Dallas August runs a dangerous business—an organization of elite spies for hire.
The secrets trade.
Nothing is off limits, and no price is too high.
When asked to uncover what recluse Gwen Marsh knows about a Mafia kingpin’s death, Dallas poses as a bodyguard to get close to his target, but the stubborn Asian beauty wants nothing to do with him. As the FBI and the Mafia close in, danger drives them together, but can he protect Gwen, or will Dallas be the one risking everything to discover what she is really hiding?
Dallas August is about to find out how dangerous life can be as one of the Secret Brokers.
Once you are in, there is no turning back.
You’re aggravating, smart-mouthed, deceptive, probably lying about any number of things at this very moment, but there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on that makes me want to kiss you and never stop.”
Gwen sat up and peered into the fire. “It would never go anywhere. You have your world, and I
“Your horses.” Dallas slid closer, touching his shoulder to hers.
“Do you ever think about how we might have ended up if we hadn’t met like we did? Without the lies, suspicions, and animosity. Like two ordinary people who want to get to know each other?”
He nodded, intent on letting the truth pour from his lips. “I’ve thought about that a great deal, especially when I remember how you rubbed that cream on me.”
Her airy, happy giggle gave him a glimpse of the woman she kept hidden behind her tough exterior. He knew the vodka had let her guard down, but he liked her this way. It was the most honest he’d ever seen her.
“I keep thinking of you in my kitchen.” She closed her eyes and rocked her head back. “I would sneak out of my office and watch you when you weren’t looking.”
The heat warming his insides stalled, and he drew his brows together. “Your kitchen? What did we do in your kitchen?”
She turned to him, and the rosy hue on her cheeks became a blazing shade of scarlet. “I hate to admit it, but watching you cook was a real turn on. It is for most women.”
Dallas’s chuckle circled the living room and a weight lifted.
“Now you tell me.” He crumpled into the sofa. “I kept trying to get closer to you, to get you to see me as more than a bodyguard, to not hate me, and the answer was there all along. How did I miss that?”
Gwen nestled against his shoulder. “Yeah, well, it took me half a bottle of vodka to figure out how I feel about you.”
He put his arm around her, pulling her to his chest. “And what have you decided?”
She ran her finger over his lips. “That whatever reason brought you to me, you’re not the man I thought you were. You’re so much more.”
He touched his forehead to hers, relieved. It wasn’t forgiveness she offered him, but a respite from his inner turmoil. He could take the key and walk away right now without any regrets. Hell, he would have one, and that was what kept him on that sofa—the hope of a few minutes of peace in her arms.
“What are we going to do about this?”
She dragged her finger from his lips to his chin and down his neck. “I’ve got my yam cream upstairs in my room.”
He studied the contours of her face, hesitating.
Gwen pulled out of his embrace and took his hand, locking her fingers with his. “I suggest you come with me.”
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