Act of Freedom

Chapter One

Striker stood outside of the high-end all-inclusive resort, barely listening as his fellow operatives continued to bicker. They'd done as much the entire car ride to the resort, which would have been hell regardless of their quibbling.

Typically, he was all for instigating whenever possible, but he'd been off his game from the word go on this mission. From the second he'd attended the mission briefing, back in the states, something had been different. It wasn't as if this assignment varied significantly from any other.

Truthfully, the mission was on the tamer side, for what he and his fellow Paranormal Security and Intelligence Operatives (PSI-Ops) were customarily called upon to do. They were an elite group of soldiers with skill sets that far exceeded those of regular men—of humans. And what they dealt with was anything but human either. A war had been raging long before he'd been born and would continue far beyond his death. It was between good and evil. Those who wanted to protect mankind and innocents, and those who wanted to make humans cattle—food for the supernatural masses.

PSI and its offshoots were the first and last line of defense against the ever-growing enemy. For each head they cut down, two more appeared, often leaving Striker feeling as if the fight was futile. That didn't stop him or make him surrender. Maybe it was the fact he'd been born in Scotland centuries ago. In a time when standing against England was the priority and warring with rival clans was at an all-time high. When the common form of dress was a tartan and men carried swords, not mobile phones.

Simpler times.

He grimaced. No, he thought. Darker times.

Some things were best left in the past. Dwelling on them wouldn't bring back those who had been lost or right old wrongs. It just ate at a man's soul, and Striker wasn't sure he had much soul left to spare.

Striker closed his eyes momentarily, hoping to chase away any lingering thoughts of old. His calming moment ended when someone slammed into him. With as large as he was, he didn't waver. He merely peered down at the culprit. Miles "Boomer" Walsh was there. His long blue-black hair combined with his heavily lined eyes often left him looking like he fancied himself a vampire. Ironically, he was a cat-shifter who had a healthy dislike of bloodsuckers.

Boomer, named for his love of explosives, righted his black shirt and laughed in the direction of a rather surly-looking male. "Was it something I said, Duke?"

"Eat me, kitty," snapped Duke Marlow, his award-winning personality shining through. Whenever he spoke, his voice was tinged with a Southern drawl. For all his bluster and endless rantings about hating everyone and everything, the American was Striker's close friend. It didn't matter that their personalities were night and day.

"What is it you've done this time?" asked Striker as Boomer laughed and darted around another of the operatives, as if seeking protection from Duke.

"I might have mentioned he smelled like someone left a steak on the grill too long," said Boomer, nodding his head toward Duke. "You know, exceptionally overdone like when he's manning the grill. The guy can't cook a steak to save his life."

Duke growled, his inner wolf making itself known. "Them's fighting words, kitty. I'm a grill master. My meat is sought after the world over."

"Keep telling yourself that." Boomer's lips pressed into a thin line as his cheeks heated. He glanced at Striker, shaking his head before laughing loudly. "Oh, come on. There was so much material to work with there, Striker. How in the hell are you staying silent? You live for dick jokes."

Clearing his throat, Striker nodded. "I dinnae want to burst his bubble. His meat is barely sought after in a two-block radius. Saying the world over is excessive."

"Weak comeback, but acceptable," said Boomer, grinning in Duke's direction again. "Though I'd go with maybe one block? Couple houses even? Beyond that, no one gives a shit about his meat."

Duke tried to go at the man only to have Malik Nasser step in his path.

The ancient Egyptian looked like he'd gone several rounds with a flamethrower and lost. Malik's long dark hair was pulled up and off his neck, looking rather untamed, especially for him. His black tactical gear had seen better days and would be a total loss. The long-sleeved shirt he wore had far less material now than when the day had started. Not a shock since it had caught fire, burning the material and his flesh.

As a supernatural male shifter, his skin had basically healed over already. The material hadn't fared as well. There were large pieces of it that were missing—their edges charred. The gaping holes left the man's seemingly endless array of tattoos showing.

Normally, the lion-shifter looked like a high- roller, always in designer, tailored articles of clothing, and never with a hair out of place. Malik liked the finer things in life—big houses, sports cars, and gold jewelry. His taste for all that was expensive extended to women as well. The type of woman he gravitated toward was what Striker often heard termed as gold-digging arm candy.

Striker didn't really have a type, per se. He liked all women. Though he had to admit he was partial to redheads. And it didn't hurt if they were tall, since he was well over six feet. He'd not scratched his carnal itch since he'd been called in and handed the mission briefing. Sure, it was only a few days, but that felt like dog years when it came to his cock.

His plan for the night was to wash dead arms dealer out of his hair, change his semi-charred clothing, drink his fill of scotch, and find a few bonnie lasses to spend the weekend shut in his hotel room.

Heaven.

Boomer eyed him. "Uh, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" demanded Striker.

"Like you're about to ask me to the prom," supplied the cat-shifter.

"You wear too much makeup," returned Striker with a wink. "Yer nae my type."

Boomer laughed. "The wink says I might be."

"You never know," said Striker. "All righty then, I need a shower and a pickle tickle."

"I am not helping with either of those," interjected Boomer quickly.

Squabbling from the edge of their group drew everyone's attention to the two men there, Duke and his Russian counterpart, Rurik Romanov. The two had been going at it since they'd wrapped their latest mission.

They'd been left babysitting a warehouse filled to the brim with crates of weapons. They'd been stacked floor-to-ceiling, with rows upon rows of crates. Some of the weapons were high-end, hard- to-find items. The type of things the black market put a hefty price tag on. Others were run-of-the- mill standards like AK-47s. Black market favorites.

The number of weapons hadn't shocked Striker or his teammates. They were used to breaking up the mass movement of weapons like that. What had been noteworthy was the fact the crates were basically free for the picking. A sure sign the entire mission had been a setup. They'd all known as much but leaving the weapons unguarded, to possibly fall into the wrong hands, hadn't been an option.

As predicted, it had been a trap. Their never- ending do-gooder ways had left them being attacked. Not that any of them had been shocked. He'd have been pissed, but the assault had been rather pathetic. As if the enemy had either grossly underestimated the PSI-Ops abilities, or it had all been a test. A way for the baddies to gauge what they were dealing with.

That felt like the more likely of the scenarios, not that Striker voiced as much. His teammates and fellow operatives saw him as comic relief—a jokester who rarely took anything seriously. Nothing could be further from the truth. He was always watching and soaking in everything around him. Always calculating possible points of attack.

Striker wasn't worked up about it. All he wanted to do was shower, eat, and fuck. Then he wanted to be on the first plane back to the states so he could check on what would soon be his new home.

He'd bought an old factory downtown and was having it totally renovated. The end product was going to be exactly what he wanted—a bachelor's wonderland. He could host countless parties there. Invite a ton of hot women and basically have as much sex as he wanted, while also being able to house his collection of motorcycles and cars.

Perfect.

The workmen were putting the finishing touches on it and soon Striker would be able to host his first of many epic parties.

Rurik and Duke continued to quarrel, exchanging barbs all while giving one another menacing stares.

"Yeah, suck my made-in-the-U.S.A.—" Duke's rather pointed suggestion for what Rurik could spend time doing was cut short by Malik as he jerked Duke back from the Russian bear- shifter.

Rurik let out a line of curses in Russian, telling Duke to go fuck himself right after pleasuring his mother, his aunt, and just about any other relative that Duke might have.

"Enough," said Malik, his accent thickening. "Duke, stand over there and keep your dick in your pants. I've already seen Striker's tonight. I don't need or want to see either of yours."

All eyes went to Striker.

He shrugged, running his fingers through his long dark red beard. He'd happened upon an impromptu dick measuring contest at the warehouse and had joined in. "What? Mine is the biggest. No contest."

Malik sighed. "Debating whose is and isn't the biggest wasn't on my list of things I wanted to take part in tonight."

"Yer loss," said Striker with a shrug. "And only small men claim they do nae want to measure."

Malik locked gazes with him and arched a brow. "I'd argue only insecure men feel the need to whip theirs out."

"Said little-dick men everywhere," mumbled Striker, earning him a few laughs from Boomer. "And I'm still the winner no matter what anyone says."

Duke and Rurik stopped arguing with one another and focused on him. "Asshole," they said in unison.

Garth Ingersson, the captain of Team Eight, joined them, carrying a duffle bag from the SUV. It was more than likely full of weapons. He'd looked like a kid in a candy store at the warehouse as he'd dug through the crates. Garth had sticky fingers when it came to weapons that were to be confiscated. His collection of them made Striker wonder if the man's mental stability should be called into question. "What are we talking about?"

"How mine is the biggest," said Striker. "And how any made in the U.S.A. and Russia are nae worth measuring."

Duke and Rurik came at him, only to have Malik and Garth step in their path.

"Och, would you look at that?" asked Striker with a coy grin. "The two of you are playing nice together. Adorable. Hug it out, lads. Hug it out."

Duke's growl managed to drown out Rurik's. Impressive considering Rurik was a bear-shifter and louder than Duke, a wolf-shifter.

Malik shot Striker an annoyed look.

Striker grinned. "Tut, do nae be looking at me like that. I'm just doing my part to promote peace, love, and understanding. I'm basically a peace ambassador for the United Nations at this point."

"Want me to kill him?" asked Garth. He'd been born when Vikings ruled the known world and had done his fair share of pillaging. He was quick to violence and loved danger. His accent made him sound fresh off the boat and was hard for Striker to make out at times. That was saying something, since no one ever understood Striker's accent.

Malik seemed to be considering Garth's offer.

"I'll behave," said Striker with a laugh.

"Sure you will," said Malik.

Striker was about to say something else that would no doubt piss off the man when the slightest of breezes moved through the otherwise stuffy air. With it came the scent of motor oil and petrol, but once that cleared, it was as if God himself had come down and drawn back a curtain, letting in the smell of cherries and spice.

His inner wolf did its best to become an outer wolf, surging up so quickly that Striker feared he'd shift forms then and there in the middle of the parking lot. Sure, it was dark out, but there was ample lighting. Enough for a human to see the act. Explaining it away would not be an option.

He twisted partially, trying to figure out where the smell of cherries and spice was coming from, but too many vehicles and too many people were walking around. His already heightened supernatural senses ratcheted up, leaving every sound in the immediate area coming at him in powerful waves.

It had been centuries since he'd had a loss of control like this. That had happened when he'd gone through puberty and had his first complete shift. There were no vehicles, no fancy resorts or modern amenities back then. There had been the Scottish Highlands, farm animals, and the open air. And there had been no smell of cherries and spice.

That was a damn good thing, seeing as how his cock was taking note of the scent. Battling his wolf and having a raging hard-on was anything but fun.

"We heading in or what?" asked Boomer as he started toward the resort entrance.

The words had barely left Boomer's mouth before Malik was sniffing the air, his eyes shifting colors as his beast pushed upward. He snarled and darted away from the men, moving at a speed any human in the area was sure to notice. He was in the resort's front door before the rest of the men could so much as blink.

Malik's outburst helped to calm Striker's.

Garth dropped the duffle bag and the clang it caused said Striker's guess had been right. It was full of weapons. "Shit!"

"What he said," Boomer shouted as he ran off in the same direction as Malik.

Duke, Rurik, and Striker all shared a knowing look. Something had stirred Malik's lion, and his shifter side wasn't one any sane person would dare go against.

"Captain, we'll handle this," said Rurik to Garth before pointing to the duffle bag. "That shouldn't be left out here."

Chapter Two

Edee Lachenbruch stood in the open doorway of the luxury resort hotel room, staring at two incredibly handsome men. Her hip bumped the serving side table that was near the entrance, holding a number of figurines. Everything about the place was fancy and unbelievable, including the hotties at the door.

She still couldn't believe the run of luck she and her best friend Brooke were having. They'd won an all-expenses-paid trip to Egypt that just happened to coincide with them getting their master's degrees. The flight over had been amazing. Never before had Edee flown first class. There had even been a white limo waiting for them at the airport, ready to take them to the resort.

Seeing pictures of the high-end resort online and actually being there were two very different things. It was simply amazing. There was no other way to put it. Add in meeting super-hunky dudes who wanted to take them out for dinner, and Edee was pretty sure she'd died and gone to heaven. Two of the hot dudes wanting to take them out to eat were standing in the hallway, looking in at her as Edee held the hotel room door open.

Edee and Brooke met the men in the hotel lobby. The group of hunks had intervened, stopping a jerk from manhandling Brooke. Much flexing of muscles had followed, all of which turned Edee on. She was still a bit bummed the men hadn't opted for shirtless mud wrestling.

She'd have liked to see that.

The man who had taken the most exception to Brooke being accosted in the lobby was closest to Edee, filling the doorway with his presence, dressed like some international playboy who was about to go clubbing. She noticed his watch and matching gold bracelet and knew instantly he was loaded.

While Edee came from very little, she was great at spotting high-end items. It had a lot to do with going to the library when she was in junior high and spending hours looking through their magazine collection, wishing herself away—to a different life.

Malik, the man who had taken a keen interest in Brooke, appeared slightly nervous, which was comical because everything about him screamed good with the ladies.

It was the guy standing behind Malik who had captured Edee's attention in the lobby. He stood slightly taller than the men he'd been with, which was saying something, since they were all well over six feet tall. At five-ten, Edee often towered over others, especially in high heels. She was in a pair of four-inch ones at the moment yet was shorter than both males who were presently standing just outside of the open door.

The taller of the two men in the hall had a head of auburn hair and a close-cut beard. His green eyes held nothing but mischief and were currently firmly locked on her. Having already gone a few rounds verbally with him, she got the sense he was a total handful to deal with. She'd enjoyed their witty sexual banter in the lobby, liking how bold he was. It honestly reminded her of herself.

If she remembered right, the tall redhead was called Striker. She didn't think it was his actual name. If it was, he had interesting parents.

Much like Malik, he too was dressed for a night out, though he didn't have gelled hair or any jewelry on. Yet everything about him was downright doable. His dress shirt and slacks were clearly high-end and tailored to fit his tall, muscular frame. He wasn't hurting for money either from the looks of it.

Striker's gaze never wavered from her as he casually leaned back against the opposite hallway wall. He brought a foot up, putting it against the wall before sticking his thumbs through his belt loops, a cocksure grin on his face. The act left him standing in a relaxed manner that somehow managed to say male model. His expression promised good times between the sheets and damn if she wasn't entertaining taking him for a ride.

Everything about him screamed sex-on-a- stick. All the men were extremely attractive. To the point it was distracting. Men didn't normally come packaged like these guys. At least not the men she'd been around in her life. When Edee had first seen them both in the lobby, they'd been in matching clothing—most of which looked as if they'd gone through a fire or a war. The more she thought on it, the more she realized the clothes had been like ones she saw in movies, on men who were in the military doing some kind of special mission.

She nearly moaned at the idea of the men being military of some sort. She had a thing for reading romance novels and military men, along with Scottish Highlanders were some of her favorite heroes. Super-hot guy bonus points would be awarded to each if they were in the military, not that they needed any extra points or anything.

It took Edee a second to realize she was basically gawking at Striker. Granted, he was kind of hard not to stare at. The man was gorgeous and massive. Pressing a thin smile to her face, her gaze slid to Malik. She motioned with her hand for him to enter the hotel room.

He stepped in, his attention snapping to Brooke, who was bent over near the coffee table, shaking her backside as she dug around for the horrid bag she was never without. The thing was dreadful, but Brooke loved it.

Malik's hands clenched and beads of sweat appeared on his brow. He made the slightest of motions, as if he might leap across the room and devour Brooke.

Edee fought to keep from smiling full-on. Brooke needed a man like Malik in her life. Someone to shake things up and show her a good time. The kind of guy who was basically an adult sexy jungle gym. Someone Brooke could climb all over and play with until her heart was content.

At the idea of scaling a man and using him for pleasure, Edee's attention flickered back to Striker, who was watching her with an odd expression on his face.

"Found it," said Brooke, wiggling more, her backside in the air.

The lowest of growls came from Malik.

Striker stopped looking so calm and collected, as concern filled his green gaze and for the briefest of seconds, Edee could have sworn she saw flecks of amber there. He blinked and they were gone. His focus was still intense and on Malik.

Edee wasn't sure what the man was so worried about. Malik didn't look dangerous to her. He just looked horny. Who could blame him with all the butt wiggling Brooke was doing? "Dear Lord, woman, you really need to stop shaking that rump or you're going to have a super-hot dude trying to mount you."

"Ouch!" exclaimed Brooke as she struck the back of her head on the coffee table with a loud thump.

"The idea of getting mounted wigged you out that much?" Edee chuckled as she reached for the small figure on the side table nearest her. She pitched the figurine at her friend, already knowing just how freakish Brooke's reflexes were. Edee knew Brooke was in no danger and she wanted to cut some of the sexual tension radiating from Malik.

Brooke's hand shot out fast and she plucked the figurine out of thin air, never even looking in Edee's direction. She plunked it on the coffee table with a huff. "Stop throwing stuff at me."

Striker's dark red brows shot up.

Edee licked her lips as if to say "yes, I'm trouble, what of it?"

Malik just kept staring at Brooke like she was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Brooke stood and turned to face Edee. She froze like a deer in headlights at the sight of Malik standing there.

"How did you figure out our room number?" asked Brooke, sounding dumbfounded.

"He paid the desk clerk an obscene amount of money," said Striker from the hall, his Scottish brogue shining through, making it slightly hard to understand him. That didn't really take away from his hot-scale rating or anything. In fact, the accent only sort of upped it. He locked gazes with Edee, and for a second it felt as if someone had ignited a flame in her chest.

Striker's gaze snapped to the open, low-cut area of Edee's dress. He swallowed hard enough to hear.

The bad girl side of Edee wanted to flash the man some more cleavage. She resisted. It was hard.

"See, doesn't look like he found another woman to keep him company. He brought the Scottish jerk though," said Edee, wanting to fill the silence as she glanced from Malik to Brooke. "Win some. Lose some."

"Yer full of piss and vinegar, lass," said Striker with a growl as he moved closer to the open doorway, his shirt tugging at his muscular arms. "Want to do it?"

"Come on, big guy," said Edee as she rolled her eyes playfully. "Let's head down to the restaurant and let these two have a moment together. You okay with that, Brooke?"

"Am I okay with that?" asked Brooke, sounding totally lost.

"I'm fine with that, but if being alone with me makes you uncomfortable, I'll understand," Malik said. "I don't want you nervous around me, Brooke."

"Then you should probably button your shirt more," Brooke said fast.

Edee snickered as she put her arm out to Striker. "Bye, Brooke. See you in a bit. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Striker took her arm and heat instantly flared through her upper half once again. His nostrils flared and he stepped into the room, crowding her space. He dipped his head, inhaling deeply, confusion knitting his brow.

Edee simply stood there a second, resisting the urge to touch the man all over. His arm was rock solid, and she was sure the rest of him would be as well. The smell of his cologne struck her, and she paused, wanting to recoil for some reason. It didn't smell bad, but it did make her feel conflicted between leaping on him and having her way with him, and running for the door.

Weird.

They exited the room and the door shut behind them.

Edee paused, wondering if she should maybe stay with Brooke.

"Malik's a good guy," said Striker. "He'd never pressure yer friend for anything, and he'd kill anyone or anything that tried to harm her."

Deep down, Edee already knew that, but she wasn't sure how or why. But she trusted him. Both men really. With a nod, she used her free hand to pull her long hair over one shoulder. "I'm ready. Take me and put food in me."

Striker didn't budge. Instead, he stared down at her in an odd manner. "Right. Put it in you. Och. Food. I mean…food."

A wanton smile slid over her face. "I'm sure that's what you meant."

"Just for clarification," he said, his grin still screaming sex. "Can I get a list of things yer nae willing to do? You know, strictly for research purposes and all since you told yer friend nae to do anything you wouldnae."

It took Edee some time to realize he'd said "purposes" because his Scottish accent turned the word into something altogether different. Plus, all the naes muddled it more.

"Lass?" he asked.

"Sorry, my brain was trying to translate your accent," she admitted with a sheepish grin.

He laughed. "Och, it's nae that bad. Is it?"

She gave him a look that said he knew the answer already.

Striker nodded. "Fine. It is, but this is me trying hard to speak clearly for you. Wait until alcohol is added. You'll nae understand a single word I say."

"Sometimes," she said, lowering her voice marginally, "talking is overrated."

He glanced upward and paused, halting their forward progress. "Lord, I do nae know if she was sent as a test, but if yer wondering how much willpower I have, you should know, it's nae much when it comes to her."

Edee snorted. "Feed me, big boy." Striker led her down the long hall, keeping hold of her arm as they walked. "You clean up nice."

"Took me a minute to get the dead arms dealer washed out of my hair," said Striker before winking. "He was verra sticky and wanted to stay."

He and his friends had a very strange sense of humor since one of them had made a similar joke in the lobby. As she thought more about what they'd been wearing—what had looked like tactical clothing—she tugged on his arm, slowing their pace. "Are you being serious?"

"If I am?" he countered. "Would you think less of me?"

"Honestly, it kind of ups your hot factor," she returned, making him laugh. The sound was deep and slid over her slowly, touching her in places it shouldn't. She shivered with desire.

"Yer cold," he said. "I can take you back to yer room so you can grab a jumper."

Edee tipped her head, trying to figure out what he was talking about. It hit her then. "Oh, a sweater?"

"Aye," he said with an amused snort. "A sweater."

It came out sounding more like he'd said sweat-her. That made her smile more.

"Thank you, but I'm good," she said before looking him up and down. "How tall are you?"

"We've gone from if I'm telling the truth about washing dead arms dealer bits off me to my height?" he asked. "Yer a verra strange woman. I like it. Wanna bang like bunnies?"

"I know, and possibly." Edee leaned against him as they walked, laughing softly.

"That dinnae answer my question, lass," he said before cocking his head to one side. "Or did it?"

She kept leaning on him. "What cologne are you wearing?"

He shrugged. "I do nae really know. I forgot to pack any, so I used some of Malik's. Why? Do you like it?"

"Honestly, not so much," she said with a cringe.

He came to a full stop. "Then I'll go shower and change. Can I talk you into showering with me?"

Edee stared up at him. " I don't expect you to shower and change. I can kind of smell you under it, if that makes sense."

"And how do I smell to you, lass?" he asked, the timbre of his voice licking her insides.

She bit her lower lip. "Good."

"Good enough to eat?" he asked, sounding hopeful. "Because I think we both know I'll nae turn down your mouth on me in any manner."

She didn't dare let on that she'd be open to his mouth on her as well. Something told her they'd never make it to dinner if she did. While she liked to talk a big game when it came to sex, everything about Striker said he was well versed in the act and probably far too much man for her to handle behind closed doors. At least not on an empty stomach.

"Why were you and your friends really all dressed alike and why did it look as if some of you had been through a fire?" asked Edee. "The truth this time."

Striker pressed the button for the elevator. "We're boring. I want to hear all about you. Like, are you single?"

She snorted. "I am."

He seemed surprised. "There's no one special in yer life? I find that hard to believe."

"Oh, believe it," she countered. "I'm kind of a handful for most men."

He leaned slightly toward her and grinned in a sexy way that left her chest feeling funny and warm again. "I like a challenge, lass."

"Cool. I'm nothing but a challenge," she returned. "It's the hair. I come by it honestly."

"Same," he said with a snort as the elevator doors opened.

A couple who looked to be in their late seventies or early eighties were there. They were dressed as if they'd been out having an elegant dinner together. The man spoke in what sounded like French to Edee. She'd had two years of it in high school but was anything but well versed.

Striker responded in French, waiting as Edee entered the elevator before following right behind her. He checked that the ground floor button was lit, nodded, and then lifted her hand, putting it on his forearm once more.

The woman said something that made Striker chuckle and puff out his chest a bit.

Edee tugged on his arm. "What did she say?"

"American?" asked the woman, her French accent thick.

Edee nodded.

"I was telling him the two of you will make beautiful babies and if he is smart, he'll get started on them at once—unless he already has," she said with a knowing smile.

Edee barely held back a yelp. "We're not a couple. We just met. No babies. No starting on them."

The woman eyed Striker and Edee. "When I look at the two of you, I see fire and passion. Flames. The bedroom will sizzle."

Edee opened her mouth to object.

Striker cut her off. "Aye. Redheads are dynamite in bed."

The woman and the man laughed.

The elevator stopped and the couple exited. The woman said something in French, making Striker flash a wider smile as he chortled.

As the doors closed, Edee glanced up at Striker. "What did she say?"

"That we're only lying to ourselves if we think this night willnae end in us naked and verra much together," said Striker.

"She did not say that," said Edee before stepping back slightly. "Did she?"

Striker narrowed his gaze. "Most women jump at the chance of being naked with me."

"If that was your way of trying to talk me out of my panties, you're going to want to work on your delivery," said Edee. "That's assuming I'm wearing panties."

Striker's breath caught and his gaze slid down her. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, which was amusing since it wasn't even buttoned all the way. He stared straight ahead quickly. "'Tis hot as hell in here, lass. Stuffy."

"Uh-huh," she said. "You speak French? Hmm, full of surprises, aren't you?"

"I am," he said, still avoiding looking at her.

"Something the matter?" she asked.

"No," he returned. "Just trying to figure out if yer wearing panties. That's all. Ignore me."

She snorted and tried to change the subject. "Do you speak any other languages? Besides French and English?"

He nodded. "Too many to count. Though my Arabic is shite. Never really took to that one."

The man was the total package. The kind of guy other women made fools of themselves to keep around.

As much as Edee wanted to believe she had too much pride to ever run behind a man with her tongue wagging, she had to admit she'd at least power walk behind the Scotsman.

She bit at her inner cheek and then took a deep breath, gathering the confidence to continue the sexual banter between them. "The answer is yes."

"Yes?" he responded before whipping around to face her fully. "Yer wearing them? What kind?"

"A thong," she replied.

The elevator doors opened again and several men in suits were standing there. They had little earpieces in, and Edee remembered seeing them in the resort parking lot while she'd been taking photos. They looked at her and something in their expressions left her stepping closer to Striker, her palms going to his chest.

His hands found her hips as he focused solely on her.

The men in the suits made a move to step on the elevator.

Edee tensed.

Striker glanced in their direction briefly. "Occupied. Find another."

The doors closed, leaving the men in the suits behind.

Relief swept through Edee, and she put her forehead to Striker's steely chest.

"Lass?" he asked, bending his head partially.

She gathered her composure and looked up at him. It was then she realized how close her lips were to his. Close enough to kiss. She was just about to give in and do as much when she caught another whiff of the cologne he was wearing.

She pushed off him gently.

He let out a frustrated groan. "Lass, you do realize I'm hard as a rock thinking about you wearing nothing but a thong under that dress?"

A wanton grin slid over her face. "What are you wearing under your slacks?"

"I'm nae wearing a damn thing under them," he said. "Wanna see?"

"Maybe." She gave a shrug. "Maybe not."

The doors of the elevator slid open, and Striker stayed by her side as they exited. The floor there wasn't carpeted. It was marble and slightly slippery in her heels. One of her feet slipped partially out from under her.

Striker reacted quickly, wrapping a steely arm around her waist, and jerking her to his powerful frame. "Och, lass, careful there."

Her breath caught as her palms found his chest once more. Her body heated quickly and for a moment she thought flames might pop right out of her fingers. Of course, that was absurd. People didn't shoot fire. "Um, thank you."

"Anytime," he said suggestively before taking her arm again. He tugged her closer. "Lass, something tells me this is the start of something great."

"Okay, but Brooke has been the only person in my life so far who can tolerate me day in and day out."

"Like I said," he returned. "I like a challenge."