My Spy

by Christina Skye

  “Must be someone else.”

  “Are you a hit man?”

  Izzy crossed his arms. “Not that I recall.”

  Taylor squinted, checking him out thoroughly. “Are you the one with the cute butt?”

  “Taylor!” Annie swayed. To her dismay, her knees were wobbling again.

  Damned scotch anyway.

  “I'm not feeling so good. I think it's time for the painful throwing up.”

  “No, that's tomorrow,” her sister said wisely. Her voice fell away as she saw a movement behind Izzy. “Well, well,” she murmured as a man loomed out of the shadows.

  Taylor took in the naked chest with ridged muscles and the worn jeans that hugged his thighs. “So this is what you've been hiding up here.” Her eyes widened as she got a closer look at Sam. “Wait a minute. He's the man from Washington. The one on the bus.”

  “No, he's not. And you never saw him,” Annie said sharply. She straightened her shoulders. “I'm going to sleep. Things are getting very fuzzy.” Especially her brain.

  She lumbered past Izzy, carefully avoiding Sam though he turned to watch her pass. By a miracle she managed to clear the top step without plunging onto her face.

  Taylor smiled broadly at the two men. “Don't mind her. It's the scotch. Or maybe it's the port and the beer. Annie never could drink.” She sized up Sam, then sighed. “She's definitely right about one thing. You do have a fine butt.”

  “DON'T SAY IT. NOT ONE WORD. ” SAM GLARED AT IZZY AS HE paced the living room.

  “Who, me?”

  “And stop looking so damned innocent. Her sister recognized your voice. How did that little fact slip past you and all our crack operatives in D.C.?”

  “She writes under a pseudonym, M. M. Taylor. No one connected that with Annie.” Izzy stared down the dark hallway, looking a little ill. “What do we do now?”

  “Gut it out. Maintain complete denial.” Sam gave an irritated sigh. “They're both seriously looped so they probably won't remember anyway. What about that crash we heard?”

  “Annie's sister front-ending a lawn mower in the golf cart. That's when they decided to walk.”

  “Mixing booze and a concussion isn't a good idea. I know, because I tried it once in Puerto Rico.” Sam paced to the hall and listened intently. “Why are they so quiet? Maybe some-thing's wrong.”

  “Stop worrying, McKade. They're drunk; it's not life threatening.”

  Sam glared down the hall. “Who's worried? If they want to get blotto, that's their problem. The idiots.” He turned his head, listening. “It's too quiet. I'm going down to check on them.”

  He moved down the hall, stopping just outside Annie's room.

  When he looked inside, his lips twitched. “The wages of sin,” he murmured.

  Annie was stretched out cold on the bed, both shoes off and one arm dangling. On the far side of the room, Taylor lay prone on the couch, a pillow over her head, snoring faintly.

  “Complete and absolute idiots.”

  Sam was fighting a grin as he covered them both with blankets. When he finished, he found Izzy waiting outside. “Dead to the world, both of them.”

  “Taylor thinks I'm a hit man,” Izzy said calmly. “Or she did until she saw your face. Your cover's blown to hell, McKade.”

  “We'll deal with that tomorrow.” Sam frowned at the light already touching the bay. “Except it already is tomorrow.” He rubbed his shoulder, which was aching again. He thought about his painkillers, but fought the temptation. “I still don't like those false alarms at the main building. Are you checking out Annie's smoke alarm units?”

  Izzy suppressed a yawn. “Already in the works.”

  “Then hit the sack. I'll listen for the Bobbsey Twins.”

  Sam thought he heard Izzy mutter something about “a fine butt” as he headed outside to the guesthouse.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  ANNIE AWOKE TO PUCCINI AND KETTLEDRUMS. SHE OPENED her eyes and immediately winced as light drilled into her cortex.

  Hungover, all right.

  She breathed very carefully, trying to make the nausea go away before she attempted to sit up. Somewhere in the distance she heard the sound of the shower going off and a door opening. Even that distant noise left her head ringing.

  “How are we doing?”

  She recognized Taylor's voice, disgustingly cheerful.

  “We?”

  “Figure of speech, of course.”

  “Other than the occasional twitching and an uncontrollable need to purge my entire stomach, I'm feeling fine.”

  “It will pass.” Taylor, the voice of experience.

  The drums and the Puccini went on hammering inside Annie's head.

  “How about something to drink? Maybe a cold Coke?” Taylor asked.

  “Only if it's got a good stiff jolt of Demerol. Or maybe I'll go straight for the curare.”

  Taylor rolled her eyes. Even that much movement made Annie's stomach pitch.

  “Drink this.”

  Annie sniffed the mixture Taylor was holding out. “What's in it?”

  “Trust me, you don't want to know. Just hold your nose and get it down.”

  Annie closed her eyes and swallowed, gagging as she caught the taste of raw egg mixed with garlic, honey, tomato juice and assorted herbs. White-faced, she sank back against the pillow. “Well, that was way beyond unpleasant.”

  “If it didn't taste so bad, it wouldn't work. What you need now is a cold shower.”

  Annie shuddered at the thought of moving. Add in frigid waves of water drilling on her cranium?

  No way.

  She cradled a pillow over her throbbing head. “I'll just stay here and expire quietly.”

  The pillow slid from her head. The covers were yanked free. “Rise and shine. Trust me, a shower will do wonders. It has to be really frigid, of course.”

  In Annie's book, the only thing worse than a cold shower was a frigid shower. Or maybe a root canal with no anesthetic.

  “Definitely count me out.”

  Taylor gripped her arm and pulled her upright.

  “Sadist,” Annie muttered.

  “Wimp,” Taylor shot back.

  “Anything else I need to know before I expire?”

  Taylor turned the shower on cold. “Just one.”

  Strange things were happening to Annie's stomach in the wake of the drink Taylor had given her. She didn't like the loud rumbling or the general distress. “Let's have it.”

  Taylor looked apologetic. “You asked about the painful throwing up part? Now is the time.”

  The door closed quietly behind her.

  Almost immediately Annie felt her stomach declare a fullscale mutiny.

  WHEN ANNIE EMERGED FROM HER BEDROOM, HER SKIN WAS BLUE and her body frozen, but the cold shower had made her feel partially human again. In the process she had also won a precarious cease-fire with her rioting stomach.

  She shuffled down the hall, targeting the scent of fresh coffee coming from her kitchen.

  As she came to the door, Sam turned, cup in hand, looking disgustingly rested. “So you're alive.”

  “Maybe we should define ‘alive’.”

  “Breathing unassisted.”

  “That I can manage. Probably.”

  “Taylor put another drink here for you before she left. If it doesn't kill you, you should feel better soon.” With a towel over one shoulder, he looked good enough to eat. His hair was tousled from a recent shower and his chest was damp. He smelled wonderful, like citrus and leather.

  “Other than the unbearable nausea and excruciating headache, how do you feel?”

  Annie covered her ears. “Could you please not shout? At least until the glass slivers stop drilling into my forehead.”

  His eyebrow rose. “That bad?”

  With a sigh, Annie slid into the booth before her kitchen window. Clouds dotted the horizon, and a dozen sea otters raced through the kelp beds.

  Very perky. They were smart enough not to
drink anything but seawater, Annie thought grimly.

  A wonderful fragrance filled the air as Sam slid a cup into her hands. “Coffee, very weak. Cream and sugar?”

  At one time he had known exactly how she liked her coffee. Annie remembered how he'd made a big deal out of adding skim milk, then one spoonful of honey.

  Now he didn't have a clue.

  She closed her eyes. Don't go there. At least not until your head seems less likely to explode.

  “Skim milk in the door of the fridge. One tablespoon of honey.” She drew another careful breath. “If you don't mind.”

  “Honey?”

  Her lips tightened. “So sue me.”

  “It's just a little … exotic.”

  Eccentric. That's what he'd called it the first time he'd watched her mix the ingredients.

  Forget about that. Remembering makes it hurt more.

  “You had a few calls,” Sam said, settling across from her.

  “Someone from the resort?”

  “A lawyer named Alex. He said he needed to talk to you.”

  Annie gasped, staring at the clock. “Why didn't someone wake me?”

  “Taylor tried about five times. The lawyer said no problem, that he'd call you tonight after his meetings.”

  Annie rubbed her forehead. “I needed to talk to him.”

  “Anything urgent?”

  “Financial stuff.” Annie looked away. “You know.”

  “If you need to talk, I'm available. I've become something of an expert on dealing with unplanned stress.”

  His voice had a husky quality that made the hair rise on Annie's neck. “No need, but thanks for the offer.”

  “In that case, how about a massage?”

  Annie was trying to come up with a polite way to refuse when Sam's strong fingers circled her neck and shoulders, then fanned out over her back.

  Heaven.

  “No, thanks,” she mumbled. But her head tilted, giving him better access to her aching shoulders.

  Laughing, Sam moved closer, framing her spine and working back up again.

  “You're pretty good,” Annie said grudgingly.

  “It pays to learn from the best. Lift your arm.”

  She complied without thought, feeling him slide in behind her and turn her gently. Her body melted under his careful kneading, muscle by muscle turning hot and loose beneath his hands.

  Those same hands were doing hot, fluttery things to her stomach. If she hadn't been so nauseated she might have jumped him.

  “Feeling better?” he whispered.

  “Ummm.”

  “How's the nausea?”

  “Down to seriously unpleasant. Nice job.”

  “Always glad to be of service.” Annie felt his lips brush her forehead. “Great hair.” His fingers moved around her waist, working small, intoxicating circles of absolute pleasure.

  Suddenly she stiffened as she felt his palms skim across her breasts.

  In a second, her insides were mush. Desire skittered wildly, leaving her dry mouthed and edgy. She turned her head, staring up at Sam.

  His smile was wicked. “Anything else you'd like? I'm feeling like a whole new man, thanks to you.”

  Annie swallowed back the gut answer. Dragging him down onto the kitchen table for blind, abandoned sex was probably not her best life choice right now.

  Even if it was incredibly tempting.

  “Anything you want, just name it,” he murmured, feathering the exquisitely tender skin behind her ear. “I'm open to suggestions.”

  She resisted the urge to tear off his sweat pants and pin him to the floor. That qualified as another unwise life choice.

  She cleared her throat. “M-more coffee,” she rasped.

  His eyes darkened. “Chicken.”

  Damned right, she thought. Besides, she probably had repulsive hangover breath.

  She closed her eyes as he did something with his fingers that had her pulse spiking. Pleasure zones were surging to life all over her body, her hangover nearly forgotten. “Hey, I'm still in a subhuman condition here.”

  “You don't look subhuman. You've got the sexiest shoulders.” Her robe inched downward. “Nice definition in your upper arms. Not much, but just right. Amazingly sexy.”

  “It's from the m-massage work I do.” The floor was looking better every moment.

  “It's a major turn-on.” He kissed one shoulder, then the other, nipping lightly with his teeth. “Makes me want to see a whole lot more.”

  Annie swallowed hard. Maybe she should forget about aiming for wise life choices. The kitchen floor was looking irresistible, especially when Sam kissed the hollow at her shoulder, stroking gently with his tongue. Who knew a shoulder could be so sensitive?

  She yelped when she heard Izzy call out from the living room. “Whenever you two are done in there, I could use some help.”

  “Go away,” Sam called thickly. “We're busy.”

  Annie opened her eyes and discovered that he was studying a major expanse of cleavage exposed beneath her robe. Her face flaming, she jerked her robe back in place and lurched to her feet. “What are you, some kind of undocumented Third World virus? I'm around you five minutes and I lose all semblance of sanity.”

  Sam grinned, looking immensely pleased at the compliment.

  Except that it was supposed to be an insult.

  “It's your call,” he said in that same sexy whisper that turned her insides hot and slick.

  “Not interested.” One of her bigger lies, Annie thought.

  “Maybe you could find some of that lavender body lotion. I'd rub it in very carefully. Anywhere you wanted.”

  Her heart took a sharp left turn into the insanity zone. “N-no thanks.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  His grin widened. Annie followed his glance downward. It was centered on the front of her robe where her nipples stood outlined, dark and tight and clearly aroused.

  “Make one comment and you're toast.”

  His mouth twitched.

  “Not one, understand? I'm getting dressed.” Annie lurched toward the door.

  “Aren't you forgetting one thing?”

  Her mind, Annie thought. But she wasn't about to admit that. She didn't turn around. “Like what?”

  He was behind her before she knew it, tall, dark, and absolutely dangerous. “I was thinking we could start right about here.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ANNIE COULDN'T MOVE, COULDN'T BREATHE. “START WITH what?”

  His mouth settled on hers, pulling out a sigh. Biting gently, he drew her closer, and as he did, his hands slipped inside her robe.

  The Puccini and kettledrums faded, replaced by Eric Clapton and a throbbing guitar solo.

  Oh, boy.

  Annie's brain fogged, and she sank against his hard body, giving her mouth over to the smooth glide of the kiss, the practiced slip of his hands.

  When she came up for air, she was horrified to find her robe making its way toward her waist. “We can't do this.”

  He nuzzled her ear. “Why?”

  “Izzy's out there, for one thing.”

  “To hell with Izzy. To hell with the whole U.S. government.” He pulled away far enough to look into her eyes, his face grave. “I've thought about this since I heard your voice in the darkness the first night I came here.”

  Not the first night, Annie thought.

  A lie.

  What happened when he realized it was a lie?

  He stroked her shoulder, his lips tracing the little hollow near her collarbone. She shivered at the warmth of his mouth, the exquisite tenderness of his touch.

  Suddenly her sensible, practical life choices were fading fast.

  “Sam, I—”

  “God, you're beautiful. When your voice goes husky like that, I can't see straight.” His fingers eased over her hips, drawing her against his locked thighs. “I want to be inside you, Annie. I want it slow and long.”

 
; The words had her head spinning. So did his callused fingers as they slid over her aroused breasts.

  When she didn't answer, he drew her hair from her cheek and studied her gravely. “Any thoughts about that?”

  She took a hard breath. “I want a lot of things, Sam. A red Ferrari. A week in Paris. A private tour of the White House. That doesn't mean I get to have them.”

  His mouth curved. “I'm better than a red Ferrari. Better than Paris. Believe me.”

  She did believe him, and that made matters worse. Right now everything about him made her think of sex. She closed her eyes as he nuzzled her jaw. How did the man reduce her to mush this way?

  “There are rules, Sam. This probably breaks them all.”

  His eyes were dark, hungry. “We're adults, we're both free. Anything else is irrelevant.”

  “But you—”

  On the desk beside them the phone rang. Their eyes locked, and neither one moved.

  “You're going to have to face this thing that's happening between us sometime,” Sam said hoarsely. “We both are.”

  The phone continued to ring.

  Annie sighed and pulled away.

  “Let it ring.”

  “I can't. It could be a problem at the resort.” She swept up the phone. “Yes?”

  There was a slight pause. “Oops. Hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

  Taylor.

  Annie gripped the phone, trying to focus as Sam kissed the sensitive curve of her ear. “N-nothing major.”

  “You sound out of breath. Still hungover?”

  Annie cleared her throat, hiking up the sleeve of her robe. “More or less. What was in that drink you gave me—besides hemlock?”

  “I'll give you the recipe when you're not feeling nauseous. Is your friend still there?”

  Annie closed her eyes as Sam drew her back in his arms. “My friend?”

  “The one with the eyes that don't miss anything. And the cute butt,” Taylor added helpfully.

  Annie swallowed. “He's here.” And he was nibbling on her earlobe in a way that would soon have her begging for mercy. “But you've never heard of him, understand?”

  “Sure, whatever. I just wanted to be sure you weren't suffering from whiplash or something.”