by Lori Wilde
“I’m not worried,” she lied. “This is strictly business.”
“I should warn you of something.”
She licked her lips gone dry. “What?”
“Occasionally, in undercover situations like this, when officers have to work in close quarters, things can sometimes get…er…sticky.”
“What do you mean?”
“Emotions can get out of control.”
“Meaning?”
“In the situation’s heat, people can…um…” He shifted, looking like he regretted bringing the topic up.
“Yes?”
“People get tempted.”
“You mean sexually?”
“That’s what I was aiming at, yes.”
“Has that ever happened to you?”
“No.” His grin disappeared. “I’m a professional. I’d do nothing to jeopardize my job. I just wanted to make you aware that if you have certain feelings while on the case, you can’t trust those emotions.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I’d also not do anything to hurt you, Katie.”
The tenderness in his voice was so touching. Katie folded her knees to her chest and hugged them. She turned her head and met Truman’s gaze dead-on. “This will be an unforgettable adventure, Truman.”
Something unreadable flittered through his eyes. Was it passion, desire, fear? She couldn’t be sure.
“I have a strong feeling that you’re right, Katie Prentiss. Any time spent with you is bound to be unforgettable.”
Two weeks later.
An undercover assignment pretending to be Truman West’s wife?
Could life possibly get any better than this? Katie thought as she packed her suitcase. Truman would be here soon, and she didn’t want to keep him waiting, but she wasn’t sure what to pack.
One side of her closet housed the stuff she thought of as her pre-Tess wardrobe. Long skirts, baggy pants, roomy blouses in drab colors of brown, green, and gray. Whenever she felt shy or lonely or needed to withdraw into herself, Katie selected clothing from this side of the closet. Fortunately, she was picking less and less from these offerings as she emerged from her shell.
On the other side hung the clothes she’d purchased since starting “Operation Overhaul.” Her code phrase for pushing herself out of her comfort zone. Here were the daring outfits—miniskirts and halter tops, thigh-length black leather boots and extravagant scarves, low-cut silk blouses and skin-tight leggings in a rainbow of colors—red, purple, turquoise, yellow, orange. A sharp contrast to the other side of the closet.
Katie stood in the doorway nibbling her bottom lip and contemplating her choices. Should she go as Katie Prentiss or Tess Dupree?
Two nights alone with Truman West in a hotel room and she had to ask herself this question?
Without hesitation Katie pulled her flagrant costumes off their hangers and bundled them into the suitcase. Next came the underwear. White cotton panties or black satin thongs? Katie gulped at the heat rushing through her groin. What would it matter? It wasn’t as if Truman would ever see her naked. They were on assignment. They had a job to perform. This was not a honeymoon.
But how she wished it were.
Oof. She had to stop thinking like this. She was setting herself up for heartache if she thought this little adventure would lead anywhere with Truman.
Ah, to hell with that attitude, Tess Dupree’s voice sprang into her head. Live life to the fullest, little Miss Librarian. Who knows what’s around the next corner? Being prim and proper didn’t get you anywhere for twenty-five years, now, did it? Go for the gusto! You might never have another chance to win Truman over. Who knows what can happen? And if you get your heart broken, well, it won’t be the first time. You’ll get back up, dust yourself off, and forge on, full speed ahead.
Katie hesitated, weighing each piece of internal advice, the white panties in one hand, the black thongs in the other. Hitching in a breath, she made an irrevocable decision and put the white cotton panties back in the drawer.
Damn the torpedoes!
Resolutely, Katie packed a sexy red negligee for good measure. She was supposed to be cover-model material.
She zipped her suitcase and wandered around her apartment, nervous yet exhilarated. She checked her watch. Seven a.m. Truman had called the night before to say he’d pick her up at seven-fifteen for the eight-hour drive to Fort Worth to arrive at the hotel by check-in time.
Katie popped off the couch and paced. She swung her arms, then cracked her knuckles. She heaved a heavy sigh and scurried to the bathroom to check her appearance one more time.
Turning, Katie examined herself in the mirror. She wore a pencil-thin red skirt that rode three inches above her knees and a sheer white blouse that flaunted her cleavage.
She looked unbelievably hot.
A sudden attack of jitters clamped onto her.
Was she nuts? She couldn’t sit in the truck next to Truman dressed like this. Not him. Not the man who’d stirred her romantic fantasies for so many years. She couldn’t have him thinking she was cheap and easy. Oh, why had she tried to pretend she was something she was not? She was shy Katie Prentiss. Maybe not overweight or mousy anymore, but still unsure of herself. She wasn’t a flamboyant fictional character.
Dread latched on to her.
This was wrong, all wrong.
Her undercover profile was a reticent wife who needed convincing of her beauty, not a flashy vamp strutting her stuff. She’d been thinking with her hormones not her head. She’d been fantasizing about blowing Truman’s socks off with provocative clothes.
Katie fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, desperate to get it off. She had to change her clothes and repack her suitcase. There wasn’t a moment to spare.
The doorbell rang.
Katie froze.
Uh-oh. Truman was here, and she wasn’t the least bit prepared.
5
For the past two weeks, Truman couldn’t think about anything but Katie. No matter how often he forced his mind on the task at hand, eventually and frequently, his attention returned to her.
That spunky attitude, that sharp intelligence, that beautiful body. She’d changed in so many admirable ways, he couldn’t catalogue them all. He was in deep trouble, and he knew it.
How could he spend two days and nights with her in an expensive hotel and keep his hands to himself? Normally, self-control wasn’t a problem, but with sexy Katie, his control hung by a hair.
Problem was, he’d been too long without a girlfriend. His revved-up sexual appetite stemmed from the lack of an appropriate outlet, he rationalized, not from the woman herself.
That’s right, the voice in the back of his head said. Kid yourself.
He wanted Katie. From the time he’d lifted her onto his Appaloosa in the park and escorted her to Jenny’s wedding, she’d captivated him. Taking her home, seeing her apartment, talking with her had only strengthened his belief she would be the perfect person to play his wife. Truman stood on her landing, his finger poised over the doorbell. It was too late to turn back now. The proverbial dye was cast.
He pushed the bell.
A thumping noise sounded from inside the apartment, then silence. Truman cocked his head, and this time he knocked. “Katie? It’s me.”
“Just a minute,” came the muffled reply.
Smiling to himself, Truman tried to tamp down his eagerness. Control, West. Remember, nerves of steel.
Except for Katie, those nerves of steel seemed more like nerves of Jell-O.
Super wobbly Jell-O.
“Hi,” Katie said breathlessly as she swung open the door. “I’m almost ready.”
Truman drank her in. She dressed in a pale gray, calf-length circle skirt and a white long-sleeved blouse with a high collar. She wore a cameo necklace with matching earrings, and her hair was pulled back into a soft bun. “You look great.”
“Do I?” She put a hand to her hair.
“Yes. You look perfect for the role you’l
l play. Beautiful but humble. You must have spent hours getting ready.”
“Not really.”
“You did a great job.”
“Thanks,” she said shyly, cupping her hands together and staring down at the floor.
Even though she looked good, Truman couldn’t help wondering what Katie would look like in something a little racier. Say a short slit-skirt and spike heels.
Rein it in, West. Rein it in.
“Those grifters will fall for you hook, line, and sinker,” he said. “They won’t know what hit them.”
“I hope so.” She crossed her fingers.
“Trust me on this. Can I do anything to help you get ready?”
“No. I’ll be back in just a minute.” She disappeared down the hall.
Truman craned his neck and watched her hips sway as she sashayed away. Have mercy! That woman could make a blind man see.
Whew. He ran a finger around his collar. It seemed hot in here.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Truman paced, coaching himself to calm down. They had a whole weekend to get through.
“You know,” Katie said, entering the room a few minutes later and bringing with her the sweet scent of magnolias. Her perfume, too, was a perfect choice. It whispered soft Southern charm. “I was thinking about the assignment.”
“Uh-huh,” Truman replied, so consumed with looking at her he scarcely heard what she said.
“Are we going to have aliases?”
“Our real names should be fine.”
“Oh.” Katie looked disappointed. “I thought when you went undercover you picked a fake name.”
“Sometimes we do, but usually it’s safer to at least keep your own first name.”
“But what if the con men recognize your name? I mean you are a cop, and you’d think any sharp con man moving into a new area would make himself familiar with the bunko detectives.”
“Sweetheart, you’re giving criminals credit for a lot more brains than most of them possess.”
Sweetheart? Where had that come from?
“But these guys are smarter than average. You said they’ve eluded arrest for quite some time.”
“That’s true.”
“So, are we going to use aliases? I’d find it easier to get into character with different names.”
“Sure, if you want to.” If Katie had suggested wearing party hats with purple dinosaurs on them, he would have gone for it.
“Great.” Her face lit up, and Truman felt inordinately pleased for causing that thousand-watt smile. “I’ve got the perfect names picked out for us.”
Of course, she did. Everything she did was perfect.
“What are they?” Truman asked, noticing the way her skirt’s silky material swirled about her legs. The woman had the most gorgeous ankles. Slim and toned.
“Tess and Zack Dupree. What do you think?”
“Sounds fine to me.” She could have said Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow; Truman wouldn’t have argued.
She clapped her hands like a pleased little girl. “Truman, this is so exciting!”
You got that right.
“Here,” he said, schooling his features to remain neutral. “Let me have your suitcase.”
Katie handed it to him and locked the front door behind them and dropped her keys into her purse.
Watching her, Truman wondered if this whole project was such a good idea. They would be alone much of the weekend. In a hotel room together. Pretending to be husband and wife. The ideal scenario for a lot of trouble.
No. He was letting his attraction to her cloud his reason. He could handle this. Hadn’t he spent the years since Rhonda left him building up his barriers, setting his own rules?
Yet something about Katie had him reconsidering his keep-your-distance approach to relationships. She made him want to change. What was it about her? Was it the light in her eyes every time she glanced his way?
He had to admit there was something powerful about a sexy woman who looked at him with such unabashed yearning. Truman gulped. Heaven help him, he yearned for her too.
Why had he called in her promise of a favor? Sheriff Forrester had left the decision up to him whether to use Katie or a policewoman. Truman knew if he’d tried harder, he could have found someone else to play the part. Someone who didn’t drive him crazy with desire.
But he’d wanted to be with Katie.
Why?
That was the burning question.
He shouldered her suitcase and marched down the sidewalk beside her, feeling strangely like a condemned man on his way to the gallows.
Hundreds of beautiful women in all shapes, colors, and sizes packed the hotel lobby in downtown Fort Worth, the hum of voices almost deafening.
Katie stared openmouthed.
Truman expected her to compete with these breathtaking creatures? Feeling like an inconsequential field mouse, she scooted to one side of the revolving door to avoid blocking the flow of traffic.
With this competition she would have no trouble acting reticent about her chances of becoming a model. They were nonexistent. The odds didn’t matter. What counted was catching the con men at their game of swindling pie-in-the-sky dreamers out of their hard-earned cash.
“This way,” Truman said, taking her elbow and leaning in close so Katie could hear him above the din. His warm breath tickled her ear and sent a sharp, aching sensation to her groin.
How many times had she fantasized of this man walking by her side as her husband? Her long-cherished hopes had come true. Even if it was a pretend marriage and only for a very short time. She had now. This twinkling moment in time.
If she’d learned anything from reading the Tess Dupree mysteries, Katie had learned to seize the moment. After this assignment was over, she might not see Truman again. She had to take advantage of each precious second.
The drive up from Rascal had been easy enough. They’d talked about all manner of things. Movies. Books. Food. His job. Her job. People they knew from high school. They caught up on each other’s lives and discovered surprising things they had in common.
They both loved baseball and pistachio ice cream. They shared a guilty pleasure for Survivor, pineapple on their pizza, and Laffy Taffy. And when they stopped for gas, Truman came back to the truck with a sack of Laffy Taffy, and they chewed in companionable silence until their next stop where they split a pizza.
But the peacefulness of their road trip eroded in the buzz of conference activity.
Mentally, she absorbed her environment. Hungry to capture the magic, to commit the moment to memory, Katie paid attention to every nuance, every sound. She wanted to remember everything, so that in the ensuing months and years, whenever she was sad or lonely, she could look back and recall that one brief and beautiful weekend when she got to play undercover detective as Truman’s wife.
She heard the tinkling strains of “Blue Moon” from the piano bar, almost drowned out by the noisy crowd. She watched the indoor fountain cascading over colored lights and noticed how brightly the brass handrails shone. She listened as her shoes tapped rhythmically against the pink marble flooring. And she breathed in the aroma of basil and fresh garlic from the Italian restaurant farther up the corridor.
Katie curled her fingers around Truman’s upper arm, thrilling to the feel of his hard bicep. She memorized his touch, his scent, the rich tone of his voice. Angling for the front desk, he pushed through the bevy of beauties.
There was a line.
A long one.
Truman took a place at the end of the line and sighed. “Looks like we’re in for a wait.” He pivoted on one heel and scanned the room.
“What are you looking for?” Katie whispered, her eyes following his gaze.
“Our potential targets.”
“Do we even know for sure they’re here?”
“No. This whole thing could be a wild-goose chase. If Sheriff Forrester’s niece hadn’t been a target, I doubt we’d even be here.”
Thank heaven
s for family connections, she thought. “Do you know what they look like?”
He shook his head. “We have a general description but no photographs of them, and since they alter their appearance between stings, we don’t even have a consistent consensus on what they look like.”
“So, we might not be able to locate them even if they are here.”
“If they’re here, I’ll find them. After a few years on the job, you get an instinct about these things. Right now, they’re working the crowd, sizing up their marks.”
“If they’re here.”
“If they’re here,” he echoed.
“This is so exciting.” Katie tightened her grip on his arm. “You said it’s two men and a woman?”
“Yes, keep your eyes peeled.”
Katie stood on tiptoes. “I don’t see any men other than hotel employees. Lots and lots of women.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re not here. They could be watching from a vantage point or hanging out in the bar.” Truman tilted his head toward the piano bar, several yards to the right.
“What do we do?”
“Now’s as good a time as any to start act like a loving couple.”
“Okay. What should we do?”
“Try something intimately possessive.”
Her mind went to some crazy places. “Like what?” she whispered.
“Like brushing the lint from my shoulders.”
Katie peered at those strong, broad shoulders, and her heart did a free fall. “There’s not any lint.”
“Brush me off, anyway.”
Not one to disobey an order from an undercover detective, Katie lightly ran her palm along his shoulders. Invisible sparks flew from her fingertips, and she knew it wasn’t static electricity, but rather the red-hot snap of sexual chemistry.
“There,” she said breathlessly, drawing back.
But Truman wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You smell delicious,” he nuzzled her neck. “Did I tell you that?”
“Oh, Zack.” Katie giggled loudly, using his undercover name and putting on a show for any interested passersby. “You’re so romantic.”
“Not half as romantic as you, cupcake.” Truman chucked her gently under the chin. “Who was the one strutting her stuff in that red leather garter last night?”