His Hot Number

by Shannon Hollis

  With any other man she’d have dismissed a question like that as flirtation or arrogance. With Kellan, she realized, she could no longer think on those terms.

  “You know you do.”

  “And that’s bad?” He pulled on a tank top and caught up a loose, crinkled cotton jacket to match the pants. He looked as if he was ready to drink a mai tai and do the limbo. “Leaving last night out of it, let me say something. I’ve been living this role for six months. You’ve only been in it for something like a week. To be really convincing, you should let yourself go.” His eyes crinkled in a sudden grin. “Feel free to grab my butt if that would help.”

  She wasn’t even sure she was the same woman who had sat in that glass room a week ago. But could she stop seeing Caroline as an antagonist and somehow integrate herself and her alter ego the way Tessa had recommended? Could she just “let herself go” and see how it played out?

  Kellan didn’t seem to see her distraction. He was still strategizing. “In private we behave just as we do out there. We get so deep into the roles we forget about Linn and Kellan and just stay Dean and Caroline all the time. It’s called continuity. Prevents slip-ups like not responding when O’Reilly calls your name.”

  “Continuity, huh?” She caught his glance and smiled at last, a wicked smile. “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  KELLAN WASN’T SURE what he expected, but it sure wasn’t what he got.

  Linn’s lashes drooped, and an expression of cool speculation filled her eyes. The smile faded and her lips became softer, fuller, and then she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress. His eyes widened as she shimmied her shoulders and the dress plummeted down her body to land on the floor. Under it she wore a lacy bra and underpants in a color his sisters would probably agree was called taupe, to match the linen dress.

  Without a word—which was a good thing, because he couldn’t have come up with a reply—she picked up the dress, hung it next to his leather jacket and pulled a filmy little white thing off the hanger.

  Was she going to—

  Yep, she was.

  Turning her back to him, she released the catch on the bra and stepped out of her panties.

  Kellan’s breath stopped in his lungs. The afternoon sun highlighted one side of her body, giving her skin a creamy glow. It illuminated one half of a derriere shaped like a peach, and smooth thighs that he already knew could grip a man and bring him to orgasm.

  He should have thought of this twenty-four/seven tactic days ago. He hadn’t thought the effect of lamplight on red silk could be improved on, but the view here was about to make him change his mind. Before he could do much more than appreciate the toned curves that hid a police officer’s strength, though, she’d slid the white thing over her head and it materialized into a curve-hugging dress that looked breezy and cool.

  She turned and raised an eyebrow in his direction.

  He commanded his mouth to work. “Are you—are you gonna put underwear on?” he croaked. Please God, don’t let her go out there with nothing on under that dress. No bra was one thing. But no underwear within a mile of Rick O’Reilly could mean serious trouble.

  “Oh, if I must.” She crossed to the dresser and shimmied into a scrap of pale pink lace, then smoothed the dress down. “Come along, darling,” she said in Caroline’s husky British purr. She picked her sunglasses off the dresser and strolled out the door barefoot.

  He caught up to her halfway down the tiled hallway and took her hand for appearance’s sake.

  No bra. The barest minimum of underwear. She didn’t need a cover team. She needed full-body armor.

  They found the pool without difficulty and stepped out of the cool darkness of the house into the brilliant late-afternoon sun.

  A number of people lounged in deck chairs and splashed in the water, looking for all the world like a friendly neighborhood get-together. O’Reilly, wearing a Speedo so brief he might as well have just put on a G-string, waved them over. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Beer for me,” Kellan said.

  “Ice water with a lime twist, thank you, darling.”

  O’Reilly glanced at her. “Ice water?”

  “I’m very particular about what I put in my body.” Her smile was like melted chocolate, and O’Reilly fell right into it.

  “I can give you a suggestion or two.” He went to an outdoor bar and poured her water, perching a lime quarter on the rim of the glass.

  His attention on Linn was so profound that he would have dropped Kellan’s beer bottle into space whether there was a hand there to grab it or not. Fortunately, Kellan’s reflexes were good, and he caught the microbrew and tipped it to his lips with a sigh of pleasure.

  “All in good time, Richard.”

  “You’re the only one who calls me that.”

  Kellan watched him from under his lashes. The guy’s eyes were all over her. Looking for signs of underwear, no doubt. Creep.

  “If you’d rather I called you what everyone else does, I will.”

  “No. It’s fine. Come on. Let me introduce you around.”

  Most of their companions, it turned out, were people Kellan had met in O’Reilly’s organization. No surprise. The guy with the skin that looked as if it hadn’t seen the sun in his entire life turned out to be James Farley, the money guy. He had worked for a big Silicon Valley computer company before he’d seen the profit margins in the laundry business for Rick O’Reilly.

  Kellan made a note to himself to have a long conversation with the financier.

  “What a beautiful view.” With a sigh Linn settled into a lounge chair in the shade of a huge umbrella. “I’m so lucky in my friends. Almost without exception, they have lovely houses.”

  “They would have to, to make a good setting for you.” O’Reilly picked up her hand, turned it over and kissed her palm. Kellan could swear he saw the guy apply a little tongue, too.

  Linn—Caroline, he had to think of her as Caroline—slipped her hand from his and cupped his face in a movement so smooth that even he couldn’t tell if it was an evasive maneuver or not.

  “Do tell me your friend’s name,” she coaxed. “Perhaps we’ve met before.”

  “It’s Arroyo,” O’Reilly said. “From Colombia via Miami and L.A. They call him ‘El Peligroso.’”

  Kellan froze, and his plans for cornering the financier went straight out of his head. Holy shit. El Peligroso?

  She smiled. “The Dangerous One? And is he?”

  “Oh, yeah.” The flatness in O’Reilly’s tone told Kellan he meant it. “Heard of him?”

  “Only indirectly, through dear Hidalgo. I’ve never met him in the flesh, although his reputation as a businessman is quite extensive.”

  And as a murderer, political conspirator, cartel boss and all-around bad guy, his rep wasn’t all that shabby, either. Every narcotics investigator in CLEU had heard about El Peligroso in one of those contexts. Kellan tried to lounge in the chair as if the sun were making him sleepy, when all the time he was trying to figure out how to get the information to headquarters in San Francisco.

  This was huge. This would make his career. All their careers. Taking down El Peligroso was the kind of thing that got a cop a medal.

  If it didn’t get him killed first.

  11

  “EL PELIGROSO,” LINN MOANED. She closed the door, locked it and sank onto Kellan’s king-size bed. “Dear God.”

  “Getting cold feet?” Kellan tossed his cotton jacket at the back of a chair and leaned a shoulder on the wall, watching her. “If you are, tell me now. You can fake an allergy to something at dinner and we can have you out of here in half an hour.”

  “I am not quitting!” She jumped to her feet and walked to the window. The view of the rolling, vine-covered hills should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. It just reminded her how isolated they were in the face of this new danger. “Even you have to admit this is huge.”

  “Yeah, I know. But if you keep your cool we can pul
l it off.”

  “My cool? Who says I’m losing it?”

  “You’re losing your accent.” His tone was dry. “Remember, we stay in character all the time.”

  “Oh, bugger you!” she exclaimed.

  “Much better. So, how are we going to let headquarters know about this?”

  “Uh, call them?”

  “Uh-huh. And you think O’Reilly isn’t monitoring communications?”

  She hadn’t thought about that. “If he’s that good, he’s probably monitoring what we’re saying, too.”

  “I don’t think so. I couldn’t find anything. I wouldn’t be talking this freely if I had.”

  She hadn’t thought about listening devices, either. She was too green for this. She’d gone from busting street-level distributors straight to El Peligroso, and her ears were still popping from the ascent.

  And that was the least of it. Her biggest problem was standing right in front of her. Every movement, every word took her mind off doing the job and put her awareness squarely on him, and she couldn’t afford to think that way right now.

  “We’re going to have to improvise,” she said aloud, struggling to focus. “Arroyo won’t come alone. At his level, I’d say four bodyguards were a minimum. But I doubt they’re prepared to do a deal here and now. So we won’t need to arrange a take-down on short notice, off our own turf.”

  “I’d say you’re right. So the plan of action is to socialize, gain trust and pick up whatever we can. Keep your ears open.”

  Dinner was at eight, and when they all sat down together, Linn found herself on Rick O’Reilly’s left at the head of the table.

  “Does this winery actually produce, or is it merely a real estate investment for Mr. Arroyo?” she asked, scanning the bottles on the table.

  O’Reilly turned the labels toward her one by one. “Oh, it produces. He has a vintner and a professional staff. The offices and production facilities are elsewhere on the property.”

  “That one looks lovely. What is it?”

  “A 2000 chardonnay.”

  “Brilliant.” She held her glass while he poured it, and took a sip. El Peligroso was as good at wine making as he was at importing Colombian cocaine. A man of parts.

  “Too bad I have to leave after dinner.” O’Reilly watched her. “Business. We could have spent a little more time together.”

  “And here I thought you were a man who kept his promises. All of them.”

  He caught her finger and sucked it into his mouth. His tongue ran up and down its length while his gaze never left her face. Then he released it with a wet pop. “Unavoidable,” he said. “Maybe I’ll call. That is, if Dean doesn’t mind.”

  “I don’t care whether he minds or not. But…” She paused and glanced down the table, then returned her gaze to his. “I’m not sure I’d like my calls from you to be monitored.”

  “I wouldn’t call on the house phone.”

  “Cell phones are safe?”

  “Much to my boss’s annoyance.”

  “How lovely. I’ll look forward to that, then.”

  Linn wondered if the “business” would take him away before the introduction was made, or if it was connected. But it wasn’t likely O’Reilly would tell her. She gazed around the dining room at the heavy drapes and Victorian furniture, at the real china at each setting. Did the staff know whom they were working for? And if so, did their paychecks come out of the drug money or the vineyard?

  Probably the latter. A smart businessman—and Arroyo was nothing if not smart, running his organization with the calm efficiency of a board chairman—he would want all the external elements to be legal. He probably even paid U.S. taxes.

  Whatever he paid the person who prepared their dinner, it wasn’t enough, she decided, returning to her plate. The lamb was succulent and the salads little works of art.

  If she’d been focused less on trying to pick up tidbits of information, such as the phone situation, she might have enjoyed the food more. But with Kellan on her other side, she was kept busy trying to keep him and Rick O’Reilly from killing each other until the dessert course came.

  As the pears in wine sauce were served, there was a commotion near the door and four men walked into the dining room. Three of them were built like linebackers and were dressed in black linen suits. The fourth man was tall and swarthy, wearing a suit cut so beautifully it screamed handmade in Milan.

  El Peligroso. The surveillance photos didn’t do him justice.

  “Enrique.” O’Reilly rose to greet him. “Have you eaten yet?”

  Arroyo nodded. “Yes, on the plane. Who do we have here?”

  While the bodyguards stood at attention near the door, O’Reilly introduced everyone in turn. “And this is Dean Wilcox, who I told you about, and his lovely lady, Caroline…?” He paused and Linn suddenly remembered she had never been introduced with a surname.

  “Pennington,” she said. “From London. Soy feliz de encontrario, Señor Arroyo.”

  “And I to meet you.” He bent to kiss her on both cheeks. “How well you speak Spanish.”

  “Hidalgo taught me a little last year,” she said, “so that I wouldn’t be utterly cheated in the markets. I have a dreadful weakness for straw hats and painted parrots.”

  “I am rather fond of Oaxacan art, myself.” He smiled, his teeth even and white, his manner full of Old-World charm. “I’ll be sure to send you one of my favorite artist’s pieces the next time I’m there.”

  “How kind you are.” He was. It was like flirting with someone’s really sexy, good-looking grandfather.

  “And now, Mr. O’Reilly, I believe we had a meeting scheduled.”

  “We did. Later, all.” O’Reilly’s glance took in the whole room and ended with Linn, when it took on a special significance. “Much later, hmm?” His voice was for her ears alone, but she saw Kellan’s shoulders stiffen.

  Throughout the rest of the interminable evening, Kellan pretended to get progressively more drunk, until finally she led him back to their room. Once the door was shut behind them, he straightened and stretched.

  “Nice job,” Linn told him. “I bet even Rigby’s girlfriend changed her mind about sleeping with you.”

  “Rigby’s girlfriend has been sampling the product. I doubt she’s in very good shape for anything right now.”

  “I’ve got good news.”

  “What’s that? Way to make points with Arroyo, by the way. You don’t really collect painted parrots, do you?”

  A blush thought about sneaking onto her face, but she fought it back. “Yes, I do. I’ve only been to Mexico once, but I got a parrot and a chicken. They’re hanging in my condo.”

  “I didn’t see them.”

  “In the bedroom.” A little silence fell, and across it, Linn felt a tingle of awareness, as though electricity had arced across the space between them. No. This can’t happen. Not here, when we’re in so much danger of discovery. “So, do you want to know about parrots or about what I found out?” Better to get the conversation back on track.

  “What did you find out?” He didn’t sound as if he really wanted to know.

  For once in her life, Linn wished she had Tessa’s sensitivity to what people were thinking. “They’re not monitoring our cell phones.”

  “Of course they are.”

  She overlooked the contradiction and stayed on course. “O’Reilly wants to call later, so I asked him if the cell phones were monitored. He said they weren’t.”

  “And you believed him.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t want anything from him recorded. The less I have to remember him by, the better.”

  “That’s a piece of luck if it’s true.” Kellan pulled off his shoes and began to unbutton his collarless white linen shirt. Her eyes followed his fingers as they made their way carelessly down the row of buttons. He shrugged it off and hung it up, giving her a nice view of his back. Muscles contracted and flexed in the simple task of hanging up the shirt.

  It wasn’t
fair. No matter what angle you viewed the man from, he was delicious. Toned, tanned and not an extra ounce of fat on him.

  “So what did O’Reilly mean by ‘later’?” he asked.

  “I guess he means he’s going to call.”

  “At least you don’t have to figure out how to not sleep with him.”

  This wasn’t Jealous Guy. This was Kellan, who was honestly concerned. And who had the kind of shoulders made for bearing responsibility and crying on, if a woman were so inclined. Whose chest was a wall of hard muscle, and who could stop a woman’s heart simply by standing there in nothing but his trousers.

  What had he said? Oh, O’Reilly. “A call I can handle. But from a woman’s point of view, he is one scary guy up close and personal.”

  He smiled, a slow smile that said Danger Ahead. “What does the woman’s point of view say about me?”

  “I think Rigby’s girlfriend made that pretty clear. She was draped all over you like a feather boa.”

  “I’m more interested in what you think.”

  Could she say it? What would he think if she revealed how she really felt? Turning away, Linn toed out of her sandals and reached behind to undo the clasp at the waist of the red dress. But the two tiny hooks had tangled in the thread loops, and she couldn’t get them loose.

  “Want a hand with that?”

  Before she could answer, he’d crossed the room and moved her fingers aside. The heat from his body radiated onto the skin revealed by the dress’s plunging back, and her breath caught. When he moved the hooks aside and she felt the waistband loosen, goose bumps tiptoed from waist to shoulder.

  “I know you’re not cold,” he whispered behind her. “It’s seventy-five degrees outside. And I’m still waiting for your point of view.”

  “You know how I feel,” she whispered back, half to him and half to the closet door.

  “I want to hear it.”

  She’d resolved to let Caroline in, hadn’t she? The old Linn would insist on at least the metaphorical equivalent of pillows down the middle of the bed. She would insist on both of them sharing quarters and being professional. But the new Linn, the one with Caroline seeping around the edges and softening her, felt Kellan’s fingers slide from her spine to her ribs and let the warm touch melt her.