly at another passing couple.

  Izzy Teague picked up immediately. “Joe’s Pizza. We’ve got a special on pepperoni and anchovies tonight.”

  Trace snapped back the code words. “I never eat pizza on Sunday.”

  “Glad to hear it, Ace. Is that wind I hear?”

  “Aft deck starboard. No change on my surveillance target. But I need a favor.”

  Instantly Izzy was all business. “Hit me.”

  “A pastry chef named Gina Ryan just passed out on deck.”

  “Too much to drink?”

  “She barely had half a glass of Merlot.”

  “Allergic reaction to food? Did she eat shellfish or peanuts? Is she showing signs of breathing problems?” The questions came rapid-fire. “If so, you need to get her medical care immediately. You don’t mess around with anaphylactic shock.”

  “I thought about that, but she hasn’t eaten for over an hour. She had coffee, a slice of cheesecake and a little wine, but there was no sign of a problem then. This started minutes after she took a pill she said was for a headache. They might have been doctored.”

  “Get me a sample when you dock. Do you have the prescribing physician’s name?”

  Trace fished in Gina’s pocket until he found the plastic bottle. He read Izzy the pharmacy and physician information. “Hold on. There’s something else here.” He read what appeared to be a brand-name.

  “That’s a new one on me.”

  Trace heard the quick tap of a keyboard as he kept walking Gina aft, keeping their pace casual. With one hand he cradled her head against his shoulder, adding to the picture of two lovers out for a slow, romantic stroll. He was almost at the main door leading inside when a woman in tight black capri pants and a black lace top crossed the deck, holding a PDA.

  She was a looker, Trace thought. She had the kind of sleek, well-maintained body that made a man think about rough, no-holds-barred sex.

  And she knew it.

  She surveyed his body long and thoroughly, then glanced over at his partner, and Trace saw the exact moment she recognized Gina. He also saw the naked jealousy that crossed her face. This had to be Blaine, the person who’d set up the kitchen raid.

  He kept right on moving.

  The woman in black slipped her PDA into a leather case and then moved directly in front of him, blocking his way. “It’s good to see that someone is enjoying this gorgeous night. Having fun, Gina?”

  “Mwwwwg.” Gina turned her head away, huffing out a breath.

  The woman moved closer, trying to see Gina’s face in the darkness. “I didn’t hear you.”

  Gina swung one arm sideways and sighed sleepily. “Nhhwa.”

  “Honey, are you okay?” The woman sounded deeply concerned. Her act was polished and convincing.

  Except Trace saw her gaze flicking up to meet his, and her smile was a little too practiced for his taste.

  He turned, holding Gina toward the far side of the deck out of Blaine’s line of sight. “We’re both a little tired. She’s had a busy day and she needs to eat.”

  “Really? There are no big events planned tonight that I heard about. By the way, I’m Blaine.” She stuck out a cool hand, and Trace saw the glint of something that looked like diamonds at her wrist. “I’m executive head of beverage services. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Trace O’Halloran. I’m an old friend of Gina’s.” He lied calmly, a casual smile in place. “Once we started talking we couldn’t seem to stop. You know how it is.” Hearing Izzy return to the line, he cradled the phone at his ear. “Hold on a minute.”

  “So you’re one of the passengers?” Another wide smile. “How lovely for Gina. It’s such a romantic night, too. I wish I had time off to enjoy it like you two clearly are.” She leaned sideways, once again trying to see Gina’s face.

  “Gina, remind me about that cooler problem in the morning, okay? I promise I’ll look for some space for your chocolates.”

  No answer.

  “Gina?”

>   “Fwwhmmng.”

  Blaine stiffened. Her eyes narrowed. “She’s drunk.”

  “Just tired. She fell asleep on deck while we were talking.”

  Blaine stood stiffly. “You think so? I’ve heard a few rumors about a problem with alcohol, but—” She shook her head. “No, I won’t pass on empty gossip. It’s just not professional.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Trace smiled comfortably down at Gina. “Tired, aren’t you, honey? Say hello to Blaine.”

  “Whhmmm. Bssssh.” Gina stuck out a hand, but Trace curved her fingers against his palm and smiled at Blaine. “I guess we should go. Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He kept walking, glad for the darkness that would mask his hand, holding Gina upright.

  Now the gossip would begin. He figured Blaine wouldn’t waste any time telling everyone that Gina was drunk.

  “Have a lovely night, you two. And call me Blaine, please, Trace. I hope we can see a whole lot more of each other,” she said in a sultry voice.

  Not if I can help it, lady.

  As soon as her heels tapped off into the darkness, Trace raised his phone. “Teague, you still there?”

  “At your service. Pizza delivery and computer encryption. We’re a full-service agency.”

  “Was there anything in those pills that would cause this kind of side effect? She’s out cold.”

  “Checking.” A desk chair creaked. “It’s not a medicine I’ve seen before, but I remember a journal that mentioned—” The chair creaked again, and then silence fell.

  “What did you find?”

  “I found a reference, but it’s pretty vague.” There was another silence, followed by the click of a keyboard. “Shit, this thing is still in clinical trials. I may have to call in a few favors.”

  Gina muttered and snuggled closer, her breath warm across Trace’s skin.

  Her breast pressed against his arm, soft and full, and she moved suddenly, reaching out as if to pull trays out of an oven. Trace thought he heard her muttering about a crème brûlée torch that needed fuel.

  “I need an analysis on some food samples, too. There’s been a case of food sabotage on board, and if I can help the chief of security ID the culprit, the man will owe me.” Trace frowned. “I’m not thrilled at the thought of getting ground-up kitchen refuse in my chocolate cake.”

  “Leave it to me. I’ll get you something to score some points with the chief of security. Express those food samples and any equipment that might hold prints.”

  “That should do it. All staff are fingerprinted when they’re hired. How long?”

  “Three hours tops, once I have those samples in the lab.”

  Trace notched the cell phone under his chin and pulled out his cabin key card. Gina made a little huffing sound as he propped her upright. With one arm under her shoulder, he swung open his door. After a little maneuvering, he half lifted, half walked her inside.

  “Gotta go. Sleeping Beauty is starting to thrash.”

  “Check her pulse. Be sure she’s got an open airway, and keep an eye on her breathing.”

  Trace wasn’t a trained medic, but Foxfire missions required detailed experience for unit members. He could manage a decent evaluation with the items in his locked bag, but instinct told him that she wasn’t in immediate danger. “Will do.”

  “Go by the book on this, O’Halloran. If the chef’s been given some kind of toxin, things could go south fast. If her condition changes, get her to the clinic on ship immediately.”

  “Roger that.”

  Trace powered off the call, then shoved his door shut with his boot. Sleeping Beauty was mumbling about dough surfaces and chocolate melting points as he walked her toward the bed.

  He knew he’d made the right choice to bring her here. Trace knew that most cruise lines had zero tolerance policies for drinking problems among their staff, but without solid evidence or witnesses, Blaine’s comments about drunkenness would fall on deaf ears.

  The Babe in Black wasn’t getting her way tonight.

  As he settled Gina on his bed, her arm tightened around his shoulder. She snuggled closer and sniffed his neck. “Cinnamon. Smells good.”

  Her hand slid along his chest and worked under his shirt, pulling him closer. “Ummmh.”

  Uh-oh.

  Trace tried to ease away. “Time to hit the sack, honey.”

  “Mwggh.” She buried her face in his chest, licking his skin in a way that sent his whole body into overdrive.

  “Let’s get you tucked in.”

  When he tried to move away, Gina turned restlessly, one arm stretched across his shoulder. Her other hand tunneled under his shirt. She found his belt.

  Trace began to sweat.

  Focus, dog-brain.

  He worked to maneuver her onto her side, but she stiffened, looking confused. Then, with a little sigh, she collapsed onto his chest.

  She whispered his name, the sound wistful and low. Her leg slid along his thigh.

  Trace’s jaw locked as her fingers worked beneath his belt and burrowed toward the hot, aching skin beneath.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  HER FINGERS SEARCHED.

  Trace bit back a curse as her hands closed around him.

  Talk about trouble. He didn’t want complications, yet here was an unforgettable one staring him in the face.

  Gently, he pulled Gina’s hand out of the red zone and rolled her across the bed. She muttered a protest and tried to roll back, but he ignored her.

  His hands shook a little as he took her pulse and verified she was breathing well. Her color was good and her pulse normal.

  Meanwhile his own pulse was unsteady.

  He’d seen more women naked than he could remember, so there was no logical reason for the sight of a fully dressed woman stretched out groggy on his bed to leave him fully aroused.

  But the evidence was unavoidable. The tight stretch of his zipper reminded him how long it had been since he’d had a woman in his bed.

  No, not going there.

  Grimly, he pulled off her shoes while she twisted, tangled in his sheets, muttering something about rose petals and buttercream. Cooking again.

  Right now the only food Trace could think of was Gina. Naked and hot beneath him. Ready to be devoured by his slow, expert mouth, whispering his name blindly as he took her over the edge.

  He took a harsh breath and forced his eyes away from her breasts, outlined perfectly against soft white cotton. But the minute he looked down, she twisted restlessly. Every movement gave him a glimpse of long, trim legs and gorgeous thighs. She had curves in all the right places, and the sight of her on his bed was giving him a serious erection.

  He closed down his emotions. This was work, not pleasure. He couldn’t deny the personal attraction, and he couldn’t pretend that her body didn’t drive him right up the wall, but personal interests were irrelevant. When he’d joined the Foxfire team, he’d accepted that rule unconditionally.

  Now as Trace stared down at Gina, he found himself wondering what would happen if he forgot just once that duty came first. For one night, what would it be like to hear her laugh and feel her fingers in his hair while he lay down beside her and brought their bodies together?

  Muttering, he looked away.

  What in hell was happening to him? They were strangers with absolutely nothing in common. This woman’s life was wedding ganache and lemon cream; his life was free-fire zones and high-yield det cord.

  But she was here now, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Nerve ends rasped and sweat trickled down his forehead as he fought a dangerous temptation to do more than just look.

  She was smart and prickly and sexy and he would have her moaning for him in seconds, making soft, breathless sighs as he wrapped those long legs around him and brought them both to a brain-gelling climax.

  He closed his eyes. No, that was one X-rated fantasy he was not pursuing. The lady was off-limits, and he had work to do.

  First he had to find one of her pills for Izzy. Searc
hing in her pocket, Trace touched the outline of what felt like a bottle.

  Instead of medicine, he pulled out some kind of roller for dough.

  He remembered taking the bottle from her pocket. He’d read the label to Izzy and then dropped the bottle into his own pocket. Talk about addled brains.

  Reaching across her, he lifted her arm and eased his jacket out from beneath her. Her purse was wrapped around the sleeve of his jacket. The fiber was soft, almost like it was knitted, but Trace had never seen knitting so thick and dense. He’d have to ask Miki the next time he saw her.

  Which would probably be at her wedding to one of his Foxfire teammates.

  He smiled at the thought. To Ryker’s fury, his no-relationship rule was being challenged right and left. As much as he continued to fight it, he was in a tough spot. He could either give in and maintain his control, or he could lose some of his best men and start all over again with a new set of recruits.

  Personally, Trace considered the rule a sound one. Foxfire team members weren’t in one place long enough to handle a lasting relationship. All the technology in the world didn’t change that. Even if they were, families or loved ones made for security nightmares.

  On the bed, Gina sneezed and pulled his pillow over her head. When she turned, Trace managed to free his jacket and retrieve her pills, pocketing one as a sample for Izzy.

  When he slid the bottle into her purse, a paper fell out onto the mattress. Trace saw a name and cabin number scrawled on the back.

  Carly and Ford McKay.

  Trace sat down on the end of the bed, frowning. So Gina knew the SEAL and his wife. There was yet another complication.

  He hated complications, and this mission was turning out to be full of them.

  “Brioche. Cheesecake—not done.” Gina twisted restlessly and shoved his quilt aside. Her lacy sweater pulled up, revealing a glorious curve of stomach and the edge of red panties.

  He tried hard not to stare at the line of lace.

  Work, not pleasure, O’Halloran.

  But the increasing strain at his zipper said otherwise.

  Grimly, he tugged down Gina’s sweater, pulled the quilt squarely back in place and flipped off the light. In a few minutes, he’d call Tobias and let him know where she was—and why. Then Tobias could run interference while she slept off whatever was causing her condition. With a little luck no one else among the crew would ever be the wiser.