blue-black hair was
elaborately arranged. Ivory skin contrasted with her dark, slanted eyes, heavily
made up with kohl to make them appear even more dramatic. Her lips were pure
carmine.
Jake whistled. “What’s the protocol on relations of the
non-diplomatic kind?”
Strom took a sip of his wine. “Don’t even think about it.
Cyraelians are very protective of their women. Stay away from her.”
“That might prove difficult, Boss. She’s coming this way.”
Strom watched her cross the room. She didn’t so much walk as
glide and she headed directly for their table. “Who is she?” Strom murmured to
the Cyraelian diplomat sitting beside him.
“That is Tanith Jasson.”
“Is she any relation of Raoul’s?”
“I’m afraid so, she’s his sister.”
Jake , he commed, she’s Raoul’s sister. You have
free rein .
“Wolf and she-wolf,” the diplomat observed as he watched
Jake intercept Tanith and lead her to the dance floor. “You play a dangerous
game, my friend. Raoul Jasson may be in hiding, but he is well briefed on his
sister’s activities.”
Strom’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “That’s what I’m
counting on.”
It was morning before Jake returned to the ship. Strom noted
that the neckline of his once-pristine dress uniform was somewhat tarnished by
carmine lipstick. “Good night?”
Jake winked. “A gentleman never tells.”
“I know that you’re not a gentleman, Jake. So tell me what
happened.”
“We kissed.”
“And?”
“She asked a lot of questions. Tanith was extremely
interested in you. Are you sure you don’t want to take this one?”
Strom thought of Ingrid and shook his head. He couldn’t
imagine touching another woman. “Is she working for Raoul?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say no, but that doesn’t mean she’s
not in contact with him. How do you want me to handle this?”
“Hot, heavy and public. If that doesn’t smoke Raoul out,
nothing will.”
Strom knew his plan was working when he received a third
complaint from the ambassador relating to the conduct of one of his officers
and an unnamed Cyraelian woman. The ambassador was distressed that the
officer’s behavior might well bring the unwelcome attention of a certain
individual to the city.
Perfect.
Even by Jake’s standards, his conduct at the Cyraelian
National Day celebratory dinner was completely outrageous. Strom and Pete did
their best to remain stone-faced as Jake practically made love to Tanith on the
dance floor in front of over two hundred dignitaries.
“It’s called dirty dancing,” Pete observed. “Ingrid showed
him how to do it.”
Strom’s hand closed into a fist at the mention of her name.
“Ingrid did that with him.”
“Yeah, at the burlesque club.”
Strom’s fingers tightened on his wineglass, snapping the
delicate stem in two. He looked down in surprise at a single drop of blood that
ran down his finger. He had an overwhelming urge to beat Jake to death on the
dance floor. How could she do this to him? They were a million light-years away
from each other and Ingrid could still drive him crazy. God, he would give
anything to be with her this minute.
Winter 2011
“Can’t you give her an epidural?”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Mr. O’Leary. Your wife’s
labor is too far advanced. It won’t be long now.”
Ingrid was cursing like a sailor and demanding drugs. Way to
go, girl. He could do with some himself. She thought she had indigestion, until
her water broke. He was never, ever buying her silk sheets for Christmas again.
“Finn, Finn, get in here. I’m not doing this on my own.”
He swigged deeply from the hip flask he had prepared
specially for the occasion and opened the cubicle curtain. It was more woman
than he ever wanted to see. “Ingrid, hon, I don’t know if I can do this.”
She was lying red-faced in the bed, wearing a distinctly
unattractive hospital gown. “You better get your butt in here, O’Leary, or
elaborately arranged. Ivory skin contrasted with her dark, slanted eyes, heavily
made up with kohl to make them appear even more dramatic. Her lips were pure
carmine.
Jake whistled. “What’s the protocol on relations of the
non-diplomatic kind?”
Strom took a sip of his wine. “Don’t even think about it.
Cyraelians are very protective of their women. Stay away from her.”
“That might prove difficult, Boss. She’s coming this way.”
Strom watched her cross the room. She didn’t so much walk as
glide and she headed directly for their table. “Who is she?” Strom murmured to
the Cyraelian diplomat sitting beside him.
“That is Tanith Jasson.”
“Is she any relation of Raoul’s?”
“I’m afraid so, she’s his sister.”
Jake , he commed, she’s Raoul’s sister. You have
free rein .
“Wolf and she-wolf,” the diplomat observed as he watched
Jake intercept Tanith and lead her to the dance floor. “You play a dangerous
game, my friend. Raoul Jasson may be in hiding, but he is well briefed on his
sister’s activities.”
Strom’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “That’s what I’m
counting on.”
It was morning before Jake returned to the ship. Strom noted
that the neckline of his once-pristine dress uniform was somewhat tarnished by
carmine lipstick. “Good night?”
Jake winked. “A gentleman never tells.”
“I know that you’re not a gentleman, Jake. So tell me what
happened.”
“We kissed.”
“And?”
“She asked a lot of questions. Tanith was extremely
interested in you. Are you sure you don’t want to take this one?”
Strom thought of Ingrid and shook his head. He couldn’t
imagine touching another woman. “Is she working for Raoul?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say no, but that doesn’t mean she’s
not in contact with him. How do you want me to handle this?”
“Hot, heavy and public. If that doesn’t smoke Raoul out,
nothing will.”
Strom knew his plan was working when he received a third
complaint from the ambassador relating to the conduct of one of his officers
and an unnamed Cyraelian woman. The ambassador was distressed that the
officer’s behavior might well bring the unwelcome attention of a certain
individual to the city.
Perfect.
Even by Jake’s standards, his conduct at the Cyraelian
National Day celebratory dinner was completely outrageous. Strom and Pete did
their best to remain stone-faced as Jake practically made love to Tanith on the
dance floor in front of over two hundred dignitaries.
“It’s called dirty dancing,” Pete observed. “Ingrid showed
him how to do it.”
Strom’s hand closed into a fist at the mention of her name.
“Ingrid did that with him.”
“Yeah, at the burlesque club.”
Strom’s fingers tightened on his wineglass, snapping the
delicate stem in two. He looked down in surprise at a single drop of blood that
ran down his finger. He had an overwhelming urge to beat Jake to death on the
dance floor. How could she do this to him? They were a million light-years away
from each other and Ingrid could still drive him crazy. God, he would give
anything to be with her this minute.
Winter 2011
“Can’t you give her an epidural?”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Mr. O’Leary. Your wife’s
labor is too far advanced. It won’t be long now.”
Ingrid was cursing like a sailor and demanding drugs. Way to
go, girl. He could do with some himself. She thought she had indigestion, until
her water broke. He was never, ever buying her silk sheets for Christmas again.
“Finn, Finn, get in here. I’m not doing this on my own.”
He swigged deeply from the hip flask he had prepared
specially for the occasion and opened the cubicle curtain. It was more woman
than he ever wanted to see. “Ingrid, hon, I don’t know if I can do this.”
She was lying red-faced in the bed, wearing a distinctly
unattractive hospital gown. “You better get your butt in here, O’Leary, or
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