Intimate Knowledge

by Julie Miller

  She had passed the initial test. Mitchell was interested enough to want to spend time alone with her. The small success buoyed her confidence. She just had to think of this as any other job interview. Be polite and knowledgeable. Know the business.

  And be just a little bit friendlier than a professional relationship called for.

  As Mitchell pushed in her chair, she thought he bent a little too close. He surely wouldn’t put the moves on her here in a posh public restaurant! But then she heard a hiss of breath. He was sniffing her!

  Hopefully, he liked the Oriental musk she’d chosen to wear. The scent was a lot more powerful than her preferred vanilla body splash, but the salesclerk had guaranteed this new fragrance was as good as an aphrodisiac.

  Apparently Harris Mitchell thought so, too. “Eastern Fire, isn’t it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The perfume you’re wearing.” When he sat down, he let his arm rest along the back of her chair. “I like it.”

  He turned sideways in his seat, effectively trapping her in the back corner of the restaurant. Grace kept her hands in her lap, forcing back the instant flare of panic. He was hitting on her already. That was a good thing, right?

  Never explain away a man’s compliment.

  Grace remembered her training well.

  “Thank you,” she answered simply.

  “What’ll you have?” Harris turned and signaled to the waiter.

  “Soda with a twist of lime, please.”

  He butted her elbow with his and offered a cajoling smile. “C’mon. I invited you for cocktails. My treat.”

  Stay in control.

  “I understand. But I never drink when I’m on the job.” She let her eyelids drop to half-mast and sent him a sultry woman-who-knows-what-she-wants look. “I like to keep a clear head when I’m conducting business.”

  Her expression wasn’t lost on Mitchell. He gave her the slightest of nods, then turned and placed their order with the waiter. With his attention momentarily diverted, Grace took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

  Harris Mitchell really was a handsome man, she decided. If one liked the pretty-boy type. His chiseled features were perfectly balanced. His skin was evenly tanned, emphasizing the doctored white of his smile. His dark hair with occasional auburn highlights was a striking foil to his ice-blue eyes. He exuded wealth and power and cultured charm.

  But he wasn’t Logan.

  How was she ever going to pretend…?

  She snapped the hooded look and Mona Lisa smile back on her face the moment Mitchell turned around.

  “Grace. May I call you Grace?” He continued on without waiting for permission. “I can’t shake the idea that I know you from somewhere.” His gaze slid down to the demure glimpse of cleavage she afforded him. She closed her hand into a fist to keep from reaching up to cover herself. “Something about you seems familiar.”

  She offered him an embarrassed laugh. “Well, I am the lady who tripped over your foot the other night. I had no idea I’d be interviewing for the personal accountant’s position with you, or I would have tried to make a better first impression.”

  “Your first impression’s just fine.”

  His eyes stayed glued to the top of her zipper. He was talking to her boobs! Good God, the man was literally talking to her boobs. She resisted the urge to shout, Up here, buddy! Instead she gave him a little show, dropping her napkin, then twisting in her seat to retrieve it. So much for chivalry. He made no move to retrieve it for her, but he probably got a crick in his neck, contorting himself to watch the dip and sway of her twin peaks.

  The drinks arrived and Harris shooed the waiter away impatiently. He was still pondering their previous acquaintance.

  Maybe if he studied her face, looked into her eyes and learned her personalities instead of guesstimating whether her cup size was a D or DD, he’d have a better memory.

  Grace asked about the type of services he expected from his personal accountant. She tried not to let her nervousness or her affronted anger get to her. When her pulse quickened, she breathed harder. And each time her chest expanded, Harris’s smile seemed to brighten another notch.

  “I’m sure we’ve slept together. I remember those breasts.”

  And she remembered how to take a man to the floor and render him incapable of fathering children for the next two weeks.

  She’d had enough. She reached out and placed two fingers beneath his chin and lifted his face until he looked her in the eye. “The job particulars?” she insisted.

  Oh, Lord, what had she done?

  Harris’s cheeks flushed with a ruddy rise in body temperature. His blue eyes sparkled and he smiled. He liked that she’d touched him. He liked that she’d taken control of the interview.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Knowing, of course, that Harris Mitchell had to have developed some business skills to establish a syndicate and make millions in illegal dollars, she was nevertheless surprised when he spent the next twenty minutes outlining the prescribed duties of his personal accountant with the clear, no-nonsense demeanor of any legitimate big businessman. Keep the books, oversee payout for personal employees, manage Harris’s private investment account.

  “I understand you’re thinking of expanding your business.” The FBI had proof of phone calls and meetings to establish such an expansion to the West Coast, but Grace didn’t want to appear too well-informed. “How would my role change if you go bicoastal—if I should get the position?”

  Harris folded his hand around hers where it rested on top of the table. “I like you, Grace.”

  Warning bells flashed on and off inside her head. This sounded like the beginning of a brush-off.

  “I like you, too, Mr. Mitchell.”

  “I tell my employees what they need to know as they need to know it.” He tutted his tongue against his teeth. “You’re asking some mighty curious questions, and you’re not even an employee.”

  Carmody said her résumé was foolproof! She fit the profile of what Mitchell had been looking for. She had to get this job! If she didn’t, the case was finished before it ever got started. Goodbye respect. Goodbye making a place of her own in a man’s world. Goodbye any chance of being promoted to field agent permanently.

  Think, Grace. Think!

  “What kind of businesswoman would I be if I didn’t research the job I was applying for?”

  Harris squeezed her hand, deliberately reminding her that he held the power at this corner table at Chez Dumond. “Just curious about your research, is all. Why do you want to work for me?”

  Because I want to take down a murdering, cheating, kinky crime lord? Somehow honesty didn’t seem like the best policy right now. She quickly played through the list of scenarios that she and Logan had gone through down at Quantico. She could answer this one several ways. But, ultimately, she chose the answer she was least comfortable with.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves—and that had the added benefit of distracting Mitchell’s focus for the moment—she turned her hand in his, transforming his barely professional touch into a definitely personal one. She dropped her voice a notch in pitch and actually batted her eyes.

  “You’re going places, Mr. Mitchell. I want to go there with you. You’re a powerful man in the investment world.” She moistened her lips and tried not to gag on the part she was playing. “I like powerful men.”

  He watched her for a moment. Watched her mouth. Watched her eyes. And, oh, yes, he watched her breasts as she slowly breathed in and out, waiting for his response.

  “What I meant to say was, you’re not my employee—yet.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the warm pulse point on her wrist.

  Shocked by the brazen intimacy of his cold lips against her skin, Grace automatically tugged, trying to free her hand.

  Mitchell’s fingers tightened in a painful grip. Grace flinched as his bright white smile vanished and his fingers dug into skin and muscle. His pale blue eyes transformed to near
ly colorless chips of ice. “What’s wrong, Grace? You’re not one of those women who blows hot and cold, are you? I’m not a man to be toyed with.”

  He released her only to move his hand beneath the table and slide it along her thigh, right up to the hem of her skirt. She clenched her knees together in reflexive defense. And though he moved his hand no farther, he didn’t remove it, either.

  So this was what Logan had been talking about. This was the heinous part about undercover work. She had to let this man ogle her, touch her. And she had to like it. On the surface. She couldn’t blush with embarrassment or curse his name or kick him in the groin. She had to let him pinch her wrist and put his cold mouth on her and feel her up, and find a way to deal with it all.

  The blush was too late to stymie. She bit back the curse on her tongue. And the kick in the groin? Well. His time would come. She’d see to that.

  She’d handled men like this before. Countless times. Of course, she’d been the ice queen, not the B-movie actress who’d never learned to say no to a man who touched her heart in any way.

  Caught in the snare of Mitchell’s hands, she had no recourse other than her haughty tone. “This is hardly professional behavior, Mr. Mitchell. I could sue you for harassment.”

  “You’d sue me?” He almost laughed.

  She didn’t. “In a heartbeat.”

  He removed the hand from her thigh and reached up to trace the groove that became a dimple beside her mouth. Stay in control! She didn’t flinch. She glared.

  “Anger makes you frown, Grace.”

  “Then don’t make me angry, Mr. Mitchell. Do I get the job or not?”

  “Harris, please.” He released her completely and sat back in his chair. “Sometimes, I’m a naughty boy. Can you deal with that? For say, two hundred thousand a year? With optional bonus payments for…special projects.”

  Special projects? Did he mean personal? Or illegal?

  Or both?

  Without his smooth, clammy hands on her, she could think more clearly. She reviled this man. But she could play her part.

  “Just how naughty do you get, Mr.—” She stopped herself with a husky sigh that seemed to please him. “Harris.”

  “Well, now that all depends on the company. I have a feeling you’d try to keep me in line.”

  “I would.”

  His smile returned. Had she said something funny? Harris seemed to think so. He was laughing out loud by the time he picked up his martini glass and saluted her. “You’re good with numbers, aren’t you, Grace?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m glad. It’d be a shame to hire an accountant who wasn’t.”

  TWENTY MINUTES MORE of arranging the place and time for their meeting tomorrow at Mitchell’s estate, and Grace could finally escape. He hadn’t liked the idea of her bringing a male personal assistant to the team, but without Logan on the ticket, Carmody wouldn’t let her in on this assignment. So she’d been insistent. Mitchell had finally agreed to her male associate as long as he maintained a background role at his estate. She would be assigned permanent quarters in the main house, but this Logan fellow would have to stay at the guest bungalow.

  “I don’t like seeing men about, you know.” She supposed he felt threatened by any competition. How else could he account for his penchant for female employees? But Mitchell’s explanation was more aesthetic. “They spoil the scenery.”

  She’d endured enough passing touches on her back, her knee, her butt and her thigh to know she wanted Logan there to run interference for her. To protect her from Mitchell’s groping hands when possible. To protect Mitchell from her growing fury at his base treatment of her.

  She’d gotten the job. Big deal. She should be celebrating her first victory. She was in. But by the time she’d gotten outside into the fresh air, she wanted nothing more than to peel off her clothes and stand in the shower until she could erase the dirty feeling that coated her skin.

  Grace handed her valet stub to the parking attendant and zipped up her jacket against the unexpected chill in the air. Maybe autumn was finally on its way. Or maybe she just didn’t have the nerves of steel necessary to pull off working undercover, after all.

  Grace crossed her arms and let her hand slide up to her shoulder, ostensibly to get warm. But that subconscious need to protect herself from gawking eyes and long-held insecurities was trying to reassert itself. Her brain knew there was no going back to the old Grace who hid herself away from the world while, at the same time, demanding its notice and respect. But the new Grace was having doubts. A few second thoughts. The new Grace…heard the snarling sound of a well-tuned Harley-Davidson motorcycle turning the corner and pulling up in front of Chez Dumond.

  Like a modern knight on shining armor, Logan idled the engine and rolled to a stop at the end of the red carpet leading to the curb. Even before he raised his visor, she recognized him by the length of leg, the breadth and bulk of black leather jacket, and the snug—not tight—fit of his jeans.

  “Need a ride?” The timbre of his dark voice made her think of the ride she’d taken with him just that morning. “You’re blushing, Grace.”

  She lifted her palm to her cheek, betrayed by the heat Logan could generate in her. She quickly pulled down her hand and moved closer so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Do you think you should be here? Mitchell or his bodyguards might be watching.”

  “We’re partners. They’ll see us together soon enough.” His matter-of-fact tone practically dared Harris Mitchell to question his right to be a part of this.

  “Harris won’t like you. He’s expecting my assistant to be some quiet, effeminate man who’s rarely seen and never heard.” She swept her gaze across the power and polish of the machine hugged between Logan’s legs. “That role should be quite a stretch for your talents.”

  “It won’t be a problem.”

  “But he saw you the other night. Won’t he suspect—”

  “He never got a good look at me. He’ll buy what I tell him.” For once impatient with the importance of playing an undercover part convincingly, Logan abruptly switched topics. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About what just happened in there.”

  Why the sour face? Why the low-pitched anger in his voice? “What’s wrong? I got the job.” Logan should be celebrating that his training was paying off. “It wasn’t always easy to stay in character. But I used some of the things you told me. I tried to handle the situation the way I thought you would.”

  “Since your hand’s not rammed down Mitchell’s throat right now, I doubt it.”

  “Logan.” He sounded downright predatory. The way he had when he thought she was unsuited for this kind of work. He was using the same impatient, derogatory tone he’d used when he’d gone to Carmody to try to get her taken off the case. Grace’s defensive hackles shot up. He hadn’t gone behind her back, had he? While she was on the front lines, putting up with Mitchell’s busy hands, had he been pleading to Carmody to have her reassigned? “Maybe I didn’t handle everything with the smoothest style, but I got the job, right? That’s what counts. I think he even likes me a little because I stood up to him.”

  “Don’t defend him.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Keep your voice down.”

  She pointed to her chest, indicating the microphone and wire taped to her skin. “Am I still wired for sound?” She spoke down to her chest. “Commander, can you hear what he’s saying to me?”

  “You’re off the air, Gracie. I unplugged you when I left the van.” He glanced behind her at the curious interest of the couple walking into the restaurant. “We’re on our own until you report to Mitchell’s tomorrow.”

  She threw up her hands in surrender. Leaving the case now was nonnegotiable. “Fine. You go your way. I’ll go mine. See you in the morning. I don’t want to be late.”

  “Ma’am?” The parking attendant walked back around the corner instead of driving her Mustang. His apologetic slouch
didn’t bode well. “Apparently, your car’s missing.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll call the police right away.”

  “Save it, son.” Logan pressed a twenty-dollar bill into the young man’s hand. “I arranged to have it picked up. My girl wasn’t expecting me back in town this evening. I thought I’d surprise her and take her home myself.” He lied with a glittering smile on his face that had the young man accepting Logan’s story as the truth.

  “Enjoy your evening, sir.” He pocketed the twenty and left to help the next customer, abandoning Grace to her fate with Logan or the first cab she could flag down.

  She planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I don’t know who’s more full of himself, you or Harris Mitchell. Did you honestly think I couldn’t handle myself for one hour with him? Without you coaching me every step of the way? You’re the one who trained me. Or did you leave out something important?”

  The quietness of his response put her on alert. “I think you can do anything you put your mind to. That’s what scares me.” He reached behind him in the storage compartment for his second helmet and held it out to her. “C’mon, Grace. We’d better get out of here before Mitchell decides he’s not staying for dinner.”

  She took the helmet and put it on, reluctantly agreeing to let him chauffeur her back to the hotel. “Where’s my car?”

  “Agent McCallister is enjoying it this evening. With his luck, I’m sure he’ll put it to good use and find some action.”

  “In my car?”

  “It’s the Bureau’s car, Gracie. Now get on the bike. It belongs to me.” Was there some double meaning in his words about who was really running the show here?

  He held out his hand and she used it to balance herself as she swung her leg over the back of the motorcycle and climbed aboard. Her short skirt hitched up almost all the way to the crease of her thighs as she spread her legs wide to straddle the seat. Thank God she’d worn panty hose.

  When Logan reached back to tug down the hem of her skirt to a more decent level, and then let his hand rest atop her thigh, she wondered again about the possessive tone of his words.