Page 24

Sofria Kirk Samantha Kline Stella Keen Sabrina Kittridge

Tipscomb-on-Thames, England

Stella needed to get the hell out of here.

And the reason had very little to do with the six-foot-two former SEAL currently chasing her. The hairs on the back of her neck had been prickling since she arrived in London. Something wasn’t right. Turning the old-fashioned key in the lock, Stella stepped into the room and froze.

Someone had been in here. The Privacy tag still dangled from the exterior knob, so she knew it hadn’t been housekeeping. Whoever it was had been careful but not perfect. The closet door she had intentionally left ajar was now closed, and the faint scent of cheap cologne lingered.

Nothing in this room gave her away, and Stella had to admit, the intrusion was something of a relief. She wasn’t going crazy.

For the past few weeks, Stella had been bothered by a nagging paranoia.

It began at her undercover identity, Sabrina Kittridge’s beach house in the Maldives.

Everywhere she went, Stella found herself checking over her shoulder.

At night, she reviewed security footage around the house.

Nothing. Nevertheless, Stella couldn’t shake the sensation that she was being watched.

The feeling abated for the first day in London. Then “Lady Kittridge” met Dr. Barnett for their dinner date. Stella had been flawless as the flirtatious heiress. The waiter had just cleared their dinner plates when the unease returned.

A man sat alone at the bar with his back to her; he was slim with dark, slicked-back hair and playing with a silver lighter, opening and closing the top as he nursed his drink.

Stella wouldn’t have thought much of it—until she excused herself to powder her nose.

She sensed the man behind her in the long, dark hall that led to the toilets.

Once inside the lady’s lounge, she quickly washed her hands.

Then she waited, listening intently. When Stella knew her date would begin to wonder where she’d gone, she exited the restroom into the now-empty hall.

An older man occupied the seat at the bar. The man she had spotted was gone.

Was her target, Dr. Arvin Barnett, involved in the information leak? Was she getting too close?

It was driving her mad, this haunting feeling.

Then, tonight, Stella spotted Ren. Had he been the source of her unease?

No. In all their time together, Ren had only ever made her feel safe.

She’d tried to forget him, but it was impossible.

The moment the altercation broke out, Stella turned to watch and immediately spotted Ren.

She should have been horrified and panicked, but no matter how much she tried to stifle it, Stella was elated.

It was brief, but the thrill was undeniable.

She watched him break up the fight with the grace of a black belt and the skill of a prizefighter.

Some other threat was lurking.

Part of her wanted to pull Ren into her confidence.

He was one of the best spec ops guys ever to serve.

Stella knew he would help, but that wasn’t how she was trained.

If there was a darker reason for wanting to flee—the thought of his disgust, or worse, disinterest at discovering her true identity—Stella kept the thought at bay.

Stella stripped off the red dress. Wearing only a red lace thong, she picked up the house phone to request a car when there was a knock on her door.

A man’s voice said, “Room Service.”

Stella waited in silence. The lock clicked. Stella cut the lights and grabbed a weapon as the door slowly opened. The intruder had returned.

REN

R en easily picked the old-fashioned key lock of the blond operative’s room, 414, and pushed the squeaking room service cart inside.

The room was dark, and before his eyes could adjust, the piercing pain of a knife thrown from across the room caused him to stagger back.

The next projectile was a vase. Ren charged forward blindly before the man could get off another throw and rammed the cart into the attacker.

Ren swore he spotted the man in the cheap tux wandering through the party. Had the guy beaten Ren back to the room? Did he have a partner?

The assailant grunted, reached across the trolly, and twisted the knife still embedded in Ren’s shoulder.

Ren reared back, grabbed the ice bucket, and swung, hitting his opponent in the side of the head.

The man used Ren’s momentum against him and jammed the cart into his body, sending Ren onto his back.

Flipping the cart onto its side, the attacker kicked him in the ribs and dropped onto Ren’s body—his first mistake.

Ren outweighed the guy, and with a punch to the jaw and an expert martial arts move, he had their positions reversed.

The attacker thrust a knee toward Ren’s groin.

Ren clasped one hand on the man’s throat and shifted, grabbing the curtain to regain his balance.

The rod and heavy drapes clattered to the floor, and light from the exterior lamp posts brightened the room. Ren looked down in shock.

Beneath him, Sofria Kirk—topless in a red G-string—was clawing at his wrist as he choked her—her perfect ruby-tipped breasts, there for the taking. His momentary pause gave her the opportunity to thrust the heel of her hand into his nose.

He caught the moment she recognized him, and Ren saw a fire in this woman’s eyes he had never seen in Sofria Kirk.

With a glimmer of mischief, she eased her grip on the arm holding her neck and seemed to anchor him in place.

Then she licked the trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth and smiled.

Ren couldn’t explain why he felt such relief, such lust, but before his brain could process his actions, he fell forward and kissed her.

When Ren had kissed Sofria Kirk, it had been the polite, respectful peck of a suitor—a finale, not an overture.

This was not that.

Ren attacked her mouth, and Sofria or Sabrina—or whoever this woman was—gave as good as she got.

She bit his lip as he thrust his tongue into her mouth.

She squeezed his erection through his pants as Ren tore the red thong from her body.

He replaced his hand on her throat and shoved the other between her open legs as she lifted her hips to meet him.

Before rationale could intrude, his pants were below his hips as she urged him forward with her heels on his ass.

He gazed down at the welcoming woman beneath him. She had the body of a Riviera roadway, all curves and treachery. He couldn’t slow down; he wouldn’t. If that meant plunging off a cliff, so be it.

Even with a dagger protruding from his shoulder, Ren was drunk with adrenaline and awash in euphoria as he drove forward.

He released a string of profanity as he pushed into her tight body.

Cupping her ass in his large hands, Ren lifted her from the floor and seated himself fully as she moaned.

He would never last—it had been too long.

Urging Sofria to join him, Ren brought his free hand to the party and gently squeezed her neck.

Then he unleashed. Ren slammed into her with anger and passion and some unnamable emotion until they both burst into flame.

When his heart rate calmed and his breathing returned to normal, Ren stared into her hypnotic eyes. She had a cut on her lip, blood caked along her hairline, and a bruise blossoming on her cheekbone. Once again, she gifted him with that wicked smile.

Slowly, like an addict coming down from a high, reality returned.

Ren looked down at the woman beneath him.

Outside, clouds passed, and the crescent moon cast her face in iridescent light.

They were still joined, his erection still thick inside her.

This was a woman he had never seen before, had never known.

Whoever she was, she was not Sofria Kirk.

Yes, she was physically the same woman, but her fierceness and raw sexuality as she tightened her legs around him? That was all new.

In a gruff whisper, he asked, “Who are you?”

She closed her eyes and twisted the ring on her middle finger in a nervous gesture. Then she gently clasped the side of Ren’s neck and replied, “No one you want to know.”

Ren felt the sting just below his jawline and jerked out of her grasp. Instantly, his vision blurred. He tried to form words—to say what, he didn’t know—but it didn’t matter. He toppled forward as the world went black.

STELLA KEEN

S tella Keen twisted the ring to retract the needle and heaved the unconscious two-hundred-pound man onto the floor beside her.

She rubbed her swollen lips and gave herself a moment to stare at his beautiful form.

This was not the gentleman scientist she had known.

Leo “Ren” Jameson was a stone-cold warrior, cut from marble and battle-ready.

Her body was still humming from their encounter—humming and sore.

After this uncharacteristic moment of sentimentality, Stella snapped into action.

Her cover was blown. There were protocols.

She changed into stylish but practical trousers and a cashmere sweater and scribbled a note explaining that she had to return to the Maldives on an urgent personal matter.

Stella would leave it at the front desk for Dr. Barnett.

Then she set about removing any trace of her presence from the hotel room.

Her final act before disappearing was to take a fresh robe from the closet and use it as a makeshift blanket to cover Ren.

She told herself it was the decent thing to do, but deep down, she knew the disturbing real reason was selfish—she didn’t want anyone else to see him the way she had.

As ridiculous as it was, Stella wanted the memory of Ren’s body to be hers alone.

So, after removing the small knife and tending to his wound, she gently tucked the robe over him and walked to the elevator at a calm, brisk pace.

In the car back to London, Stella finalized arrangements to vanish—it wouldn’t be forever, but long enough to establish a new identity and receive a different assignment.

Dawn was breaking as she entered the city.

The drug would soon be wearing off, and Ren would regain consciousness.

He would be furious. Stella gave herself a reassuring nod.

Good. It’s better this way. Even if she had wanted to see Leo Jameson again, relationships for Hyperion operatives were not just dangerous; they were forbidden.

Stella would have to go dark until she got a handle on what was going on; Stella had a sick feeling Hyperion was surveilling her, and it had nothing to do with Doctor Arvin Barnett.

The added complication was that by chasing her, Ren had put a target on his back. Stella couldn’t live with herself if Ren became collateral damage.

Her mind drifted to their night together.

And what a night it was.

It may not have been the most romantic way to lose her virginity, but she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.