Breathless

by Nancy Warren

  “Uh-huh. So it’s a man?”

  “Yes.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  Her eyes flared for a second, but she nodded. “Has he ever worked in a bank?”

  “He’s helped bust a couple of money laundering operations, so he knows his way around the systems.”

  Even when she was completely focused on business, he wanted her. There should be a law against those exercise tops that showed half a woman’s belly. Especially when that belly was both slender and muscular, taunting him to span it with his hands, to run his tongue over its firm lines of muscle. To strip her naked and finish what they’d so spectacularly begun. With an effort he pulled his gaze back to her face and his mind back to the bombshell he was about to drop in her lap.

  “He’s recovering from an injury so he’s no good for active duty. Sarge figures this will keep him off his feet and out of trouble.” In fact, Kimberly, his ex-lover and current boss, had used words that were a lot harsher, but that was the general gist.

  This time not only her eyes flared, but also her nostrils. “You mentioned a recent injury…”

  “That’s right.”

  “This recently injured undercover cop. Does he have a name?” she asked in a voice drier than desert sand.

  “Detective Blake Barker.”

  Her sigh was long and blustery. “I was afraid of that.” Her head fell back against the chair and she contemplated the ceiling as though searching it for guidance.

  Since she wasn’t watching him, he let the grin out. “I’ll be a great employee. Trust me.” Sophie wasn’t the only woman he’d had to convince. Kimberly refused flat out at first, telling him he’d be out on disability until the doctor said he was fit for active duty. The fact that he was the only one who’d seen Wai Fung Li and could identify him had allowed him to stay on the case. And, since this was an office job where he’d be observing and passing back information, it was the perfect assignment until he was fully recovered.

  Was Sophie really the lucky break she appeared or was she more bad news?

  “If I didn’t trust you we wouldn’t be doing this.”

  “They’re putting together an identity for me. Something close to the truth, but with things like banking experience added to the résumé and policing experience deleted. I’ll get you a dossier as soon as it’s ready.”

  She got over her fascination with the ceiling and faced him once more. “And I’ll have to fake the hiring process, lie to the executive committee. I’ve never done anything so unethical.”

  “I’m sorry, Sophie. But somebody in your bank is a criminal. You being temporarily unethical is the best way to root out whoever that is.”

  She nodded, but the crease between her brows didn’t clear. “Phil was an assistant account manager. He had an accounting degree.”

  “I’ve got a business degree.”

  “Real or fake?”

  “Real.” He shrugged. “I was planning to go into business, but I changed my mind.”

  She tapped restless fingers against the arm of her chair, then narrowed her gaze. “How do you calculate debt to effective equity on a commercial loan, Detective?”

  “Minimum of two to one is acceptable.”

  “For this position you need a knowledge of RAROC methodologies.”

  He sighed, but he figured he’d be suspicious too in her shoes. “RAROC—Risk Adjusted Return on Capital. Like I said, I know enough to fake it.”

  She blew out a breath and stared at him until the same thing happened that always happened when they were together—the sexual heat started to build. He swallowed, resisting the urge to hobble over there and kiss her senseless.

  She seemed to have other ideas. “Well, now that our working relationship will be a real one, there’s no question of us having sex.” Was that regret he heard in her tone? He hoped so.

  She didn’t even realize she’d upped the stakes and thrown out a challenge he couldn’t refuse.

  Apart from her tendency to cause him physical damage, Sophie Morton intrigued him more than any woman had in a long time. They’d be having sex all right. The question was simply when.

  SOPHIE DIDN’T CONSIDER herself a particularly fanciful person, but she was starting to feel spooked.

  She had the odd, prickly feeling of being watched. She knew it was ridiculous and all because she felt guilty about perpetrating her own fraud on the bank, albeit for a good cause, but she found the sensation unnerving.

  Still, so far so good. Maybe that was what had her feeling uneasy. This undercover operation was going almost frighteningly smoothly. The most amazing thing being that Ruby hadn’t made a single complaint in the three days she’d been overseeing Assistant Account Manager Blake Brannigan.

  No way anyone could think there was anything untoward going on between her and Brannigan, either. He hadn’t been near her since she’d “hired” him. She sniffed. Not that it mattered, of course. She’d been very plain with the detective that there would be no fraternizing with an employee, no matter how bogus that employee might be.

  All right. She’d admit to herself that her feminine pride was stung that he’d taken her brush-off so well. Not that she would have wavered from her decision not to sleep with him, but it would have been nice to be tempted, if only to prove that she found him completely resistible.

  She tapped her fingers on her desktop wondering just what the detective was getting up to in his starter office in Private Banking. He’d promised her he could do the job well enough to pass muster, at least for a couple of weeks. Still, she always visited a new employee over the first few days of their tenure. It was a courtesy gesture—she hadn’t even thought how odd it must appear that she hadn’t made her welcome-and-how-are-you-settling-in visit to Phil’s replacement yet.

  If she didn’t do it, and fast, people would start to talk.

  “Gwen,” she said, emerging from her office. “I’m going to visit the new assistant account manager in Private Banking.”

  Gwen glanced up from her computer and moaned softly. “He’s such a hunk.”

  This wasn’t surprising news. She’d noticed Gwen practically licking him with her eyeballs when he’d first come for an interview. From the office grapevine, it seemed all the female staff shared Gwen’s view.

  “We hired him for his banking skills, not as eye candy,” she replied, surprised at the spurt of annoyance.

  “I know.” Gwen gazed at her with surprise. “But it’s great he’s both.”

  Sophie hoped he really did have some accounting talents in addition to his copious sex appeal—at least enough to get him through a week or two.

  Taking no chances when she got to the private banking area, she enlisted a guide and was taken straight to Blake’s office. He appeared huge in the small cubicle. She still wasn’t used to his short hair and clean-shaven urban professional look. She found him as attractive, perhaps more so, but she doubted she’d have recognized him as the same man. He’d turned his computer chair slightly to make room for his casted leg. He was scrolling through a broker’s report onscreen, she noted, seemingly engrossed in his work. He might not have a clue what he was doing, but she had to admit, she’d have believed he was authentic if she didn’t know better.

  “Excuse me, Blake,” she said in a tone meant to be friendly but professional. “I just dropped by to see how you’re getting along.”

  He glanced round sharply and gazed at her in a manner that was overfriendly and very personal. She scolded him with her eyes, but he merely winked at her.

  She knew no one could see them, but still, his behavior rattled her and his teasing sexiness stirred her libido.

  “Fine, thanks, Sophie,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “Great place to work.”

  “Good.” She eased into the cubicle in response to a come-here gesture. “You’re finding your way around?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “How about the forms you need to fill in for the health plan
and tax and so on? Any problems?”

  “I’m glad you asked. There is this one section I don’t understand. Right here.” He reached for a file folder marked Personal on his desk and pulled out a standard company health plan form. “This paragraph confuses me.”

  In order to read the paragraph he was pointing at, she had to lean over his shoulder so their bodies almost touched. His warmth drew her in as did the clean soap and aftershave scent of him.

  His lips brushed her ear and she shivered then realized he hadn’t meant the gesture as a caress. He was whispering in her ear so softly she had to strain to make out the words.

  “I need to get into Forsyth’s office. Do you have a key?”

  “This paragraph applies if you suffer an injury in the workplace,” she said aloud, her index finger pointing to the word when in the document.

  “After work tonight,” he whispered. Aloud, he said, “But what about this provision?”

  She nodded and continued talking about the health form while she thought rapidly. “I have to go now, but why don’t you bring the forms to my office late this afternoon and I’ll go over them with you then? We don’t want you signing anything you don’t understand completely.”

  He nodded and grinned at her. He was pleased she’d caught on, she could tell. Hmm. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who could play detective.

  “Thanks, Sophie.”

  “Don’t mention it. See you later,” she said and slipped out, her hands feeling suddenly cold and clammy.

  8

  “GOOD NIGHT, GWEN,” Sophie called at last, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. She’d thought the woman would never leave, and couldn’t help but think Gwen’s frequent glances though the windows in Sophie’s office had something to do with her sudden diligence. She and Blake had discussed the pension he was never going to collect until they were blue in the face waiting for Gwen to leave. Eye candy indeed.

  Now her lusty-eyed assistant had gone and so, as far as Sophie could tell, had the rest of the fourth-floor staff. She knew it was an easy matter to enter the chairman’s office since she had a key. Mr. Forsyth didn’t always bother to lock his door, having a credenza and file cabinet that both locked. She also suspected he had a hidden safe, but it had never been any of her business—until now. Could he be proclaiming nothing to hide with an unlocked door while all the time salting away stolen money in a secret safe?

  She hated the idea.

  Still, she supposed it was logical of the police to start their investigation with the top brass at the bank. The executives had the most leeway with bank funds and the least scrutiny. Besides, as she couldn’t forget, the last time she saw him alive, Phil had been with Mr. Forsyth.

  “Everyone should be gone by now,” she said nervously.

  “Walk me to Forsyth’s door then keep watch outside. If the cleaners arrive early for some reason, keep them out of the way until I’m out.”

  The cleaners didn’t start work until late evening so she felt fairly safe in agreeing. She didn’t like the fact that she’d be so exposed playing decoy. But it was better than Barker getting caught, she supposed. She nodded.

  Surprised, she watched him stash his crutches under her desk. “Walking cast.” He pointed to his injured leg. They walked out of her office, chatting normally and strolled down the hall. His gait was halting, but she was amazed at how agile he seemed.

  Nervous perspiration prickled her underarms and her hands felt cold, but other than that she was surprisingly calm.

  Her gaze darted all around, as, she knew, did his. When they reached the heavy oak door of the chairman’s office they both stopped. He leaned against the door, continuing to chat. To anyone viewing them they’d look perfectly innocent. He slipped a hand, with the key she’d given him, behind his back and eased the door open a few inches.

  Then he was gone. If she hadn’t watched him she wouldn’t have believed how stealthily he slipped into the office.

  He hadn’t told her how long he’d be, or what he was searching for, and she hadn’t thought to ask. He wouldn’t be more than a few minutes, she hoped.

  It was so quiet. Nervously, she glanced up and down the deserted corridor, wishing she were at home. In bed. With the covers pulled over her head.

  Come on, come on.

  Glancing at her watch every few seconds only reminded her of how slowly time could pass when you most wanted it to speed by. It couldn’t be much longer. He’d already been two minutes.

  Her eyes strained to see everywhere at once, her ears ached trying to detect any sound. She listened so intently she could hear her own breathing and the tiny sounds of a large building settling down for the night.

  When the humming sound she’d most dreaded came to her ears, she froze.

  The elevator.

  Someone was in the elevator. It was most likely someone from a higher floor on their way home; the chances were minimal it was coming to four. Nevertheless she backed up until she was clutching the door handle to Mr. Forsyth’s office, hoping and praying she wouldn’t hear the ping that meant the elevator was stopping.

  She held her breath.

  The elevator pinged.

  Don’t panic, she ordered herself.

  The elevators were around the corner so she couldn’t see who got off, or where they were going. Please, please let them go the other way.

  Forcing a relaxed expression to her face, she released her death grip on the door handle as she prepared to head off anyone who came near Forsyth’s office.

  A male voice spoke. “I’m glad I caught up with you.” Ellsworth. She could fob him off easily enough.

  But the other voice stopped her blood cold. “I’m glad to get your input on next year’s performance targets,” answered Henry Forsyth.

  There was no time to think or plan. Certainly no way to stop the chairman going into his own office. She had a few seconds at most until the two men rounded the corner and saw her.

  She did the only thing she could think of. She backed into Forsyth’s office and shut the door behind her.

  Blake’s head rose with a jerk. He was bent over an open drawer in the chairman’s heavy rosewood desk. A small pouch of tools was open on the desktop.

  “Forsyth’s coming,” she hissed.

  He didn’t so much as widen his eyes to show alarm, he simply scooped up his tools, then grabbed her hand and pulled her with him across the room. They were headed for Mr. Forsyth’s private washroom.

  “Not the bathroom, he’s got a prostate problem. He’ll go straight in there,” she whispered.

  He nodded, then opened the adjacent coat closet and shoved her inside.

  The closet?

  With no time to think of a better hiding place, she plunged into its depths. Musty darkness enclosed her and she almost panicked when she felt something rubbery hit her face, but there was no choice about going forward. Blake was pushing her deeper into the darkness, cramming himself in behind her.

  It was dark in there and stuffy. She identified the rubbery thing as a raincoat, and pushed past it and a few other garments as far to the back as she could, but it wasn’t a large closet. It had been designed to hold a few coats, not two fully grown adults and a leg cast. An overcoat brushed her face like bat’s wings. She smelled galoshes and dry cleaning solvent and really, really hoped Mr. Forsyth didn’t launch into one of his tedious anecdotes when he and his old friend Ellsworth settled down for a chat.

  She heard the quiet click of the closet door and then felt the warm, muscular bulk of Blake Barker pressed up against her. Much too intimately against her.

  It was a puny closet, granted. But did he have to squeeze quite so close? There was barely enough room to breathe.

  “We’ll wait them out,” he whispered into her ear. He patted her shoulder in what she imagined was meant to be reassurance. Not that she needed any. This whole thing was farcical. She couldn’t possibly be frightened, though in her head she understood there was a real possibility one of the men o
ut there—God, maybe both for all she knew—was a crook.

  But how could she be frightened with the smell of galoshes in her nose?

  A mumble of male voices reached her and she pictured Ellsworth and Mr. Forsyth in there, chatting about golf, or planning strategy for the bank…or talking about offshore havens where they’d parked their illegal gains.

  She strained her ears, but it was impossible to distinguish words in the conversation. With luck, whatever they said would be captured by the phone tap she knew he’d installed. For now, all she could hear was the quiet breathing of the man pressed up against her.

  “We may be here awhile,” he said, his lips just a whisper away from kissing her ear. She couldn’t repress the shiver of awareness that ran through her.

  It was warm in the closet and the woolen overcoat brushed against her nose. She would love to shove the hanger farther down the rack, but didn’t dare make any noise.

  The warm darkness was surprisingly familiar. She smiled to herself, remembering how she used to hide out from her brothers in the hall closet of their family home. She’d felt pleasantly sneaky, hidden and safe. And so superior, as she thought she’d fooled them with her cleverness. Now she looked back with her adult’s vision, she realized they must have known she was there all the time. Probably they were only too happy to get rid of the pesky kid sister for a while.

  She used to curl up and hide in that closet for ages. Funny how she’d forgotten. She could dream her dreams, make up stories in her head. It was a magic world. A world that existed only for her.

  As she leaned back into the corner she found she could still weave fantasies in a dark closet. Only these were very adult fantasies. The man crowded against her had to be responsible. He was one big lump of testosterone calling out to her. Every place their bodies touched, she felt a current of awareness humming between them. His body heat seeped into her, centering like warmed honey in all her erogenous zones.

  Her breasts felt heavy with it, her womb, her very blood as hot and slow moving as the air stirred by their mingled breath.