she rasped, ignoring the movement behind them, the growing echo of feet as the bad guys closed in. Instead, she concentrated on the small flecks of silver in his blue irises, the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips—trying to absorb the strength behind each. “Game over.”
“No, Red, it’s just beginning.” Ian leaned in until his lips hovered only slightly above hers, his breath brushed warm, reassuring against her cheek. Anticipation—and maybe a little panic—rifled through her and came out in a shuddered breath. All she needed to do was lift her chin….
“I breached the building first.”
Chapter Two
“Damn it, MacAlister!” Lara sat up, pulled her hands out of the computer cuffs and tugged off her Virtual Imaging helmet. A cascade of red hair tumbled free. With fast, jerky movements, she disconnected the sensor wires from her training suit. An instant later, lights flashed on and the VI program shut down—leaving all four walls of the lab room an iridescent blue and the air silent. Anger whipped through her. “You sabotaged my operation, didn’t you?”
Ian removed his helmet, tossed it into the leather seat next to him. He ran a casual hand through his chestnut hair, now sweat darkened to a charred brown. Cropped military short, his hairstyle complemented the broad sweep of his cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw and a nose that was a touch off center and, she suspected, had been broken more than once.
“Answer me, MacAlister,” she demanded. Born from a French mother and an Irish father, Lara had more than her fair share of temper. Most times, she kept a tight rein of control over it. Other times…
“I can’t. I’m dead, remember?”
“Funny,” she bit out the word. “Did you or did you not sabotage my operation?”
“Now why would I do that?” His mouth twitched with amusement. “I’m the one who developed the program.”
No one would call Ian MacAlister handsome in a pretty boy sense. But with the strong, striking features of his Celtic ancestors and his laser-blue eyes, no woman could walk past him without a second glance.
“Who better to change it?” she snapped, finding her own eyes lingering, her heartbeat accelerating. Annoyed, she shoved her hair behind her ear and slid from the leather seat.
“All the programs have failure sequences in them,” he responded with equanimity. He disconnected his suit and stood in one long, fluid movement—a jungle cat satisfied after a night on the prowl. “No mission goes smoothly.”
“Usually, it’s a random process,” she argued, cursing herself for letting her guard down. “This time you decided what was going to happen and when. That’s why you made the bet with me. Isn’t it?”
“You decided the challenge, not me. Besides, I didn’t need to reprogram anything to win. The fact that you went in by yourself told me you hadn’t thought the mission through.” He slid the zipper on his training suit down to his waist. He wore no shirt. Lara’s gaze flickered over him, settling on the ripple of movement across his chest as he jerked his arms free. He left the top portion of the suit dangling off his hips.
Her eyes dipped, following each carved muscle that flexed with power under his sun-bronzed skin—remembering from months before how the bare skin gave way to a small, sexy line of sable hair just below his navel. Too damn sexy for her own good, she understood now. Still, the heat danced through her, lighting little fires along her nerves.
His gaze caught hers, and in an instant the planes of his face sharpened, his jaw tightened with awareness.
With effort, she drew one deep steadying breath.
Then just that quick Ian’s features smoothed, the passion sliding under a relaxed, easy smile—an undeniable arrogance.
He turned to retrieve a white towel from the console beside his chair and Lara let out a long hiss.
Ian glanced over his shoulder in understanding. “How’s the damage?”
Welts, raised and vivid, striped his back. “Not too bad for a tough guy like you.” Lara waved a careless hand, not pleased with the chaotic emotions that squeezed her chest like an accordion.
“You had the sensors set too high.”
“I wanted the pain to be realistic,” she stated. “We both know the results are only superficial. Harmless.”
For the first time she noticed the burning across her abdomen. After placing her helmet on a nearby console, Lara unzipped her suit and stepped out of it, revealing her white sport bra and fitted racing briefs that rode low on her hips. Above her waistband were dozens of welts, the intensity already fading into dull red splotches. Lara resisted the urge to soothe the sting and her stomach beneath.
“You’ve only yourself to blame if you’re sore, Ian.” Lara’s gaze cut back. “You should have left me to take care of the bad guys. I was dead anyway.”
“I don’t leave anyone behind.”
“That’s right, I forgot,” Lara said, knowing that Ian had resigned his naval commission only months before contracting his talents to Labyrinth. “It’s the Navy SEAL way. So is integrity. Honor.” She inclined her head, letting him see that she remembered the day he’d held no such honor. “Huah.” Her blatant sarcasm couldn’t be missed when she uttered the Navy SEALs’ signature expression.
“It’s my way,” he answered, this time all traces of humor gone.
“Just stay out of my way,” Lara insisted, noting his deepened displeasure and not caring. Caring would show that he meant something to her. Had the means to hurt her again.
The fury was there, rigid but contained. She tossed her suit over the back of the chair and started toward the double steel doors. “And stay out of my training sessions. I don’t need a partner. And if I did, it wouldn’t be you.”
Ian’s frown deepened, his eyes slanted into blue slits—sharp enough to slice the air between them. “Wanna bet?”
Slowly, she swung around, her own eyes narrowing. And because her temper broke free, she snarled. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Face it, Red, just the fact that right now I’m sharing the same air pretty much puts you into tilt.” He rubbed the towel over his face, now seemingly indifferent to her fury.
“I’m done with the games, Ian.” She didn’t argue with his first statement. The truth was the truth.
“So am I.” Cain MacAlister, the new director of Labyrinth and Ian’s older brother, stepped into the blue room. His gaze slid to Lara. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
“I have time,” Lara answered. Both brothers moved with predatory ease, but whether it was because of their warrior heritage or occupations, Lara couldn’t be sure—the ability seemed so innate. Where Ian was muscle and meat, Cain was leaner, almost lanky, with pitch-black hair, smoky gray eyes and features sharp enough to be called aristocratic.
Still their jawlines were the same, Lara noted.
And Lord knew, so was the slant of their frowns.
Cain
