Dead Ringer (9 page)

He took one look at her and his whole body tensed.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? Getting dressed."

His gaze ran over her, searing every inch. For a minute she thought he was going to stand there and watch. Then slowly he turned his back, letting her finish in privacy.

"You do have a bedroom." He clipped the words. "With a door. That closes."

"Yeah, but you know me. Too much of an exhibitionist to go for anything as dull as a bedroom."

She wiggled into the black leggings, all too aware of who was standing a mere ten feet away. But it was the leftover warmth of the bath-and not his presence-that made her face hot as she slid into a glittery pink tube top. Glad to be in comfortable clothes at last, she slipped her feet into a pair of shiny black thongs with tiny heels and said, "Okay, you can look now."

But when he turned around again his eyes widened with instant heat that he immediately doused with a frown. Ignoring the scowl, she picked up her key card and headed for the door. He caught her arm and pulled her around to face him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Downstairs for dinner. I'm starved."

"You're not going anywhere looking like that."

"What's wrong with the way I look?"

"Nothing if you want to work a street corner."

She flushed and yanked her arm out of his grip. "Did anyone ever tell you you're a real asshole?"

"Did anyone ever tell you to get your mouth washed out with soap?"

That was it. She pushed past him toward the door, but he got there ahead of her and blocked her way.

"You're going to starve me now?"

"You're supposed to be Carol Borian's double. How did that"-he gestured up and down her body-"even get in your suitcase?"

"I put it there. We're in the hotel, for God's sake. Borian's out on his ranch a million miles away. What does it matter what I wear?"

"It matters. Someone could see you and report back to him. It's stupid to take chances."

"I'm tired of mincing around in panty hose and ugly shoes."

"Stay here. Order room service."

"I just got off a plane, dammit I'm sick of being holed up."

"Then change your clothes."

Her mother's sensibly styled shoes were still on me floor where she'd kicked them off. She picked one up and threw it at him, but he ducked and it missed his head. And then, without knowing she was going to, she launched herself at him. Arms flailing, pared-down nails scratching, she screamed at him, cursing. He made a grab for her wrists and she kicked him in the shins. He yelled in pain, and before she knew what had happened, she was facedown on the floor, arms pinned behind her. With a quick flip, he turned her over, knees straddling her stomach.

"I ought to take you over my knee."

"Go ahead. Taking me is what you've wanted to do ever since you laid eyes on me."

He'd been breathing hard, his blue eyes fired with anger, but her words stopped him instantly. Without another sound, he released her. She lay on the floor, her chest rising and falling with breathlessness. He didn't extend a hand to help her up and he didn't say good-bye. He didn't say anything. He just wheeled around, opened the door, and left.

* * *

Finn stayed away as long as he could, long enough for his hands to stop shaking and for the scotch to blunt her words.

Because she'd been right. She'd been absolutely goddamn right.

He would have stayed away all night, but the bar closed at two, and the hotel staff wouldn't let him sleep in the lobby. So he stumbled into the elevator, not drunk enough to deny he was drunk, but too far gone to do much about it.

A mess of plates and silver covers lay on the floor outside the room, testimony to the fact that Angelina had taken his advice and stayed in. He noted that she hadn't eaten much, despite her protestations of hunger, and a shaft of guilt speared through him. Had the scene with him killed her appetite?

Whether it was the state he was in or the fault of technology, he had to pull his key card through the lock three times before the little green light unlocked the door. Turning the handle, he took a breath and tumbled inside.

Please, God, let her be asleep in her room.

He saw immediately that his prayer had been answered. Sort of. She was asleep, but not in her room. Slumped in an armchair, she faced the TV, which was muted but on. Its changeable light cast a blinking blue glow over the darkened room. Edging closer, he saw she'd changed out of the skintight stretch pants and breast-defying top. Instead, she wore a simple white nightgown that left her arms and shoulders bare. Trimmed in delicate lace with tiny buttons down the front, the fabric was so fine as to be almost transparent.

He swallowed.
Don't look
But he couldn't help himself. Her feet were curled up under her and through the sheer nightgown he saw the outline of her breasts and the swell of her hips. With her eyes closed, she looked almost angelic. Virginal. Her golden hair lay tousled around her face, her full lips sweet and kissable.

He knelt down beside the chair, a little unsteady, and tried to rouse her. "Angelina. Wake up."

Let her sleep there.

She'll be stiff tomorrow.

What do you care ?

He drowned the argument by touching her shoulder. He'd meant to shake her, but his fingers closed on the mark he'd noticed the first time he'd seen her-not a tattoo, but a beauty mark in the shape of... He peered closer. A heart. She had a heart on her shoulder. He smiled to himself. Even in his half-fogged state it seemed wildly ironic that a tough cookie like Angelina would wear her heart where everyone could see it. His fingers traced the outline of the mark and the soft, warm skin around it
Maybe not so tough.
Somehow his hand moved from her shoulder up her neck to her jaw and then her face.

Christ, she was beautiful.

Knowing he shouldn't, he leaned in close and whispered her name, his lips grazing her ear. Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned her head toward him.

"Sharkman." She breathed the name as if she'd been expecting him to appear out of the darkness.

Her green eyes gazed at him unafraid and huge as the sea, and despite every resolve, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

She tilted her head, looking at him curiously. "What did you say?" Her fingers traced the line of his lips as though she couldn't believe the words had come out of them. Her touch made him dizzy, made his chest soft and hollow and weak. He knew he should pull away, but he didn't.

"About... what happened earlier. I'm... I'm sorry."

Her mouth tilted in the barest hint of a victorious smile. He'd lost a battle, but didn't care.

"Why do I rile you so much?" Her voice hummed low, intimate, asking a question to which there were a thousand answers, if only he could think of one.

"I'm doing my best, Finn. I'm trying hard." Her gaze wandered to his mouth, then back to his eyes. His heart skittered across his chest.

"I know."

She took his hand, held it over her cheek, and rubbed her face against his palm. "Tell me, Finn. Tell me I'm doing a good job."

He could barely get out the words. "You're doing a great job." And he meant it, too, though some distant part of him knew he'd regret saying it.

She gazed at his mouth and whispered, "Tell me I'm good." Her ringers moved over his lips again, sending an arrow of desire straight to his groin. "Tell me I'm a good person."

He opened his mouth to speak and she slipped her fingers inside.
Jesus Christ.
He sucked one long, slender digit and kissed the tip. He was drowning, suffocating with the lush smell of her, the hot taste of her. "You're very good." He sucked another and kissed that one, too. "You're a very good person."

And then her arms circled his neck and he was lifting her out of the chair and kissing her mouth. She opened to him readily, hungrily, as if she'd been waiting years for his lips and his tongue to possess her. She moaned and arched into him, gasping his name, and he was gone. Lost. The fight to resist her over. And he was going down in flames.

'Touch me, Finn. Touch me with your good hands. Make me feel good."

Was he breathing? He didn't know. Didn't care. Her hands made sweet circles on his back, gliding lower, pressing him into her. God, he wanted her. Like he'd never wanted anything or anyone before. She filled his hands, his arms, soft and rounded and plentiful. Her hips against his rigid flesh sent a shock wave of pleasure through him. On the tail end, a voice penetrated the sex and scotch clouding his brain.

What are you doing, pal?

He shut off the nagging, but the voice wouldn't let up.
Don't get sucked in. You're drunk. Don t do this.

Her fingers reached around his waist to tug at his zipper. Her voice moaned in his ear. "Don't stop."

But he already had.

She looked up at him, the green eyes hazy, her beautiful breasts rising and falling in a rapid dance of desire. "What's wrong?"

What wasn't?
Those who don't learn from history.
..

His own breath none too steady, he pushed himself away and retreated to the chair. "Look, we can't."

"Why not?"

Been there, done that.
"We just... can't." Head in his hands, he leaned over his knees. "I'm your boss, for God's sake. There are rules about that."

"Believe me, I won't sue."

"We have a job to do, and we don't need complications. Besides, last I heard, you hated my guts."

"The feeling is mutual, isn't it?"

He glanced at her. The haziness had left her face. She stared at him coldly, the defiance back in her eyes. But beneath the hard shell he saw something else, something he didn't want to see, but couldn't avoid. A softness, a tender vulnerability, as though a little girl hid behind a grown-up. He thought of the eighteen-year-old honor student, of what the town of Ruby had done to her. He wasn't about to do the same.

"Right." He got up and ran a hand through his hair. "Let's not get confused about where we stand with each other."

She rose, green eyes shooting fire. "No contusion here."

"Good." He looked around for a graceful exit and found none. "Well then, good night."

Angelina watched him walk into his bedroom and close tile door. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the trembling. What had just happened? She had one powerful weapon against men and when she used it, no one ever turned her down.

Panic bubbled and she crawled into the chair before her legs gave out. Was she losing her touch? If she couldn't get to Finn, who had coveted her from the start, how would she ever get to Victor Borian?

She pictured Finn's face if she failed, and couldn't bear the disappointment she imagined in his eyes.

Her tongue slicked over dry lips and she tried to still the frenzied clatter of her heart. Failure was not an option. Neither was backing out. She'd stick with the assignment until Finn Carver told her she was the best thing that happened to the TCF, law enforcement in general, and him.

Especially him.

Her stomach flopped. What did she care what he thought?

But she did care. With every fiber of her weak, little-girl-lost soul. She wanted him to think well of her. Wanted him to like her, respect her. Wanted him to-

In horror, she slammed a hand to her mouth. She wanted him. Her body still trembled with wanting him. Not just for the power it gave her over him, the power that made her feel safe, that put her in a place where he could never hurt her. No, she wanted him the way a woman was supposed to want a man. The way she'd never let herself feel about anybody since she was eighteen.

Oh, God.

Pure terror sliced through her. She couldn't feel that desperate, fist-clenched wanting again. If she gave into that, she'd be dead. It would be like Andy Blake pushing into her all over again.

Never.

That naive, innocent girl was gone forever. And no one would make her feel powerless again.

Especially Finn Carver.

As for those few seconds with Finn when she'd felt herself falling, out of control... she shuddered. It couldn't happen again. It wouldn't. She wouldn't let it.

CHAPTER
5