Intimate Knowledge

by Julie Miller

  Stepping into the hallway, she pulled the door closed and launched herself into his arms the second he lowered the gun. Logan gathered her in, squeezing her roughly, burying his nose in her hair. “Gracie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here in time.”

  He ran his free hand up and down her back, along her arms, across her bottom, checking for signs of injury. Dressed in some white scraps of cotton and lace, she felt firm and round and full of life. Everything seemed to be healthy and in one piece. He couldn’t find any bruises or marks.

  And then he palmed the back of her head, kissing her hard, raining kisses on her cheeks and eyes and anywhere he could reach. And she was kissing him back, clinging to his neck, combing her fingers into his hair. Laughing.

  “Oh, Logan, I did it!” She caught his jaw and kissed him full on the mouth. “I did it!” She continued to talk between kisses. “I found your broken glasses…outside Mitchell’s door and knew…you were in trouble. I knew I had to finish…the mission. I knew…you’d come…if you could.”

  The mission? “What are you talking about, baby. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.” As panic fled and sense returned, she pulled away from his arms and latched on to his hand. She found the handcuff. “What happened?” She shook her head and flashed a gorgeous smile. “Never mind. Let me show you.”

  She pushed open the door and led her inside. Logan caught sight of Harris Mitchell standing next to the bed and raised his gun. “No, Logan, it’s okay.”

  Only at the touch of Grace’s hand did he lower his weapon.

  Then he got a better look at the bastard. Mitchell had become the victim—whether willing or not—of his own toys. He was handcuffed to a bedpost, dressed in a fur-trimmed gown with something that looked very much like a tail hanging down his back.

  “What’s he doing here?” Mitchell’s demand sounded like a spoiled child’s shrill demand. “I told you I don’t like other men around. If you want another woman, fine. But no—”

  “Shut up.” That was Grace. Logan looked down to see her plant her fists on her hips and order Mitchell into submission.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Did that suddenly subdued voice really belong to a notorious crime lord?

  Grace flipped out her hand toward Logan with all the snap and polish of a dictator signaling an execution. “Give me your badge.”

  “Did I miss something here?” asked Logan. He kept his gun in his hand and didn’t respond to her request, too confused by what he was witnessing to surrender his defense.

  Mitchell laughed. Grace snapped her fingers. Mitchell fell silent. “Your badge, Logan? Please?” she added softly.

  Responding to this kinder, gentler version of the Grace he knew, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the wallet that held his Bureau shield. Grace snatched it from his hand and crossed over to Mitchell. She opened the wallet and shoved the badge in his face.

  Mitchell squinted. He looked from the badge to Logan to Grace. The color drained from his face and the bravado faded from his voice as shock set in. “You really are with the FBI. I thought that was part of the game.”

  Grace threw her shoulders back and puffed out her chest in a gloriously feminine show of pride. “Agent Grace Lockhart, FBI. You, sir, are under arrest for multiple counts of money laundering, extortion, assault…and rude and indecent behavior.”

  “That’s not a crime—”

  “Whoa, Gracie.” Logan grabbed her elbow and pulled her back a step as her temper flared. He retreated even farther as Mitchell’s face ruddied with color.

  “You damn little bitch! You can’t arrest me in my own—”

  “Shut up!”

  Logan turned at the sharp tone of Grace’s command. He took her by both arms and swiveled her to face him, gentling his voice and trying not to sound too confused about what must have happened during the hour he’d spent unconscious in the pantry. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head and smiled, clearly pleased with herself. “It’s a little trick I learned from my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Had Logan fallen into the Twilight Zone? “How did Mimsey get involved with this?”

  Mitchell tried to join the private conversation. “I knew Mimsey once, you know. I could have had the mother and the daughter both.”

  Grace turned and shook a finger at her captive. “Harris, if you mention my mother’s name ever again, your days as a junior Marquis de Sade are over.”

  Mitchell responded with a steely gaze.

  Logan surveyed the room. Every torturous device and sick toy was still in place. But he had a funny feeling that Grace wasn’t in any danger. Not really.

  “Is something going on that I should know about?” he asked.

  “Just wait.” She disappeared into the closet.

  “Grace?” She reappeared moments later, waving a computer disk and looking triumphant in her teddy and—“Riding boots?”

  Though he’d been quick to notice the revealing cotton and lace she wore, he hadn’t paid much attention to the tall leather boots that clung to her thighs.

  “It’s a long story,” she reassured him with a smile. “The important thing is—after I handcuffed Harris to the bed—”

  Logan waved aside her explanation, demanding that she make sense. “Wait a minute. How did you get him cuffed? If there’s no room for a badge in that getup you’re wearing, where did you stash your gun?”

  She smiled. “I didn’t need it. He wanted to play a game. So I made one up. Once I applied a few of those tricks from your list, he was incredibly easy to manipulate.”

  That didn’t bode well. “A game?”

  Now she was the impatient one. “That doesn’t matter. I found another secret room off the back of his closet when I went searching for a costume. I located the main terminal and downloaded my program. Commander Carmody should be able to round up every member of Mitchell’s organization now.”

  “Carmody.” Logan swore. “We need to call in backup.”

  “Taken care of.” Grace’s smile was practically contagious. Had she ever looked this happy? This confident? “I sent him an e-mail. He’ll be automatically paged as soon as the message is received. But I suppose we could track down a phone if we need to.”

  She’d done it. She’d actually done it. Grace Lockhart, frumpy computer nerd without a clue about men or life as a field agent, had done it.

  Logan’s trepidation about her safety receded a little. His chest swelled with pride and he let his smile match hers. “You pulled it off, sweetheart. You got your man.”

  Grace’s smile faltered for an instant, then returned. “I learned from the best.” She laid her hand against his cheek. Logan lost himself in her big green eyes and savored the gentle touch. “You trained me well…partner.”

  “I had amazing material to work with. Partner.”

  With that he bent and sealed his pride and thanks with a kiss.

  The sound of approaching sirens broke their embrace. Grace looked up at Logan. “Can we go home now?” she asked.

  Logan picked up her robe and wrapped it around her. It didn’t hide much, so he draped his arm around her shoulders and led her out of the room.

  Home. It sounded good. But he wondered if he could really ever find his way there.

  A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER, Grace was packing up her attaché when Sam Carmody stepped into her office. Automatically, she straightened to attention and smoothed the hem of her mint-green skirt. “Well?” she asked.

  “Mitchell’s arraignment went just the way we wanted. The federal attorney filed charges of money laundering, extortion and racketeering, and linked him as an accessory to numerous violent crimes. Even if he bargains his way out of some of the charges, he’ll be going to prison for a very long time.”

  “And the others?”

  “His female crew has already been arraigned, and the attorney general’s office is going to be busy for several months running the trials of every two-bit ho
od and big-money connection your computer program exposed.” Sam Carmody smiled and extended his hand. “Good work, Lockhart.”

  Feeling his respect in his smile and praise, she shook his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now go take a few days off. You deserve a break.”

  After Carmody left, Grace wondered exactly what she was supposed to do with herself. More than anything she wanted to call Logan. They’d been separated for debriefing shortly after leaving Mitchell’s estate. Then she heard he’d been called in to consult on another assignment, sent out into the field already, and she’d gone home. Alone.

  He’d promised to call, but he hadn’t. Was he busy? Should she wait? Was it over? Had there ever been anything real between them?

  She slipped a file folder into her bag and her fingertips brushed against something else. Something familiar.

  She pulled out her steno pad with all the notes she’d taken from Logan. The sexy list. The lies. The words of frustration and hope that she’d poured onto the pages as she learned about herself and men and sex and life.

  And love.

  The Grace of old would have replaced the steno pad, taken it home and packed it away in a trunk.

  But the new Grace smiled. It was a wickedly fun, yet hopeful smile.

  Sitting back in her chair she pulled out her mechanical pencil, clicked it twice and started to write.

  BY MIDNIGHT that same night, she heard the well-tuned roar of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle pulling into the driveway of her saltbox.

  Grace checked her hair in the mirror, then cinched the belt of her fuzzy white robe.

  She opened the door before the bell stopped ringing.

  For a moment she could only stare up into Logan’s flint-colored eyes. She took in the haggard lines of fatigue on his face and smiled. “Hi.”

  That same gray gaze roamed her face as if reacquainting himself with every eyelash and stray curl of hair. And then that gaze zeroed in on hers. “I got your message. You said something came up with the Mitchell case. Are you all right?”

  She invited him inside and shut the door behind her. “Carmody says you’re back on assignment already. Don’t you get any downtime?”

  Logan shrugged, crinkling the leather of his coat and filling her living room with its rich, rugged scent. “Yeah, well, no rest for the weary, hmm?”

  His ever-observant eyes took in the crackling fire in the hearth. The two wineglasses set on the mantel.

  And the chess board set up on the coffee table between her two couches.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the Mitchell case, is there.” It wasn’t a question.

  Her heart raced in anticipation of what she must do next.

  “No. But I knew you’d ride to my rescue if you thought I was in trouble.”

  He buried his hands deep in his pockets. His breath seeped out on a weary sigh. “Gracie…I’m—I don’t know if I can give you what you need. You deserve someone who can stick around—”

  “Shh.” She pressed her finger against his lips and shushed him. As long as he loved her, he had everything she needed. She took heart in his vulnerability, knowing their strengths complemented each other. Knowing that, together, they created a stronger whole. “I wanted to show you something.”

  She crossed to the mantel and picked up her steno pad.

  “What are you trying to learn this time?”

  “Nothing.” She turned to him and smiled. “I’m conducting the training this time.” His eyes narrowed, questioning her. “I’ve made a list.”

  “Of what?”

  “The ten reasons why we should be together.”

  Logan’s face paled, then flushed with color. He took a step toward her, then pulled back with a look of distress. “Grace, since I was a little kid, I’ve never had anybody or anything to call my own. The things I care about get taken away, and it’s made me a hard man to live with. You don’t want to do this. You’ll only wind up getting hurt. And I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

  He was breathing hard by the time he’d finished. Grace waited patiently, her heart breaking for all he had lost. But she couldn’t go to him. Not yet.

  “Are you done?”

  “I guess.”

  “Then it’s your turn to listen to me.” He angled his head at the determined tone in her voice. “I want you to learn every item on this list and I want you to believe it. I want you to think, live and breathe the items on this list.”

  His mouth quirked into half of a smile. “I never said that to you.”

  “No. But I did it anyway. Here goes.

  “Number one. The sex between us is great.”

  His smile blossomed. “You’ll get no argument there.”

  Good. It was a hopeful start. “Number two. I need someone to watch my back and keep me out of trouble.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. You managed Mitchell fine all by yourself.”

  She moved a step closer. “That’s not true. If you hadn’t inspired confidence in me, I’d have tucked my tail between my legs and quit before the job was done. Emotional support is just as vital as physical support.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that.” He unzipped his jacket. Maybe he could feel the temperature in the room starting to rise, too. “What else is on your list?”

  “Number three. We make a dynamite investigative team.”

  “Is this list about work or us?”

  Grace swallowed hard. “Is there an us?”

  Logan shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. He nodded toward the steno pad. “Finish your list.”

  “Number four. You like my mother.”

  “Mimsey’s great.” He tempered his enthusiastic response. “Do you like your mother?”

  She smiled. “I’m beginning to. I’m having dinner with her and her fiancé tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll have to congratulate her. Next rule.”

  “Number five. I like your Harley.”

  Logan nodded with a smug expression on his face. “All smart women like Harleys.”

  Grace laughed and stepped closer. “Number six. The sex between us is really great.”

  Now Logan was laughing, too. He moved across the room until only the coffee table separated them. “I guess I’m an excellent teacher.”

  She gave credit where it was due. “I guess you are.” Slowly, she began to circle the table. “Number seven. I didn’t really believe in myself until you believed in me.”

  “Aw, Gracie.” He reached out and brushed his fingers across her cheek.

  She turned her cheek into the caress and savored the gentle touch of his calloused hand. Then she turned and pressed a kiss into his palm. “Number eight. You want a place to come home to at night.”

  He caught her jaw between his hands and angled her face up to his. His eyes were dark now, dark with fire, not with shadows. “What are you saying to me, Gracie?”

  She smiled, blinking back the tears that suddenly stung her eyes. “Number nine. I love you.”

  She tossed the steno pad on the couch.

  “And number ten.” She took a deep breath. “You love me.”

  “You are a smart lady.” Logan lifted her up onto her toes and covered her mouth in a blazing, rapturous, soul-healing kiss.

  Grace offered him all that she was, all that she believed, all that she carried in her heart.

  “What’s under the robe, Gracie?” His lips scudded across her cheek and nipped at her ear.

  She had her hands up under his sweater, scorching her fingers on the heat of his muscled back and flanks. “What do you want to find under it?”

  “You.”

  A half hour later they were lying in front of the fire, their naked bodies spooned together beneath a quilt from her couch. As Grace’s pulse rate returned to normal, Logan traced lazy circles up and down her arm. She was floating in a sea of blissful warmth, with the fire in front of her and Logan at her back and love in her heart.

  “G
racie?”

  “Hmm?” Thoroughly loved, she was almost too tired to respond.

  “I really am meeting with Carmody tomorrow about a new assignment.”

  “No.” So soon? She rolled over and faced him, raising her hand to his cheek. “Is it one that will put you in danger?”

  “Only if you say no.”

  Damn it all, the man was grinning. Grace’s leap of fear transformed into curiosity.

  “Say no to what?”

  “Becoming my partner.”

  “Your partner?”

  “In every sense of the word.” He scooped her into his arms and rolled onto his back, carrying her with him so that she rested on top. “I do love you, Gracie. I do. There’s no one else I’d rather have watching my back. And I can’t get enough of watching yours.”

  Her eyes swam with joyful tears. “I love you, too.” She kissed him once. “Yes.” She kissed him again. “Yes, I want to be partners in every way. My house is big enough for you to move in. There’s room for the Harley in the garage. I keep fresh coff—”

  He kissed her then. It was long and sweet and full of promise.

  He left her lips to explore that erogenous minefield he’d discovered at the base of her throat. “We make an unbeatable team, Gracie. I’ve put in a lot of years out in the field. Maybe I’ll take fewer assignments—”

  She traced his lips with her fingertip. “Just the ones we can work together.”

  He nipped at her fingers and smiled. “Then I think I’ll come back and teach at the Bureau academy. Something tells me I might be pretty good at it.”

  “As long as you’re not teaching Seduction 101 to anyone else.”

  “No way, sweetheart.” He took her breast into his mouth and teased her with his tongue, igniting the passion between them all over again. “I only give private lessons in that department.”

  Then he rolled her beneath him and taught her about making love all over again.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6761-3

  INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE

  Copyright © 2002 by Julie Miller.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.