Unexpected. Lori Foster

deceiving, given the way she’d handled herself at the bar. She’d thrown a man, and flushed with the sheer pleasure of it. She’d made another into a choirboy, and grinned with delight.

      What a woman.

      But her staunch attitudes and constant blustering had revealed, at least to him, a lot of vulnerability, too.

      What type of female became a mercenary? What type of woman lived a life that made her feel so defensive? Despite her warnings, maybe because of them, he wanted to get to know her better. She was a link to his brother, reassurance at a time of uncertainty, and something about her appealed to him on the most basic level. Even though she kept telling him not to pry, she was more up front and open than anyone he’d ever met. She didn’t have an ounce of guile. No, Ms. Ray Jean Vereker called ’em as she saw ’em. And she’d insulted him several times.

      Not many women, from the slums of his past or the present boardroom, had ever done that.

      Trying for subtlety, hoping to provoke her into giving more away, Eli smiled toward her. “You think you’re pretty tough, don’t you?”

      Keeping her gaze on the road, she lifted one narrow, straight shoulder. “I’m tough enough when I need to be. That’s all you have to worry about.”

      He’d always been attracted to assertive women. Okay, so a mercenary was a bit over the top, but as he’d told her, she didn’t look hardened enough for the job. If she’d had a string of rattlesnake tattoos and a mustache and a figure like a tank, maybe, just maybe the persona would be more creditable.

      “You’re a very attractive woman, Ray.” Her back stiffened in what he already thought of as her battle mode, and he had to bite back a laugh. “I’m not getting personal,” he assured her with grave sincerity, “just making an observation.”

      He watched her gather herself, saw her tucking away her real reactions to deliver what she considered a suitable response. Her laugh sounded rusty, as if it’d been a long time since she’d felt any real humor.

      What kind of life did a female mercenary lead when she wasn’t on the job? Did she live as a hermit, was she a bully, or did she somehow manage to fade into regular society? Was she engaged, even married?

      Without meaning to, Eli pictured all kind of awful scenarios until he shifted in his seat, disgusted with himself and his possessive thoughts.

      “If someone had taken the time to tell me it was a woman they’d send me, I still wouldn’t have envisioned a woman like you.”

      With silky menace, she repeated, “Like me?”

      “It’s not an insult, Ray.” He shook his head. “In fact, it was a compliment.”

      “There’s more to capability than brute strength, and looks can be deceiving. But as far as trying to compliment me, don’t. We’ll be spending at least one night in Central America, maybe two. Trust me, I look pretty bad after a couple of days roughing it. More importantly, I don’t care. I don’t waste time caring.” Her dark gaze swept over him before she turned down the road that led to his building. “Remember that.”

      He didn’t believe her. She wanted to be cold and indifferent, but she bloomed with warmth. For whatever reasons, she just didn’t want to admit it.

      Minutes later, she parked the hideous, rust-covered truck in the parking garage amid the array of expensive, richly colored cars. Ray didn’t seem the least bit impressed with the difference. In fact, she almost seemed contemptuous of his money.

      He liked that about her.

      Part of her present nasty attitude was due to surprise, he thought. She’d apparently expected some resistance on his part when she’d first shown up. What she didn’t know was that he’d called her agency primarily for a guide and only secondarily for backup in case of any physical confrontations.

      He could hold his own, so he didn’t expect her to have to engage in any physical battles, despite her more than capable display at the bar. She knew her way in and around Central America, and that was her value. The necessity for stealth made bringing along more than one person risky, and she had the credentials to prove she was the best, so she’d have to do.

      Ray walked to the front of the truck and waited for him. Long-legged, slim but with subtle curves, she had the appeal of natural, healthy good looks. She wasn’t classically pretty, not with that strong jawline. But her full lips and wide, very dark eyes were quick to catch and hold attention. And that attitude . . . He smiled. Ray wielded her attitude like a sledgehammer, using it to clear the way of any resistance.

      She riffled her fingers through her long, midnight black bangs, watching as he left the truck. Eli raised an inquiring brow. “Do you have a bag or anything you need for the night?”

      “It’s under the seat.” She cocked out a hip in an impatient pose. “I was waiting for you to get out of the way.”

      Except for the few times he’d managed to take her off guard, her voice was soft and husky, seldom raised above a moderate tone. To maintain that air of control, she also kept her stance deceptively casual.

      Even when she’d thrown the man at the bar, she hadn’t tensed. She’d just sort of . . . maneuvered, bent the right way, and the big man had gone flying. Eli figured it was a necessary pretense on her part because she couldn’t really be that calm and indifferent to the circumstances of her ability. Much of what she presented to the world was a ruse.

      He intended to sift fact from fiction.

      Pulling the bag out for her, he started forward, but when he reached for her arm, she casually sidestepped, evading his grasp.

      To cover the nervous gesture, she said, “You’re taller than I first thought.”

      Eli stared down at the top of her short, glossy black hair. Usually towering over most women and a fair amount of men, he was pleased, though he didn’t know why, that Ray was only about five inches shorter than him.

      “I’m six-four. But you’re pretty tall, too.” And then, just to tease her, he added, “For a woman.”

      Somehow, when she glared at him, she managed to look him dead in the eye without seeming to tilt her head at all. He liked it. “Is this your only bag?”

      “There’re two changes of clothes.” Ray turned away to contemplate the building. “That’s all I need.”

      The bag was very light, making Eli curious. “What about shampoo and soap and . . .”

      “You don’t have those things?”

      “Of course I do. But don’t most women have their own brands? Mine might smell a bit masculine.”

      She made a show of mild disgust. “We’re going to a tiny, nothing village in Central America, not a formal ball. Does it matter what I smell like?”

      In his defense, he’d never before met a woman who wouldn’t care. At the moment, she smelled like . . . warm, soft woman, and that was about as good as it got.

      To lighten her mood, he said, “You do have your own toothbrush, don’t you?”

      “I have my own toothbrush,” she agreed. Then she turned toward him. “You don’t live here.”

      Eli stared into her eyes, so opaque they seemed fathomless. Her lashes weren’t real long, but they were inky dark and thick. He saw a tiny scar near the corner of her right eye and another near her temple. How had she gotten them? Did he even want to know?

      She stared at him, unblinking and defiant. Eli shook off his preoccupation with her appearance. “I have an apartment upstairs.”

      “Maybe, but it isn’t your home.”

      Playing along, he asked, “Why not?”

      “Because no one who could afford me would live in a complex this simple.”

      “It’s a nice place,” Eli