The SEAL’s Surprise Baby by Leslie North

2

Fourteen months earlier

The techno music thumped loudly in the neon and glass of the club as Anderson scanned his surroundings. Violet’s plan was simple: They would look like an amorous couple enjoying a night out, while getting some shots of a mobster who frequented the club. Anderson was glad to be out of the apartment he shared with Violet as part of their masquerade. He hated being pent up and idle. Watching Violet analyze data wasn’t doing it for him.

They took to the dance floor as soon as they entered the club. It was no hardship for Anderson to dance with Violet. They’d been dancing around each other enough over the past weeks while working together in Moscow. Butting heads, fighting for control. It was almost a sexual release to be so close to her, both of them bumping and grinding.

He had his phone out while they moved to the music, pretending to take pictures of her as she danced. She made a memorable photograph in the barely there dress that exposed the tops of her breasts and ended an inch below her ass. He playfully held up a finger to indicate he wanted one more shot. Anyone watching them would interpret it as his asking her to pose. She took his cue, pouting her red lips and running her hands down her body in a seductive move.

He saw her eyes widen for a split second before returning to her previous sultry expression. She moved closer, her fingers going into his hair as she leaned in.

“We’ve got a problem,” she whispered, giving his earlobe a nip to keep their cover. “Move with me.” She guided their bodies around as she kept tight to him, never losing the beat.

He flicked his glance to the upper tier of the club, where men with guns were fanning out, their eyes searching the crowded dance floor. “We’re blown,” he said into her neck, his lips trailing against her soft skin. “They’re looking for us. But Volkhov is up there.”

“Big guy, receding hairline, mole under his left eye?” she asked, her voice cool.

“That’s him.” Their target, known in the mob world as the Wolf, was peering over the balcony railing. Volkhov ran an outfit of executioners and henchmen used by the top underworld organizations for protection and was notoriously difficult to photograph. All they needed to get from him was verification of identity. Nailing him would shut down some international violence and slow the spread of Russian mob power.

Three days earlier, Anderson had had a meeting with Volkhov, pretending to be a potential client for the executioner’s services. The way the gunmen were searching the crowd indicated Volkhov had made the connection that Anderson was watching him. Since Volkhov was the suspicious type, with a network of informants, he probably knew about Violet as well. They needed an escape plan, but not before Anderson got the picture he wanted.

Anderson captured an image of Volkhov with his phone before dropping his head against her shoulder again. He needed to keep his face out of sight. “Hop up and let me carry you,” he said. She did what he asked, wrapping her arms and legs tight around him. His hands molded to her butt, holding her in place.

“I got it,” she said when he kissed her neck again. “Keep your head down. I can see the exit.”

While keeping up the pretense of making out, she whispered directions in his ear and they worked their way across the dance floor. He trusted her quick, analytical brain to make the right calls and didn’t hesitate to follow her instructions.

“Almost there,” she breathed, her mouth against his temple. “Two steps to the right, and straight toward the emergency exit. Things are about to get ugly.”

“Stop,” a voice yelled in Russian and then in English, loud enough to be heard over the pounding music. Anderson shoved open the steel exit door, dumping them into an alley. Not a minute too soon. The sound of gunfire and echoes of screams came from the club, but Anderson was already running, still carrying Violet, not wanting to slow down long enough to put her on her feet. Down the block, a motorcycle idled at the curb, its driver a few steps away, handing a delivery to a woman in the entryway of an apartment building.

“Bike,” he said as they approached, letting Violet slide down his body until her feet were on the pavement. Despite the urgent situation, the friction sent a zing through him—but they needed to move. He swung his leg over the motorcycle, and she climbed on behind him.

“Go,” she yelled as the delivery driver lurched toward them with a cry. Her arms closed around him and her body pressed up against his.

He revved the bike, rocketing them away from the club and danger. With their cover blown, he couldn’t risk returning to their apartment, so he headed for a nearby safe house. He wound them through the complex pattern of Moscow’s streets, slowing the bike once it was clear they’d eluded immediate pursuit—from the mobsters as well as the motorcycle’s rightful driver—and navigating carefully through a quiet residential area, not wanting to attract any attention as they approached the safe house and pulled into its parking garage.

They didn’t speak as they rode the elevator to the fifth floor and he keyed in the security code he’d memorized before deploying on this mission. The door opened, and he pulled her inside before securing the lock and reactivating the alarm system.

“Did you get it?” she asked, her first words since they’d escaped.

“You bet,” he answered. He took his phone from his pocket and showed her the image of the executioner. His face was clear and large on the screen. A second image showed him next to a known mob boss and directing the gunman in the club.

“Fantastic.” She smiled, and Anderson’s heart rate shot up. He should have thought better of his next move, but his body was still pumping with adrenaline. He yanked her to him for a victory kiss.

Her mouth opened to him, and he plunged his tongue in as he shoved her against the wall, hands roaming down her body, hips grinding against hers. Immediately he knew he didn’t want to stop with a kiss. Weeks of sexual frustration burned through him, and he couldn’t get enough of her. The attraction between them had almost throbbed at times, but they’d both backed away from acting on it. Until then. She pulled his shirt from his pants and slipped her hands underneath. Demanding fingers roamed over his stomach and rubbed across his nipples. She was driving him wild, and all he could feel was need.

“I want you,” he said, not giving a damn that their relationship was supposed to be professional—or that they didn’t always like each other.

“One thing we agree on.” Her hands dropped lower and cupped his erection through his pants, making him moan.

Before she could do more, he hiked her dress up, taking it over her head when she lifted her arms. She wore only a lace thong underneath. He sucked in a breath. God, she was beautiful, even more than he’d imagined she’d be. He palmed her breasts before taking one nipple in his mouth.

“God, that’s amazing,” she murmured, arching into him as he sucked. Their lower bodies rubbed together while her hands continued to explore him, stroking long paths down his back to his butt. When she pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, he lifted his head to meet her eyes. She gave him a sultry smile. “Condom in here, right?”

“Good guess,” he said, switching his attention to her other breast as his fingers traveled down her sides.

“It’s what I do. Make guesses based on evidence”—she gasped when he squeezed her ass—“and observations. My assessment of you is that you’re a condom-in-the-wallet kind of guy. Do you mind if I retrieve it?”

“Help yourself.” A second later, he heard his wallet hit the floor behind him and took the condom from her. He removed his shirt while she undid his pants. With one motion, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of both trousers and boxers and shoved them down until he could step free. Only one wisp of fabric remained between them. He kissed her lips, scraping his tongue across hers, before moving his mouth down her neck, taking nips at her skin. He followed the valley between her breasts, down over her navel, and to the edge of the lace.

Her hands sank into his hair as he swirled his tongue over the fabric, tracing the outline of her cunt.

“Take them off,” she breathed, but rather than wait for him, she pushed the panties down herself. He helped work the thong down her legs, touching and teasing as he went. “Take me against this wall.” She was demanding as always, but he was willing to comply this once.

He stood and rolled the condom onto his dick. “Hop on.”

She put her arms around his neck, making it easy for him to lift her. Her legs squeezed around him as they had in the club, but now there was nothing between them. He plunged into her, bracing her against the wall. She tipped her head back, giving him easy access to her throat and breasts.

Passion like he’d never known swamped him. He had to try to harness it or he’d come too quickly. He tried to slow the pace, but she squeezed her inner muscles around his dick, driving him on. They were both panting as their bodies pounded together. He didn’t think he could last another minute when she came, a rough scream coming from her lips. He thrust into her one more time, and the orgasm took him in wave after wave of pleasure.