by Nancy Warren
“I’ll be on my way, princess. Thanks for the beer.”
“Wait.” She jerked her attention from the picture and caught his gaze, her eyes luring him. “How will we share information? Obviously it would look suspicious if we start spending time together, when everybody knows…”
“Everybody knows what?”
“That…well, we don’t exactly have a lot in common. Read my movie reviews sometime.”
“Maybe everybody is wrong.” He stepped closer, and, unable to stop himself indulging in a quick taste of her, tipping her chin and kissed her swiftly. “Anyhow, we see each other all the time at the movies.” He pulled away to see her half-dreamy expression, her plump pink lips soft and parted, their cool beer-flavored imprint still burning his own. Uh-oh. Bad, bad mistake. The kiss had been an irresistible impulse, a way to seal their bargain, but now that he’d had a taste of her, he couldn’t find the strength to pull away.
She made a small sound in her throat, part plea, part sigh, and he was lost. He pulled her to him. One hand went to the nape of her neck, to hold her in place. Her hair danced and played along his skin. Keeping his eyes on hers, he lowered his mouth slowly this time, brushing it back and forth against her lips while her eyes went soft. She sighed against him, her head tilting back against his supporting hand in a way that begged him to deepen the kiss.
He wasn’t one to turn down an invitation like that. But still he didn’t rush, enjoying her softness and surprise, watching her eyelids flutter shut and letting his own do the same as he trailed his tongue with careful deliberation around her parted lips. Then, he dipped inside, tasting, exploring—a deep, wet, intense kiss that tasted of cold beer and hot woman.
Her computer hummed quietly in the background. Somewhere outside a horn honked, but he heard only her quiet sighs and quickened breathing.
She felt warm and right in his arms, fitting as though they’d been molded for each other. Against his chest her breasts flattened and he knew he’d guessed right. There was nothing between them but sweatshirt. And that was far too much. He brought both hands to her waist and slowly raised the fleece until his fingertips skimmed creamy soft flesh that quivered at his touch. She didn’t protest, in fact her hands clutched at his shoulders, silently urging him on. Higher he took his questing hands, until they climbed past her rib cage and reached the firm swell of her breasts.
As was everything else about Tess Elliot, her breasts were damn near perfect. Not too big, not too small, but tastefully just right.
It was his turn to moan as he filled his hands with her, the hard points teasing his palms. Still kissing her deeply, he kneaded the flesh, pinched the puckered nipples lightly so she gasped and clutched at him mindlessly. She returned his kiss with a fierceness that amazed him from someone who’d always appeared so calm and controlled. He’d misjudged her, he realized, the Ice Princess wasn’t a melter—she was a volcano.
He opened his eyes to check his bearings, find the door to her bedroom. Even as he moved to lift her into his arms, she mumbled, “No. We have to stop.”
“That is a terrible idea.”
She pulled away from his mouth and rested her cheek against his chest. “Mmm, I know. But we’re rivals.”
“Right now, I’d say we’re on the same team.”
She chuckled softly, looking absurdly beautiful with her hair mussed, her lips soft and pouty and her cheeks flushed. “Tell you what. After I feed you crow, we’ll see about—” she gazed up at him, her arm gesturing between them “—about this.”
“First. I’ll be cooking the crow. Second, you’ll never be able to resist me that long.”
Laughter danced in her eyes. “What’s this? Another bet?”
He grinned back at her. “Don’t waste your money. You haven’t got a chance.”
Then, pretending it didn’t kill him to do so, he strode to the door and let himself out.
“SHOVE OVER.”
“Pardon?” Tess glanced up and there was Mike, overflowing popcorn in one hand, a soda in the other, jerking his head for her to move over a seat. He acted as though he’d forgotten all about kissing her almost senseless, which, knowing Mike and his reputation, he probably had.
“I always sit on the aisle,” she protested, feeling both cranky and insulted that he seemed well-rested when she’d barely slept the past few nights thinking about him…wanting him. She might not have a ton of experience with men, but she was pretty sure all that passion hadn’t come from her. “You always sit across the aisle,” she reminded him.
“We can’t whisper secrets if we don’t sit together,” he said, his eyes burning with intent. Not lust, as her flip-flopping heart first thought, but suppressed knowledge.
“You know something?” She moved, her reporter instincts winning over her bruised feminine pride, and let him have the aisle seat.
“I know lots of things,” he said in a tone that made her roll her eyes. “Popcorn?” He thrust the massive carton at her, causing three or four puffy white pieces to fall on her lap.
“No, thanks.” She pushed it back. “Why does your popcorn always overflow?”
“Chick at the concession has a crush on me,” he said, stuffing popcorn into his mouth. “She gives me extra.”
“The teenager with the attitude? I suppose she can’t help herself.” The smell of popcorn made her mouth water. She shouldn’t be hungry after a tofu stir-fry, but the junk-food aroma tantalized her.
“Did you talk to the Peabodys?” he asked around a mouthful of popcorn.
Did he think she was that naive? “Tell me your news first.”
He drank from the yellow plastic straw, his eyes measuring her over the lid of the soda. Blue, blue eyes that gave a woman thoughts she shouldn’t be having. “Cadman played golf yesterday.”
“His doctor will be thrilled.”
He waited her out, making her ask.
“All right. With whom did he play golf?”
His eyes crinkled. “Whom is an official of our fair city.”
There was only one official who would get Mike this excited. “You mean, the mayor?”
He nodded.
She reached into his tub absently. “They’ve been friends for years. I think they were fraternity brothers.” She pushed popcorn into her mouth, enjoying the burst of salt and butter flavors.
“The mayor—the same mayor who slipped Cadman a peek at the construction bids on the opera house—and another guy.”
“You weren’t able to prove your allegations about the mayor,” she reminded him.
“Yeah. I know. But they’re true all the same. And since then, they’ve hardly been seen together. That’s what makes this so interesting.”
“Who was the third man?”
He shook his head and scooped more popcorn, then tipped the carton her way and she helped herself. “Didn’t recognize him. I don’t think he’s from around here. Fiftyish, balding, terrible golfer.”
“That narrows it down.” The lights in the theater dimmed and the first preview rolled onto the screen. She was thirsty and without thinking, leaned over and sucked the straw, buzzed by the sizzling sweetness as the cola hit her tongue.
“Want me to get you one?”
“Hmm?” She gasped as she realized she’d just drunk from Mike’s straw. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “Sharing’s good.” But his voice sounded a little husky, as though the popcorn had scratched his throat. He took the straw for a sip and lifted his gaze. His lips closed over the place where hers had just rested.
The gesture was as deliberate, as intimate as a kiss. Even as she watched him suck the liquid up through the straw, she felt her own mouth go dry. She licked her lips and felt a sizzle on her tongue that had nothing to do with carbonation.
With a start she turned toward the screen where cartoon images flashed and bounced. “Maybe he just felt like golfing,” she whispered to Mike without daring to glance at him.
He
shifted and his arm pressed against hers, as though they were on a real date. “Cadman never does anything just for fun. Golf games are always about business. He left town a couple of hours after the game.”
A thought occurred to her and she turned to him, watched the light from the film flicker over his profile, making him seem mysterious and fascinating. “What were you doing at the golf course? I wouldn’t have thought golf was your game.”
“I’ve got a buddy who works there. He lets me know when Cadman plays.”
“You spy on Mr. Cadman?”
“Just doing my job.”
Job. Right. This was a job. Sitting beside Mike in the dim theater, so close they were touching it was hard to remember this was strictly business.
She glanced at the movie patrons in the rows ahead, couples mostly. She saw arms around shoulders, heads leaning close to each other, a quick kiss. She and Mike must look like those dating couples: sharing popcorn, a drink, going home together after the show to pick up where they’d left off…. No. Bad idea. This might feel like a date, but it was work.
“Did you take pictures?” she murmured.
A short pause. “I might have.”
“Let me see them when they’re developed. It’s possible I’ll recognize the person.”
“I’ll swing ’round to your place after I pick them up from the drugstore.”
“Drugstore?” She turned to him once more. “Won’t your photography department develop them?”
“Sure they would. And my ass would be fired within the hour.”
She winced. “Sorry. I forgot.” He had a lot riding on this story. So did she. They couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
“Any luck finding out who Nathan Macarthur is?”
“Lives in Spokane. Has a couple of kids and a mortgage. He’s owned the Pasqualie River property for at least twenty years. He doesn’t work for Cadman, he sells insurance. How about you? Get in to see Margaret Peabody yet?”
Tess shook her head. “She’s out of town, too. But I did drop by my mother’s club and have lunch with her today.”
“Well, that’s a big help. My lunch took ten minutes and came with ketchup and mustard. Yours?”
“I left after two hours. I didn’t even have time for the dessert trolley.”
“Please. I’m gonna cry.”
“Cry then. I won’t bother telling you about my conversation with Mmes. Brewster, Spencer, Ellis and Lowe.”
He glanced at her with scorn. “Pasqualie ladies who lunch. What did you talk about? New ways to keep your diamonds shiny?”
She smiled at him. An empty social smile. He did not deserve to be working with her. “The spring social calendar, actually.”
A beat passed in his tiny reptilian brain. He must realize she’d brought up the subject for a reason. She simply stared at him until he gave in and asked, “Anything else?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, they all contributed to B.I.B.”
She smoldered at him until he huffed. “Okay, you have different sources than me.”
She really wanted to punish him, but she wanted to share more information. “Those women were all approached by a couple of new club members who sold them B.I.B. memberships to help save the eagles. They were younger women. I recognized one of the names. A friend of Jennifer Cadman’s.”
Oh, she had his attention now. “Cadman’s daughter? Coincidence?”
“Not unless it’s a coincidence that both members work for Mr. Cadman.”
“I know Jennifer collects a paycheck from her dad. Supposedly, she does P.R. or something.”
Tess nodded. “I asked my mother. The woman who sold memberships also work for him.”
“What is his game?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But we’re going to find out.”
TESS WAS CHOPPING vegetables for a dinner salad the next evening when her door buzzer rang. She seriously considered ignoring it, knowing who was at the door. Only one person in her life showed up without the courtesy of a phone call first. It buzzed again, sounding like a long irritable hurry up.
She popped a slice of red pepper into her mouth and crunched it while she made her way slowly to the intercom. Mike was pretty much impossible to ignore. Besides, she wanted to see those golf pictures.
“Hey, Tess.” He breezed in once she’d let him up.
She was torn between pleasure at seeing him and annoyance at his casual assumption that she’d be alone and able to drop everything at his whim. “Does it ever occur to you I might be entertaining?”
He jumped back into the hall, his face registering ludicrous horror. “What, your high-society friends?”
“No! I don’t have—I mean…” She sighed and opened the door wider. “Come in. As it happens there’s no one here. What I’m trying to say is, I’d appreciate it if you’d call first.”
He lowered his voice and his eyes twinkled, “Afraid I’ll catch you in flagrante delicto?”
Her cheeks grew warm and she opened her mouth to tell him he most certainly would not find her in flagrante anything, then decided she didn’t need to tell him about her private life. All they’d shared was a couple of steamy kisses, not enough to give him prying rights. She settled on an enigmatic, “Perhaps.”
For a second his eyes flamed with dangerous heat. Jaw set, he stomped past her into the apartment once more, muttering.
“I beg your pardon?” She didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated that it obviously hadn’t occurred to him she might entertain male company—other than him.
“I’m saying we need to have some rules about this if we’re working together. No…” He made a circular gesture with his hands, as a conductor would to the violin section.
“No…?” She made the gesture back to him, wondering what on earth he was trying to say.
“No flagrante delicto so long as we’re working together.”
“I didn’t know celibacy was part of the deal.” Exasperation crept into her tone; she was still irritated she’d let that kiss get so out of hand the other night. “Does that go for both of us?”
He turned to her, scowling. “My place is a worse rental dump than this. That’s why your apartment is operation central. We keep all files, notes, photographs here. You let one of your high-society pretty boys in here, they might go squealing to Uncle Tyrone. Then our goose would be cooked but good.”
“Your goose, actually,” she reminded him. “My goose is nowhere near the fire.”
He shot her a filthy look, then dug out a photo from the leather satchel slung over his shoulder. “You know this guy?”
The color eight-by-ten showed Ty Cadman with the mayor and another man in earnest conversation. They leaned on golf clubs, but something about the intensity in their expressions made Tess think they weren’t talking about the next hole. As Mike had already told her, the man with Mr. Cadman was in his fifties, balding and it seemed to her he wore golf clothes as though they belonged to someone else. Mr. Cadman, on the other hand, appeared as relaxed as if he lived in his golf duds. “Interesting.”
“So? Do you know him?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him, although…” She racked her memory but couldn’t come up with anything. “He looks vaguely familiar.”
“My buddy said he’s not a regular or a club member. Cadman booked the tee time and signed this guy in as a guest.”
“Could he be another old school friend?”
He gestured to the photo. “Didn’t look to me like they were talking about bogies and birdies.”
“Hmm?” She raised her head from the photo, puzzled.
“Haven’t you ever golfed?”
She shuddered and shook her head. Just the thought of those ladies’ foursomes with cocktails to follow made her shy away from the sport.
“That’s golf jargon. A birdie is when you hit one under par, a bogie means you shot one too many and an eagle is when—”
Her soft gasp stopped him.
“What
?”
“Eagles.” She rubbed the tip of her tingling nose. “That’s why his face was familiar. I’m almost certain he was in a group photo in the B.I.B. office. That man is somehow involved in Bald is Beautiful.”
“Come on, Cadman would cook an eagle and eat it before he’d try to save it.”
Above her desk hung a bulletin board. Mike found a pushpin and stuck the photo on the board next to a reminder of her next dentist appointment.
Without so much as asking her permission, he pulled open her middle drawer and found a felt marker. “Who and why?” he scribbled across the top of the photo, his handwriting just as illegible as she’d guessed it would be.
“There has to be a connection with B.I.B.” she said, wishing she had more than gut intuition to go on.
“What’s an environmental group got to do with Cadman?” Mike asked.
“I don’t know. But his employees are selling B.I.B. memberships.”
“Could be coincidence.” He slipped off his sneakers, then his navy socks and began to pace her living room. “But I think you’re right. Bald is Beautiful is the key.”
“We need a copy of that member list,” Tess said, watching his bare feet track across the cheap carpet. He had sexy feet. Long and narrow, the toes straight and the nails square. A tiny tuft of black hair grew on the knuckle of each big toe.
“How do you feel about a little breaking and entering?”
She gaped at him. “Are you determined to end up in jail?”
“All for a good cause.”
“You’d also get fired,” she reminded him, knowing he dreaded that more than a jail cell.
“There is that.” He went back to pacing, a frown of concentration on his face. Then suddenly he stopped. “We’ll have to infiltrate the organization.”
What was wrong with the man? “Mike! We’re reporters not the FBI.”
He didn’t seem to hear her. He continued pacing. “Did you join B.I.B.?”
“Yes, but that was because—”
“I’ll join, too. We’ll go to the meetings, maybe get you elected to the board or something. Even a crackpot bunch of bird lovers must have a board of some kind. No, dammit. That will take forever.” He snapped his fingers. “Secretary. Volunteer to be their secretary. Then you can have access to all their records.”