Uncontrollable

by Susan Kearney

  “I’ve been searching, but I haven’t found one link.”

  “Perhaps you haven’t looked deep enough.”

  “Maybe. That’s why I agreed to become your partner,” she said and he didn’t miss her message.

  She drilled him with a stare as if her determination could make him forget their flirting last night. But nothing would erase their first meeting from his mind. She had branded him with her sparkle and wit. But he didn’t let his thoughts seep into the conversation and tried to stay as businesslike as she was.

  “How long will it take you to wrap up things here?” He gestured to her desk.

  She slung a jacket over her shoulder, picked up an overnight bag on wheels that she apparently kept packed for sudden trips. “I’m ready now. Where do we start?”

  He’d expected to have to sweet-talk her into working with him. That she didn’t need convincing or more explanations told him she was one determined woman. Good. “The plan is to insert you undercover into Hathaway’s organization.”

  “So that’s why you need me. Hathaway only hires female executives.”

  Amanda didn’t seem to mind that her double X chromosomes had won her the job as much as her excellent FBI credentials. In fact, convincing her to work with him had been almost too easy. Yet he wasn’t about to complain, although a bit of guilt stabbed him that he hadn’t told her how Hathaway might be employing the bottle, especially after she’d been so honest with him.

  “Before we try to insert ourselves into Hathaway’s organization, some surveillance is in order.”

  “What do you have in mind?” she asked, slipping into her gun’s shoulder harness as easily as another woman would have slung a purse over her shoulder. Then she put her jacket on over the top and grabbed the handle of her bag.

  “I’d like to watch him at work and at home before we come up with a plan.” Bolt opened her office door for her and they strode toward the street and his car. “Are you okay with leaving your vehicle here?”

  “No problem. We have a security guard and the lot is fenced. How long can I expect to be gone?”

  “Until we find and steal back the perfume bottle.”

  She shook her head, a lock of hair falling over one eye. “In other words, you have no idea.”

  He chuckled. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

  “I’ll need to make a few arrangements.”

  He guided her to his car, opened her door, and she slid into the front seat, giving him another view of her terrific legs. By the time he’d placed her bag in the trunk and walked to his side of the car, she’d reached for the seat belt and had snapped it across her lap.

  He drove into the city, but they didn’t have much opportunity to talk. She had her cell phone to her ear, making arrangements with a neighbor to feed her cat, bring in the newspaper and mow the lawn. Personal business taken care of, she spent the rest of the trip distributing her case files to assorted colleagues.

  He admired her efficiency. Bolt knew none of his sisters could have switched gears so fast. Lacy would have chewed him out royally if he’d made her leave for even one night without her makeup bag. Darlene would have created a huge fuss, then insisted on shopping to find the right outfit. And Melody would have simply refused to leave home.

  He glanced at the bulge under Amanda’s arm. But then his sisters didn’t wear a sidearm, either. Until now, he’d never considered that packing a weapon could be sexy. When she paused between phone calls, his curiosity got the best of him. “Were you armed last night?”

  “Of course.”

  While she dialed and spoke to yet another colleague about a batik shipment from China, he wondered exactly where on her person she’d hidden a gun. The thin-strapped gown and form-fitted waist hadn’t left her many options. As he thought of all the fun a search could have been, he couldn’t recall ever looking forward this much to a mission.

  Right now, Amanda was all business, but sooner or later—out of necessity—she’d have to turn her attention to him, and he couldn’t help wondering how she would handle herself.

  3

  AMANDA HAD FINALLY finished clearing her schedule when Bolt was parking the car. After removing her bag from the trunk, he escorted her from the underground parking garage into an elevator that rose into one of the most exclusive buildings in the city. The bottom block was retail space but above were luxury suites.

  “Is this place yours?”

  Bolt shook his head. “Hathaway lives and works across the street. The Shey Group leased this space for the duration of the mission.”

  She glanced from a lavishly framed mirror back to him. “Must be nice working in the private sector.”

  “There are advantages.”

  He grinned a relaxed, charming smile that put a new arc of electricity between them. She allowed him to lead her through an impressive marble and gold wallpapered foyer. When he stopped to unlock mahogany double doors flanked by beautiful silk palm trees in oriental porcelain pots, she realized the suite had its own private entrance.

  So far, Bolt had been the perfect gentleman and although the attraction from the previous evening still hummed between them, she now felt back in charge of her emotions. The out-of-control zinging current that had made it so difficult to tear herself from him last night had significantly diminished. She still found him handsome and charming. But her response was more measured, more normal, so much so that now she wondered if she’d imagined how on edge she’d been. First she’d exchanged that odd look with Hathaway, and then she’d met Bolt and her attraction to him had been uncontrollable. Perhaps her friends were right. She did need to get out more.

  Reassured she wasn’t walking into anything she couldn’t handle, Amanda strode through the double doors proud that she didn’t stop to gawk. Still, she couldn’t help but appreciate the original oil paintings hanging on fourteen-foot-high walls. Or the decadent multilayered, two-toned carpet beneath her feet that was so plush she wanted to kick off her shoes. Or the pleasant sound of the cascading fountain, complete with live fish. She sniffed and even the air smelled crisp and clean, scented with a half-dozen jade vases of exotic flower arrangements.

  “We’re working surveillance from here?” she asked, marveling how easily Bolt appeared to fit into such luxurious surroundings. The high ceilings suited his tall frame. And the lush furnishings set off his easy stride that reminded her of a panther, light-footed yet ready-to-spin and face danger head-on at the first sign of trouble.

  He’d picked up her bag by the handle, careful not to allow the wheels to dig into the carpet, and led the way down a wide hall with a stormy seascape mural. He opened a door into a lovely bedroom with a polished cherry king-size sleigh bed covered by a spread embossed with a rich-threaded design of golden daisies.

  “How do you like your new room?” he asked.

  “And you’ll be staying…where exactly?”

  His eyes twinkled. “In a separate bedroom…until you decide otherwise.”

  She hadn’t missed the way he’d said until and her heartbeat sped. As if their coming together was already destined. While she liked confidence in a man, Bolt was too good at guessing how to push her buttons. Deciding to ignore the comment for now—though it would probably haunt her during the night—she opened a door to a walk-in closet.

  “It’s larger than my entire bedroom.”

  “Yeah. It’s difficult to imagine having that many clothes, isn’t it?”

  She liked that even though he appeared at ease in the wealthy surroundings he didn’t try to pretend that he belonged here any more than she did. “Your parents weren’t wealthy?”

  He shook his head. “But we weren’t poor, either. Mom’s a teacher. Dad owns his own heating and air-conditioning business. We were comfortable, but taking a vacation on the Gulf of Mexico was a big deal.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Central Florida. Orlando.”

  She opened her bag and hung up her extra suit, which looke
d ridiculously lonely in the enormous closet. “I thought Orlando was filled with northerners.”

  “We’re a mixture of all kinds of people, like most areas of the state. Why?”

  “You have a Southern accent.” She carried her travel kit to the bathroom countertop which boasted two double sinks, but she didn’t unpack her toothbrush and makeup. She was too busy fantasizing about the gargantuan whirlpool tub that was more than big enough for two. “It’s a good thing I know how to swim.”

  When he didn’t respond, she drew her gaze from that inviting tub to his face. Totally unprepared for the desire radiating from his gaze, she was stunned by the potency of his interest. Her pulse accelerated until heat flushed her skin. If he could arouse her with just a look, what would happen if he touched her again? Or gave her a kiss more deep than a brushing of lips?

  “I was hoping you’d need a lifeguard.” His eyes flared with heat.

  “I still hold the high school state record for the hundred meter backstroke.” However, it was breaststroke she was thinking about and not the kind accomplished in a swimming competition. “Someone to wash my back might be…nice.”

  “I’m right down that hall.” He pointed, then redirected her gaze to a nightstand beside the bed. “See the intercom? Just call and I’ll be here.”

  She stared at him wondering how he’d suddenly notched up the sexual energy with no more than a searing look. Usually she was immune to such things. In fact, she preferred to be friends before moving on to a more intimate relationship. Amanda was simply not the kind of woman to jump into bed with a hot guy—and yet, for some reason, Bolt seemed to bring out her impulsive and naughty side.

  But it wasn’t right to lead him on. “I was kidding about washing my back.”

  “I wasn’t.” His tone turned serious. His gaze flickered with an emotion she couldn’t read, reminding her that she’d only met him last night.

  She barely knew him, and yet she sensed he was holding back something important. Despite his interest, despite his flirtatious attitude, it was almost as if he wanted to warn her…but about what?

  An odd shiver careened down her back and she touched the gun at her shoulder holster for reassurance. She wasn’t worried about Bolt forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to do. The Shey Group didn’t hire men who would attack a woman. The organization had a reputation for hiring only the very best of the best, at least according to the FBI director’s e-mail.

  And yet…all her instincts were on high alert. For one thing, her own reactions to this man kept surprising her. Sure she found Bolt interesting, fascinating and exciting, but that still didn’t explain her almost overwhelming desire to tease him. Usually Amanda was perfectly content to go slowly. To think before she spoke. She was not a spontaneous person. Yet she wouldn’t know it from some of the flirting she’d been doing.

  Bolt had every right to think she might use that intercom to call him for a little nighttime action between the sheets. But she wouldn’t call him, of course. Safe, practical, steady Amanda didn’t do one-night stands. She didn’t have flings. She didn’t even think about sex that often. Although she had her share of offers, since Donna’s death, she hadn’t been on so much as a date.

  And before Donna had died, she’d been busy raising her sister and working on her career. Amanda had never had the luxury of considering her own feelings first. Since her parents’ deaths she’d always had to think how her actions might affect her sister. While that was no longer the case, her personality had been set such a long time ago that she didn’t expect to change.

  Perhaps her body was sex starved, but Amanda had to be emotionally involved to be turned on. So what was going on between her and Bolt? Amanda wasn’t sure she believed in lust at first sight, never mind love at first sight. But she couldn’t deny that the two of them had definitely clicked.

  But surely the connection wasn’t all sensory. She couldn’t deny she liked looking at him and enjoyed his intense blue eyes, his George Clooney jaw, his wrap-me-up-and-take-me-home smile. But was his overwhelming physical impact enough to make her change the behavior of a lifetime? She certainly didn’t think so.

  And yet…she couldn’t deny her pummeling heart. Or her shallow breaths. Or the damp heat pooling between her thighs.

  * * *

  “WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE the surveillance room?” Bolt offered.

  As experienced as he was around women, Amanda confused him. One moment she was all sass and giving him come-and-take-me glances, the next she was trying to convince him her suggestive comments were made in jest.

  So was she fighting a real attraction to him? Or was something else at work? The Shey Group knew too little about the supposed paranormal effects of the perfume bottle for him to guess if it could have anything to do with her contradictory behavior. But the idea that lingering aftereffects from exposure to Hathaway and the perfume bottle last night could now cause her to do things she wouldn’t normally do creeped him out.

  He had enough pride that he wanted a woman to like him for himself. Anything else seemed dishonest and wrong. So as much as he would have liked to continue flirting with the very delectable Miss Amanda Lane, relief filled him when she wanted to see the surveillance equipment.

  The Shey Group had removed all the regular furnishings from the second room on the main wing. Along the room’s far wall, a bank of monitors revealed various angles inside Hathaway’s penthouse. Microphones allowed them to hear conversations while tape machines, automatically activated by sound, recorded every word.

  Bolt watched Amanda take in the setup, her gaze widening. “Do we have a warrant?”

  So she’d either heard or suspected that the Shey Group sometimes bent the rules. Testing her knowledge, he said, “I’ll pretend you didn’t ask that question.”

  “We’re breaking the law.” She frowned. “I’m not sure if I can—”

  “We have a warrant,” he lied, ready to produce a fake document if necessary.

  Bolt didn’t like lying to his partner, but she was an FBI Agent, and if by chance things went wrong, he wanted her to be able to truthfully deny all responsibility for unlawful procedures—not that Logan Kincaid would ever allow such circumstances to come to light. Too many federal judges, never mind congressmen and women, owed him favors. However, since the lie protected Amanda, he could live with himself.

  “Nice.” She peered at the monitors that showed Hathaway’s cook in the kitchen preparing a meal. A maid vacuumed the living area and a gardener watered indoor plants and replaced wilted flowers that floated in a water-filled urn. “You don’t have anything in the bedroom and master bath?”

  “When the cook took a day off, our replacement ‘cook’ couldn’t get in there or into the home office, either.”

  “Are the phones tapped?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Hathaway’s careful. He’d got an encryption program most of the free world would envy.”

  “If he’s that careful, why hasn’t he found your electronic bugs?”

  “He will. It’s only a matter of time.”

  She frowned at him, thinking through the implications. “But once Hathaway learns we’re watching him, he’ll be more careful and more difficult to catch.”

  “That’s why we need to find a way to infiltrate his organization real soon. How’re your typing skills?”

  “Hunt and peck. Why?”

  “We could arrange for Hathaway’s executive assistant to come down with strep throat. Then we’d give you a résumé he can’t resist.”

  “And when he finds out that I can’t type?”

  “Not a problem. I’ll install software that’s voice activated. You’ll be a pro inside ten minutes.”

  “And then?”

  “We wait for Hathaway to find the electronic bugs. Bugs that lead him to believe his security team has a leak. You suggest that he hire someone new. Me.”

  “I thought he only hires women.”

  “Women form his inner circle. But he’
ll hire a man when necessary. I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

  “Why not?” Her eyes searched his and he realized she must have picked up additional tension from him. He hadn’t changed his voice or expression or posture, but nevertheless her question revealed her suspicion that he hadn’t told her everything.

  He kept his answer vague and casual. “You might need backup close by.”

  She opened her mouth to say more but the front doors of Hathaway’s penthouse opened and a crowd of well-dressed, tall and thin women barged into the swank living area, Hathaway in their midst. “Do we know who these women are?”

  Leaning forward, Bolt turned up the sound. “None of them is a top executive. From their looks, I suspect they are models.”

  “Did you notice the cook, maid and gardener were all gorgeous, too?” she asked, sounding wary of a man who surrounded himself with only extraordinarily good-looking people. She stared hard at the monitor as if trying to find a flaw in one of them.

  “Hathaway.” A willowy brunette trailed a finger down his arm. Her bright scarlet nail scraped from his open collar to his shirt’s top button. “You promised me some fun.”

  “And you shall have it, darling.”

  Her collagen lips pouted. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that three is a crowd and five—”

  “Is an orgy.” Another woman leaned over and nuzzled the brunette’s ear and giggled.

  Amanda goggled and swallowed hard. She licked her bottom lip, her pink tongue sexy as hell.

  “I suppose if I can’t have you all to myself I can share,” the brunette said.

  “That’s the spirit.” Hathaway broke out a bottle of wine and poured four glasses, one for each woman.

  Clearly mesmerized, Amanda barely moved and Bolt wondered once again about how the bottle worked and if she could be affected over a monitor.

  “We need music,” the blonde suggested.

  “Dim the lights,” said a redhead whose words made her sound modest, but who had already pulled off her top. Her silicone breasts swung free to reveal both nipples pierced with gold-hooped rings.