Undercover: An Out of Line Novel

by McLaughlin, Jennifer

  I'd taken drama in high school.

  He wouldn't know what hit him.

  "Sure thing," I said, smiling sweetly as I curled my hand around hard—impossibly hard—waist. I melded my body to his side, staring up at him adoringly. "I hope we get a room with a hot tub like I requested. I have plans for that tub."

  He swallowed hard, staring at me as if I'd grown two heads or something. "What kind of plans?"

  "The kind you'll discover if you play your cards right," I simpered.

  "Oh, I always play my cards right," he promised.

  We walked through the gold framed glass doors. The lobby had white marble flooring that made a woman's heels sound louder than the conversation surrounding you, a big elegant water fountain that trickled peacefully, and elaborate steel and crystal chandeliers that toyed with the modern but stuck to their fairytale-esque bones. A light lavender smell that welcomed as well as relaxed wafted through the air. Dark wooden desks where you checked in and got your key—oh, crap. "He's here," I whispered. "At the desk."

  Joseph didn't even glance his way. "I know. I saw him through the glass. Don't stare. Act normal."

  "Normal for me is staring. I told you, he's a god."

  He rolled his eyes and lifted his head to stare at the lights as if they were the most exciting thing in the world. "Don't be ridiculous."

  Pierre finished checking in and turned around.

  His two bodyguards did the same, flanking him on either side. They both had earpieces in and wore black suits with black ties. The second Pierre saw me, his gaze dipped down, taking in every inch of my body at his own leisure. The way he did it, slowly, calculatingly, told me he didn't just view numbers with cold precision.

  Shivering, I tugged my skirt down a little bit. "He's staring."

  "What?" Joseph nuzzled his mouth against my temple as if kissing me tenderly, staking his claim. Still, he didn't even so much as shift toward the other man. "Stop looking back."

  This time, I did as told without arguing.

  It was my turn to stare at the lights.

  As we checked in, I swore I felt his eyes on me from behind, but I didn't dare turn around to see if I was right. Instead, I focused on the desk attendant, which was how I realized there was a problem before she even said a word. Her frown told me everything I needed to know.

  "You requested double beds?" she asked in a sing-song voice.

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  "Would a king size work instead?" she asked, eyeing Joseph.

  "Not really…" I moved slightly away from Joseph, but he tugged me back against his side firmly before I got too far. "I'm a restless sleeper when I travel and didn't want to keep him up."

  She looked at Joseph again, clearly doubting my sanity as to why I would want a separate bed from my exceedingly attractive boyfriend in a romantic hotel, then back to me since the reservation was under my name. To be honest, I couldn't blame her for looking at me as if I'd lost my mind. "All we have left is a king. If you'd been ten minutes earlier, we could have accommodated your request, but we're all out of double beds now."

  I shot Joseph a look. If he hadn't been late…

  He lifted a brow, silently daring me to let him have it.

  "We can upgrade you for free for the inconvenience. I have a suite with a hot tub—"

  Joseph choked on a laugh. "Babe, a hot tub."

  Screw finding Pierre guilty of embezzlement.

  Joseph was about to get his hands on a fresh murderer...right after I killed him.

  "How lovely," I said from between clenched teeth. "We'd love the suite."

  We finished the transaction, and she handed me two keys. As I gave Joseph his, the desk attendant sighed, staring at him. Did he even notice the effect he had on women or was he immune to it? I almost wanted to grab him, pull him down for a kiss, and claim him in front of everyone…which was ironic double time. He wasn't mine, and if I kissed him, he'd probably pull away and wipe his mouth off in disgust. I wasn't a jealous woman by nature and didn't lay claim to any man, but having to deal with women writing their numbers all over his stuff might make me become one. No, Joseph Hernandez could make me become one.

  For years now, I'd listened to Finn and Carrie insist that the two of us had unresolved feelings for one another, but being alone with him—being rejected by him—firmly laid that little bit of belief I might have denied having for years to rest. Joseph wasn't into me.

  At all.

  I was honest enough to admit that a part of me was a little let down by that. After years of those two telling me that Joseph was my soulmate and that he could make me as happy as Finn made Carrie, I guess I kind of wanted it to be true.

  But the coward inside of me was relieved. If he wasn't interested, then I never had to take a chance on him or give him the opportunity to hurt me. My heart was officially safe from Joseph Hernandez. Funny. I expected to feel relief instead of this…this…

  Disappointment.

  7

  Hernandez

  I sat on the edge of our bed—our bed—and tapped my foot. Up, down, up, down, anything to distract me from the fact that behind that thin bathroom door was a flushed, naked, wet Marie. I was trying really damn hard not to think about that, and where the water might be trickling down her soft, pale skin right about now, just like I was trying to ignore that she'd asked me to kiss her…and I'd said no.

  Stupid fucking idiot.

  There was no way I was sleeping in that bed with her. The small couch in the corner of our suite looked less than ideal, but anything was better than crawling into bed next to Marie and having to spend the night making sure I didn't accidentally brush my hard cock up against her in my sleep.

  My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it.

  How's it going? Finn texted.

  I glanced at the bathroom door, then back to my phone. Fine. About to go to dinner. Have to figure out the best time to sneak into his room and get to his computer.

  Finn's reply was immediate. Have Marie distract him. Pretty ladies always distract bad guys.

  No.

  What was it with everyone wanting to throw an untrained woman into a detective's position without proper training, protocol, or protection?

  Three little dots in a bubble popped up within seconds. Why not?

  I'm not putting her in danger.

  If something happened to her…

  I'd never forgive myself.

  Danger from what? Being hit on? I'm sure she's gotten hit on by a guy before…

  Gritting my teeth, I shot back my reply immediately. NO.

  The bathroom door opened, and I looked up out of habit.

  What I saw took my breath right out of my lungs and slammed every ounce of energy down south where it didn't belong when I was around her. She wore a red dress that clung to her curves, hugging her in all the right spots with a scooped neckline, and it ended right above her knee. There was nothing provocative or sexy about it. It was a simple dress for a business casual function…and yet in it, Marie was, hands down, the sexiest woman I'd ever laid eyes on.

  My fingers twitched with the urge to touch, to discover, to feel.

  It would be so easy to stand up, stalk across the room, tell her I changed my mind about the whole no-kissing-thing, and get my hands on her. I'd start by touching her hair, to see if it was as soft as it looked, then a caress of her cheek with the backs of my knuckles before I slowly leaned in and pressed my mouth to her soft, plump, pink lips as I stepped closer to—

  "Everything okay?" she asked, blinking.

  "What? Y-Yeah, of course. I just…uh…" Rising slowly, I swallowed hard, as heat rushed through my veins instead of blood. "You look…" I gestured at her, clearing my throat.

  When I didn't finish, a smile lit up her face.

  Fuck me.

  "Thanks, I think."

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  "You look great, too." She walked over to me, her head still cocked adorably to the side. "But your tie…
" She reached out, tugging on it.

  I swallowed, trying not to inhale because if I inhaled, I could smell her, and if I smelled her, I would want to touch her. If I touched her, I would then want to find out what she tasted like. If I tasted her, next would be stripping off that sexy dress until nothing stood in my—no.

  She didn't want that. Or me.

  "Did I screw it up?" I managed to ask through my closed throat.

  She glanced up at me in surprise. "Only a little."

  "I hate ties."

  "Most men do," she said softly, tugging.

  "I've hated them ever since I had to wear one to my dad's funeral. It was the same suit and tie I'd just gotten for my mom's funeral the month before. Maybe I associated death with ties and decided I hated them at the wise age of twelve, and I projected that anger and pain onto something I couldn't hurt." I paused, heart thumping because I had no idea why I was telling her this shit, but here I was. Telling it. "Or maybe I just really fucking hate ties."

  I expected her to laugh, but she didn't even crack a smile. Instead, she merely locked eyes with me and said, "I'm sorry you had to go through that. No one should have to bury their parents a month apart, and especially not a child."

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her to save her sympathy for someone who needed it, and that I wasn't that guy, but there was something about the way she said it that struck a chord in me that I didn't even know I had. Maybe it was the sincerity in her voice, or the deep blue of her eyes as she looked at me—really looked at me—that had me saying, "Thanks, that means a lot."

  She gave me a small smile.

  I cleared my throat. "What do women hate as much as ties?"

  "Pantyhose," she answered immediately. "And bras."

  Laughing, I rolled my neck in a circle. "I believe that last one. The first thing my sister does when she walks in the door is rip hers off."

  "I do the same thing," she said, her smile widening as she stepped back. "How old is she?"

  "Fifteen," I replied, my throat a little dry at the idea of her removing her bra. "And my other sister is eighteen."

  "Why don't they ever come out with you?"

  I frowned. "Meggie is fifteen and would rather die than go out with me and my ‘old' friends, and Lynne is in college, so she's never home." I hesitated. "But even if she was I don't think I'd bring them. That's a part of my life I keep separate from the others, I guess."

  "Well, I'd like to meet them someday."

  I blinked. "Why?"

  "I don't know. I guess I want to see that part of your life that no one ever sees, the parts you hide from everyone else."

  Unable to stop myself, I reached out and pushed her hair off her cheek. It was as soft as I imagined it might be. Hell, maybe even softer. "You already do."

  She stared, her eyes wide.

  A silence took over, and neither of us moved.

  We just stood there, close enough to touch but not doing so, neither moving closer nor moving away from one another. I had no idea how long we remained like that, both of us seemingly waiting for the other to do something, but the longer I stood there, breathing in her scent, the harder it became to remember that she wasn't interested in me.

  Especially when she was looking at me like she was.

  Her phone chimed, and she jumped slightly, laughing nervously. "Your tie is fixed."

  I wasn't sure whether to be relieved that the sound had broken up the moment, or annoyed at myself for letting it pass without…without what? What had I wanted to do?

  "Thanks," I said, my voice deeper than usual.

  "We should go down," she said, wiggling the phone she'd picked up as she backed away from me and my unwanted touch. "That was my reminder."

  Nodding, I buttoned my jacket. "Remember, we're a couple, and we need to act like one. Don't think I'm being a jerk who's coming on to you unnecessarily down there. I'd never do that."

  She gave me a weird look. "Don't worry. I've got this."

  It wasn't her I was worried about. It was my own instinctual reaction to her pretending to be mine that got me all tense. "I know."

  "What's our game plan?"

  I headed for the door, tucking my key into my breast pocket. "You don't have a plan at all besides to be kind, friendly, and chatty."

  "Pretty face, no brains?" she quipped.

  "That's not what I—"

  She waved a hand. "I know. I'm teasing. What are you going to be doing?"

  I opened the door for her.

  She shot me a slightly annoyed look—she hated when I did shit for her, but I couldn't help it since I was raised to be a gentleman—then walked through.

  "Tonight isn't the night to make my move. I need to feel him out first. See how he works. Formulate a plan. You never go in blind, and you never act impulsively. Everything worth having takes time."

  Her lips twitched. "Everything?"

  "Yes." I shot her a look. "Everything."

  She cleared her throat. "I could help—"

  "Don't even start," I warned, shutting our door and checking the lock.

  She rolled her eyes. "Gotta protect the poor helpless woman, right?"

  "No one called you helpless," I pointed out. "Or poor."

  "But yet, you refuse to let me help."

  I nodded. "Damn straight."

  "Why's that?" she asked, apparently ready for battle as she crossed her arms and tapped her shiny, black high-heeled foot. Her shoes probably cost more than my entire outfit combined.

  "Because I care about you, and I don't want you to get hurt because you were trying to help me and didn't know what the hell you were getting yourself into," I shot back. If she wanted to go to battle, then we could battle. Unluckily for her, I was used to winning. "Is that such a bad thing, to protect people we care about? Does that make me an asshole?"

  Of course, she didn't answer.

  It wasn't until her silence dragged on that I realized what I'd said.

  I'd told her I cared about her not just once, but twice. Well, shit.

  Gritting my teeth, I pushed the down button on the elevator, staring at the numbers as they climbed up to our level. It was safer, easier, than looking at her.

  Yet, I watched her out of the corner of my eye.

  How could I not?

  She fidgeted with her purse, a tiny thing that didn't even look as if it could carry a phone, let alone anything else of value. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had her lids lowered, hiding her blue eyes from me. "You're not an asshole," she finally said.

  I snorted. "Yes, I am."

  "No." She reached out and squeezed my hand. "You're not."

  I stared at the numbers some more. One tiny little lightbulb was out in the second number. "You've been calling me one for years. Why stop now?"

  "I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe I just see you more clearly now."

  The elevator doors finally opened, and I motioned her in before me after ensuring there were no threats.

  As the doors closed, she rested against the wall, her eyes on me the whole time. "I'm sorry I spent so long pushing you away," she said.

  Speechless, I swallowed. She was apologizing for not…being nice to me? "You had no reason to be up my ass, trying to be my friend. We were able to hang out in groups and be sociable. Did we really need more than that?"

  "I…" she licked her lips. I couldn't take my eyes off that sheen of moisture wetting them. "I honestly don't know. Can I tell you something?"

  "Anything," I said instantly.

  "For a long time, since college, Carrie has been pushing me to go out with you." She lifted her head, smiling nervously. "Incessantly."

  "I know."

  She blinked. "You do?"

  I ran a hand down my face, my heart pounding because it felt like we were heading into unchartered territory here. "Yeah, they told me."

  Wincing, she fidgeted with her purse some more. "I'm sorry."

  "Nothing to be sorry for," I said slowly. "I'm not sure why you're
apologizing at all."

  "Well, I guess the reason is that their nagging made me push you away and be a bitch because I didn't want to consider…" she licked her lips, trailing off.

  I took a step toward her. "Consider what?"

  "That they might be right," she said in a rush. "So I pushed you away, refusing to even consider becoming your friend, because if I was your friend…"

  "It might turn into more?" I supplied.

  She nodded. "Yes, and I didn't want that."

  I swallowed hard because I was having a hard time wrapping my head around precisely what she was trying to say, because it sounded a hell of a lot like she was saying she wanted to change that. And if she did, one could surmise that it meant she wasn't as opposed to taking a risk that it might turn into more…right? "I get it. I didn't either."

  She tucked her hair behind her ear. She'd left it down in dark, soft waves. "Obviously. Or else we would have…you know. Right?"

  How the hell was I supposed to answer that?

  My code of honor said that I couldn't hit on her, because she didn't want me to and made that very clear all those years ago, but now here she was, telling me all this shit that made my head spin around, and I had no idea what any of it meant.

  She held her hand out. "To being friends?"

  I stared at it, not moving. It wasn't that I didn't want to be her friend. Hell, I already considered her a friend and had for years. But touching her when we were alone, with her staring at me as if she might want to be more, was a horrible idea.

  And yet…

  Closing my hand around hers, I tugged her slightly closer, not missing her inhalation of breath as she stumbled toward me.

  I locked eyes with her, winked, and said, "Friends."

  8

  Marie

  As far as overtures of friendship went, that one hadn't gone so badly.

  He knew I was sorry, accepted my apology for pushing him away for all these years, and now we could move forward with clean slates into…whatever came next. Of course, it might have been nice if he gave me something in return instead of blank stares, half-hearted replies, and confused grunting, but whatever. I'd have to take what he gave me, I suppose.