Hoodwinked

by Diana Palmer

  "Are you back to stay this time?" She had to know. "They aren't going to transfer you, are they?"

  He chuckled deep in his throat. "I don't think there's any threat of that."

  She smiled. "I'm glad." Her hands fiddled with the edge of her top as she fought for words. "I'll pour you some coffee."

  "Where's Bagwell?" he asked, glancing at the empty cage.

  "Watching television," she said. "Eating popcorn and probably the bowl it's in. He likes murder mysteries. He screams along with the victims," she said, laughing.

  He glanced into the living room. "Amazing that he stays put like that. Most birds like to roam."

  "Amazons are climbers, not fliers. And Bagwell isn't too adventurous. He's afraid of red things." She grinned. "He won't go near my Christmas plates."

  "That has to be an advantage from time to time," he said.

  "I suppose it is." She poured coffee into a cup, almost spilling it, and handed it to him. "Do you want to sit in here, or watch the movie with us?"

  "What is it?"

  She told him.

  "I've seen it, but I don't mind seeing it twice." He followed her into the living room and sat down beside her on the sofa.

  Bagwell giggled and jumped off onto the cushions, his head down as he made a pigeon-toed, parroty dash toward the newcomer.

  "Look out, he bites," Maureen exclaimed.

  But Jake just extended his brawny forearm and let Bagwell climb aboard. He swung him over to the arm of the sofa and let him off. "Stay there," he told the bird with the same authority in his voice that Maureen had heard only once or twice.

  Bagwell knew the boss when he heard him. He settled down on the sofa arm with a nugget of popcorn in one claw and left well enough alone.

  "How do you do that?" Maureen asked, fascinated.

  He leaned back with his arm around her shoulders, as casually as if they'd known each other for a lifetime. "Years of practice yelling at subordinates," he mused, glancing down at her. "I've been shop foreman a time or two in my life," he added to keep her from asking more questions.

  "Oh."

  "How are things going at the office?" he asked at the next commercial.

  "Fine, I suppose," she said. She looked up at him, her eyes soft and quiet on his very masculine features. He had such a strong face, she thought dreamily.

  "Any new gossip?" he persisted.

  "Just that they're still looking for the problem with the Faber jet," she said. "Charlene said that one of the vice presidents thinks Mr. MacFaber is on his way back. I guess he's going to start putting pressure on his private detective."

  Jake looked thoughtful. "There's an idea."

  "And Mr. Blake thinks it might besomeone mechanical," she said hesitantly, unwilling to come right out and say it.

  He glanced down at her curiously. "Just what I thought myself."

  She cleared her throat. "Want some more coffee?"

  "If you won't have to make a fresh pot," he agreed. He looked down at his strong wrist. "I have to go by ten-thirty. I'm expecting a phone call."

  It was almost ten-fifteen now, she thought miserably. She was disappointed at that, but astonished at what she saw on his wrist. She got up, trying not to appear as uneasy as she felt, and poured coffee into the cups. But her mind wasn't on coffee. It was on the watch he was wearing. She knew a Rolex when she saw one, and she knew what they cost. He couldn't have bought that on a mechanic's salary.

  It was almost confirmation of the theory that he had to be on somebody's payroll besides MacFaber's. For one sweet moment she wondered if he might be MacFaber's private detective. They made good money, didn't they?

  She turned, watching him watch the mystery movie. Wouldn't a detective like such a program?

  She took the coffee back in and sat down beside him. Life was taking on a whole new meaning.

  "Do you like mysteries?" she asked during a lull in the action.

  "Very much," he confessed. He smiled down at her. "I like solving them, too."

  "So do I. I always wanted to be a secret agent."

  His dark eyes narrowed. "Really?"

  "But I never actually did it, of course," she murmured. "Like everything else in my life, it was just a dream."

  He was watching her closely, making lightning adjustments. He had to find out the truth about her. He'd missed her ridiculously while he'd been away. Being with her again was like coming home.

  She tried to watch the program, but she was all too aware of how late it was and how little time she was going to have with him. He might even have forgotten that he'd promised to take her bowling on Saturday. He might not want to anymore.

  His big hand slid between them, and curled around hers, tightening as the action unfolded on the screen. She wasn't even watching. Her eyes were on his broad face, riveted to its hard strength.

  "Why don't you ever answer your damned phone at night?"

  She knew she'd gasped. She always unplugged the telephone at nine, so that she could watch television undisturbed and go to bed when she pleased without nuisance calls. Those were the only kind she ever got, now that her parents were dead. It had never occurred to her that Jake might be trying to telephone her.

  "I unplug it at nine," she said in soft disbelief.

  "I called every night at eleven," he replied. "It was impossible to phone you at work, and I was tied up until the wee hours every night."

  "You tried to call me?" she asked, aghast.

  "Don't look so surprised," he murmured dryly. "Aren't you even experienced enough to know when a man's interested in you?"

  She lowered her eyes. "It can be unpleasant to build sand castles in the surf," she said noncommittally.

  "It can be unpleasant to build them anywhere."

  His hand, big and warm and gentle, caressed hers. It had a rough feel to it, and that puzzled her. It had been her experience that men's hands were relatively smooth when they were used to building or fixing things. Callused hands usually went with rough sports.

  "You have to take chances in this life if you want to accomplish anything," he continued.

  "So they say." Her eyes sought his, huge and bright through the lenses of her glasses. "But I'm afraid to take chances."

  "Are you really?" he asked, voicing his thoughts out loud. His hand left hers and curled around her nape, tugging her head up so that her mouth could meet the slow, confident descent of his.

  She gave in almost immediately. He made sweet surges of pleasure run through her body like fire when he kissed her. It was never the same kiss twice, either. This one was slow and steady and a little rough. It was less expert than his others, almost as if he'd been experimenting before and he was deadly serious now.

  "Bagwell" she began.

  "Damn Bagwell. Come here." He pulled her across his lap in one easy, smooth motion, his mouth covering hers to still any protests she might make.

  His big arms swallowed her, enveloped her. He twisted her so that her stomach was pressing against his, and one enormous hand went to the base of her spine to hold her there when she panicked and tried to pull back.

  She'd never felt the full arousal of a man's body before, and it embarrassed her. But trying to struggle embarrassed her more, because his body made an emphatic statement about what her movements did to it, and against her lips, he groaned harshly.

  With a faint sigh, she gave in. She didn't want to hurt him. Besides all that, she thought bitterly, she might never be held like this again. And she was beginning to care very much about this big, quiet man.

  She pressed one slender hand flat against his shirt front, fascinated by the sheer breadth of his chest and the cushy warmth of it under the thin knit fabric.

  His heartbeat increased at the unconscious motion of her fingers. "Unbutton it," he said against her mouth.

  She felt an explosion of sensation. Did he mean it? Was he giving her free license to explore him, to touch him? She'd never wanted to touch a man under his shirt before. But then, Jake
was no ordinary man.

  She lay against him, feeling his body throb while she debated whether or not it would be sane to do as he asked. But she was awash in new pleasures, enjoying the scent of his cologne, the hard beat of his heart under her hand, the feel of his big body all around her in a feverishly close intimacy. She looked up into stormy black eyes in a face like stone, and she didn't even hesitate.

  Her unsteady fingers went to the top three buttons and she unfastened them one by one, disclosing a darkly tanned chest thick with black, curling hair. She hesitated, her eyes mirroring her uncertainty as she looked up at him.

  "Don't stop there," he said quietly. "I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more than feeling your hands on me."

  Five

  » ^ «

  Maureen looked up at Jake with her heart in her eyes. He'd been kind to her, and she felt like a woman when he kissed her. But he was rushing her into an intimacy that she wasn't certain she was ready for. She was a slow starter. She needed time.

  He felt her hesitation. His big hand touched hers where it paused at the fourth button of his shirt. "I'm not asking you to give yourself to me," he said quietly. "I want you to touch me. But not unless you want it, too."

  That relaxed her tightly strung nerves. She lay against him, burying her face against his hair-roughened skin where the fabric of his shirt was open, feeling him go taut. "I can't go to bed with you," she said in a hesitant whisper.

  He stroked her hair gently. "You will, eventually," he said. "But we'll go slow. Come up here and kiss me. I've got to go in five minutes."

  "How unflattering," she managed with a nervous laugh, glancing up. "You can keep up with the time"

  "I have to. I'm a businessman first and foremost," he murmured dryly. He bent and put his mouth over hers, holding the faint pressure until the kiss broke through her reserves and forced her to link her arms around his neck, pushing upward to coax his mouth closer.

  "Is this what you want?" he asked huskily, and his hand went behind her head. The kiss was long and slow and terribly arousing. He didn't try to undress her, or even touch her intimately. The most intimate thing he did was to smooth her hand against his chest and press it hard over his heart while his mouth worked against hers with increasing ardor. The controlled ferocity of the kiss made her body writhe against his, and that was when he suddenly put her away and got to his feet.

  She lay there with Bagwell fluffed up and half-asleep at the foot of the sofa, watching Jake move away to light a cigarette with his back to her.

  "I have to go," he said shortly.

  Oh, Lord, she thought, I've done it now. He'll go away and never come back

  He turned then, and she saw his broad face dark with frustrated passion, hard with desire. And she knew without being told that he wasn't going to go away. If she was enthralled, so was he. He might not like it, but he was as helpless as she was. The chemistry between them was too sweet to ignore.

  She was suddenly glad that he was a mechanic, and not some rich man with designs on her virtue. At least, even if he turned out to be on Peters's payroll, he was just an ordinary man. She could live with an avaricious streak, she told herself. She could live with anything, rather than lose Jake.

  "Deep thoughts, Maureen?" he asked quietly.

  "I'm glad you're just a mechanic," she said softly. "Just an ordinary man. I like what you are."

  His face went harder. "Maybe I'm not what I seem to be," he said, because her ardor had shaken him.

  She wondered then if she'd been right all along, and he really was a saboteur. But it didn't seem to matter. "I don't care what you are," she replied recklessly. "It doesn't matter."

  "You might find that it could matter a great deal," he told her, his dark eyes stormier than ever. He checked his watch and cursed under his breath. "I've got to go. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

  "All right." She got up, her legs wobbly, her hair wild, her lips faintly swollen but still hungry for his.

  He caught her hand in his and walked with her to the door, pausing to reach down and press a long, smoky kiss against her open mouth.

  "You're sweet to kiss," he whispered. He nipped her lower lip ardently. "Get some sleep. Good night."

  "Goodnight."

  He was gone before she could say another word. She put Bagwell to bed, much later than she should have, covered him and went to her own bed. But she didn't sleep. On the other side of the wall, she could hear Jake's deep, slow voice. She couldn't make out what he was saying, but he sounded angry and the conversation went on for a long time. She was still hearing it drifting in and out when she finally went to sleep, worried to death about Jake's future. Somehow she had to protect him from MacFaber, if Jake really was a saboteur. She didn't know how she was going to do it, but she'd manage something. She had to. She couldn't let anything happen to him.

  The next morning, everything seemed to be upside down at work. Mr. Blake, who was never late, wasn't at his desk. Maureen dealt with the mail as usual and answered the phone, but she couldn't do the reports or answer technical letters. Eventually, she just sat at her desk, waiting, with the feeling of sitting on an unexploded bomb.

  When lunchtime came and her boss still hadn't, she began to worry. Her first thought was of Jake. Maybe he'd been found out! Maybe they'd caught him!

  She went to the canteen to eat, hoping for a glimpse of him there, but he was nowhere in sight. In desperation, Maureen stopped by MacFaber's office to see if his secretary might know what was going on.

  "Is something afoot?" Maureen whispered.

  Charlene looked up from the computer screen. "Sure. Twelve inches is a foot." She grinned.

  "I hate you."

  "So do I sometimes," her friend agreed. "Why the worried look?"

  "Mr. Blake isn't in his office."

  "I guess not. MacFaber's what's afoot," she whispered confidentially. "He's back in town and out for blood. I hear he's got all the top-level executives on the carpet at a motel outside the city limits, giving them hell."

  "Have they caught the culprit?" Maureen asked with commendable restraint.

  "What culprit?" Charlene frowned.

  "The one who's messed up the Faber jet."

  "Oh, that culprit." Charlene grinned. "I think so, but they aren't saying who it is. However, I have it from a confidential source that there's going to be another test flight a week from tomorrow. Then we'll know."

  Maureen's heart was going like a watch. "I don't guess they've mentioned any names?"

  Charlene shook her head. "Not a chance. And it doesn't sound like sabotage, exactly. All I can tell you is that Mr. Blake went looking for MacFaber last night, from what the grapevine says, and this morning there's a very hush-hush staff meeting." She lowered her voice. "And apparently MacFaber's private detective has done a slick job, hanging around here incognito while he smoked out the cause of the failed test flight. From what I hear, there really was someone at fault. Someone in the mechanical section, and based right here."

  Maureen felt sick. Then the part about the private detective being incognito touched her mind. Bells began ringing in Maureen's head. Was it possible that Jake could be MacFaber's private detective? That thought gave her hope. At least there was a chance that he might not be the spy she'd thought he was. And he'd told her that he could be something besides what he seemed. Her gloomy spirits lifted a little.

  "Are you okay? You look white."

  Maureen snapped herself back to the present. "I'm okay." She smiled wanly, adjusted her glasses and went back to her own office. She sat there until mid-afternoon, brooding over her mechanic. It wasn't until Mr. Blake came in, pale and exhausted, that she was able to divert her mind.

  "I don't want to answer any more questions." He held up his hand when she started to speak. "So just get your pad, please, Maureen, and we'll get to the mail."

  He sat down heavily at his desk and Maureen did what she was told, blazing with unanswered questions.

  She went home,
still without having seen Jake anywhere at all. What if he'd been arrested?

  She fixed a meager supper of ham sandwiches, sharing part of it with Bagwell, trying not to cry. Her life was over. She'd never see Jake again. He'd go to prison

  There was a sharp knock at the door. She ran to open it, and there he was. He looked tired and half out of sorts. But to Maureen, he was the most beautiful sight she'd seen all day.

  With a hard sob, she threw herself into his arms.

  "What's this all about?" he asked at her temple. "What's wrong?"

  "Was it you?" she asked, lifting tragic eyes to his. "They had this big meeting, and I couldn't find you. I thoughtthought maybe they'd arrested you for sabotage or something!"

  He was very still. His hands tightened on her shoulders. "You thought it was me?" he prompted, aghast at her assumption.

  "Well, you're new," she groaned. "And they said they thought it was a mechanic, and I didn't know if you were working for Mr. Peters" She drew back and looked up into his shocked face. "I'm sorry. I'm ashamed that I thought such a thing about you. And I knew, too, that you might be MacFaber's private detective?" Her voice went up, and she watched him, hoping for some reaction. But there was nothing. His features were as calm as if he were watching a weather report on television.

  He wondered what she'd say if he admitted that he'd thought it was her. He was certain now, of course, that it wasn't. Or reasonably certain. A week from tomorrow would be the telling day, when the jet flew or didn't. Meanwhile, he didn't dare answer her suspicions one way or the other. At this point it was too risky.

  He touched her hair. "You think I'm a saboteur?" he asked with a faint smile, a little cynical about her acceptance of him despite her suspicions. "And you don't mind?"

  "You're my friend," she said simply. She grimaced. "Go ahead. Walk out and never come back. It's all I deserve."

  He didn't budge. His dark eyes narrowed under his heavy brow. "Why did you keep seeing me?" he asked.

  "At first I was keeping you under surveillance," she murmured with a shy grin. "And then" The smile faded as her eyes searched his. "You aren't in trouble, are you?" she asked huskily. "I'll be a character witness if you need one. I'll do anything I can to help."