She couldn't tell if he was smiling. She kind of suspected
he wasn't. But God, if there were ever a time she could have used one of his reassuring smiles, it was now.
He flipped the switch for the bathroom light, and the room again was dark. But not completely dark. The searchlights that illuminated the grounds of the compound shone in through the ancient blinds.
She could see Jake as he walked toward her, as he sat down on the edge .of the bed.
"Sorry I took so long," he said. "It's been kind of a long day, and I thought you might appreciate it if I had a quick shower."
"I'm a little nervous," she whispered. Honestly. Not just for the benefit of the microphones.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could see his face clearly. "I am, too, Zoe," he said quietly. Also honestly.
He smiled at her then. It was a smile that held an apology, a smile that was charmingly embarrassed, yet still self-assured enough to broadcast his awareness of the dark humor of this completely bizarre situation.
Zoe smiled back at him. "I think you're sitting out there because you want to hear me beg."
Something sparked in his eyes. "Begging usually works nicely for me. But tonight it's not necessary."
He dropped his towel on the floor as he slipped beneath the covers.
His skin was cool and smooth as he reached for her, as he kissed her. He pulled her close, his legs deliciously solid against hers as he intertwined them, his chest exquisitely solid against her breasts as his hands slid along the satiny back of her nightgown.
She could sense his surprise and then his relief. Oh, brother, had he really thought she would just be naked beneath these covers?
He had. He pulled back slightly to look at her, to check out the clingy black satin and lace that barely covered her breasts and swept all the way down to her thighs.
"Nice." His voice was husky; his eyes were warm. "Very nice. Very, very, very nice."
Zoe giggled. She couldn't help it.
Then Jake started laughing, too, and she laughed harder.
And once she started, she couldn't stop. This was just too absurd. She was finally in bed with this man that she wanted more than anyone in the world. She finally had him exactly where she wanted him, only she couldn't do anything about it because everyone and their right-wing, racist twin brothers were watching on their surveillance video screens.
Welcome to the Jake and Zoe Show.
It was completely insane. They were pretending to be lovers who'd waited to be married before making love, except they weren't really married, at least not in the eyes of the law, and they weren't really going to make love. Reality and pretense were all twisted in an enormously untangle-able, ridiculous knot.
Jake was fighting it. He was trying not to laugh, but that just made it worse.
Zoe clung to him giddily. Their sudden unexplained laughter would be considered extremely strange, but there was nothing either of them could do to stop.
Jake tried to kiss her, but couldn't do it. He buried his face in her hair, laughing so hard he was crying.
They had to do something to make it look as if they were getting it on. Zoe pulled him more completely on top of her, cradling him with her body, linking her legs around him and Jake tried to pull back, but he couldn't move quickly enough.
He was completely aroused. He'd been lying beside her in such a way that had kept her from knowing that, but now the hard truth—as it were—was unavoidable.
And just like that, they both froze, both stopped laughing.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry," he breathed. He was beyond embarrassed. He was mortified.
"No," she said. "No, Jake, because I want—"
"Don't," he rasped, and kissed her to keep her from saying it.
Zoe kissed him hungrily, telling him without words what he already knew.
/ want you, too.
He groaned as she pressed herself up against him, groaned as she kissed him harder, sweeping her tongue more deeply into his mouth.
But then he pulled back. He stopped kissing her and started rocking the bed, his movements obvious from the squeaks of the springs, the way the mattress bumped the wall. But it so lacked finesse, Zoe struggled not to laugh again. Or cry. She was so overwhelmed with emotion and desire, she wasn't sure what would come out if she opened her mouth.
He collapsed on top of her with a shout, pretending it was over far too quickly, pretending he'd found release. They lay there, both breathing hard for many long seconds.
Jake was still rock solid against her thigh, and Zoe wondered if, like her, he was ready to weep from sheer frustration.
But then he rolled off her, swearing softly, and she turned to look at him.
He lay on his back, one arm thrown up and over his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. His words were for the microphones—they were back in pretend mode. "It's been a long time for me and—"
"Sh." Zoe didn't dare reach for him, didn't dare touch him. "It's okay. We've got the entire rest of our lives to get it right."
"I'm just...embarrassed." He looked at her, lowering his voice. "I am sorry."
"It's okay." There was nothing else she could say, not
without fear of blowing their cover, not without making Jake even more tense.
He'd kissed her this evening, for real, back in Mel's bar, but clearly he wasn't ready yet for anything more, despite his body's obvious betrayal.
She ached for him to hold her, ached for them to finish what they'd started, ached because she knew it wasn't going to happen. Maybe not ever.
She lay beside him, far too warm beneath the blanket, afraid to move for fear she might brush against him.
"Thank you for marrying me," she whispered, knowing how terribly hard all of this was for him.
Jake just laughed. "Yeah," he said. "Sure."
Chapter 11
Jake stood in the shower with his eyes closed, letting the water drum down onto his head.
He'd gotten maybe an hour of sleep last night.
He'd lain awake for hours, hyperaware of Zoe lying next to him in that bed.
It was only a double, not as big as the queen-size mattress he was used to, and it had a big, broken-down valley right in the center, to boot. Every time he tried to get comfortable, he sank toward the middle of the bed and ended up brushing against Zoe.
The smoothness of her legs.
The softness of her shoulder.
The cool satin of her barely there black nightgown.
Dear God. He'd been so glad at first that she'd put something on. But as the night had dragged on, he'd found himself thinking about the way that slinky texture had felt beneath his fingers, the warm firmness of her body beneath that, the black lace against the creamy fullness of her breasts....
Dear God.
Dear God.
She'd slept about as well as he had.
He'd sensed her, lying awake, tensely clinging to her side of the bed.
At one point, he'd heard her breathing deepen, heard her finally fall asleep. But as she'd relaxed, she'd turned toward him, nestling against him, her hand on his chest, her legs against his.
He'd tried gently to push her legs back, knowing he'd never sleep with her there like that, afraid of what might happen if he pushed his way between her thighs while they both slept. But as gentle as he'd tried to be, he'd woken her up. She'd stared at him, stared at her hand placed so possessively on him, and she'd retreated to her side of the bed with a murmured apology.
He'd finally slept fitfully, waking himself up every few minutes with a start, trying to police himself.
This last time, exhaustion had overtaken him. He'd slept for at least an hour.
And had woken up with Zoe wrapped tightly in his arms. Her soft rear end pressed against him, his face buried in her sweet-smelling hair, his right hand securely cupping her breast.
He'd extracted himself from her this time without waking her. Morning light was finally
streaming in through the cracks in the blinds, and he'd gotten out of bed, aching in every way imaginable.
He'd gone for a run, pushing himself far beyond his usual five miles, and by the time he'd come back to the room, the bed was neatly made and Zoe was gone.
With luck, she was as good as Pat Sullivan had said she was, and she'd return to the room with the six missing canisters of Triple X in hand.
Jake laughed aloud, knowing how completely ridiculous it was to think Zoe could simply find the Trip X by walking **"* Mils of the CRO compound on her first morning here,
but irrationally hoping just the same. It was about time something in this op came easily.
"Hey," Zoe said, pulling back the shower curtain and stepping into the tub. "What are you laughing about in here all by yourself?"
Jake hit his head on the showerhead, quickly turning so that his back was to her. "Zoe! Jeez!"
He still had shampoo in his hair but he shut the water off, reaching for the towel that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
But she reached past him and turned the water back on.
Soap ran into his eyes and he swore sharply as he wrapped the towel around his waist despite the water streaming down on him. "What the hell?"
She leaned against him, close enough to speak directly into his ear, her voice low. "We can talk quietly in here. With the water running, our words won't be picked up by the microphones if we speak softly enough. And the camera is over the window. This is the only place in your entire suite where we can't be seen."
Jake nodded. "Well," he whispered, rinsing the soap out of his eyes. "Isn't this convenient?"
"Don't whisper," she warned him. "Use your regular voice—just keep it really low." She laughed softly. "You can open your eyes and turn around. I've got clothes on."
Thank God.
He turned around—and realized he'd offered up his prayer of thanks just a little too soon. Zoe was in her underwear—a running bra and an entirely too skimpy pair of panties.
"We have a little problem," she told him seriously, as if she always held important meetings in the shower, half naked.
Her running bra left little to the imagination to start with, but wet, it molded itself to her breasts. Breasts that he knew more than filled the palm of his hand. And he had big hands.
He focused on her eyes. Water beaded on her long eyelashes, making her look even more freshly beautiful than ever.
"Problem?" he repeated stupidly.
"As a new member of the CRO through marriage," she said, her voice so low he had to lean closer to hear her, "I apparently only have probationary status here. I'm not allowed to leave this room unless you're with me."
Jake swore loudly, and she put her finger against his lips.
She pulled her hand back quickly, as if touching him had burned her, and he knew that despite her efforts to pretend otherwise, she was not unaffected by the fact they were standing together, barely dressed, in the shower.
/ want you, too. The words he hadn't let her say out loud last night seemed to echo against the tile as the steam from the shower swirled around them.
Zoe cleared her throat. "The guard who escorted me back here wasn't completely up on the exact rules." She continued quietly, sounding far more businesslike and matter-of-fact than he could have managed given the circumstances. "But as far as I could gather, there's some sort of special vacation deal for newly weds. As a woman, I'm supposed to work, but I'm not allowed to join a work party for at least four glorious days. Unfortunately, we don't have four glorious days to waste."
In order to hear her, Jake had to stand so close he could count the drops of water on her face. One of the drops ran down her cheek like a tear and landed on her collarbone. As he watched, it meandered down her chest, slowly gathering speed as it disappeared between her breasts.
Jake closed his eyes. The towel around his waist was completely soaked. It weighed about ten pounds and hung low on his hips. He had to hold it up with one hand as he kept the soap from his hair out of his eyes with the other.
"So now what?" he asked.
"So we temporarily ditch my intended plan to flit about, dodging cameras and guards like an invisible little ghost,
and we march boldly—together, holding hands because, hell, it's our four-day honeymoon—into Christopher's private quarters."
She was starting to shiver, and he turned them both around so that she was standing directly under the stream of warm water. She tipped her head back, letting the water flow on her face and all the way down her smooth, flat stomach. She squeezed her hair back with her hands and smiled at him. "Thanks."
Jake hiked his towel up higher and moved closer so he could speak directly into her ear, careful not to touch her. "I know you think Christopher's keeping the Trip X somewhere in his suite, but I can't get past the fact that if the CRO's going to take out all of New York City in a matter of weeks, someone, somewhere has to be working on some kind of delivery system."
He slipped slightly on the slick bottom of the tub and caught himself on the tile wall, his other hand still firmly holding the towel. By some miracle, he'd managed not to touch her, but just barely. He held on to the wall, bracing himself, his arm extended past her head, about a quarter inch from her cheek.
"There's got to be a bomb or missile being made to carry the Triple X." He tried to continue as if nothing had happened, but his voice was raspy and he had to stop and clear his throat. "It's got to go off at the right altitude above the city, at a time when wind conditions are acceptable. The CRO's got to have a lab to—"
"It's not here," Zoe said definitely. She turned her head to speak into his ear, and her cheek grazed his.
Jake had never had to have his heart started again by a jolt of electricity through paddles in a hospital's ER, but he now knew what it would feel like.
"Sorry," she breathed. "God, this is..."
"Awkward," he said, trying to laugh. "Again."
"Maybe we should just..." She looked at him, and the flash of uncertainty in her eyes took his breath away. Zoe?
Uncertain? But then she laughed, too, and whatever he had seen was gone. "If only we'd known, we could have packed our wet suits."
Zoe in a wet suit... "Do you scuba dive?" he asked.
"I'm learning. Or, rather, I was learning. It was mostly my friend Peter's idea, and when, well..." She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Let's not go there."
Peter, huh?
"We've gone off track," she said briskly. "Where were we?"
"Discussing the lab," he said. Whoever Peter was, he was completely insane to have had Zoe and left her. "There's got to be a lab. Somewhere."
"Not here," she told him with complete confidence, instantly back on track. "Not in this facility. Just the quick look around I had this morning verified what I've seen from the surveillance cameras. And you said yourself you've been over this place with a fine-tooth comb. Maybe there's an outside source—"
"No. No way." Jake was just as convinced. "Vincent would never go outside of this little kingdom he's made."
Zoe released all the air in her lungs in a burst of exasperation. But then she froze, gazing into his eyes, ignoring the water that was hitting the back of her head. ' 'Jake, what if..."
He could practically see her brain smoking, she was thinking so hard. She laughed aloud, the expression on her face morphing from disbelief to amazement to real excitement.
"Holy Mike, what if Chris doesn't know what he's got?" She gripped Jake's arm. "My God! He may think his birthday surprise will take out a few dozen racially inferior types in the New York subway system—kind of like that horrible incident in Japan a few years ago. He may hot know he's got enough Triple X to turn the entire tristate area into a graveyard." She shook him slightly. "You've got to convince Chris that it's time to share secrets. Do
whatever you have to do, Jake, but get him to tell you what the hell his plan is."
"Oh," Jake said. "Ge
e. Is that all?" He took her arm and shook her slightly. "What do you think I've been trying to do all this time, Zoe?"
She had the decency to look embarrassed. "I'm sorry."
Awareness dawned in her eyes the exact moment Jake realized it, too. They were holding on to each other, her hand on the taut muscles of his forearm, his palm against the smoothness of her shoulder.
Jake would only have to move his head about an inch and a half, and he would be able to kiss her.
She moved her hand. "Sorry. I'm...sorry."
He spun them both around so that he was standing once again under the force of the water. He released her so he could use that hand to rub the last of the shampoo from his hair. His other hand was still holding the towel for dear life. "Just let me rinse off," he said. "And then you can...do what you need to, and after, we can take a walk, see if Christopher's in."
"And after that, I have something I want to show you," she told him. "A place we can go to talk without being overheard. It's outside, though, so dress warmly."
Dress was the key word. It would be very nice to have a private conversation in which they both had on all of their clothes.
Jake maneuvered his way to the other side of the narrow tub, reaching to open the curtain and step out.
But Zoe stopped him, holding on to the edge of his completely soaked towel. "Better leave this behind," she said. "And try to look happy."
Happy. Instead of impossibly, intensely, overwhelmingly, painfully, achingly frustrated and upset.
Jake laughed. No problem.
"There were at least three rooms he didn't show us." Zoe lay on her back in the warm autumn sun on what had
^
probably at one time been the Frosty Cakes employees' recreation deck.
Christopher Vincent had welcomed them effusively into his private quarters. When Jake had told him Zoe was eager for a look around, the CRO leader had given her what could only be described as a significant glance when Jake's back was turned.
Zoe had given him a loaded smile in return, hoping that he'd give them a more thorough tour if he thought she was interested in whatever tawdriness he had in mind.
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