SINGLE FATHER SEEKS...

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  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

  Epilogue

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  Prologue

  ^ »

  Hong Kong

  He was Secret Service. She was CIA. He wasn't hiding that fact.

  She was.

  But right now they weren't hiding a thing from each other. A desire, no, a raging passion she'd never imagined existed inside her, was taking complete command. Ciara loved every second of it. And from the look on his face as she shoved open his trousers, so did he.

  She drove her hand inside the dark fabric and he groaned and pushed her against the nearest wall, taking her mouth with an excitement so powerful, so hot, it would burn out of control in no time. She was counting on it. She had wanted him the minute she saw him. She wanted to be wild and escape and spend this one night with him. He was head-turning handsome with a hard body, and that sexy to-die-for look of a secret agent. Coal-black hair, Nordic blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw she wanted to kiss 'til dawn. Add to that a gentlemanly southern drawl, slightly disguised, and she was melting for him with the first word.

  Behind them in the hotel room lay a trail of clothes—black, inconspicuous. Just what their jobs called for. But the situation now called for none. Naked. Ciara was nearly there. He wasn't getting there soon enough.

  He ground against her, letting her know he was ready for whatever she had in mind, and she pushed his trousers lower and cupped the tight curve of his buttocks, pulling him into her and sending the same message.

  "You're driving me insane, you know that?" he said, his voice whiskey rough as his mouth rolled over her throat, her shoulder. He made quick work of her slip, adding it to the trail with her dress.

  "No more than you are me."

  He unclasped her bra, pulling it off, tossing it aside, then filling his palms with her breasts.

  Ciara gasped, then gasped again as his thumbs circled her nipples deeply. Oh mercy, his touch was all she needed to explode.

  "The instant I saw you, I thought about this."

  She smiled. "Did you imagine this?" she asked, then slicked her tongue over his nipple. He flinched and made a helpless sound she already loved.

  "Yeah, I did."

  His knife-creased black slacks hit the floor, and she bent to help them all the way off. And when she stood, she scrubbed her hands over his corded thighs, his trim bare hips. He was built like a wall of muscle, twisted, ropy, delicious to touch and she could tell that he liked watching her touch him. It made her burn for more. She wrapped her hand around his arousal and stroked him harder than he already was.

  He couldn't take it and suddenly he grabbed her against him, and growled, "My turn." He knelt, peeling her panties down as he went and just the motion made her breathless. He laid wet, grinding kisses to every inch of skin he exposed, rolled her thigh-high stockings down like unrolling a piece of candy and he murmured, "I had a sneaky feeling you were wearing these."

  Just knowing she had, in a roomful of attachés and dignitaries and the former first lady, drove him wild. Now she was wearing only a strand of pearls.

  "My, my, secret agent man. You were fantasizing a lot more than I thought," she said, then howled when his mouth covered her soft center. He licked and played, probed and stroked until she was biting her lip to keep from screaming and bringing hotel security. For an instant, a sliver of time, she wondered about letting a complete stranger do this to her, then she didn't care. He was all she'd imagined and more, and when he threw her leg over his shoulder and drove deeper, Ciara thought she'd come apart at the seams.

  He chuckled darkly as she melted, her leg slipping limply off his shoulder as she sank down, sliding down the wall and straddling his thighs.

  "There's a bed a few feet away," he said.

  "Too far," she gasped, rocking against his thickness.

  He reached for his trousers, fumbled in the pocket, and she barely noticed because he never took his mouth from her. He bent her back over his arm, and then he was inside her, driving upward and clasping her against his wide chest.

  "Oh, sweet heaven," he groaned, cupping her bottom and giving her hips motion because he couldn't stop it. Bryce pushed his fingers into her hair, loving the sounds she made, that she was as demanding as he, because he craved her. Craved. He'd never hungered for a woman from first sight, never had instant fantasies and instant arousal as he had with just looking at her. The moment he spotted her in that plain black dress, standing off to the side, he'd been preoccupied with her. Wondering what was under that simple dress, enjoying the shift of silk as she walked. Wondering what she looked like with her hair down instead of in that tight, reserved twist. He even liked the way she sipped champagne. And the way she looked at him, slow and possessive. As if she knew what he looked like naked, and she was in a hurry to see it firsthand. As if she knew one touch and they'd be unrestrained and reckless like this.

  No one would have suspected. She had an innocence in her face, a cheerleader all-American scrubbed clean look, but a body like a movie star. All woman, ripe and curvy. Not skinny and flat. He loved it. And knew, even if she wasn't rocking against him, that he held a real woman in his arms. A woman who enjoyed being a woman. And he wanted to do nothing but see pleasure on her beautiful face.

  Bryce got down to the business of giving her exactly what she wanted and tasted every inch of her he could reach, stroked her, nipped and soothed and discovered the backs of her thighs were extremely sensitive. Then suddenly, they were over the top, thrashing against each other, rolling across the lush carpet. In the space of a few minutes they tried three positions, laughing as they contorted, then gasping when the friction was almost too much to bear, hurrying, taking only seconds for a thick kiss, and when he had her beneath him, vulnerable, he pushed into her with a measured deliberation that made her cry out and claw for him. She locked her legs around his hips and thrust and pulsed, touching him everywhere, and he held her off the floor, pushing and retreating, watching her pleasure ignite over her exquisite features. He would take that moment with him forever, he thought. Never had he been with a woman who was so confident in herself, in her sexuality, and it made him want her more. She gave as much as she took.

  Then it came.

  The heavy rush of heat and sensation, a tingling so intense it felt like needles on his spine. Like a throbbing wave about to crash. Suddenly she gripped his jaw and whispered, "Take me with you," and he pushed, once, twice, and they reached for the stars together.

  She cried out and bowed like a ribbon of womanly passion.

  Time stopped. Soft moans and panting breaths filling the expensive hotel room. Moonlight spilled through the windows and coated them as his desire beat a throbbing pulse inside her, stretching as her feminine muscles flexed and pawed around him.

  Bryce looked down at her, trembling with the power of their loving and she smiled up at him, pulling his weight onto her. She was barely sated, her foot sliding up his calf, his thigh, her hands stroking him, holding him as if she'd known him all her life and not just the past few hours.

  With a hard sigh, he rolled to his side, tucking her close, yet before they could catch their breath, pagers went off, a cell phone rang.

  He kissed her deeply. "Ignore them."

  "I can't." But she kissed him back anyway, then disentangled herself from him.

  He rose up, reaching for her. "Where are you going?"

  "I have to answer that." She knew from experience that whoever was on the other end of that line would not give up. "Don't want hotel security coming up and asking why we're still making so much noise, right?"

  He didn't give a damn. He wanted her again.
<
br />   But she was already going for the phone, gathering her clothes as she talked softly. She looked back at him, and he let his gaze roam her naked body, to the deep chestnut brown hair spilling down her back. Man, she was luscious. She smiled, returning the stare with equal intensity. He felt himself grow hard again. Then she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Bryce looked around at the debris of clothes, and started to reach for them, then gave up and fell onto the carpet.

  He'd never done anything like that before. Never.

  A total stranger. A siren in a little black dress and pearls.

  Less than five minutes later she came out of the bathroom, fully dressed and pulling on the strappy little sandals that made him want to taste her ankles. She walked to him and stopped. He hadn't moved. Good grief, he could still scarcely breathe.

  "I have to go," she said and her eyes were all business.

  "Now?"

  Her sudden smile was small and purely feminine. "Yeah. No strings remember?"

  "And no names."

  She tipped her head to the side. "It's better this way. You have an important job and I'd just be a complication."

  "Just who the hell are you?"

  "An embassy secretary."

  "Liar."

  Her expression, one that had been so open with emotion minutes ago, slammed closed. Cold. Detached. And making him think that the woman standing before him now was a ghost of the passionate creature he'd held in his arms. He didn't like it.

  She tossed him his pager, and he caught it. "The first lady is calling you."

  He looked at the pager and wondered how she could tell from just a number. Or was that just an educated guess? Most Secret Service agents in a crowd didn't look very secretive. When he looked up, she was lowering onto his lap, her arms wrapping his neck. Her mouth played over his with a heat that seared him again.

  Now this was the woman he wanted to be with. "Can I interest you in another round, darlin'?" he said against her lips as his hands moved under the hem of her dress.

  What a temptation, to discard her duties and have another romp with this hunk of man. But her partner needed her. "You could always interest me, secret agent man. But, I have to go."

  She stood, bent to kiss him once more, leaving her scent branded into his skin, and he lay there like an idiot and watched her walk out of his life. Forever. He knew it was forever. Excitement like that was once in a lifetime and neither of them, obviously had the time or the will to grab hold and keep it. Bryce had a feeling that the lady in black was just a dream and none of this was real.

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  Chapter 1

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  Five years later

  Beaufort, South Carolina

  Ciara needed to hide. To go deep under.

  In a spot not even the CIA would think to look.

  The world was a big place. She could be anywhere, right?

  And this small southern town was just the right ticket. It was historical and touristy. If need be, she could blend in. A CIA safe house, a cabin in the wilderness would have been better, but she'd have to go through agency contacts to get one and Ciara wasn't trusting anyone just yet.

  She'd already trusted the wrong man, she thought with a cynical twist to her lips and a glance in the rearview mirror to see if she were being followed. And that's the reason she was dropping out of sight.

  She blamed most of that on herself. With the exception of a one-night affair five years ago, she'd been burned enough by men whose job it was to lie and deceive and gain crucial information. When did she get so clueless about them? When had she refused to believe a thing a man said? Gee, she thought. Maybe when her partner started showing up late for rendezvous and had more cash than they earned in a year. And the worst of this was, that two years ago they'd been lovers. Though it was long over, she'd let old feelings interfere with her judgment, and didn't see what was really going on. And it had taken her a while to admit it. He'd used her emotionally and professionally, and that she'd allowed it to happen was too humiliating to swallow. She'd never make that mistake again. Not with any man.

  Her hand slipped off the wheel and touched the flight tote with the videotape stashed inside. It was backup, and she thought of the man she'd caught betraying his country on the film. Her partner, Mark Faraday was six feet of slender male, with sun-bleached hair that told her he had more time off than she did. Good-looking, but not too good-looking to draw attention, Mark was born with a silver tongue. Now the laid back surfer spy was a national security risk by giving classified material away. A mole. And a risk to her.

  She made a sour face and for the tenth time, called herself a fool. Then she'd called in a favor from her old college sorority sister, Katherine Davenport. At first, Kat had been shocked to hear from her after all these years, and second, reluctant to give her a job. But Ciara would go nuts if she were stashed somewhere with nothing to do, waiting for the truth to come out and drag Mark to a high-security prison. She had to keep occupied, and her mind off her troubles. Caring for a one-year-old girl was going to be easy, like reliving her teen years. She'd practically raised her little sister Cassie after their parents had been killed in a jet crash over Scotland. Well, she and her older brothers. It hadn't taken much to convince Kat she was qualified. Childcare was how she'd earned extra money during college. Ciara knew baby care about as well as she knew when and where the satellites were aligned to pick up the best frequencies and take aerial photos.

  Ciara had to assure Kat she wasn't putting anyone in danger. And the first thing she would do when she had a chance was mail the videotape to a neutral party. Then a carefully worded note that would take the heat off of her.

  She wasn't paying much attention to the beautiful landscape until she hit a rut in the road. She braked, gawking at the gnarled live oaks draped in Spanish moss and the so-green-it-hurt-her-eyes lawn. The scent of jasmine came through the car's air conditioner, enveloping her. Throwing the car into park, she quickly climbed out, checking the address, then stared at the house.

  House?

  Heck, this was Tara revisited. Two stories with wraparound porches on both levels, the white house was magnificent—spreading across an acre and surrounded by about ten more, if she had to guess.

  Did only a widower and a baby live in all this?

  She hoped he had a maid.

  Grabbing her tote, she slung it onto her shoulder and walked up the steps, taking a deep breath of the fragrances of jasmine and wisteria. An odd peace came with it, and the tension she'd carried for days flowed out of her muscles.

  This wasn't just isolation and safety, this was a dream.

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  Bryce felt warm slimy peaches slide off his face and plop on his chest. "Well," he said tiredly, staring blankly at his eleven-month-old daughter. "I see we're going to have to work on your table etiquette."

  She shrieked, twisting her head to the side when he offered her more. Bryce tossed the spoon aside and sagged into the chair, giving up this battle.

  Carolina proceeded to play with the mess on the high chair tray.

  Bryce looked around at the results of feeding his daughter and knew his late wife was laughing. Diana would say this was justice for not loving her like she needed. God knows he had tried. He'd done everything he could to make the marriage work. A marriage he hadn't wanted. She'd loved him, but in the end, he knew she'd hated him.

  Guilt swam through Bryce. He and Diana had been lovers briefly when he'd come home from the Secret Service for a visit. Those two nights produced the little girl in the high chair. And when Carolina had arrived, Diana's life ended. He loved his baby more than his life, and he knew that marrying Diana because she was pregnant was the right thing to do then, but he hadn't mourned her.

  The guilt intensified and he pushed his fingers into his hair and pushed the thoughts out of his mind.

  He swore he was never going to get involved with a woman again.

  Heck, he was terrified of let
ting this tiny female down. Of ruining her life like he had her mother's. He couldn't trust himself not to destroy another woman's life. Not to mention the damage it did to his soul.

  His daughter flung the mushy beige food, a glob landing on his shirt. He didn't bother to wipe it and thought of his former colleagues in the Secret Service seeing him now. A far cry from the man who lived dangerously, moment to moment protecting the first family. He was now Mr. Mom and a complete failure at it, he thought. There should be a school or something for dads who had to be moms, too.

  Four days without a nanny and he was seeing exactly how useless he was at being a reliable father. He didn't think he'd miss the skills of a woman more than he did right now. His sister had helped him a few times after Diana's death, but she had her own family. His parents were retired, leaving him the family business and this monstrous house while they traveled the world. It was only right, but the shrimping business was taking off like a runaway train and he hadn't been able to operate it from this house since before his daughter was born.

  He looked at his baby. He'd had a nanny, but she'd refused to be a live-in. Carolina needed consistency, someone there for her when he couldn't be. Someone who would be tender and loving. And almost a mother. What his baby didn't need was a parade of strangers marching through her life now. She was so young and had a tendency to scream bloody murder when a stranger got close. Probably because all she ever saw was him and the nanny. The maid, well she was from a service, and all business. And rarely the same one each time.

  The last nanny said Carolina was difficult. And when he'd found the woman lounging around, watching soap operas while his daughter cried in a playpen, Bryce had fired her. The next three nannies hadn't been any better.

  Neglecting his child was not an option, nor was putting her in a day-care center where she'd get sick and there were too many children. He wanted his daughter to have attention while he was at work. Lord, he didn't think finding child care would be so difficult. Luckily, someone had recommended Wife Incorporated to him. He'd spoken with the owner, Katherine Davenport, and though she sounded nice, what mattered was that she'd come to his rescue. She was sending a nanny out today. Any minute.