“No, baby. I like to win,” she crooned at him, smiling before leaning down. “Now, give me some sugar,” she whispered against his lips. She clenched her fingers through the soft slide of hair, tugging tightly, and Simon groaned as he slapped her thigh. She sucked in a breath at the sharp sting of pain.
“God, I love you baby,” he said against her mouth.
Ah, that’s what she needed to hear.
* * *
“Spotto.” Vicky punched Ryan in the upper arm as they passed the yellow Camry going in the opposite direction on the I-90. They’d been on the road for about an hour, with two more hours to kill before they reached their destination, Hawk’s Ridge, a peak overlooking the town of Galena. The car was toasty warm, a nice contrast to the dirty snow edging the highway. She happily wriggled her toes in her boots.
“Hey, that’s the third time you’ve done that. What are you doing?”
Ryan’s tone was exasperated, and she didn’t bother to hide her surprise.
“You’ve never played Spotto?” Every road trip she’d taken with her parents and two brothers had always involved a rousing, painful game of Spotto, in between I Spy and Are We There, Yet?
Ryan’s eyebrow rose. “Spotto?”
“Yes, Spotto. First one to spot a yellow car calls ‘Spotto’, and gets to punch the person closest to them.”
Ryan shot her a look as though she’d suddenly started to speak Japanese. She held up a finger. “But if you call ‘Spotto’, and it turns out you’re wrong, like the car is orange instead of yellow, then the Spotto punch is a bounce back.”
“Bounce back?”
“Yeah. The punch comes back at you.”
“Where the hell did you come up with this game?”
“Didn’t you ever play it on a road trip with your family?”
Ryan’s lips lost their smile, and he kept his eyes glued to the blacktop. “No, my family never played any games on the road.”
Oh. That sounded...sad. “How did you pass the time then?” He hadn’t told her much about his family life, only that they’d moved around a lot.
He paused. “We were too busy getting from one place to another to even think about it,” he answered finally.
“Oh. Spotto!” She punched his arm as they came upon a yellow hatchback. Ryan growled, and she laughed. This was probably the first time since finding Orla in that bathtub that she felt semi-normal. She’d spent a few hours at the hospital the day before, gently holding Orla’s bandaged hand as she lay there, still unconscious in her narrow hospital bed, tubes hooked up to her frail body in an attempt to maintain life, her dark, stringy and matted hair framing a face that was as white as the pillow she lay upon. But Orla was alive, and she was fighting for her life. Each breath, each drop of fluid, brought her closer to consciousness, back to health. She had to remember that.
She glanced down at the file in her lap, and quickly dropped her smile. But this wasn’t a holiday with Ryan. This was her first undercover mission. Find Orla’s attackers, and Karl Kruger’s killers. She fingered the folder. Mal had supplied them with a background, which they’d gone over yesterday, but she still felt...unprepared. She flicked through a couple of pages. Sure, he hadn’t had very much time to set it up, but the material she was reading seemed a little sparse.
“So, we’ve been married for three years, huh? Why are we going to counseling?”
Ryan shot her an amused look, and she tried not to stare at him, or notice how just a glimmer of a smile lightened his whole face. “Because you need psychiatric help?”
Vicky made a face before rifling through the pages again. “No, seriously. Shouldn’t we get our stories straight, before we ‘go undercover’?” She might be new at this, but she wanted to do it right. She didn’t want to screw it up, didn’t want to let a killer escape justice—or worse, be responsible for more deaths, either hers or Ryan’s.
“You’re overthinking it, Vic. We’re going in there to find the Maxwells. We snoop. We listen. We search. We find out who isn’t what they seem, and bingo, we have the Maxwells. Hopefully we’ll be done and dusted in three days, max.”
She frowned. He made it sound so very simple. “But shouldn’t we, you know, get our history straight? Like, where did we meet? Couples always ask other couples those stories.”
“Do they? I’ve never asked a couple that. Spotto.” Ryan thumped her arm.
“Ow! Where?”
“Taking that off-ramp.” Ryan pointed out the offending vehicle as she rubbed her arm.
“Hmm. Okay. So, how did we meet?”
Ryan kept scanning the road ahead, and she realized he was trying to spot yellow cars. She should have known Mr. Competitive would take to Spotto like a fly to a cow paddy.
“Look, you’re an event coordinator—I thought Mal did good with that one,” he shot her a quick grin before turning back to the road. “And I’m a playboy heir dabbling in property development. Let’s say we met at one of your events.”
“Which one?” She wanted to know all the facts, to create a believable story around it.
He frowned. “Does it matter? Just any event will do.”
“Was it a corporate event? A wedding? A debutante ball?” These were important facts to know.
“Does it matter?”
“Well, yes. Did you see me across a crowded ballroom, or in the bleachers at a company polo match?”
Ryan took a deep breath, as though she’d sucked all the oxygen out of the car.
“Let’s keep it as open and generalized as possible. Stick to the truth as much as you can. Once we start nailing down minute details, it’s easier to get caught in a lie. Broad, general terms.”
“You don’t think it’s important to know how we met?”
“I think it’s important to act like a married couple. If we get stuck, let me do the talking.”
She blinked. Wow. In other words, leave it to the expert. “You don’t think I can do this.”
Ryan kept his eyes forward for a moment, before quickly driving their vehicle onto the highway shoulder and pulling it to a stop, undoing his seat belt. He twisted around to face her, his hand moving to brace against her headrest.
“Can you?” he asked. He leaned closer, and she caught his scent...woodsy, with honey accents. Earthy but sweet. Sexy.
“Can you act like a successful event manager?” His hand touched her knee, his heat branding her through her thick legging material.
“Yes.” Her tone was purposely matter-of-fact. Operations Manager at...his finger traced the inside of her knee...uh, Ops Manager at, oh, gosh, at MSA wasn’t a far cry from being an event manager. She was more than confident of pulling, er—now two fingers—of pulling that off. What? What were they talking about?
“Can you act like a wealthy business woman, confident of moving in circles of the socially elite?” His voice was softer, deeper, and his hand slid up her thigh to her hip. He leaned closer, his gray eyes staring at her with an intensity that was...enthralling.
She swallowed. He was...close. What had he said? A wealthy woman? Well, Noah’s fiancée, Jessica, was disgustingly wealthy, über-connected, yet surprisingly down-to-earth. She’d use her as a rough guide in this situation.
“Yes,” she responded. This time her own voice lacked the confident volume of a moment ago. He was so...close. She eased back, trying to give them a little more space. There was that sexy-earthy scent again. She couldn’t think when he was this close, damn it. He should know by now that she did stupid things when he was this close. She shifted. He followed, until her back pressed against the cool glass of the passenger’s side window, and only a fraction of an inch separated their bodies.
Ryan ducked his head and inhaled. She tried not to shudder, not to give away how affected she was by his close proximity. She’d dreamed of a moment l
ike this, of sharing space with him, sharing time. Ever since—well, ever since that Christmas party. Oh, jiminy, her knees were shaking.
“Can you act like a woman wanting to improve her marriage to the man she loves?”
This time his voice was a whisper in her ear, his warm breath stirring her hair. Her nipples peaked in her bra, and she tried to resist the urge of arching her back. Tried—and failed. Her breasts brushed his shirt, and she wasn’t sure if she shuddered, or if he did.
“Uh...”
He lifted his head, and his lips trailed across her cheek, until they rested against the corner of her mouth, like the softest touch of a kiss—enticing and frustrating at the same time.
Her breath was coming in pants, creating a delicious friction of breasts against chest. So warm, everything was so warm. Hot.
“Can you act like my wife?” Ryan whispered against her lips, then kissed her.
Chapter Six
His lips were gentle, warm, and insistent. Vicky sighed into his embrace, sliding her arms up over his broad shoulders as he pressed his body close to hers.
Yes. This is what she’d wanted. This is what she’d missed. His body, his warmth, his touch.
Her heart hammered as his hand slid up her side and around her back, pulling her closer to him. Chest to chest, the pressure, the warmth of his body against hers, invited her to press closer still.
His tongue played with hers, and he nipped playfully at her lips. She tilted her head back as he kissed his way to her ear, and she trembled as his teeth closed gently but firmly around her lobe.
She tried to bring her legs up, to wrap them around his waist, pull him closer to her, into her. Her leg bumped against the handbrake.
“Ow.” She twisted, trying to get into a better position. The seatbelt dug into her neck.
“Wait,” she gasped, wanting to undo the clasp and get all close and hot, and...what? Finish what they’d started? A car whipped past them, and the car rocked a little in its wake. Is this what she wanted? Ryan, in a car on the side of a highway? Not because they wanted to, but because he was testing her, proving a point? It would be worse than Christmas. It would be hell. She wasn’t going through that again.
“Whoa, cowboy.”
She moved her hands to his shoulders and pushed at him gently.
Ryan pulled away from her, puzzled for a moment before a shutter closed off his expression.
Her heart was pounding. She took a deep, calming, sense-bringing breath.
“I think we’ve established that I can play the part.” She whispered, meeting his silver gaze.
Ryan retreated to his seat, maintaining her stare.
“Yeah, I guess you can act, after all.” He turned to the steering wheel and started the car.
Vicky twisted in her seat to stare out the windshield, blinking furiously. It was a compliment, right? He thought she could do the job. Her heart rated slowed down to a quieter pitter-patter.
He checked the traffic and slowly drove back on to the road.
So why did it feel like he’d just backhanded her? This is what she wanted, right? Field work. For Ryan to take her seriously.
This sucks.
* * *
Snow crunched under the tires as Ryan steered the car up the Ultima Resort drive.
He glanced briefly at the passing scenery. White-dusted Douglas firs and cedars dotted the landscape, like sentinels in the snow.
Picture postcard perfect, he supposed. If you liked that schmaltz. Problem was, he did. Getting all toasty and warm around a fireplace while snow fell outside, mulled wine warming your insides while a beautiful woman warmed your outsides. He’d grown up in the cold, had become almost impervious to it, but he did like the closeness it generated. Snuggle Factor, he called it.
He cast a sideways glance at Vicky. The air seemed as frosty inside the car as it did outside. He didn’t know what she was so upset about. He should be upset. Not her. He’d totally enjoyed their kiss, but she’d treated it like a damned audition.
He ignored the fact that he’d started it.
But he hadn’t finished it. Hadn’t wanted to. Now that he’d had a chance to cool down, he was relieved that at least one of them had come to their senses. Neither of them could afford to let the clear goals of their mission get murky with a personal entanglement that would lead to nothing.
And he liked Vic too much, respected her too much, to sacrifice their relationship for some fleeting affair. No matter how smoking hot and satisfying that affair might be.
The car rounded a bend in the drive, and he heard Vicky suck in a breath at the sight that met them.
Dusk had long since settled, and the timber, stone and glass ski lodge lay on a slope leading down to Galena Lake, tucked in by snow banks. Lights twinkled from most of the windows, like a warm welcoming haven from the dark, cold world. It looked like a damn Christmas card.
He loved it.
“Oh. My. God.” Vicky breathed the words out in wonder, her green eyes wide as she stared out of the window. “It’s beautiful.”
Apparently the cold silent treatment was over.
He’d always wanted to live in a place like this, tucked away from the world, nestled on the side of lake. Warm. Safe. No reason to run.
But this wasn’t a holiday, he thought as two figures stepped out under the portico, and he gently steered the car under the covered entrance.
Two men stood at the base of the paved steps, waiting calmly with polite smiles on their faces.
He turned to Vicky and winked. “Show time.”
* * *
Show time. That’s right. Time to act. Vicky climbed out of the car, turned and reached into the back seat to grab her coat. It was freezing outside.
She hated the cold. Give her a piña colada with a pretty pink umbrella on a tropical beach somewhere, and she’d be happy.
She assumed a polite expression as she shrugged into her coat. Ryan had gotten out of the car, but didn’t seem to be affected by the chill factor at all.
“I presume you are the Winthrops,” the taller man said, and approached them with an outstretched hand, his expression warm.
“Welcome to Ultima Resort. My name is Neil Hooker and this is Gavin Dryden. We are your hosts this week.”
Vicky shook Neil’s hand. He stood about six-one, with friendly brown eyes and shaggy brown hair that reminded Vicky of an Irish Setter her grandfather had owned. She instantly felt at ease with the man, and could see why so many clients trusted him with their problems. She turned and greeted Gavin Dryden, and tightened the muscles in her face so that her smile didn’t falter as she met his cool, assessing blue eyes. This was a man who made a living from observing people. And she was presently under the microscope.
Show time.
“Good evening. We’re relieved to finally get here.” She shot Ryan a dark look before smiling so brightly her cheeks hurt. “So, what happens next?”
* * *
Vicky clutched the resort welcome manual and her tote in a tight grip as Ryan closed the door to their split-level cabin. Their other luggage was going to be brought over shortly. Vicky assumed it was so that the Ultima staff could search the bags for contraband, as all alcohol, drugs and any other addictive substances were banned from the lodge for the duration of their four-day “power up” program.
She stood uncertainly in the lower sitting area. Heavy, large-cushioned lounges in tones of browns, golds, terracottas and rusts were strategically placed to face the cozy fireplace set into a stone wall. Plush carpet the color of burnished wheat cushioned her boots, and autumn-rust drapes gave the large area a warm intimacy.
She glanced around. Sumptuous. That was the word for it. A tastefully furnished kitchenette was located near the doors that led to their own private terrace. Cabin. She snorte
d. There was nothing rustic about this place. Their oversnow transportation back to the main resort was a Hummer, but it was so tempting just to stay in their heated cabin. There was no TV. No sound system, either, and she already knew there was no Wi-Fi. All Ultima clients were supposed to focus on were themselves and their partner, with no outside distractions. Even their phones had been confiscated at check-in. Ryan had told her to expect that, so they had handed over dummy phones with implanted data. Drew would be smuggling in secondary phones for their use, as his role as an employee meant he wasn’t subjected to the same hyper security as the clients.
Vicky eyed the bed on the upper level. It was...big. She guessed that if the usual clients of Ultima Resort did resolve any marital issues in their pursuit for lifestyle and career excellence, they had a good-sized area for make-up sex. If they didn’t, then there was plenty of room to sleep without contact.
She would be sleeping in that bed tonight. She looked around the room. Where was Ryan going to sleep? Sure as hell they weren’t sharing the bed, not after that kiss in the car. She didn’t trust herself to stop, next time.
“You were a little, uh, cool, at reception.” Ryan said as he crossed to peer at a painting located on the wall above the bed. He pulled a small unit from his inner jacket pocket that looked like some sort of weird cell phone. He held it up to the painting, then waved his hand over the bedhead.
What in the world was he doing?
“We’re at a counseling retreat, Peter,” she replied, stressing the change of name. “I don’t think they’d be surprised by that.”
“Uh-huh.” Ryan turned to survey the room, a slight frown lining his brow.
He crossed over to where an ornamental vase with colored pebbles and a lone orchid sat on the coffee table between the sofas, sweeping his arm in a wide side-to-side motion as he did so.
Ah. He was sweeping for bugs.
She dropped her bag and opened up the manual Gavin had given to her at the reception desk. She flicked through the pages. It contained a map, a list of available activities and services—she made a note of the day spa operation. She might be able to squeeze in a massage. That would be entirely in keeping with her character, wouldn’t it? She was pretty sure Reese wouldn’t balk at the extra charges, not when it was work-related.
For Her Eyes Only (McCormack Security Agency) Page 6