Meant For Me (Hawkeye Book 3) Read online

  Lights went out, and the music stopped so abruptly that it seemed to thunder off the still-pulsating walls.

  It took a few seconds for emergency lighting to kick on. When it did, the fog was thick and surreal, and Charlotte and her dance partner were gone.

  Araceli headed toward the exit and shoved her way past Bear and out of the building.

  Torin strolled toward the coatroom. He pushed the door most of the way closed, leaving a crack so he could watch the front door.

  Moments later, Araceli hurried back in, her winking headband all but a neon sign indicating her position. He eased the door open, then, as she started past, reached out, grabbed her, pulled her in, and caught her in a rear hold, an elbow under her chin, his right arm beneath her breasts.

  She was breathing hard, but she grabbed his forearms to try to break free. In response, he tightened the hold to ward off an elbow jab. And he leaned her forward to prevent one of her vicious, calculated stomps. “Knock it off, Araceli,” he growled into her ear.

  “Commander Carter?” She froze. “It’s dark. How did you know it was me?”

  “Your headband.”

  “Shit.”

  “That’s right. You lose.” He loosened his grip slightly, but she kept her hands in place. “Your target is gone.”

  With a deep, frustrated sigh, she tipped her head back, resting it on his chest. And he noticed her. The way she fit with him, and how she trusted him, despite her annoyance at having been bested. And even the way she smelled…wildflowers and innocence, despite the grueling ordeal earlier today. He wanted to reassure her, let her know how proud he was of her efforts.

  Jesus. Immediately he released her. He’d held her longer than he need to. Longer than he should have. “Go to Bones. I’ll meet you there.” Torin took a step back, literal as well as mental.

  In the near dark, she faced him. “But I can—”

  “Go. I’m one of the bad guys, Araceli.” And not just for the role-playing scenario. He was no good for her. “I took you out of the game. You never even noticed me. You didn’t make a plan. You rushed forward without assessing the situation. You failed.”

  After a few seconds of hesitation, she nodded. “It will be the last time, Commander Carter. You underestimate me and my capabilities.”

  Something he didn’t want to name snaked through him.

  She had to be talking about the job, nothing more. Araceli couldn’t know about his inner turmoil and his dark attraction to her.

  Alone in the dark, Torin balled his hand into a fist over and over, opening, closing. Opening. Closing.

  By far, Mira Araceli was the most dangerous student he’d ever had.

  Chapter One

  “You all right, Mira?”

  For three years, six months, and twelve days, Torin Carter had haunted Mira Araceli’s days and teased her nights.

  Jonathan, the personal trainer she worked with when she was staying in New Orleans, snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Mira?”

  His proximity, along with the sharp sound, finally broke through her runaway thoughts, and she shook head to clear it of the distraction that was her former Hawkeye instructor.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She shouldn’t have checked out mentally, even for a fraction of a second. In the wrong circumstances, it could mean the difference between survival and death. “Sorry.” With a smile meant to be reassuring, she met his eyes.

  For most of her life, she’d practiced yoga. Five years ago, she’d learned to meditate. Yet when it came to Torin, she never remembered to use her skills.

  “Something on your mind?”

  “Was. There was. I’m good to go now.” She was almost done with the final set—squatting over two hundred pounds. She could do this. Right? In a couple of minutes, she’d be out of here and headed for the house where she would spend the next nine weeks living with her nemesis.

  How the hell had this even happened? Hawkeye required all instructors—even the head of the program—to spend time in the field to keep their skills sharp. But for them to be assigned to the same team…?

  “Ready?” Jonathan asked. “You have three more reps.”

  With single-minded focus, she tucked way thoughts of her demanding and mysterious former instructor.

  Jonathan scowled. “You sure everything’s okay?”

  She got in position, adjusted her grip, then took a breath.

  “Hold up.” He nudged one of her feet.

  “Thanks.” After executing the squat, watching her form, breathing correctly, she racked the bar and stepped away. No matter what she wanted to believe, thoughts of Torin had wormed past her defenses to dominate her thoughts. “I’m calling it.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Good plan.” He checked his clipboard. “See you back the day after tomorrow?”

  “Six a.m. I won’t miss it.” She grabbed her water bottle, took a swig, then headed for the locker room. This was the first time in her adult life that she’d cut a workout short.

  Mira showered, then took longer than normal with her makeup. Long enough to piss her off. Frustrated, she shoved the cap back onto her lipstick and dropped it in her bag.

  Even though she routinely had male partners, she wasn’t in the habit of primping. Of course, she’d never had an all-consuming attraction to one of them before.

  Torin Carter wasn’t just gorgeous. As her VIP Protective Services instructor, he’d been tougher on her than anyone ever had been, demanding her very best, harshly grading her work. It was his job to make her a stellar agent or cut her from the program. He hadn’t known that failure was never a possibility.

  During her training, he’d never shown anything beyond a hard-ass, impersonal interaction toward her. Except for that night at Thump.

  When he’d caught her in that choke hold, she’d struggled, elbowing him, attempting to stomp on his foot. His commanding voice had subdued her, and when she stopped struggling, she noticed his arms around her.

  Even though he loosened his hold, Torin didn’t release her right away like other instructors had. And in a reaction that was wholly unlike her, she tipped her head back and relaxed into him, seeking comfort, a brief respite from the relentless and grueling training exercises. For a moment, she forgot about her job, stopped noticing the fog and pandemonium around them.

  She thought—maybe—that he experienced an echoing flare, but he pushed her away, with a harsh indictment of her skills.

  Drowning in rejection and embarrassment, she squared her shoulders and locked away her ridiculous unrequited emotions and vowed never to examine them again.

  Even though she’d graduated years ago and hadn’t heard his name since, he was never far away. Frustratingly, she thought of him every time she went out on a date. It was as if her subconscious was weighing and measuring all men against him.

  The comparisons even happened when she scened at a BDSM club.

  Torin was everything she wanted a Dom to be—uncompromising, strong, intelligent…and, at the right time, reassuring. In his arms, in that coatroom, she’d discovered he was capable of tenderness. Maybe if she’d only seen him be an ass, he would have been easier to forget.

  Surviving Torin might be her greatest test ever.

  Mira dragged her hair back over her shoulder and stared at herself in the mirror. “You.” She pointed at her reflection. “You’re smarter this time. Wiser. More in control.”

  A blonde emerged from one of the shower stalls. “Man problems?”

  Embarrassed, Mira lifted a shoulder. She hadn’t realized her words would be overheard.

  “Isn’t it always?” the woman asked.

  For other people, not her. “That’s the thing. It never has been until now.”

  “I see you here all the time. You’re tough. Whatever it is, you can handle it.”

  Mira hoped so. She smiled at the other woman. “Thank you. I needed that pep talk.” After blotting her lipstick, she gathered her belongings, exited the gym, then strode across the
parking lot to her car.

  She and Torin were scheduled to rendezvous at seven p.m. at Hawkeye’s mansion in the Garden District. Since it was equipped with modern security both inside and out, he preferred his high-value clients utilize it when they visited NOLA. In addition to eight bedrooms, there was a spacious carriage house apartment for use by security personnel.

  The grounds were spectacular, with a large outdoor swimming pool, a concrete courtyard with plenty of lounge chairs, tables, and umbrellas. Potted plants provided splashes of color, while numerous trees offered privacy as well as shade.

  She’d stayed on the property several times, including earlier this year for Mardi Gras while she was working the detail for an A-list actor. She planned to arrive before Torin so she could select her bedroom, get settled, have the upper hand. Any advantage, no matter how small, was a necessity.

  Since it was still early afternoon, she managed the traffic with only the usual snarls.

  After passing the biometric security system at the gate, she drove onto the property.

  More confident now, she grabbed her gear, then jogged up the stairs to enter the code on the keypad. A moment later, the lock turned, and she opened the door.

  Torin stood in the middle of the main living space, arms folded, damn biceps bulging. His rakishly long black hair was damp, and the atmosphere sizzled with his scent, that of crisp moonlit nights. He swept his gaze over her, and it took all her concentration to remain in place as he assessed her with his shockingly blue eyes.

  When he tipped his head to the side, reaction flooded her. Her knees wobbled, and she dropped her duffel bag off her shoulder and lowered her gear to the hardwood floor to disguise her too-real, too-feminine reaction.

  His jaw was set, his mouth compressed. There was no way to tell what he was thinking.

  How the hell had he arrived before she had? For her not to have seen his car, he must have parked it in the garage. She gave a quick, smart nod, being as stoic as he was. “Commander Carter.”

  “At present, we’re partners. So make it Carter. Or Torin.”

  Not a chance. No way was she allowing herself to be on intimate terms with him.

  Mira turned to close the door and dragged in a deep breath. She was early. Hours and hours early, yet he had the upper hand. As always. Before facing him, she exhaled, focusing on controlling her pulse rate.

  “I took the first bedroom.”

  Not having any other choice, she nodded. “I’ll bunk in the back one.” Which left an empty one between them

  “The fridge is stocked, and so is the pantry, but I figured we’d go to the grocery store together for additional items.”

  “I’ll give you a list of what I need.”

  “Still not a team player, Araceli?”

  Fuck you. “Still critiquing every little thing I do, Carter?” She squared her chin. She’d passed every one of his damn tests.

  “Your loss.” He shrugged. “I was going to buy you dinner while we were out. There’s a place in the French Quarter, on Chartres Street. Their Taste of New Orleans platter is divine.”

  He was a foodie?

  “Crawfish etouffee, gumbo, jambalaya. And a loaf of fresh hot bread.”

  Damn him, he’d named some of her favorite dishes. Eating was one of the reasons she’d asked to work out of the Southern office. And when she’d received her assignment, she’d bought a house nearby.

  “Up to you.” He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Can’t starve yourself while you’re here.”

  Eat when you can. Sleep when you can. One of the first things she’d learned as a Hawkeye recruit. Calls for action never arrived when expected. Or convenient. More than once, she’d been up more than twenty-four hours with no food and limited water.

  As if on cue, her stomach growled. The protein bar she’d eaten before her workout had long since been metabolized. Logic told her not to be stubborn. After all, she was going to share a majority of her meals with Torin for the foreseeable future.

  “Come on, Araceli. I won’t bite.” His grin was quick and lethal.

  Damn him. Part of her wished he would. It might help get rid of the tension crawling through her so she could move on, forget him. There was no way any man could be as hot as she believed he would be.

  “We’ll go as coworkers. I promise, no critiques.”

  “Okay. Fine.” She exhaled. “Give me half an hour to get settled.” Mira grabbed her belongings and escaped to the back bedroom.

  It took her each one of those thirty minutes to regain her composure.

  When she rejoined him, he was at the kitchen table, doing something on his computer. “Ready?” he asked, pushing back.

  “Yes.” It was a total lie, and her half smile was a total fake.

  He drove them to the French Quarter in his gloss-white SUV, and he handled traffic without getting frustrated, making her wonder if he ever betrayed ordinary human emotion.

  “You don’t like me,” she said, wanting to get it out of the way.

  “Like you?” He slid her a quick glance. “Never thought about it.”

  She sank a little in her leather seat. This was another time that maybe she should have kept her mouth shut.

  “But respect you? Very much. I think you have a lot of talent.”

  “You were damn tough on me.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “In training.” It had bothered her. Other recruits didn’t receive as much of his attention as she did. It had been difficult not to take it personally.

  “You scare me.”

  She blinked, then stared at him.

  “You’re a good agent. Great instincts.”

  “But…?” Mira raked her hair back from her forehead. Why was she doing this to herself?

  “You’re a maverick. As if you’ve got something to prove.” He was silent for so long, she wondered if he was going to say anything more. “You remind me of someone.” He shrugged. “She got herself killed.”

  Breath rushed out of her lungs. “I’m cautious.”

  He checked the mirrors before looking at her again. “So was she. And I still fucking buried her.”

  Though she squirmed beneath the intensity in his gaze, she defended herself. “I’m me, Commander. Don’t confuse me with anyone else.”

  He lifted a shoulder but returned his attention to the road.

  Agreeing to go out with him had been stupid. They weren’t ordinary coworkers. He was still the trainer who found her lacking.

  Maybe what bothered her was that he was at least partially right. She did have something to prove. Her father’s voice was always in her head, whispering that she wasn’t good enough, that she’d never measure up.

  That Torin had seen her determination to prove her dad wrong scared the hell out of her.

  She leaned back against the headrest. This assignment promised to be challenging and grueling, maybe the worst of her career.

  Two weeks later

  Together, Mira and Torin exited the vehicle provided by Hawkeye Security, then checked the surroundings as they walked around to the back of the Maison Sterling hotel.

  Passersby continued down the sidewalk, most likely unaware that the door was used only by VIPs and a handful of residents of the excusive building. “I’ll let Barstow know we’re in position.”

  Torin nodded, then walked away to check the rest of the perimeter.

  After their uncomfortable discussion on the first night, he’d treated her as a trusted partner. They’d worked together well, and they swapped out the lead position, based on what seemed best for the situation at hand. When she was in charge, he never second-guessed her judgment.

  The only unfortunate thing was that it was a slow time of the year, which meant they had too much downtime together. He’d been closemouthed about his personal life, avoiding her questions about family and friends. If he ever made personal calls, she was unaware of them. She and her best friend, Hallie, had gone out for happy hour a couple of times, but
as far as Mira knew, he hadn’t gotten together with anyone.

  What he did do was exercise, a lot…to the point of exhaustion. He ran every morning. And he swam lap after lap while wearing a stupidly tight, stupidly small black swimsuit. Most men wore trunks, but not Torin. The constant sight of his tanned, ripped body rocketed her hormones into overdrive. Work and hitting the gym herself were the only distractions she had.

  She dialed the phone, and when the team leader answered, she said, “Araceli and Carter are onsite.”

  “Guessing another half hour?” Barstow replied. “They’re waiting for another bottle of tequila to be delivered.”

  “Roger that.” Not a surprise. Celebrity protection came with a lot of delays.

  “I’ll keep you posted,” Barstow promised.

  She ended the call and pocketed the phone. “Approximately another thirty minutes,” she told Torin when he returned.

  Tonight’s assignment was backing up the security team for The Crush, a mega-artist. Recognized as one of the biggest mainstream hip-hop artists in the country, he’d recently won a major music award. Because of his popularity, he had numerous endorsements, and had just finished an acting gig on a hit television show. As far as fame profiles went, this man was at the pinnacle.

  Right now, he was taking a week off from his three-month-long tour and had decided to spend a night in the French Quarter before catching a flight to the Caribbean. As charismatic as he was generous and gregarious, The Crush wanted to please his fans. As a result, he signed lots of autographs and posed for pictures. When he went out, he sometimes posted his whereabouts on social media. Which meant protecting him was a security headache.

  This evening, he had late dinner reservations and planned to take in some live music afterward. Since it was a Friday night, the crowds were going to be thick and boisterous. “But I’m guessing it’s going to be closer to an hour.”

  “I wouldn’t bet against you,” Torin replied.

  Despite the fact that it was only the end of April, the Southern air was thick and clammy. She’d already been in her bed reading when the call for backup came in.