Guarding Suzannah

by Norah Wilson

  ~*~

  Quigg was conscious of the eyes watching them as he paid the bill for their lunch. Good. That’s what it was all about. The more people who noticed, and the sooner they noticed, the better.

  Not that this gig was all bad. Baiting Suzannah almost made up for the aggravation of having to babysit her.

  Tucking his wallet back in his pocket, he put a proprietary hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the exit. Together, they strolled out into the parking lot.

  After the air-conditioned interior of the restaurant, the heat hit them like a slap, rising in waves from the asphalt. Suzannah’s shiny little Beemer was a cream-colored shimmer at the far end of the parking lot. As they neared it, he felt the tension in her mount.

  Good enough for her. If she wasn’t such a stubborn little miss, he wouldn’t have to be here. If she’d just agree to an official investigation, there’d be no need of this pretend affair. If she had an ounce of sense, she wouldn’t be getting all bent out of shape right now over having to endure a public kiss in a parking lot. A kiss from a lowly cop.

  Yeah, this gig wasn’t all bad.

  They came to a stop beside her car. He half expected her to fumble for her keys or maybe offer her hand for a formal handshake, but she didn’t do either of those things. She just turned to face him, her face carefully impassive.

  “This won’t hurt a bit.” He rested a palm on the side of her slim, graceful neck, using a callused thumb to tip her chin up. Lord, her skin was fine, softer even than he’d imagined. He could feel her pulse, surprisingly strong beneath his palm. “Just close your eyes and think of England.”

  She did close her eyes, but as they drifted shut, he caught an expression in them that startled the hell out of him. A sensual hungry expression that might lead a man to conclude that she was thinking about something other than the mother country. Poleaxed, he froze in mid-move, his face angled, distance narrowed, lips hovering just millimeters from hers. What the hell was going on here?

  Then she slid an arm around his neck and pulled his mouth down to meet hers, erasing any doubt about what he’d seen in her eyes. Her lips were damp, warm, and they tasted tantalizingly of coffee and womanly welcome. Then her tongue, hot and impossibly exciting, probed his lips. He opened for her instantly, felt the electric brush of her tongue against his even as her hand found the tensed muscles of his chest.

  Wait, wait, wait, his mind screamed. Be smart. Pull back. Think about this.

  His body said screw that noise. Suzannah Phelps had her tongue in his mouth.

  It was a short contest.

  He swept his arm around her, meeting her hungry mouth with a hard demand of his own. When she groaned her approval, he gathered her closer. Oh, Jesus, God, she felt like heaven. She splayed her legs subtly, allowing him to press her more intimately against him.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was too much, too public, too out-of-control. Then she drew back, pushing against his chest. He released her immediately.

  “So, how was that, Detective? Convincing enough?”

  Her words held their usual edge, but he heard the husky quaver underlying them. She’d wanted to turn the tables on him but she wasn’t as coolly unaffected as she wanted him to think.

  Clutching at the threads of his own equilibrium, he forced a laugh. “Hey, you convinced me, sweetheart.”

  She compressed her lips, which only drew attention to how kiss-swollen they were.

  “You know us lawyers. We’re all actors at heart.”

  “Of course.”

  Her lips thinning even further, she deactivated the car’s alarm. It chirped cheerfully. When he heard the electronic door locks release, he stepped forward to open the door for her. She brushed by him and slid into the driver’s seat.

  “You’ll go home at five when everybody quits the building?”

  She looked like she wanted to tell him to get his hands off her car. And she really, really looked like she wanted to tell him it was none of his business what she did. Instead, she nodded. “I already agreed to that, remember?”

  “Just making sure.”

  She inserted the key in the ignition switch, then glanced up at him. “Do you think I could have my door back?”

  “In a minute. I want to talk about what we’re going to watch on TV tonight.” What he really wanted to see is if she could make that upper lip disappear altogether if she got any more uptight. Apparently she couldn’t because it was still in evidence when she replied.

  “You don’t need to come over, John. The alarm will be installed by then. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure you will. But the objective is to either make this guy cease and desist, or alternatively, to flush him out. And the only way to do that is to convince him you’ve got a bona fide lover.”

  She closed her eyes, as though praying for strength. Or maybe counting to ten. Those baby blues were cool as ice chips when she opened them again. “WTN.”

  “Huh?”

  “The Women’s Television Network. That’s what we’re watching tonight.”

  “Okay,” he conceded in his most magnanimous voice. “Between innings of the Jays game, we’ll switch over.”

  Her answer was to start the BMW’s engine.

  He took his cue and closed her door just in time to prevent her driving off with it ajar.

  He glanced around the parking lot. Several heads averted too quickly. Spectators to that clinch, no doubt. Well, that was the whole point of the exercise, wasn’t it?

  Pasting the kind of smug smile on his face that he figured a guy who’d just swapped saliva with Suzannah Phelps should be wearing, he sauntered to his own car. It wasn’t until he merged into the lunch hour traffic that he let the smile slip.

  Dammit, what had he gotten himself into?