Dangerous Liaisons: Bound To Serve
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by Honey Jans
Category: Erotica/Erotic Romance/Suspense/Thriller
Description: Bridget Jamison is an agent for the secret government agency, Delta Star. Her need to bring in Simon Perez, the elusive terrorist responsible for her ex-fiancés death, has become an obsession. When the director threatens to hand the case over to Condor, a mesmerizing ghost agent who has the power to make her weak in the knees with one intense look, she desperately makes a deal to hang onto her pet case. Condor knows the feisty redhead will be trouble. The inclination he has to put his slave bracelet on the hellcat, is a red flag. His mission was to infiltrate an S&M Retreat as a Dom to capture Perez, with a junior agent posing as his submissive. Instead, he's stuck with spirited Bridget, who ignites all kinds of fantasies as he squares off with her. Bridget smolders under Condor's touch, as he puts her through a crash course on submission. Opened up to a new level of sexuality, she is shocked to find herself on the verge of orgasm draped over his knee. Condor aches to take her, even though sex on missions is supposed to be simulated. Immersed in the Retreat's sensual setting, passion and duty clash as they track their quarry. Will Bridget realize that there can be power in submission, to love? Can Condor teach Bridget all his favorite sexual tricks without falling under her spell?
eBook Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press, 2008
eBookwise Release Date: February 2008
44 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [238 KB]
Reading time: 152-214 min.
"In Dangerous Liaisons: Bound to Serve, author Honey Jans takes the reader on a journey of erotic discovery and danger in equal measure. Bridget is a goal oriented, determined woman with no plan to ever submit to a man. And yet even as she remains stubbornly independent, she is forced to admit she craves the hot loving only Condor can give. Condor is determined to remain free of emotional entanglements, and yet while he does his best to 'train' Bridget, as he administers her punishments her tenacious spirit draws him in ways he has never experienced He is in turn forced to admit that it is in the beauty of her submission that she gains control over him, even as her sassy ways bring out the Dom in him. The intensity of their passion, combined with the high stakes game they are playing with murderers make this story by Honey Jans a thrilling read."--Five Angels from Fallen Angel Reviews
Bridget Jamison's heart raced as she hurried down the hall to Bran Frost's office inside Delta Star Headquarters. Her high-heeled pumps clicked on the gleaming marble floors as she ran. Maybe this would be the end of her quest. Increased chatter said that international terrorist Simon Perez was on the move. All her instincts as an agent told her something was going to break soon, and, for her ex-fiancé's sake, she hungered to be in on the kill.
James Clayton was killed in a terrorist bombing orchestrated by Perez three years ago. His death happened only hours after their breakup, and his body had never been recovered. Until the end of time, she'd feel responsible; thinking their breakup might have distracted him, leading to his death. It prompted her subsequent career move from systems analyst to field agent.
At any rate, a summons from the director wasn't something she could afford to ignore, especially since disobeying his direct orders in Homburg last month. Her instincts had proven right, a fact that secretly gave her pride. She'd apprehended the arms dealer, Hans Booker, after her superiors ordered her to pull out, thinking he'd fled the scene.
Intel, combined with her intuition and computer savvy, worked every time, but Director Frost didn't like having his commands countermanded, or ignored. She'd have to watch her step for a while to get back in his good graces.
Skidding to a halt in the director's anteroom, she breathlessly waited for Thelma, his personal assistant, to buzz her in. The stylish older woman remained focused on her task, her fingers flying over her keyboard as she typed. Bridget looked fondly at her mentor. The woman was a model of efficiency, while maintaining her fierce technical capabilities. Thelma could outshoot most of the agents on the gun range. The woman had befriended her when she'd changed career paths. Back then, she'd been a feisty trainee with a huge chip on her shoulder, resenting the establishment's contention that James had been careless, or worse. She'd had to work twice as hard to make her way up the agency's ladder, but she didn't mind. It made her stronger and sharper than most of her male counterparts.
She took in Thelma's dark hair, swept up in a sleek twist, her chic tailored suit, elegantly understated. She flicked a glance over the modern chrome and glass desk, topped as usual with a single red rose in a bud vase, and felt a bit more grounded. All was as it should be, no hint of disaster loomed.
Bridget admired Thelma's style and tried to emulate her. Unfortunately, her own long red hair had ways of escaping from the bun she put it into each morning, and she took pains to make sure that her drab business suits concealed her too curvy figure. She couldn't afford to let her sexuality detract from her efficiency. Cocky, immature agents, who thought they were God's gift to women, pissed her off.
Fraternization was frowned on, if not downright banned in the secret government agency, and she liked it that way. It kept her from getting her heart broken. It also kept her sexless. She'd learned the hard way that it was far better to keep her love life separate from her work, not that she was having much sex lately. Working nonstop could leave a woman unfulfilled. But on the plus side, being sexually hungry heightened her senses, made her sharper.
Thelma looked up at that moment, and frowned, her gaze cautious. Bridget tensed, detecting the worry in her mentor's gray eyes. No friendly chitchat this morning.
Shit ... I really am screwed.
"He's waiting," Thelma said, pressing one of the buttons on her desk. The director's door swung silently open on well-oiled hinges.
Bridget swallowed the lump in her throat and walked inside, her head held high, to take her medicine.
Director Frost was seated on his throne-like leather desk chair, behind a huge antique mahogany desk. The burnished top glowed with a rich patina that only time could create. His desktop was cluttered with papers and two executive desk toys he liked to fidget with. Listening to Frost's crisp tone as he gave orders into the phone, she decided the director's last name fit him to a "T". His prematurely white hair belonged on an older man, but somehow fit him, and, coupled with his ice-blue eyes, gave him an air of authority. He gave the circular toy a spin as he offered a pithy reply to the person on the other end of the phone.
Even with Bran Frost's leashed energy, he still reminded her of the hard-charging field agent he'd once been, a protégé of her father's. He'd been close to her father, succeeding him when he retired. But that didn't mean he cut her any slack, quite the contrary. He seemed to hold her to a higher standard, and she was glad of it. There was no way she wanted others to think she'd climbed up the ranks based on favoritism.
Frost kept talking, while casting an inscrutable glance her way. He motioned her toward a chair with a curt wave of his hand, and she rushed to comply. She perched on the stiff wing chair, meeting his ice-blue eyes with a relaxed look, determined not to show any anxiety. The first lesson a would-be field agent learned was never to show weakness. He could have summoned her to tell her good news about Perez. Yeah, and pigs will fly some day soon.
Waiting patiently wasn't her forte, but she endeavored to appear serene just the same, feeling much like a kid called to the principal's office. Taking a calming yoga breath, she smoothed her drab gray wool skirt down her toned legs, and sat up straight, checking to make sure the top button of her matching gray jacket was secure. Not that Frost was the type swayed by womanly wiles.
A tingling sensation broke though her tension, making her nerve endings sizzle in response. Someone was watching her, their gaze palpable--like it was caressing her back--making her skin tickle. She turned in that direction, glancing casually toward a dimly lit corner of the room, and all her hormones went haywire. Condor. His code name beat like a drum in her mind, as her eyes locked with the disreputable ghost agent's compelling brown ones. Lounged in an armchair in the corner, he watched her closely, tracking her like the predator he was. His thick dark hair curled over the collar of his black leather motorcycle jacket. His square jaw covered with stubble, on his harshly compelling face. Dressed in biker leathers, the ruggedly handsome stud looked like he'd just come off the road. A notorious loner, he seemed immune to Delta Star rules, or the agency dress code, for that matter.
Her fascinated gaze roamed over him, despite her disapproval. He carried the cool self-confidence of a gunslinger, and the adventurous part of her personality was foolishly drawn to him. Hot chocolate brown eyes drew her in, and seemed to strip her bare of her defenses, making her want to learn all his secrets. Sprawled nonchalantly, his scuffed boots stacked atop each other, and she noticed that even his pants were leather. Her gaze swept up his long powerful legs, to the distinct bulge at his crotch. Blushing, she tore her gaze off his overgenerous manly package in time to see his hunky mouth kick into a slow grin that said, Who's your daddy?
Her whole body tingled in response, her nipples beading. Not you, honey, the rational part of her lust-addled mind screamed as she told herself to get a grip. The few times she'd seen him, she'd had the same fierce primal reaction, but she hadn't been stupid enough to get this close, within his striking distance.
Bridget scowled back at him, her lips tingling as she stared at his sensual mouth. Suspicion fizzled the rest of her inappropriate arousal. She put her aberrant sexual response down to stress. Something was very wrong. Frost didn't have visitors in his office unless it was business related. Condor swooped in when other agents failed. It all added up to one career-shattering explanation.
Damn it all, she hadn't failed. The worst she was guilty of was insubordination over the Booker incident. Frost wouldn't take away one of her cases for that, would he? She bit her lip. The man did run a tight ship. She'd learned that the hard way when she ran up against a brick wall insisting he delve deeper, work harder, to investigate James' death. The man had even sent her for a psych evaluation, much to her embarrassment. She wasn't crazy, but knew a cover up when she saw one. James had died under a cloud of controversy.
The only case still open on her desk was James'--the Perez case. It'd been open for three years. Why bring in Condor now? Her spine went rigid at the very idea. No damned way would she give it up! Her tech squad had recently managed to ferret out information as to his possible whereabouts. She was too close to closure to kiss it goodbye. And she so badly needed to bring down the terrorist responsible for so much carnage. * * * *
Ross Longtree, code named Condor, leaned back in his chair. A flash of heat hit him where he lived as he watched the feisty, buttoned up, redhead react to his presence. Oh yeah, her reputation as a ball-buster was true; he could read it in her defiant green eyes. He noticed the ample swell of her breasts straining her blazer as she took a deep breath. More than a handful for him, and he had big hands. Her budding arousal damned near matched his, making his cock twitch and swell behind his fly. He was very good at reading people; it was what kept him safe. The lady ought to wear danger signs, he decided, focusing on her full curves obscured by the god-awful gray suit she wore.
He leaned closer; his heart beating faster as he caught her scent, cherry bark and almond, and his mouth watered. He so wanted a bite of her. He'd never eat cherries again without fantasizing about tasting her. The slave bracelet in his pocket seemed to heat up at the erotic thought. She'd probably taste like cherries all over. She's not for you stupid. His hand closed over the antique gold band, but he fingered the emblem of his dominance just the same.
What if he put his slave bracelet on her, carried her off, and took her on this mission as his submissive? Just the thought was enough to jump-start him into a throbbing hard-on. The discomfort brought him back to Earth. Delightful as the thought of taming her was, it wasn't an option. Besides, a buttoned up siren like her would probably freak before he taught her how to let down her hair and purr. He'd be going after Simon Perez all right, but with a junior agent of Frost's choosing playing his submissive. Sweet and obedient window dressing that would allow him to get on with the job.
Anyway, he'd already studied the Perez file as well as Bridget's personal one, noting Frost's comments about her outbursts. He'd then hacked deep into her personnel file. He knew all about her special link to the case--her secret engagement to reckless young agent, James Clayton. And the fact her old man was the former director, giving her a little edge in the agency whether she wanted to admit it or not. Brilliant but headstrong, Agent Bridget Jamison had rapidly climbed the ranks after she made the move from computers to field agent. Now she was about to get her pet case ripped out of her pretty little hands. She sure as hell wouldn't take this lying down. He looked forward to the fireworks.
He was usually called in to do dirty work and clean-up. It was one reason he was a pariah at Delta Star. Agents tended to be very territorial; they also didn't like admitting that they fucked up. Ordinarily he didn't care, but something about the woman--now openly glaring at him--brought out his protective instincts.
Damn Frost, for dragging him off his long deserved vacation!
Condor watched the quick intelligence in Bridget's eyes, as she put two and two together. Her fierce glare told him she wouldn't go away without a fight. It almost made it worthwhile that he'd cut his road trip short. Sparring with the hellcat might actually make him feel alive before he turned back into a ghost.
He was dimly aware of Bran hanging up the phone, his speculative icy gaze lingering on the two of them. The man was a born manipulator, making him an effective director of the underground secret agency. It didn't draw his focus, even when he noticed the twinkle in his old friend's eyes. Bran was getting a kick out of them squaring off. He made a mental note to kick his boss' ass at racquetball on their next match.
"Agent Jamison," Director Frost said, impatiently.
Bridget tore her incensed gaze off Condor and spun to look at the director. His irritated tone told her he'd been trying to get her attention for a while. Embarrassed to be caught staring, she felt her cheeks flame, but held her head high. Taking a calming breath, she nodded serenely, folding her damp hands in her lap. Hardening herself to Condor's distracting presence, she said, "Yes, sir."
Frost eased back in his chair, playing with one of his desk toys. He swung a small ball that smacked into another, starting a never-ending pendulum motion. "As I was saying, you're to be commended, Agent Jamison. Your tech squad has managed to ferret out a discernable pattern for Simon Perez."
Bridget's stiff shoulders softened with relief, as she listened to the mesmerizing click, click, click of the balls. All that worrying about losing her case for nothing; it taught her the folly of jumping to conclusions. Of course, the director appreciated her creative field techniques. "Thank you, sir. It's wonderful news." Lord, there was so much to do ... put together a team ... work up a plan of attack. There'd be time to celebrate after she brought down Perez.
She even turned to flash Condor a friendly smile that was met by his enigmatic gaze. He didn't have friends, at least not around here. Well, no one could win them all. Refocusing, she turned back to Frost, filled with new purpose. "Give me his location, sir, and I'll put together my team."
The director's puckered brow, coupled with the stiff set of his broad shoulders, broke through her elation. He was cutting her; she read it in his unyielding gaze, and her heart sank.
Frost reached out to stop the swinging toy, eyeing her closely. "I'm reassigning this to Longtree, and Agent Harrison. You can fill him in before he goes."
The breath left her lungs in a gasp, as the reason for Condor's infuriating presence was made abundantly clear. Damned poacher! She slanted a glare his way and watched his hard mouth kick up in a half smile. The bastard had expected her reaction, and he was getting off on it. No, she cried inside, incensed, struggling not to show it.
An outburst would only harden Frost's resolve; she'd learned that from bitter past experience. Didn't matter, Condor couldn't be allowed to steal her case, and Jennifer Harrison, a junior agent--a fluffy, playboy bunny wannabe--wouldn't either. Whether Frost was doing this as a reprimand or really thought she couldn't handle it, she didn't know, but she was damned well going to find out. Either way, she had nothing left to lose. She turned back to Frost, her mind made up. "Why are you doing this, sir? It is my beat."
He arched an imperious brow. "Agent Jamison, I don't have to answer your impertinent question. But I will just this once, given your deep personal attachment to this case."
Deep personal attachment! She tensed as he said the words. How does the director know about James? They'd kept their affair a secret, as well as its demise, from everyone in the agency because of the non-fraternization rule, pretending to be just good friends. And it was on that basis that she'd pressed for more involvement in the case. "Deep personal attachment?"
Frost gave her a sad, but understanding smile. "You didn't think you could keep your engagement secret from me?"
She should have known she couldn't hide anything from Bran Frost, the spy. "You didn't say anything about..."
"Fate, in the form of a bombing, took the problem away."
James wasn't a problem, except that he'd cheated on her, lied to her. She shuddered, closing her eyes. Still, it didn't mean she didn't want to bring his murderer to justice. "Well then, why are you taking me off the case? You know how motivated I am."
"And biased," Frost said.
Bridget bit her lip to keep from shouting at him. It wasn't true, was it? Well, she had been rather single-minded.
"You don't have the qualifications," Condor cut in.
"What a crock," she muttered as Condor's teasing words cut through her musings. Shooting a glare at the ghost agent who still lounged in his chair, she wanted nothing more than for him to back off. The notorious agent was old school, a relic from the Stone Age. He was probably more apt to blow things up than investigate. From her point of view, he was the one lacking in credentials. Unless he had some special training she didn't know about. "What qualifications do you have, that I don't possess?" she asked, challenging him.
"Perez likes his sex with a little kink," Condor cut in dryly, his eyes twinkling. "I'm a Dom by training and inclination."
Heat infused her face at Condor's plainly spoken words. As she felt it spread down her body, she cursed her redhead's tendency to blush. Condor's seemingly fascinated gaze followed the blush down the v of her white blouse until it disappeared into no man's land. Mortified, she turned her back on him, refusing to be drawn into this discussion, and refocused on the director. "Sir, don't listen to him. I'm very qualified to lead this mission. The subject of sex doesn't bother me. I even played a Dominatrix once, if you'll recall." She'd actually played a small part in that mission, but she wasn't going to point that out. "How about if I play Dominatrix, and paddle Condor's snarky ass?"
She noticed Condor uncoil from the chair, all six-foot-six inches, of hot, do-me-twice male. How could she not, his fluid power was spellbinding, making her nipples tingle and bud inside her clothes. Years of celibacy had to be responsible. The first chance she got, she'd get laid, but not by him. She needed a man she could control. The playful, bad boy, smile ghosting his lips made the breath catch in her throat. She couldn't look away, even though she knew it was madness to stare. He's not that impressive; get your head back in the game, girl. His powerful, amused gaze told her he knew what she was thinking.
"Love, you can try to paddle my ass if you want, but you won't win. I'll be bringing Jennifer as my submissive. She might not have your fire, but she knows how to behave, and keep on task."
Love. The cutesy nickname pissed her off almost as much as his brash reference to male domination. And that keep on task crack didn't set very well, either. It seemed he knew all about her misbehavior in Homburg. Simon Perez probably did get off on denigrating women; it fit in with his sociopath profile. She didn't think that Condor was cut from the same cloth, but he was the kind of guy who would want to be on top. A Dom by nature and inclination, huh? He looked it, giving off those commanding vibes, but he couldn't dominate her.
Rising as Condor stepped her way, she stared him down, knowing that most men backed down from her fierce, take-no-prisoners glare. Condor didn't even blink. Damn! His dark compelling eyes flared with interest, and he smiled, turning him from fierce to devastating. Her knees wobbled. She'd never met the man who could control her. Her pumps added two inches to her five-foot-six inch height, but she still had to, annoyingly, look up to meet Condor's hard, yet playful gaze. "Like you've got the qualifications for that," she snapped.
"Actually I do. Care for a sample?"
His sultry voice and teasing words were so much more effective than gruff threats. Double damn! She strengthened her resolve not to fall under his spell. Was he just making this Dom pose up? Every rousing feminine instinct inside her said no. Crap! Where did that leave her? Filling Jennifer's shoes, if she wanted to hang onto her case--just the thought made her tingle. Sex on missions was always simulated, she reminded herself, another one of those non-fraternization rules. Condor didn't follow the rules. That meant something more physical. Something told her getting that close to Condor would be dangerous. "So you get off on subjugating women, do you? How unenlightened of you, Condor."
"Sent anyone out for a testicular retrieval lately?" he shot back, with a quick grin.
The playful question made her jaw drop. How did he know about the Randolph fiasco? It was supposed to be covered up by her father, one of his last acts as director, before he retired. The accident from her early days as a field agent had sent a suspect with roving hands to the hospital. She thought she heard a chuckle beside her, and turned to fix a startled stare at the director. Was the man who never seemed to crack a smile laughing at her? He was keeping a straight face, but there was a twinkle in his cool eyes that she'd never seen before. Well, hell, it was two against one, bad odds; still she couldn't afford to back down.
Frost cleared his throat. "I've made my decision. Agent Harrison might be new, but she can follow orders."
She winced. Damn, she'd known her insubordination would come back to haunt her, but not at this great a cost. "I can carry off Agent Harrison's roll and I'd be of more help to Condor, with my computer skills, and my photographic memory." It wasn't bragging, she was tops in the computer lab, and her photographic memory was a bonus. Little facts she'd retained had saved several dodgy missions and Frost knew it.
Her computer skills had drawn her to the agency in the first place, before the bombing that had changed her life, and her career direction. Condor, for his part, had probably never touched a computer in his life. Frost was wavering a little, steepling his fingers together as he looked at her, which usually meant he was mulling things over.
Condor stepped a little closer, she could feel his body heat sizzling into her side, smell his sexy earthy scent, an intoxicating mix of leather and hot man. She tried to ignore him.
"You'd have to enter the compound nude, love," Condor said, adding bluntly, "Sex slaves at The Retreat are often kept nude."
The prospect of prancing around in her birthday suit in front of Condor was embarrassing, and to her shame, enticing. You're the original ice queen, Bridge, and you do not get off on masterful men. Tell him to go screw himself. Her nipples budded tight under her clothes just the same. It was the shock. She was glad her loose jacket disguised her primal reaction. One of them would come out of this battle of the sexes victorious, and it would be her. "So? I'm not ashamed of my body, Condor."
He smiled. "I'm not so sure. The barbed wire suit you're wearing says you're hiding something."
"Bite me, you chromo." His sexy chuckle made her melt inside, even while she wanted to drop him where he stood, and demonstrate her displeasure.
"Easy, sugar. I do outrank you." He brushed a stray tendril of hair away from her heated face. "You'd have to convincingly play my submissive lover, including bondage, discipline, the whole bit. I'd spank you for real. A hellcat like you could never pull the roll off successfully. Besides, I'd barely have time to train you. I'm afraid you won't do."
Bridget tingled; her breath catching as his warm, battle-scarred fingertips gently brushed her cheek, making heat bloom in their wake. For some bizarre reason, she found herself leaning toward him. The man was a hot walking advertisement for sex and she couldn't help responding. What painful secrets did his gruff demeanor hide? You do not want to know. She forced herself to step back. His hand fell and she could swear she saw regret in his dark and stormy eyes. Nonsense, he was clearly trying to scare her off, so he could steal her case.
Frost cleared his throat.
Bridget's embarrassed attention snapped back to him. How long had she and Condor been staring at each other with inappropriate heat in their eyes?
Frost sighed. "Condor's right, you simply won't do, Agent Jamison."
Furious, as the director dismissed her while giving her attire a doubtful once-over, Bridget knew the time had come to play her last card. She nimbly unbuttoned her suit jacket and slipped it off, laying it on her chair, well aware that the florescent light above highlighted her breasts inside her white silk blouse; the pink lace bra lovingly cupping her curves. She then unpinned her hair, letting it fall so it tumbled around her shoulders like a fiery curtain. Only then did she look at the director, and was relieved to note that he was smiling. "Well?"
Frost nodded, his amusement showing. "You'll do. What do you think, Condor?"
Finding the nerve to look at her would-be Dom, she was startled by the heat of arousal in Condor's eyes. His annoyance was just as easy to read, in the hard set of his mouth; he didn't like being played. Maybe regaining control of her case would be easy. She nibbled her lip and watched his irises contract. Hell, yeah. Condor was a dead duck.
He scowled back at the director. "I suppose I can whip her into shape."
She bit her lip at his words. Would he really use whips? Her bottom seemed to heat up, and she felt a blush surge through her again. She watched Condor study her reaction with a pleased smile. Damn!
Frost handed Condor a thick manila file. "Just so you understand, Jamison, Condor is Agent-In-Charge in the field. You will need to take your orders directly from him, and obey them. Any objections?"
It didn't matter who pulled rank as long as she was free to do her job. "No objections. I'm sure there's a lot I can learn from someone with his decades of field experience." She watched Condor's frown and knew he'd gotten the unsaid message that he was a dinosaur.
He turned and stalked out of the office without a word.
Well, hell, if this was a sample of his leadership style, it was going to be a rocky road. Gritting her teeth, she shrugged back into her blazer, and ran after him, knowing, without a doubt, she was in deep trouble.