Elite Ops: Black Jack Part 1

Black Jack.

by Lora Leigh.

Dedicated most thankfully and with the utmost love to my daughter, Holly, and my son, Bret, who are growing up much too fast.

You are two of the most enduring and most special lights in my life. You bring me laughter, joy, and love, and I thank G.o.d for the very special gifts he sent me when he sent to me my babies.

Acknowledgments.

Special thanks to CO2 Donna, a nearby correctional officer, for the information on the modified Glocks. Any mistakes I've made in the translation are my own.

Special thanks as well to Randy, the owner of Friendly's Sports Bar at Franklin and Walnut Streets in Hagerstown, Maryland, for the use of his bar. Good friends and good bars are wonderful research sources, and he has one of the best. And the food is out of this world.

Try the Chicken Wings.

Prologue.

It was an anniversary of sorts. The anniversary of her death. Lilly Belle, code-named Night Hawk, maneuvered the streamlined Ninja into the dimly lit parking lot of the bar at which she had been ordered to meet her contact, and fought not to reflect on life and death. There lay a whole pit of problems best not poked at. There lay madness, and she preferred not to invite more madness into her life.

It wasn't as though her former life had been perfect, she told herself. There had been problems and dangers there. But it had held all she had known of safety and love. She had known the rules, she had understood the intricacies of living within it.

She had her mother, her brother, a niece and nephew, and once she had had a father who had loved her, who had protected her.

Once, there had been more to life than survival.

Parking, she lifted the customized, electronically enhanced helmet from her head and secured it to the chest rest of the bike before dismounting. She stared at the building, heard the laughter and music drifting from inside. This was a h.e.l.l of a place to celebrate such a momentous occasion as dying. Even more problematic was the man she was meeting.

Her weakness.

She smiled at the thought as she fluffed her dark hair around her face, attempting to restore a bit of body to it before entering the bar. She'd even used makeup tonight. Something she rarely did for a mission this simple. The last meeting with this man had culminated in a kiss, though. A kiss that had fried every synapse in her mind and tingled her nerve endings clear to the soles of her feet. It was a kiss that had fueled her fantasies and her imagination ever since.

The memory of that kiss was guaranteed to shred her self-control when she met with him once more. She knew it. She looked forward to it. And hoped that tonight would be the night.

Thankfully, the information she had brought to America was something that could be taken care of quickly. The disk she carried in the inside pocket of her jacket contained information on several individuals who had been known European a.s.sociates of the person known as Warbucks, an American who had stolen and attempted to sell sensitive military weapons several weeks before. The information would help develop a plan to wipe out the network Warbucks had begun creating that dealt in thefts, transportation, and sales of highly cla.s.sified items.

Running her hands quickly down the snug leather that covered her hips, Lilly let a self-mocking smile touch her lips.

Travis Caine, code-named Black Jack, the man she was meeting, was a man of mystery. The ident.i.ty he had taken with his induction into the Elite Ops was that of "facilitator," a man who negogiated agreements between rival companies or organizations. He thought nothing of working opposite sides of the law, and he didn't care if he spilled blood if need be.

The real Travis Caine had met an unfortunate and very secret demise, which had allowed this Travis to take the deceased man's ident.i.ty. The original Travis Caine had been a cess-pool of depravity. But then the original Lilly Belle had been no angel either.

Drawing in a deep breath, Lilly walked through the parking lot toward the side entrance of Friendly's Sports Bar. A weekend crowd filled the place nearly to capacity, with alcohol fueling the joviality and carefree laughter. It was one of those bars where friends met after work and on the weekends to drink, shoot pool, or just talk. Comfortable, almost homey, and just run-down enough to make it feel well loved.

She caught sight of Travis within seconds after she entered the bar. There, lounging in the shadows, was Black Jack. Dark blond hair fell over his brow and the hint of a beard and mustache shadowed the lower part of his face. Predatory brown eyes with a hint of green gleamed within his darkly tanned face, expressing well-honed strength and pure arrogance.

Brooding awareness filled his rough-hewn features, and for a second, just the barest second, her breath caught in her throat at the flicker of pure male arousal that gleamed in his gaze.

He didn't bother to hide it. His gaze took in the leather over-the-knee boots, and in the second it lingered there she wished she had worn her high-heeled boots rather than the ones that allowed her easier movement.

His gaze moved on to the leather pants, pausing for a breath of time at her thighs, before lifting again. An impish recklessness invaded her and had her unzipping the short leather riding jacket she wore to reveal the snug white shirt that clung to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and rode high above the waistband of her pants. Her nipples tightened, pressing against the material of the shirt and doing everything but waving for his attention. Not that he missed them. His eyes narrowed on them as his lips quirked with a hint of smile. She propped her hands on her hips, tilted her head, and arched her brow.

This was a fine way to treat a mission. She was certain her commander would have had something to say about her hormones clouding her judgment. But what the h.e.l.l, she was already supposed to be dead, it wasn't as though she were going to lose more than she already had. Unless she counted really dying.

Moving across the room, striding slow and easy, Lilly had to fight to remember that she was here for a mission rather than the good time she was dying for.

"You're late." His voice was like midnight s.e.x. It rasped across her nerve endings and sent her hormones screaming in response.

Her nipples were spike hard and dying for more than her own touch. Her s.e.x felt hot, swollen, her c.l.i.t rubbing against the silk lining of the leather pants as she slid into the booth across from him.

"So report me," she drawled as she sat back in the seat and reminded herself that she was here for much more than the man.

"What makes you think I haven't already taken care of that?" He turned in the seat, one of his long legs moving under the table rather than stretched out on the bench seat as it had been.

"Then I have time to come up with an excuse." She shrugged. "My boss is across the ocean, darling, not looking over my shoulder." His lips tightened, though the corners lifted as he shook his head and a chuckle left his lips.

"Lucky you," he stated as his shoulders shifted beneath the leather jacket he wore. "When did you get in?"

"A few hours ago." She was tired. She'd realized that as the plane landed. Tired of so much, and wondering if the price she had paid would ever feel worth the pain she endured.

"Hungry?" He nodded to the bar. "The chicken wings were exceptional." Lilly shook her head.

She wasn't hungry for food, she was hungry for touch. So hungry that at times it felt as though the need were gnawing a hole inside her soul.

This man made that need burn brighter, hotter. As though he alone held the key to her arousal and her satisfaction.

He stared around the bar for long moments before turning back to her. His gaze was more intent now, darker.

"Are we going to keep pretending?" he finally asked. The question shocked her. She'd had the impression he was fighting the attraction harder than she was, that he would be the last one to give in. She hadn't expected him to make this first move.

"Pretending's safer," she finally said, but the aching need couldn't be disguised. She heard it herself, she knew he could hear it as well.

"It's safer," he agreed as he slid across the seat and rose to his feet. Leather pants as well, leather bomber jacket, a white shirt beneath, the loosened b.u.t.tons revealing the strong column of his neck. The jacket emphasized the lean strength of his chest and shoulders. His arms, she knew, were powerful, corded with muscle and warm, so very warm, when they wrapped around her.

This man had trained her when she had joined the Ops, covered her on missions and led her through the strange new world of the agency she had been a part of for the past six years.

"Let's go." He held his hand out to her, the strong palm and fingers inviting, his expression intense and bordering on total male hunger.

It sent the strangest surge of adrenaline racing through her. Akin to fear, or danger, it raced to her heart, sent it pounding, then raked across her c.l.i.t before tearing into her v.a.g.i.n.a and sending her juices flowing.

He wasn't waiting, and she was tired of waiting.

Good Lord. It should be criminal. She was certain, in her former world, it was against the rules. And hormones certainly had no place in the Elite Ops. s.e.xual need, emotions, hungers, they were all to be ignored, especially during a mission.

Lilly had managed to obey those rules, until it came to Travis Caine. Lifting her hand to him, she felt his fingers curl around hers, felt the heat of his skin, and had to restrain a shiver of pure reaction as she allowed him to help her to her feet.

She hadn't expected this, not from Black Jack, the need and the hunger reflected in his eyes, transferring to her in the heat of his palm against hers. It reminded her of another time, another man, a life that had existed before her "death."

It was the oddest sensation. As though that warmth were physically sinking inside her, rushing through her veins, caressing sensitive nerve endings. Breathless antic.i.p.ation began rising inside her, chills racing up her arms despite the warmth of the bar and the leather she wore.

"What are you doing?" Staring up at him, suddenly wary of what she saw in his eyes, what she felt racing through her own body, she couldn't help the question as it slipped past her lips.

"What do you want me to do, Belle?"

Belle. It wasn't a name he used often, but each time he used it, the sound of it on his lips sent reaction racing through her. It never failed to make her wet. What did she want him to do?

"We don't have enough time for what I want." She wanted all of him. The touch, the taste, the dreams she had been forced to give up.

His expression became heavier, more sensual. The green in his eyes seemed to brighten, to flicker. It made her wonder what color his eyes had been before the Elite Ops. Before he had "died."

Blue, she thought. His eyes had been blue. The convergence of the green, the golden brown, and then the darker brown was so oddly aligned that it almost appeared as though the separate colors had broken into their own small groupings. The laser surgery that had been done to change his ident.i.ty had come close to the color required, but Travis's eyes were so much more than a simple hazel.

"We'll make time."

She followed him from the bar, her lips parted as she fought to breathe, to believe this was more than a dream, or a fantasy that she had lost herself within. As she left the bar she had to fight not to pinch herself to be certain she was definitely awake.

She had been a member of the world's social elite at one time. She was a trained Elite Ops agent now. She had killed. She had lied. But at the moment she felt like a teenager again, and she had managed to snare the most handsome, the most popular guy in the world.

Her hands would have shook if she hadn't forced them to be still. Her knees felt weak, and the night, which had seemed too cool earlier, now felt steamy with sensuality as they stepped outside the building.

Traffic surged along the street, anyone could be watching them. But all her senses knew, all they responded to now, was Travis.

"What did you drive?" she asked as she glanced around the parking lot, looking for the Harley he had ridden months before when they met in St. Louis.

"I had a cab drop me off." He paused, glancing back at her, his expression heavy with sensuality. "We'll use your cycle."

Her cycle.

She went as he drew her to it, checked it quickly for tampering before swinging his leg over the seat and pulling her to him.

Lilly went willingly, straddling the narrow pad behind Travis and leaning forward, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing against his back as the cycle rumbled to life. Travis felt the gentle warm weight of the woman as he made his way through Hagerstown's streets to the hotel he'd checked into earlier.

What the h.e.l.l was he doing? No doubt thinking with his d.i.c.k rather than his brain. But at the moment, his d.i.c.k was holding sway and there wasn't a d.a.m.ned thing Travis could do about it.

He knew better than this. He'd known the treachery of one woman. Hadn't that been enough?

But this woman, she had slipped past his guard years ago as he had trained her. She had covered his back, wormed her way into his trust, and through it all, he had ached for her.

She was the epitome of every dream he'd ever had, even at a time when he'd had no business dreaming of another woman. She had even overshadowed the dream of innocence and laughter that had filled him before his "death." His marriage had been h.e.l.l. His life as Lord Xavier Travis Dermont had been a double life. As an agent for MI6, and a husband fighting to keep a rein on his willful, cheating wife, he'd learned that the job was a h.e.l.l of a lot more dependable.

Until Lilly.

Lilly made him wonder what he had been missing. She made him wonder what he had thrown away when he had left that life so easily after his wife had betrayed him and her country.

Pulling into the back parking lot of the Homewood Suites, Travis checked the area carefully before pulling the cycle into the darkened corner at the edge of the lot.

He'd pay for this, he knew. Somewhere, sometime, this one night would rise up and bite him in the a.s.s. And still, he couldn't help but follow through. His wife was a part of the past, a life that no longer existed. He was no longer Lord Xavier Travis Dermont. He was Travis Caine, a facilitator between disagreeing parties, criminal or legal.

He was a man with an unsavory past now. A man that others feared. And he had no life to offer Lilly. They had nothing to offer each other, but this night. As the motor cut off, Travis let his hands grip hers where they pressed against his abs, her small fingers warm, trembling before helping her dismount behind him.

He had every intention of getting her to the room, getting her into a bed before he touched her. He knew how shaky his own self-control was.

As he turned to her, though, and stared into those brilliant green eyes, suddenly nothing mattered but tasting her again, feeling the heat and the warmth of her fragile body.

One hand wrapped around her neck while he pulled her to him with the other. Still straddling the cycle, he had no trouble lifting her to him, guiding her leg over his, and settling her into his body as his lips took hers and he lost himself in her kiss.

His c.o.c.k pressed into the junction of her thighs, the heated softness of it beneath the thin leather she wore made him think of sweet summer nights. d.a.m.n, she was going to be that good, that slick and wet for him. He knew it. He could sense it.

Tangling the fingers of one hand into her hair, he held her in place as his lips and tongue rav-ished hers. Lilly gave as good as she got. Her fingers speared into his hair, tight and desperate, and a mewling little moan tore from her lips as her tongue licked at his, stroking, caressing with desperate hunger. He shouldn't have started this out here. He should never have allowed himself to touch her yet, to taste her. He knew the taste of her. It had tormented him for months. He knew the feel of her, but not enough. Not yet.

Jerking back from her, Travis did the only thing he could think of to keep from being arrested for lewd and indecent acts in a public place.

He lifted her from him, ignoring her protesting cry as he unwrapped one of her legs from around his waist and helped her back to her feet. Swinging his leg over the seat, he wrapped his arm around her waist and all but dragged her to the side entrance of the motel.

Sliding the key card through the security reader, he waited for the subtle click, then pushed the door open and led her to the elevator.

It took only minutes to reach the fourth floor and the room he'd rented for his stay there. He paused a moment to ensure that the hair he'd lain over the top of the reader was still there before he swiped the card, then pulled Lilly into the darkened room.

There was no thinking after that. There was only the taste of her, the feel of her. Stripping her of the clothes that kept the satin softness of her body from him, then tearing his own from his body to allow his flesh to stroke against hers, and still, he couldn't make it past the small sitting area to the bed that was only a few steps away.

He was dying for her. G.o.d help him, he couldn't stand another moment away from her, so much as a second without their flesh touching. Never in his life had a woman affected him this way. Never had he known such a powerful hunger, such a driving need to touch, to taste, to forever imprint the feel of another's flesh inside his mind.

Until Lilly Belle.

Pulling his head back to string kisses down her neck, he was surprised as she began stringing them down his chest instead. Held in a vise of pure sensual sensation, Travis could only feel, could only watch as her lips and tongue painted a trail of agonizing pleasure to the thick, heavy erection that pulsed in need. Never had he seen anything so beautiful as the sight of her going to her knees in front of him, naked, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swollen, her nipples hard. Her fingers attempted to wrap around the width of his c.o.c.k, but they couldn't quite make it. That didn't stop her from leaning forward and licking a white-hot trail of sensation over the sensitive crest.

"You don't have to do this," he groaned, but d.a.m.n, he wanted her to. A siren's smile curved her lips before they parted over the wide head of his c.o.c.k, and slowly, tantalizing, she sucked it into the silken heat of her mouth. Travis's fingers bunched in the heavy strands of her hair.

His head tilted back as the muscles in his body tightened, bulged with the effort to survive the extremity of the pleasure now washing through him.

The heated dampness swirled around the head of his c.o.c.k, seared over nerve endings so sensitive now that each draw of her mouth, each lash of her tongue, was an agony of pleasure.

Bending his head once again, he forced his eyes open, forced himself to watch the most erotic sight he had ever seen. It was enough to make his b.a.l.l.s clench in agony. The sight of her lips parted over his c.o.c.k, taking him in, sucking him with reckless greed as the fingers of one hand stroked the shaft, and the other, sweet heaven, the fingers of her other hand curled around his b.a.l.l.s, her nails sc.r.a.ping the flesh as he felt her moan vibrating around the too-sensitive head. Each draw of her mouth drove him closer to the breaking point. Each lick of her tongue had his nerve endings screaming with need.

Until he couldn't take any more.

Gripping her shoulders, he drew her to her feet despite her protests, a tight grimace contort-ing his features as the hard flesh slipped free of the hot ecstasy surrounding it.