Code Name: Blondie. Christina Skye

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      Code Name: Blondie

      Christina Skye

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

      CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

      CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

      CHAPTER THIRTY

      CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

      CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

      CHAPTER ONE

      17°30’ south latitude

       18°52’ west longitude

      WHY DID SEX SOUND so noisy when it wasn’t happening to you?

      Miki Fortune steadied her digital camera and tried to ignore the grunts and groans from the nearby tent where her two models were doing the nasty again in full audio. There was no mistaking the sharply heaving canvas where her gorgeous six-foot-one Scandinavian model was getting screwed up, down and sideways by an equally gorgeous male model from Montana.

      Satisfied with two shots of the pristine cove, Miki shouldered her camera gear and headed back up the beach. White sand crunched beneath her feet and a warm wind ruffled her hair, but all Miki saw was camera angles and F-stops. Paradise meant nothing when you were trying not to screw up the biggest opportunity of your life, a full-color calendar called Best Beaches of the World.

      Behind Miki the tent walls shook harder. Panting voices carried on the wind. “Oh, Looogan. That way. Harder—harder!” The canvas snapped and the sound effect grew more obvious.

      Miki scowled. If people wanted to have sex, they should do it in another state.

      Logan Brooks, Miki’s tanned male model, ground out an urgent curse. Something crashed to the ground beyond the canvas wall.

      Disgusted, Miki stowed her camera and lenses, then glanced at her watch. After all the time zones she’d crossed between her home in New Mexico and this beach southwest of Bora Bora, her body clock felt permanently out of synch. But tired or not, she had finished the day’s shots without a hitch. Now that her new digital cameras were stowed and their precious memory cards transferred to a portable hard drive, Miki couldn’t wait to get back in the air.

      Paradise was fine when you were eighteen and crazy in love, enjoying a clothing-optional vacation. When you were working, paradise felt like salt in an old wound, reminding you of all that was wrong with your life.

      Which, in Miki’s case, could have filled most of Montana.

      One of the pilots leaned against a palm tree and peeled an apple, clearly enjoying the models’ escapade. An older pilot napped in the shade, hat over his head. Her boss sat in a leather campaign chair scanning the photos she’d transferred to his laptop.

      Vance Merchant didn’t look pleased. She’d given him her best work, shots that shimmered with dawn light and burned with sunset crimson. There was no possible reason for his frown other than the simple fact that he could. The man knew he held all the power and he enjoyed wielding it mercilessly. He was a tyrant, just the way Miki had heard. Being around him was about as much fun as sharing a cardboard box with a scorpion.

      But the job was important, her first chance at national commercial exposure. If the calendar was a success, Miki knew she’d receive dozens of travel assignments, a fiercely competitive category of photographic work. So she dug her toe slowly through the warm sand, fighting uneasiness as she waited for Vance’s verdict.

      Her balding boss looked up as the tent shook one last time. Moments later Miss Finland 2002 emerged, stunning in a black string bikini that hugged her body like butter. When her partner appeared, he was rumpled and languid, his shirt buttoned wrong and his zipper still open.

      Someone snickered. The men looked up as Miss Finland stretched languidly. Vance smiled and started to make a comment.

      Miki cut him off. “Can we go now?”

      The model, who currently worked under the name of Jasmyn, stretched slowly while she toyed with her tiny bikini top, aware that she had all the men’s attention. “Me, I am hungry with appetite. I can eat very big horse right now.” She frowned beautifully. “Anyone have very big horse to give?”

      Miki’s boss muttered something to the older pilot. Miki ignored them.

      Sometimes men had all the subtlety of boa constrictors. And now three new bruises darkened Miss Finland’s elegant neck. They’d have to be digitally removed, the same way Miki had removed the other bites and scratches incurred from St. Thomas to Tahiti. Luckily, Miki was very skilled at both cosmetics and Photoshop.

      Vance Merchant looked up and waved his hand at the younger pilot, who climbed aboard one of the two amphibious Cessnas rocking in the water. As the models waited, the pilot revved the engine and gestured from the small cockpit.

      About time, Miki thought, heading toward the plane. This place was getting creepy. Besides, the wind was picking up.

      Vance caught her arm. “Not you. I need a dozen more shots of the reef before we leave, babe.”

      “You’ve got to be kidding. I filled a flash card this morning.”

      Her boss’s eyes narrowed. “I’m the one who decides when we’re done, honey. Remember that.” He tossed her his big Nikon, careless of the $10,000 piece of equipment. “Get moving.”

      Vance Merchant could afford to buy a camera a day for the rest of his nasty life. His silver spoon came from his father’s success in coffee commodities—and his mother’s