Navy SEAL Newlywed. Elle JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
but that white, with your dark hair, will make more of a first impression. Very sexy.”
Rip’s brows rose and his lips curved upward. “You noticed?”
Tracie shrugged. “I’m an agent. It’s my job to notice things.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Fine.” Tracie frowned. “Wear the gray one. I don’t care.” She disappeared around a curtain at the rear of the plane with one of the dresses.
Though he tried not to, he couldn’t help watching Tracie’s bare feet beneath the curtain. The red dress pooled on the floor and she stepped out of it, then light yellow filmy fabric puddled on the floor of the plane and Tracie’s feet stepped into the middle of it.
Something about her bare feet had Rip’s blood singing through his veins at Mach 5. He had the urge to yank the curtain back and feast his eyes on her naked body.
A slow chuckle built in his chest and he nearly laughed out loud at what he expected her reaction would be if he followed his urge. He rubbed his cheek where he guessed she’d slap it. But, damn, it would be worth it. The woman had his insides tied in knots.
Tracie emerged, wearing a beautiful dress that hugged her breasts, emphasizing the ripe, rounded fullness while drawing attention to the narrowness of her tiny waist. The skirt flared out and fell to midthigh. Long legs stretched from what seemed like her chin to her slender feet encased in nude, strappy stilettos. She was pulling her hair up into a sleek French twist, her arms raised, head tucked low.
For a moment, Rip could only stand and stare. When she finally glanced up, she caught him gawking.
Snapping his mouth shut, he took the white suit off the hanger and stepped behind the curtain, coming out when he had the white trousers on, a black button-up shirt, open halfway down his chest and the jacket hooked on his finger and slung over one shoulder.
Tracie stood beside the closet, arms crossed over her chest, a cocky look on her face. When she caught sight of him, her mouth opened as if to say something and closed again without uttering a word. She swallowed hard, the muscles in her throat working. “I—” Her voice came out in a tight squeak. After clearing her throat, she finally managed, “I was right. Damned sexy.” Then she turned on her stilettos and marched back into the cabin.
Rip chuckled. If he wasn’t mistaken, the woman had been tongue-tied by him in a white suit. Who’d have thought a man in a white suit would have that much of an effect on a woman. He’d have to ask Hank where he’d gotten this one. It would be worth it to invest in something that inspiring. Especially if Tracie thought it made him look sexy.
He returned to the cabin with a wide, satisfied grin on his face.
FOR THE NEXT thirty minutes, Rip and Tracie poured over the racks of rifles, grenade launchers, pistols and explosives with which Hank had seen fit to equip the small armory on the airplane.
Rip tucked a HK .40 caliber pistol in his boot, then he grabbed a nine-millimeter Glock in a shoulder holster and slung it over his shoulders.
The flight attendant stepped up behind him and offered to hold the white linen jacket that went with the tailored white trousers, while he slipped his arms into the sleeves.
Though the sleeves were long, the entire outfit was surprisingly comfortable and cool. Used to heavy battle-dress uniforms, bullet-proof vests and helmets, Rip felt somewhat naked and exposed in the suit.
“Smile. You’re supposed to be on your honeymoon without a care in the world.” Tracie adjusted the collar of his shirt beneath the jacket and patted his chest. “You look more like a kid in his itchy, Sunday best.”
Rip fidgeted. “I’d rather go in with my M4 on automatic.”
“Well, we can’t. We’re honeymooners and guests of Hector, so act like you’re in love.” Tracie’s eyes widened and a smile curled her lips. “Unless you’ve never been in love.” Her brows climbed up her forehead. “You haven’t, have you?”
He shook his head. “Haven’t had the time. I was a little preoccupied with SEAL training straight out of Navy basic and saving the world one bad guy at a time for the past seven years.”
She smiled at him. “Let me guess…it’s a tough job, but—”
“—someone has to do it.” With one arm, he captured her around the waist and clamped her body against his, his other hand reaching up to cup her face in his palm. “Is this better, mi amore?” He bent to claim her lips with his. At first he did it to prove a point, but when her body pressed to his, it triggered a response he wasn’t prepared for.
Her arms slid around his neck and her breasts pressed against his chest, he couldn’t break the kiss to save his life.
Not until a discreet cough sounded nearby.
Her cheeks flushed, the flight attendant gave him a weak smile. “Sorry, but Hank’s on the satellite phone. He wants to talk to you two before we land.”
Tracie stepped away and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Tell him we’ll bring him up on the computer.” She took a seat at the monitor and clicked the keyboard, bringing up a video feed of Hank.
“Tracie, Rip.” Hank nodded. “We have a little information on the man called Carmelo Delgado we thought you should know. He’s a coffee plantation owner. Though they don’t have photos to back it up, the Feds think Delgado is a key player with the rebels. His plantation has never been targeted and he keeps a heavy contingent of gunmen employed to protect his interests. Locals say that he is well-known in Honduras for his ruthless disregard for the law and life and for the way he treats women. Or should I say beats women?”
“Sounds like a nice guy,” Tracie said, her voice flat.
“Be careful around him,” Hank said. “He’s dangerous and he could be one of the rebel leaders.”
“We’ll keep that in mind. Did you find anything else?”
“I don’t know if it means anything, but there is a photo of Senator Craine in San Pedro Sula this year. He’s been in several of the Central American countries negotiating trade agreements between the different countries and the US.”
“So?” Rip stared at the screen, studying Hank Derringer’s face. He didn’t look like a billionaire. He looked like a rancher with his weathered skin, shock of white hair and a blue chambray shirt he might wear out to the barn to muck stalls.
“Brandon found a photo of Craine and Delgado at a trade meeting, shaking hands.”
“Flight attendant, prepare for landing,” the captain said over the intercom.
“We’re about to land,” Tracie told Hank.
“We’re still searching for more clues. If we find anything else, I’ll call you on the satellite phone.” Hank rang off.
Rip took his seat across the aisle and buckled his seat belt, his mind not on the information Hank had imparted but on the kiss that had left his head spinning and his pulse hammering. She was such a distraction, he was afraid he’d lose focus when he needed it most.
Turning his back on Tracie, Rip leaned toward the window, staring down at what appeared to be a jungle rushing up at them, when in fact they were plummeting toward the treetops.
The adrenaline coursing through his veins spiked at the speed of their descent. He peered closer as the Citation X circled, dropping toward the canopy, slowing as it approached the ground.
A wide slash opened up in the green carpet below, revealing an expansive field with a magnificent hacienda sprawled across a hilltop, its stucco walls painted a pale terracotta and accented with creamy white trim. The place had a dark terra-cotta tiled roof and richly dark wooden doors. A