Read Online HOT SEAL Lover (HOT SEAL Team - Book 2) by Lynn Raye Harris - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lynn Raye Harris
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before she’d come on this trip. She didn’t know what Jack Hunter’s guy could have done differently, but she had no doubt he wouldn’t have waited for her to ask what the plan was.
“The next town is a two-hour drive in decent conditions. In these conditions, I imagine it will take days,” she said.
“I don’t think we have much choice, ma’am.”
So polite, but he sounded a tad irritated with her right now.
A sudden thought occurred to her, and she almost wilted with relief. “Sheikh Fahd must have private transportation. I’ll ask him for a ride to Acamar or Dubai, or wherever he’s going.”
Christina wrapped up the call—Paul did not offer to accompany her to Sheikh Fahd’s penthouse suite, which she knew Matt would not approve of—and slipped the hijab over her hair. Fahd was modern enough that covering her hair instead of her entire body would satisfy him.
She tucked her phone into her purse and swung that over her shoulder, intending to head straight for Fahd’s suite. At the last second, she grabbed her briefcase. Maybe Fahd would be ready to sign the papers too. She could get him at a weak moment—like between explosions.
The thought amused her, which was a good thing right now. She knew Fahd was too shrewd to allow anything to derail him.
Christina jerked open the door and bit back a scream at the sight of a very large man with his fist raised to knock. He was at once familiar and foreign, and her heart pumped so fast she felt light-headed. He lowered his fist to his side.
“R-Remy?”
She hadn’t seen him in six months, not since that hot night in her bedroom, but her heart and body knew Remy Marchand even if she would rather they didn’t.
He didn’t look anything like he had the last time she’d seen him. He’d been wearing his henley and jeans, leaving her house after a hot night of sex and promising to call her later—which he had done, she knew, because she had the unanswered messages to prove it.
Now he was menacing. Tall and broad as always, but this time he was dressed all in desert camouflage, a mean-looking rifle slung over his chest, and sporting a helmet with what looked like a camera on the top. There was a mic curving around his cheek, and he wore a vest that appeared to contain ammo. There was also a gun in a holster strapped around his thigh and what seemed to be kneepads on his knees.
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
His mouth—that gorgeous, sensual mouth that had taken her to such heights—curved down in a hard frown. “This is a fucking war zone, Christina. I’m rescuing your ass.”
She couldn’t help the hot flush of anger that rolled over her then. “I don’t need rescuing, thanks.”
He pushed into the room and shoved the door closed.
“Objective acquired,” he said into the mic. “Awaiting instructions. … Copy.”
When he looked up at her again, his expression was dark. “Afraid you do, sweetheart. The airport’s closed for business. The rebels have cut off the route. Soon they’ll have the airport in their possession—and that’s bad for us.”
Her heart was thrumming from so many things, but the one thing that seemed paramount was just how shocking—and confusing—it was to see him again. And not just see him, but see him as the badass warrior he really was. He’d been sweet and tender with her. Handsome, yes, but not dangerous.
This man was not sweet. He was a lethal combination of training and testosterone. More dangerous than anything she’d ever encountered.
She lifted her chin. “I’m on my way to see Sheikh Fahd. He has a helicopter. He’ll take me with him when he goes—”
“Wrong.”
He made her trip over her tongue for a second before she found it again. “He will. I’m going to see him now.”
She started for the door, but Remy stepped in front of her. His hand rested on the weapon slung across his chest, and he looked absolutely menacing as he stared her down.
“You can’t, Christina. He’s gone.
“The next town is a two-hour drive in decent conditions. In these conditions, I imagine it will take days,” she said.
“I don’t think we have much choice, ma’am.”
So polite, but he sounded a tad irritated with her right now.
A sudden thought occurred to her, and she almost wilted with relief. “Sheikh Fahd must have private transportation. I’ll ask him for a ride to Acamar or Dubai, or wherever he’s going.”
Christina wrapped up the call—Paul did not offer to accompany her to Sheikh Fahd’s penthouse suite, which she knew Matt would not approve of—and slipped the hijab over her hair. Fahd was modern enough that covering her hair instead of her entire body would satisfy him.
She tucked her phone into her purse and swung that over her shoulder, intending to head straight for Fahd’s suite. At the last second, she grabbed her briefcase. Maybe Fahd would be ready to sign the papers too. She could get him at a weak moment—like between explosions.
The thought amused her, which was a good thing right now. She knew Fahd was too shrewd to allow anything to derail him.
Christina jerked open the door and bit back a scream at the sight of a very large man with his fist raised to knock. He was at once familiar and foreign, and her heart pumped so fast she felt light-headed. He lowered his fist to his side.
“R-Remy?”
She hadn’t seen him in six months, not since that hot night in her bedroom, but her heart and body knew Remy Marchand even if she would rather they didn’t.
He didn’t look anything like he had the last time she’d seen him. He’d been wearing his henley and jeans, leaving her house after a hot night of sex and promising to call her later—which he had done, she knew, because she had the unanswered messages to prove it.
Now he was menacing. Tall and broad as always, but this time he was dressed all in desert camouflage, a mean-looking rifle slung over his chest, and sporting a helmet with what looked like a camera on the top. There was a mic curving around his cheek, and he wore a vest that appeared to contain ammo. There was also a gun in a holster strapped around his thigh and what seemed to be kneepads on his knees.
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
His mouth—that gorgeous, sensual mouth that had taken her to such heights—curved down in a hard frown. “This is a fucking war zone, Christina. I’m rescuing your ass.”
She couldn’t help the hot flush of anger that rolled over her then. “I don’t need rescuing, thanks.”
He pushed into the room and shoved the door closed.
“Objective acquired,” he said into the mic. “Awaiting instructions. … Copy.”
When he looked up at her again, his expression was dark. “Afraid you do, sweetheart. The airport’s closed for business. The rebels have cut off the route. Soon they’ll have the airport in their possession—and that’s bad for us.”
Her heart was thrumming from so many things, but the one thing that seemed paramount was just how shocking—and confusing—it was to see him again. And not just see him, but see him as the badass warrior he really was. He’d been sweet and tender with her. Handsome, yes, but not dangerous.
This man was not sweet. He was a lethal combination of training and testosterone. More dangerous than anything she’d ever encountered.
She lifted her chin. “I’m on my way to see Sheikh Fahd. He has a helicopter. He’ll take me with him when he goes—”
“Wrong.”
He made her trip over her tongue for a second before she found it again. “He will. I’m going to see him now.”
She started for the door, but Remy stepped in front of her. His hand rested on the weapon slung across his chest, and he looked absolutely menacing as he stared her down.
“You can’t, Christina. He’s gone.
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