Claimed by the Secret Agent by Lyn Stone

chest.
    “Maybe so, but I’m telling you the truth. I like you, Marie, maybe even love you. And I think you’re sexy as hell.”
    “I am not!”
    “Sorry, my call. But I don’t think sexy is determined by a woman’s looks, shape or anything else that she’s born with or could be manufactured by a scalpel. That goes for a man, too.” He tapped her forehead. “It’s what’s in here…” Then he placed his hand over her heart. “And in here. It’s what you feel and what you need to give and want to take.”
    Marie didn’t know what to say, how to handle this. She’d never in her life had a conversation to equal it or anything to compare it with.
    A knock at the door jerked them back to the real world. Marie was thankful for the interruption. She had no clue what Grant was talking about and didn’t want to know. At least not until she’d had time to think about what had just happened.
    She scrambled off him and snatched up her jeans. “Get dressed! ” she snapped when he just lay there watching her.
    Someone knocked again and he moved, obviously in no great hurry about it. She pulled on her shirt and went to the door, glancing over her shoulder to see if Grant was decent. “Who is it?”
    “Pieter. I have information you wanted.”
    She opened the door, and the desk clerk handed her a rough drawing on a sheet of hotel stationery. “Here is a direction of sorts. I spoke with my grandfather. He once knew a Dr. Shute who lived in an old, rather isolated clinic called Alt Brouten Haus. It lies off the main road to Oudewater. However, he said the doctor has been dead for several years.”
    Marie took the paper and shot a triumphant look at Grant, then turned back to the desk clerk. “This is wonderfully helpful, Pieter. Thank you very much! And thank your grandfather for us, too.”
    “We are glad to be of assistance.” He did look pleased. He also looked knowing as his gaze traveled the length of her and back again.
    She didn’t see how he could possibly guess what they’d been doing, but he seemed to do just that. Ridiculous thought.
    “You are most welcome, Miss Beauclair,” he said, his tone amused. “And if you two need anything else, anything at all, please let me know.”
    She closed the door and dashed over to Grant, offering him a high five. He complied, but he still hadn’t lost that thoughtful look he’d worn before Pieter knocked.
    “It was a misprint. And a house, not a street or road? Brouten, not Prouter! ” she exclaimed, hoping to excite him about something other than their all-too-recent tryst.
    She did not want to talk about that anymore. Not yet anyway. Maybe not ever because she had no idea what to say. “I told you something would break!”
    “So you did. Maybe you’re psychic and just don’t know it.”
    “Ha! Get your shoes on and let’s go investigate.”
    He nodded, a small smile playing around his lips, as if he were privy to something she didn’t know.
    “Okay, I will,” he agreed, “but you might want to put your shirt on right side out before we leave.”
     
    Paris was usually beautiful in the spring, but rain grayed the day. Mamud Bahktar tried to shake off the malaise.
    He turned away from the corner window of his office as his extra cell phone buzzed. He had specified no contact until the job was done. Hopefully, this was it. He flipped the phone open, put it to his ear and waited.
    “We have one. I am sending her photo.”
    Mamud noted there was no mention of background information. “From where?” Mamud demanded, uneasiness creeping up his spine.
    “Amsterdam.”
    “Fool!” Mamud growled. “It is too close to your base of operations.”
    “I had no choice in the matter. My…associate…saw the opportunity and took it.”
    “You did the background, I hope. Two misses are all I will allow.” All he could afford, really.
    A moment of silence ensued as static crackled over the phone. “Of course. Four days at most and I will have what you