The Dangerous Boxed Set

Alexei was their smartest analyst and could speak Russian, Georgian, Bulgarian, Polish, and Ukrainian. He’d been sitting with heavy earphones on for over a week, listening to Worontzoff and his staff basically pick the lint out of their bellybuttons. And listening to music

There were taps on the phones, but Worontzoff used the landline sparingly. Iceman had wanted ten dishes in an array around the mansion. He’d pounded desks, which usually worked—a Delta operator was like a lion in the geeky Tech section of the Unit—but this time the brass stood firm. One listening device. One. Larry down in Tech said it was the best way to keep surveillance from a distance.
Anything Worontzoff said in his study could be heard. They heard all conversations Worontzoff had in his study and landline conversations. Nothing specific had been said yet, but according to Alexei, something was brewing

John Di Stefano held up a bottle of Coke and wished with all his heart that it was a beer. But this was a job, and alcohol and work didn’t mix, to his regret. A beer sounded great right now, to wash the taste of frustration out of his mouth.
To an impossible job. He held the Coke bottle up long enough to make the silent toast, then chugged its contents down.
He’d been holed up with Nick Ireland, aka Iceman, and Alexei Nestrenko in a surveillance van for the past week now and the inside of the van looked it and smelled it

long, to judge by her intense reaction.
Had he noticed? Those deep blue eyes seemed so observant. It was very likely she’d flushed. Her skin was like a beacon advertising every emotion flitting through her.
This wouldn’t do. Charity forced herself to sit back, still her nerves, and smile blandly into Nick’s eyes, when—shockingly—what she really wanted to do was climb into his lap, nuzzle her face up against that square jaw, find out with her hands whether he was as hard underneath that elegant suit as she suspected. Place her lips precisely against his throat, where she could see the fine line where his whiskers stopped. Feel his heartbeat against her mouth. Lick that smooth, tan skin.
Whoa. Think of something else.
By the time they’d made their happy way through the fried mozzarella balls, tiny calamari, and huge fried Pantelleria capers, their table was ready

The little kiss had somehow changed the chemistry of the evening. From being a nice thank-you gesture, the invitation to dinner had turned into a real date. Sex was in the air—pleasantly so. Nothing overdone, just little sparks flying about in the crystal-clear air

y kept sneaking glances at him while he wasn’t looking. Tall, with midnight black hair, deep-blue eyes surrounded by ridiculously long lashes, a straight narrow nose, and a firm mouth.
Hard body.
Wow

A date. She, Charity Prewitt, was actually going out on a date! Charity hadn’t been out on a date in…God, she couldn’t even remember the last date she’d been on.
There were ten bachelors in Parker’s Ridge, not counting Vassily, of course, who was fifty-four years old and horribly scarred from his time in a Soviet prison camp

So being asked out by Mr. Nicholas call-me-Nick Ames, who was the most handsome man she’d ever seen—and who clearly had all his own teeth, all his own limbs, and seemed to be independently wealthy—well, it was like Christmas a month early

The elation Nick felt at the thought of an evening with Charity Prewitt dissipated.
Parker’s Ridge housed one of the world’s most dangerous criminals. An evil man. A man directly responsible for hundreds of lives lost, for untold misery and suffering.
And he was Charity Prewitt’s best friend

She was wearing a light blue-gray sweater that exactly matched the color of her eyes and hugged round breasts and a narrow waist, a slim black skirt, shiny black stockings, and pretty ankle boots. Pearl necklace and pearl earrings. She was the classiest-looking dame he’d seen in a long while, even in her work clothes.
“You look—” Perfect. Sexy as hell. He bit his jaws closed on the words. Ireland, roughneck soldier that he was, could say something like that, but Ames, sophisticated businessman, sure as hell couldn’t. Even if it was God’s own truth. “Fine. You look just fine. You could go to dinner at the White House dressed like that.”
It made her smile, which was what he wanted. Her smile was like a secret weapon. She sighed. “Okay. I’ll just need to lock up here