Soldier of Fortune: Gideon Quinn Adventures Book One

Chapter 44

Perhaps later Gideon would appreciate the memory of a wet, naked Celia surging from the bath.

In the present moment, however, he was more concerned with containing the slippery, kicking, scratching she-draco before she could do some serious damage.

As it was, he took a wicked scratch to the throat, and barely avoided a knee in his most favorite part, before he swept her up over a shoulder, where the punches and kicks were more annoying than dangerous.

She did, while he was reaching down for the robe she'd left on the tile floor, get her teeth into his side, which had him this close to letting her drop straight down onto her head.

Fortunately for Celia, Gideon needed her alive, and conscious. So, while she dug her teeth in, he reminded himself it had been a gift to find the house emptied of servants when he broke in, and to expect the rest of the plan to go so easily would be greedy.

With this in mind, he gritted his teeth, slung her out of the bath and into the adjoining bedroom—already scoured of the previous night's violence—and tossed her soapy ass onto the bed, where she immediately scrambled to her knees, ready to attack again.

"Think about it," Gideon said, braced for impact. "I was being nice before. You come at me again, I won't be nice. I might even do what I really want to do, and break your very lovely neck."

She thought about it and, while she did, he tossed the robe, still scrunched in his left hand, onto her lap.

She ignored the scrap of fabric as she studied his face. "You're not lying. You really would kill me."

"I can't believe you find that surprising," he said as fresh blood welled from his neck and his side.

"But it's not your first choice," she observed, sitting back on her heels. "Which means you're not here seeking revenge, so... what is it you do want?"

"Walks in the rain, a dinner that hasn't been drugged, world peace—unless—did you mean right now?" he asked at her fulminating look. "I came for my coat," he said, then nodded to her robe. "You may as well get dressed. Unless you want to catch a cold while I continue to not fall for your painfully obvious charms."

Interesting, he thought, that the cool spy would blush so... comprehensively. She did, however, put on the robe, tying the sash with short, angry jerks.

"Happy?" she asked, biting off the word with enough violence to make it bleed.

"I'm still a long ways from happy," he said, just as shortly. "About seven years, six funerals, and four thousand kilometers, give or take."

"If you are speaking of the Nasa incident—" Celia began.

"It wasn't an incident," he cut her off, tamping down the old anger, which would not serve him here. "It was murder."

"It was war," she shot back. "And in war, a soldier does what she must."

"Soldiers fight on the line, face to face. They don't—"

"Don't lie? Cheat? Steal?" She shook her head. "I've read your file, Colonel Quinn. Most of your career was spent behind the lines, destroying munitions, stealing supplies, and intercepting intelligence. Hardly fighting the honorable fight, was it?" As she spoke, her face, her voice, her entire body softened. "We are not so different, Gideon."

"Yes, we are, and stop that," he ordered, his tone deliberately bored. "We both know you're as seductive as the proverbial road to Los Angeles, there's no point pushing my buttons just to prove it. Which brings up another issue..."