Undercover Blues

by Undercover Blues (lit)

  "Why, you’re absolutely pie-eyed," he exclaimed in sudden understanding. He started to tally the number of times he’d filled her flute glass, but quickly lost count. Then they’d had champagne in the room, and another one — or two — while saying their good-byes.

  Poor Angel! She’d probably been so nervous about today — and tonight — that she had been trying to ease her tension, and over-indulged.

  She said nothing, just looked at him with her dark, sultry eyes and tried to pull his face back to hers. He resisted.

  Was everything she’d said in the car — and here — an act? He doubted she could purposely put on an act of fantasy in her current state. Was this all a fabrication created by too much liquor?

  Or… His heart tangled into a tight knot. Could she be telling him how she really felt? Had the alcohol simply removed the barriers she’d erected between them?

  But… that would mean she really did love him.

  And that totally belied the cold-hearted image he had of her.

  Her gaze fixed on him and her eyes became dewy. "You… you look so serious. Are you remembering… I mean, do you really understand about what I did four years ago? Why I had to do what I did?"

  "Angel…"

  She clutched at his hand, holding it in a fierce grip. "Frank, I… I had to protect you. You don’t know what it did to me to turn you over to those animals, but I knew it was the only way. And the way I acted… I had to make you hate me… I had to…"

  "I know, sweetheart. Shhh. I know," he said, pulling her into his arms, caressing her back and crooning to her.

  "I love you, Frank. I love you so much," she said, almost desperately.

  She reached for his shirt, ignoring the fastenings and yanking the sides apart. White buttons scattered in every direction. When she pressed against him again, he felt her naked breasts against his skin. His gaze jerked to her arm, where her bra hung from one elbow like a long, white flag. She must have freed the front clasp after ripping his shirt open.

  He wanted to reach out and take what she offered, to haul her off to bed, strip away the figure hugging skirt she wore, along with whatever delightful bit of lace she wore as panties, and make mad passionate love to her. She was so beautiful and she was openly expressing her love for him, telling him what he realized he’d been longing to hear. She loved him!

  What could be more natural than making love to his bride on their wedding night?

  But he knew he couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerable state.

  She squirmed out of her skirt, sliding it over her hips. As it dropped to the floor, she slid off her panty hose, letting them join the other debris near her feet. As his body hardened in readiness, some sane part of his mind was amazed at her agility and sense of purpose, especially in her befuddled state. She caressed his chest with delicate strokes of her fingers, at the same time nibbling his ear lobe. Her soft warm breath tickled and excited him at the same time. When she plucked at his nipples, he groaned.

  This had to stop right now! He pulled her against his body and stopped the feverish movement of her hands. He picked her up and carried her to the armchair near the bed, sweeping the comforter up and around her before he sat down. Holding her on his lap, he stroked her hair back from her face, pushing strands up over her ears. He crooned to her, speaking soft, whispery words of love, and touched her face with his lips, over her cheeks and around her eyes, until her eyelids eased down and she sighed in contentment. Before long, she relaxed completely against him and when her breathing became slow and even, he knew she was asleep. Not so surprising when he considered how much alcohol she’d consumed. Actually, he was amazed at how long she had lasted. He dropped his head against the back of the chair and sighed. He still couldn’t believe he’d refused to make love to his bride on their wedding night.

  Chapter 7

  A sharp, jarring pain severed Angel’s tenuous hold on sleep. She shifted her head on the pillow and realized movement intensified the pain. Two things stumbled into her awareness: the discomfort stemmed from a severe pounding in her head, which could be lessened by staying very still; and the fact that her tongue seemed far too large for her uncomfortably dry mouth. By the flaring red on the inside of her eyelids, she knew it was broad daylight and she didn’t want to open her eyes and let all that foul sunshine jolt her awake too fast. Waking up this morning was already well on its way to being the low point of the day.

  Slowly, she let her senses inform her of other pertinent facts about her current situation. Like the fact that she was naked.

  Correction, almost naked. She could feel the stretch of elastic around her hips. Her panties were still in place.

  Odd. She always wore a nice, cozy, fleece nightie to bed — but she felt warm enough right now. Of course, that was because a large, warm body pressed against her side. In fact, she realized in alarm, it was a male body, totally naked. Judging from the weight across her waist, he had his arm around her. She forced her eyelids up…slowly… the light immediately sending her headache up a notch on the pain scale. Still, she forced her eyes to turn toward the man’s face.

  Frank!

  Suddenly, it all came back to her. The wedding. The limousine ride to the hotel. Throwing herself at Frank! Oh, good heavens.

  She remembered stripping off her clothes — and his — once they were alone in the hotel room.

  According to what she could piece together of her fragmented memory, he’d been a perfect gentleman. Could she be missing something? What had happened after she’d divested herself of her suit? Foggily, she remembered Frank carrying her towards the bed. Most of what occurred before that was hazy, but she retained a sense of what had gone on. The events afterward, however, were totally lost to her. Although their current position left little doubt as to the outcome.

  Her first impulse was to be angry with Frank and shove him off the bed. Better yet, get a bucket of ice and pour it over his naked, all-too-inviting body.

  Despite the fact that her headache pounded harder with the adrenaline rush of her thoughts, she forced herself to face the fact that it hadn’t been his fault. It had been hers. After all, how could Frank be expected to resist a half naked woman throwing herself at him? Especially when he’d made it clear time and again how he felt about her. And, she thought guiltily, on their wedding night.

  One of her hands was flattened between their two bodies and she desperately wanted to tug it free, uneasy with the fact that his hair-roughened thigh pressed against the backs of her fingers. She resisted the wild temptation to wiggle them, afraid she’d wake him.

  She lifted her free hand to cover her face — and almost jumped when she felt his lips press against her temple.

  "What is it, Angel? The morning after blues…or undercover blues?" he asked as he dragged his fingers seductively across her skin, over her waist, heading for the swell of her breast.

  She grabbed his hand and pushed it back down, then decided that had been a mistake when he rested it on her hip. "Frank, I…"

  He pushed himself up on one elbow, gazing down at her with a half smile. Here it comes, he thought. The accusations. The anger. How much did she remember?

  He sat up and grabbed a couple of Tylenol and a glass of water from the bedside table. "Here, sweetheart. I figured you might need these this morning."

  She took the white caplets and swallowed them, chased down by the water. "Thanks." Setting the glass down, she started again. "About last night… the way I acted…"

  To his surprise, she sounded apologetic. "What about it, sweetheart?"

  "I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to…"

  The tinge of pink that crept across her cheekbones charmed him so thoroughly, he couldn’t bear to let her suffer. Too much.

  "Look, Angel. You had a bit too much champagne. Understandable given the circumstances. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, and with the wedding and… everything else… you’re entitled. No harm done."

  "No harm done?" she sputtered.
/>
  Seeing her flushed face and the uncertainty in her eyes, he realized she had no idea what had — and had not — happened, last night. For one split second, he considered letting her believe they’d made love. If she accepted that, she might believe they had a real relationship — and a real marriage. That could only help his assignment.

  But he found he wasn’t as concerned about his assignment as he ought to be. He was becoming more concerned with Angel. Her uncertainty — her vulnerability — drew a powerful protective instinct from the depths of his soul. Doubts battered at the once all-consuming belief he’d had in her guilt. Her sweetness flowed like a honeyed wash of rain, seeping into the dry, cracked walls that protected his heart.

  Damn, but he could feel himself falling for her. When he hit bottom would he land on jagged rocks or sweet clover?

  What he needed now was to reestablish his objectivity. He couldn’t have total honesty between them — not given the nature of his mission — but he could at least be honest in this. "Angel, don't worry. Nothing happened."

  Her eyes widened. "You mean we didn’t… I didn’t…?"

  "Didn’t what, Angel?" he asked innocently, unable to resist teasing her.

  "We didn’t… make love?"

  "Oh, you wanted to," he teased. "You attacked me, but I fought you off." He slid his hand over her hip and across her belly. "I’m feeling less resistant this morning, though. We could…"

  She slammed her hand down on his, pinning it to her stomach. Ignoring his comment, she stared at him for a few minutes, considering.

  "Frank, why…? I mean, you’ve made it clear often enough that you want me. Why…?"

  He tugged his hand free and stroked her cheek with his index finger, suddenly serious. "It wouldn’t have been right. I knew you didn’t really want to. It was just the champagne."

  "Thank you, Frank. I don’t know what to say."

  When Frank saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears, his heart lurched. At the same time, her face glowed with an ethereal radiance, toppling his already crumbling control. She looked like a woman in love — with him. Suddenly, he desperately wanted it to be true — and not because of the case. "Last night you said you loved me."

  "I…" The protesting tone in her voice faded and her gaze dipped to the sheets. "Yes, I guess I did, but… that doesn’t change anything."

  He tipped her chin back up. "You’re wrong. It changes everything." And it did. He realized the act was becoming reality. He should get away from her, give himself time to cool off, to put things in perspective — but he couldn’t. The intensity of his need overwhelmed him with possibilities. Like consummating his marriage to an Angel.

  Angel knew Frank was wrong about last night. She had wanted him. Desperately. The champagne had simply made her forget why she couldn’t have him. She blinked back the threatening tears. She loved Frank more at this moment than she ever had before.

  She felt his arms slip around her. His tongue traced the outline of her mouth, then he nipped on her full, bottom lip. Her headache slipped into the realm of unpleasant memories and she felt her body come alive with need. One hand traced its way around to her breast and he dabbed at her nipple while his lips traveled down her neck to the hollow above her collar bone.

  Nervous quivers stalked the blood coursing through her veins. Her arms were pinned to her sides, so she wriggled a bit, trying to shift her breast out of reach. "Frank, after what you did last night, I thought…"

  "Last night, you weren’t sober. This morning you are," he murmured. His lips nuzzled lower. One of her nipples pressed into his chest, while the other rose to full arousal under the direction of his fingers.

  She wriggled some more. "But, Frank, you know I don’t want…"

  "You love me, Angel. I don’t believe you don’t want this. In fact, after last night — and the way your body is responding now — I know you want this."

  Yes, damn it, she did want this. "We can’t." Frantically, she tried to tug her hand loose.

  "Yes, we can."

  "I can’t." Her plea sounded desperate. Her hand broke free of his weight.

  He stopped the delicious torment of her nipple and his eyes met hers. "Angel, if you want me to stop, tell me you don’t want this."

  "I don’t want this." The quaver in her voice detracted from the conviction she’d tried to infuse in the words. And damn her chin for trembling.

  He gripped the accursed chin gently between curled finger and thumb. "Now say it as if you mean it."

  She closed her eyes, shutting out the knowing look in his eyes, along with the arousing heat of passion. "Frank, please."

  "Please ‘yes’, or please ‘no’?"

  "You know what I want, Frank."

  "Yes, I do — but do you?"

  His hand moved away from her breast and she felt erotic tingles radiating from his fingertips as they ran across her shoulder, then down her arm. She opened her eyes and was overwhelmed by the determination she saw in his. "You said you wouldn’t push our physical involvement."

  "Until after the wedding. In case you forgot, we were married yesterday."

  "But—"

  He stopped adoring her body with his hands and looked into her eyes with such intensity that she swallowed hard. "Angel, if you tell me you don’t want me, I’ll stop." He waited, giving her every chance.

  Tell him she didn’t want him? Good heavens, she wasn’t that good a liar. She had wanted him from the first moment she’d seen him. She’d dreamed of it over and over again, longed for him in a way she never had any other man. There’d been no other man, never could be another man. No, she couldn’t tell him she didn’t want him — because it wasn’t true.

  He smiled, a sexy half grin that sent her pulse racing like a cruiser in a high speed car chase. Damn. He could probably read the emotions crossing her face as easily as he could read a decoded message.

  "Oh, Angel, this is right," he said as he gathered her against him. "So right."

  "Frank, I don’t know. I…"

  He kissed her with an ardour that left her breathless. He was obviously fully aroused and she felt her body responding to that knowledge, preparing for him. Oh, heavens, she wanted him. She felt reason and logic melt away as the melting dampness between her thighs told her how much she needed him inside her.

  "Frank, I… I’ve got to warn you that…"

  He stroked a wayward curl from her face. "What is it, Angel?" The glint in his eyes shifted to a look of concern.

  "I’m… not very… experienced."

  A slow smile spread across his face. "That’s okay. I promise I’ll help you along."

  His lips started to play along her collarbone. She pushed him away gently, determined to explain.

  "What I mean is… I don’t have… any experience."

  He just stared at her for a moment.

  "You mean you’re… you’re a virgin?"

  His look of utter disbelief annoyed her. "It’s not a disease, Frank."

  "On the contrary. I just… I’m surprised, that’s all. What with Don and Dino both pursuing you and… Well, Angel, you’re a very beautiful woman."

  She tried to suppress the delight she felt at his words. "Dawn is my female neighbour, Frank, and Dino… Well, I could never make love with a cold-blooded killer. Think about it. With the kind of life I lead, who do you think I could ever get close enough to? Everyone believes me to be someone I’m not. And the men I meet aren’t exactly the type I’d like to settle down with." She gazed up at him with her brown eyes wide. "Frank, I couldn’t make love with just anyone."

  "I’m not just anyone, Angel," he whispered, nipping the curve of her ear.

  He pressed his lips against her throat again then nuzzled, sending her pulse accelerating to well beyond the red zone. His hand eased slowly across her shoulder to her breast. At the warmth of his palm cupping her sensitive flesh — the exquisite delight of it — a moan erupted from her suddenly dry throat.

  A sharp ringing cut through the haze
in her mind, accompanied by Frank’s muttered curse. The telephone. Glancing at the red digits on the clock she realized it was their wake up call. They had to be at the airport in an hour. She pushed away from him, glad for the interruption, already regretting giving so much of herself away.

  * * * *

  Their plane took off half an hour late but soon they flew across the clear May sky towards paradise. Angel feared the trip would be strained but instead they sat in comfortable silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts.

  Angel’s swirled around the frightening realization that she truly loved Frank. What she had to decide was how that would affect their future. It would be nice if they had time to get to know each other and to choose when, and if, they should get married. But in their line of work things were often decided for them.

  Frank and she had to work together to find the informant, but that liaison would end once their assignment was complete. What would happen then? Would he walk away when it was over? Or would he try to convince her to give up her undercover life? Could she do that, even to be with Frank? She shook her head, knowing she would never even consider it.

  She glanced at him, sitting beside her with his eyes closed, the cheap airline headset covering his ears. Would he possibly consider continuing their current situation? Continuing to work undercover with her? Maybe. He said he loved her. On the other hand, that didn’t mean he was prepared to commit himself to marriage and a major change in lifestyle, especially when that lifestyle meant living among criminals.

  There had to be a solution. They had many things to discuss over the next week. Maybe — just maybe — if they worked them out, this could be a real honeymoon. Angel gazed out at the glittering sea below, then glanced at the diamond Frank had given her. Thinking about a real marriage to Frank thrilled her. Her desire for him had become an aching need within her.