Nauti Temptress

“Dial Doogan,” he said into the headset, activating the hands-free feature built into it.



“Doogan,” his boss answered before the first ring finished, his voice a dark, slow drawl that did nothing to indicate the man’s impatience.



“Dawg’s interfering,” he told the other man. “He just pulled the brother card on his sister and made her promise to stay away from the big, bad Brogan,” he said with a grunt.



Doogan laughed at the reference. “Do you think she’ll listen?”



“Mackays are known to keep their word, and she promised. What do you think?”



Pulling into the light flow of traffic along the main drag, Brogan headed away from Somerset and the temptation to follow Eve to her bed. He wanted nothing more than to make damned certain she didn’t obey her brother.



“Fuck,” Doogan growled. “Think you can convince her to break her word?”



That was Doogan, always going for the jugular.



Bastard.



“Why should I?” Brogan bit out. “Come on, Doogan; she’s one woman with no military connections at all. How can she possibly be of any importance to this operation?”



“Because I said she was.” The other man’s voice lowered, his tone becoming darker, harder.



“Doogan. I’m the wrong man to keep in the dark,” Brogan warned him. “I’m the one man who could jack this operation all to hell just by letting folks know exactly who I am. Don’t force me to take that route.”



“You’d do that because of one woman?” There was a fine edge of surprise in his boss’s voice.



“I’d do that if you risked her, and I’m starting to wonder if that isn’t your intention.”



There were times he wished he knew the Agent in Charge better. Doogan was a man who had refused to climb the ladder of DHS success. He remained in his position of Agent in Charge far longer than he should have. He could have risen, taken a directorship or even a position as team commander.



“That’s not my intention, Brogan,” the other man finally assured him. “I’ll tell you this much: Eve Mackay is pivotal to this mission. There’s one person in Pulaski County who I suspect knows a hell of a lot more than we, or our thieves, want them to know. My contact has spent the better part of eight years watching everything that goes on in that county. He’s one of our spotters, and a damned good one at that. But even he doesn’t know who this person is. All he’s heard where these thefts are concerned is that they are tied together, and that there’s one person who could answer a hell of a lot of questions if they would. The only thing, though, that’s going to bring them out of the woodwork is if one of those Mackay girls needs them. And they’d trust only whoever they trust. And despite appearances, there’re very few people any Mackay trusts. If they see she’s in your bed, and in your life, then you could possibly be considered in a position of trust and the situation deemed important enough to come out of the woodwork and reveal his secrets.”



“Because if he knows as much as you think he does, then he’ll know who I am and what I am.” Brogan grimaced.



He didn’t like the thought of that at all. The very thought of it had a chill of warning lifting the hairs at the back of his neck. “There should be another way to ensure that this person makes contact,” Brogan snapped. “Bringing her into my life might not be the best way to do that, Doogan.”



“It’s the only way, Brogan,” Doogan stated, his tone chilling at the indication that Brogan was second-guessing his orders.



“And how do you know it’s the only fucking way?” he bit out furiously. “You’re asking me to endanger an innocent woman’s life.”



“Or save it,” Doogan countered. “And don’t deny you’re interested, Brogan. There’s more than one report that’s come in mentioning the suspected thief and Dawg Mackay’s sister.”



Oh, he’d just bet there was. He could practically feel the rumor mill heating up every time they were in the same place at the same time.



“It might not be as easy as you thought it would be,” he informed the other man. “She’s made a promise now. She won’t break it.”



“The only way this will work is if it appears Eve is aligned with you, Agent Campbell,” Doogan drawled lazily. “So align with Eve Mackay and stop trying to convince me I’m wrong. When you’re the one reading the reports and listening to the director tear a strip off your ass because of military secrets falling into the wrong hands, then you can countermand orders. Until then, if it wouldn’t bother you too much, try sticking with the plan we agreed on before you went out there.”



Brogan could feel frustration and livid anger brewing inside him.



Without another word he broke the link before giving the cycle a surge of gas as he headed into the mountains.



He might not be the one reading the reports or getting his ass torn over the thefts, but he was the one taking the risks and fighting his own lust for a woman he was seriously afraid could end up owning his soul.



His father had once told him that a man knew when he’d met his mate. That if he waited, kept his dick under control, and didn’t fuck up, then he’d find that mate.



He was thirty-four. A little old to be finding his mate, he thought.



Not that he believed in the whole mate-finding business. He didn’t. But if it actually existed, then there was no doubt he’d found his in Eve Mackay.



The hunger he felt for her was like a white-hot flame burning his senses and his common sense to cinders. He’d waited two and a half years. Waited and watched, flirted with subtle demand, and teased until he finally managed to snag her interest.



Not that it hadn’t been there before; it had been. But there were things that had to be done first, plans that had to be placed into motion.



Everything was in place now.



Brogan and his partner, his brother, Brody, now held the better part of the files that had been marked to be stolen. The inside source who had first contacted DHS gave them the information on each file targeted, and Brogan made damned sure he got to them before the real thieves could.



If the thieves wanted to acquire the missing files, then they were going to have to come to him.



According to Doogan, there was only one piece to the puzzle left to acquire: Eve’s loyalty and the perception that she was Brogan’s lover.



What would make a source contact him if he knew Eve trusted him enough to be his lover? What the fuck was going on in this damned place, and just how screwed up were the criminals operating here?



Pulling the cycle to a wide clearing at the side of the road, he turned around and headed back to town. Like Eve, he’d had no sleep the night before, and if he was going to seduce his wild little Mackay, then he was going to need all his wits about him.



Because seducing her wasn’t going to be nearly as hard, he feared, as keeping the independent, unfettered state of his heart intact.



He had a feeling Eve was invading it, and that could only spell trouble for both of them.



Besides, his long-term agreement with Mercedes Mackay included two days per week that he pitched in on the upkeep of the inn and grounds. And it was time to cut the grass.



FOUR



Eve could feel a headache coming on.



Right there in her left temple. It was that heaviness that assured her the discomfort had no intention of going away.



And she should have expected it from the lack of sleep, the upsetting meeting with her brother, and the knowledge that no matter how badly she wanted him, Brogan was out of her reach.



To make matters worse, some of the less desirable members of the small Cumberland Touring and Motorcycle Club had taken a table right beside the step that led from the main floor to the bar area. Two of those members were determined that night to push her headache from irritating to migraine status: Donny Sutherby and his lover, Sandi Mikels.



Donny, nicknamed “Bowie” by the club, was barrel-chested with a bearlike body, thick armed and heavy thighed. His straight, conservatively cut dark brown hair was thinning on top, while his pale blue eyes always looked suspicious and mocking.



Dressed in baggy jeans and a dark T-shirt that did nothing to hide his too-thick thighs and biceps, he swaggered when he walked, and even when he was sober one would swear he was drunk.



Sandi, a part-time stripper in Boston, followed him each summer, taking her place on the back of his motorcycle for the summer road “tours” the group took.



How a part-time stripper could afford to take the summer off, Eve hadn’t figured out.



Her overblown figure was poured into snug jeans and the typical summer camisole that was at least one size too small as it stretched across the boob job she was so proud of. Personally, if she were Sandi and she was going to get a boob job, Eve thought, she would have gone with one that more suited her diminutive frame rather than a set of double Ds that made her look as though she were going to topple over forward at any second.



Donny and Sandi were sitting with Poppa Bear. Grady “Poppa Bear” Aarons and his wife, Mary, nicknamed “Momma Bear,” were one of the older couples. Poppa Bear had been a commanding officer in the army, discharged at retirement, and as jovial as they came.



He had a Santa Claus look about him, though his beard was shorter, his eyes dark brown, his laughter booming. Momma Bear was only a few years younger, slim and still a handsome woman for being in her late fifties.



Scattered around the large table with them was Poppa and Momma Bear’s daughter, Baby Bear, a.k.a. Shanna. Also “Hondo” Grael—Eve had no idea of his real name—“Pooh” Yonkers and his sister, “Marbles,” and another brother and sister, Boo and Homer Kennedy.



The table wasn’t overly loud, but Bowie and Sandi were ensuring that each time Eve passed their table, some snide remark was directed toward her.



Returning to the bar, she tried to avoid the table, but it was the most direct path to collect the drink orders she had, and she would be damned if she would let the couple know they were bothering her.



“Hey, Evie, is Brogan avoiding you tonight?” Sandi laughed as Eve passed. “He’s been here for a while now, ya know?”



Yeah, she knew.



Every tall, hard inch of him was there, dressed in jeans, a wide leather belt cinched at his lean hips, a white shirt tucked into the denim, several buttons undone and tempting her fingers to play with those red-gold curls across his chest. A pair of scuffed leather motorcycle boots completed the picture of hard-core sex appeal and danger.



“Come on, Boogie, be nice,” Poppa Bear chastised her, using the nickname he had given her. “Scots might be on the other side of the bar, but he don’t take his eyes off her.” He laughed boisterously.



Edging up to the bar, Eve sneaked a look in Brogan’s direction and saw that Poppa Bear wasn’t lying. Brogan might be talking to John Walker, but he was staring straight at her.



Loading the circular tray with ordered drinks and lifting it until she could balance it with one hand, with the other she gripped the handle of the pitcher and made her way back to the bachelorette party she was serving.



“Scots likes all the girls, though,” Sandi remarked as Eve passed. “He’s not a one-woman man, Poppa Bear.”



Eve didn’t hear Poppa Bear’s answer as she made her way to the bachelorette party.



The eight women had arrived two hours before, and at the rate they were drinking, Eve had a feeling she was going to be calling cabs for the eight. She had yet to see their designated driver, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the bride wasn’t going to make it until the witching hour, as she had sworn she would.



“Hey, here’re our drinks,” the bride called out, the bridal nerves reflecting in her eyes belying the goofy smile on her face.



Setting the beer on the table, Eve put their drinks out in front of them, then turned and headed back to the bar for another order.