Undercover Lover

by Tibby Armstrong

  “This isn’t a relationship, Ms. Ainsley,” he sniped, trying not to dip his gaze to her cleavage. “Why the expectation of quid pro quo?”

  She met his take-no-prisoners gaze without flinching and drummed her fingernails on the table to the beat of the music. He took a sip of his second drink and wished it were stronger. The Jenny who perched across from him in six-inch spiked heels wasn’t the Jenny he knew—the Jenny he’d watched over. Rather, this Jenny was one hundred percent grown up woman with a will and mind of her own.

  When she’d come out of that dressing room all curves and clinging fabric, his cock had taken notice and hadn’t stopped reminding him of his desire since. He could spend days—years—buried between her thighs, spearing her with his tongue. He imagined how she’d taste as he savored her with languorous licks, flicking his tongue over the bud of her clit until honey ran from her, slick and glistening.

  Spending time with her over the past five days had been the equivalent of throwing kindling on a slowly building fire. He thought he could ignore her. Thought he could control her. Hell, until Tallis rang him last Friday night, he’d thought he could forget her. Now he realized he’d been kidding himself all along. There was no setting Jenny aside. Not for him. Not ever.

  The bass beat to the dance tune rattled him and he took another sip of his ale, automatically searching out the exits.

  “I saw Alona for the last time in a club,” he said before he even knew the words had formed in his mind.

  He saw Jenny’s eyes widen, but she kept her silence—let him tell the story not even Simon knew.

  “I was supposed to watch over her. Used to offer to do the night shift so we could be together in Dublin. Pulled doubles so I could keep the assignment and do the other work. It’s likely why they promoted me to lead my team.”

  “Why did she need protection?” Jenny asked.

  “She came to us.” Günter swirled his drink and watched as the lights sparkled and undulated across the liquid. “Had information that led to some important arrests. Said she’d fallen in with the wrong crowd and before she knew it was in over her head. We put her under protection.”

  Manufactured fog crept over the dance floor, snaking around the dancers’ feet. He hadn’t thought about all this in years. Hadn’t wanted to examine it too closely. If he had, he knew he would have seen it—seen the treacherous bitch that was his long-dead wife. She’d played him. Seduced him. He’d let down his guard and consequently blown more operations than he cared to think about, culminating in that last lethal day in Dublin.

  “Go on,” Jenny prompted when he was quiet for more than a minute.

  “Long story short, I fell for her. Married her on the sly, and she—apparently—used me to get information about 5.”

  He ran a palm down his face then downed his drink. Gazed into his empty glass and wished for something stronger. Jenny hopped up and returned several minutes later with a scotch, neat.

  Jenny nursed her lemon martini, and Günter tried to follow her example with little success. In ten minutes he’d be buzzed. In two he’d start talking again. He laughed at himself and met Jenny’s curious gaze. The arch of fine brows along porcelain skin entranced him with their perfection.

  “What?” she asked, the kiss of her mouth on the wh inviting him to lean closer.

  “Just amused at how we can know ourselves,” Günter said, examining his empty glass.

  “Do you want another?” Jenny asked, eyeing him.

  “Perhaps in a bit. This one’s done its work.” He turned the glass upside down on the cocktail napkin and a wet ring blossomed outward from the rim. “So, where were we?”

  Fingers playing over a wet ring on the black lacquer table, Jenny answered, “You married her.”

  “Right.” Günter folded his arms over his chest. “I married her. About six months later she asked me to take her to this Dublin club to celebrate her pregnancy. While we were there, she disappeared. Went to the ladies’ room and never returned.”

  “Did you tell 5?” Jenny asked.

  Günter laughed, the bitter sound grating at the back of his throat.

  “I didn’t tell them, but how could they not have known—at least about the marriage? Maybe they didn’t care? Or intended to use it to their advantage somehow?” He shrugged, dismissing the puzzle he had no hope of solving. “As for her kidnapping, I got a ransom note. The White Tiger wanted me to trade information for Alona’s safety. I agreed without question.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Hold your horses, sunshine. Who’s telling this story?”

  “Wait.” Jenny frowned, insisting. “Do you guys normally keep people in witness protection under twenty-four-hour surveillance?”

  “What?”

  “How come you were with her all the time? Don’t you usually just hand out new identities?”

  Perceptive. He gave her credit and a wan smile for that.

  “We were using her—sending her to meet secretly with a few others who wanted out of the organization. Or so we thought.”

  “Is it possible…” A man brushed close to their table and she paused until he drifted away. “Is it possible 5 knew Alona was a double agent? That they were using your marriage as a convenient cover to help pretend they didn’t suspect her?”

  “Ian…” Günter began, and pieces of a puzzle he’d never bothered to sort out fell together with alarming speed. “He knew.”

  The room seemed colder now and vibrated with a violent backbeat he recognized as a punk tune remixed to a techno beat. He’d enjoyed punk in school, but this song seemed wrong as it twisted in on itself, forcing the rhythm over and over into his head.

  Jenny touched his arm. “What do you mean Ian knew?”

  “He was Alona’s daytime companion, and he showed up early sometimes to give me data on another assignment we were working on. He’d suspected about our relationship for a while but didn’t turn me in. It doesn’t fit.”

  Everything he knew about the man said his actions didn’t measure up. Of course Ian would have turned him in…unless he’d been instructed not to. And that night when Alona had gone missing, he’d been too willing to go help Günter plan something that by rights should have gotten Ian fired too. Unless he’d been following orders.

  God, that night. What an awful night. So much rain it looked like a solid wall of water running down the window panes, and sounded like a herd of horses thundering on the roof. He’d told Ian everything. Begged for his help. Ian had said he’d be there. Günter hadn’t known he’d meant he’d be there with Günter’s team.

  “Ian involved my team without my knowledge—probably had 5’s backing on that.” Sweet Jesus, how many different kinds of fool could he be? “I found out too late that the White Tiger had rigged explosives at key points in the building. He suspected I wouldn’t come alone. His plan was to take out as many of us as possible before making his escape.”

  “But why? Didn’t the Tiger have a good thing going with you and Alona?” Jenny asked.

  “Excellent question.” Günter saluted her with his upside-down glass. “I’ve been thinking about that. I’m guessing the pregnancy must’ve been for real and was problematic. For whatever reason, Durbin Garvey was pulling her out and bringing as many of us down with her as he could. After he pumped me for information.”

  Jenny nodded her understanding and he continued.

  “So, Ian and I came up with a bunch of bullshit for me to deliver to Garvey and while I was inside he stationed my team ’round the perimeter.” Günter crumpled the cocktail napkin in his fist. “I gave the White Tiger’s man the packet of false intel, then waited a damn long time. When nobody returned, I tried the door and found it unlocked and unguarded. The place—an abandoned hospital—was bloody huge. I could have searched forever and not found her. That’s when Ian arrived. I’ve no idea how he came across me in that place. One lucky son of a bitch saw Garvey—the Tiger—leaving and chased him down. Garvey gloated that it didn’t m
ake any difference. That the building would blow, taking Alona and me with it.”

  “Oh my God,” Jenny breathed.

  “I looked everywhere for her. Finally, Ian, unable to get me to see reason, cold-cocked me. When I woke, the building was in a shambles, many of my men—loyal blokes who, without adequate direction, had rushed into the building to try to find me—were dead or trapped in the fire, and I was lying on the pavement next to the car containing a gloating Garvey.”

  “I would have been hard-pressed not to shoot him between the eyes.”

  Günter met her furious gaze before admitting, “That’s exactly what I did.”

  Her jaw dropped. Blood ran from her face until she was as pale as the white disco lights now dotting the room.

  “Disgusted?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “If he was anything like my father, he deserved it.”

  Günter gave a self-conscious laugh. “I’m not so sure I’m any different, sunshine.”

  Jenny took his hand in her palm and squeezed. “You’re worlds apart, believe me.”

  “Well.” He pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. “Was that the story you wanted?”

  “Yes, but…” She chewed at her lip.

  “But what?”

  “Why do you think you fell for her so hard you were willing to risk so much?”

  She must’ve heard Ian ask him the same thing. This time he was a little more prepared to answer. Not that he hadn’t thought about it plenty before, but that was before he’d known Alona was a traitor. Then, he would have said love had blinded him. Now he knew he’d blinded himself—needed to play the hero to rescue a woman who ironically didn’t need rescuing and who’d helped make him into the sort of self-serving villain he loathed.

  “Short answer? I needed someone to live for. She was in the right place at the right time.”

  Jenny looked away and a strained silence fell over the table. Günter could see her thoughts working behind the placid mask she tried vainly to keep in place. It slipped several times as she seemed to mull over his story.

  She shredded her paper coaster into even strips then laid them in a grid pattern on the table. Next she rearranged them into a diamond with cross hatching in the middle. Last, she made a jagged pattern of spikes and Xs.

  “Did I cure you of your girlish infatuation?” he asked, losing an internal battle with his pride.

  She looked up sharply. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-four,” he answered.

  She chucked the paper strips at him. “You’re not even eight full years older than I am.”

  “I’m lifetimes older,” he answered as he brushed away her makeshift confetti.

  “If that’s the case, there’s always Viagra.”

  Lips tight, he answered, “We both know there’s no problem with my cock.”

  “What then?” She goaded him now.

  He leaned across the table until they were almost nose to nose.

  “Were you even listening to the story? Don’t you see how emotional attachment can compromise a man?” They both blinked at his Freudian slip. “I mean, an operation?”

  Jenny leaned back and looked away.

  “Care to dance?” she asked, as if the conversation had never happened.

  Taking her offer of a graceful out, he stood.

  “I don’t move like that,” Günter said, a look of slightly inebriated consternation marring his blond brow as twenty-somethings bounced and undulated on the dance floor around them.

  Sensing he might bolt, Jenny brushed a strand of golden hair from his forehead and stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “You can watch.”

  He turned his head to brush her neck with his lips.

  “All right, sunshine,” he said. “Dance for me.”

  Facing the middle of the floor, Jenny felt the beat of the music, let it flow from the top of her head, down her spine to the tips of her toes. Three supports lined up at intervals near the center of the room—brass-coated poles that she’d spied the moment they entered the establishment.

  Günter stood behind her, leaning against the rail surrounding the dance floor and she felt his presence as keenly as she felt the beat of the music. She approached the center pole and thanked her foresight in wearing black underwear with the dress because everyone was about to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath.

  Flowing with the music, she moved in a graceful ballet-inspired sway until she touched the cool metal of the pole. Crossing one leg over the other, moving in graceful arcs, she circled around the brass, using centrifugal force to build momentum. At the critical moment in both movement and song, she crooked her leg around the pole and her hair swayed from her scalp as she spun with exhilarating motion.

  Sensing the small crowd had stopped to watch, she took a deep breath and continued her routine. She’d never danced for anyone but her classmates. This was the first time she had a real audience. Only one person’s opinion mattered though, and she moved for him. Making love to the pole, gripping it with her thighs, clenching and undulating her limbs—arms, legs—as if the rapidly warming metal were his body between her legs.

  Her motions were exotic and graceful, never distasteful or vulgar, but the message was clear—she was a woman with cravings and needs. A woman of passion and desires that only one man could ever sate. Until he came for her, she’d dream of him and dance her solitary dance.

  High up, she swung by the crook of one leg, upside down, around and around. This is how you have me, her body said—topsy turvy. I don’t know which way is up and I’m not sure I want to come down. Her legs splayed out in a vee as she hung on with both hands, winding like a clock around herself. Twisting, turning, until the dance floor became a blur and she was alone in music and motion. The song trailed to an exotic end and she slid down the pole, spinning, dreaming and hoping.

  A rising spike of wolf whistles and cheers shattered the silence. The sound of clapping carried her away on a jolt of emotion, and she understood in that moment what it felt like to be her brother—to perform and be adored by the anonymous crowd. Knees shaking, she blushed and performed a halting curtsey.

  “If you’re finished, we should go,” Günter whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending trails of electricity down her spine.

  She nodded and he handed her the coat he’d retrieved from their table. They exited and walked in silence, her tip-tapping heels the only sound in the chilly night. She peeked sideways at him several times in an attempt to gauge his mood, but couldn’t read his expression in the shadows.

  “Did you like it?” she asked, eager for his praise and his interest in her as a woman.

  “I can see why you didn’t want the press to know,” he said.

  She halted midstride. He couldn’t have hurt her more with a slap. “Why are you being such an ass?”

  He stalked back toward her, and she fought the urge to backpedal.

  “You’re supposed to be inconspicuous. Still in New York.” Running a hand through the fall of his hair—blond turned silver in the fleeting moonlight—he spun away and growled before facing her again. “I hope you didn’t do that for me, because I spent the entire time trying to gauge who might have a cell phone trained on your arse. It’d take about five minutes for some rabid Tallis fan to recognize you on Twitter or Facebook. Then where would our operation be?”

  “I—” Jenny choked on the lump in her throat and turned away to examine an object she didn’t really see in a shop window. She’d never understood the noose of her brother’s fame so keenly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was careless of me.”

  “You aren’t going to get out of this alive if you let your emotions rule you.”

  Each word felt like a punch. Sucking in air, she tried to calm herself. The attempt failed miserably. Inside five seconds she trembled all over. Everything he’d told her tonight came crashing in on her—the bleakness of his life. Of her life. Why couldn’t they just be normal? And happy?

  Günter stepp
ed toward her and she shook her head.

  “Go away,” she said. “I can get home on my own.”

  “Fuck.” He spat the word and she knew he was about to say he was sorry.

  “Don’t,” she shouted, her voice louder than she’d intended. “I don’t care if you’re right. You’re hateful. I have no reason to love you the way I do.”

  The words tumbled from her lips and she froze in horror at both what she’d revealed and how she’d revealed it. Could this night get any worse?

  “I didn’t mean it…” she said, most worried he might believe she reviled him for the story he’d told her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Jenny,” he whispered, moving behind her. She stiffened and he said, “It’s all right. We’re both tired. And under a lot of stress. I’m sorry too.”

  His lips a balm against her temple, he kissed her. She turned and wound her arms around his torso, its muscled girth a solid reminder of the strength she admired in the man.

  “Do you like me even just a little?” she asked, cursing herself for groveling when she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. She knew the answer, but she had to hear it from his lips, just this once. “Am I really just a job?”

  He heaved a sigh and ran a soothing hand down her back.

  “You’re more than a job,” he admitted.

  Joy broke free and she smiled into his leather jacket, breathing in the scent of the garment and the spicy musk of the man.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” he warned, but didn’t let her go. “I’ll work you just as hard tomorrow. And the next day.”

  “And the next?” she queried.

  “And the next,” he affirmed.

  “I’m going to hit that target, you know,” she said.

  “Yes,” he breathed into her hair before he let her go. “I know.”

  Chapter Ten

  It seemed interrogation was Jenny’s specialty. Two days later Günter found himself again answering intimate questions over a mug of ale as she sat across from him in an outfit that drove him to painful distraction. Ensconced at a small wooden table at the low-ceilinged Turf Tavern—a tucked-away cottage down an alley hidden smack in Oxford’s center—the ale or three they sipped made the conversation easier on them both.