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“You have a really low opinion of cops for someone who wears a badge.” He understood more than she believed, having his own experience with a good cop turning bad.
She slipped her slender hands into the side pockets of her walking shorts and turned her gaze to the picture window. Waves crashed on the sandy beach against a backdrop of red setting sun and dusky sky, perfect accompaniments for romance. Too bad Agent Carmichael was all business.
“I’ve seen a lot in the last few years,” she said quietly.
“Suspicion or experience.” Unfortunately, a cop turned bad wasn’t as uncommon as he’d once believed. A recent experience with one of their own walking on the wrong side of the law still left a foul taste in his mouth.
“Experience,” she admitted, then turned her attention back to him. “Nice view.”
“I thought we’d have dinner on the deck.” Her sable eyebrows pulled into a slight frown and suspicion filled her turquoise gaze. “We’re eating here?”
A note of panic filled her voice and he suppressed a smile. He’d suspected her interest this morning, but he’d written it off as his imagination since he’d been dead tired and feeling a little punchy. Perhaps his imagination hadn’t been working overtime after all. Could it be his temporary “bride” wasn’t as immune to him as she wanted him to believe?
“Unless you’d rather go to a more public place…where we could be overheard.”
She shook her head and sat on the edge of the plush sofa. “Here is fine.”
He headed into the kitchenette. “Something to drink?”
“Maybe later.”
“I was thinking iced tea. We are working.”
“Oh,” she said, a slight blush covering her cheeks. “That’d be nice. Thank you.”
She pulled the briefcase onto the sofa beside her and snapped the latch. By the time he returned to the living room with their drinks, she had a series of photographs spread over the cocktail table.
He handed her the iced tea and sat next to her on the sofa. She stiffened, then pulled in a long, deep breath. A dead giveaway of her nervousness. No way was anyone going to believe they were newlyweds. Not with her telling actions every time he came within two feet of her.
He leaned forward and scanned the photos. “Where are you from, Carmichael?” he asked, attempting to set her at ease.
She sat primly on the edge of the sofa, her knees pressed together, the iced tea gripped in her slender hands, a perfectly manicured nail tapping rhythmically on the glass. He had difficulty imagining those hands drawing, let alone using a weapon, even if it meant keeping them alive.
“I grew up in Savannah, but I live in New York,” she said, “when I’m home. St. Claire is my mother’s maiden name, by the way.”
He set his glass on the table and used his neatly pressed jeans to swipe the condensation from his hands. “Tell me something.”
She kept her gaze riveted on the photos. “What do you want to know?”
“You don’t fit. Not DEA.”
She let out a puff of air. “It’s a long story,” she said, her voice filled with caution that heightened his curiosity.
She looked over at him and their gazes connected. “We’ve got all night,” he said quietly, unable to quash the erotic images filtering through his mind that statement evoked.
“Three generations of Carmichaels have been federal law enforcement officers, starting with my grandfather. Two of my uncles, four cousins and my father are all DEA. It was expected that I follow tradition.”
Two things struck him. First, her sweet, lyrical voice, devoid of emotion, as if her words were recited by rote. Second, the coldness that had entered her turquoise eyes. Both intrigued him, and made him wary. While he wasn’t exactly thrilled with his newest assignment, the last thing he needed was a partner filled with resentment.
He leaned toward her, and eased the glass from her hands. His fingers brushed hers and she flinched before folding her hands in her lap. “Sounds like a prophecy you didn’t want to fulfill,” he said.
She frowned. “I’m an agent, Detective, and a good—”
“Blake.”
Curiosity entered her gaze and her frown deepened. “Excuse me?”
“You’d better get used to calling me Blake if we’re going to be ‘married’ tomorrow. You wouldn’t want to blow our cover, would you?”
“Don’t worry, Blake,” she said. The smile canting her mouth failed to lessen his concern. “I’m very good at what I do.”
“I don’t doubt you are,” he said, and meant it. She’d come prepared to work, and that impressed him. “But this isn’t Sunday school, Ronnie. UC’s know and understand the danger.”
“I’ve been an undercover operative before. I know how to handle myself in a dangerous situation.”
“Good. Then you know as well as I do that drug runners can be extremely dangerous, especially if we’re talking millions of dollars that’ll be lost once they’re popped. People tend to get a little deadly when you threaten that kind of income, legitimate or otherwise. You keep flinching when I touch you or tapping your glass every time I get near you, how convincing do you think we’ll be?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve been watching you, Ronnie. I move a little closer, and you start tapping your glass.” To prove his point, he shifted closer. Bracing his hand on the back of the sofa, he leaned into her and glanced down at her hands. They were still clasped in her lap, tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “You’re a dead giveaway, Ronnie.”
She pulled back, as if to escape his nearness. He wasn’t about to let her go anywhere.
“I always tap my fingers,” she said primly. “It helps me think.”
He narrowed the distance between them. “Sure it does.”
“You don’t know me well enough to make those kind of judgments.”
“My hand brushes yours, or I touch you,” he said, settling his hand on her smooth-as-silk knee, “and you jump.”
“I didn’t expect you to touch me, that’s all.”
He noted the panic in her voice, but refused to stop pushing her. If he was going in, then he’d be damn sure his partner was up to the assignment. With his hand still on her leg, he brushed his thumb along the curve of her knee. He’d expected her skin to feel as soft as it looked, and wasn’t disappointed.
She pressed herself against the back of the sofa. With his other hand, he trailed his fingers along the curve of her neck and she trembled. “Tomorrow we’re newlyweds. That means we have to convince everyone we come in contact with that we’re in love and that includes touching.” He smoothed his hand over her leg. She trembled again, but not out of fear or nervousness. The quick flash in her eyes told him loud and clear that this time, awareness ranked high on the list.
“I—”
“And kissing,” he said, his mouth inches from hers. Her sweet breath fanned his lips. Only a will as strong as iron kept him from tasting her. “Once we hit the island, anyone we come in contact with has to believe we’re married.”
“But—”
“And intimate,” he added, his fingers pressing against her wildly beating pulse. “Our lives will depend on a convincing performance.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I can be very convincing,” she said, her accent more pronounced. Another revealing nuance to her intriguing personality.
“Then prove it,” he challenged.
“Prove it? How?”
“Kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it, Ronnie.”
3
“YOU’RE BEING RIDICULOUS.” Ronnie pushed away from him and stood. Before she could follow her instincts and bolt across the room, his hand snaked out and snagged her wrist.
“I’m dead serious,” he said, his soft gray eyes filled with something unidentifiable that had her heart beating faster. “You’re no civilian, Ronnie. You know what can go wrong as well as I do. You want to end up in a body bag? Because that’s exactly where we’ll be if there’s so much as a hint we’re not legit.”
She wished he’d stop smoothing his thumb along the tender underside of her wrist. Didn’t he know that drove her crazy and made her skin quiver?
Gently, she tugged her hand, but his grip tightened. “I’m no rookie,” she told him.
“Great. Then you know we have to be damned convincing.”
“Of course I do,” she said irritably when he stood. Why was he doing this? Did he know the thought of kissing him had occupied her mind for the better part of the day? Was he aware of just how much she’d thought about slipping her arms around his neck and dragging his mouth down to hers the second he’d uttered that husky “kiss me” demand?
She hoped not, firmly reminding herself again that his presence on this case was nothing more than a means to an end. That’s all he ever could be to her, no matter how many times her heart rate accelerated or how much overtime her imagination put in whenever she thought about the next two weeks alone in a luxurious honeymoon resort with him. He was her temporary partner and held no more importance than a vital piece of equipment required to do the job. She would not, could not, get caught up in all that sex appeal.
More significantly, Blake Hammond was a cop. And after what she’d suffered because of her former partner, getting involved with any man in law enforcement was nothing short of emotional suicide. One dark-haired, silver-eyed detective with enough sexual magnetism to short circuit her central nervous system had to top her list of males in the danger zone. She refused to be that stupid again.
He slipped his free hand along the side of her neck and used his thumb to tilt her chin up so she had no choice but to look into the steely determination in his gaze. “Then kiss me,” he said, his voice a rough rumble of sound. “Kiss me and convince me I’m the only man in the world you want kissing you.”
Against her will, the rate of her pulse picked up speed and collided with the hammering of her heart. “In case you haven’t noticed,” she said around the wedge of unease clogging her throat, “we don’t exactly have an audience.”
Without a word, he dropped his hand and gently tugged her wrist so she’d follow him.
“Where are we going?” she demanded when they reached the front door of his condo. She had no idea what kind of game he was playing, but she wasn’t about to go quietly.
He opened the door. “To find you an audience,” he said, continuing outside.
She hurried down the short flight of concrete steps in an attempt to keep up with him. “This is crazy. You’re crazy.”
He stopped at the base of the stairs and looked into the darkening horizon. “There’s nothing crazy about wanting to stay alive. This way.”
With a hefty sigh, she kept pace with him as he gently pulled her down a pathway toward a series of wooden steps leading to the beach. With his hand still wrapped around her wrist, they crossed the sand toward a strip of palm trees silhouetted against the murky skyline.
She peered into the darkness and spotted her audience. An elderly couple walked hand in hand along the shore, their bulky basset hound waddling and baying at the incoming waves, then romping down the wet sand after the receding water. Farther down the shoreline, a group of teens sat grouped around a fire pit. The scent of burning wood mingled with the salty tang of sea air, accompanied by the rhythmic beat of rap music from a portable stereo system, carried toward them on the evening breeze.
Blake stopped once they reached the palms, and backed her up until her spine grazed the rough bark. “Put your arms around me,” he demanded gently.
“I think you’re taking this a little too far,” she said, but slipped her arms around his neck just the same. While she didn’t care much for his high-handed attitude, she’d been an agent too long not to understand the validity of the point he was trying to make. Their very lives depended on whether or not everyone they came in contact with believed they were the happy couple. How could they possibly hope to convince anyone if she continually avoided his touch? She’d just have to be strong and remember it was all make-believe. An assignment. More importantly, if they did their jobs well enough, it’d also be her last.
He settled his hands on her hips, his fingers pressing against her backside. “Like you mean it, Ronnie.”
He wanted a convincing performance, then she’d give him one, she thought mutinously.
This was her duty, he was merely along for the ride, and if she didn’t establish herself as the head of this little undercover operation, she’d be playing second string to the sexy, arrogant detective for the remainder of the assignment. And that was something she refused to allow to happen to her again. She’d been acting like a good little girl for too many years, and what had it gotten her?
Nowhere that she wanted to be again.
She toyed with the silky hair at the nape of his neck and looked into his eyes. “Just don’t expect a declaration of love, Detective,” she said in what she hoped was a husky voice.
“Blake,” he said, dipping his head to nuzzle her neck.
She sucked in a sharp breath when his warm lips skirted along her jaw to her throat. She tipped her head back, not because what he was doing to her felt wonderfully delicious, but to provide a convincing performance.
Uh-huh. Sure, her pesky conscience taunted.
“Say it.” His voice was low, deep and dancing over her nerve endings, adding to the delicious sensations his lips were already stirring.
His hands roamed from her hips and up her sides. His thumbs rested just below the underside of her breasts and she closed her eyes, an action that did nothing to quell the slow heat winding through the pit of her stomach, or the way her breasts suddenly swelled against the smooth satin of her bra.
He nipped at the sensitive spot just below her ear and she couldn’t have formed a coherent sentence, let alone a hollow protest, if her life depended on it.
“Say it, Ronnie.”
Her fingers flexed and tangled in his raven black hair. “Say what?” she managed in a breathy whisper, turning her head to the side when his mouth trailed a line of heat down to her collarbone. Between his mouth and that musky man scent mingled with the sting of sea air, she couldn’t think straight.
“Blake. Say my name, Ronnie,” he demanded again, while pressing biting little kisses up her throat and along her jaw. “Say it.”
His mouth hovered over hers, his breath fanning her lips more intoxicating than she’d ever dreamed possible. Good heavens, she wanted him to kiss her.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. Feminine pride rose within her at the desire flaring in his gaze. “Is it really necessary?”
“It is if you want to stay alive. My name has to be second nature to you.”
She swallowed, knowing exactly why she was hesitating. Her mind might acknowledge it was only make-believe, but her body already had other ideas. Dangerous ideas. She knew he was absolutely right with every instinct she’d acquired since her first day on the job. Yet, somehow, speaking his name with his hands spanning her rib cage and his thumbs tracing lazy patterns beneath her breasts made saying his name far too intimate to be anything but real.
“Blake,” she whispered, then gave in to the desire by pressing her fingers against the back of his neck, urging his mouth over hers.
His lips moved in an erotic dance of seduction that sent tingles of sensation shooting to her toes. Heat curled in her belly and spread outward as his tongue swept over hers, tormenting her with lazy sweeps until she trembled in his arms. He tasted sweet, like the sugar in the tea she’d drunk earlier. He tasted hard, like a pillar of strength, immovable and sturdy. He tasted hot, like mind-blowing, sweat-slicked bodies and tangled-sheets sex.
His hand slid from her rib cage and chased down her back to settle on her bottom. A moan bubbled in her throat and she molded her body to his, reveling in the feel of crisp denim against her bare legs, of the feel of his wide, firm chest against her sensitive breasts. Desire thrummed through her, and thoughts of regaining the upper hand fled in favor of the soulful, silky glide of his tongue exploring her mouth. He’d reawakened the lustful beast inside her, hot and primitive, guided by the natural, most basic need to mate. A need that shook and rattled her practiced composure.
One hand roamed her back and held her close, while the other smoothed along her rib cage and upward, this time cupping her breast in his large, warm hand. The music faded and her desire climbed when his thumb traced the pebble hardness rasping enticingly against her bra. The waves crashing on the shore dimmed and fierce need swelled, tangling her in a seductive web.
She’d experienced need. She knew firsthand desire could be a powerful emotion and more addicting than the drugs she worked to keep off the streets. She hadn’t expected to be swamped with both by such a breath-stealing kiss that made her insides melt and her senses spin.
She slid her hands from his neck, over his wide shoulders and down the smooth cotton polo shirt to his firm, thick biceps, exploring the rough, male texture of his skin. She never wanted the kiss to end.
She pulled back anyway, silently cursing not only the instant loss of heat, but the fact that she desperately wanted nothing more than to slip back into his arms and finish what they’d started.
“Convincing enough for you…Blake?” she asked, surprised by the strength in her voice when the rest of her was trembling, as though she were a kitten facing down a Saint Bernard.
Slowly, his hands dropped to his sides. “Yeah,” he muttered with a roughness in his tone. “Plenty convincing.”
“Good.” She lifted her chin a notch and hoped for a satisfied expression. Stepping around him, she headed toward the condo, feeling anything but pleased, but hot and achy instead…and wishing like the devil for an icy shower.
