Under The Covers. Jamie Denton AnnЧитать онлайн книгу.
go haywire. He was as solid as he looked, and the thought of peeling his neatly pressed shirt away to expose all that dark, male skin shocked her clear to the toes of her sensible beige pumps.
She was supposed to be past this silly kind of juvenile behavior. Lust had nearly gotten her killed. Lust along with misplaced trust in an agent operating on the wrong side of the law, something she’d discovered after it was too late. Big deal if Internal Affairs had cleared her of any wrongdoing. Her service record might not have been damaged because of her stupidity, but that didn’t mean her heart and mind hadn’t been banged up more than a little.
“I have my orders, Detective,” she said with false bravado, despite the awareness shimmering between them. She fought hard to forget about bared skin and touching that glorious male body for the next two weeks. The thought of telling her family she planned to quit the agency and follow her own dreams would be far simpler in comparison. No matter how silly anyone thought those dreams might be. “And so do you,” she added.
“Do my orders include kissing my ‘bride’ in public?”
She sucked in a sharp breath as the image of Blake’s mouth pressing evocatively against hers flashed through her mind. “I’ll do whatever is necessary to make this bust, Detective. If it means a kiss or two with my temporary partner to maintain our cover, then I will do my job.”
He grinned, his devilishly handsome mouth filled with enough promise that her knees went weak in spite of her firm reminders. A mouth she’d be tasting soon enough considering their assignment.
“What about touching?” he asked, his voice low, like a whispered endearment.
“If I have to suffer through a few touches to keep us alive, then I’ll do it. It’s all part of the job.”
“Suffer?” A sexy little smile tipped his mouth as he released his gentle hold. “I can’t say a woman’s ever told me she’s suffered from my touch.”
Ronnie seriously doubted the experience would be a painful one, and that was part of her problem. From the crazy way her heart was pounding, she had no trouble imagining all sorts of sensual delights his touch could bring. “There’s a first time for everything,” she countered, hoping to convince him, or maybe herself, she was immune to his devastating charm.
He stepped back and gave her some much-needed breathing room that did little to still the rapid cadence of her heart. Trading barbs with Blake Hammond definitely qualified as stimulating. Too bad other types of stimulation sounded equally intriguing.
He rolled his shoulders, then rubbed the back of his neck again. Ah, stress. Now there was something she could easily understand.
“I’m going home, Carmichael,” he said. “I haven’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours, and I’m beat. You’re right. I don’t have a choice, but before we go anywhere, there’s one thing I want to make crystal clear.”
She braced her hands behind her on the desk, hoping she looked more calm, assured and a whole lot more collected than she was feeling. “Which is?” she asked, arching her brow.
“I’ll play, but we’re playing my way. You can take it or leave it.”
“You don’t know anything about the case.”
He shrugged and walked to the door. “That’s why you’re going to brief me. Tonight.”
“Tonight? But—” She needed time to regain control. Something only distance would provide since she was nearly panting after Blake and all that incredible sex appeal.
“Tonight,” he said, his tone as uncompromising as the flinty steel filling his eyes. “Be at my place by seven. It’s in the file. I’ll even spring for dinner.”
She weighed her options, and couldn’t find a single professional argument. He’d have to be brought up to speed, and she’d rather have him rested and attentive. Personally, the idea of being alone with him terrified her.
“Fine, Detective,” she reluctantly agreed. “I’ll see you at seven.”
He gave her one last look, shook his head, then left her alone in the small office. She watched him through the open miniblinds as he stopped to say something to one of the other detectives before leaving.
Slowly, she moved to the chair and sat, willing her legs to stop trembling, wondering how she was ever going to survive a week, maybe two, pretending to be filled with lust for the sexiest man she’d ever met. Especially when the lines between pretense and reality had already begun to merge.
BLAKE TAPPED THE RAZOR on the side of the sink, silently cursing fate, and his lieutenant. The much-needed sleep did little to improve his mood, but considering his long-awaited and much anticipated vacation had been preempted, he figured he was entitled to a little crabbiness.
“Newlyweds,” he muttered, scraping the razor along his cheek. He was no stranger to undercover operations. He’d been a detective long enough to have dealt with his fair share of assignments, good and bad, but none had ever evoked erotic images strong enough to haunt his dreams. Dreams casting a sassy, diminutive DEA agent with eyes the color of the sea, hair softer than down and skin as smooth and sleek as Egyptian cotton in the starring role.
Under normal circumstances, he’d never consider spending fourteen days in a romantic setting with a sexy, intriguing woman a hardship. Spending those days alone with a Southern belle with a badge and an attitude hardly qualified as an erotic fantasy. Agent Carmichael was a sexual harassment allegation waiting to happen, especially since he’d come dangerously close to kissing her this morning. Thank heaven his common sense had overruled his baser intentions.
Women and the badge weren’t compatible. His parents’ divorce when he was ten confirmed it. He had his own experience to quantify that knowledge, as well, not to mention more than half the cops on the force were either divorced or close to it. The divorce rate among the detective squad was even higher. Only a very special woman could handle being married to a cop. Not many understood the long hours, or how a disappearing act for days at a time when an undercover assignment came along was all part of the motto, To Protect and Serve. It took a strong woman to be able to deal with the reality that every time she kissed her badge-carrying husband goodbye in the morning, it could very well be the last time she ever saw him alive. In his experience, women like that were far and few between, one of the reasons why, at thirty-one, he’d never married. There’d been a close call once, but that was a lifetime ago.
He shoved those unpleasant thoughts aside as the doorbell rang. Rinsing away the remnants of shaving cream, he buried his face in a fluffy towel before heading to the front door of his beachfront condo.
He’d hoped his reaction when he’d first seen Ronnie Carmichael this morning had been a result of lack of sleep and extreme frustration. Those hopes crumbled when he swung open the door and his heart began to pound again.
She looked ready for a day of relaxing under the warmth of the southern California sun, even if she did have a briefcase in her hands. Her silky hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, a few stray strands teasing the curve of her jaw. Khaki walking shorts showed off her lightly tanned legs, and a teal cotton top with a scoop neck hugged her full breasts and emphasized her curves.
“Either you’re independently wealthy or on the take,” she said with a gentle smile, breezing past him. He caught the intoxicating scent of her floral perfume and breathed in, imagining the pulse points where she’d dabbed the fragrance.
He frowned and closed the door. “That’s a hell of a greeting.”
“You’ve got a nice place,” she said, a bare hint of a smile flirting around the edges of her very kissable mouth. “I didn’t know LAPD paid their detectives so well.”
“They don’t,” he said, ushering her into the sunken living room overlooking the Pacific. “My mother’s family has money and I bought this place a couple of years ago when I came into a trust. Not that it’s any of your business.”
She set her briefcase