by Diana Duncan
An attached small dining area contained a whitewashed pine circular table flanked by four chairs. She caught a glimpse of emerald-green tiles and matching curtains in the kitchen.
Gabe gestured as he led her down the hallway. "Kitchen, deck on the patio, complete with hot tub. Unless that would freak you out?" He looked over his shoulder, brows raised.
"No, bathtubs and hot tubs don't bother me."
"Head, er, bathroom, to your right, hope you don't mind sharing." He pointed at the first door on the left. "Equipment and surveillance room. Stay out of there. My room," he indicated the last door on the right. "In which you're cordially welcome, anytime." The wolfish grin curving his lips sent an annoying sizzle sparking through her again.
Get a grip.
"Guest room." He opened the last door on the left and stood to one side so she could enter before depositing her suitcase on the powder-blue down comforter. "We've got forty minutes, so don't dawdle." Muttering something about his brain cells going AWOL, he departed.
A seascape hanging over the bed caught Tessa's gaze. A cold, anxious shudder wracked her. Deliberately turning her back on the painting, she slid the mirrored closet doors aside to hang her dresses on the empty rod. Arranging her clothes in the whitewashed dresser took ten minutes.
She changed, grabbed her raincoat, and strolled into the living room. Her new roommate turned from the window. His black tailored suit fit his muscular body to perfection. A heathered gray shirt and jade and gray patterned tie emphasized his striking green eyes. With his thick hair tamed back from its usual tousled state, he looked like he'd stepped off the pages of GQ. Very unlike the roguish pirate she'd gotten used to. Her throat constricted. "You look—" Good enough to take a bite out of "—nice."
"Thank you. You look nice yourself." Gabe let the drapes fall closed and studied the intriguing woman in front of him. She'd clipped her hair back, ruthlessly subduing her lush copper curls. An oversize, drab gray dress hid her spectacular figure. Clunky "sensible" shoes completed the ensemble.
Desire arrowed through his gut, his skin hot and tight. Damn, what was it about her? He'd never had a reaction like this to a woman. Oh, yeah, he was familiar with lust. This was something more.
He'd wanted Tessa at first sight, but the feeling went deeper than lust, and was much more complicated. Her sharp intelligence piqued his interest. Her quick retorts tweaked his sense of humor, and inspired reluctant affection. Her incredible courage and composure in the face of grave danger had won his respect. Complications he didn't need.
He swallowed the uneasiness churning inside him. He sure as hell wasn't used to being attracted to a woman for her mental attributes. In fact, he never stayed long enough to get to know them, or for attachments to form. On either side. Nothing lasted, nothing was forever.
No matter what starry-eyed romantics claimed, nobody would ever love him enough to stick around. He already knew that. So, he left before they could leave him. That way, he did the walking out. That way, nobody got hurt. He ignored the tightness in his chest, the aching desperation, and shrugged.
C'est la vie.
He'd be the first to admit Tessa was not only smart, she was gorgeous. But he'd hung around with boatloads of beautiful babes, and his brain had never gone renegade before. He stayed in control, made conscious choices of like-minded women. No strings. No nooses. Tessa was the type of woman he avoided. She was too sweet, too innocent. Too full of hope. She would want promises. He didn't have any to give.
Damn it, he knew better, yet couldn't control his attraction. This time he couldn't protect himself by walking away. Not with Tessa's life at stake. His stomach cramped with something that strongly resembled fear.
"Gabe? Are you ready to go?"
He fought his way out of the riptide and redirected his thoughts. Keep it light. Playful. Keep it on the surface. Safe. "Yeah. You know, you'd look really hot in an emerald-green dress."
She shook her head. "I don't like to draw attention to myself."
"You've got an incredible body. You should flaunt it."
"That's not funny." She turned away and shrugged into the olive trench coat she carried.
Gabe squelched the smart retort hovering on his lips. What kind of insecurities was this amazing woman hiding? He closed the distance between them in three strides. With a finger under her chin, he raised her face. Her wide, amber eyes glimmered with hurt.
His heart fisted. "I wasn't teasing. You're a beautiful woman. Don't let anybody convince you differently."
"No worries about my ego. I believe in no-nonsense reality." She pulled back and stalked toward the door. "We're going to be late."
Belted into the Viper and speeding toward Riverside Drive
, he tried again. "What exactly is your version of reality?"
"Forget it. How about some music?" She slid a Latin CD into the player and turned up the volume.
Somebody had mutilated the lady's self-image. Brutally. He jammed his fingers through his hair. Concentrating on deep, regular breaths, he clenched his jaw and hardened his heart against the empathy throbbing there.
It wasn't his concern.
Not his problem.
None of his business at all.
Gabe's Golden Rule: never get involved. He was a pro at walking away. He did his job and left. If you got attached, you got in trouble. You got hurt. Mortally wounded. He knew where the line was, and never crossed it.
The fact that he wanted to, for Tessa, shook him to the core. Rattled, and more afraid than he would admit, he concentrated on the road.
At five minutes to six, he escorted her into the glitzy burgundy-and-gold interior of the West Riverside Country Club. "When we get to the table, introduce me as your cousin."
"I don't have any cousins."
"I'm your long-lost cousin, in town for the wedding."
"But Mel knows—"
"Just do it. I'll take care of the rest."
"We should have discussed this," she gritted. "Don't blame me if it doesn't work."
The hostess escorted them to a table in the corner. A giant blond man three inches taller than Gabe rose from his chair with fluid grace. The hulk's designer navy suit emphasized his wide athletic shoulders and narrow waist.
This guy was a violinist? He could play linebacker for an NFL team. Gabe's disconcerted gaze swept over the golden hair, blue eyes and even features. But no, contact sports would ruin Mr. Perfect's model good looks.
"Tessa, you look gorgeous," her fiancé rumbled. His eyes lit with pleasure as he brushed a soft kiss on her cheek. "You're obviously feeling better."
An unfamiliar, selfish urge to snatch her out of the other man's arms grabbed Gabe by the throat. His hands balled into fists. What the hell was wrong with him? He took a deep breath, forcing his fingers to relax. Focus.
Tessa gestured toward him. "Dale, I'd like you to meet…" she hesitated briefly. "Valentine Colton."
She must be really torqued about the cousin thing. Nobody called him Valentine and lived.
"Val, this is my fiancé, Dale Winters."
Oh, yeah, Val was much better. Gabe arched a "thanks a lot, honey," brow at her before accepting the massive paw Dale offered.
She flushed. "My future mother-in-law, Lucille Winters."
He studied the delicate woman in beige silk and pearls. Her gray-blond hair was winched so tight, he was surprised her hawklike blue eyes weren't crossed. He ignored her sharp, disapproving gaze as he shook her hand.
"And my best friend Melody Parrish. I've mentioned her."
Mischievous sapphire eyes sparkled up at him from an elfin face. The petite, curly-haired blonde beamed him an impish smile. "Well, well, where has Tess been hiding you?"
"Val is m-my cousin," Tessa stammered.
Melody's eyes narrowed. "You don't have any cousins."
Gabe pulled out Tessa's chair, one-upping Dale by a satisfying fraction of a second. He sat across from her, and poured a strawberry lemonade from the pitcher on the tab
le.
Tessa sucked in a shaky breath. "Long-lost cousin. From my dad's side. We've only met recently."
Melody's brows drew together. "But—"
Lucille's soft-spoken, cultured tones carried across the table.
"Tessa, where have you been all day? I've been frantic to get in touch about this wedding disaster."
"I'm … staying with Ga— Val," Tessa amended hastily.
She was a lousy liar. Gabe could almost see her squirming in her chair. He grinned into his glass.
"My apartment is, ah, bugs. That's it! They're fumigating my apartment and I'm staying with Val."
Lucille grimaced. "That's not a terribly good idea." She nodded at him, "No offense, young man."
"Oh, none taken," Gabe drawled.
Lucille continued. "Tessa, I insist you stay with us."
How would Tessa talk her way out of this one? Gabe swigged a gulp of lemonade.
"There's no problem," Tessa replied blithely. "Val is gay."
He strangled on his lemonade. The icy drink burned down his windpipe and surged through his nose, stinging like acid.
Melody jumped up to pat him on the back. "Wow, I never saw lemonade shoot out of anybody's nose. Must hurt like crazy."
Wheezing, he grabbed a napkin. His eyes streamed tears as he glared at Tessa over the white linen.
Lucille's eyes brightened. "He could be the answer to our problems!"
"How is that?" Tessa asked, wariness coloring her tone.
"Frederick left us high and dry." Lucille offered Gabe a practiced, insincere smile. "And besides, you must be good at that sort of thing."
Tessa scowled. "I don't think…"
"Now, now," Gabe patted her cheek. "It'll be fabulous." Into her ear he whispered, "Remember, honey, paybacks are hell, and now I owe you two."
It was her turn to choke. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe saw Melody flick a curious glance at Tessa, then himself.
Dale rumbled out his second conversational contribution. "I think it's nice that your cousin wants to join in. Planning a wedding is a lot of work, and with one thing after another happening, we can use all the help we can get."
Gabe winked at him.
A loud, exasperated breath exploded out of Tessa.
Gabe bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed down the snicker desperately trying to escape.
"I need to powder my nose." She bolted for the ladies' room, Melody hot on her heels. Why did women always visit the head in groups? She probably wanted to grill Tessa about her newfound "cousin." Man, he'd love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.
Before long, the pair returned, a hectic flush still staining Tessa's cheeks. As the wedding talk continued, sweat beaded on Gabe's forehead and dampened his shirt. His neck wasn't even the one in the noose, and he could barely breathe. He surreptitiously loosened his tie. He needed to take his bike out for a spin and blow out this rat-with-his-tail-in-a-trap feeling.
Two torturous hours crawled by. Lucille tried to manipulate the plans, first with finesse, then pressure, progressing to blatant manipulation. Tessa quietly stood her ground, and Gabe's respect for her grew. Dale automatically agreed with his mother when asked. Finally, Tessa called a halt to the ordeal.
As the group parted ways in the parking lot, Gabe waggled his fingers at Dale. "Bye, handsome."
The blond hulk blanched, and stammered a farewell.
"What a huge disappointment for all womankind," Melody murmured to Tessa.
He could hear Tessa grinding her teeth. "You don't know the half of it."
Gabe grinned. Wait until she saw what he had planned for tomorrow.
She would kill him.
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
Tessa's co-workers rallied around her at the bank the next morning, offering sympathy over her ordeal. After several pointed glares from Mr. Trask, she finally settled everyone into the pre-opening routine.
Leaving her office door open, she sat behind her desk and stowed her briefcase underneath. Her personal assortment of ferns, potted palms and fichus grouped around the small room offered welcome relief from the austere gold-and-black decor.
She tuned out the office chatter and sipped tea from her musical Elvis mug as she leafed through a stack of memos. The kiosk ATM machine was still jamming up. She sighed. How many trips would the service reps have to make before they fixed the darn thing?
"Ms. Beaumont?" Edwin Trask's pompous summons made her jerk her gaze up.
Her stocky, mustached boss marched into her office with another man in tow. The guy shuffled behind Trask, his slumped shoulders covered by a baggy olive suit that clashed with his purple shirt and yellow suspenders. A thick layer of goo slicked back hair of indeterminate color, and Coke-bottle glasses with square black frames shrank his eyes to pinpoints. He offered a shy smile, displaying prominent buckteeth. She stifled a groan. Not another Trask nephew!
Trask cleared his throat. "Carla quit without notice. This is your new teller, and he has impeccable references. I trust you'll train him with the usual efficiency."
Her vault teller had quit? Her stomach sank. If the newbie's I.Q. matched his fashion sense, they were all in serious trouble. She pasted a frozen smile on her face. "Of course." Mentally chiding herself for judging the man by appearance, she rose and offered her hand. "Tessa Beaumont."
He enfolded her hand in lean, warm fingers, and sparks tingled up her arm. What on earth?
She tilted her head, studying his face. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Oh, no! It couldn't be! She should have suspected shenanigans when Gabe sedately drove her to work in a beat-up mustard-yellow Pinto. Instead, she'd blithely swallowed his explanation of a low profile. When she'd asked him if he was moonlighting at Moore's pre-owned car emporium, he'd grinned. He'd admitted the 'Vette was his, but his desperate-for-results boss had given him a generous expense account for rentals. Gabe had said he'd keep her in sight and she'd assumed he meant surveillance, like before.
Her mistake.
"Bond, Gabe Bond," he answered in a nasal twang, before flashing the wicked grin she knew so well, now partially disguised by buckteeth.
"Ms. Beaumont?" Trask prodded.
Belatedly, she realized she was standing there with her mouth hanging open, and snapped it shut. She suddenly had new empathy for Lois Lane
.
Trask shattered the stunned silence. "You can take it from here. I'll be out of the office all morning." He strode away.
Once her boss had left, her muddled senses cleared. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"This is my 'nobody suspects the nerd' disguise. Like it?"
"You might have warned me."
"And miss the priceless expression on your face?" He laughed, his broad shoulders shaking under the baggy jacket. "Wish I'd had a camera. Told you paybacks were hell. I guess we're even."
She mentally counted to twenty. "You're going to stick out worse than a hooker in church in those hideous clothes. Aren't undercover agents supposed to blend in?"
"This is better than camouflage. Most people don't bother to look beneath the surface. Everyone will take one look and discount any threat. Nobody will want to know me better. Admit it, what's the first thing you thought?"
"Point taken." She massaged her forehead, where a steady ache pulsed. "Do you know anything about banking, Mr. Bond? Or do I have to instruct you from the basics up?"
He swept off the thick glasses. His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Teach me anything you like, sweetheart. I'm a willing pupil, and a very quick study."
In spite of her annoyance, her skin tingled. "Stop the innuendoes!" she snapped. "This will be impossible if you don't behave. You'll get me fired!"
"Speaking of which, Trask said your vault teller quit." One dark brow arched. "Interesting timing."
"Carla?" she gasped. "Involved with murderers? Impossible."
"Nothing's impossible. Anything suspicious about her?"
; She nibbled at her lower lip with her teeth. "She tried to talk me out of counting the vault shipment the day you showed up, but I thought she was upset because we were so busy and she hated running a window."
He rubbed his jaw. "Train me as your new vault teller. The more access I have, the better."
She groaned. "Just what I need. I thought you'd keep an eye on me from a distance, like in the movies."
"We're joined at the hip, twenty-four-seven. So if you want to get rid of me, stay alert and help me nail these scum." He shot her a dark look before sliding the glasses back on. "This isn't the movies. One mistake can get you killed."
Her hand tightened on the mug, and she gulped.
Gabe gently extricated the cup from her death grip. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you." He squeezed her hand. "Now, where do we start? You're the boss."
"That'll be the day," she muttered, yanking her hand from his. "Follow me. I'll introduce you to the other staff and get you set up with a training manual and a window."
Two hours later, Tessa bit her tongue to keep from screaming. She scrubbed damp palms over a wrinkle in her brown tweed suit, desperately wishing she could as easily soothe her frayed composure. Gabe's constant presence, their bodies brushing, hands touching, his smooth, deep voice low and intimate in her ear, had set every nerve thrumming. Worse, she didn't know why she felt so unbalanced. He'd stayed in nerd mode and behaved impeccably all morning.
When the money delivery arrived, she picked up the bags and handed half to him. "Let's take these into the vault."
The gate slammed shut behind them. Great. Enforced confinement with a man who drove her insane. She backed as far away as the small space allowed, but his enticing scent and warm, muscled body tempted her as badly as a banquet would tempt a beggar.
"What's the usual routine?" he asked.
Her senses swirling, Tessa unlocked the inner vault. She set the cash next to a shelf holding the money counter and a tray of office supplies. "When you enter or leave, log your initials and time." She grabbed a pen from the tray and wrote on a clipboard hanging next to the shelf. "A guard delivers from the main basement vault around eleven." She tucked the pen in her pocket. "I usually verify immediately, but it depends on how busy we are."