by Julie Miller
Her chin plunged as if he’d punched her. He, too, looked away, scanning the room for the common sense that eluded him whenever Ginny pushed his buttons. He turned back, ready to apologize for going too far. But she tipped her face up, her usual mask of control betrayed by the tight set of her mouth.
“What’s your second condition?” she asked, without actually saying yes to the first.
“That you shut off your professional armor when you’re with me.”
“What are you talking about?” True to a nature he was just beginning to understand, she tucked that jaw-hugging curl of hair behind her ear.
He reached out and traced the same curl with his fingertips, learning the sensations of feather-soft hair and taut, smooth skin before she flinched away.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he answered, his hand still hovering in the air beside her face. “You’re going to have to at least act like you like me.”
“I like you just fine.”
“No. You like shades of blue. You like sweets.” With just his index finger he pulled aside the front of her jacket and dropped his gaze to the polished brass shield hooked to her belt. “But you never turn off the badge, angel. Even when you’re angry. Even when you’re afraid.”
“That’s not true.” She snatched the material and retreated a step, straightening the lapels and placket as if she was suiting up in a bullet-proof vest. “I’m just…reserved.”
Brett shrugged, allowing her that concession. “Maybe you are shy. Maybe you’re the consummate professional. But if you’re in love with a man—even if it is just pretend—you have to show it. Drop that guard of yours. Don’t be afraid of me touching you. Don’t be afraid to show your emotions.”
“What makes you think you’re an expert at undercover work?”
“I don’t have to be a detective to know how to be in love. If you want anyone to believe this charade, you have to show some of that vulnerability. Show some heart.”
“Vulnerability?” She snapped to attention, little more than five feet of steel-boned cop, just the opposite of what he had suggested. “I can be very convincing, I assure you. I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, Taylor. Just make sure you hold up yours.”
Properly chastised, yet gloriously challenged, Brett watched her storm to the door. She slipped the dead bolt and was down the stairs before he reacted to the dare she had thrown at his feet.
He stopped in the open doorway as she sped toward the gate, admiring the symmetrical flare of shoulders and hips from her tiny waist. Her silver-blond hair caught in the breeze, exposing the graceful column of her neck above the trim fit of her blouse and blazer. A soft, feminine contrast to the tailored work clothes she wore.
Something male, something primal inside him responded to the glimpse of softness beneath her hard exterior.
“You’re not so tough,” he called after her. Ginny halted in her tracks at his soft-spoken taunt.
He took the steps in one bound, and closed in behind her before she could tuck her hair and armor back into place.
“What the hell do…?” She whirled around, her open mouth rendered speechless with surprise. She hadn’t heard him coming.
Enjoying the advantage for a change, Brett smiled. “We didn’t shake on our proposition.”
“What?” Unable to find the precise word to put him off, Ginny relented by lifting her hand.
Brett swallowed it up in his. Soft skin and sleek muscles held their own inside his big, callused grasp. “Partners?” he whispered.
“Part…” Her gaze darted from their hands up to a point past his shoulder, then zipped straight to her right. Like curious wild creatures peeking out from their dens to see the unexpected predator stalk past, Brett’s crew, one by one, stopped their hauling, planning, drilling, chatting, and watched their boss chase after the pretty lady. “Your men are watching us.”
His amusement at their interest in his business faded when the fearful note in her voice prompted him to look down at her. Rosy heat filled her cheeks. She blushed so easily, another feminine attribute that mocked her all-business facade.
Brett angled himself to shield Ginny from his crew’s prying eyes. “Maybe we’d better kiss instead. Make this charade look real.”
“No.” Ginny’s hand went suddenly cold within his.
“No?” He questioned her vehement refusal. “We’re supposed to seal an engagement, not a traffic citation.”
Her deep, fortifying breath matched his own. “I hate it when you’re right.”
He felt a tug round his neck as she latched onto his collar and pulled herself onto her toes. She pressed her lips together and puffed them out, zeroing in on his mouth.
Brett caught her chin in his palm and stroked his thumb across her lips, softening the unnatural pout. “Relax. I’ll meet you halfway.”
Ginny sank back onto her heels as he lowered his head and replaced his thumb with his mouth. At first, he simply touched her there, learning the contours and taste of her. Suddenly, the lower arc of her sweet lips trembled. Drawn to the tiny flutter of movement, Brett pressed the generous curve between his own lips. She snatched in a quick breath and Brett took advantage by covering her open mouth with his own.
Her lips barely moved, as if the sensation of a man’s gentle possession was a new experience to be studied. It seemed as if Ginny concentrated solely on keeping her mouth aligned with his, without enjoying the pleasure it could offer her.
Her hands were another story altogether.
Those strong, articulate fingers clutched handfuls of flannel and thermal cotton and man. As his own fingers tunneled into her angel-fine hair to tilt her head and position her mouth more fully beneath his, her fingers dug into his chest, then crept up to his shoulders, holding herself steady or holding him close, Brett couldn’t tell. He wondered if she even knew.
The rigid passivity of her lips made him want to teach her about kissing and loving. The needy snatch of her fingers made him think that somewhere inside, Ginny already knew.
“Way to go, boss!”
The whistles and catcalls registered a split second after that first discovery.
By will alone, Brett pulled his mouth from Ginny’s and rested his forehead against hers, his gaze catching on the quick rise and fall of her breasts.
“I have a couple of things to finish up here,” he whispered, struggling, like Ginny, to regain his ability to breathe. “I’ll meet you at Pearl’s at one o’clock, take you to lunch. We should establish our cover before we start asking questions, right?”
“Of course.” Her fingers curled into fists between them and she pushed him back a step. A loud wolf whistle from behind rang harsh against his ears. Ginny’s cheeks flushed with color. “Looks like we’re off to a good start.”
She broke contact entirely, leaving a chill where she had touched him. Steel crept into her jaw as she finger-combed her hair into place. The shy, passionate woman who had shown herself for one brief moment disappeared behind the detective’s facade. “I’ll meet you at one o’clock.”
Brett didn’t move while she turned and walked away. Only when she had disappeared around the corner did the quaver in her clipped dismissal register.
A frown tightened the muscles in his face. Ginny Rafferty wasn’t a prude. She wasn’t a snob or a cold fish.
She was frightened of something. And fighting with every bit of her composure to hide the fact.
That kiss might have been for show, but it had scared the hell out of her. Brett spread the flat of his hand up across his chest where she had touched him. His insistence had reminded her of something. Or someone.
But what? Who?
What could possibly make the confident cop tremble with fear?
And what had he done to trigger it?
He decided to allow her this one retreat.
Brett turned at the friendly slap on his shoulder. A beaming grin cut across the beard of his project foreman, Clay Fensom. “Anything you want to tell us?”
Now was as good a time as any to put the charade into motion. “Congratulate me, Clay.” Brett smiled past the lie. “The little lady just said yes.”
Amidst the whoops and hollers and congratulatory handshakes, Brett pondered one inescapable truth.
Ginny wasn’t the only one who had been rattled by that kiss.
“YOU WANT some more coffee, hon?”
Pearl Jenkins’s rote request held all the warmth of the tepid liquid sitting in Ginny’s cup.
Ginny glanced around at the empty restaurant. If, at 1:30 p.m., there’d been a rush of business, she could understand Pearl’s attempts to move her along and free up a table. As the lone customer, though, she certainly wasn’t being given any preferential treatment. “I told you I was waiting for someone. I’d like to give him a few more minutes.”
I’d like to give him a swift kick in the…
The bell above the door jingled and Ginny never got to finish her condemning thought.
“Brett!” Pearl brightened as if Santa Claus himself had come down the chimney. The plump hostess waddled to the door to greet him. “You missed lunch. But I can rustle up something in five minutes.”
Brett dropped a kiss on the woman’s weathered cheek and smiled. “Maybe later, Pearl. I’m here to pick up Ginny.”
He extricated himself from her one-armed hug, dodged the coffeepot, and strode over to Ginny’s booth.
Ginny sat up straight, girding herself for his approach. A yellow tie and tan corduroy blazer had done little to tame his earthy vitality. The same faded jeans he had worn earlier draped like a careless caress down his long legs, hugging a bit tighter around his thighs with each easy, endless stride.
She never thought of a man having sexy legs before. But Brett’s were a testament of strength and proportion. A length of calf and foot balanced the symmetry of his narrow hips and muscular thighs. Her fingers burned at the memory of touching the solid strength of one of those thighs in a misguided attempt to drag him back from the dark thoughts that had clouded his face at his office.
She shoved the traitorous thought away, reminding herself of the need to stay cool, calm and collected. Sexy legs or not, Brett was merely her cover to find answers on a case. One of them had to stay in control. She decided, on the spot, it would have to be her.
“Sorry I’m late.” Stopping beside the table, he hesitated long enough for Ginny to look up. She zeroed in on his mouth descending toward her. The firm lips smiled easily. They’d been more dangerous to her self-control than she’d expected that morning. The twin bands of seduction had intrigued her with their gentle warmth, robbed her of reason with their sheer male potency.
Even his lips could act the part well.
At the last second she turned and offered her cheek for him to kiss. She sensed his widening grin before she felt the brush of moist warmth at her temple. Fine. A simple peck like that she could handle and still keep her mind on business.
A silent breath tickled the shell of her ear an instant before Brett nipped at the lobe. Her hand and a zillion pinpricks of sensation rushed to the spot. Remembering her part, and their one-woman audience, she pulled her hand back to her lap and forced a smile.
“It’s one-thirty.” Okay, so it wasn’t the most romantic greeting she could come up with. But she’d never taken the time to cultivate her romantic side. Not since that summer in Europe. Not since the phone call that had summoned her home for Amy’s funeral.
It was the first of three phone calls in her life that had taught her not to waste her time on tragic setups like love and romance.
Brett slid into the seat across the table, a teasing light evident in his expression. “I got held up at the bank.” He laughed at his own joke, a rich, warm sound that rumbled deep in his chest. The deep pitch of it resonated inside her, but she didn’t join him. She had a job to do, after all. “Don’t you want to file a report?” he asked.
“For criminal lack of punctuality, maybe.”
Brett propped his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “Why, Detective Rafferty, you made a joke.”
“I didn’t mean to, I assure you.” He fell back in his seat, laughing again. Ginny felt a betraying quiver tease her own lips.
But Pearl’s hovering intrusion kept her from laughing. “Brett, honey, what are you doin’ all dressed up? Did somebody die?”
“Not at all, Pearl. I put on a tie because I’m celebrating.” He stood and reached for Ginny. The extra squeeze in his grip sent a quick warning and gave her time to prepare for being pulled up snug against his side. She fit beneath his shoulder, and his arm spanned her back at a diagonal. His hand skimmed the left side of her waist, bumped into her holster, then settled on her hip. She slipped her arm beneath his jacket, holding on to his belt and completing the picture before he made the announcement.
“We’re getting married.”
“Oh, my.” Pearl’s hand shook, sloshing coffee over the rim. She reacted quickly, grabbing a napkin and mopping up the spill on the floor. She set the pot on the table and smoothed the front of her dress. Then she reached for Ginny’s free hand and squeezed it tight between her own pudgy paws. “Why didn’t you say something, dear? Congratulations. But this is all rather sudden, isn’t it?”
Brett’s electric smile worked its magic on the older woman, dispelling her doubts. “You know how impulsive I can be.”
“That’s true. Our Brett has charmed a lot of pretty ladies through the years. I just never knew he was serious about any of them.”
Ginny laughed right along with Pearl. But the joking observation threw up a familiar red flag inside her head. If Brett truly was the playboy Pearl described, then she’d do well to remember his charm and humor were all just part of the game.
She’d carefully cultivated her studious, professional facade. Her job demanded it. Her personal life had never called on her to be any other way. She was smart enough to play the charm game with Brett without forming any emotional attachments.
“Ginny’s different, Pearl.” She cringed at the accuracy of Brett’s statement. “I’ve never met anyone like her before.”
“Well, I’m happy for you both.”
Ginny summoned an appropriate response. “Thank you.”
Pearl latched onto Ginny’s fingers, spreading them wide for inspection. “But, my dear, you don’t have a ring yet.” She released Ginny and shook her own finger at Brett. “What are you thinking? Every girl wants to show off her engagement ring.”
“We’re off to fix that right now, Pearl.”
“We are?” Ginny craned her neck to look up into Brett’s face.
The possessive expression on his features as he smiled down at her looked serious enough. “Surprise.”
Brett’s arm tightened around her, leaving Ginny no choice but to turn and walk with him to the door. Pearl hustled along behind, shooing them out. “You hurry right over to Frank Rascone’s jewelry shop. I’ll want to see the ring when you’re done.”
Brett pushed open the door and let Ginny precede him. “We’ll be back. I promise.”
Out on the sidewalk, beyond sight of Pearl’s animated wave, Ginny stepped away from the broad hand at the small of her back. “If you didn’t want to eat, what was the purpose of that meeting?”
A startled couple who had meant to pass on the right excused themselves and walked between them. Brett took a step to counter them, avoiding a collision. He quickly fell back into step beside her. “Simple. If Pearl Jenkins knows we’re getting married, everyone will. She gets news out faster than the Kansas City Star.” His mouth twisted into a frown. “Didn’t you eat?”
Ginny hurried her pace. “No, I was waiting for you.”
Brett easily stayed beside her. “Sorry. Ring first, then food.”
“I have to report in to the office sometime this afternoon.”
“Okay. Ring, report, then dinner.” He reached for her hand. “Isn’t it time we started asking some questions?”
The instant she fe
lt his touch, Ginny halted. She turned on him, pointing to her own chest. “I’m the one who asks questions.” She pointed to Brett. “You’re the cover. Remember?”
He caught her hand as she pulled away. His grim expression showed none of his trademark humor. “Equal partners. Remember?”
When he released her, Ginny retreated a step, surprised by the show of temper. With his charm turned off, Brett’s overwhelming size and deep voice made him an intimidating force to be reckoned with.
“I did go to the bank.” He continued in that grim, humorless voice. “I wanted to make sure I had enough money to do this right.”
“You don’t have to buy me a ring.”
“An engagement without an engagement ring?”
Damn. She hadn’t thought of any of these details. It irritated the hell out of her that he had. “I’ll pay for it, then.”
“No.” Brett grabbed her by the elbow and guided her to the edge of the sidewalk, out of the path of curious passersby. He dipped his head and whispered right into her ear. “I’m not so strapped for cash that I can’t buy my girl a ring.”
“I’m not your girl.”
“Say it any louder and your cover will be completely blown.”
She glared at him, clearly overpowered. Using a trick she’d learned at the academy, she twisted her arm free of his grip. “Teaming up with you was a bad idea.”
“Should I remind you it was your idea?”
“Dammit, Taylor, will you be serious?”
He latched onto her arm again. “I am deadly serious.” When she twisted this time, he was prepared. He snaked his arm around her waist and lifted her clear off the ground, trapping her in the vise of his hold. “I will do anything I can do to prove old man Bishop killed Mark. Even if it means putting up with an uptight, by-the-book workaholic like you.”
“Like me?” They glared at each other, face-to-face. Dammit. She never lost her temper. But this Neanderthal had her wrestling for freedom on a public sidewalk in downtown Kansas City. “I’m the one who has to put up with a smooth-talking, immature show-off.”