The Cinderella Mission. Catherine Mann

the curve of those breasts he suspected were as incredibly generous as the woman.

      He opened his mouth to set Davidson straight.

      Then stopped.

      Rumor had it the man was still reeling from some kind of relationship on his near-fatal assignment in Rebelia. The last thing Ethan wanted was for this guy to go seeking some of Kelly’s sweet, gentle warmth.

      Not that she’d been particularly sweet three minutes ago when discussing his butt with a room full of co-workers.

      If she channeled half that fire into watching his back, they’d be fine. He had to admire the spark of her rampage. The office would talk for years over that one.

      She sure knew how to make her point. A smile slid over his face.

      “Just a friend, huh?” A smirk twitched Davidson’s mouth.

      Ethan’s smile fell away. “Why do you want to know?”

      “Back off, rich boy.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I had enough of you on the basketball court this morning. I’ve got a point here if you’ll quit thinking with your libido long enough to listen.”

      “Then spit it out in plain English so us slow folks can understand.”

      “She’s not your usual type. No one outside this office knows you two have even met, so the couple deal is going to stir questions when you need to keep a low profile.”

      Why the hell hadn’t he thought of all that back in Hatch’s office when he needed to persuade his boss to ditch this plan of action? Because it never crossed his mind people wouldn’t believe he could be attracted to her.

      Damn. He was in serious trouble here. “We’ll just have to be convincing.”

      “She’s still going to need some polish if you expect to pull this off.”

      Fine in theory, if it wouldn’t bring the fires of hell down on his head. Or worse yet, some kind of wounded-doe look to her eyes.

      He’d been around enough women to know that while a man might appreciate individual assets, women had the unerring knack for zeroing in on the least perceived imperfection. Heaven help the man who failed the how does this dress look? test.

      As much as he wanted to protect Kelly, Ethan knew Davidson had a point. Other less-discerning eyes might not appreciate her allure. “How the hell am I supposed to take care of that without hurting her feelings? The last thing I need is for her to climb on the roof with a bullhorn to discuss my ass again.”

      “That’s your problem, pal, not mine. Good luck.” Davidson stood and rolled the chair back under the table. He headed out the door, laughing under his breath. “Washboard abs…”

      Not a reassuring farewell salute to a man with a missing mojo.

      ARIES could provide Kelly with all the guns and explosives imaginable. But the social world he cruised would chew her alive if he didn’t give her a whole different set of “tools” to protect herself.

      His world.

      Suddenly Ethan knew the one person he could trust to help Kelly without hurting her.

      He just wished he could say the same for himself.

      Kelly hunched over her desk, ignoring the persistent ache in her back. Her computer screen hummed in the late-night air, her only company the whir of a janitor’s vacuum and a lone light from under Hatch’s office door.

      Nuances of verb tenses swirled through her head, soothing her with the familiar oblivion of work. She was in control here, with her languages and academics. If only she could find the same control away from her books.

      She’d made a fool of herself this afternoon, proving full well she didn’t deserve this assignment. Not that Director Hatch had listened when she’d tried to bow out later.

      Kelly whipped away the grit in her eyes and reached for her mug of herbal tea. She blew into the steamy heat, hints of raspberry steaming from the mug. She stared at the glowing words on the screen from an intercepted missive. The rural Rebelian dialect, a mix of German and Russian, seemed to be discussing some kind of sapphire. A jewel? Or the color itself?

      The color of Ethan’s eyes.

      She screeched those thoughts to a complete halt. Just a crush, she reminded herself.

      Her nose itched with the phantom scent of masculine cologne and sweat mingling with her raspberry tea. A shiver tingled through her and her eyes fluttered closed. She inhaled the memory of Ethan.

      So real.

      Too real.

      Her eyes snapped open.

      A shadow fell across her desk. She didn’t look up.

      “So you really like my butt?” Ethan’s rumbling voice filled her workspace.

      Mortification seared her. She scrolled through the text on her computer screen as if he hadn’t even spoken.

      He sat on the edge of her desk as he’d done at least a hundred times before. “Well, I like your smile. And I’m mad as hell at myself for having done something to take it away.”

      Damn, he was good. Already she could feel her anger melting like a bowl of her favorite rocky road ice cream left in the sun.

      “You’ve earned this assignment, Kelly. I had no right to tamper with that.”

      She studied her still fingers on the keyboard and mumbled, “As if you could.”

      “Ah, that’s right. I need to ‘get over myself.’”

      His ability to laugh at himself made him all the more appealing and she could almost hate him for that. Sure he showed that fine butt of his on occasion, but once her anger had cooled she knew he’d been trying to protect her feelings—in his own man-dense kind of way.

      Sort of sweet, actually. And gorgeous. And smelling so good she wanted to crawl over the desk to bury her face in his jacket.

      Ethan hitched his knee farther on her desk and moved closer. “I looked over the data on Morrow’s disappearance this afternoon and came to a conclusion.”

      He might as well have dangled a carrot in front of her. No way could she resist. “And?”

      “Hatch was right about us as a team.”

      She looked up at him. “Really?”

      “I’m okay with foreign languages conversationally.” Ethan scooped up her paperweight again. “Written translations, however, are not my strong suit. And I sure as hell don’t speak as many languages as you do.”

      She crossed her arms over her chest. “So you need me.”

      Ethan went still. His eyes fell from her face, lower. He couldn’t be looking at her breasts?

      He glanced away, replacing the paperweight. “A good field operative needs to know his or her limitations. Which means you have to accept I have something you need, too.”

      “You do?” she asked, her breasts suddenly warm and heavy beneath her crossed arms.

      He swallowed, long and slow, before his eyes locked firmly on her face. “Things could turn ugly at that summit ball. You have to be able to defend yourself. I need to know you can defend yourself or I won’t be able to concentrate on my end of the operation.”

      “Okay.” Feet planted, she heeled her office chair back for distance from the draw of those sapphire eyes. “I’ll log in extra training hours.”

      “Not good enough. If you’re going to be ready in two weeks, it’ll take more than a few extra agency courses. I require a personal reassurance my partner can protect herself, and even watch my back, too. I’ll only have that if I take part in the training 24/7.”

      Kelly scrambled to follow the conversational