“There’s the welcome dinner tonight,” she noted, and glanced at her watch. They had two hours before the meal would be served in the formal dining room. “It might be a good opportunity to meet the other guests,” she murmured, before quickly scanning the rest of the program.
“Uh-huh.” Ryan crossed to the end tables, and tested each lamp, quickly glancing under the lampshade, and then under the table, before moving on to the next lamp. She watched as he crossed to the tables on either side of the bed and repeated the process. Apparently the place was littered with bugs. Great.
Ryan finally looked at her and made a circular motion with his hand. “You must want to freshen up after that long trip, hey, hon?”
Huh? “No, I can wait until our bags come.”
“Why don’t I draw you a bath?” Ryan jumped from the bed and crossed the room to the door leading to the bathroom suite.
Run a bath? She’d have to get naked, for that. In front of Ryan. Hell, no.
“No, I’m fine.”
“It won’t take long,” Ryan called back, his voice echoing from the tiled room. She heard the sound of running water, as well as the bang and crack as doors and drawers were opened and closed.
“I don’t want a bath,” she called back, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. If they needed to communicate, they could scribble notes, damn it. She didn’t want to take any layers off anywhere near Ryan. They were friends, and yes, they’d kissed a couple of times, but she wasn’t anywhere near ready to get naked with the big, sexy man.
“Sure you do.”
Clouds of steam wafted out of the open doorway, and then Ryan came out, like a dark avenging angel striding out of the clouds of the apocalypse.
“Come on,” he said, beckoning to her.
She shook her head, trying to back away as he approached.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Chapter Seven
He grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the doorway, a finger to his lips as he backed into the bathroom.
“I don’t want a bath,” she whispered furiously at him, heat rising in her cheeks. He closed the bathroom door with a sharp snap and crossed to the bathtub to open the faucets even further. Water gushed out, filling the two-berth tub at an alarming rate. Bubbles started to foam, and a rose-scented steam cloud wafted up. Rose? How...romantic.
“I’m not getting in that bath.”
He put the seat down on the toilet and sat, his long legs straddling the white porcelain.
“That’s fine, Vic. I just wanted to get you in here.”
She folded her arms and held them tight across her chest.
“Not a chance, cowboy.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Whatever it is you’re thinking, you can just go ahead and unthink it. It ain’t gonna happen. We’re on a job, for Pete’s sake. It’s unprofessional.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “While I’m flattered that you immediately jumped to that conclusion, I didn’t drag you in here for sex.” He looked her up and down, and the left corner of his mouth tilted. “No, I got you in here so we could talk.”
“Why in here? Why not outside on the patio?” Where there was no warm bath and rose-scented bubbles that were tempting her to drop everything and soak. She loved baths. Long, hot, steamy, relaxing baths, with a glass of wine and a good book. Or a good body. Ryan had a good body. Crap.
“There are listening devices planted all over that room,” Ryan said quietly, his gaze direct.
Vicky sat down on the edge of the bath. She’d figured. “Can we get rid of them?”
Ryan shrugged. “Sure. But that means that whoever planted the bugs would know that we know. It might be better for us to let them think we don’t know.”
Vicky traced a golden vein in the marble floor with her boot toe as she thought on his comments.
“There are four other couples staying here this week. Neil mentioned that we were the last to arrive. Do you think the Maxwells are on to us already?”
She looked up at him.
Ryan pursed his lips, and she stared at his mouth. She’d kissed that mouth just a couple of hours ago. And it had been magic—and oh, so wrong. Ryan was her friend. That’s all he saw her as, a friend. She knew that. In all the times he’d visited her home, he’d never once tried to take their relationship further. All those movies they’d watched on her sofa, never once had his arm stretched along the back of the lounge to “accidentally” brush her shoulders. In all the times they’d watched the games on TV while swilling some beers, he’d never once let the alcohol lower his inhibitions and make a move on her.
Jerk.
With the exception of last year’s Christmas party, there had been no intimate contact between them, and even then, it was as though Christmas hadn’t really happened. But it had, and she still daydreamed about it. And didn’t that make her the biggest idiot? He’d made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested in her as anything more than a friend. Now he was her partner undercover, and she had to stop daydreaming about something that would never happen, and get her act together.
“We don’t know if it’s the Maxwells, or maybe something that the resort does to monitor the counseling, or if there is something entirely different going on here.” Ryan stated after a moment of thought.
“So, what do we do, then?”
He looked at the door. “We have to assume that either someone is listening, or recording, constantly. I’ll get Drew to do a sweep. The bugs I saw would need to have a receiver within a certain range. Maybe he can locate the receiver, and we could get more answers.” He looked back at her. “Until then, we’ll have to treat our room as public space. Anyone could be listening.”
“You mean we’ll have to act like we’re married, even in here.” She ignored the little hitch in her stomach at the thought. Crap. What about the sleeping arrangements? They were in a luxurious resort, but there was only one, massive play-on-me bed in their suite.
Ryan nodded his expression relaxing into a grin. “Yep.” He rose from his seat and crossed to the door. “So, I guess we’re going to have to get used to being in each other’s space, so to speak.” He grinned. “For the sake of the mission, of course. Think you can handle it?”
He was enjoying this way too much. They were at a motivational retreat, where the intimate, romantic surrounds were designed to bring estranged couples together to form a stronger bond. She smiled sweetly and sidled up to him.
“Oh, I know I can,” she breathed as her hand joined his on the door handle, and his easy grin was quickly replaced with a considering look as she opened the door. She pulled him into the bedroom, and his eyes went smoke gray as he willingly followed her.
Crack. Her palm hit his cheek. “You can be such a jerk! Is it any wonder we need counseling?” she intentionally raised her voice at his stunned expression. “And if you think we’re sharing a bed again, you can think again, buster! Not until we’ve dealt with some issues. Hope you’re comfortable on the couch, because that’s where you’ll be sleeping!”
She winked and gave him a thumbs-up before skipping back into the bathroom, slamming the door between them and his frown. She chuckled softly as she turned the faucets off in the bath. That conveniently took the pressure off of sharing a bed with Ryan. She quickly quashed the wistfulness that tried to make her go back into the bedroom to kiss and make up. No. Tempting thought that it was, the relationship hangover in the morning wouldn’t be worth it.
She ignored the little voice that suggested maybe one night in Ryan’s arms would be worth it, and started to undress.
* * *
Ryan followed Vicky into the dining room, trying not to grind his teeth.
Damn minx.
While he knew he shouldn’t want to, he’d been looking forward to playing Mr
. & Mrs. with Vicky, but she’d outmaneuvered him.
Damn...minx.
Gavin Dryden approached them, a cool smile of greeting on his face that Ryan assumed the man thought was welcoming.
It wasn’t. Gavin’s expression was shrewd, constantly cataloguing body language and facial nuances. Ryan purposely kept his own expression neutral.
I play good poker, dude. Don’t waste your time.
“You made it,” Gavin said as he stopped at Vicky’s side. Ryan watched him watching Vicky’s cleavage. Underneath the assessing gaze was a trace of thinly veiled appreciation.
Yeah, she looks gorgeous, but stop looking at her like you stand a chance.
He shot Gavin a possessive glare before guiding Vicky to an empty seat at the main table. Not possessive, protective, he corrected. Vicky may be his partner, but she was his junior by experience. He had to look after her. Her safety on this case was his responsibility.
No matter what Vic might have to say about it.
He scanned the other guests. The tableau reminded him of a scene from an Agatha Christie movie, where all the beautifully dressed guests smiled and eyed each other like swamp crocodiles at sunset.
Vicky wore a floor length gown in a silken teal fabric, a discrete side slit from hem to just above the knee that performed a peep show of her curvy legs with each step she took. The rest of the dress, with its low-cut bodice and equally revealing back, skimmed her figure and brought out the sparkle in her green eyes. She wore golden strappy heels that she’d already told him hurt her feet, and it was a wonder she could walk in them, and would anyone notice if she slipped them off under the table during dinner? He’d told her to keep them on, just in case her feet stank. She hadn’t been amused.
Good, because he was good and cranky. He’d been nursing a hard-on, and hadn’t had the luxury of spending time soaking in a bubble bath. He sent Gavin another “back-off” glare and took the seat next to Vicky. Damn, the skirt had fallen open. If he looked down to his right, he would see a good portion of slim thigh.
He looked down.
Dinner was going to be excruciating. Hopefully, though, both he and Vicky would be able to scope out the group, and possibly glean who the Maxwells were masquerading as in this motley crew. And then he and Vicky could get the hell out of this place, and things could go back to the way they were before. Him in the field, and her back at the office, safe and sound.
Neil nodded at them. “Hello, glad you could join us.”
Like they’d had a choice, Ryan thought dryly. It had been explained quite politely at check-in by Meagan James, Ultima’s Guest Services Manager, that dinner for the first night of the retreat was a formal gathering. No room service would be available. Apparently it gave the guests an opportunity to get to know each other before everyone got down to the business of sorting out their emotional crap in the ensuing week.
Gavin took his seat at the opposite end of the table, while Neil rose from his position at the head.
“Good evening. I’m sure our last couple will join us shortly, but in the meantime, let me introduce you to your fellow guests for this week.
“Everyone, this is Peter and Cassandra, they’ve just arrived this afternoon. And this is Jeffrey and Margie,” he supplied, gesturing to a distinguished looking couple seated toward the end of the opposite side of the table. The way the man wore his brown hair told Ryan he was proud, and maybe just a little conceited about his thick, wavy mane with golden tips he suspected had nothing to do with activity in the sun. His wife, an attractive dark haired middle-aged woman, bore the smooth taut skin of the cosmetically enhanced, and he made a mental note to ask Drew to thoroughly look into their background. They didn’t have much information as yet on the current guests, and from the looks of things, it was going to be a trifle difficult without surnames, but the anonymity apparently helped with trust in counseling and life coaching.
Whatever.
“We have Hank and Deborah,” Neil said.
Ryan nodded to the bald man and the pretty blonde at his side. She was cute. He looked like a hard ass. Big, thickset, Hank looked pleasant enough, but his steely blue eyes suggested a ruthlessness that had Ryan adding him to the shortlist. And Deborah, well, Deborah looked like she could do with a good steak, and she had a friendly smile that seemed just a little too eager to please.
Neil gestured to the couple opposite Vicky. “And this is Elliot and Jennifer.”
Jennifer nodded coolly, while Elliot barely looked at Ryan, his attention focused on Vicky. And her cleavage.
Ryan disliked the man on sight.
“Hi, how are you?” Elliot greeted Vicky.
She smiled at him warmly. “Fine, thanks. Is this your first day?”
Elliot nodded, and gestured to his wife. “Yeah, Jennifer and I arrived this morning.” His eyes were almost devouring Vicky.
“Hi, Jennifer. How did you travel to get here?” Vicky asked politely.
Jennifer gave her a stony-eyed glare. Yeah, the woman knew exactly what was going on in her husband’s mind, apparently.
“We flew.” Her tone was brittle in its crystal coldness.
Vicky reached for a glass of water. “You flew? How lovely. From where?”
Jennifer frowned. “San Francisco.”
“Oh, I love the bay. I have friends who live there. I hear it’s been raining lately?”
Jennifer’s frown eased. “A little.”
“Hmm, do you get out on the bay much?”
“Yes, actually. We have a yacht, and went out just this weekend.”
“Sounds lovely. And what do you do, Jennifer?”
Jennifer lifted her chin. “I design handbags. I own the Elka brand.”
“Oh, I have one of those handbags. Do you do matching wallets?”
“As a matter of fact, we’re working on a range for spring,” Jennifer admitted.
Ryan sat back in his chair as he listened to Vicky thaw the woman out. Unbelievable. In just a few sentences, Vicky had managed to obtain enough information for them to find out the rest of this couple’s identities.
“So what do you do, Elliot?” Vicky asked.
“I, uh, I work in software.”
Ryan leaned forward. Simon Maxwell had an affinity with computers.
“You’re a salesman, Elliot. Plain and simple.” Jennifer snapped. She turned to Vicky. “He works at SmartComm.”
Ryan tried not to show his surprise, although Vicky wasn’t quite so successful. SmartComm was the leading technology provider for new phone and personal device technology. Advances with new voice-recognition interfaces, flexible screens and nanotech batteries had propelled the company into the global communication arena as a Goliath.
“Oh, really? That’s impressive,” Vicky said faintly.
“Thanks. I really want to get into management though. Have some input in the direction of the company, you know? That’s why we’re here,” Elliot stated, jerking his head at his wife, who just rolled her eyes.
“Hey, maybe you could help me with some issues I’m having with my network,” Hank suggested.
“Oh, Hank, I’m sure Elliot has better things to do,” Deborah said, beaming at Elliot. And just like that, Ryan saw Elliot’s attention switch from Vicky to Deborah. He pitied Jennifer.
“You’re the reason we’re late,” a woman’s voice snapped from the doorway.
“Hey, I can’t help it if I take pride in my appearance,” a male voice responded.
“Get over yourself.” This time the woman’s voice was lower, huskier, but the group had no trouble hearing her.
Ryan turned to look at the approaching couple.
His jaw dropped.
A prettier couple he had yet to see. The man was of above average height, with sandy brown hair and brown eyes. He was tanned
, with chiseled features that could easily grace a catwalk or movie screen. His expensive suit draped a fit, muscular frame, the kind of physique that required extensive weight training and truckloads of protein powder. His companion was only slightly shorter, with a mane of tawny blonde hair, long shapely legs, and startling blue eyes. She was beautiful, with the confidence of a woman who knew the effect she had on those around her.
“Ah, you made it. Everyone, this is Kurt and Paula,” Neil said, and repeated his introductions.
Ryan couldn’t stop staring at the attractive couple. Kurt nodded to the table at large while Paula busied herself with her napkin. He couldn’t help but notice it covered more of her lap than her form-hugging sequined dress did. She caught him looking at her legs, and gave him a saucy wink. Ryan’s lips quirked, and he turned back to his plate.
A throat cleared, and he darted a glance at Vicky. She was staring at him, one eyebrow cocked, before she finally smiled at Margie.
“So, what do you do, Margie?”
The dark haired woman returned her smile. “I spearhead a number of charitable organizations,” she answered smoothly. “And you?”
Ryan kept his expression calm, waiting for Vicky’s response. He wished she’d had more training, more practice at maintaining a cover.
“Oh, I’m an event organizer,” Vicky responded.
Margie’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Where do you work?”
Waiters approached the table with steaming bowls of soup, and Ryan felt Vicky startle when she recognized Drew—whose expression remained polite and distant as he placed the bowl in front of her.
“Oh, uh, anywhere I need to be,” Vicky finally answered. “New York, L.A., Paris—wherever my clients need me.”
For Her Eyes Only (McCormack Security Agency) Page 7