Cinderella's Secret Agent

by Ingrid Weaver

  “What exactly do you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your profession. What kind of work are you in?” She laughed nervously. “I’m not trying to pry or anything, I’m just curious, that’s all.”

  There was no way out now, he realized. He couldn’t refuse to answer her direct question. So he had to come up with yet another lie.

  “I’m a consultant for an import-export business.”

  “Oh. Um, okay.”

  “We deal mostly in electronics.”

  “Ah. That’s why you mentioned you could get me a deal on monitoring equipment.”

  “Right.”

  “And that explains your hands.”

  “My hands?”

  “Your fingers are very nimble. It must come from handling all those little electronic thingamajiggies.”

  Actually, his dexterity came from cleaning, assembling and disassembling weapons on a regular basis. “Something like that. My work also involves a lot of traveling and odd hours, depending on when a shipment is due,” he said, expanding on the impromptu cover story.

  “I see.”

  “It’s all pretty routine stuff. And it isn’t anywhere near as challenging as the job you’re doing.”

  “I told you before, this isn’t a job.” She yawned. “It’s a joy.”

  “How often do you baby-sit Robbie?” he asked, smoothly changing the subject.

  Maggie put her forearm over her eyes and dropped her head against the back of the couch. “Only a few times a week after school.”

  “He seems like a very active boy.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “Armilda’s his grandmother, right?”

  “That’s what he calls her, but she’s really his foster mother. He’s been with her for about three months. She’s very fond of him, but she doesn’t have the energy to take him on permanently. They’re trying to find him a family.”

  “Where’s his mother?”

  “His parents were killed by a drunk driver two years ago when he was four. He doesn’t have any other relatives.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “The pits,” she agreed. “He’s doing okay, though. Kids generally are resilient, but Robbie has adapted quite well. He takes each day as it comes and tries to make the best of it. Life threw him some lemons, so he’s going to make lemonade.”

  “That sounds like you.”

  She rolled her head along the couch to look at him. “Hmm?”

  “You have a very positive attitude. I saw that about you even before I knew your name.”

  Smiling, she looked at her baby. “I have a lot of things to be positive about, starting with an absolute angel for a daughter.”

  As if in response to her mother’s voice, Delilah squirmed briefly and let out another burp.

  Maggie laughed softly. “But I don’t think she’s going to become a broccoli farmer when she grows up.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “What kind of farm did you grow up on, Del?”

  “Dairy.”

  “Really? So you milked cows and all that?”

  “Mostly the machines did the milking.”

  She gave a mock shudder and crossed her arms over her breasts defensively. “That must be horrible for the cows. They have my sympathy.”

  “They didn’t seem to mind. My father used to pipe Mozart into the barn to put them at ease.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, he really did. It increased the milk yield.”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “Do you think it might work for me?”

  Del kept his gaze carefully above her neck. “Uh, Maggie…”

  She grinned. “I’m sorry, Del, but it’s so much fun to make you blush.”

  The heat Del felt in his face wasn’t from embarrassment. It was from the increase in his heart rate as he pictured the size of Maggie’s breasts. “I’m glad I can amuse you.”

  She settled more comfortably against the couch cushions. “I grew up in Brooklyn. The closest I ever got to a farm was watching reruns of ‘Little House on the Prairie.’”

  “Well, the Rogers’ place is nothing like that.”

  Her nostrils flared as she attempted to stifle another yawn. “Did you have an old rusty truck and a hound dog named Duke?”

  He chuckled. “We weren’t the Beverly Hillbillies, either, but we did have a dog. He was a shepherd-Lab cross, and we called him Butch. We even had indoor plumbing.”

  “Wow. Television, too?”

  “Yep.”

  “Tell me about it, Del. What was it like?”

  This was one subject he didn’t have to lie about, Del thought. He shifted Delilah to the crook of his arm and pushed the rocking chair into motion. “Depending on the season, I thought of it as colors. The winter was blue and white, big stretches of it when the sun glinted off the snow-drifts. Spring was green….”

  As he talked, he felt Delilah’s body grow limp with sleep. A few minutes later, Maggie’s eyes drifted shut, and her head lolled to one side.

  Del sat where he was for a while, simply absorbing the sense of peace that surrounded him. A door slammed down the hall. Out on the street a dog barked and a jet roared in the distance, yet in this cozy apartment the only sounds were the soft creaking of the rocking chair and Maggie’s deep breathing.

  How long had it been since he’d talked about his days on the farm? Usually he avoided the memories because they were all tangled up with the pain of his failure with Elizabeth. Odd how it didn’t bother him to talk about it with Maggie. Maybe it was because of Maggie’s positive attitude. That’s just the way she was, always looking on the bright side, making the best of her situation.

  Maggie’s lips parted on a delicate snore.

  Del smiled. On the other hand, a positive attitude only went so far. Right now, exhaustion had the upper hand. He rose and transferred Delilah to her crib, then came back for Maggie. Slipping his arms under her knees and shoulders, he carefully lifted her from the couch.

  She was lighter than he had expected—with so much vitality in her frame, he often forgot how small she was. She fit perfectly into his arms, her head nestling snugly against his shoulder as the side of her breast rubbed warmly against his chest.

  A tremor moved through him at the feel of that soft contact. He shouldn’t have been thinking about her breasts earlier, despite Maggie’s teasing. Now he was excruciatingly aware of every cubic inch. Gritting his teeth, Del did his best to ignore his stirring libido as he carried her past Delilah’s crib and laid her down on her bed. Maggie was so soundly asleep, she barely stirred as he eased off her shoes and pulled a light blanket over her. She wouldn’t even stir if he leaned over and brushed his lips across her cheek…or her mouth.

  Del straightened slowly, his gaze going from Maggie’s cheek to her parted lips. Her scent teased his nostrils, a combination of baby powder, soap and lemons…and an underlying note of something tangy that had to be pure Maggie. And despite his best intentions, that scent only reinforced the reaction that the contact with her body had started.

  His gaze lowered. Beneath the blanket, her chest was rising and falling with her breathing. The light fabric molded to her curves the way his palm itched to do….

  His conscience sounded a warning. He shouldn’t be standing here like this. She trusted him. He was taking advantage of the situation—

  No, he wasn’t. He was being damn noble. If he really wanted to take advantage, he’d be leaning over the bed instead of standing beside it. He’d be bracing his hands on either side of her shoulders and lowering his head until he felt her breath on his lips. And then he’d lean closer still, until he could fit his mouth to hers. Her lips were already soft and parted in sleep. It would be so easy to slip his tongue between them.

  How would she taste? As good as she smelled? And would her mouth be warm and inviting as his tongue probed deeper? Would her lips surround him and draw him inside as she moaned in her sleep? Would she mak
e room for him on the bed and lift the blanket to welcome him—

  Del rubbed a hand roughly over his face, bringing himself back to reality.

  This had been worse than the last time, and he had barely touched her. Was this how he repaid Maggie’s trust and her friendship? Standing here entertaining lascivious thoughts while she was unconscious?

  This was sick. It was almost as bad as what he’d accused Bill of. What the hell had come over him? What was he thinking?

  That was the problem. He wasn’t thinking with his brain, he was thinking with his body. How much longer could this go on? Maybe he should call a stop to this friendship of theirs now, before his more-than-friendly feelings got out of hand.

  But who else would help her if he didn’t? She was exhausted. Just look at how quickly she had fallen asleep when he had taken Delilah off her hands. She needed him. He couldn’t turn his back on her now, could he?

  The sudden knocking on the apartment door snapped his head around. As long as whoever it was didn’t wake up Maggie or Delilah, the interruption couldn’t have been timed better. He strode away from the bed and eased the bedroom door shut behind him, then went to answer the knock.

  Before he could reach for the doorknob, a key scraped in the lock. The door swung open and a blond, middle-aged man stepped into the apartment.

  At the sight of the intruder, adrenaline surged through Del’s muscles for the second time that afternoon. It was similar to his reaction to the feel of Robbie’s toy gun against his back. But this time it wasn’t any harmless six-year-old who had triggered the automatic response.

  The man was tall and dressed in an expensive suit. His face had the pale, soft cast of someone who spent most of his time behind a desk, yet there was a shiftiness to his eyes and a stealth to his movements that set off alarms in Del’s brain.

  There could be an innocent explanation for this man’s presence in Maggie’s apartment, but with Maggie and the baby both sound asleep and completely vulnerable in the next room, Del wasn’t going to take any chances. He would take charge of the situation first and ask questions later. In one smooth motion, he caught the man’s wrist, spun him around and pressed him face first against the wall.

  “Hey!” the man exclaimed. “What—”

  “First question,” Del said, twisting the man’s arm up his back to hold him immobile. “Who are you?”

  “What’s going on? Let go of me.”

  “Certainly,” Del said. “But first you answer my question. Who are you?”

  “That’s none of your business. I demand that you release me this insta—” His words ended on a grunted exhalation as Del increased the pressure on his arm.

  “The way I see it,” Del said calmly, “you’re not in any position to make demands.”

  “You want money? Take my wallet. Take my watch. It’s a Rolex. Just don’t hurt me.”

  “You have it backward. You’re the one trespassing. I could have you arrested if I wanted to.”

  “I’m not trespassing. I have a key.”

  “I noticed.” Del plucked the ring with the pair of keys the man still held and tossed it to the floor behind him.

  “What is this?” The man struggled ineffectually and made a sputtered protest. “Are you the police?”

  “Would you like to find out how much farther I need to twist your arm before it breaks?”

  The man muttered an expletive.

  “Fine. Let’s start again. What is your name, and why are you here?”

  “I’m here to see Maggie.”

  “Is she expecting you?”

  “That’s irrelevant.” The man paused for a moment, as if gathering his courage now that the immediate threat of being mugged had passed. “If you’re a cop, I hope you have a good lawyer because I’m going to sue your pants off.”

  Del’s lip curled at the show of bravado. First the man was ready to surrender his valuables without a fight, now he was arrogantly threatening to sue. “Uh-huh. I’m quaking in my boots, Mr…?”

  “Blackthorn,” he said. “Alan Blackthorn.”

  His name was Alan. He had a key to Maggie’s apartment. His hair was blond…like Delilah’s.

  The pieces clicked into place. Damn. This had to be Maggie’s ex-boyfriend. Delilah’s father.

  Del knew he should let him go.

  But what he really wanted was to follow through and break Alan Blackthorn’s arm. It would be a token payback for all the pain the bastard had caused Maggie.

  Del swore under his breath. As tempting as it was, breaking Alan’s arm would lead to too many complications. The creep undoubtedly would get a lawyer. There would be no hiding behind SPEAR immunity, either—Del was on his own time.

  Worst of all, doing Alan damage would upset the soft-hearted Maggie. So in what was rapidly becoming a habit, Del forced himself to let his brain overrule his more primitive urges. He released Alan and stepped back.

  “Here’s some free advice, Mr. Blackthorn,” Del said, his tone one notch above a growl. “Don’t make a habit of letting yourself into other people’s apartments. They might get the wrong idea.”

  Alan turned to face him warily and lifted his arm to rub his wrist. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I’m Maggie’s friend.”

  “Then where is she?”

  “What makes you think she’s here?”

  “She’s not at work. They told me she was home because she’d had the baby. Is that true?”

  The baby. Not my baby or her baby but an impersonal the. This man didn’t deserve to be a father. He had no right to a child as sweet as Delilah. “Why don’t you give me your number. I’ll have Maggie call you.”

  Alan shifted his gaze away. “I need to speak with her. I’ll wait here.”

  Del didn’t want him here. He didn’t want him polluting this cozy home with his presence. Most of all, Del didn’t want to think about how many other times Alan had been here. With Maggie.

  It wasn’t simply concern for Maggie that motivated Del now. It was primitive, male territoriality. “That wouldn’t be a good idea,” he said.

  Alan brushed the front of his suit coat and straightened his tie. He didn’t need to smooth his hair—the thinning locks were styled so stiffly not a strand had moved out of place. “I know my rights,” he said. “If you don’t show me your badge, I’ll have you brought up on brutality charges.”

  “I’m not a cop.”

  “Then perhaps I’d better call one.”

  “You do that,” Del said. He scooped the set of keys off the floor and dropped them in his pocket. “And while we’re on our way to the station, I’ll call your wife.”

  Alan’s mouth immediately lost its arrogant tilt. Instead, it curved into a smile as charming—and about as sincere—as a toothpaste ad. “I don’t want any trouble. I just wanted to see Maggie, but if that’s—”

  “Del? Is something wrong?”

  At the soft voice, both men turned toward the bedroom.

  Maggie was standing in the doorway, her hair tousled, her face still softly flushed from what had been far too short a sleep. The moment she caught sight of her visitor, though, all trace of relaxation fled from her frame. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, closing the bedroom door firmly. “Hello, Alan.”

  He turned his smile up a few watts and hurried toward her. “Maggie, how are you doing?” he said, holding out his arms. “I’ve been so worried.”

  She sidestepped to avoid his embrace. “I haven’t seen you for five months, Alan, and the first thing you say to me is a lie. That figures.”

  “Maggie, please—”

  “What were you worried about? My health? My finances? Oh, I know. You were worried that I was going to show up at your doorstep with my baby. Too bad it doesn’t snow at this time of the year. That would have added to the effect beautifully.”

  Del had been poised to grab Alan and throw him out bodily at the first indication from Maggie, but he should have realized that she would be able to handle t
his herself. He’d always admired her spunk. Crossing his arms, he leaned one hip against the back of the couch and watched the unfolding confrontation.

  Alan dropped his arms to his sides. His smile faded as he tilted his head and put on a cajoling expression. “Oh, sweetheart, I’ve been concerned about you, of course.”

  “Were you really?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Del snorted.

  “Do you mind?” Alan said over his shoulder. “We’d like to talk in private.”

  Del didn’t want to leave her alone with this man, but he knew it was her call. “Maggie?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’d like you to stay, Del.”

  Alan managed to look offended and cajoling at once. “He’s not your boyfriend, is he, Maggie? I couldn’t bear it if you’ve found someone else already.”

  “Del is my friend, Alan. That’s all. Not that you have any right to ask.”

  “But, Maggie, sweetheart—”

  “Alan, are you still married?”

  He jerked. “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then we have nothing more to say.”

  “Wait. Please, Maggie. I love you.”

  The magic words, Del thought with disgust. When all else fails, trot out the love factor. Elizabeth had done that. And her love had stood up to the test about as well as Alan’s. Del was about to snort again when he saw the expression that flitted across Maggie’s face.

  It wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t disbelief. It was…longing.

  That jarred him. Was she longing for Alan, or for the words?

  “I love you,” Alan repeated, catching one of her hands. “We were good together, Maggie. I miss you so much. Please, just give me another chance. We can work things out somehow.”

  Del held his breath. He wanted to grab Alan by the back of his expensive suit and give him the bum’s rush to the sidewalk. He wanted to sweep Maggie into his arms and carry her away from here, away from old boyfriends, from men who could give her children.

  But he didn’t have the right to do that, did he? He was only her friend, only passing through her life.

  And the hell of it was, in his own way, he was as much a liar as Alan.

  “Work things out?” she repeated. “How, Alan? Are you going to get a divorce and marry me and raise our children and promise me forever?”