Undercover Lover (17 page)

Facing the middle of the floor, Jenny felt the beat of the music, let it flow from the top of her head, down her spine to the tips of her toes. Three supports lined up at intervals near the center of the room—brass-coated poles that she’d spied the moment they entered the establishment.

Günter stood behind her, leaning against the rail surrounding the dance floor and she felt his presence as keenly as she felt the beat of the music. She approached the center pole and thanked her foresight in wearing black underwear with the dress because everyone was about to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath.

Flowing with the music, she moved in a graceful ballet-inspired sway until she touched the cool metal of the pole. Crossing one leg over the other, moving in graceful arcs, she circled around the brass, using centrifugal force to build momentum. At the critical moment in both movement and song, she crooked her leg around the pole and her hair swayed from her scalp as she spun with exhilarating motion.

Sensing the small crowd had stopped to watch, she took a deep breath and continued her routine. She’d never danced for anyone but her classmates. This was the first time she had a real audience. Only one person’s opinion mattered though, and she moved for him. Making love to the pole, gripping it with her thighs, clenching and undulating her limbs—arms, legs—as if the rapidly warming metal were his body between her legs.

Her motions were exotic and graceful, never distasteful or vulgar, but the message was clear—she was a woman with cravings and needs. A woman of passion and desires that only one man could ever sate. Until he came for her, she’d dream of him and dance her solitary dance.

High up, she swung by the crook of one leg, upside down, around and around. This is how you have me, her body said—topsy turvy.
I don’t know which way is up and I’m not sure I want to come down.
Her legs splayed out in a vee as she hung on with both hands, winding like a clock around herself. Twisting, turning, until the dance floor became a blur and she was alone in music and motion. The song trailed to an exotic end and she slid down the pole, spinning, dreaming and hoping.

A rising spike of wolf whistles and cheers shattered the silence. The sound of clapping carried her away on a jolt of emotion, and she understood in that moment what it felt like to be her brother—to perform and be adored by the anonymous crowd. Knees shaking, she blushed and performed a halting curtsey.

“If you’re finished, we should go,” Günter whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending trails of electricity down her spine.

She nodded and he handed her the coat he’d retrieved from their table. They exited and walked in silence, her tip-tapping heels the only sound in the chilly night. She peeked sideways at him several times in an attempt to gauge his mood, but couldn’t read his expression in the shadows.

“Did you like it?” she asked, eager for his praise and his interest in her as a woman.

“I can see why you didn’t want the press to know,” he said.

She halted midstride. He couldn’t have hurt her more with a slap. “Why are you being such an ass?”

He stalked back toward her, and she fought the urge to backpedal.

“You’re supposed to be inconspicuous. Still in New York.” Running a hand through the fall of his hair—blond turned silver in the fleeting moonlight—he spun away and growled before facing her again. “I hope you didn’t do that for me, because I spent the entire time trying to gauge who might have a cell phone trained on your arse. It’d take about five minutes for some rabid Tallis fan to recognize you on Twitter or Facebook. Then where would our operation be?”

“I—” Jenny choked on the lump in her throat and turned away to examine an object she didn’t really see in a shop window. She’d never understood the noose of her brother’s fame so keenly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was careless of me.”

“You aren’t going to get out of this alive if you let your emotions rule you.”

Each word felt like a punch. Sucking in air, she tried to calm herself. The attempt failed miserably. Inside five seconds she trembled all over. Everything he’d told her tonight came crashing in on her—the bleakness of his life. Of her life. Why couldn’t they just be normal? And happy?

Günter stepped toward her and she shook her head.

“Go away,” she said. “I can get home on my own.”

“Fuck.” He spat the word and she knew he was about to say he was sorry.

“Don’t,” she shouted, her voice louder than she’d intended. “I don’t care if you’re right. You’re hateful. I have no reason to love you the way I do.”

The words tumbled from her lips and she froze in horror at both what she’d revealed and how she’d revealed it. Could this night get any worse?

“I didn’t mean it…” she said, most worried he might believe she reviled him for the story he’d told her. “I’m sorry.”

“Jenny,” he whispered, moving behind her. She stiffened and he said, “It’s all right. We’re both tired. And under a lot of stress. I’m sorry too.”

His lips a balm against her temple, he kissed her. She turned and wound her arms around his torso, its muscled girth a solid reminder of the strength she admired in the man.

“Do you like me even just a little?” she asked, cursing herself for groveling when she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. She knew the answer, but she had to hear it from his lips, just this once. “Am I really just a job?”

He heaved a sigh and ran a soothing hand down her back.

“You’re more than a job,” he admitted.

Joy broke free and she smiled into his leather jacket, breathing in the scent of the garment and the spicy musk of the man.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he warned, but didn’t let her go. “I’ll work you just as hard tomorrow. And the next day.”

“And the next?” she queried.

“And the next,” he affirmed.

“I’m going to hit that target, you know,” she said.

“Yes,” he breathed into her hair before he let her go. “I know.”

It seemed interrogation was Jenny’s specialty. Two days later Günter found himself again answering intimate questions over a mug of ale as she sat across from him in an outfit that drove him to painful distraction. Ensconced at a small wooden table at the low-ceilinged Turf Tavern—a tucked-away cottage down an alley hidden smack in Oxford’s center—the ale or three they sipped made the conversation easier on them both.

“Do you have any siblings?” she asked.

He huffed at the personal question. “Five brothers.”

“Five?” She leaned backward, horrified. “One is bad enough.”

Thinking of his mother and her mettle made his gaze soften. “Mum had her work cut out, but it was…nice, actually.”

“Are your parents still around, then?” Jenny ran her finger around her glass in contemplation.

Günter recognized her sadness along with the tug of her curiosity as she searched to fill the gaps in her own life. Sighing, he stood and retrieved two more ales for them. He never talked about his family anymore, but as he sat again he decided to indulge her.

Taking a sip of the dark, nutty brew he let it roll over his tongue. Setting down the glass he answered, “They’re around. Divorced. Mostly my family and I don’t speak.”

Loosely cradling her ale, Jenny blinked back at him and Günter knew what she’d ask before she opened her mouth.

“How can you have a family and not speak to them?”

Hunching forward, he stared at the foam clinging to his glass. “Things got messy with the divorce.”

“So, you don’t speak to your brothers either?”

He looked up, met her eyes. “Saves everyone a lot of bother if I don’t.”

She frowned at him—opened her mouth to probe further.

Gesticulating in defeat, he leaned back and blurted, “Dad cheated. Mum’s solicitor used my intel. The family chose up sides. It got ugly.”

“Intel…” He watched as she put two and two together. “As in, you spied on him for her?”

Günter stared at the floor for several moments. “Something like.”

She touched his hand in a tender gesture and he pulled away.

“It’s done,” he said, dismissing her sympathy.

“You’re English but you have a German name?” she asked, clearly changing the subject for his benefit.

One hand gripping the back of his neck, he closed his eyes. If it was his bio she was after, he might as well give it to her.

“Dad’s German—came to the UK for university. Mum’s English. They met at Cambridge. We moved from Cambridge to North Yorkshire when I was nine. Dad’s a professor. Mum’s a housewife. I’m the third eldest of my brothers, and I studied the law.” He opened his eyes and dropped his hand. “I think that’s ’bout everything, don’t you?”

“You don’t have to be so tetchy you know.” Her crumpled cocktail napkin unfurled where she’d dropped it to the table. “It’s just conversation.”

“All right then.” He folded his arms and stared her down. “How does it feel to have your brother back in your life?”

She shook her curls away from her face—a tell she often exhibited when she self-edited her response. “I like it. I mean, I wouldn’t trade it.”

Günter lifted his mug and relaxed back into the conversation with, “He’s a pain in the arse.”

Jenny snorted at his perceptiveness and took a swig of her own drink. A dollop of foam clung to her upper lip and she swiped it away with the pink point of her tongue.

“You should see the chaos when he drops by the office to take me to lunch.”

“Yeah?” Günter asked, paying more attention to her mouth than her words.

She rolled her eyes and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Bonnie? From Payroll? Cornered us in the elevator lobby and asked him out.”

“I can picture the look on his face at that.”

He recalled the aura of godliness Tallis drew over him like a shield whenever he was uncomfortable. Women seemed to eat up the stuff, however, so the man was obviously onto something. Personally, he’d rather be celibate than live a life of fame and fakery.

“It’s been a three-ring circus.” Jenny gripped the table edge and launched into a diatribe. “Reporters camped outside my flat for a while, printing stories about David’s mousy, long-lost sister until they ran out of interesting angles and went away. Now they mostly invent things. It’s hell, I tell you. I don’t understand how he stomachs it.”

“He hires people like me and
obeys
them so he doesn’t have to deal with the press.”

“So, then he’s a prisoner too. Can’t go anywhere or do anything when he wants.” She shook her head, obviously feeling sorry for herself. “It’s not easy living in his shadow. You know?”

“It gets better,” he answered, indulging her sullen humor for the moment. “If you don’t let yourself become arrogant by association.”

He ought to know. While he was in many of the photographs the newspapers and magazines printed of the superstar, very few ordinary people knew his name. All the better, however, for him to be able to do his job. He’d had six years to come to terms with the same fame overflow that was stalking Jenny now. She’d barely had six months.

“The problem is, I’m not sure I know who I am. I mean, I do, but lately…” She looked at a pastoral print on the wall and ran her fingers around the rim of her glass. “I’m not sure I really like being an accountant. Maybe watching him has made me dissatisfied. I just wish…”

“What?” he prompted when she stared into space.

A nibble at her lip told him she was about to say something she knew he wouldn’t like. She took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I wish I had a more exciting life. I wish I could work for you.”

“What?” The question came out full of stunned disbelief this time. He couldn’t have heard her correctly. “Did you say you want to work for me?”

She shook her head as a blush stole over the twin ridges of her cheekbones.

“Never mind,” she whispered. “I knew you’d think it was stupid.”

“Bloody right it’s stupid,” he said, cringing inwardly when she blanched. He hadn’t intended his response to come out quite so acerbic. “Look. If you want to work for me, I really could use an accountant.”

The look on her face told him the camaraderie was over and there wasn’t enough alcohol in the place to recover it. Regardless, he left the table to clear his head and brought them back a couple tequila shots. When he returned she was still fuming.

“Are you afraid of women?” she taunted.

Now that was an interesting question.

“Depends,” he answered. “Are we talking about women in my bed or women at my back?”

She snorted. “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t know how to handle either.”

“Competence is a sexy thing. Don’t mistake me.” He let the statement hang in the air, not bothering to clarify which part he addressed. “But, I don’t think you have the wherewithal to take me down. And that’s what I’d require.”

“Do the men who work for you pass this little litmus test of yours?” she asked, salting the flesh between her thumb and forefinger. “Taking you down?”

Sexual innuendo hovered between them, a taut wire that pulled low in his belly and vibrated with a warm hum as she slowly licked white granules of salt from her skin. Tempted to haul her across the table into his lap, he closed his eyes to shut out the vision of her pink tongue. When he opened them again her shot glass was empty and she sucked on the lime wedge with a suggestive pull of her lips.