Top-Secret Bride
Nina Bruhns
Series: Mission: Impassioned!
Silhouette Romantic Suspense
September 2007
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MARINA BOND is a British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS—also know to the uninitiated as MI6) agent, currently on an undercover operation targeting a cartel which traffics African conflict diamonds for illegal arms. Marina has no time for love, and even if she did, she has no desire to repeat the heartbreak of her divorced parents. She is practical enough, however, to know a girl occasionally needs a good man. And she certainly knows a good man when she sees one.
DEWITT VON KREUS is an expatriate South African who left his homeland after helping Nelson Mandela’s rebels bring down Apartheid rule. He currently works for the enigmatic LAZLO GROUP as their Information Retrieval Specialist (read: interrogator). Because of his iffy occupation and his turbulent past, Witt has too many emotional scars to let himself fall in love. But when a sexy SIS agent invokes the outdated but highly provocative “Denmark Protocol” at a top-secret meet, he likes what he sees, and can’t resist taking it–her–for himself.
Read an Excerpt from: TOP-SECRET BRIDE
Paris, September
The man was gorgeous. Upper thirties, tall—very tall—muscular, tan with longish sun-streaked blond hair and a rakish mustache that accented an angled, character-filled face.
Eyes the color of the morning sky stared right back at her. Assessingly.
“Agent Bond, I presume?” he asked without a hint of amusement.
She nodded, keeping her own amusement to herself. Could she help it if Dad had given her such a wildly inappropriate—or maybe wildly appropriate—last name? It had always been an open invitation for her colleagues to come up with all sorts of droll monikers and comical comments. Yeah, well, she’d never really minded. She could hold her own with ol’ James.
The Lazlo agent grunted. “I’m—“
She cut him off before he could say his name. “Doesn’t matter who you are.”
“I’m von Kreus,” he completed, and shrugged. “Company policy to identify oneself.”
His pronunciation was telling. Definitely South African. With a hint of Afrikaans. Her current undercover op was to infiltrate an African conflict diamond cartel. Coincidence? Her pulse jacked up again and she made a quick decision.
“Whatever. Take off your clothes,” she ordered briskly.
His brows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“I’m invoking Denmark protocol,” she said. “You’ve got a problem with that?”
“You think I’m wired?” To his credit, von Kreus’s annoyance seemed genuine.
Denmark protocol was an Old School safety measure only invoked these days as a last resort. In the field, when circumstances prevented electronic counterchecks, usually between potential enemies or rivals, stripping to the skin and changing venues eliminated your enemy’s buddies listening in or taping the conversation.
“I’m not taking any chances,” she stated firmly.
His jaw worked. “In that case, I won’t take any, either. I invoke it in return.”
She blinked. “What? Why?” He had no reason to suspect her of anything. He didn’t even have to talk.
“If you don’t like it you can always wait and speak to Lazlo himself,” he said, noting her hesitation with a smirk of satisfaction. “The boss should be back in a few days.”
“This can’t wait that long.”
Corbett needed to hear this information asap. And she couldn’t afford any more time off grid. Besides, she wasn’t shy.
“Fine. Let’s just get this over with,” she muttered.
Quickly she unbuttoned her coat and tossed it onto the bed. Then she unbuttoned her silk blouse and peeled it off, too. It joined the Glock, along with her black page boy wig.
She tried to ignore him when he just stood there watching inscrutably as she removed the clip holding her blond hair in place and shook her head to loosen it from its confinement. His steady gaze followed the strands, then continued over her shoulders and down to her breasts where it lingered. Her temper flared.
“See anything you like?”
His pale blue eyes darkened to steel and looked up at her with…hunger?
A sudden punch of awareness slammed through her insides, swift and sharp, and just as hungry as his gaze. Damn, what was going on here?
Without replying, he pulled a SIG 226 Navy from the small of his back, then drew his black T-shirt over his head and pitched them both onto the bed, watching her the whole time with those icy-hot eyes.
She couldn’t help it. She deliberately checked out his naked chest.
She wasn’t disappointed. It was broad and buff and well-defined, his nipples flat, dark and tight. Her own went pebble hard under her bra as she followed an arrow of sandy-colored hair to where it disappeared into the low-hipped band of his jeans.
Good lord.
Crouching down, with rapid efficiency he removed his leather boots and his socks. Then he stood, crossed his arms and waited for her.
To take off something else.
