by Cindy Dees
What he hadn’t counted on was her kissing him back. On her mouth opening in surprise beneath his, on her tasting like chantilly cream, all sweet and fluffy with a hint of vanilla. Her arms went around his neck, and she moaned in her throat. She went soft and warm in his arms, cuddling up against him like a purring kitten. Gone was the predator, replaced by this entirely foreign—and entirely female—female.
She casually smashed through every barrier he’d erected for himself, ripping away the fog he’d wrapped himself in like a protective blanket. All that was left was something raw and unnamable, both needy and violent. It scared the living hell out of him.
But the job demanded it, right? It was all part of their cover. It was okay. He let go of the fear and allowed in the sensations bombarding him from every direction. He tested her lips with the tip of his tongue and they were as tasty and alluring as the rest of her. She kissed him back eagerly, almost as if she’d been thinking about it for a while and wondering what it would be like.
And then the heat really amped up between them. What changed, he wasn’t sure. But one second they were kissing, and the next, they were kissing. She was pulling his head down to hers, he was plundering her mouth with lips and tongue, she was devouring him back, and raging need to get her naked roared through him.
He stepped all the way inside the house and kicked the door shut. Not breaking the incendiary kiss, he let her body slide down to the floor slowly, registering every feminine curve that pressed wantonly against him. It had been so long. So very long...
“You’re making me think naughty thoughts,” she gasped.
“That’s how you like it, isn’t it?” he murmured back. “Naughty.”
Her lips curved in a smile so smoking hot he was vaguely surprised his hair didn’t catch on fire. “I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”
And with that, she stepped back from him. She spun into the room off the left of the tiny foyer. Her full skirt twirled around her and she looked like a fresh, young girl. Where had the edgy, tough goth chick disappeared to? He fought to form a coherent thought and came up with, “What’s with the retro virgin look?”
She laughed gaily. “I gather from the enthusiastic welcome home that you like the look?”
He shrugged. “The neighbors were watching.” He wished the words back as soon as he saw her face fall in disappointment. But then she rushed to the corner, yanking at the edge of a horrible gold shag carpet that looked nearly original to the house.
“Check out the hardwood beneath this hideous stuff. Once we pull up the carpet and buff the floor, it’ll be gorgeous.”
“I’m not doing home improvement projects on our hideout!”
“But that’s our cover. We’re setting up our first home together. If folks see us doing yard work and painting and replacing carpet, they’ll know we’re moving in for good. They’ll open up to us.”
“How long are we supposed to spend playing house and hoping it leads to some information?”
“As long as it takes,” she answered blithely.
“You’re mad.”
She threw him a disingenuously innocent look. “Why, I’m not mad at all. I’m thrilled. Let’s make a list and head out to the home-improvement store right now. Shelly—she’s the Realtor—told me where it is.”
“Seriously, Sam. This is nuts.”
“Seriously, Gray. It’ll work. Trust me.”
“I hardly know you! How am I supposed to be your fiancé full-time and in public, no less?”
She laughed. “That kiss you laid on me was a bit more than a hello-it’s-nice-to-meet-you peck. Just go with that.”
“What the hell does that kiss have to do with anything?” He would have added that the kiss had just been an act for the nosy neighbors, but he didn’t want to make that hurt look pass across her face again. And besides, it would have been a lie.
Damn. It would have been a lie. He’d kissed her because he’d been looking for an excuse to do so. The notion staggered him. He hadn’t kissed a woman in five years. And it felt disloyal of him to do it now.
“C’mon. I’ve already got a shopping list started.”
She dragged him around the house, for all the world acting like an enthusiastic bride with no sense of how much work she was proposing to take on with the various projects she had in mind. They’d be busy for weeks renovating this stupid house at the rate she was going. He didn’t even want to contemplate what it was going to cost him emotionally to get through this. It was a job. Just a job. And somehow he suspected he’d be repeating that to himself more times than he cared to count in the days to come.
“How about we start a little smaller and see how things go?” he finally wedged in between bursts of ideas from her.
“Party pooper,” she announced.
“Who’s paying for all of this, anyway?”
“Jeff Winston. He gave me an expense account.”
“Yes, but let’s not bankrupt the guy.”
She laughed. “In the first place, we could renovate the state of West Virginia and not bankrupt Jeff. And in the second, if we do a great job on the place, our lease includes an option to buy. Jeff can buy it and sell it for a profit.”
“Not in this housing market,” he snorted.
“You’re too practical for your own good,” she declared. “You need to loosen up.”
He’d heard that before. But for the past few years, he hadn’t cared. From her, though, it stung a little.
As they pulled into the parking lot of a home-improvement store a little while later, though, he had to admit her enthusiasm was contagious.
She exclaimed, “This place is so cool! It’s a time warp, I’m tellin’ ya.”
He gazed around the parking lot, populated entirely with vintage cars. Frankly, he found it a little creepy. “Come on, June,” he grumbled.
“Who?”
“June Cleaver.” He wasn’t completely ignorant when it came to American TV.
She flashed him one of those heart-stopping smiles of hers. “Ahh, if only you knew what I’m capable of in the dark. You’d never call me that.”
His heart actually skipped a beat. Her sunglasses today were oversize things with white plastic frames and rhinestones that made him think of Marilyn Monroe. He’d give anything to be able to see past those dark lenses to her eyes right now. Was she just teasing him, or was there an edge of truth to her words? Did he detect a hint of an offer in that flirtatious comment? Did he dare contemplate taking her up on it?
She looped her arm in his as he headed for the store. She murmured offhandedly, “That chaste little peck you laid on me back at the house doesn’t even constitute a warm-up kiss in my world.”
Mentally, his jaw dropped. He swore under his breath at the places his thoughts raced off to and refused to come back from. And that was why she probably got away with buying hundreds of dollars’ worth more of paint and light fixtures and curtain rods than they needed. She even managed to cram a half dozen scrawny rosebushes in the back of the Bronco.
As he pulled out of the parking lot, he grumbled, “You took blatant advantage of my distraction to bankrupt Jeff.”
“My mother always told me, ‘Honey, if you’ve got it, use it.’”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t like your mother.”
Her voice dropped into a grim, tense register he’d never heard out of her before. “Neither do I.”
He peered over at her, but she was staring straight ahead and those damned shades gave away nothing. “What’s wrong with her?” he ventured to ask.
“I would have to know where she is to be able to answer that fully.”
Whoa. “Did she leave you?”
“No.” A sigh. “I left her. But by the time I grew up enough to go back and find her, she was gone. Moved away, I guess.”
“And with all of Winston Enterprise’s resources you haven’t been able to locate her?” he blurted, surprised.
“Didn’t look.”
&n
bsp; Instinct told him to let the subject drop. She’d run away from home, huh? How young? It certainly explained her harder edges. So who was the soft, sweet Sammie Jo who’d spent the past few hours with him...and who was suddenly and completely absent?
Although the house was nominally furnished, they still spent much of the afternoon assembling simple furniture and establishing that Sam didn’t know a flat-head from a Phillips screwdriver. She could clean with a vengeance, however, and the little house fairly sparkled before she slowed down enough to help him tape up black-out shades in a bedroom for her. For his part, he stayed busy and did his best not to think at all. Not to remember. Another first house. Another life.
Sam called him from the living room. She’d unpacked the NRQZ-approved, flat-screen TV he’d carried in for her, but she needed help hooking it to the house’s cable system. The phone, electricity and cable were already turned on, so they got a picture right away. She was in transports of ecstasy.
“TV junkie much?” he asked as she nearly bowled him over with a hug of thanks.
Another woman’s laughter echoed in his head. Another woman’s arms around him. He must not remember!
Sam was speaking. “...have no idea. How else am I supposed to spend my nights?”
His arms tightened involuntarily around her. “I can think of a few ways.”
She swatted his arm before he released her and headed for the kitchen. He’d discovered a while back that kitchens were great places to work off a case of panic. Lots of fussy little jobs to do with his hands and attention to detail to distract him. Tomorrow he’d have to go grocery shopping. He already had supplies for a simple spaghetti alfredo in deference to Sam’s vegetarian preferences, and he set about whipping it up.
They ate a late lunch on tray tables in the living room, which felt cave-like with the windows draped in thick curtains. She’d taken out her contacts, and her eyes glowed an unearthly shade that was more than a little unsettling. He was fascinated, though, by how Sam continuously cycled through no less than four television shows. “You’re going to wear that remote out,” he commented.
“Get your own if you’re worried about it,” she shot back.
The tough, mouthy version of Sammie Jo was back, apparently. Which one was the real person and which one the act? It was hard to tell. He had to give her credit for distracting him, though. He’d made it all the way through the meal without one flashback. Small steps, buddy. Small steps.
“So how do we go about gathering all this supposed intel the neighbors possess?” he asked.
“Can you bake?” she asked obliquely.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, all I can bake are brownies out of a box. That’ll do in a pinch, but if you can do anything better like some muffins or bread, that would be helpful.”
“You want me to bake my way to mission success?” he challenged incredulously.
“Exactly. The neighbors will bring food to welcome us to the neighborhood and give them an excuse to scope us out. We’ll reciprocate, of course. Enter your baked goods. Then I’ll draw them out and get them gossiping. And that’s when I’ll get the dirt on Proctor and whatever else is going on around here. By tomorrow, news of Luke’s murder will be all over the county if it isn’t already. Everyone will be talking about him, too.”
“And when will this food exchange commence?”
“I give it another hour.”
She wasn’t far wrong. It was actually more like an hour and a half, but he was still impressed. When the doorbell rang, Sam raced for the bathroom to put in her contacts while he answered it. The first neighbor to arrive, casserole dish in hand, was a retired school teacher who lived next door, Maddie Mercer. She struck him as the type to peer out of her windows at all hours of the day and night at the slightest noise or movement. He was worried about the quantity and quality of her prying. Miss Maddie could be a problem going forward. She did, however, make the best homemade macaroni and cheese he’d ever tasted.
As more neighbors commenced dropping in, he lost track of their names, addresses and connections to one another. And he was usually pretty good at that sort of thing. But Sam made it look effortless, and by early evening seemed to have the genealogies of most of this portion of West Virginia unraveled.
She picked unenthusiastically at a green bean casserole someone had brought over, but he had no qualms about digging into the surprisingly tasty food. At the moment, he was working his way through a plate of some succulent barbecued meat dish.
“What is this I’m eating?” he asked her.
“Don’t ask. If it tastes good, just go with it. In this part of the country, it could be anything from pork to possum.”
The meat abruptly lost its savor, and he went back to Miss Maddie’s macaroni and cheese, which even Sam had declared “fantabulous.”
She waited until he had a mouthful of cheesy goodness to say without warning, “So. I assume you know about the other radio antenna array in the NRQZ. The classified one the NSA runs that pretends it’s a Naval Communications and Signal station.”
He choked but managed not to kill himself swallowing. “I can neither confirm nor deny any knowledge of any classified sites in this area.”
“You seriously claim not to know that the NSA has a gigantic antenna array at the navy’s Shady Grove station?”
“I don’t confirm or deny anything,” he retorted.
“Ahh. I know that game. That’s a yes. If you could deny it, you would. Or you’d lie. Why didn’t you? Afraid I could read you and recognize a fib?”
Damn, that woman was quick. Only way to fight fire was with fire. He shot back at her, “How old were you when you ran away from home?”
“Fifteen,” she blurted, looking startled.
Lord, that was young. And naive. So easy to get in awful trouble at that age. His heart ached a little for the scared, angry kid she must have been. “Why’d you go?”
“The usual reasons. I was pissed off at the world, sure I could get it right on my own and sick of the crap at home.”
“What kind of crap?”
“The usual kind that makes kids run away.” She got up and carried their paper plates to the trash can in the kitchen. “I did the dishes, honey,” she called out to him in a saccharine voice.
Hmm. Abuse? Alcohol? Drugs? Arguments? All of the above? Abruptly, he felt incredibly lucky to have had the upbringing he had. He might not have had a dad, but his mom had been a great single parent. He’d have to give her a call when he finished this mission and tell her so.
Last night hadn’t included much sleep, not to mention all the shopping and chores today. He called it a night early, and went into his room to face a strange bed. He still struggled with them. After seeing his own bed soaked and dripping with blood—
He slammed the door shut on that memory as hard and fast as he could. That particular chamber of horrors could swallow him in clinical depression for days.
He fell asleep surprisingly fast, but woke up abruptly in the middle of the night. His watch said it was nearly 2:00 a.m. Blue light flickered underneath his door. Sam must still be up and watching TV. He pulled on a T-shirt over his sweatpants and went out to check on her. She was wrapped practically to her nose in a fuzzy blanket and staring blankly at a bad comedy movie. Her eyes glowed like cinders nestled deep in the shadows of her face. But oddly, he felt like he was getting used to the sight of her surreal eyes. He doubted she was seeing a thing on the television.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Everything okay?”
She glanced up as if startled out of deep thoughts. “Yeah. Fine.”
He sat down beside her. “You don’t look fine.”
“I’m good,” she insisted.
He wasn’t buying that for a minute. “Tell me about it. How did your logic go? If we’re going to be partners and it’s going to put my life in danger, I have a right to know.”
“Nothing in my past is going to endanger you.”
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br /> Thinking about her past, huh? “They’re just memories. They don’t have the power to hurt you unless you let them.” Her gaze snapped to him as he continued, “All that exists is right now. The past is gone and the future has yet to happen. People get too wrapped up in regretting the one and fearing the other.”
“My, that’s philosophical of you, Mr. Pierce.”
“Just keeping it real. Whatever’s bugging you isn’t here right now. It’s a calm night, you have your cable TV back, and you look warm and cozy. Enjoy the moment.”
She ventured a small smile at him. In the light of the television, her eyes glowed a surreal shade of yellow that was a little unnerving. “The company’s not half-bad, either,” she murmured.
Their gazes met. She leaned toward him and he met her halfway. But he merely gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. He made a policy of never taking advantage of a woman’s emotional weakness to hit on her. “Want some hot chocolate?” he asked. “I hear it’s a surefire cure for all that ails a girl.”
“Who taught you so much about women?”
“My mother.”
“You’re a mama’s boy?” she asked in surprise.
“It was just the two of us when I was a kid. We were close.”
“Do you talk to her often?”
The wistful undertone in Sam’s voice took on new significance for him. “We talk as often as I can come up for air. She’d like you. She approves of spunky women.”
His mother had approved of another young woman a long time ago. The pain started to come, but he shoved it back ruthlessly, focusing instead on the woman seated next to him.
Hunger flashed across Sam’s face. It must be terrible not having any parents. He was a grown man and didn’t exactly need his mother to tell him how to live, but it was still powerful to know someone out there loved him with a mother’s fierceness. It had saved his life more than once in the past five years.
He made two cups of hot chocolate and carried them back to the living room. They sipped in companionable silence.
“Why didn’t you lay a big, wet kiss on me just now?” Sam asked without warning.