Targeted by Carolyn McCray Page A

fingers interlaced with hers as his thumb stroked her palm.
Rebecca could swear that steam shot out of her ears. Her body lit up as
brightly as the Taj Mahal. Luckily, Brandt pulled back before someone asked
them to go up to their room. Although the way her legs quivered, that might not
be such a bad idea.
    “Rebecca,” Brandt breathed out.
    “Dessert?” their waiter asked.
    Brandt snapped back into his chair as she folded her hands
on her lap. It was so easy to forget that they were in a crowded restaurant.
For a moment it had seemed like only the two of them existed.
    “Sorry, I’m going to need the menu again,” she murmured.
Anything that happened before that kiss, long forgotten.
    As the waiter moved off to fulfill her request, Brandt
whisked the napkin from his lap and rose. “I will take this opportunity to use
the restroom.”
    Rebecca’s eyebrow shot up. “Everything okay?”
    “Absolutely,” he reassured her, but his eyes didn’t register
reassuring.
    This was the third time to the restroom for Brandt since
they arrived at the restaurant. For a guy who didn’t allow for a single potty
break on a five-hour hike out of the rain forest, he sure was liberal with the
latrine visits tonight.
    She was about to rise and follow him, but then caught sight
of his rear tightly outlined by his black pants as he walked away. Maybe, on
second thought, she’d just sit here and enjoy the view.
    * * *
    Brandt kept his pace steady passing the elaborate saltwater
tank filled with coral, sea urchins, and clown fish until he turned down the
hallway. Then, he broke into a trot. He hit the bathroom door at a run.
Bursting in, he found only the attendant. Brandt wasn’t quite sure what these
guys in swanky hotel bathrooms were supposed to do for you exactly, unzip your
fly maybe, but he needed him gone.
    Pulling out an American five-dollar bill, Brandt offered it
to the guy with a nod to the door, but the attendant only frowned. Fine. Brandt
pulled out a twenty. The man accepted it and left. If Brandt didn’t button it
up these bathroom excursions were going to cost over a hundred bucks.
    Brandt stared at his reflection in the mirror. “Damn it,
Brandt, pull it together.”
    But as he brought a small, red velvet box from the inside
pocket of his tux, he couldn’t pull it together if he tried. Slowly Brandt
opened it. A diamond ring stared back at him. Was it too small? Would Rebecca
be insulted by a ring less than three carats? What could he do, though? He was
on a military man’s budget, and he wanted to still save up for a house. Those
things were more important than the bling, right?
    What if she said “no?” How could he leave for a mission not
knowing if she was waiting for him?
    God, it was sappy and stupid, and his men teased him
endlessly about it, but his stomach lurched at the thought of not having her
arms to wrap around him at night. Well, and her legs too, but that was a
different kind of yearning. The ache he was talking about went far deeper than
his groin.
    Brandt snapped the box closed. This was ridiculous. He’d
step in front of the president to take a bullet, hell, even the secretary of
education, easier than he could ask Rebecca to marry him. A narco-drug lord?
He’d simply throw an elbow to his nose. But this… this churned his stomach like
none other.
    How many times had already tried to ask her? He was going to
do it after they sat down at the table. Then he was going to slip the ring into
her glass of champagne. Then after the salads came. Then forget about it after
the chicken satay.
    And now, dessert? He was running out of meal to make this
happen.
    No. It had to be now. This mission was time sensitive. He
was not going to let this window slip by. Rebecca may not have the largest ring
to brag about, but by God, he was going to give her an engagement to remember.
    * * *
    Rebecca waved the waiter off. He was determined to keep
their champagne glasses full. And he wasn’t even their waiter.