Cindy Dees - Close Pursuit

“Where’d a city slicker like you learn to lay a fire like that?” she asked to break the quiet.

Alex didn’t deign to answer and merely shrugged as he pushed a series of smooth, melon-sized rocks close to the fire. The thin, dry wood crackled loudly and burned fast, but it heated up the small chamber surprisingly well. A thin layer of smoke accumulated near the ceiling, seeping sluggishly toward the rear of the cave. Must be a tunnel or vent back there. The back walls, which retreated into shadows—who knew how far back—were pocked with round holes at even intervals, big enough for her thumb to fit in. Maybe those were the vents.

Surprisingly little light seeped in as day broke outside, but that also meant very little cold seeped in, either. Before long, the cave was actually reasonably cozy, enough that she shed her coat and made a nest out of it for Dawn.

Alex unwrapped the infant and, at long last, trimmed the umbilical cord and wiped the last birth blood off her. He frowned down at her, and Katie moved to his side rapidly. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Take a look at her. Notice anything odd?”

She stared down at the pink, chubby baby, who had adorable blond peach fuzz hair. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Two eyes. Two ears. Limbs of equal lengths. No visible deformities... Whoa. What?

“Blond hair?” she said questioningly. Every baby they’d birthed so far had had black hair. All the locals she’d met were dark-haired.

“Exactly.” He stared at her significantly.

“How did that happen?”

“The mom was an unmarried girl. Good-looking, right?” Alex asked tersely. “What color was her hair?”

“Yes, she was stunning. And she was dark-skinned and dark-haired like all the locals.”

Alex murmured, “Too much pigment in Dawn’s skin for her to be albino. Only way for her to have blond hair, then, is for her father to be Caucasian.”

Katie’s jaw dropped. “Where did a local girl meet a Caucasian?” To her knowledge, she and Alex were the only Caucasians for hundreds of miles around.

Alex snorted. “Soldiers. Spies. Civilian contractors. Drug dealers.”

“And aid workers like us,” she added, appalled.

“The way I heard it, we’re the only aid workers foolish enough to venture into this area in years,” he retorted.

She grimaced. “That’s what the women have been saying to me, too. Okay, so strike aid workers from the list of possible fathers.”

They stared down at the baby, who was settling down to sleep in her warm nest.

Alex announced without warning, “Strip off your clothes. All of them.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He was already shrugging out of his coat and pulling the black turtleneck over his head. Lord, that man had acres of gorgeous muscle. He reached for his belt buckle and she squawked, “What are you doing?”

He looked up, and his gaze went from concentration on something worrisome to smoking hot in the blink of an eye. “Worried about delivering on the bet you lost?” he purred.

“No, I’m not worried,” she lied belligerently. “I just don’t think now is the time or place to collect.”

He moved to stand a little too close to her for comfort, and she was abruptly aware of how much bigger than her he actually was. And stronger. And they were so very alone out in the middle of nowhere. Literally. He could force himself on her and there wouldn’t be a soul around for miles to hear her scream.

“Angel, when I collect on our bet, it will not be in a squalid cave, and you will beg me for it.”

Her eyes flashed as she instinctively rose to the challenge. “I don’t beg.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in that sardonic half smile of his. “Wanna bet?”

“No, thank you,” she replied tartly. “I’m already indebted to you. I don’t need to add to it.”

“I still need you to strip. All the way down to your skin.”

“Why?”

“I need to check for tracking devices in our clothes.”

She blinked, shocked. “Excuse me?”

“Tracking devices. I need to make sure none were planted on the gear or clothing we bugged out with. I did a quick check before, but in light of last night’s events, I need to do a more thorough search.”

“Who on earth would want to track us?”

“I can think of any number of candidates, and some of them I’d rather not have knowing where we are.”

“Like who?” It was starting to feel like all she did with him was ask questions.

“Not on the list of approved topics between us.”

She scowled. “I’m not stripping unless you answer me.”

His gaze snapped up to hers, and this time amusement flashed before he banked all emotion. “Fine. The CIA. Their Russian counterparts, the FSB. The U.S. Army. Various mob groups. That’ll do for starters.”

“Why would the mob track you? And which mob? What did you do to them?”

“I relieved both the Russian mob and the American Mafia of substantial funds some years ago and have yet to give them an opportunity to win any of them back. For that matter, the Ukrainians don’t like me very much, either.”

“What did you do?”

“I hung out in casinos they owned. In my rebellious youth, I went on a short-lived, but highly productive, gambling spree.”

Math genius. Master’s degree in probability. Cryptography postgrad... “How much did you take them for?” she blurted.

“A lot.”

Huh. And he still had the money? Well, well, well. So the good doctor was rich, too? It hardly seemed fair given how smart, sexy and good-looking he was.

“Why would the CIA and FSB track you?”

He threw her a stubborn look and merely shimmied out of his black jeans. Dang, that man was built.

“Let me guess,” she said wryly. “Not on the list.”

“Bingo.”

Oh, Lord. There went his underwear. Yowza. The good doctor was blessed in every single department of his life. She spun away quickly lest he catch her looking at his junk. The temperature in the cave shot up at least ten degrees as sexual heat abruptly filled the air.

“I’m not kidding about your clothes,” he said grimly from behind her.

Which would be worse? Getting naked at the same time he was or waiting until he was fully dressed again and forcibly undressed her? Wow. That was about a toss-up. A tiny part of her loved the idea of him tearing her clothes off her.... Maybe it was the whole caveman vibe coming out of her deepest, darkest DNA. But she didn’t have any spare clothing and needed what she had on to stay intact. Practical necessity won out, and she pulled her pink turtleneck over her head reluctantly.

Ohmigod. He was watching her. And he was stark naked. Gloriously, unconcernedly so. He’d already seen her in her bra—less than her bra. This was no big deal, right? Except her heart was jumping in her throat and her hands shook like leaves in a hurricane.

She reached for her jeans and unzipped them slowly. Pushed them off her hips reluctantly. Heat blossomed in her face as her lace thong was revealed. She could literally feel his blazing-hot stare taking in her pert little rear end. Men had been commenting on her derriere since she’d been old enough for it not to be creepy. She knew it was firm and high and lush enough to turn men on without Alex having to tell her so.

“Nice.”

“Could you at least be a gentleman and turn your back?” she blurted.

“Kitten, I’m a lot of things, but a gentleman is not one of them. You owe me sex anyway. I’m eventually going to see you naked, so why not now?”

Because she barely knew him. Because he was naked, too. Because part of her wanted him to take advantage of the situation, and she was a big, fat chicken about that part of herself. Fantasizing about a dark, dangerous man like Alex Peters was one thing. Being naked and alone with him for real was another thing altogether. She didn’t want it to be that way, but it was. She was a fake, and she couldn’t handle a man like him.