Unexpected

by Lori Foster

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Military Romance

Synopsis

Eli Conners expected hired mercenary Ray Vereker to be a tank of a guy with forty tattoos—not the feminine ideal with lethal combat skills. While Eli certainly needs Ray's help, the rest of him is thinking he might have something to offer her. . . Ray's as good as any man when it comes to storming enemy compounds and loading an AK-47, but who could blame a girl for succumbing to mind-blowing temptation in the steamy jungle? But now it's back to business. If only Ray wasn't feeling hot, bothered, dizzy. . . Suddenly, Ray's precise, no-nonsense mission is veering wildly off course, derailed by raging hormones, out-of-control desire, and a delirious love that is completely unexpected. . .

Release date: June 30, 2020

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

She’d already signed the contract.

Backing out now would blow her reputation with the agency, and besides, this mission would be a piece of cake. There was no reason to drag her feet. She needed the money, she was free at the moment, and it’d be a routine run, nothing more, nothing less. It’d be easier now than in the past. Everything had changed.

Herself included.

She shook her head at that errant thought. True, she was older now, wiser, more settled. But at the core, she was the same—unacceptable to most, invaluable to others. Her skills, an innate part of her, were still finely honed. She knew what she could do, and damn it, she’d do it. Hell, she’d missed doing it.

So why, when she pushed the door open and stared into the dim, smoky room of the bar, was her heart so heavy in her chest? It wasn’t the depressing gray cloud that hung thick in the air, not only from cigarettes, but from disgust and ambivalence and antagonism. This was far from a happy place, but then, she’d known it wouldn’t be. By necessity, it was an obscure hole in the Chicago slums where meetings like this one, with people like her, could be handled with discretion.

It was stupid to borrow trouble or dwell in indecision. Doing so undermined her credibility, so instead, she’d concentrate on getting this over with fast and easy, with no complications.

She had everything planned out.

Flipping her bangs off her forehead, she strode into the room, ready to get things started.

Several heads turned her way, scrutinizing her, making note of her appearance. Calculating. For much of her life, she’d gotten undue attention for one reason or another, most of the reasons uncomplimentary. She’d long since gotten used to the stares and the whispers. She ignored them all, and with luck, they’d show her the same courtesy.

Peering through the obscuring smoke, she scanned the tables and booths, searching out each darkened corner. Country music blasted through tinny speakers, vying with the boasting and bragging of drunken men. It was the typical atmosphere of a seedy bar. Without thinking, she rubbed her stomach, sick with a rush of vivid memories that never failed to surface.

Then her gaze locked onto his. Wow. The past faded away under the impact of the present—his impact. She felt . . . invaded.

Bright hazel eyes, radiant in the otherwise dismal interior, held her captive. She stared at him; he stared back.

Never before had she seen such intense emotion in a man’s expression. For a moment, it knocked her off guard. Without moving, he appeared turbulent, frustrated, filled with determination and impatience.

Because of his situation, or because she’d arrived late?

She watched him a moment more, taking his measure. He was bigger than most of the men she knew or had worked with. And he had a more self-assured air. That he’d be trouble she didn’t doubt—he pretty much screamed it with a capital T. But how much trouble, that’s what she needed to know.

Lounging back in his chair, he allowed her perusal, and even took the time to look her over, too. But then, amazingly enough, he dismissed her by giving his attention back to the entrance of the bar.

Cynical amusement nudged away the lingering nervousness. He hadn’t realized her identity? She wasn’t what he’d been expecting? Typical. And for a second there, she’d thought he might be more astute than the others.

Anticipating his reaction when she introduced herself, she started toward him. He sat at a solitary table at the far end of the room, his back to the wall so he could face the bar, a rear exit to his right. It was a guarded position she would have chosen, but probably just a coincidence for him.

She wove her way around tables, drunks, and proffered drinks without once taking her eyes off him.

As was her usual habit at such meetings, she’d dressed in plain black clothes. It made it easier to disappear if necessary, and didn’t draw added attention that more complimentary clothes might have.

Her long-sleeved tunic hung to midthigh, loosely fitted so it wouldn’t impede her movements should she need to take physical control of the surroundings. Her jeans were slim, her low-heeled boots only ankle high. She never wore jewelry—in fact, she didn’t own any—but she did carry a black briefcase. The case was an annoyance, but it usually proved necessary to have it handy.

When she stopped in front of him, his gaze came to her face, arrested for only a moment. Then slowly, very slowly, he looked her over again, his attention lingering in certain places like her chest, below her waist, her thighs. His look was so intimate, so personal that it brought on a mélange of sensations—outrage, disgust, and strangely enough, heat. Surely not embarrassment, she told herself. She was too old and far too jaded to be disconcerted by the likes of him.

His visual inspection was appreciative and felt like a tactile touch. Damn it, she didn’t like being touched, not without permission.

Her eyes narrowed, prompting him to a softly uttered, reluctant rejection. “Sorry, honey. It’s unfortunate, but I’m already busy tonight.”

The nerve. Despite her exceptional control, antagonism bristled to the surface. Her every movement rigid, Ray hooked a chair and drew it out. She seated herself, placing the briefcase at her feet for safekeeping.

He cocked one dark brow upward and braced his forearms on the rough, scarred table. The new position emphasized the width of his shoulders, the brawn of his arms. She’d expected another wimpy, slim GQ look-alike, but this man could be a barroom bouncer. He wasn’t bulky, just big and hard and solid.

Added to the fine physique were the eyes of a predator, now filled with annoyance. He leaned toward her with a scowl.

“I’m Ray Vereker,” she drawled, stopping him in his tracks. She didn’t say anything more, didn’t offer her hand in polite greeting. She just waited for the usual signs of disbelief and disparagement.

They were slow in coming.

Rather than gape, he leaned back and studied her anew. If she’d thought his earlier perusal was intimate, it was nothing compared to how he looked at her now. For a lesser person, for someone without her skills and background, it might have been an unnerving process. His eyes were such an unusual shade of hazel, cat eyes, bright with intelligence, almost menacing. They went from heated notice to cool regard.

Deciding to mock his up-close and personal inspection with one of her own, Ray draped one elbow over the back of the chair and slouched down in the seat to get comfortable. Wearing an air of unconcern, she took in his appearance, from his dark brown hair cut in precise lines to his straight, masculine nose and high cheekbones to his mouth, now flattened with irritation at her boldness. He had a stubborn jaw, she noted, proving he’d be plenty of trouble, indeed.

The black tee he wore looked softer than heaven, fitted over that broad chest. Even his open jacket screamed wealth, made of fine leather and deliberately scuffed to appear fashionably worn. The watch on his thick wrist probably cost as much as her truck. Maybe more. And his nails were impeccably clean.

Thanks to the table, she couldn’t see below his waist, but she’d be willing to bet the rest of him was as sturdy and strong as what she could see. Maybe it was a good thing half of him was hidden. Half was about all she could take at one time. The man made her heart race.

Though she doubted he’d ever been in such a ramshackle bar in his life, he didn’t look the least bit ill at ease. Even her presence, which had to be a shocker, hadn’t really rattled him.

To be honest with herself, she admitted he was very fine to look at. She appreciated strength and self-control. From what she could tell, he had both in spades.

Not that it mattered. He was still rich, and given what she’d seen so far, too arrogant for his own good. What fool came into such a place and advertised himself as an easy mark? By wearing the watch and the jacket, he’d done exactly that.

He was a fool, all right. And for the next few days, she owed him her service.

As the silence stretched on, Ray sighed and crossed her legs. She knew his tactic. He hoped to remain silent so long that she’d begin to babble nervously. He underestimated her. He could sit in strained silence as long as he wanted. Time was money, his money, and she didn’t mind wasting it if he didn’t.

He looked at her mouth, rubbed his own, then pinned her in place with a laser-sharp gaze. In a flat tone devoid of any telltale emotion, he said, “I requested the meanest son of a bitch they had.”

She gave a slow smile. “I know what you requested. I have your papers with me.”

“And?”

She lifted one shoulder, held up her hands to indicate her presence. “They complied.”

Eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. Ray noticed that his hands were large, sprinkled with brown hair. They looked like capable hands, not the pampered, smooth hands of a rich boy.

Catching herself, she jerked her attention back to his face. He scrutinized her, then asked with some disbelief, “Do you have any idea what it is I want from you?”

“Sure.”

With a touch of disbelief, his gaze slid all over her again, appraising, before both brows lifted. Ray never moved a muscle. He could look a dozen times if it made him feel better. She wouldn’t be changing.

“I assumed ‘Ray’ would be a man.”

“Assumptions are nasty things. They can get you into trouble.”

He waved that away. “What’s your real name?”

“Ray is my real name.”

“Your whole name then.”

“Why does it matter?”

Ray could feel his growing tension deep inside herself. It was an odd sensation, one she’d never experienced before. She half expected an explosion at any minute and braced for it, making herself tense, too.

“I’m wondering,” he said slowly, his unnerving attention on her mouth again, “if there’s some feminine nuance I’m missing.”

She smirked. “In me, or my name?”

His gaze snapped back to hers and he barked a laugh. “Honey, despite the hard attitude, your appearance is most definitely unmanly.”

He said that with . . . interest? No, no way. She was lousy at judging men and their various moods in regard to the whole man/woman thing, but she understood reality very well, thank you. No man in his right mind would be thinking of anything but the mission. Not with her. Not now.

And most definitely not after the mission ended, when her special skills had been revealed.

During her ruminations, the silence grew, and finally, because she had no reason not to, she said, “Ray Jean Vereker. But I go by Ray and only Ray. You’re given fair warning right now not to use my middle name, ever.”

Oddly enough, her warning evoked amusement. Oh, he didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile. But she saw the mischievous twinkle that entered those mysterious eyes. “Yeah? Or what?”

Done with the small talk, with the nonsense, Ray said, “Or I’ll walk out and you’ll be left to settle for the second meanest son of a bitch there is.”

A reluctant, slightly crooked grin tugged at his mouth, adding to his appeal. “You’re really that good?”

Ray didn’t hesitate. “I’m really that good.” She waited for his sarcasm, perhaps some outright derision.

Instead, he said, “Will you be offended if I ask for credentials?”

He wasn’t dismissing her out of hand? Well . . . that surprised her. Bemused, Ray straightened in her seat. “ ’Course not.” She pulled the briefcase up to the tabletop and with quick, deft movements opened the lock. She extracted the topmost papers and slid them across the table. “I’d think you were an idiot as well as a fool if you didn’t.”

He’d been reaching for the papers, but paused with her words. “You want to explain that?”

What the hell? He didn’t sound particularly insulted, more like intrigued. They needed to start out on the right foot, and that meant making him understand that if he accepted her, she was the boss and her rules were to be followed.

Her first rule would be to get him out of his fancy clothes and into gear much more suited to their purpose. That thought roused an image of the process, and unfortunately, it stalled at the part where he was out of his clothes, rather than in them. She’d be willing to bet he looked real good naked.

And if she didn’t stop thinking that way, things were going to get way too complicated.

Clearing her throat, Ray leaned on the table, making certain she had his undivided attention. “We’ll be lucky if we get out of here without someone trying to take your wallet or watch or both. And the men in here wouldn’t care if you got hurt in the bargain. Not that I’d let it happen,” she assured him. “When you’re with me, you’ll be safe. Part of my job is to protect you, and as I already said, I’m good at my job.”

“Like my own personal bodyguard, huh?”

His amusement stung. “An astute man adapts to his surroundings. An astute man knows it isn’t always necessary to flaunt his position in life. We’ll have our hands full without borrowing trouble for reasons of vanity.”

His expression sharpened as the amusement faded away. She’d made him mad. Very mad. It shone in every line of his taut face, the fire in his gaze.

Ray rolled her eyes. He wasted his time trying to intimidate her. Regardless of his good looks, she knew he’d be no different from any other wealthy man. Easy to take, and easier to leave. “Look, Mr. Connors . . .”

He snorted rudely. “You feel comfortable enough with me to throw out insults, so you may as well call me Eli.”

He’d surprised her again. She’d expected a blast of his anger, reciprocal insults, anything other than that calm, dry wit.

Ray didn’t like surprises. They were dangerous and could easily lead to trouble. She had to stop thinking she had him figured out. Maybe, just maybe, he was unique from the rest.

“It wasn’t an insult I gave you—”

“Fool? Idiot?” He snorted again, forcing her to fight off a smile.

“All right, it was, but I didn’t really mean it that way. Think of it more as an instruction.”

“An instruction on survival?”

“Why not? I was told you wanted to stick close, that you insisted on accompanying me when I go in.” And that’s what really nettled her. She worked alone. Always. Not since that awful time long ago had she allowed a partner. But damn it, she needed the pay a job like his would bring.

She drew a deep breath and continued. “Since it appears I have no say in that half-witted decision—”

“You don’t. It’s my brother over there, so I’m going along.”

“—and since I have no intention of causing myself extra worry just so you can dress in your finest, you’re going to have to follow my lead. In everything. Do I make myself clear?”

There was another long hesitation while Eli searched her face. She felt . . . touched again, as if he somehow saw below the surface. Impossible. She excelled at hiding all thought, all expression, and no one, certainly not a fancy-pants rich boy, would discern anything about her that she wanted kept private.

Finally, coming to some silent conclusion that he didn’t share, Eli said, “The watch is from my grandfather and it never comes off.”

Never wasn’t acceptable, but for now, Ray let it go. “And the jacket?”

His crooked grin reappeared. “The oldest one I own.”

She would not be charmed by that boyish smile. Straightening the papers on the table between them gave her something to look at other than those devastating eyes. “Gotcha. Well then, we’ll just need to shop before we leave.” Ray glanced up and away. “That is, if you still want me.”

Uncertainty hit her the second she said it, and she shoved the papers toward him. Affidavits, referrals, and recommendations made up her resume. There were no specific details on any missions because every case was covert, guaranteed high-priority privacy protection.

The papers would detail her abilities, her experience, and her success. But they wouldn’t give names or dates. Eli would never know that her missions had grown farther and farther apart—or why.

He accepted the documents, giving all his attention to her credentials. He took his time, carefully reading everything.

Without looking up, he said, “You’ve been to Central America before.”

The words wanted to stick in her throat, but she forced them out. “I’ve been there.”

“More than once?”

“More than once.” She wouldn’t give him specifics about those other times. The papers told him she’d succeeded in her missions, and anything more was none of his damn business.

But she could tell him what she’d already found out about this mission. “Your brother’s in Mataya.” That snared his attention. Hungry for info, he put the papers aside to listen. “It’s a small village that’s usually pretty peaceful. Now that they’ve got your brother, though, they see him as the pot of gold. You don’t have to worry. They’re treating him like a prince.”

“How can you know that?”

“I’ve had dealings with that village before. In the past, they’ve helped me with other rescues. In fact, that’s probably where they got the idea to try snatching your brother.”

“From helping you rescue other men?”

“Maybe. I have it on good authority that they won’t hurt him, but I doubt he’ll be comfortable with their standard of living. He won’t be dining on prime rib or soaking in the sauna, that’s for sure.”

Eli leaned toward her. “I was told by some of his friends who’d been with him that he wasn’t hurt, but no one knew how to get him back. There’s been no ransom demand, no official notice.”

She shrugged. “They probably don’t know what he’s worth.” She could just picture the bunch of them, pseudo guerillas, hashing over the dollar amount with hopeful greed. “The guys who took him are new at this.”

“How do you know for sure who has him?”

“I checked before agreeing to the job.”

“Your connections in Central America are that good?”

“Of course.” She didn’t tell him that she had befriended some of the people in years past. Locating a fair-skinned rich boy wasn’t all that hard. He stuck out like a broken thumb. “I know where he is, I know that he’s fine, and I know how to get him out with the least amount of hassle.”

“We don’t yet know what they want for him.”

She rolled her eyes again. “They want money—the only issue is how much you’ll have to actually pay, and that’ll be negotiable. It won’t be exorbitant. They’re so poor, ten thousand would seem like ten million to them.”

He seemed relieved by her confidence. She could actually see some of his pent-up anger easing. “I was told you were good.”

She accepted that tribute without modesty. “Yeah, I’ve been told that, too.”

He made a face of hesitant acceptance. “Your grasp of the situation verifies it, and certainly everything in your papers looks credible.”

She heard that “but” loud and clear. “So?”

“It’s still a little hard to believe.”

Here we go. “Because I’m female.”

“Because you don’t look cutthroat enough, powerful enough, or hardened in any way.” His drew a slow breath, his gaze locked on hers. “Hell, if anything, you look soft. Very soft.”

The way he said it kept her from actually hearing the words for a moment. When they did register, indignation exploded, causing her to slowly straighten. She felt her muscles—sleek, not obvious, but there all the same—quiver at the insult. Her body automatically went on alert, her senses rising to an acute level of awareness, ready to move with fluid speed.

Ready to kick his ass.

No man had ever dared to tell her she was soft. Most never gave it a thought one way or the other unless her talents were needed, and when she proved how hard she could be, they no longer cared. Her voice was silky and filled with menace when she purred, “You require a demonstration?”

He didn’t grin, but he definitely looked amused again. “Offering to beat me up?”

His humor rubbed her on the raw. “Don’t think I can’t.”

This time he actually laughed, but with incredulity and astonishment. “I probably outweigh you by ninety pounds, none of it fat. You really think you’re that good?”

Before the mission was finished, Ray vowed to show him just how good she could be. It’d be a well-deserved lesson, and one he wouldn’t forget. “I’m alive. That’s good enough for me.”

“Alive, but still a woman.” He tilted his head, laughing quietly. “It’s tough to swallow.”

Much more of his provocation and the lesson would come sooner rather than later. She wasn’t usually so prickly, but the majority of her jobs weren’t with a man like him. Most who hired her were obnoxious, arrogant, belligerent men who she could easily dismiss as unimportant and unworthy of her temper. They treated her as a lesser person. They did not dare to tease her, or smile at her with masculine pleasure.

They did not size her up as a woman.

Before she ruined everything by dislocating his shoulder, she got her temper under control. “Are we staying here? I want a drink if we are, and if not, well then, I suggest we get going. We’re drawing a lot of attention.”

Instantly alert, Eli’s piercing gaze swept around the room with hasty caution. “Where?”

Motioning with a tilt of her head, Ray said, “At the bar.”

He looked, and scowled at whatever he saw. “The bar is behind you. How do you know anyone’s paying attention to us?”

“Feminine intuition?”

His mouth flattened. “It was a legitimate question, Ray.”

With his mood soured, hers improved. “Yeah, all right. Don’t get your briefs in a bunch.” She watched with satisfaction as his expression tightened even more, then admitted, “I can feel it.”

“It?”

“Yeah. The growing tension, the static charge. Someone is plotting.” She gathered her papers and put them away, locking the briefcase and keeping it on the table in front of her. “I can feel the eyes, feel the hush in the air. The anticipation.”

When he only stared at her, she sighed. “It’s what I do, Eli, what I’m good at. Without gut instinct, I wouldn’t be here now.”

Eli considered that. She waited for his mockery, but after a thoughtful moment he nodded. “All right then. Let’s get out of here.” He pushed his chair back.

Triumph surged, but Ray didn’t give in to it yet. She wanted a commitment. She needed this job, much as it galled her to admit. There’d be hell to pay when Matt found out, but she’d handle him. “Then you do want me?”

Before Eli could answer, another voice, slurred with drink, sounded close behind her. “I want ya, honey.” A damp, meaty hand closed around her upper arm. Ray didn’t so much as flinch. She’d expected at least one battle before the night ended, and she wasn’t disappointed that she’d get it. Just the opposite.

Eli scowled, but Ray said only, “Looks like you’ll get . . .