Page 4 of Winter’s Fire

Tempted though she was to switch the TV on for the late news bulletin, Lucy opted for music instead. The world and its terrors would still be there tomorrow. Given the access she had to Sir Guy’s inbox, those terrors could easily scare her to death—if she let them.

And if she did allow the fear to get to her, then they—the bad guys—would win, and that wasn’t an option. Although “real” home was the farm where she and her brothers had grown up, on their mother’s side there was a history of military service. Five generations that they knew of, possibly more.

There were no high-ranking officers in Lucy’s family tree, but they’d all believed in serving their country and defending those unable to defend themselves. Her brothers had followed the family tradition, and for years, when they were home on leave, she’d pestered them into sharing their skills with her.

The pestering had gained impetus once she’d come to a decision about her future. With that in mind, she’d taken steps that ultimately led to this job, where she’d set about learning everything she could from the confidential reports that crossed her desk.

When opportunity dropped its capricious arse in her lap, she was going to grab it and hold on, although not for opportunities like the team-building karaoke night. She’d consider almost anything if it would assist in achieving her objective, but another session of that cruel and unusual punishment was more than human hearing could be expected to bear.

Chapter 3

His penance in the form of babysitting Simon Northwood now complete, Logan was more than ready to get stuck into his new assignment, whatever it might be. Twenty-four hours earlier, the doc had brightened the start of the new week by at long last signing off on his full return to normal duty. Not only that—with the greatest of pleasure, Logan had handed responsibility for the genius to the boss’ niece, along with the keys to the Bentley.

Today he’d arrived at work buoyed by anticipation of a task he could get his teeth into, and also use to prove his worth to the team. He took the stairs up to the third floor two at a time. Not even the dire prospect of waiting in the office occupied by the woman he thought of as his personal nemesis could put a dent in his good mood.

She was a chilly one, all right. Logan was willing to bet that Miss Winter’s knickers were as frosty as her name. She had a way of glaring at him that triggered an almost irresistible urge to put her over his knee and make that sweet arse of hers sing.

Now that was an interesting thought, and not unconnected with how he’d spent the previous evening at Aegis. The sub he’d played with had been a cute little thing—enthusiastic, responsive, a pleasure to torment with a little orgasm denial, and a nice armful during aftercare. And as keen to avoid any emotional complications as he was.

Without bothering to knock, he pushed open the door to Sir Guy’s outer office. The sight that met him was one he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. There in front of him, wrapped in a short, tight skirt, was the lush, rounded backside he’d just been contemplating.

That alone grabbed his attention by the balls, but when his gaze slithered to a halt at the captivating sight of those long, toned legs in sheer black nylons, his thoughts accelerated down the fast lane to grossly inappropriate territory. His visual tour continued, and by the time it concluded with feet shod in black patent shoes with spindly, three-inch heels, they’d taken the unmarked turning to NSFW.

The formidable Miss Winter must have lost something under her desk. If the lack of a visible panty line was any indication, it could be the knickers that were always in a twist when he was around.

“Need any help under there?”

He winced at the sharp smack of her head connecting with the underside of the desk. The muttered cursing was colourful, nautical, and inventive enough to make a sailor blush. So was the mesmeric wiggle of her hips as she backed out from her hiding place. Just what he didn’t need on top of the lingering satisfaction of an evening at Aegis. The sight of a woman on her knees before him still triggered impulses that made the fit of his tailored trousers somewhat more revealing than was appropriate for a work environment.

“I can manage just fine, thank you, Mr. Simmonds.”

With a grace and style that surprised him, Lucy stood and straightened her skirt, which ended about two inches above a pair of good-looking knees. Hypnotised by the meticulous care with which she eliminated every last crease and speck of lint, he allowed each elegant movement of her hands to soak into his consciousness. The way she smoothed the dark material over her thighs was compellingly symbolic of her painstaking attention to detail.

His attention to that particular detail earned him a familiar glare, although her tone, when she addressed him, was spine-snappingly polite, with only the tiniest dash of disapproval.

“You’re a little early—Sir Guy’s still on his daily conference call with Number Ten. Please, take a seat. Can I get you some coffee while you’re waiting?”

“Thanks—black, no sugar.”

He watched her cross the office to the fancy, single-cup gizmo sitting on a low cabinet in the corner. Her hips didn’t just save that sexy swing for when she was on her hands and knees. Logan shifted in his seat, and dragged his smartphone out of his jacket pocket—anything to steer his attention in a less lascivious direction. He glanced up when she placed a white mug on the low table beside him.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She paused, as if considering her next move. “Sir Guy shouldn’t be long now.”

“That’s okay—I’m not going anywhere.” Not till the boss gave him his orders, anyway, and then it would be a case of the further away, the better.

The coffee wasn’t bad—hot, and almost strong enough to chew, the way Logan preferred it. While he waited, he checked his email, aware all the time of his surroundings, and the rapid tapping on the keyboard coming from just a few feet away.

The tapping halted a couple of times, interrupted by calls coming in on the landline on Lucy’s desk. Like many people, his nemesis had a “telephone voice”, which, he had to admit, was pleasant enough to the ear, if more than a little formal. Not that her normal voice was unpleasant, at least when she wasn’t tearing a strip off him for his latest administrative foul-up. Unless his ears deceived him, her accent held a touch of the north, just the faintest suggestion that her roots lay far from the capital.

Logan wondered if she sounded as prissy when she was getting sweaty and sexed-up. He didn’t know why, but the thought of turning her into a wildcat in the bedroom was… appealing.

He shoved the image aside. He’d been thinking about her in that kind of context way too often recently. Echoes of their initial introduction persisted in his memories of the smile with which she’d greeted him when they’d been introduced, and again he wondered where it had all gone wrong, why she’d suddenly developed that icy attitude towards him.

He glanced at his watch. According to the high-tech dive timepiece, his meeting with the old man was due to start in two minutes, thirty-five seconds. He put his phone on silent, and slipped it back into his pocket.

Miss Winter picked up her phone and pressed a button on the base unit. “Sir Guy? Mr. Simmonds is here for your 9 a.m. meeting… Yes, sir, right away.” She replaced the handset. “He’s ready for you now, Mr. Simmonds—you can go right in.”