Intimate Knowledge. Julie Miller

had to have his help. There was only one way to get to Harris Mitchell. Carmody would reassign the case if she couldn’t learn what she needed to. And she knew Logan Pierce, legendary field agent, undercover expert, and love-’em-and-leave-’em ladies’ man was the best choice to teach her.

      She lowered her gaze to his scuffed boots and followed a hesitant path up the tantalizing length of his legs and chest before meeting him eye-to-eye.

      “I need you to teach me how to seduce a man.”

      2

      GRACE TWISTED AGAINST the soft steel grip on her elbow as Logan steered her down the hall to the first empty office he could find. He shoved her inside, locked the door behind him, and closed the outside blinds before turning to face her.

      “What did you just say to me?”

      She stood in the center of the room, clutching her steno pad to her chest while he circled her, eyeing her like a hawk with a delectable bit of prey in his sights.

      “I need you to turn me into a femme fatale.”

      “A femme fatale?” He plowed his fingers through his hair, standing it up on end in spiky disorder. “Who talks like that anymore?”

      Okay. So maybe she had no clue what she was doing. But, damn it all, she’d done her research. Logan Pierce’s way with women was standard gossip around the break room.

      If one liked the dangerous, smooth-talking, bad-boy type.

      And judging by her uncontrolled reactions to Logan—the shallow breathing, that naughty feeling that had tingled in her fingertips when she’d accidentally touched him, the way she kept turning her head now to keep him in her line of vision—she did like that type. A little. Well, maybe more than a little. Okay, probably too much for her own good.

      He reminded her of those handsome backstage bums and one-night stands who had chased after her mother all those years.

      The kind of man who promised nothing but heartache.

      The kind of man she needed right now.

      “As I said earlier, Harris Mitchell will only work with women. Directly, that is.” She fought to keep the businesslike detachment in her voice. “Word on the street is that as he gets ready to expand his enterprise, he’ll be hiring a new personal accountant. I intend to be that woman.”

      “Word on the street?” Was that a swearword that hissed between his teeth? “What do you know about ‘word on the street’? How many times have you even been out of your cubicle?”

      “If you’ll kindly watch your mouth, Agent Pierce.” Grace’s fingers trembled in their grip on the steno pad. “I’ve done my research—”

      “I’ll bet you have.” He stopped circling and closed the distance between them. She felt the heat of him at her shoulder as he leaned in behind her, felt his hot, moist breath like a caress down the side of her neck. “But can you think on your feet? Be creative? Dodge bullets? Forget who you really are and become someone else?”

      When she realized that the tempo of her own short breaths matched his, she took a step away and turned. She would not let this man distract her from her purpose.

      “Commander Carmody gave me the green light for this project. I intend to go forward, with or without your help.”

      As that hawk who had circled her earlier, Logan snatched her glasses from her face, plunging her world into a blur of smeared colors and lights and shadows.

      “What are you doing?”

      She reached out blindly, groping the air.

      “Seeing if you have what it takes to go forward.”

      “I can’t see a damn thing right now.”

      “If you’ll kindly watch your mouth, Agent Lockhart.” He clicked his tongue behind his teeth in admonishment.

      Embarrassed by the instinctive panic in her reaction, she hugged her steno pad to her chest, calming her fluttering heart and giving her shaking fingers something to do. “I am an excellent student, Agent Pierce. If this is some sort of test…” Her nose detected the smell of well-worn leather, and she guessed he’d circled behind her again. Pleased with her detection skills, she actually smiled. “I graduated top of my class. I’m a Phi Beta Kappa. I had personal recommendations from two senators for my appointment—”

      “Yeah, yeah. But can you kiss a man and make him forget what he was thinking?”

      With a magical snap of invisible fingers, he zapped her confidence and took her into uncharted territory. “I beg your pardon?”

      “When it comes down to it, can you turn all that brain power into a seductive smile that Harris Mitchell will find irresistible?”

      “I—”

      She felt the heat of his lips brushing against her ear. “Can you do this…?” A vise clamped around her waist—Logan’s arm. She snatched at his leather sleeve to free herself, but froze as he pulled her back against him. Shoulders to chest. Hips to belt buckle. Bottom to…Grace squirmed at the vee of pure masculine heat that cupped her buttocks, not yet understanding the lesson he was teaching her. The long, strong fingers of his free hand seized her hip and stilled her struggle. “Without flinching?”

      His lips moved to the column of nerves that ran down the side of her neck. “Can you let a man do this to you…?” She tilted her head to the side, straining away from his hot, moist assault on her senses. His tongue joined the foray, supping at an undiscovered indention where her neck met her shoulder. The electric current that had tingled beside her ear now shot out to the tips of her breasts, hardening her nipples, making the tender globes feel heavy above the restricting band of his arm. “And pretend you enjoy it?”

      Pretend?

      A damp mix of pleasure and pain gathered between her legs. Her hand, which had once tried to push him away, now tugged at his arm, unconsciously begging him to ease the friction gathering in the breasts it cradled.

      Grace turned her jaw to his mouth, struggling to speak, fighting through the current of unaccustomed electric heat consuming her. He was making a point, she tried to remind herself, teaching her about working undercover.

      “I should—” she stuck out the tip of her tongue and licked the circle of her parched lips, trying to regain control of the conversation—and her traitorous body “—be taking notes.”

      He shifted his attention to the movement of her tongue and traced the same circle around her lips with an erotic rasp of his own tongue. The electric current humming through her transformed into an outright jolt. Her thighs clenched together and she lifted her bottom, rubbing herself against his bulging heat.

      “Logan?” The sensation was too much. He was too much.

      She was drowning. Falling. Building. Rushing.

      She was alone.

      Logan had released her and stepped far beyond her line of vision. He left her cold and exposed and swaying in the center of the room, counting silently to herself as she retrained her lungs to breathe in, then out, all over again.

      As she gathered her senses, she could hear his measured breathing across the room. Was he sneering at her inexperience? Laughing at her combustible reaction to a simple embrace? Shaking his head over just how ill-suited she was for this task? His voice, which had rumbled in such a seductive pitch beside her ear, now clipped with all the command of a military officer. “That’s what you’ll have to do. If Mitchell suspects for one moment that you’re not sincere, you’ll be dead.”

      Logan’s first lesson had bordered on virtual heaven. But the reality of his harsh words chased away the haze of sensual awareness and reminded her that he had yet to agree to work with her on the case.

      “I’m aware of the danger, Agent Pierce. I’m