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“Why would you say that? Working for Charisma must be like a dream.”
“Ordinarily, yes. But with the competition going on—Oh, Bryan probably didn’t tell you about that, and why would he?”
Lucy was intrigued. “What competition? Tell me.”
“My grandfather has decided to retire and make one of his children the CEO of the corporation. Each is currently head of one of the magazines—Pulse, Snap, The Buzz and Charisma. So the one whose magazine shows the biggest profit growth by the end of the year wins the top spot. Needless to say, everyone is at each other’s throats. My boss, Aunt Fin, practically lives at the magazine, she’s so obsessed with winning. And Uncle Michael—Well, his wife, my Aunt Karen, is recovering from breast cancer and he should be focusing on that, not worrying about a stupid contest.”
Scarlet had gotten a bit worked up, and she stopped suddenly. “I’m sorry. Bryan would skewer me like a shish-kebab if he knew I was airing family laundry to his new girl.”
“I won’t say anything,” Lucy assured her.
Lucy glanced at her new watch—a big, copper-colored bracelet thing—and was surprised to see it was after 1 a.m. Bryan wasn’t home yet. What was he doing, she wondered. He obviously wasn’t anxious to get back to her. It was probably a relief to be free of her for a while.
“Well, I hate to undo your hard work, but I think I’ll take off all this makeup and turn in,” Lucy said. “It’s been a long day. Thank you so much, Scarlet. It was really nice of you to spend your evening this way.”
“My pleasure, believe me. It was nice to get away from family and work pressure for a while.” The two women embraced, and Lucy felt a rush of warmth and gratitude to Scarlet. She hadn’t had any close girlfriends the last couple of years since moving to D.C. A few women at work had invited her occasionally to join them for dinner or drinks or a movie, but she’d kept her distance. She’d told herself it was because she wanted to keep her focus on work and not get distracted until her career was better established. But she could see now she’d been punishing herself. Having fun had gotten her into a lot of trouble. Therefore, fun was bad and it had to be eliminated from her life.
She imagined Scarlet already had a full complement of friends, though. Anyway, Lucy probably wouldn’t have time for socializing. She had to go through all the data she’d downloaded from the bank and figure out who the embezzler was.
She helped Scarlet pack up her things and walked her to the elevator. “I’d walk you down and help you carry all this, but I don’t know how to get back in.”
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Bryan’s silly elevator. He does have some pretty valuable artwork he doesn’t want stolen, but he so overdid it with the security.”
Maybe, but Lucy was grateful for it. They said goodbye. Then Lucy headed back up to the loft’s upper level, which housed the master suite and Bryan’s study. She wanted to move all of her things back down to her own bedroom before Bryan returned.
No such luck. She heard the elevator as she was heading down the stairs with an armload of clothing, her new wardrobe.
“Lucy?” he called out as he strode into the living room. “Oh, there you are. It took longer than I thought to go through the—” He stopped midstride and stared at her. “What have you done to your hair?”
“You … you don’t like it?” Lucy squeaked. Scarlet had pointed out that men liked long hair, and Bryan might not be too keen on the short ‘do. Her hair barely skimmed her jawline. Lucy had hesitated only briefly. The point was to look different, not to please Bryan.
But now she realized how badly she wanted him to like the new Lucy. Or rather, Lindsay.
“You just look so—Come down here. Put those clothes down and let me have a look at you.”
Lucy did as asked, laying the beautiful new clothes on a chair and standing there, feeling enormously self-conscious as Bryan looked her up and down, then walked behind her and all around her, his expression unreadable.
He came closer and reached toward her face. She tried not to react as he removed her glasses and studied her features.
“Scarlet gave me the name of an optometrist who can fit me with green contacts. I can do that tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He didn’t give her back the glasses. Instead, he stuck them in his shirt pocket.
“Well?” she said impatiently. “Will I do? Or do I just look ridiculous?” Maybe she was a sow’s ear that couldn’t pass muster as a silk purse.
A smile spread slowly across Bryan’s face, which was a bit blurry to her. “Oh, you’ll do, all right. Lucy, you look like a movie star.” His gaze on her was like a heat lamp. Or maybe the heat was coming from inside her. She couldn’t see him all that well, after all. She was probably imagining the blatant interest in the way he looked at her.
Suddenly, all she could think about was the way he’d kissed her earlier, so casually, and how she’d almost melted on the spot. It was all a game to him, but she wasn’t used to being deceptive.
“Don’t you think you should start calling me Lindsay all the time?” she said, sounding testy even to her own ears. “And if you’re going to kiss me like you did, at least give me a little warning.”
“We’re supposed to be besotted with each other, so you can expect me to kiss you just about any time.”
“O-okay.”
“You don’t sound too sure.” He grasped her upper arms with both hands and looked deeply into her eyes. “Do you think you can pull this off? If not, we’ll have to think of something else. My family can’t suspect the truth. That would be a disaster.”
Lucy was disturbed by the idea that he might change his mind, take her somewhere else, dump her in some hotel or something. In a very short time, she’d accustomed herself to the idea that she would be posing as Bryan’s live-in lover.
“I can pull it off,” she said. “But if we could rehearse—I mean, get our stories worked out, so I could, you know, know what to expect—”
He was watching her mouth. She stopped self-consciously. “Have I smeared my lipstick?”
“No, sweetheart, you look perfect. I was just thinking that we can’t have you looking like a startled cat every time I touch you or kiss you. So you’re right, of course. We need to rehearse.” And with that, he slanted his mouth against hers and kissed her as if he meant it.
Four
Lucy tasted like wild cherries. Maybe it was her lipstick, or maybe it was just how Lucy Miller tasted, but what Bryan had intended as a friendly, you-don’t-have-to-be-afraid-of-me kiss had turned into something much more.
Before he knew what was happening, Lucy’s arms had snaked around his neck, and she was kissing him back in a way that told him fear wasn’t in her vocabulary. She kissed as though she was born to it. Clearly she wasn’t the inexperienced virginal miss he’d pegged her for.
Or maybe he’d awakened some innate talent she had. He liked that idea better. He didn’t want to think about Lucy kissing other men, sleeping with other men.
Not that he would be sleeping with her. That would be taking their ruse a bit far. But kissing—for the sake of her cover story—was okay.
It was more than okay. He groaned as he buried his hands in her newly shortened locks. Her hair felt like the softest silk, and he found he didn’t really miss all that long, heavy hair. He liked the way the short ends tickled his hands and arms.
He stopped just short of pulling her hips against his and letting her know just exactly how okay her kiss was. But he did invade her mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss, breathing in the heady scent of cosmetics and shampoo and new clothes that clung to her.
He’d never known new clothes could smell so sexy.
She pulled away suddenly, staring at him with wide, startled eyes. “What are you doing?”
That was a very good question. He casually pulled his hands out of her hair. “I thought we were rehearsing. Getting comfortable with each other.”
“Well … okay, I got it. That’s enough practice.”
He couldn’t help grinning. “You sure?”
“Yes, quite sure.”
She ran nervous fingers through her hair, mussing it worse than he’d done, and straightened her clothes. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling so dramatically that he was sure she was going to pop out of her teeny tank top.
Where had those plump breasts come from? He hadn’t seen them earlier. Since he doubted Scarlet had given Lucy silicone implants, the breasts must have been there all along, hidden under the frumpy outfits.
“I really need to go to bed,” she muttered, turning away. “I’m sure everything will make more sense in the morning. Oh, tomorrow remind me to bring you up to date on everything I told Scarlet. She was curious about me, and I’m afraid I just blathered the first thing that came into my mind.”
“Like what?”
“Well, you and I met in Paris. I returned to my home in Kansas, burned all my clothes and traveled to New York, naked.”
“What?”
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay? I really have to go to bed. G’night, Bryan, and thank you for everything.” She grabbed her pile of clothes and fled, her sandals thunk-thunking against his wood floor as she headed for the guest room.
Traveled to New York, naked? What had possessed Lucy to say something like that? But since she’d said it, he couldn’t get the picture out of his mind—Lucy boarding a plane, naked. Walking through the airport without a stitch on. Climbing into a cab—
No, he’d better not even go there. He was turned on enough already.
The woman was a siren, a witch. His groin ached with wanting her. Pretending to be besotted in front of others would be no problem—he was rapidly becoming obsessed. It was how to behave in private that would prove the problem.
He’d better just hold himself in check. Lucy was a key witness in what could ultimately prove to be a case of terrorism. He had no business kissing her or thinking about sleeping with her.
She’d said she was okay, that she could fake it. That had to be good enough. So, no more rehearsals. Professional, he had to be professional. He couldn’t take advantage of a woman whose life had been turned upside down. She’d done the right thing for her country, and for her trouble she’d been spied on, lost her job and her home and couldn’t contact anyone she knew. He was her anchor in a storm, and it would be easy for her to develop feelings all out of proportion.
He’d seen it happen before. He couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. She didn’t seem the casual-fling type, and that was all he could offer.
Lucy couldn’t sleep, despite the fact she was exhausted. Her mind raced, reliving that kiss over and over, recalling every nuance of the pressure of his mouth on hers, the intoxicating warmth, the possessiveness, the feel of his hands in her hair and all over her.
She’d come alive like never before—not just her body or her hormones, but her whole being. The kiss had been … transcendental. She couldn’t think of any other word to describe it.
Yet she knew that for him it was just another kiss. Rehearsal. Part of his business, his job. Keep the witness safe, make sure she knows her stuff, keep his family in the dark so they’re safe, too.
She couldn’t really blame him just because she reacted so profoundly to a simple kiss.
Her body still vibrated with the aftereffects, which only highlighted a sad fact about her life: for the past two years she’d been all but dead. A dull brain inside a dead shell, going through the motions, performing her job, staying out of trouble.
Only trouble had found her.
She might have been better off if none of this had happened. Maybe she’d have snapped out of her fugue on her own. Still, she couldn’t say she was sorry to leave that life behind.
But she had to manage herself better. Not like when she’d gone to work for the band. If she’d stuck to her guns back then, being satisfied simply to be on the fringes of that exciting world, she’d have been okay. Instead she’d deluded herself into thinking a millionaire rock star was going to marry her.
Her current situation wasn’t so dissimilar. She’d again found herself on the fringes of an exciting world. This time it wasn’t sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, but spies, embezzlers and terrorists. Neither was a world she belonged in.
She had to remember that and not let herself get deluded into believing she was in any way special to Bryan, no matter what motions he went through.
Lucy eventually drifted off. When she awoke, daylight poured through her bedroom window, and a delicious smell tickled her nose. Whatever it was, it drew her out of bed like a black hole draws antimatter. She jumped in the shower, then stepped into a pair of white silk panties. Scarlet had given her about a dozen pair of the most delicious panties, all still in their packages. Apparently designers and clothing manufacturers sent freebies to the magazine all the time, hoping models or celebrities would wear them for photo shoots.
Lucy only had two of the magical push-up bras, though. When she’d seen the price tags on them, she’d nearly fainted. Who paid $80 for a bra? She would, she realized, now that she’d seen the miracle it performed.
Ordinarily, if she wasn’t going to work, she’d put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. But Scarlet told her those clothes were out—they didn’t go with “Lindsay’s” new look. She would have to get used to wearing clingy knit pants and miniskirts, tiny crop-tops and blouses that revealed lots of skin.
She picked an outfit at random—a fawn-colored miniskirt and a fitted, sleeveless blouse with a subtle gold stripe. She didn’t worry about makeup or jewelry—she would put them on only if she was appearing in public. She certainly didn’t want Bryan to think she was trying too hard.
When she emerged from her bedroom and entered the kitchen, she found out what smelled so good. Bryan was making Belgian waffles, with fresh strawberries and real whipped cream.
“I’m going to be big as a house if you keep feeding me this way.”
“Good morning to you, too.” Bryan kept his attention on his cooking, never even glancing her way. “Sleep okay?”
No. I lay awake thinking about your blasted kiss. “Fine, thanks.” She tried not to look at him, because if she did, she would think about kissing him. She couldn’t help herself. He looked absolutely mouthwatering with his dark hair mussed, his face unshaven. He wore running shorts and a well-worn T-shirt with a Boca Royce Country Club logo on it. She recognized the name as an exclusive Manhattan club patronized by the very, very wealthy.
She was so in over her head.
He didn’t look at her. He was busy filling mugs from a coffeemaker that looked like it belonged at NASA. The fragrance blended with the smell of waffles and strawberries, and her stomach growled.
“I’ve been out for a run—I do that most mornings,” he said. “You can come with me. I also have a home gym.”
Lucy had never been much of a jock before. “Maybe I should try running.”
“If you like eating, it’s a necessity.”
She’d never been all that interested in food—maybe because she’d always had plenty. Growing up on a farm, the dinner table was loaded with meat, potatoes and fresh vegetables. But her mother had always urged her to eat more, claiming she was finicky as a cat.
When she’d hung out with In Tight, everyone had been more interested in drinking than eating, though there had always been something available—pizza or burgers. She’d eaten just enough to maintain her weight, so she hadn’t ever felt the urge to work out.
Now she was ravenous. She dived into her waffle, savoring the pure maple syrup and the crunchy-out-side, tender-inside texture. “Yeah, I’m going to have to do something, or all those pretty clothes Scarlet gave me won’t look too hot.”
“You can run with me tomorrow.”
“I don’t have any running shoes. Or gym clothes.”
“You can buy some when we go out for your contact lenses.”
She wondered how much money she had in her purse. Sixty dollars maybe, if she was lucky. “I can’t use my credit cards, right?”
“No. No transactions involving your real name, for any reason. No telephone calls, either—not to anyone, even someone you think the bad guys would never be watching. I don’t know the extent of their reach, but these guys are connected. Really connected.”
That reminder brought Lucy back to earth in a hurry. She shivered as she thought about those “bad guys” in her apartment, searching through her things, listening to her on the phone.
When Bryan finished the last waffle, he popped it onto a plate and finally spared a glance for Lucy. He did a double take.
“You can’t expect me to be glamorous twenty-four hours a day,” she groused. “Scarlet might have changed some of the trappings, but I’m still Lucy Miller.”
“Did I complain?”
“No. But you were looking at me.”
“I was looking because the clothes and hair color are still so different. I have to get used to them.”
“Me, too. I hadn’t realized how positively frumpy I’d become. But even in my wilder days, I still looked like me.”
“You still look like you.” He came and sat next to her at the bar, then leaned close enough that she could smell the faint scent brought on by his morning exertions. Not expensive cologne, but soap and sweat. A healthy, male scent. “Your smile is the same. You have a very pretty smile, only you don’t use it enough.”
“I don’t have much to smile about.” But that really wasn’t true. Yes, she’d become the target of some unsavory people, and yes, she’d lost her job and her home and her very identity. But she just didn’t care that much about those things. She was hanging out with a dangerously sexy spy and she was going to help him solve a crime. She had a wardrobe to die for and a personal-style consultant any woman in the world would give up her acrylic nails for.
“That’s better,” Bryan said, and Lucy realized she’d given him the requested smile.
