Under The Covers

2

RONNIE FLASHED the too-polished and too-gorgeous-to-be-real detective a grin filled with satisfaction as his arrogance faded. Her own grin dimmed when his raven-black eyebrows collided over narrowed, pale gray eyes.

“Find yourself another cop to play house,” he said, angrily pushing out of the chair. “I’m not interested.”

Her smile disappeared completely. There was no other cop, and she had her assignment. Because of jurisdiction, she’d been forced to partner herself with the LAPD, rather than one of her own, for which she was secretly grateful. The last thing she wanted was to play loving wife to the very men who’d made her life a living hell the past three years. A fact that confirmed she should’ve followed her own dreams rather than attempted to fulfill a prophecy she’d never asked for, nor wanted.

She shifted in the chair as he reached for the door. “I’m afraid you have no choice,” she said, grateful when the firm tone she tried managed to stop him from leaving. “While your department has been more than cooperative, you know as well as I do that deep budget cuts have left your division operating with the bare minimum. You’re the only officer available. And I’ve been guaranteed—”

He spun to face her, his frustration-filled gaze connecting with hers. “I really don’t give a damn what you’ve been guaranteed.”

“Look, I’m sorry you’re not happy about the assignment, but there isn’t any other way.” She didn’t like him glowering down at her, so she stood and rested her backside against the desk. If he’d been standing in front of her, he’d still tower over her by a good ten inches, but at least she’d equaled the playing field…somewhat. “With employees being banned from Seaport Manor during their off-hours, we need undercover operatives on the inside that have the freedom to come and go as they please. And it is a honeymoon resort. If we went in as singles, we’d be suspect from the moment we stepped off the launch.”

He let out a long breath filled with impatience. “You really think people are going to believe we’re newlyweds?”

She gave him a brief smile, in hopes of placating him since they hadn’t exactly started out on the best of terms. “From what I’ve read about you, Detective, you’re very good at what you do. I’m sure you’ll provide a convincing performance.”

Something in his gaze shifted, sending a ripple of alarm skirting down her spine. His soft gray eyes filled with purpose as he crossed the cramped office, closing the distance between them. With every ounce of willpower in her arsenal, she held her ground instead of darting behind the desk like the little warning voice in her head was shouting for her to do.

He stopped mere inches away, invading her personal space, and close enough for her to breathe in the alluring scent of cologne and man. She cursed her rotten luck. Why couldn’t they have found her a more middle-aged, less virile cop to play one half of the happy couple for the next week or two? Living in close quarters, in a ridiculously expensive and lavish honeymoon suite no less, with a man she found dangerously attractive held little appeal.

Or maybe too much appeal, her conscience taunted.

Definitely way too appealing, she thought. Since she knew the type so well, she could protect herself. Couldn’t she? Forewarned was supposed to mean forearmed, not an invitation to lose control. Considering she’d once fallen victim to a guy with all the right words, all the right moves and all the wrong answers she’d been too blind to see, she’d just have to be extremely careful not to lose her head. She could never, for one second, forget Blake was merely a means to an end that would finally give her the chance to follow her own dreams for a change.

Oh, yes, she knew Blake Hammond’s type all right. Cocky swagger and confident, killer smile, the kind capable of reducing any living, breathing female to a tongue-tied idiot. Soft, sexy bedroom eyes, combined with a deep velvety smooth voice warm enough to melt the iciest resistance. Throw in a body, hard in all the right places, yielding in even better places, and he fit the type to perfection. She’d sworn to stay away from that kind of guy, no matter how irresistibly charming. One momentary lapse of common sense was more than enough to last her a lifetime, thank you very much.

She shook the thoughts from her mind and concentrated instead on the tiny lines of fatigue bracketing Blake’s eyes. She struggled to ignore the way her pulse revved when his gaze dipped momentarily to her mouth.

She would not make the same mistake twice, no matter how much her hormones clamored for male attention. Just to prove it to herself, she pulled in a steady breath. Almost.

“You’ve already threatened me with sexual harassment,” he said, his voice filled with a calm she suspected was tightly controlled. “How are we supposed to behave like newlyweds with a threat like that hanging over my head?”

His meaning wasn’t lost on her. Newlyweds not only spoke in endearing terms to each other, they touched, caressed and kissed…long deep kisses. Toe-curling kisses. Kisses that generated heat and fire and spelled trouble.

He shifted closer still.

She pulled back.

He followed.

She caught his tangy scent and nearly sighed.

“Newlyweds are in love and they act like it, Special Agent in Charge,” he said, his deep voice soft and gentle like the touches, caresses and kisses he’d implied. “You gonna file a complaint every time I have to do this, even if it means keeping us alive?”

He lifted his hand and cupped the back of her neck in his warm palm. Her breath stilled. His fingers sifted through her hair and sent a series of delightful tingles running over her skin. Reflexively, she placed her hand against his chest to hold him at bay.

Oh, big mistake, she thought, curling her fingers into a fist against the heat burning her palm. Surrounded by a solid wall of masculinity, damn if her feminine senses didn’t go haywire. He was as solid as he looked, and the thought of peeling his neatly pressed shirt away to expose all that dark, male skin shocked her clear to the toes of her sensible beige pumps.

She was supposed to be past this silly kind of juvenile behavior. Lust had nearly gotten her killed. Lust along with misplaced trust in an agent operating on the wrong side of the law, something she’d discovered after it was too late. Big deal if Internal Affairs had cleared her of any wrongdoing. Her service record might not have been damaged because of her stupidity, but that didn’t mean her heart and mind hadn’t been banged up more than a little.

“I have my orders, Detective,” she said with false bravado, despite the awareness shimmering between them. She fought hard to forget about bared skin and touching that glorious male body for the next two weeks. The thought of telling her family she planned to quit the agency and follow her own dreams would be far simpler in comparison. No matter how silly anyone thought those dreams might be. “And so do you,” she added.

“Do my orders include kissing my ‘bride’ in public?”

She sucked in a sharp breath as the image of Blake’s mouth pressing evocatively against hers flashed through her mind. “I’ll do whatever is necessary to make this bust, Detective. If it means a kiss or two with my temporary partner to maintain our cover, then I will do my job.”

He grinned, his devilishly handsome mouth filled with enough promise that her knees went weak in spite of her firm reminders. A mouth she’d be tasting soon enough considering their assignment.

“What about touching?” he asked, his voice low, like a whispered endearment.

“If I have to suffer through a few touches to keep us alive, then I’ll do it. It’s all part of the job.”

“Suffer?” A sexy little smile tipped his mouth as he released his gentle hold. “I can’t say a woman’s ever told me she’s suffered from my touch.”

Ronnie seriously doubted the experience would be a painful one, and that was part of her problem. From the crazy way her heart was pounding, she had no trouble imagining all sorts of sensual delights his touch could bring. “There’s a first time for everything,” she countered, hoping to convince him, or maybe herself, she was immune to his devastating charm.

He stepped back and gave her some much-needed breathing room that did little to still the rapid cadence of her heart. Trading barbs with Blake Hammond definitely qualified as stimulating. Too bad other types of stimulation sounded equally intriguing.

He rolled his shoulders, then rubbed the back of his neck again. Ah, stress. Now there was something she could easily understand.

“I’m going home, Carmichael,” he said. “I haven’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours, and I’m beat. You’re right. I don’t have a choice, but before we go anywhere, there’s one thing I want to make crystal clear.”

She braced her hands behind her on the desk, hoping she looked more calm, assured and a whole lot more collected than she was feeling. “Which is?” she asked, arching her brow.

“I’ll play, but we’re playing my way. You can take it or leave it.”

“You don’t know anything about the case.”

He shrugged and walked to the door. “That’s why you’re going to brief me. Tonight.”

“Tonight? But—” She needed time to regain control. Something only distance would provide since she was nearly panting after Blake and all that incredible sex appeal.

“Tonight,” he said, his tone as uncompromising as the flinty steel filling his eyes. “Be at my place by seven. It’s in the file. I’ll even spring for dinner.”

She weighed her options, and couldn’t find a single professional argument. He’d have to be brought up to speed, and she’d rather have him rested and attentive. Personally, the idea of being alone with him terrified her.

“Fine, Detective,” she reluctantly agreed. “I’ll see you at seven.”

He gave her one last look, shook his head, then left her alone in the small office. She watched him through the open miniblinds as he stopped to say something to one of the other detectives before leaving.

Slowly, she moved to the chair and sat, willing her legs to stop trembling, wondering how she was ever going to survive a week, maybe two, pretending to be filled with lust for the sexiest man she’d ever met. Especially when the lines between pretense and reality had already begun to merge.

BLAKE TAPPED THE RAZOR on the side of the sink, silently cursing fate, and his lieutenant. The much-needed sleep did little to improve his mood, but considering his long-awaited and much anticipated vacation had been preempted, he figured he was entitled to a little crabbiness.

“Newlyweds,” he muttered, scraping the razor along his cheek. He was no stranger to undercover operations. He’d been a detective long enough to have dealt with his fair share of assignments, good and bad, but none had ever evoked erotic images strong enough to haunt his dreams. Dreams casting a sassy, diminutive DEA agent with eyes the color of the sea, hair softer than down and skin as smooth and sleek as Egyptian cotton in the starring role.

Under normal circumstances, he’d never consider spending fourteen days in a romantic setting with a sexy, intriguing woman a hardship. Spending those days alone with a Southern belle with a badge and an attitude hardly qualified as an erotic fantasy. Agent Carmichael was a sexual harassment allegation waiting to happen, especially since he’d come dangerously close to kissing her this morning. Thank heaven his common sense had overruled his baser intentions.

Women and the badge weren’t compatible. His parents’ divorce when he was ten confirmed it. He had his own experience to quantify that knowledge, as well, not to mention more than half the cops on the force were either divorced or close to it. The divorce rate among the detective squad was even higher. Only a very special woman could handle being married to a cop. Not many understood the long hours, or how a disappearing act for days at a time when an undercover assignment came along was all part of the motto, To Protect and Serve. It took a strong woman to be able to deal with the reality that every time she kissed her badge-carrying husband goodbye in the morning, it could very well be the last time she ever saw him alive. In his experience, women like that were far and few between, one of the reasons why, at thirty-one, he’d never married. There’d been a close call once, but that was a lifetime ago.

He shoved those unpleasant thoughts aside as the doorbell rang. Rinsing away the remnants of shaving cream, he buried his face in a fluffy towel before heading to the front door of his beachfront condo.

He’d hoped his reaction when he’d first seen Ronnie Carmichael this morning had been a result of lack of sleep and extreme frustration. Those hopes crumbled when he swung open the door and his heart began to pound again.

She looked ready for a day of relaxing under the warmth of the southern California sun, even if she did have a briefcase in her hands. Her silky hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, a few stray strands teasing the curve of her jaw. Khaki walking shorts showed off her lightly tanned legs, and a teal cotton top with a scoop neck hugged her full breasts and emphasized her curves.

“Either you’re independently wealthy or on the take,” she said with a gentle smile, breezing past him. He caught the intoxicating scent of her floral perfume and breathed in, imagining the pulse points where she’d dabbed the fragrance.

He frowned and closed the door. “That’s a hell of a greeting.”

“You’ve got a nice place,” she said, a bare hint of a smile flirting around the edges of her very kissable mouth. “I didn’t know LAPD paid their detectives so well.”

“They don’t,” he said, ushering her into the sunken living room overlooking the Pacific. “My mother’s family has money and I bought this place a couple of years ago when I came into a trust. Not that it’s any of your business.”

She set her briefcase beside the glass-topped cocktail table and shrugged. “It’s not, but I’d rather not be involved with a cop on the take.”

“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.”