The Spy Who Loved Him Read online

  An arrested expression jumped into his eyes. "How do you know that's what happened?"

  "Because I know Anna." Some of the belligerence faded from her face. "And I know you. As irritating as you are at times, you're not the kind of man to play games with one woman when you…When you…"

  "Love another." He supplied with a slow smile.

  As quickly as it had flared, her fury died. An answering smile curved her lips. "Yes. Almost as much as she loves you."

  His chest pounding at the frank admission, Carlos started toward her. Another squeak and a nervous tug on his coattails stopped him. Or maybe it was the flicker of raw emotion that crossed the face of the man standing behind Margarita. Marcus caught Carlos's glance on him and quickly summoned a sardonic grin.

  "If you two are finished with these nauseating personal testimonials, maybe we could get to the business that brought us here. Can we use your secure phone?"

  "Of course."

  Courteous but firm, Carlos escorted a thoroughly embarrassed Anna to the door. She wouldn't look at him when he closed the door gently behind them.

  "You should have told me you love Margarita," she sniffed.

  Diplomatically, he refrained from pointing out that he'd attempted to do exactly that several times, most recently at the ball two weeks ago.

  "I thought…" Tears of mortification rolled down her cheeks. "I thought…"

  "Why don't you find Miguel?" he suggested gently. "I think he's downstairs, in the—"

  "He's right here."

  The stocky lieutenant marched in from the hall, his expression thunderous. His gaze whipped from Anna's tear-streaked face to his superior's.

  "What did you do to her?"

  Before Carlos could decide how to answer that without embarrassing Margarita's young cousin even more or inciting Miguel to take a swing at him, Anna sniffed again and tossed back her hair.

  "He didn't do anything, much as I begged him to."

  Head high, she stomped past the lieutenant. She passed him at the door and fired a broadside.

  "If you'd tried to kiss me even once, Miguel Carreras, instead of worshipping at my feet like a lovesick puppy, maybe I wouldn't have had to beg Carlos for anything."

  Thunderstruck, Miguel gaped at his boss for all of a second or two, then swung around and followed her.

  "Anna, wait!"

  "I'm tired of waiting. Tired of your—umph!"

  Carlos shot his secretary an amused glance and sauntered to the door. The sight of his aide bending Anna over his arm while a corridor full of uniformed soldiers grinned and hooted encouragement gratified him intensely.

  The sight that greeted him when he strolled into his office a few moments later afforded him considerably less gratification. Marcus had one hip hitched on the edge his desk, the phone plastered to his ear. Margarita paced impatiently in front of him.

  "Once we run down this boat registration," Marcus was saying, "we'll get Navy and Air Force assets out to conduct a search. If it's anywhere in the Caribbean, we'll find it. Simon won't get away this time."

  "I wish I could be in on the takedown!"

  "Not a problem. After what you went through at the bastard's hands, Jonah will certainly agree you need to be there for the kill. But…"

  His glance flicked to Carlos, standing very still just inside the door, then to Margarita.

  "Are you sure you want to go into field operations? You're doing great work here."

  "Desk work," she muttered.

  "Well," Marcus said cheerfully. "Here's your chance to get down and dirty. Just say the word, babe."

  The indecision on her face knotted Carlos's stomach.

  He could do this, he told himself fiercely. He could stand back and watch the woman he loved put her life on the line. She was a trained professional. She'd proved herself more than capable of handling any contingency.

  Forcing a calm smile, he strolled forward. "I take it you got a lead on Simon's trail."

  "Yes," she answered, eagerness springing into her eyes. "We've got the registration number of the boat that picked him and one of his men up just off the coast of Madrileño two days ago."

  "Good work."

  "SPEAR is running a trace on the boat and its movements now," Marcus volunteered. "We're holding on while the computers crunch the satellite images for this sector of—" He broke off and snapped his attention to the phone. "Yeah, I'm here. What have you got?"

  Carlos moved to stand beside Margarita. He could almost feel the excitement radiating from her slender body. He was losing her. At least for the next few weeks or months or however long it took to run this operation. Then he'd have her back with him…until the next time SPEAR called her.

  He could do this, he swore fiercely. Dammit, he could do this.

  "Hot damn!"

  Marcus dropped the phone into its cradle. His blue eyes blazed with excitement.

  "We've got him! The cross match of radio signals, navigational beacons and satellite imagery tracked our boy from just off Madrileño's coast. According to their vectors, he's heading for the island of Cascadilla."

  "Cascadilla?" Margarita grasped the significance of the small Caribbean island instantly. "Isn't that where SPEAR has some kind of an R and R center?"

  "It is. It must be the next target in Simon's personal vendetta against SPEAR."

  Marcus pushed off the desk, ready for action.

  "There's a plane in the air as we speak. It'll be at the San Rico airport at approximately twenty-one hundred hours. Next stop, Cascadilla."

  Chapter 15

  Heedless of his hand-tailored black tux, Carlos leaned a hip against the stone balustrade and let the soft Madrileñan moonlight wash over him.

  The rum-soaked outer wrapping on his glowing cigar sent a curl of fragrant smoke into the air. A buzz of conversation drifted through the row of French doors thrown open to the balmy night, drowning out the string quartet assembled to entertain the guests gathered to meet Argentina's new cultural attaché to Madrileño.

  Carlos wouldn't have heard the quartet even without the swell of lively conversation. He'd come out to the flagstone balcony with every sense tuned to the airport clearly visible from the higher elevation of the Presidential Palace.

  The airport approach lights glowed red and white in the darkness. Taxiways were outlined in blue. He flicked a glance at his watch. Marcus said the plane would land in San Rico at twenty-one hundred hours. Nine o'clock. Fifteen minutes ago. By now, Margarita and Marcus would have their gear loaded. The plane should be taking off again at any minute.

  Carlos had opted not to go to the airport with Margarita. He had to get used to her leaving on short notice. Had to get used to coming home to an empty house.

  Rolling the cigar in his fingers, he tried to convince himself that the hours between her visit to his office this afternoon and her departure tonight would compensate for the empty nights to come. She'd been so loving, so passionate…

  "Carlos?"

  His head whipped around. With a small crunch, the cigar disintegrated in his fingers. Disbelieving, he stared at the slender figure in the flame-colored gown.

  Light spilled through the French doors behind her, glinting on the thick, glossy hair swept up in a smooth twist. Carlos felt his chest constrict. He cleared his throat, but the best he could manage was a gruff sentence, "You look very beautiful in red, my darling."

  She glided forward, a smile on her lips. "So you've told me."

  Her face was in shadow, but moonlight gleamed on the smooth line of her throat and shoulders.

  Her bare throat and shoulders.

  It took a second for his stunned mind to register the absence of the gold locket she always wore. The vise around his chest tightened another notch.

  "I thought you were leaving with Marcus."

  "I thought I was, too. I got as far as the airport."

  "What changed your mind?"

  "Knowing you accepted that I could leave at any time suddenly made leavi
ng not nearly as important as staying. Does that make sense?"

  "Perfect sense," he growled.

  Tossing the remains of his cigar over the stone railing, he opened his arms. Margarita filled them, just as she filled his heart.

  Carlos crushed her to him. Her mouth found his, eager, joyful, hungry. He didn't think he could love her more than he did at that moment, but when she drew back, her eyes alight with the special glow that was hers alone, he realized he was wrong. He'd love her a little more with every breath he drew.

  "You'd better marry me," she told him. "My mother assures me that no one will think anything about us living together in this day and age, but…"

  "A wise woman, your mother."

  "Very wise." She searched his face. "She also suggested I run for that vacant Senate seat, if you don't want it."

  "You're welcome to it."

  "You don't mind? Honestly?"

  "I would be proud."

  He grinned at her, guessing what was coming next. She didn't disappoint him.

  "And when my uncle's term is up, I may just consider running for President."

  "You'd make an excellent head of state." The laughter faded from his voice. "There's much to do here in Madrileño. We could do it together."

  "That's one of the reasons I didn't get on the plane. A small part."

  "And the other reasons?"

  "There's only one."

  Sliding her palm up the black satin lapels, she rose on tiptoe to brush his mouth with hers once again.

  "You, mi amor. You."

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Merline Lovelace for her contribution to the A Year of Loving Dangerously series.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6826-9

  THE SPY WHO LOVED HIM

  Copyright © 2001 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15