Honeymoon with a Stranger

by Frances Housden

  Mac left before she could let rip. Put on a show? She hadn’t signed up for this. In fact, she hadn’t signed up for being intimidated by Mac, or being taken hostage.

  And she definitely hadn’t signed up for sharing a bed with a man she’d known less than six hours.

  Chapter 4

  Mac sent up a silent thank-you to his Maker that he discovered the camera on top of the armoire before starting his search.

  Guess they hadn’t counted on him being so tall.

  His second piece of luck was in knowing the make and model. It recorded in monochrome and was triggered by movement, but it didn’t have a facility for sound.

  It irritated him to know that if his mind had been on the job, instead of worrying about Roxie, he would have anticipated its presence.

  It made sense that Zukah wouldn’t expect him to go around talking to himself. That didn’t mean he could discount them having placed listening devices.

  The camera meant he needed to take a much more subtle approach to searching for the little beasties.

  On leaving the bathroom, the first place he’d checked had been behind the armoire. The woodwork was badly scarred and it was too heavy to move without making a noise.

  He’d run his fingers down the small gap between it and the wall next to the bathroom door and found nothing. But the armoire wasn’t as high as the bar he used to do chin-ups.

  As soon as he raised his head above the contoured wooden ledge, he’d noticed where the dust had been disturbed.

  Then again, the wire leading from the miniature camera was a complete giveaway. What bothered him most about the setup was the camera angle. It hit the bed square on.

  Roxie was going to give him problems, or maybe not. Maybe the camera had solved that one for him.

  His mind raced ahead, planning.

  Content with his decision, he took off his jacket, folded it and laid it on the floor by the side of the immense piece of furniture, all this done without moving in front of the camera.

  Roxie had to be in the shower by now and the plastic curtain ought to give the illusion she was safe from prying eyes.

  Clouds of steam engulfed him when he opened the door. Once inside, he saw a neat pile of folded clothes on the white marble counter surrounding the basin, while her black boots sat on the floor.

  Behind the opaque white plastic her shape was a pink blur, an enticing blur. Too bad that the time, the place, the woman and the moment were all wrong.

  It hadn’t occurred to him that she might not have heard him enter as he called out, “Roxie?”

  She let out a whoop of surprise and for a moment looked as though she might slip. He stepped forward to catch her, but all that happened was the plastic curtain ballooned, then resettled.

  Rosy-cheeked, her head appeared around the edge of the shower curtain.

  He hadn’t the heart to tell her that the plastic she was clinging to for protection showed the perfect curve of her breasts with their dusky centers as clearly as if it had been fashioned from glass.

  “What are you doing here? Can’t I have a shower in private?”

  “This is urgent or I wouldn’t have intruded. There’s a camera….”

  “What, in here?” The hem of the curtain skidded across the metal bath as she wrapped it closer. Close enough for him to tell that the hair guarding the apex of her thighs was as brown as the damp strands curling against her cheeks.

  “No. It’s on top of the armoire and aimed straight at the bed.” While he watched her take in the information, he kept his eyes fixed on her face. Her panic would only escalate if she looked down and saw the view he had of her nude figure.

  “Wonderful, we have a permanent Peeping Tom in the bedroom. We’ll never get away with pretending to be lovers.”

  “Yes we will.” He needed to persuade her it was imperative they make the show convincing.

  “Look, I’m not saying it will be easy. This bathroom is the only place we can let down our guard. But once they suspect that we’re playacting…”

  He paused, wondering how he could put it without alarming her more than he already had. “Wouldn’t you enjoy fooling them?”

  Her wet eyelashes were clumped together by small droplets that fell as she nodded emphatically. “I’d like that very much.”

  From where she stood their eyes were level at last, but it only served to emphasize how tiny she really was, and make him wonder once more what had made her go into the spy business.

  But his momentary lapse into empathy now made him even more blunt. “I’m still the man with the money, they need me. If they discover my deception they’ll probably put it down as a hero complex and laugh it off as some stupid act of valor, it’s a guy thing. But you…?”

  He gave it to her straight with the certainty that she wouldn’t thank him for treating her like a child.

  He’d been correct. She shook fear by the throat and said, “Come on, Mac, spit it out. They’ll kill me, won’t they?”

  Reluctant to load her with more bad news, he bit the inside of his cheek, before deciding that this was one aspect of their incarceration he could share with total honesty.

  Hell, she was an experienced agent; she should know the score.

  Sure, he’d had a moment’s aberration when he’d kissed her and gained a response, but they both knew that was a no-go area.

  There was a rueful quality to the sigh that accompanied the shrug of his shoulders. “I hate to admit it, but there is every chance of them taking that way out.”

  Damn, since when had he become so namby-pamby? “Chérie, what other choice have the bad guys got? You’ve seen their faces.”

  “So have you.” She did the eye-roll thing, a flash of silver that made him wish he could promise nothing would happen to her, and asked him, “Aren’t you frightened they’ll kill you as well?”

  He didn’t want to supplant the hope he saw in her eyes with disillusionment, but he had no other choice.

  Once she suspected he wasn’t as crooked as the others—that he was just a guy doing his damnedest to keep America and the rest of the world secure from terrorists—she might let her guard slip, and then it would indeed be curtains for Roxie.

  And not the see-through shower type, still giving him an occasional glimpse of her womanly charms to stir memories of having them pressed close against him.

  “The unfortunate part, chérie, is that I’m the other half of the deal. If they go down, so do I.”

  “I wouldn’t dare identify you, Mac. You saved my life.”

  “So you say now, Roxie. You could change your mind.”

  He couldn’t afford to forget that facet of the operation. Hell, with his training, he couldn’t believe an agent would put accomplishing her mission ahead of everything they’d been taught.

  Of course, Roxie could have stashed some sly tricks up her sleeve. He knew he had.

  They would be just another of the many things that she wasn’t about to share with the crook she believed him to be.

  How could he tell? It was a like a grab bag. Some were willing to confess to anything to stay safe. And against all odds, the most mild-mannered person could turn into a hero or heroine.

  Since that shared kiss, a slim thread of doubt lingered in the back of his mind. If Roxie was who she’d claimed, he was already guilty of corrupting an innocent.

  Damn, after only six hours. That would be a record.

  “What do you want me to do, Mac?”

  “Nothing drastic. I need to discover where the bugs are, but I can’t do that with that camera recording my every move.”

  He’d already thought the steps out. “Once you’re somewhat decent, come through and slip into bed. I’ll say I’m turning the light out. After that it will be easy to toss my jacket over the camera and switch the light back on so I can search for bugs.”

  She nodded at him, wet curls bouncing on her forehead as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. Yeah, she was an agent. The decision made him feel bette
r.

  “Look, even if I find the bugs, they’ll have to stay where they are. I don’t want Zukah or his lackeys suspecting anything other than that we’re content to spend some time together.”

  She showed him a wry grimace. “Our so-called honeymoon?”

  “That’s it in a nutshell. Are you with me, chérie?”

  “Of course. What choice do I have?”

  “Couple of days, tops, and we should be out of here. Until then…it will have to be make and mend as we go along.”

  “Okay, turn your back and let me get out of the shower.”

  “No, hang on a minute.” He pulled out his shirt and began to unfasten it.

  “Are you going to have a shower after all?”

  “No, I’m going to wet my hair and pretend we’ve shared a shower.” He stripped off his shirt, then turned on the faucet.

  The water had just begun to run when Roxie cried, “Ow!”

  The faucet spun round in his fingers as he shut it off again. “Sorry, forgot these old-fashioned systems wouldn’t have a pressure equalizer. Did I burn you?”

  “Not in any way that counts. The water just turned icy. Let me get out first this time.” She turned around and once more all he could see was a flesh-colored blur, but she’d left him wondering what she meant by saying, Not in any way that counts?

  He’d just decided if anyone ended up burned by this arrangement it could be him, when she said, “Shower’s off.”

  Mac began running hot water into the basin.

  “When I leave here, I’ll make a show of looking through the armoire to see if anything useful has been left in it. Just remember not to look straight at the camera. And no matter what, follow my lead. Act as if you love me.”

  He almost told her, The way you did when I kissed you. She didn’t seem to have to put on an act then.

  Her mouth had simply flowered under his.

  In the mirror he watched his own mouth twist in an expression of grim reality. Until he had Thierry check Roxie out, she’d better believe his was simply an act to make sure they both survived.

  That way, he might not only get out of this situation alive but with his honor still intact.

  “What are you doing, chéri? Come to bed.” Mac heard a sultry ring of impatience in Roxie’s voice. Only the two of them knew it wasn’t the sound of a hot-blooded woman anxiously awaiting her lover.

  Or, that having him in bed with her was way down on her wish list, if indeed it made it at all.

  “Soon as I switch off the lights.”

  Under cover of darkness, he threw his leather jacket over the camera, but before turning them on again there was something he needed to be sure of.

  Barefoot, he padded softly toward the window. A pale gold haze bloomed behind the trees like dawn on the horizon. Since it wasn’t anywhere near daybreak, it could only mean a largish town wasn’t too far distant.

  Interesting, but that wasn’t what he needed to know. The window overlooked the dark driveway and was unbroken by patches of light.

  That meant the other occupied rooms must face the back of the house, which meant it was okay to flick the switch on without anyone noticing there was light coming from the attic while the monitor showing the attic was dark.

  “How many extra quilts did you pile on this bed?” Roxie’s voice sounded hot and breathless, though she’d only worn her long black T-shirt to sleep in.

  Her words reached out to him through the thick gloom, a reminder that the conversation was lagging.

  “Only two.”

  “One would have done.” As the light came back on she tossed off the quilts he’d found in the armoire and slipped out of bed. Her dark hair, dry now, had a tousled and sexy appeal, as if someone had just run his hands through it.

  For God’s sake, keep your mind on the job, Mac.

  He palmed the countersurveillance gadget. Just in time, a second later, she was over at the table standing beside him shivering. “Trust me, we’ll need them.”

  “Come under the covers and then tell me that. The sheets are cold as well.”

  He knelt down. Keeping his hands hidden, he ran a scan and found a bug. There were so few pieces of furniture this shouldn’t take long as he’d already covered the armoire.

  That left the easy chair and the bed. His concentration focused on one thing alone, and again Roxie had to fill in the conversation. “Isn’t this the most uncomfortable bed we’ve ever slept in?”

  She’d gone back to the bed and was jiggling the edge of the mattress.

  “I don’t remember doing much sleeping,” he said from the end of the bed as he knelt to check underneath and got a faint signal.

  He moved to the other side. Roxie followed by rolling across the quilts, achieving a few satisfactory squeaks of the mattress.

  They were eye to eye as she inquired, “Don’t you know a euphemism when you hear it?”

  “You mean you’d prefer me to use a much more earthy term?” he asked, then ducked his head, quick to hide his grin. And there it was, a bug behind the antique iron frame supporting the sway-backed spring base.

  Damn Zukah. That one would have to go. Somehow he’d have to make it look like an accident, so that the Algerian kept thinking he was as dumb as they were both acting at the moment.

  Her voice came down to him, “Actually, I meant instead of making love.”

  “With you, chérie—” he punctuated his words with a couple of crude kissing noises “—I always make love.” Then putting a finger to his lip, he pointed behind the headboard.

  He had to admit she was quick on the uptake. While he turned the attic into a pool of darkness for a second time, she contrived to make smooching noises on the back of her hand.

  Within two minutes he’d shed his jeans and was slipping into bed beside her.

  Tonight, though it might be uncomfortable, he kept his shorts on as a concession to Roxie, the first time he’d worn a stitch to bed since junior high.

  He felt her body heat seeping under the covers, calling him closer, or maybe that was the dip in the mattress.

  It took him a couple of seconds to realize she had been lying there rigid from the moment he hit the sheets. Time to take up the slack before his macho reputation took a dive with whoever was listening. “Chérie, I want you out of those clothes.”

  He sat up making the bed groan and finished with “Now isn’t that better?”

  Better for whom, Roxie wanted to ask, but instead infused her voice with steam heat. “Much better. Come closer, I want to feel you against me,” she told him, counting on his promise not to jump her bones. After all, they were in this together.

  The gasp he uttered satisfied the devil in her, but she wondered if he felt all that kissing of the back of her hand was worth the effort he put into it.

  Then all thought vanished as he moved his lips to the fine skin inside her wrist.

  Her pulse raced. Darn, she knew he could feel it hiccup when his lips lingered on that particular spot before moving to the inside of her elbow.

  No better. Her skin was so sensitive there that his tongue felt as rough as a cat’s as he licked at it.

  His breathing became labored and heavy and all too real, the sound of it making her head swim as her own breaths mimicked the noises he made.

  This had to stop. He could forget trying to seduce her, she wasn’t about to roll over and think of England or even France for that matter.

  “Oooh, Mac,” she groaned, thrusting off his hand so she could reach for a mental life raft.

  Whoa, Mac told himself as he came up for air.

  The sensation of her pulse jolting against his tongue was enough to tempt a saint to forget his vows.

  It was a small leap from there to remembering the view he’d had through the shower curtain. Blood rushed into his groin.

  Instead of sipping, Mac wanted to plunder. Wanted to feel her body under and over his, while he discovered some of the many delights Roxie had to offer.

  Thank God
one of them had some sense.

  But it should have been him who pulled away, not Roxie.

  He’d come up against some fantastic-looking women in his time. It was one of the hazards of his occupation. Damn, he couldn’t count the number of bad beautiful women who worked for the enemy.

  Only one had gotten past his defenses, though, and he couldn’t let that happen again.

  And why would he? He wasn’t a fool, and he wasn’t about to risk blowing his cover by sweeping Roxie into his arms and really making love to her.

  Time to get back to playacting.

  “How’s that feel, chérie?”

  “Wonderful.” The word seemed to tremble from her lips as he moved up higher in the bed. Her breath feathered across his shoulder as the dip in the mattress threw them together. Double damn.

  He pushed her away and sat up, but worse was to come. She eased up, elbow resting on her pillow and, in an impassioned whisper that rippled across the last threads of his control, said, “Oh, Mac, take me, take me now.”

  Thank God, he felt her shoulders shake. She was laughing.

  A small miracle, but he grasped it in both hands.

  Action. That’s what he needed. Holding the brass headboard with one hand, he began to bounce. Desperate times called for desperate measures, the occasional grunts from his efforts would have to pass for passion.

  When the headboard accidentally banged against the wall, he did it a few more times. Serve them right if he deafened the pervert listening and made Yves of the many hands go crazy with lust.

  That thought led straight to another, a brilliant explanation for the bug at the head of the bed breaking.

  He heard an odd hiccup from Roxie, somewhere between laughter and tears. He gave her a nudge in reply with his knee and the game was on, Mac thumping the wall while Roxie kept time.

  It was he who had trouble muffling his laughter as she did the classic coffee-shop scene of exaggerated moans. And Mac’s body felt exhilarated and exhausted at once, as if they’d really made love.

  The headboard hit the wall another couple of times, as he yelled loud enough to deafen anyone listening. Out of breath, he slid under the covers that no longer felt cold. “Was that good for you, chérie?”