by Maggie Price
"Recording everything we just did."
"Yeah."
Morgan gripped the lapels of her robe in a fist while mortification warred with a vague nausea. "Tell me you know how to open the panel on the room under the staircase where the VCRs are."
"I can get in."
"And erase the tape. The tape of us…" She closed her eyes on the image of smooth-talking cop Wade Crawford watching a recording of her and Alex getting it on.
"I can erase it."
"Good. That's good."
Looking down at her, Alex expelled a slow breath. "It was stupid of me not to remember the camera. Hell, I put the damn book on the table myself." He scrubbed a hand over his face, shook his head. "You're right."
"Right?"
"Our getting involved is a bad idea, all the way around. Especially where the job's concerned. Working undercover, you have to maintain a professional detachment with everything and everyone. I just broke that rule, big-time."
"We broke that rule."
"I run this operation, McCall," he snapped, his voice going cop cold. "That makes whatever happens my responsibility. I let you get into my head, get to me, and it made me careless." He looked away, his jaw muscles flexing.
The self-derision in his voice equaled what swirled inside her. What the hell had she been thinking? She didn't want to get involved with Blade. Didn't want to be anywhere near another man who could make her lose control so quickly. Effortlessly. Whatever Alex stirred in her would have to be stopped, she resolved. Or, if not stopped, at least suppressed.
With the taste of him still lingering on her lips, she reinforced that conviction by taking a step away from him. Then another.
His gaze pinned hers. "Don't worry," he said as if he'd read her thoughts. "What just went on between us won't happen again. You have my word. From now on, if I put my hands on you, it'll be all business."
"That's best." Keeping her eyes locked with his, she tried to ignore a flare of disappointment. She drew in a long breath. "It wasn't one-sided, Alex. I was a willing participant. You know that. So, I give you my word, too. I'll keep my hands off you. Whatever happens between us from now on will be in the line of duty. It has to be."
She saw emotion flicker over his face before he turned his head away.
"Agreed," he said.
Chapter 10
Muscles bunching and straining, his body slick with sweat, Alex sat on a workout bench, counting reps. His arms ached, his biceps burned as he completed a fifth set of curls with free weights. Around him sat a dozen pieces of Nautilus equipment. Two additional weight benches and free weights at various poundage lined a rack positioned in front of a mirrored wall. Behind him were separate doors that led to the Whirlpool and sauna. The top-of-the-line setup evidenced that the mansion's previous, now bankrupt, owner had been seriously into body image.
Lately, Alex was more concerned with relieving frustration than anything else.
In the three days—and nights—that had passed since he and Morgan kissed each other senseless, he had tried to put himself into the same mind-set he used when he went deep undercover. For him, doing so had always felt like a kind of separation. Becoming someone else landed him in a different dimension, transformed him into a person devoid of feelings and emotions. Now he was close to admitting he had given his best shot at trying to get to that place but had failed. It wasn't so easy to distance himself from his feelings anymore.
His feelings for Morgan. Feelings he didn't welcome, nor have any desire to analyze.
It didn't help that whenever they were indoors, he and Morgan had begun keeping the same distance from each other as they would with an Ebola patient. For him, distance didn't much help, not when the need tethered tight inside him strained hard just at the scent of her. Then there were the dinners they had no choice but to share, since Spurlock might knock on the door or send one of his minions over any minute. So, he and Morgan dined together each evening, consuming one of her four-star meals while they discussed the specifics of their undercover operation, police work in general and current events at length. What they didn't get close to talking about was what had happened between them three nights ago.
Fine with him.
His breath hissing out through gritted teeth, he began another set of curls while sweat ran down his bare chest and back, dampening the waistband of his cutoff sweatpants. Since his divorce, the few relationships he'd involved himself in had been with women who wanted the same thing as he: insignificant forays with no emotional strings attached and zero discussions about feelings. Those comfortable encounters involved a few laughs, some quick sex, a couple of days or maybe weeks of companionship. Then both parties moved amicably on.
Why the hell couldn't he move on from those crazed minutes he and Morgan had spent on the staircase?
It worried him that she had captured his mind so totally he'd forgotten the camera recording every touch, every kiss, every damn move they made. Ate at him that, three days later, he still wanted her with a fervor that was like a sickness. He knew full well an undercover cop who couldn't control his emotions—better yet, avoid them—represented a danger to himself and everyone around him.
He also acknowledged he should never have gone down that particular road with Morgan. Not only because she was his partner, but he was years older—not just chronologically, but in experience. Both on the job and off, he felt sure. He had taken advantage of her, and he'd had no right to do that. Period. He fully intended to stop thinking with his glands and keep his hands away from her. Which would be a lot easier for him to pull off if he could distance himself from her. Problem was, he had no chance of doing that while this operation was active.
So, he lay in his bed each night, wondering if she was fast asleep in that big bedroom not so far down the hallway from his. Or was she lying awake like him, reliving what had happened between them? Imagining what it would have been like if they'd taken things further?
"Alex, we're in."
He nearly winced at the sound of Morgan's voice coming from behind him. Since the muscles in his arms were on fire, he dropped the weights on the padded mat beneath the bench. He turned while using his forearm to wipe at the sweat dripping into his eyes.
She stood in the doorway, dressed in black shorts that showed a great deal of leg, and a stretchy black jog top that snugged just beneath her breasts and exposed her flat, tanned midriff. Her blond hair was anchored into a ponytail. The perspiration gleaming on her face and arms and the hard pumping of her lungs told him she'd just finished her morning run.
Frustration stirred inside him, shot to the surface as every cell in his body instantly burned for her.
He grabbed a hand towel off the end of the bench and swiped at the sweat on his face and chest. Christ, all he had wanted was one taste of her. Instead, he'd acted like a man feeding after a lifelong fast, and been buried by an avalanche of need and desire he had no idea how to handle. Need and desire that this instant had him fighting the urge to drag her to the floor, bury himself in her and forget the consequences.
He fisted his hands on the towel. So much for subjecting his body to punishing workouts meant to purge his system of her. She had gotten inside him. Somehow. Someway.
"We're in where?" he asked.
"Spurlock's." She gave her moist forehead a quick wipe with the back of her hand, then took a long pull from the water bottle she carried with her. "I was jogging past his place when that huge gate blocking the driveway swung open and a man stepped into my path."
"One of the two black-suited guys who are always at the gatehouse?"
"No. This was the tall, wiry man who drove Spurlock's limo the other night—"
"Colaneri."
"Right, Colaneri. He stepped into the street right in front of me. I had to skid to a stop, nearly lost my balance. It was like he'd been waiting for me to jog by at my usual time." She raised a shoulder. "Which I did." Moving into the room, she grabbed a hand towel off a small table and blotted her face.
She paused, frowning.
"Something wrong?"
"There's a malicious edge in his eyes. Even when he's being polite like he was this morning, it's there."
Alex nodded. He had felt Colaneri's hostile stare from across the driveway the other night. He damn well didn't like knowing the vicious bastard had approached Morgan in the street.
"You read the intel we have on Colaneri," Alex said. "He has a fondness for committing assault and battery, and likes to engage in kinky sex with prostitutes. Some women he's been seen with have gotten cut up. A few have wound up dead, sliced to pieces. There's never been proof he's the one who did the dicing, but I'm sure those talents are one reason he's on Spurlock's payroll."
Morgan scrubbed the towel down her neck. "Reading intel on people like that is one thing. It's a whole different world when you come face-to-face with someone that bad."
"Welcome to police work," Alex said, giving her a thin smile. "Which person are you referring to? Colaneri or Spurlock?"
"Both." She took another drink from the bottle. "I'm not sure which one of them creeps me out more."
"Remember Spurlock calls the shots. These days, Colaneri doesn't do anything without instructions from his boss. We've got three cops and three civilians dead because Spurlock either did the killings or ordered them." Alex wadded his towel, tossed it into a galvanized hamper. "What did Colaneri say?"
"That his boss, Mr. Spurlock, would like us to come for drinks and dinner tonight."
"What time?"
"Six o'clock." She arched a brow. "We're supposed to drive over instead of walk. That's because Spurlock's Dobermans get nervous when they smell strangers."
"I have that same reaction to Dobermans." Alex felt the familiar rush, the lift that came when an investigation picked up speed. "Sounds like we made the first cut."
"Sounds like." Morgan strolled to the StairMaster angled near the mirrored wall and gazed idly at its control console. After a moment she rolled her shoulders as if to ease tension that had settled there. Not tension, Alex amended. Apprehension.
He expelled a slow breath. It was the man in him who needed to distance himself from her. It was the cop who was responsible for preparing his partner for what faced them tonight.
"I won't go to the racetrack today." He rose, hefted the weights off the mat and replaced them on the rack. "I'll take a quick shower, then meet you in the study. We'll go over every step of the operation again."
She turned, a smile shadowing her mouth as she handed him the water bottle. "Thanks."
"Morgan, some amount of apprehension is good. It keeps you on your toes. Just remember you've proved you can handle yourself around Spurlock. Tonight you'll just be handling yourself around him in a different location."
"On his turf." She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "I keep thinking about everything that can go wrong while I'm looking for the gold bedroom. Then snooping around in it for the evidence Krystelle Vander hid there. Whatever the heck it is."
"Snooping?" Alex angled his chin. "I think of it more along the lines of your performing a sensitive investigative technique."
She let out a little laugh. "Thanks, Blade, I needed that."
"Anytime, McCall." He took a step toward her. "Remember, in this business, there's no way you can anticipate what might happen. The key is to be flexible enough so you can modify the flow of your character as needed to meet changing situations."
"Flexible. Right." She tugged off the band tying back her hair so it cascaded over her shoulders like golden sunlight. "I need to hit the shower, too. I'll see you in the study."
"Yeah."
He watched her reflection in the mirrored wall as she moved toward the door, her black shorts snug on her slender hips and trim bottom. What he needed was to touch her.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep, greedy gulp from the water bottle…and tasted her all over again. He barely prevented himself from heaving the bottle against the wall.
* * *
Hours later Morgan gave her appearance a final check in the mirror at the top of the staircase. With her blond hair teased into a dense, wild mane and a red cat suit clinging like skin to her body and dipping low over her breasts, she definitely took on the essence of her undercover persona.
She pressed a hand to her jittery stomach. She might look like the self-assured, sexy woman who had once waited tables in a Vegas cocktail lounge, but right this minute she lacked Morgan Donovan's cocky confidence. On the inside she was all Morgan McCall, and her nerves were scrambling. She didn't want to think about the upcoming venture on the other side of Spurlock's high brick wall. Didn't want to consider the possibility she might take an unintended misstep, but it was there, like the ticking of a detonator, pounding ceaselessly in her brain.
Her almost nonexistent sense of calm wasn't helped by the fact her nerves had grown raw over the past three days. She and Alex had walked on eggshells around each other since their hot-blooded encounter on the staircase. As if by some unspoken agreement, they had kept their conversations after that cordial, centered mostly on their assignment with a few detours into local and world events.
Through it all Alex had treated her with straightforward indifference.
No, she amended instantly, frowning at her mirrored image. Not indifference. She knew he was aware of her, that was the problem. He exuded awareness beneath his cool, incisive exterior.
And she was aware of him.
Good Lord, she was aware.
Before she could switch off her mind, she pictured him as he looked in the gym this morning, leaning on that padded bench, wearing only ragged gym shorts, his muscles bulging while sweat rolled down his tanned flesh. It had taken all of her self-control not to jump his bones, peel off those shorts and have her way with him.
Closing her eyes against the thought, she admitted to herself it wasn't just what lay ahead of her tonight that had tension snapping inside her. It was her partner, a man she had grown to respect and admire. A man who she knew without a doubt would be totally bad for her on a personal level. A man she'd promised to keep her hands off. A man with whom she wanted to have crazed, mindless sex.
God, she was in deep trouble. Damn Alex Blade. Damn him for stirring up all this need that she'd managed to control for years.
"You look…"
Jolting, she pivoted at the sound of Alex's voice. She hadn't heard him coming down the carpeted hallway, and now he stood, leaning against the banister, studying her. In his tailored camel slacks and white silk shirt he presented the perfect image of a well-to-do man who owned a mansion, expensive cars and had a young trophy wife hanging on his arm.
She forced a nonchalant smile. "I look what? Okay? Sort of okay?"
His eyes slid from her face, down the traffic-stopping red cat suit to her sling-back red stilettos that brought her eye to eye with him. "You look dangerous," he said, shifting his gaze back to her face. "Lethal."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Yes."
She raised a hand, her manicured fingers playing with the thin gold chain of her tiny leather evening bag. "Well then, since we're going into hazardous territory, I should fit right in."
"More than." He pulled a black, sleek lipstick tube from his pocket. "I gave the camera a last check." Pushing away from the banister, he moved toward her, handing her the tube.
"Thanks." She tried to ignore the skip in her pulse brought on by the scent of his musky aftershave. Instead she forced her thoughts to how he had patiently walked her through the paces with the camera during their time in the study. Because of that, she felt confident using it.
She gave him a smile. "I guess I owe Sergeant Wade Crawford a big kiss for figuring out how to fit a microchip camera into this tube and still leave most of the lipstick intact."
Alex studied her, his brown eyes looking a shade darker against his tanned face. "A handshake will suffice." He dipped his head. "You ready to pay a visit next door, partner?"
Easing out a breath, Morga
n slid the lipstick into her purse. "Ready as I'll ever be."
* * *
Spurlock's mansion looked quietly elegant, built in the style of an English manor house complete with ivy creeping up the brick walls. The English motif extended indoors in the form of antique woods and classic fabrics, ultraconservative furnishings done in warm colors. Breathtakingly expensive original oil paintings decorated the walls; needlepoint rugs blooming with flowers in muted colors pooled across the polished wood floors.
When their host escorted Morgan and Alex onto the mansion's expansive back terrace, the seemingly unending gardens of lush, velvety roses completed the image that they had been transported to England.
After an hour's tour of the gardens and greenhouse, they returned to the terrace. The nearby arbors and trellises crawling with blooming rose vines, and ornate urns overflowing with a variety of flowering plants made Morgan think of a secret garden. "Carlton, your home, your gardens are beautiful," she said, meaning it. "Magnificent."
"Thank you." Dressed in tailored black slacks and a gray linen shirt, Spurlock poured champagne into crystal flutes. The sun had disappeared in a burst of color, illuminating the terrace in pale-pink evening light. The soft, indirect lighting tucked beneath the house's eaves highlighted the silver at Spurlock's temples.
Morgan smiled. "Your gardens remind me of my aunt's. On a larger scale, of course."
"I'm honored," he said. "Considering the amazing improvements you've made already to your yard and flower beds, I consider you an expert." He handed her a flute. "I believe you mentioned your aunt grew all types of flowers and shrubs."
"That's right."
"Perhaps you can help me with a problem."
"Surely not with roses." Morgan flicked a look at Alex, standing a few feet away. She knew he also had to wonder if she was about to be tested.
"Not roses," Spurlock confirmed. "See the grouping of oak trees beyond the swimming pool cabana? Their leaves form such a thick canopy that grass won't grow beneath them. I carpeted the area in moss."