Page 3 of Sasha’s Secret

Rocco yawned. He checked the time—add on the time difference between his current location and London, and he’d gone well over twenty-four hours without sleep. Bed was beckoning, and getting some decent rest before dealing with the bureaucracy that was on his agenda for tomorrow was probably a good idea. Sometimes it was too easy to slip into the routines they’d followed in Afghanistan and forget that that life, with all its risks and deprivations, was a million miles away. He didn’t have to call on his inner reserves for days on end anymore.

On the other hand, he didn’t like leaving things unfinished. He quickly scanned the pages relating to the individuals Linzi had on staff at the estate, until he came to the last—Sasha Morgan, Linzi’s assistant for the last two years, and probably the most significant of all. To make things interesting, before he turned the page, he had a small bet with himself about what she’d be like—Linzi Mk. II, a small-town girl from the Midwest who had aspirations of stardom but didn’t have the talent to make it big. Probably a similar age, probably blonde, probably a virtual carbon copy of Linzi. Maybe they’d even attended school together at some point.

What the hell. He was going to have to deal with the woman, so he might as well get a feel for what he could expect. Sure it would be the worst, he turned the page.

The image in front of him was stunning. Sasha Morgan was not what he’d expected at all. Her hair was blonde all right, but it was frosted in half a dozen subtly different shades—as subtle as her make up. Her lips, a perfect shade of pink, summoned him to her, filling him with a volcanic urge to kiss her not only until there was no trace of her lipstick left, but until the last breath left his body.

What mesmerized him most, though, were her eyes. Hazel flecked with green wasn’t an unusual combination, but the longer he studied the image, the more he surrendered to the hypnotic depths of her gaze. The confidence she radiated blew him away.

One thing was for sure—she wasn’t the scatterbrained ingénue he’d anticipated. This was a sophisticated, cultured woman, mature enough to have seen enough of the world to regard it with a healthy dose of realism—someone who knew life wasn’t all roses and rainbows.

The more Rocco studied the photo of Sasha Morgan, the more his curiosity—and more—about her was aroused. A man would have to be dead not to be affected by such intense beauty. She was flawless. For a man who’d so recently sworn off relationships, he was finding it all too easy to imagine her beneath him as he made love to her.

He wanted her. The visceral reaction ripped through the veneer of civilization and connected with every primal instinct he possessed. And while his head tried to remind him of his assignment and pound some sense into him, those instincts roared and raged, threatening to tear apart anything and everything that stood between Rocco and making this woman his.

The mission would come first, as it always did, but life was too short and there was something about Sasha he couldn’t ignore. It might be a cliché, but he truly was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. If there was half a chance there could be something between them, he’d seize it with both hands, and then they could be consumed in the blaze together.

Chapter 2

“The new guy’ll be there Monday.”

Sasha Morgan frowned. In another life, she’d have told the asshole that wasn’t acceptable and ripped him a new one. Why the hell wasn’t he taking this seriously?

Why the hell wasn’t he taking her seriously?

Because you’re a personal assistant now, and the Agency is history. Suck it up.

“Monday? Can’t they send someone sooner, Gerry?”

Gerry Brookes was Linzi’s manager, and Sasha was not his biggest fan. She never had been. There was something about the man that made her antsy, and it bothered her that, even now, she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. His flippant attitude to this possible threat to his client’s safety bothered her even more, especially since he hadn’t Skyped her this time. She could usually tell a lot from reading his expression, but all she had to go on was his voice.

“They don’t have anyone else available, and this Equizi guy’s supposed to be the best.”

“Equizi, huh? I thought you said we were getting a Brit.” Sasha didn’t just think it—she knew it. She remembered exactly what Gerry had said during their previous conversation on the matter.

“We are. Half of him, anyway. Not sure which half, though.”

Gerry laughed as if he’d cracked the funniest joke in the history of stand-up comedy. Sasha rolled her eyes. The man gave her hives at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“His passport says he’s a Brit, but with a name like that, he must be half-Italian or something. Only just arrived in the country yesterday. I guess there are formalities they have to observe.”

Which they wouldn’t if Gerry had taken her advice and contacted a local company. And by local, Sasha meant anywhere in the continental United States. “So what made you hire a start-up staffed by non-US citizens?”

That made her even more antsy. Texas was awash with hundreds of private security contractors with a proven track record in the field of VIP and celebrity protection. Gerry could have gotten a recommendation from any of his dozens of contacts in the entertainment business, yet he’d gone for Spectrum Security Inc., an off-shoot of a similarly named outfit in the United Kingdom. As soon as he’d dropped the name, Sasha had picked it up and run with it, to carry out her own research. Though what little she’d been able to find made interesting reading, the very fact there was so little had done nothing to improve her peace of mind. The damn company might as well be a start-up.

“Staffed by Brits. You know… all that God Save The Queen, cups of hot tea—why the hell would anyone drink hot tea?—and calling soccer ‘football’ shit. They add that touch of class.”

Sasha doubted Gerry would know class if it kicked him in his well-padded ass. And class? Really? What the hell good would that do in the face of a deadly weapon?

Which reminded her. “If he’s a Brit, he won’t know one end of a firearm from the other. How’s he supposed to protect Linzi? Throw a cup of hot tea over a potential kidnapper?”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. He’s ex-military.”

Sasha resisted the opportunity to roll her eyes. British ex-military probably meant he was one of those toy soldiers in the pretty red uniforms who stood guard outside Buckingham Palace. If they wanted someone who was ex-military, why in the name of all that was chocolate didn’t they get a SEAL, or a former member of Delta Force, or a US Marine? Someone with some real military skills. She sighed. “Okay, but is he any good?”

“I told you—he’s the best. Look, Linzi’s not going anywhere for the next couple weeks, and nothing’s gonna happen there. He’ll have a chance to check everything out. It’ll be fine.”

Sure—she’d heard that one before, usually just before the shit hit the fan. “If you don’t mind, I’ll reserve judgment until I find out more about him.” If what she’d found out about the company was minimal, what she could uncover about the man was likely to be non-existent.