Following her routine before leaving the flat, Olivia put the life-sized sleeping baby in the pram, then wheeled it to the park for the afternoon.

Though Garth insisted their role was to infiltrate the terrorist ring suspected as being responsible for the disappearance of Mathilde Petit, Olivia wanted to do everything in her power to ensure no other innocent young girls went missing. She hated that ICE wanted to leave the protection of the locals to the Lyon police. She hadn’t signed up to be a passive spectator. She’d signed up to make a difference in this world. To stop terrorists. To do her part to end fanaticism and protect the innocent. If anyone asked Olivia, Mathilde had been kidnapped by Khan. If she could save one girl from the horror of being abducted and subjected to some nutcase’s idea that she was in some way unclean, and therefore he could do anything he pleased with her, she’d do it. She wouldn’t hesitate.

Today was balmy with plenty of sun, and Oliva wore her sunglasses along with her suffocating niqab. After a couple of laps around the pathway, she sat on the same bench she’d been using for the past fortnight and pretended to dote on her baby.

An older woman she’d seen before sat beside her. With deeply etched lines on her face, gran looked to be at least seventy and wore a hijab veil covering her head, but leaving her face exposed.

Olivia smiled pleasantly even though her mouth was hidden—smiling could be seen in the eyes as well. “Bon après-midi.”

“Good afternoon,” the woman replied in Arabic. “It is a pleasant day for a stroll.”

“Indeed.”

“You are new here.”

“Yes, my husband and I recently moved from London.”

“London? If only I could be so lucky to live there.”

“You do not like Lyon?”

“It is nice.”

“But you’d prefer England?” Olivia asked.

“I believe my sons would be more prosperous there.”

“Well, then I hope they one day have an opportunity to visit. Especially if they like the rain.”

The woman chuckled. “And you, do you prefer Lyon?”

“Mostly…” Olivia purposely made her voice trail off while she cast a forlorn glance to the pram.

The woman leaned in. “You do not sound convincing.”

Olivia’s heart fluttered for a mere second. Had she found an opportunity to delve deeper? “Right before my husband and I took possession of the shop, a kidnapping happened here in this very block.” She wrung her hands. “I worry about my daughter’s future here. She will not be a babe in arms forever.”

The old woman patted her hand, a wise expression filling her dark eyes. “You have nothing to fear, my dear. You are a daughter of Islam.”

Ooo.

Could she eke out more? “What are you saying?” she asked innocently.

“You must know you are of the pure faith. Only the infidel’s children are taken.”

Olivia’s stomach jumped, but she was too much of a pro to let any sign of shock show in her expression. She sighed for added effect. “I wish your words were true.”

“Oh, but they are.”

Before she wrapped her twitching fingers around gran’s neck, she had to push further. This old lady could be Taaha Khan’s grandmother. “Do you know about the disappearance of Mathilde Petit?” Olivia pointed. “She was a student right there.”

The woman slapped her hand through the air with a chuckle. “You ask too many questions. You must remember to respect your elders.”

“Forgive me. I meant no disrespect. I only have concern for my daughter.” Olivia ran her palm over her belly. “And my unborn.”

“Of course you do.” The woman patted Olivia’s hand, then shifted her gaze to the pram. “Your baby is always so quiet.”

Moving her fingers to the handle, Olivia prepared to push if necessary. “The babe falls asleep in the pram—otherwise she cries all afternoon.”

The woman leaned forward to peer beneath the sunshade. “Are you breastfeeding?”

“I am.” Olivia stood and nudged the pram away from the crone’s prying eyes. “If you will forgive me, I must return home. I have a leg of lamb to prepare.”

The woman waved with a nod.

It was all Olivia could do not to run to the flat and ring Asa. The old woman had practically admitted she knew about the kidnapping. And the audacity to say that Olivia had nothing to worry about was an admission she knew something about what happened to Mathilde. If only she could have pushed for more, but doing so definitely would have jeopardized the op.

Anxious to contact ICE in the privacy of the flat, Olivia pushed the pram about five blocks when a local man fell in step beside her. He stank of stale beer and made her hackles stand on end. “Your kind have no business here. You should go back to the Middle East and leave us alone.”

Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she lowered her head and sped her pace, trying to look authentic. Besides, such misogyny didn’t deserve a reply.

Unfortunately, the jerk followed. “Did you hear me?”

“Oui,” she replied.

“I ought to take you and your infant and chain the pair of you to a barge heading for the Mediterranean.”

She slowed, gripping the pram’s handlebar with white knuckles while a maelstrom brewed inside her chest. “What would you accomplish with such a mindless act of barbarism?” Olivia knew she was on the precipice of taking things too far, but she couldn’t abide prejudice or bullying in anyone no matter their nationality.

“I ought to—”

She stopped the pram and looked him in the eye. “What?”

He smirked. Moseying too close, he used his bulk to back her into an alleyway.

An abandoned alleyway.

“Please, sir.” She tried to fill her voice with fear, though all she heard was contempt. “I beg you to leave me alone.”

Olivia maintained complete control until he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her behind a dumpster.

In the blink of an eye, hot, searing ire shot up her spine.

Sweat broke out across her skin.

She inhaled so sharply, Olivia couldn’t release her breath. Her arms and hands tensed as her instincts readied her body for a fight.

This yahoo needs to be taught a lesson.

The lout reached for her niqab and tugged it away from her mouth. “Why are you hiding your face? I’ll wager you’ve been beaten before—I’ll bet a whore like you likes being roughed up.”

Her lightning strike of anger flared into rage.

Hot. Burning. Uncontrollable rage!

Olivia reacted with the speed of a viper. Reflexes honed by years of disciplined training kicked into overdrive. She snatched his wrist, applying pressure in exactly the right spot to cause excruciating pain. “You motherfucker, I asked you to leave me alone,” she hissed in English through her teeth.

Fear flashed through the man’s eyes as she drove him to his knees. “Bitch!”

A thread of sanity tickled the back of her mind. “If I release you, will you be on your way?”

“Fuck you!” Cringing, the man reached to his back pocket.

He has a weapon!

She twisted his wrist, adding more pressure, forcing him lower, watching his free arm, anticipating a strike.

The bastard resisted. He snarled like a caged devil. In one move, he swung at her face with a switchblade.

Olivia arched away as the knife hissed a fraction of an inch from her face. But not fast enough. As the blade nicked her shoulder, she caught his hand. Using his downward motion, she took charge of the handle and tore the switchblade from his grip.

He stumbled. Olivia took advantage, throwing an elbow to the man’s temple. The jerk dropped to his knees, but he hadn’t suffered enough. A grunt ripped from her throat as she issued a chop to the back of his neck, sending him face-first to the pavement.

She shoved her heel into the middle of his back. “I’d stay down if I were you, ’cause I’m just warming up.” She pocketed the switchblade. “Unless you want to be pussy-whipped by a badass woman in a niqab.”

***

Logan tried not to laugh when Olivia filled him in on her afternoon’s intel, especially the pussy-whipped part. But this was serious. She’d come too close to blowing her cover with the Frenchman. Though they both doubted the jerk would report he’d had the shit kicked out of him by a woman wearing an Islamic veil. Regardless, they decided it might be best if she changed her routine.

“I wanted to hurt him bad.” She pulled the niqab off her head. “I hate racists. I could have ripped his face off.”

Logan’s humor took a dive. “Did he touch you first?”

Her lips thinned.

“Did he?”

She nodded. “He tried to pull off my veil.”

“And then you snapped.” he said with a sternness he used when disciplining sailors.

“Shut up. That goddamned niqab is driving me mad.”

He pointed his finger at her sternum. “I don’t think it’s the veil.”

“You would have done the same if it had been you.” She slapped his hand down. “Except there would have been blood and a lot of it.”

She was probably right. But still, the twist of Logan’s gut told him Olivia hadn’t overcome her demons. She could still lose it at the wrong time. In fact, she could have blown the operation. “You going to be okay?”

Olivia snorted like his question was ridiculous. “I’m always okay, cowboy.” She coughed out an unconvincing laugh. “The old woman knew about Mathilde’s kidnapping. It’s like there’s an urban war on both sides here. The French are afraid of the Muslims and it instills hate in the hearts of everyone.”

“Just a minute.” Logan held up a finger. “Don’t forget Muhammed is a Muslim, and he represents the majority. There’s only a handful of fanatics who are giving the good guys a bad name.”

“And we need to nail them before I kill somebody.” Olivia unfastened the snap at her collar. “This thing is smothering me.” She yanked the abaya over her head and dropped it on the couch.

Logan took in a sharp breath. The woman wore a tight-fitting tank top and a pair of bike shorts. Olivia filled out a tank top like an Amazon. And, damn it, she posed a fine picture—smooth skin, wispy hair, looking as tempting sex on a platter. Until he saw the laceration on her shoulder.

“Jesus, you’re cut.” Thank God he had something other than boobs and beauty to focus on.

Olivia hissed. “I didn’t feel it until you said something.”

“I’m going to touch your elbow.”

She looked at him like he’d lost it, not her. “You think I can’t handle it if you grab my goddamned arm? Hello? You’ve touched me plenty.”

“I’m taking you into the bathroom to tend your wound.” Grumbling under his breath, he took her elbow gently and led her to the sink. “Got a first aid kit in the drawer.”

“You’re such a Boy Scout.”

“I am.” Before he thought, his fingers sunk into her slender waist as he picked her up and sat her on the counter. Their gazes met with a heart-stopping crackle of electricity, and she didn’t even flinch. Her tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth while they both stared, connected by the intensity of the unspoken passion ricocheting between them.

Logan forced himself to look away. Maybe he was wrong about her reaction to the French dude.

He busied himself by holding a cloth under the faucet. “I can’t believe the guy came at you with a switchblade.”

“After I dropped him with a pinch to his ulnar nerve.”

Logan wiped away the blood, only to make the cut start the bleeding again. “Paralyzed him with a Spock move, did you?” Grabbing a gauze bandage, he pressed it against the wound. “Hold this.”

She complied. “Do you think it needs stitches?”

“I’ve got some superglue. That’ll fix you up.” He had Olivia hold the gauze just beneath the wound as he applied antiseptic followed by a line of glue. Then he pinched the skin together, but not without getting his fingers soaked with blood. “You sure know how to make a mess.”

A low chuckle rumbled from her throat. “Sorry.”

He gave her a look then blew on the glue. “Once this sets, you’ll be good as new.”

“Like a shiny penny, my dad used to say.”

After testing to ensure the skin would hold together, Logan used another bit of sterile gauze to clean the blood away. “What happened to your parents?”

She blinked, her lips forming a white line, erecting a wall of instant awkwardness between them.

“Not to worry, you don’t need to tell me.” He applied more antiseptic, then taped a bandage in place. “The past is painful. My mother ran away with another man when I was still in diapers and my dad died of lung cancer two years ago.”

“And you inherited the ranch in Montana?”

“Yeah.” Logan busied himself with cleaning up. “It reminds me of the old man every time I visit home.”

Olivia sighed, her long breath filled with sad emotion. “I know what that’s like.” The woman held in too much, but he figured she’d open up about her past in her own good time, if she ever did.

He gave her thigh a pat, but his hand stayed put, unable to resist her warm skin, soft as velvet. “That ought to heal in a few days. Let me know if the glue tears and I’ll apply another coat.”

“Yes, Doc.” Logan started to pull his hand away, but she caught him by the wrist. “Thanks.”

A spike of heat shot through the tip of his cock. Jeez, he’d let his hand rest on her silky-smooth thigh one second too long. Olivia’s gaze dropped to his lips, telling him what she wanted. God knew he wanted it, too. There they were, posing as a married couple and abstaining. The past weeks had nearly killed him. Christ, living with a woman as sexy as Olivia Hamilton would kill just about any red-blooded sailor.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him between her legs. “I want you,” she whispered.

He tapped his forehead to hers, his cock standing at attention. “Me, too,” he managed to croak.

“But we’re working together.”

“Then Garth should have thought about that before he put us in a one-bedroom shoebox.” How much was a man supposed to bear before he cracked? He was already living a lie, smoking e-cigarettes and playing the lazy shopkeeper. Sooner or later he’d forget who he was. A SEAL, a decorated commander, and a goddamned, red-blooded American male. He didn’t need to think. His balls were on fire and a gorgeous blonde was staring at him with the most beautiful blue eyes on the planet. His heart raced like a jackhammer as he crushed his lips against hers and gave in to the wicked desire that had been torturing him since he’d rescued her from the yacht.

“Mm.” Olivia’s deep moan sent his mind into a maelstrom of desire as she pulled his hips flush with hers and met his kiss with a passion as fierce as his own.

She tasted like spring rain and smelled like heaven and hell wrapped in one irresistible package. He slid a hand up her waist until a soft breast filled his palm. With a deep groan of his own, he rubbed his thumb over her nipple—a hard, suckable pebble that stood proud only for him.

Trailing kisses down her neck, she sighed like a purring kitten. Oh, yeah, he kneaded her breasts, pushed them together, giving him a good eyeful of creamy flesh. He circled his tongue over the skin right above the tank top’s neckline.

Olivia threw her head back, thrusting her crotch flush against his aching cock. “Yes!”

He grabbed the hem of the shirt while both their phones buzzed and the ping from ICE on the computer blasted through the apartment.

They froze. Wide eyes met with alarm.

She dropped her head to his chest. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

Hopping off the counter, she tugged his hand. “Come on. It sounds urgent.”