My Spy

by Christina Skye

  She was suffering all right. Any minute she might tear off her robe and slide right down onto the floor, throwing her heart away on a man she barely knew.

  For a second time.

  Annie took a shaky breath. “I'll survive the whiplash. The hangover's a little uncertain.”

  “I told you to go easy on the scotch.”

  His expression unreadable, Sam skimmed his knuckles over her chin. Without a word, he turned and brushed lightly across the tips of her breasts.

  Her breath caught hard.

  “You okay, Annie?”

  “Fine.” Terrible. “G-great.” Crazy. “But I have to go. I need to get dressed. I need—”

  Sam. Naked and inside her.

  It had to be the hangover, Annie told herself as his lips replaced his hands, sliding over her breasts with a slow, patient intensity that missed nothing.

  Annie bit back a gasp. Her robe slid lower. She almost dropped the phone, but Sam caught it and held it to her ear.

  “Talk,” he whispered. “Don't stop on my account.”

  Annie covered the receiver. “Stop,” she whispered. “I can't think straight when you—”

  “I don't want you thinking straight,” he said hoarsely. “I want you out of your mind, just as hot as I am.” His eyes were glinting as he kissed his way down the center of her robe, opening it slowly.

  “Annie, are you all right?”

  “What? Oh, I'm fine, Taylor. Maybe a little hot. From the hangover. Like that,” she said breathlessly.

  “You don't sound okay. I'll see you later for a massage.”

  “Taylor, I don't have time for—”

  “You never have time. That's why I booked us for three o'clock.”

  Desire was blurring Annie's vision. “But I—”

  “In the meantime, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Fortunately, that leaves you a whole lot of ground to cover.” Taylor laughed softly. “And you can tell that to your friend with the cute butt when he's finished kissing you.”

  “Who said—”

  “Such an innocent.” Taylor was laughing as the line went dead.

  “Well?”

  Annie gripped the phone irritably. “Well what?”

  “The call. Your sister, I take it?” Sam set the phone back in its cradle. “Sounds like she doesn't miss much. She won't talk, will she?”

  “You can trust her. She knows this is important.” Annie frowned. “That doesn't mean she won't waylay me and demand details.”

  Sam nudged the belt of her robe. “Maybe we should work on that. Who knows, we might even make it into one of her books.”

  “Forget it.” Annie was thinking again, and she wasn't liking what she saw. She couldn't afford to succumb to his charm again while the situation was so complicated—and her own emotions so raw. “I have to go.”

  “You can't keep running, Annie.”

  “Who's running?”

  “You are. We both know it. But when you stop, I'm going to be here waiting. Just remember that.”

  Irritated, she tugged her belt from his fingers. “Very smooth. I bet that line gets all your women flustered, panting to fall into your bed.”

  “You're the only one I want.”

  “Probably because I'm the only one who ever said no.”

  “You're wrong.” His finger traced her check. “But I won't push you. For now. And you'd better hurry, because your assistant called. You're supposed to introduce the spa cuisine demonstration, and it begins in …” He glanced down at his watch. “In eight and a half minutes.”

  Annie stifled an oath. How could she have forgotten? “I'll never make it now.” She jammed a hand through her wayward hair, then caught the dress Sam tossed to her.

  “I found this in your closet. Your shoes are over by the couch. Get going, Doc.”

  “But my—”

  Two pieces of lingerie came hurtling her way.

  I can do this, Annie thought grimly. “Turn around,” she ordered.

  With a shrug, Sam turned. Annie dropped the robe and yanked on panties, camisole, and dress, then jammed the buttons closed, her eyes on the red wall clock.

  Six minutes.

  She straightened her collar. “I need my—”

  Her brush landed beside her on the couch.

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Annie smoothed her hair, swept up her purse from the desk.

  Five minutes.

  “All done. I'm out of here.” She rolled her shoulders. “Minutes to spare.”

  Sam was smiling broadly when he turned around to study the finished effect.

  “What's wrong?”

  “Your shoes.”

  Annie looked down. She was wearing one red sandal and one leopard-print pump. “It's a fashion statement,” she snapped.

  Sam continued to smile.

  “So who's stressed?”

  “Not you. No, ma'am.”

  “Then what's so funny?”

  “Not a blessed thing.” Sam tossed her the other sandal, then opened the door. “You've got four minutes left, Doc. Go knock 'em dead.”

  THE COOKING DEMONSTRATION WAS A HUGE HIT.

  Annie sat back with a sigh, watching Zoe orchestrate a fourcourse gourmet meal for twelve executive men and women who were one step closer to living a healthy, stress-free life, thanks to exercise instructions, gourmet recipes, and a sample of her lavender-glow kelp-and-marine-salt scrub for face and body.

  But the only body Annie had in mind was lean, six foot four and drop-dead fabulous.

  Right now that body was adding dangerously to her own stress level.

  Smiling, she shook the last hand, and passed out the last sample of Summerwind Sea and Sand Body Glow. As she did, she tried not to think about the man in her casita who made her own body glow outrageously.

  “I have one question, Ms. O'Toole.” The guest was trim and stylish in purple capris, pink sandals, and a leopard-print turban. Her white hair was impeccable, and she didn't look a day over sixty, though Annie knew she was closing in on eighty. “Yes, Ms. Sanderson.”

  “Coco, please. I liked what you said about finding the moment and staying with it. But it's not always easy, is it?”

  “If it were easy, there wouldn't be monasteries in Asia filled with people trying to get it right.”

  “I suppose not.” The woman nodded slowly. “Well, my question concerns sex. Are you for or against?”

  Annie crossed her arms, watching the guests crowd around Zoe and her amazing grilled salmon with corn relish and organic basil vinaigrette. The dishes smelled heavenly, but Annie wished the dry taste in her mouth would go away. After four hours, it was all that remained of her hangover. Or maybe it was the remains of Taylor's hangover remedy. “Are we being theoretical here, Coco?”

  The tiny woman in purple stared out at the sea lions in the bay. “Sex is never theoretical. My first husband told me that the night we met, and he was right. I was in the chorus in a revival of Mame on Broadway. Frank was escorting a dozen shipping millionaires from Osaka. I still remember that flutter when he looked at me.” She turned back from the window. “Five husbands, six children, twenty-one grandchildren, and I still remember Frank and that first amazing flutter.”

  Annie waited, trying to figure out the question. “A flutter is good.”

  “It's good when you're twenty. It's not so good when you're sixty-three. Well, actually I'm seventy-nine, but that's no one's business.”

  Annie heard the polite warning and smiled. “Damned straight. My lips are sealed.”

  Coco tilted her head. “I like you, Ms. O'Toole.”

  “Call me Annie, please.”

  Coco nodded. “With pleasure. I won't take up much of your time, since I can see you're a busy professional woman dealing with her own points of stress.”

  Was she ever, Annie thought. But the guest always came first. “Take your time.”

  The slender woman looked out the window some more. “I've had five husbands
. You'd think that would be enough.” She fingered her bracelet, a hammered slide of gold and platinum that probably cost about a mouth's stay at the resort. “But someone came into my life. My family thinks I'm crazy, and my friends are aghast, but he makes me feel it all again. The flutter, you know?”

  Annie knew all about the flutter. She was starting to wish she didn't. “That sounds wonderful.”

  Coco nodded, her eyes still on the seagulls. “That's what I thought at first, but why should I have all that again? My life is calm, well ordered. I've got friends, family, responsibilities. He makes me feel like I'm twenty, and I'm not even talking about the sex, which is absolutely amazing.” She fingered the bracelet, frowning. “He's fifty-four, Annie. Not much older than my son.” Her eyes clouded. “He says we could have ten good years, maybe more. I love him, but at my age, why should I jump off that cliff again?”

  Annie tried to come up with an answer. “Because you're alive. Because you've got things to learn and share. And because it's a pretty amazing cliff when you find it.” Annie's lips twitched. “And because the sex is stupendous.”

  Coco laughed, a smooth ripple of sound. “Indeed, it is.” She stood some more, her brow wrinkled. “Relationships 101. I wonder if we ever learn all the lessons.”

  Annie searched through her bag and pulled out a book. “This might help.”

  The woman scanned the foiled title. “Thirty Days to a Stress-Free Sex Life. It better not take any longer or I might not be around for the last chapter.”

  “I have a feeling you're going to outlive all of us.”

  Coco patted her turban and smiled. “I'm definitely going to try. And I appreciate the book. The next thirty days should be most invigorating. I had a feeling you could help, because you know how it is.”

  “I do?”

  “The flutter. The zing.” The tiny woman nodded. “I saw it when you rushed in this morning. The way you carried yourself, trying not to look distracted. Smiling when you thought we weren't watching.”

  Am I that transparent? Annie wondered.

  “Yes, this is the tricky time, isn't it?” Coco cradled the book. “The tricky time when sex turns to something more. Watch yourself, Annie. Remember, that first step is amazing, but it's a long way down to earth.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  WHAT WAS IT ABOUT SEX?

  Annie drummed her fingers on her cluttered desk. Good sex was unpredictable, time-consuming, and often messy, and it grabbed you by the jugular when you least expected.

  Not sex, a voice whispered.

  Love.

  Annie stiffened.

  No way. Not a chance.

  Zippo.

  Love was not involved here, not in a thousand years. All she and Sam had was a volatile chemistry, an arresting physical awareness.

  And the sex had been amazing, Annie thought, feeling that familiar zing.

  But it wasn't love or anything close. She had her resort, her career, her friends, and Sam had his own demanding career. This chemistry between them was going nowhere beyond a few pleasant hours in bed.

  But a quiet voice intruded. What if there could be more? Plenty of people manage to mix careers with full private lives.

  Suddenly Annie wanted all that. She wanted to be like Coco Sanderson, with memories of a rich, full life. With a house full of photographs instead of a full Rolodex and calendar full of business meetings with people she barely knew and hardly liked.

  Annie closed her eyes. She had a thousand things to do. She didn't have time to be indecisive and moody while she obsessed over the merits of recreational sex. Fantasies were lovely, but this was daylight. She had decisions, responsibilities, and a resort to manage.

  And no matter what she decided, Sam would be gone in a matter of weeks.

  She simply wasn't going to tumble into an affair. She wouldn't put her heart up for target practice a second time.

  There was a tap on her door. “Buzz called,” Annie's assistant said. “So did your sister. I left a phone slip there on your desk.”

  “Sorry, they're lost beneath the last batch of supplier files. Who knew that finding a source for rosemary and lavender essential oils could be so difficult?”

  Her assistant frowned. “Well, you'd better call Taylor back. She sounded edgy.”

  “Taylor always sounds edgy. It's that writer thing.”

  “No, she was worried about you. She wanted to be sure you don't sneak out and miss your three o'clock appointment.”

  “I'm not sneaking anywhere, don't worry.”

  “You also had a call from a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle. She wants to do a lifestyle piece on the resort. New answers to old problems, that kind of thing. She sounded smart.”

  Annie shook her head. “You know the rule, Megan. No publicity. People pay to come here to get away from all that. Tell her the usual. We appreciate the interest from such a fine publication, etc., etc.”

  “I think you're making a mistake.” Megan's voice grew firmer. “The right kind of publicity would be priceless, especially with this new line of body products.”

  Annie considered it. “If she calls again, get her name and number and tell her we'll be in touch.”

  “But—”

  “Thanks, Megan. I know you'll handle it gracefully. Then why don't you break for lunch?”

  No publicity was her parents' policy, and Annie meant to maintain it. She'd launch her new spa products strictly by private mailings and word of mouth, then see what happened.

  Annie rubbed her eyes. She'd hit a few more files before she took a break for lunch herself.

  She was elbow deep in lavender sachets when the phone rang. With Megan at lunch, Annie took the call, muttering when it turned out to be someone trying to sell a time share in Aruba.

  After pouring a fresh cup of oolong tea, she pulled out a new batch of lavender samples, some from as far away as England and France. Pricey, but quality counted. Given the competition in high-end beauty products, Annie knew her line had to be smarter, fresher, and more effective to have a chance at success.

  She jumped as the phone rang again.

  “No, I'm not interested in a time share in Aruba.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Why not?” It was Buzz Kozinski.

  Annie drew a slow breath. “Sorry, Buzz. Just some back and forth with a pushy salesman.”

  “You want to borrow my gun for a few hours?”

  Annie could almost see the grin on his calm, ruddy face. “I smell a trick question here.”

  “No trick. I've had my fill of pushy phone solicitors, too. Only thing worse are their pushy lawyers.”

  Annie thought of Tucker Marsh and suppressed a shudder. “No argument there. But I'll pass on the gun rental, Buzz, kind as it is. What can I do for you?”

  A chair creaked. “I've been thinking about that fire alarm. Did you have the units checked out?”

  “It was a short in the fuse box. One of the repairmen must have mangled the wiring.”

  “No other problems?”

  “Just an obnoxious lawyer and a bad-tempered whirlpool.”

  “Is the lawyer a guest?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Anything you need my help for?”

  Annie was sorely tempted to lay out the problem for a sympathetic listener, but she resisted the urge. The buck stops here, her grandma had said, long before Truman hit the White House. “It's nothing, Buzz. I appreciate your support, but I'll handle it.”

  “You sure? You want to make a complaint, I'll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Thanks, but I was just letting off steam. It's been one of those days.” And the hangover hadn't helped.

  “I know all about those days. Matter of fact, I just picked up a shoplifter over at the Stop 'n Buy. He stole some lighter fluid and set fire to the mayor's car. Claimed she was in league with the Russian mafia, and they've been abducting people and selling their organs to wealthy Arab oil sheiks.”

  “Interesting theor
y.” Annie frowned. “The mayor's okay, I hope?”

  “Just fine. Unfortunately, her black BMW is toast.”

  “And I thought my day was bad.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Annie saw her door open. Suddenly her day got a whole lot worse. Tucker Marsh strode toward her, his eyes small and mean. “I want to talk to you.”

  “I'm on the phone, but I'll—”

  He crossed his arms. “Now.”

  “I believe you'll have to make an appointment, Mr. Marsh.”

  “Forget an appointment.” He watched her with predatory intensity as he moved around the desk. “It was bad enough when I couldn't get a decent meal. Now I can't book a massage or get private exercise training. Everyone claims to be busy.”

  Because she had warned them to provide no private services to Marsh until further notice.

  Annie pushed to her feet, her heart pounding.

  “I'll be with you in a second, Buzz.” She put down the phone, studying Marsh coolly. “You were told when you registered that services would be scaled back this week. You do remember, don't you?”

  “I remember every word.” Marsh leaned over the desk. “Your services are inadequate. I expect a complete refund.”

  Annie had the sudden sense he had done this before. He probably considered it a pleasant game to bluster his way out of paying for his vacations.

  She picked up an onyx letter opener and tapped it against her wrist, letting him wait for an answer.

  “Well?” he snapped.

  “Your money will not be refunded. If you choose to leave early, we will cancel the bill for any remaining days.”

  “You must be nuts. I'm going take you apart in court. When I'm finished you won't be able to pay people to come to Summerwind.”

  “Is that a threat?” Annie asked, her voice like silk.

  Marsh leaned over the table and caught her arm. “What the hell do you think?”

  “I think that you've had your way too often. If you pursue this course of action, I'll release the sworn complaints of women whom you have harassed and intimidated. I will add my own complaint to those.”

  His fingers tightened. “Big talk. But that's all it is.”

  Annie pointed up to the security camera, which was directed at her desk. “I wonder how your outburst will look on video in the courtroom.” She pushed away his hand. “I expect I'll have bruises here in the morning. Those should look interesting on film, too.”