shrugged. “They’re used to hurricanes. Havana will be fine. It’s the poor, isolated villages in the east that will be in trouble.”
“Have you ever been to Cuba?” she asked curiously.
“Not on our list of approved conversation topics,” he replied shortly.
“We still have one of those?” she asked in dismay.
“You thought having sex with me entitled you to all of my secrets?”
“Well, yes.” She looked crestfallen.
He grinned and shook his head. “I swear. You’re such a newb.”
“If you won’t tell me all, then can we at least have sex?” she asked hopefully.
His grin widened. God, she was good for his soul. He took a step toward her, but his phone rang, and he swore under his breath.
“Alex Peters,” he snapped.
“Am I disturbing you?”
His father’s unwelcome voice startled him, and he replied tersely, “What do you want?”
“I hear you’re taking a little trip. Is there anything I can do for you while you’re there? I have a few contacts who might prove useful.”
Alex’s jaw dropped. How in the hell did Peter know about their secret trip to Cuba? Obviously not so secret a trip, dammit.
Christ. Who else knew about their supposedly secret infiltration onto the island? How dangerous was this trip to Cuba going to be, after all? He glanced over at Katie in alarm. And she was out here in the line of fire with him. On the one hand, he was glad to have her close by where he could personally ensure her safety. But on the other hand, he’d promised her she’d never be in life-threatening danger again if he could help it.
Yeah, he’d bet his Russian spy father had plenty of contacts in flipping Cuba.
Why did the man feel obliged to let his son know that he was aware of this planned junket? What was his father’s ploy? Was Peter worried about Alex’s safety and genuinely warning him that his mission was on the Russians’ radar? Or was the man putting him on notice that his every move would be watched? Or was it merely part of their long-standing pissing contest to show that FSB intelligence sources were better than the CIA’s?
It was always like this with his father: circles within circles. Meanings hidden below layer upon layer of meaning. Sometimes, Alex got so damned tired of it all. Maybe that was why Katie’s directness appealed to him so strongly.
Peter. How to answer Peter? He forced his mind back to the sparring at hand. His father had asked if there was anything he could do to help. Alex replied, “Actually, there is something you can do for me. I’m going to need medical supplies when I get there. Nothing fancy. Sterile needles and syringes. Clean surgical implements and antibiotics. Maybe an X-ray machine.”
“It will be waiting for you when you get to Baracoa.”
The air rushed out of Alex’s gut like he’d been punched. How on earth did his father know exactly where in Cuba he was going? Alex himself didn’t know where he was being sent yet.
Did Peter’s mole at D.U. figure it out, or worse, did the information come from the Cuban government? Either way, it was a stunning display of intelligence power. Russia might be a fading empire, but its legendary spy service wasn’t dead yet.
Not that it mattered at the end of the day. He and Katie would go where they were sent, treat the sick and injured until the two of them dropped from exhaustion, discover what was being smuggled and go home. He would do the job they’d asked of him, but that was it. He was damned well keeping his nose out of any other CIA or FSB business while he was in Cuba. He ended the call abruptly and jammed his phone in his pocket.
To hell with them all. He closed the distance between him and Katie.
* * *
KATIE STOOD BACK from the steamy mirror to inspect herself. Nobody would know she’d just screwed the living daylights out of her boyfriend...she hoped. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes sparkling, but that could be put down to good health and excitement over the trip to come, right?
The water cut off in the shower. “Could you pass me a towel?” Alex asked.
She handed a dry towel into his outstretched hand with its long, strong fingers and dark tan. She would have expected a surgeon of his skill to have more...feminine...hands. Softer. His were anything but. They were more what she would expect of a trained killer. He even had the telltale callus at the base of his right thumb to indicate that he shot handguns. A lot. He’d developed that in the past year.
Her dad and brothers had the same shooting callus. She certainly knew how to handle a pistol—it was impossible to grow up in the McCloud house without knowing how—but she kept meaning to ask Alex to show her how to use a rifle one of these days. More specifically, a sniper rifle.
She tugged her sexy little T-shirt down to the top of her snug jeans. She might not be a doctor, but she knew how to fill out a pair of designer denims. And she could handle herself in a crisis. Compliments of more of her McCloud upbringing.
She took a quick look at the TV. The hurricane was wrapping tighter, intensifying its energy into a tight knot of monstrous strength. Its outer bands were lashing the east tip of Cuba now. By tomorrow morning, the island would be ground zero for the core of the storm. It was morbidly fascinating to wonder just how powerful the winds would get and how bad the damage would turn out to be.
“Ready?” Alex asked from behind her.
“Yup. I’m starving.”
“Vigorous sex has that effect on me, too. Although I have to say you didn’t do all that much work. Next time, you can do the heavy lifting and pleasure me while I sit back and relax.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and he dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. “And she thinks I’m kidding,” he murmured.
“I don’t for a second think you’re kidding. I look forward to having you at my mercy.”
That sent his right eyebrow into an arch and a speculative gleam into his silver gaze. Hah. She dared him to taste his supper now. Not that she was going taste any of hers, either.
His hand landed in the small of her back in the protective, possessive way that never failed to turn her on. Oh, so that’s how tonight was going to be, huh?
She leaned into him in the elevator, pressing her breast lightly against his arm as another couple entered the small space. He didn’t glance down at her, but a faint smirk curved his lips.
He asked for a corner table in the darkest part of the hotel’s restaurant. Pleased to see the long linen tablecloths, she immediately kicked off her heels and planted her bare foot in his lap. While she massaged his groin with her toes, he massaged her calf under the table until she was all but groaning in pleasure.
He murmured over their entrées, “So tell me, Katie. What naughty fantasy is rattling around in your head wishing to become real?”
Her steak knife fell
