Undercover Lover (18 page)

“Stop that.” He yanked her hand from her mouth.

Her brow quirked in triumph, eyes glittering as she pinned him with a sultry stare. Voice full of throaty promise she said, “I don’t mind the idea of you and Simon getting it on. It’s kinda hot.”

He choked on his tequila, the liquid making its way through his esophagus in a fiery trail he couldn’t mitigate.

“I mean, if you don’t
enjoy
women, I totally understand,” she nattered on. “And some guys are just threatened by a powerful woman. Some people say it’s the size of their—”

Throwing a wad of cash on the table, he jerked her from her seat and hauled her out the door. When they’d reached the bend in the alleyway he pressed her against the brick and stared down at her.

Shadows played over her face, her eyes luminous points of light in the night. Chest heaving from surprise and exertion, she was the picture of the innocent coed he’d watched over for so long.

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

He traced a finger along her jaw, feeling the rapid hammer of her pulse beneath.

“I told you. The last time I slept with a mark,” he murmured, the alcohol loosening his tongue, “we ended up married and she ended up dead. Is that where you see this relationship going?”

His hand fell away and he released her. They continued walking, her gait more unsteady than his own. Both their boots seemed unnaturally loud against the cobblestones as they rounded the corner onto High Street. The stores and streets were deserted, leaving Günter with few distractions from the increasingly morose direction of his thoughts.

As if reading his mind, Jenny asked, “You know you didn’t kill her, right?”

Her assessment brought him up short and he jerked away from her touch. “I don’t need you to heal me.”

The breeze caught at her hair, lifting a strand to tease at her face and she pushed it behind her ear. She tilted her head to one side, studying him. “That’s exactly what you need.”

A flash of fear compelled him to emotionally push her away as hard and fast as he could. “A major in Accounting and a minor in tequila hardly equals a PhD in Psych.”

“I didn’t drink that much in college,” she defended, and he recognized he’d successfully changed the topic.

“Not from what I saw,” he lied.

“What are you talking about?” A tinge of fear made her eyes wary.

Hell’s bells. Now he’d done it. He closed his eyes against her searching gaze. She’d never trust him after this. Though why it mattered he could hardly say. The more distance he kept between himself and his object of fixation, the better.

“Your brother had you followed.” Nothing for it, really, but to come clean.

“I thought he didn’t know where I was?” She froze in the middle of the walk. “Why did he continue to let me believe he was dead once he found me?”

Anger would have been so much easier to take then her hurt. He shook his head to clear the cloud of fumes the alcohol had left behind. Keep it professional. Keep it factual, he reminded himself, knowing if he’d done so in the first place she wouldn’t be experiencing such raw hurt now.

“He couldn’t risk exposing himself before we knew all of your father’s associates were dead. We agreed I’d keep most of the intel from him—pictures and the like—so he wouldn’t be tempted to reach out to you if he knew your exact location.” The stark expression on her face told him his explanation only caused her more pain, and he struggled for the words to make it right. “He only knew you were in New York and you were safe. Contacting you, knowing that some of them might be watching you, could have led to dangerous consequences for you both.”

She snorted and began walking. “Looks like he needn’t have bothered waiting.”

“I tried to keep you out of this,” he reminded her, taking several long strides to catch up. “There’s still time to back out.”

He made the offer knowing it wouldn’t make Ian very happy, and might well spell a prison sentence for him, but he’d do his damndest to get her back on a plane to the States if he could.

“Why tell me now?” Shoulders back, head held high, she looked straight ahead.

“I thought you should know.” He shrugged, feigning an indifference he didn’t nearly feel. “Besides, you’re so sloshed you won’t remember this conversation tomorrow any more than you remembered me dancing with you six years ago.”

“What?” She stopped abruptly enough that he had to pivot to face her. “Wait…”

He searched her face as she remembered the night. Watched color bloom, a darker shade of gray on her cheeks in the darkness, as she got to the part where he’d undressed her and tucked her into bed.

“That was you…” she whispered. “Oh my God. That was you.”

He nodded, once, cringing inwardly when a hard swallow gave away his emotion.

“You took care of me,” she said and he closed his eyes.

Done for. He was done for.

“And Chad…”

His eyes flew open. He hadn’t expected her to make that connection. Or to remember the frat boy’s name.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “He wasn’t good enough for you.”

“When I remember this tomorrow, and repeat the entire conversation to you verbatim?” She hiccupped. “You have to kiss me.”

He tucked her head under his chin and gazed down the deserted street toward Christ Church and their temporary home.

“You’re always making bets,” he said. “One of these days, you’re going to up the ante past your ability to pay. What then, sunshine?”

“I’ll take out a line of credit.” She pulled away. “My brother is richer than God. And damn near as arrogant.”

He laughed. She had him there.

* * * * *

The kitchen door squeaked open and Gunter straightened a little too rapidly. The room spun and he struggled to hold down the dry toast he’d just eaten. Turning his head gingerly, he gave the hairy eyeball to Simon.

His second stopped mid-ball scratch to frown back at him. “Are you hung-over?”

“No.” Gunter sunk lower in his seat.

“You look hung-over.” Simon pulled a bottle of milk from the fridge and glanced over his shoulder. “Green’s a good color on you.”

A low rumble came from Gunter’s throat, but the kitchen door swung open again cutting off his retort. He winced at the shrill sound.

“Going to buy a bloody oil can,” he muttered. “And coffee.”

“Hi.”

He looked up at the sound of Jenny’s raspy voice. Hair still tangled, eyes puffy with sleep, she looked about as eager to confront the day as he felt. Casting his gaze from the high neck of her flannel nightgown, he lingered on the soft swell of her breasts before continuing the journey to the pink polished toenails peeping from beneath her hem.

Catching his perusal, she curled her toes self-consciously and he almost smiled. Except it would have hurt too much. God, how much had they drunk? He didn’t remember being this smashed when they left the tavern.

“How late did you and Ian stay up after I went to bed?” Jenny asked as she brushed past to put on the kettle.

Oh. That’s right. He’d forgotten about the round…or three…with Ian. He cursed himself for six kinds of fool. What sort of operative allowed himself to get obliterated during a mission?

The kind that needs to forget he wants to sleep with his…

He stopped short. His what? His gaze shot to Jenny’s softly rounded bottom as she bent over to search for something in the fridge. She wasn’t his charge anymore. While he’d protect her, things had progressed too far for that. Trainee didn’t fit either. Teammate? A little head shake made his brain feel as if it sloshed against his skull. He ran a hand down his face and blew out his breath in a way that made everyone, including Jenny, stare at him.

“What?” he asked, more surly than he’d intended.

Jenny’s mouth kicked up at the corners.

“What?” he asked, sounding like a fishwife. Simon chuckled and Gunter rounded on his second. “Get out.”

Scooping up his cereal bowl, Simon waved his spoon when Gunter glared as if he might get up from the table to throttle him. “I’m going. No need to get testy.”

The horrid door squeaked twice as loud as it swung out into the hall, making Gunter swear under his breath. Jenny took Simon’s vacated seat. Cradling her mug of tea in hands far too delicate to handle a gun, she cocked her head. He rasped a palm over his stubble and contemplated her stare. Its intensity—the chocolate of her eyes taking on an amber glow—shattered his last remaining shred of calm.

“What?” The question exploded from him.

A slow grin spread across Jenny’s features. Those eyes took on a merry twinkle he knew came at his expense. If he had to ask again—

“I remember.” She leaned in as she said the words, her voice a sex-kitten purr he couldn’t believe emanated from her throat.

He sat back to put a little distance between them. “Remember?”

“Everything.”

“Every…”
Oh shit.
To cover his shock he snapped his fingers. “Out with it. Verbatim.”

When she took a deep breath and her eyes took on a faraway look as if she recalled facts she’d memorized for an exam, he knew he was screwed.

“You said,
Your brother had you followed
.” She ran a finger absentmindedly over the rim of her cup. “I replied—”

“Stop.” He held up his hand, not wanting to be reminded of his indiscretion. If Tallis sued him, he’d deserve it. His head pounded worse. He was a bloody idiot. “You win.”

“I do?” Pink crept over her cheeks, and her next few breaths smacked of arousal and anticipation.

His cock grew heavy as his traitorous mind remembered the taste of candy lips. She began to slide from her seat, to come to him. A forestalling hand shot up. Hangover or no, if he kissed her now he’d have no control. No energy to evade the other demands he knew she’d make.

“We have work to do.”

“Work?” Jenny stepped back, the shock of his betrayal a vivid slap to her sexual awakening. “You said—”

“You’ll get your bloody kiss.” He pushed back from the table too rapidly. Ignoring the pulse at his temples he stomped from the room and muttered, “When I see fit.”

* * * * *

Still owing her that kiss, thirty hours later, Günter tailed Jenny along the Thames footpath out of the city. At six thirty a.m., a pink-fingered glow stretched from the horizon. A few more minutes and daylight would make it impossible for him to keep his presence hidden from her.

He’d heard her sneaking about her room a half hour ago, her attempts at surreptitious movement giving away her intent to slip out. That she carried a gun case and ammo in her backpack—both of which he’d seen her commandeer before she left—told him where she was headed.

Stopping atop a stile, she gazed ahead at the river and a meadow in the distance. Günter saw her breathe deeply and roll her neck—knew she relished her first moments alone in a week.

He frowned when she jumped down without so much as glancing over her shoulder. She was shit at observation. The past several days they’d worked on opponent disarm, blending into a crowd and losing a tail. Apparently the last had been putting the cart before the horse because you had to notice the tail before you could lose it.

They walked the remaining mile to the gun range with her none the wiser that she’d been followed. Determined to teach her a lesson when she emerged, he waited outside the gun range for four hours, consoling himself in his boredom with the notion that he’d been on tougher stakeouts with less-pretty targets in mind.

At 11:30 his cell buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket with a frown.

Lunch?
her text message asked.

Where?
he texted back.

The tavern around the bend of the footpath, about a mile back
, appeared on his phone twenty seconds later and he laughed. That she’d bested him at his own game gave him an unexpected thrill. She was fun to play with.

Sure
, he answered.

Ten minutes later the door squeaked open, metal against metal, and he pushed away from the wall with his foot to meet her.

“Did you manage it?” he asked, intending the question to come out as a taunt. Instead it sounded hopeful, and she looked at him with surprise.

“No.” She shook her head, disappointed. “I don’t think I even got close to a cluster.”

They both fell into silence for several minutes, the rustle of dead grasses and the crunch of rocks beneath their feet the only soundtrack to their journey.

“Where did you get the code to the range?” he asked, knowing Ian wouldn’t have given it to her.

“I covered the pin pad with clear fluorescent paint the day before yesterday, then came back that night to read the prints with that light Ian has,” she said. “You guys should use more than three separate digits for the code. After listening to the tone all week, it’s too easy to crack.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, impressed with her ingenuity. “You’re quite resourceful.”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” she said over her shoulder.