Dare Me (Take Me Series Book 2) Read online

  Damen said, “I have to return to the States for a debrief, and I knew you’d booked this flight. That’s how we’re on the same plane.”

  She glared a bit harder. “You’re tracking my Internet activity?”

  “You almost booked a trip to the Maldives. Any particular reason why?”

  “You clearly don’t know as much about me as you think you do. I have training in—”

  The ding that echoed in the cabin to confirm they’d leveled out caused Damen to interject, “You can use your phone now. Connect to the inflight Wi-Fi and go to CNN. Breaking news.”

  “You are so infuriat—”

  “Just do it, Ms. Kane,” he implored.

  She seethed. As soon as the attendant stepped from behind that wall, Nikki would signal her.

  In the meantime… Intrigue got the best of her and she did as instructed.

  A statement from U.S. and Mexican officials was being read at the U.S. embassy…in Mexico City. A spokesperson announced a primary suspect had been located and apprehended, and that he’d acted alone to sabotage the gas lines and create the explosions—in an attempt to validate his skills and devotion to a growing, global terrorist cell.

  “The statement was prepared yesterday,” Damen told her. “That it’s being delivered right now isn’t a coincidence. The governments were waiting for us to leave the country before they jointly divulged the information. Safer that way for me and my colleagues.”

  Nikki captured the link and sent it to Jude, emailing: Is this real-time?

  Mere seconds later, she got her answer: Yes.

  Damen wore a smug expression now. He was too devilishly handsome for words. Too devilishly handsome for her own good.

  Still… A foreboding feeling remained.

  Causing Nikki to whisper, “What if you’re the terrorist?”

  2

  “I assure you, I’m not,” he said with conviction. “I swear.” He stared deep into her emerald irises, which shimmered more captivatingly than the spectrum the sun had created on his crystal-cut tumbler. Which the flight attendant replaced, handing over a fresh cocktail.

  Damen reluctantly tore his gaze from Nikki Kane to graciously accept the drink.

  He waited patiently as the attendant passed a wineglass to Nikki. When she moved on, he returned his undivided attention to the stunning redhead sitting next to him.

  Damen took a moment to commit all of her striking features to memory. Her hair was full and lush, with thick curls spilling over her shoulders and cascading down her back. She’d swept her long bangs over to one side and they fell slightly forward to frame her temple in a sexy way. Her green eyes were enhanced with smoky makeup. Her cheekbones were high and well-defined. She had a perfectly sculpted nose to balance out her delicate features, and plump, crimson-colored lips that made his own mouth water to taste her.

  The graceful column of her neck led to the sort of body men fantasized about. She had an enticing chest, currently accentuated by a tight, winter-white sweater. Because he’d followed her through the airport earlier, he knew she had a narrow waist and shapely hips. A killer ass. Mile-long legs he was dying to see bare, though they were currently concealed by skinny jeans and ankle boots.

  He longed to see every bit of her stripped bare.

  He wanted her sprawled across his bed with all those gleaming, dark-auburn locks fanned out around her head and her honey-colored skin glistening from the heat he sparked within her.

  He wanted to sample every delectable inch of her…

  But that was…not today’s mission.

  Focus.

  Today’s mission was getting something different from Nikki Kane.

  Today’s mission was about recovering information she’d stolen from the DIA.

  He tipped his glass toward her and said in Italian, “Salute.”

  Her gaze narrowed on him. “Where, exactly, are you from?”

  “Everywhere. Consider me a citizen of the world.”

  “What does your passport say in the ‘Nationality,’ ‘Place of Birth’ and ‘Authority’ boxes?” she challenged.

  Damen grinned at her verve. He liked it. He liked her.

  His grin faded.

  Liking her was irrelevant. And dangerous.

  With a crooked brow, he asked, “Which passport?”

  “Oh, Jesus,” she mumbled. And sipped her wine.

  He eyed her more closely. For an international spy, she seemed sort of…on-edge…when it came to the grittiness of the job.

  Yes, she most definitely had the femme fatale aspect nailed.

  Hell, he’d been coming out of a coma in the hospital and had been ready to spring into sexual action from listening to her provocative voice alone. Then his eyelids had fluttered open as she’d been leaving his room and… Holy Christ. The sway of those alluring hips was forever etched on his brain.

  Along with all that gorgeous red hair of hers.

  Shit, he’d gotten hard just thinking of those silky-looking strands sweeping over his bare chest, teasing his skin. Threading his fingers through the exotic mass…

  He shifted slightly in his seat now, feeling his groin tighten and his gut clench.

  Without doubt, he wanted Nikki Kane in the basest, rawest way. Primal urges gripped him even as he knew—straight to his core—that he couldn’t trust this woman. That he couldn’t fully engage with her.

  She was harboring secrets he had to recover from her.

  That was his mission.

  Yes, if it meant seducing her to get to the information he needed, Damen would do whatever necessary to fulfill his assignment. He’d enjoy the hell out of coming inside her, he was already certain of this. But his ultimate objective would be to get his hands on the data she had stashed in her laptop bag.

  He’d secured a seat next to her on this flight back to the States for one purpose and one purpose only. He had to remember that. Not get drawn in by her breathy sighs and her mesmerizing eyes. Not fantasize about those manicured nails skating along his flesh, delicately at first. Then clawing at him as he drove deep into her and made her scream his name as she came.

  Fuck my life.

  He drained his scotch. Chances were damn good even the sting of alcohol wouldn’t alleviate the sexual tension gripping him.

  Damen didn’t need his suddenly raging libido to be a complication right now. He didn’t need any complications at all, now that he was out of the hospital.

  He had an orphaned niece waiting for him back in D.C., who wanted to see, in-person—not over Skype—that he was fine. That he’d survived the explosions in Mexico City.

  She’d lost her parents in an earthquake in China, so Madalena “Mads” Castillo was incredibly sensitive about Damen’s whereabouts and his wellbeing. Given that he was now her legal guardian, he had to keep her concern for his welfare in mind while he worked an inherently hazardous job.

  He’d love to be able to tell her he was a salesman who traveled frequently. That would certainly put her at ease. But Damen’s older brother, Ricky, had accidentally “outed” Damen one night—and now Mads knew her uncle was a government agent.

  One who tended to live life on the sharp tip of the blade.

  Thinking about his familial obligation—and the fact that he was absolutely nuts over Mads and her rainbow-striped blonde hair and love of all things under the sun…except for earthquakes and death—Damen considered that he needed to quickly wrap up this addition to his Mexico City assignment and get back to his home. And Mads.

  The statement that had been jointly issued by the U.S. and Mexican governments had been meant to buy him a little time. The news announcement was presented as a conclusion to the incident in Mexico City; when, in reality, there would be no conclusion until Damen had the information in-hand that he needed. The information Nikki Kane was smuggling out of the country. And either dropping off in New York…or couriering into Switzerland.

  As the in-flight meal was served, he spared another glance toward his row-mate
, doing his damnedest not to fixate on how breathtakingly beautiful she was.

  He needed to ask her questions that would lead him to the device that contained the data he wanted to retrieve—and help him discern who had collected it in the first place, what their nefarious intentions were, what diabolical plot had to be thwarted. Yet recalling how rich and velvety her voice was made Damen think he’d screw this whole mission to high hell, because he couldn’t listen to her with an objective ear. He’d hear every wispy breath, every sultry octave, every seductive quaver.

  He’d want her even more fiercely.

  Naked and beneath him.

  On top of him.

  It wouldn’t matter.

  And yet… Yes, it would.

  Because not only would he blow his assignment and put lives in jeopardy… He’d also break her heart.

  She’d already suffered that tragedy.

  Was that why she was willing to sacrifice herself for a terrorist movement?

  Because Nikita Isabelle Balentine-Kane had nothing left to lose?

  3

  Damen had to rethink all the mental minutia he was mired in.

  What the fuck did he care if he broke this woman’s heart or hurt her in any way? She was harboring detrimental intelligence he needed in order to stop more explosions from happening again, like the one in Mexico City.

  The challenge here, however, was that Nikki didn’t strike Damen as the spy type. She had psychology degrees and impeccable credentials—and put them to good use, counseling trauma patients.

  Then again, he had a law degree with an emphasis in estate planning, which he’d used for this latest case.

  He’d been recruited into special ops. So had she, apparently. Ops of a different variety. The wrong variety.

  So he soldiered-on.

  “When did you first meet Agent Garcia?” he quietly queried.

  Nikki’s head slowly swiveled his way as she glared at him once more. “Who?”

  “Fiora Garcia. She was one of the ‘nurses’ attending to me in the hospital. She was working with me, on my team. She went MIA after I regained consciousness, though. Disappeared.”

  “Everyone attending to you went MIA after you regained consciousness,” Nikki said. And seethed. “They all disappeared.”

  “Actually, they’ve been accounted for, with the exception of Garcia. You made a hell of a lot of inquiries as to their whereabouts, including mine and Garcia’s.”

  “Because you fucking vanished into thin air! One day I was reading A Tale of Two Cities to you and the next…you were a vapor trail. A wraith. And no one could explain where you’d gone…or why. Or…how. I mean, you couldn’t have even been mobile at that point. People had to have moved you, correct? There was no way in hell you were getting up and walking away on your own.”

  Damen’s jaw worked as he considered how agitated she was over his abrupt and mysterious departure from the hospital. As though it had affected her on a personal level. Like she’d been…worried about him. Concerned.

  That was one more thing that didn’t play into the spy theory he’d formulated in his mind. All she needed was the intel—she didn’t need to know what had happened to him once he’d come to. There’d been no need for her to seek him out. To so diligently try to track him down.

  If anything…his relocation would have provided her the perfect opportunity to slip away.

  She hadn’t. She’d stayed in her hotel, close to the hospital where she made daily appearances. So as to not draw any suspicion to herself?

  Damen had no idea. But he intended to find out.

  “Garcia went rogue,” he told Nikki. “And handed off some valuable information I plan to possess, myself.”

  Her expression turned incredulous. “Are you interrogating me?”

  “Informally, yes.” He sampled the salmon on his tray. A touch on the dry side so he reached for his cocktail again.

  Meanwhile, Nikki set aside her fork and knife and simmered in the seat next to him. For all of five seconds. Until she collected herself, got her bearings.

  Then she asked, “What on earth would make you think I’d have anything to do with gas leaks—or missing information?”

  “You were the last one in my room with Garcia, before I was wheeled off for a CT scan.”

  “And never returned,” she huffed.

  “My team extracted me. The medical professionals who’d cared for me at that private hospital were all part of the network. But when I was stable enough to be relocated, I was placed in a more aggressive state of recovery.”

  “What the hell does that mean? They gave you a bionic brain? Because if that’s the case…it’s an epic fail.”

  He laughed. “You’re amusing. But, no… I recouped quickly and now I’m on the hunt for a dongle that’s gone missing.”

  She blinked. “A what?”

  “A data device. This one happens to contain highly confidential and strategic intelligence. I need it back, Ms. Kane.”

  She gaped.

  He continued. “Your original rendezvous point with your contact was the Maldives, correct?”

  Her jaw snapped shut. She was silent for a few seconds. Then demanded, “Are you for real?” She glanced around…as though she were expecting to find cameras that proved she was being punked.

  The flight attendant made her rounds to collect empty meal trays and Nikki instantly handed hers over, despite not having touched any of the food.

  When they were alone again, she said, “Do you know who I am? I’m a psychiatrist who works with search and rescue teams during and after natural and environmental disasters. That’s why I was in the hospital in Mexico City—in your room. I was taking care of patients who were suffering post-traumatic stress. I was counseling the kids whose parents were under the care of the hospital, or who were orphaned. I was reading to patients in medically induced comas,” she more pointedly said as she speared him with an even harsher look. “I’m not anything more than that,” she asserted.

  He would beg to differ. She was fiery and passionate and so damn fuckable it was a wonder he could engage in a line of questioning, because his thoughts were running in all different directions that had absolutely nothing to do with his current investigation.

  But he had some damning evidence under his proverbial hat that proved Nikki had the device he wanted. So he stayed the course, telling her, “The official statement issued said the culprit of the explosions acted alone. That’s actually not true. He has a small network in New York City. That’s where I first began tracking him. Then he traveled to Mexico City and I pinpointed him there. He was living in the first building that erupted. I had infiltrated the community, by offering estate-planning services to the elderly, because he was caring for some of them to make extra money or to eventually steal from them, I don’t know. There was nothing incriminating for me to nail down… Until the night of the explosions.”

  “That’s why you were onsite?” she asked. “You knew he was plotting to blow up the block on that particular night?”

  “We weren’t aware of all the details. And I didn’t have anything concrete to go on. It was more of a hunch.”

  “And now you fucking have a hunch about me stealing defense intel?” she shot back.

  Damen nodded. “Well, I was right about the explosions, wasn’t I?”

  “Oh, you’re an asshole.” A heartbeat later, she was on her phone, emailing feverishly.

  Damen permitted her to do so. He knew exactly who she’d be contacting: Jude McMillan. Her lawyer.

  Polishing off his meal, Damen used the wet-naps provided to freshen up and then sipped his drink.

  Nikki finally said, “I don’t have to answer any of your questions, without my attorney present.”

  “I never said I was formally questioning you.”

  “But you do believe I have some sort of involvement in a terrorist attack and an agent gone rogue.”

  She didn’t bother to pose that as a query. As though she knew he wa
s not the type of man to make arbitrary accusations. Especially of this magnitude.

  He asked once more, “Why’d you research the Maldives?”

  “My mother is staying there for Christmas, genius,” she quietly ground out.

  He resisted the urge to chuckle. It’d only piss her off more.

  “And you live in New York,” he casually commented, “but you’re not planning on staying at your estate on Long Island this evening. You rented a suite at the Plaza Hotel.”

  A chill visibly skittered through her. “You know where I live? Where I intended to stay tonight?”

  “That is my job, Ms. Kane.”

  “What do I have to do to prove to you that I know absolutely nothing about what you’re talking about?”

  “There’s only one way to prove you’re innocent.”

  “Fuck you, Castillo,” she snapped. “I am innocent.”

  “Then hand over your laptop.”

  She gasped. “Oh, my God. Oh…my God.” Her eyes widened. “Holy shit. No. Sooo, no.”

  “It’s imperative,” he insisted, now deathly serious.

  She was equally grave as she retorted, “Not. In. A. Fucking. Million.”

  His gaze locked with hers. “Come on, Nikki. You’ve heard the saying… We can do this the hard way, or we can do this my way. Just let me see your computer.”

  Tears suddenly sprang to her emerald eyes. “Absolutely not, Castillo. Not ever. My entire life is on that computer.”

  “I can have a judicial order waiting for us when we land, allowing me to seize all assets and—”

  “You wouldn’t! You son of a bitch,” she hissed out. “Every single piece of me…is on that laptop. I cannot…even…fathom…”

  She was having trouble breathing.

  “Nikki,” he calmly said, keeping his tone low.

  She turned away. Stared out the window. Gasped for air.

  “Just breathe,” he coaxed.

  “You don’t…understand.” She pulled in splintered breaths. “My pictures, my letters, my emails… My husband—” Her voice cracked.