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  She looked at the wide strap across their naked bodies. “Do you see how ridiculous this is?”

  He turned his head on the pillow they shared. “I don’t know. I kinda like it.” His wet hair brushed her forehead.

  “Did you take a shower?”

  “There’s another bathroom in the main cabin.”

  “We don’t smell of soap.”

  “An operative isn’t supposed to smell pretty. Imagine a bad guy smelling Brut as he rounds a corner. We’re supposed to not have a smell at all.”

  “Hmm.

  “But your skin has a deliciously, distinct smell. Honey and orange blossoms. I could find you blindfolded in a dark room.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that before. But that’s not likely to come up soon, since I live in Chicago, and I have no idea where you live. What happened with Colton?”

  “My brother’s on his way to Montana, which is where I happen to live, in the second transport. He’s not a happy camper, but considering how I was feeling when I left him, he’s lucky he has no more than a black eye and a split lip.”

  The wheels bit into the gravel as they increased speed, shifting Hannah flush against Gray, so their arms touched. His bicep flexed in response to the brush of her skin. She loved the way he just tossed out a pertinent piece of information in-between the rest.

  She rolled a little on her side so her breast pressed against his arm.

  His muscles bunched everywhere they touched. She raised a brow, something he’d taught her when she was twelve. “You beat up your own brother?”

  “Once, for putting you in danger, once for stealing from the Moms,” he paused, eyes hot as he scanned her features. “And once, for taking you on board that fucking ship so he could show off.”

  When she dropped her gaze to his mouth, her own lips pulsed in response. “You hit him for the same reason twice.”

  “Only because Hensley held me back,” his tone was dry.

  “Don’t sound so proud of yourself! You stole a hangar, and three fishing boats, and you berated your brother? You two are a fine frigging pair, aren’t you?”

  “One does what one has to do.”

  “Yes. You Burke boys always did do whatever you damn-well pleased, didn’t you? Just so you know, as soon as I get this last matter resolved, I’m moving to an undisclosed tropical beach, where there are hot and cold running waiters, no telephones, and clothing is optional.” As she added the last, she had the satisfaction of seeing his pupils flare.

  He didn’t reach for her. He didn’t attempt to close the scant few inches between their mouths. His expression was dark and serious, his gray eyes glittered like polished silver. “What about your dream of being a performer?”

  There was no chance of that now, probably never had been a chance, only a dream. She’d grown up. Moved on. Dreamed less, and become a pragmatist. “I’ll wear my bikini and play for the beachcombers. What do you care?”

  “I care-“

  The plane lifted off as they lay side by side, a belt across their waists. Tying them together, when, despite the mind blowing sex, emotionally they were miles and years apart. Hannah stared up at the ceiling, tears stinging her lids. “If I hadn’t been in Ecuador chasing after Colton, I’d never have seen you again, would I? Not a damn word in three years, Gray. I guess you figured I wouldn’t notice your absence for another three, or thirty! The odds of us bumping into each other in Ecuador of all places must be – Oh, a breath over zero to zero.”

  “Zero was all we needed.”

  A twist of fate that neither could’ve anticipated. Knowing now what Gray did for a living, made the chance meeting more profound and precious.

  She swallowed over the emotions knotted in her throat. If she believed in fate. . .

  She didn’t. Not anymore. Grayson’s betrayal three years ago had brought her back to reality from the fairytales with a resounding thump.

  He’d broken her heart once, but she couldn’t let this opportunity pass without letting him know she’d never stopped loving him. Asshole that he was.

  Then she’d finally be able to set them both free.

  It was going to be a second blow to her still cracked heart she wasn’t sure she’d recover from. But if she didn’t do this or face this, it would always haunt her. He would haunt her. As he always had. God. . . Her chest ached and her eyes burned.

  She felt the wheels of the aircraft retract as the plane reached altitude. “How long’s the flight?”

  “Fourteen hours give or take with refueling.”

  She unsnapped the buckle. “Are you allowed to use electronic devices on this fancy plane of yours?”

  “Su- Absolutely not.”

  “Right answer.” She touched his unshaven jaw. He shuddered, closing his eyes as she traced his features lightly with one finger, then trailed a line from his stubborn jaw down the center of his chest.

  “Because I don’t want to have to figure out who you’re talking to when you’re with me. And I don’t want you talking to anyone but me for the next fourteen hours.”

  “I’m your prisoner?”

  Her lips curled into a smile as she glanced down at the seatbelt. “Yes. Do you need a hostage negotiator?”

  “If you’re planning on keeping me as your love slave for fourteen hours you’re all I need.”

  “Another right answer.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - RICOCHET

  Gray stacked his hands under his head to watch her get dressed. She insisted on being clothed before they went into the main cabin to forage for something to eat. Mike had two juicy steaks with their names on them, just waiting to hit the broiler.

  He admired Hannah’s pale butt, taut from her yoga classes. “You have a Grade A ass, you know that?” Grayson said lazily, enjoying the view. Golden hair a tangled mess around her shoulders, her creamy skin reddened in patches from his rough beard, she looked like a well satiated pagan goodness standing there naked.

  Glancing at him over her shoulder she pulled black drawstring pants over her bare butt and reached for a long-sleeved t-shirt- also black. “You sweet-talking devil you. Hurry up and at least put pants on. Feed me. I have to eat to keep up my strength for the rest of the flight.”

  He’d rather keep her in bed, but they both needed fuel. Reluctantly he flung his feet to the floor, and stood. Since his LockOut was in the other bathroom, he walked across to a hidden set of drawers to dig out an identical outfit to the one Hannah wore.

  He knew as soon as he heard her horrified inhalation, that she’d just got a visual of the horrific scars on his back. Burns, whip slashes. Stonefish’s legacy.

  “Dear God,” she whispered, horror thick in her voice. “Who did that to you?”

  He turned. He hadn’t wanted her to get a look at the worst of it. Stonefish was known for his secondhand cruelty. Never lifted a hand himself, but tortured through his intermediaries while he watched from a remote location. He was a sadistic son of a bitch, and Grayson suspected the men sent to work him over in that shoe-box-sized Columbian cell had added their own brutal twists to the interrogation.

  “Stonefish. Indirectly- Oh, Jesus. Don’t cry, sweetheart. It was a long time ago.”

  Rushing into his arms, she wrapped her arms around his waist, her tears hot on his chest. “It’s happening today for me.”

  Grayson stroked her back murmuring soft words that made no sense, but seemed to calm her. Knowing his beautiful, delicate Tink had been that close to the sadistic fucker chilled Grayson’s blood.

  “I want you to share every last horrific detail with me.” Her arms tightened. “But will you tell me, as briefly, and with as little detail as possible, so I know now?”

  “I was on an op in Columbia. Captured a few weeks before returning home for our wedding. His people wanted information on what T-FLAC knew about the ALNF— For almost six months they kept me isolated in the mountains. Torture. Mind Games. Hell.” He didn’t want to downplay what he’d endured. Better she know now. “It was- bad. Re
al bad. But my men found me and broke me out. It took the better part of a year in the hospital and rehab-“

  “You’d just been released from the hospital that night you came to see me? God, Gray! Why didn’t you tie me down and force me to listen to you?”

  “Not exactly released.“ He kissed her tears away. “I saw you kissing some guy that afternoon, then my mother told me you’d met- Fuck, no that’s not it. Or rather all of it. Yeah, I was jealous. And under better circumstances, I would’ve gone in there and ripped the guy’s face off and staked my claim. But a moment of sanity prevailed. I knew, as much as it broke me to admit it to myself, that you deserved more than what I’d become. I was broken, Tink. Emotionally and physically. I didn’t want to accept it, but that was my reality.”

  “I would’ve accepted you any way I got you.” Liquid blue eyes shone up at him. “I loved you unconditionally, Grayson. Then, and even more so now. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  A shudder went through his body as he shook off the lingering fear that she’d reject him out of hand. But this was Hannah- “I knew. It kept me going when things turned to shit. But I couldn’t inflict the man I’d become on you. I loved you too much. I would’ve destroyed everything good in you. That’s why it was best for me to fuck off and work on myself a while longer. You deserved a whole man. Not half of one.” He buried his nose in her still damp hair, swearing he could smell orange blossoms. “Stopping Stonefish has been my holy grail, my reason for moving through my days. He eluded me for three years, on four continents- Now he’s not only identified, but in T-FLAC’s hands. He won’t escape. He’s over. That impediment to our happiness is. . .over.”

  “Over?” Drenched eyes haunted, she shook her head. “How could it be? He’s wrapped up, but the world is filled with terrorists. You know better than I do, there are always more. And I know you, Gray. You’ll always want to be in the thick of things. As soon as this is over, you’ll be on to your next assignment.”

  “You are my next assignment, Hannah.”

  “That’s nice to hear, but hardly practical.” She stepped out of his arms to pull on the T-shirt. It was a crime to cover those perky breasts. “I’m going home to Chicago, and hopefully I’ll persuade the Moms to sell the store. You’re a spy. How do those two diametrically opposed lives coexist? Even James Bond didn’t have a steady girlfriend.”

  He’d tell her later that the pill Stonefish tried to give his lieutenant, Deeks, was cyanide. That they’d discovered that his feckless brother had stolen a handful of diamonds on his way off the ship. More than his buy in. Hannah could repay the Moms’ money three-fold. He’d tell her all that- later. Much later.

  “I don’t want you as my girlfriend. We lost three years. I want us to get married and start our life together right away.”

  “A rose covered cottage with a sniper rifle over the door? How do you see that working, Gray?”

  Operatives did marry. It was always a work in progress, but they seemed to make it work. But if Hannah objected, he’d figure something else out. Because nothing, and no one was ever going to keep him away from her again. “I’ve been considering switching gears, and instructing operatives from our HQ in Montana. That’s just a couple of hours plane ride to Chicago. And as much as the Moms travel, they could change locations and buy places near us. I’m not promising easy, but will you come to Montana, marry me, and be my love, Tink?”

  Cupping his face in both hands, her big blue eyes scanned his face. Her lips were pink and slightly swollen, and she drew in a small shuddering breath. “It’s all about taking risks, about rewards and second chances, isn’t it? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. No one will ever love you as much as I do. You’ve always been my heart, Grayson. Always. That will never change. So, yes, I’ll go anywhere with you. Everything else can be figured out as we get to it-“

  Grayson wrapped her in his arms, tilting her chin so they were eye to eye. “Yeah. All that.” And he kissed her with everything in him. They were going to get that happy ending after all.

  Tropical Heat Back Cover Text

  TROPICAL HEAT - ENHANCED

  Original Copyright © 2013 by Cherry Adair

  A T-FLAC Short Story

  Special ops tactical instructor Sam Pelton trains T-FLAC operators for high-risk counterterrorism environments. He’s had his eye on reserved Dr. Elizabeth Goodall for some time. But the good doctor isn’t exactly falling at his feet, so he has to move slowly to romance her. Then things get really hot- tropical hot – when he discovers Beth has been kidnapped by a madman while attending a seminar in Cape Town. Sam has to get her the hell out of the jungles of Africa before they realize they’ve kidnapped the wrong doctor.

  To escape from a brutal warlord, they must confront a powerful attraction that could prove more treacherous than the wilds of the jungle…

  Tropical Heat Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Tropical Heat Personal Guide

  Dossier and Interview Sam Pelton

  Dr. Elizabeth Goodall

  Tropical Heat Storyboard Images

  Behind The Writing Of Tropical Heat

  US Army Physician Research

  CHAPTER ONE - TROPICAL HEAT

  Huren

  Congo Basin

  Central Africa

  The brilliant lights of the operating room glinted off the scalpel being held to Dr. Elizabeth Goodall’s slender throat.

  Flat on his belly in the main air-conditioning duct directly above them, Sam Pelton aimed his Sig Sauer between the soldier’s expressionless eyes. The state-of-the-art, multi-million-dollar operating room wouldn’t have been unusual if it had been in a large hospital in a major city anywhere in the world. But this OR was smack in the middle of the jungles of Central Africa.

  “Obviously I was brought all this way for a reason,” Beth was saying a little desperately. “Just tell me why. There’s no need to threaten me with the scalpel.” When she got nothing more than a blank stare, she dragged in a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. “Who’s in charge? You?” she asked the guy with the blade.

  Yeah. I’d like to see the asshole in charge, too, Sam thought, watching them through the small holes he’d pierced in the metal duct. This top-secret compound, deep in the Huren jungle, belonged to President Sipho Nkemidilm. What was so damn urgent that he’d had a prominent physician kidnapped from a bustling metropolitan hotel and flown thousands of miles to his hidden compound?

  Something big. The compound was crawling with heavily armed, CamoClad soldiers. More of them than had been reported here a week ago. It didn’t bother Sam that there were twenty trained soldiers in residence. Twenty to one weren’t insurmountable odds. He had an arsenal of weapons on him, and a heavier pack, fully equipped, concealed several clicks away in the jungle. Another smaller pack was hidden just outside the compound. He was loaded for bear, with the skills and determination to use either his weapons, or whatever else was at hand. Whatever it took to expedite this rescue mission.

  One of the men shoved a handful of blue fabric at Beth’s midsection. It drifted to the floor as she made no move to accept it, and instead, glanced around the brightly lit room without moving her head. “Does anyone here speak English?” she asked with admirable calm.

  They didn’t. Or pretended they didn’t.

  Her red-gold hair, pulled up in its customary simple ponytail, was disheveled, and her amber freckles stood out in sharp relief on her pale skin. Her eyes flickered between the man holding her at blade-point and the three stony-faced, AK-47-wielding soldiers flanking her.

  Two more uniforms were stationed at the door. A seventh man, presumably the anesthesiologist, stood hunch-shouldered and mute at the head of the operating table, clearly trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possibl
e.

  Wasn’t going to save his sorry ass. Sam was ready, willing, and freaking able to blow the place to smithereens at the first opportunity. Once he had Beth. Once she was safe. Dropping down now, guns blazing, while personally satisfying, might get her killed. That was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  The son of a bitch with the scalpel at her throat would be the first to die.

  They’d snatched the wrong doctor. His doctor, goddamn it. At least that’s what Sam believed. Beth was a general practitioner, and while he, and the entire town of Brandon, Montana, thought she was extra special, as far as he knew she didn’t have any more skills than the several hundred other GPs in attendance at the symposium she’d been attending in Cape Town. He suspected the tangos thought they’d snatched plastic surgeon Lynne Randall. And the second they realized their mistake, Beth would be dead.

  And before they killed her she’d be begging to be dead faster.

  He had to get her the hell out of here sooner than ASAP. People said Sam Pelton didn’t have a nerve in his body, that ice water ran in his veins. But right now he was as scared as he’d ever been. Everything was different about this op because Beth was in the center of it.

  Scalpel-dick jerked his head, indicating that one of the men pick up what Sam presumed were scrubs. The pulse at the base of Beth’s throat pounded her stress level, yet she still refused to accept the clothing. Her sangfroid was remarkable. But that was Beth. Always cool, calm and collected.

  That’s it. Keep your head, sweetheart. I’m right here.

  Ignore the scalpel indenting her skin, Sam told himself savagely. Ignore the way her fear, and the stark white lights, leeched all the color from her face. Ignore the smudges under her eyes. Ignore the rapid pulse hammering in the hollow of her damp throat.