To Kiss A Kringle (Southern Sanctuary Book 13)

by Jane Cousins

  Her eyeballs itched from the unfamiliar blue contacts.

  And her face and lips continued to burn ever so slightly, thanks to the miracle of Great-Great-Aunt Daphne’s youth dew serum, that pulled, tightened and banished wrinkles. If only she could get rid of the rather annoying side effects, her Aunt would have a best selling winner. That persistent burning tingly feeling would steadily only grow more uncomfortable as time progressed. Patricia had placed several cold chamomile laced compresses in the fridge in preparation for her return home. However, for the next few hours, though the pain would escalate over time, it should be relatively manageable. She prayed.

  The dress had turned out better than she had hoped, though she didn’t recall it scratching this badly. Sequins digging into her in several uncomfortable places that she was determined to ignore. Not so surprising really, given she’d removed all the nude coloured modesty netting from both the front and back of the dress, leaving acres of bare flesh exposed. She fought down the urge to rearrange the dress and scratch.

  Ah, the price of beauty and the air of youth. Every woman knew it could be a costly one.

  Cullen closed the security door to his hi-tech lair behind him, coming to an abrupt halt. His sensors had advised that Patricia Bennett had arrived, but he really should have taken a moment to check the monitors and prepare himself for the sight of her.

  She had her back to him right at this moment, those exceedingly long legs of hers on display thanks to the very short, ragged, hemline of a dress that barely qualified to be called an article of clothing. It dipped so low in the back he could count all but two of her vertebrae. But he, stupid idiot that he was, had thought things couldn’t get any worse. Then she turned around.

  Bloody hell, that… dress was like cling film, a midnight blue waterfall of sequins. The daring bodice dipped just as low as the back. Dark blue feathers lining the edges of the gap and covering the narrow straps. The wispy tips of the feathers looking almost as if they were caressing all that gorgeous exposed flesh.

  Cullen wasn’t sure he was going to be able to form words, thankfully his instinctive Archer training kicked in and he continued to survey the rest of her. Noting the wild tangle of dark red curls that tumbled down over bare shoulders. A curl arranged artfully to fall down one cheek. Smart, it softened the lines of Patricia’s jaw. And made those bright blue eyes now fixed on him look even bluer.

  Hair dye, contacts, he was surprised to find that he didn’t particularly like the changes. Yes, it was just a costume. But he found himself missing the sight of those copper flecked hazel eyes filled with a taunting challenge and that heavy mass of rich, dark, sable hair.

  And the lips were wrong too, fuller, poutier. And the skin so tight and smooth. As if neither a bad or challenging thought had ever troubled this woman. He didn’t like it. Which was ridiculous. She was playing a part. Evangeline. Yet, he couldn’t help but find this nubile, glittering young woman wanting.

  Sure, like any man, he loved the idea of exploring all that toned flesh. But he couldn’t imagine matching wits with this woman. Engaging in a conversation that would last more than two minutes. She wouldn’t make him laugh. Or make him grind his teeth one moment in frustration and ten seconds later with desire.

  Patricia was admittedly caught off guard at the sight of Cullen. She’d forgotten that she wouldn’t be the only one undergoing a transformation. Before her stood a stranger, but thankfully one with Cullen’s intense jade green eyes. It was amazing, he hadn’t done very much, applied some bronzer to his skin, moussed and intentionally mussed his hair. But somehow, it was like he was someone else. It was the way he was standing. Loose. Relaxed.

  And his clothes. They weren’t something she imagined Cullen would normally wear, though he totally should. The black trousers were tightly fitted, the black silk shirt even more so. The top two buttons were undone showcasing four silver necklaces, decorated with small crosses and the shields of three saints. He looked dangerous. Mysterious. Deadly.

  Luis Adoum. General, charismatic leader, ladies man and alleged crime lord.

  She should say something. Hold on, he should be saying something. Huh, had she struck him dumb with awe and admiration?

  Cullen walked over to join Patricia at the circulation desk, that jade green gaze continuing to assess her. All of her, damn, with those heels she was topping six-foot-six. It was a lot of woman. Even with the two inch lifts he’d put in his shoes to reach Luis’s height he was face to well… cleavage. Hell… or was it heaven? He’d better say something. It took effort just to form one word. “Credible.”

  Credible? Credible! That was what he thought of her transformation? “You too.” See, she could play the cool, impersonal professional as well. Which pulled her up short, she had been letting herself get distracted, this was a mission. The stakes were high. She needed to remember this was not a game of one upmanship with Cullen. This was real life.

  “We need to go over the rules for this evening.”

  “Rules?” Of course, she had read enough espionage thrillers to know that having a plan and working as a team were vitally important.

  “Yes. I’m lead agent on this mission. If you have a problem with that you can turn around and sashay your sequined butt back home.”

  He’d notice her sequined butt? Not the point. “Yes. I understand.”

  “You will stick to me like glue. No wandering off. Our game plan is to circulate and capture as much footage of Mara and anyone she interacts with as possible.” Cullen gestured to the four cameras hidden in his necklaces. “Several of my family members will also be present recording and to provide back-up if required.”

  Cullen’s family would be there? More Archers? Of course they would come if he called. If there was a threat to the sovereign soil they would drop everything. She wondered if she’d be able to spot them. No, they’d be too well-trained, discreet and professional.

  “One family member has already infiltrated the school.”

  Less than thirty-six hours and the Archers were on the case. Impressive. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Here.”

  Patricia eyed the ring box that Cullen was holding out. For some reason that tingly feeling in her gut had erupted into full on effervescent bubbles. Suddenly her mouth was dry. “What’s that?”

  Cullen snapped open the box to reveal a very large, ostentatious diamond ring. “We’re supposed to be recently married, remember? This is for you to wear.”

  Cullen couldn’t explain the intense satisfaction that rippled through him at the sight of Patricia donning that gaudy ring. It was ridiculous. He tamped down on those feelings hard. “Which brings me to the second part of your instructions. From the moment we step into that Transportal you need to remember you are Evangeline and I am Luis. We’re married. In love. We have to sell that fiction. Your job tonight is to observe, nothing more. And you need to follow instructions. No questions. No hesitations.”

  Damn it, Cullen was still wavering. She’d show him. She was more than ready. Fluttering her eyelashes Patricia reached out with a languid hand and trailed it down to cup his jaw, squeezing slightly to purse his lips before leaning down to press her mouth over his briefly. “Amor de mi vida.”

  Okay, he was definitely in Hell. Patricia dressed liked that. Pressing that lithe body of hers against his for the next several hours. Kissing him. Touching him. Telling him that he was the love of her life, definitely Hell. But damn it, if it was Hell. Then he wanted to burn forever.

  Bringing Patricia’s be-ringed hand up he pressed a light kiss on her knuckles, smiling up at her. “Mi unico mi. Amor eterno.”

  Gulp. My one, my only. Lover eternal. Imagine if he meant those words. Damn, heat seared through her lower body. Of course it was just a game. An act. Nothing they did or said tonight would be real. Yet, even though Patricia’s common sense knew that, for some reason her heart was racing, her blood heating.

  Damn it, no, do not get suckered in to Cullen’s world. She’d only
end up getting hurt. She’d read enough espionage thrillers over the years, she knew how this story ended. Brilliant dedicated spies did not form attachments. Their duty always came first, no matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice. Doubly so for Cullen, who was one of the sacred Archers.

  And yet, a small part of her, somewhere deep inside, couldn’t help but thrill when he pulled her in close, his arm wrapping around her waist as he escorted her to the Transportal. Damn, maybe she was already in way over her head here. But no way would she baulk now, she had Cullen’s back. If nothing else she intended to prove to him tonight that she was capable and dependable, the perfect partner… working partner that is.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cullen was impressed with Patricia’s performance. Not only had she settled into the skin of Evangeline Tios with aplomb. Loud. Gorgeous. Distracting. She was a natural team player. Always in motion. Constantly drawing his attention to the elaborate Christmas decorations or some other point of interest in the cavernous room. Allowing him to ensure his recording devices captured faces and several seemingly furtive interactions.

  “Affair.” He murmured under his breath, only for her ears.

  “That’s the fourth time you’ve said that. How do you know?” Patricia snuggled in closer to Cullen, cooing in his ear, reaching out to play with his hair.

  “Perspiration levels, heart rate, body language. It’s all there, clear as day.”

  “I don’t know whether to be in awe or scared of you.” She looked down, still surprised when he looked up and grinned in a rather carefree manner.

  “In awe, mi amor. Definitely in awe.”

  Cullen, or rather Luis Adoum, was big on smiling, laughing, touching, kissing. Even when he was doing nothing more than surveying the room there was a wry smile clinging to his lips. And clear possession in his eyes every time a male came too close to his new bride.

  Patricia knew it was an act. But this side of him surprised her. Not just how readily he encapsulated his new identity. But how natural that smile was. How his ready laugh sounded completely genuine. How casual and relaxed Cullen seemed. Anyone watching him couldn’t help but see the confidence in his stance, the way he held his body, moved. And they’d naturally assume he was besotted with the sixth Mrs Adoum.

  He never left her side. Always touching her. Arm around her waist. Trailing a dexterous finger up and down her bared spine. Turning his head every so often to plant a fleeting kiss on her exposed shoulder or blow on the feathers, so they tickled her sensitive skin. Murmuring Spanish sweet nothings in her ear constantly.

  Phew. Patricia flagged down a waiter and snagged a mineral water. She’d love to blame the heated spikes of tingles racing up and down her spine on her Great-Great-Aunt’s magical skin serum. Which thankfully was still at a low level hum of pain. But no, she had to be brutally honest. She was enjoying this play acting way more than she should.

  Grrr, head in the game, woman. Which suddenly got easier given who Patricia could see had just walked into the room. “Mara is here.”

  Cullen could see nothing but a wall of people. He threw his head back, laughing, squeezing Patricia tighter. “I should keep you around just for your height.”

  Hmmm, those heated tingles beat at her skin as pleasure swamped her. Tugging on Cullen’s arm she began to move him to a better position so that he could track Mara’s entrance. Winding through the crowd she made a point of greeting everyone along the way, although she knew no one. Finding a compliment for every woman and a smile for every man.

  The women didn’t know whether to be appalled or charmed by the tall, red headed, voluptuous Ecuadorian beauty in their midst. Who was wearing very little, and doing it so damn well that it was galling. Especially in comparison to their own rather sedate formal wear. Worse, she was loud, and didn’t seem to care. And if she wasn’t bubbling away in Spanish, she was pawing at her darkly handsome husband.

  The male party-goers definitely knew where they stood when it came to Evangeline Tios. Appreciating her outfit thoroughly. That tiny miniscule dress that revealed long shapely legs, full breasts, and what seemed like acres of flesh. And depending upon how close their partner stood, they overtly or covertly watched every move Evangeline made. Some just enjoying the view. Others waited patiently for the moment when that overly possessive husband of hers would step away, intending to swoop in and make their move.

  Cullen couldn’t help but analyse everyone’s reaction to Trix in her sparkling, tiny, midnight blue dress. It was interesting to be on this side of the equation when it came to a mission, courting everyone’s attention deliberately.

  There was a raised section off to one side of the room full of tables and chairs, Cullen took a step up and turned to plant a kiss on Trix’s red luscious lips. Anyone who was watching would assume they’d stopped here just so he could kiss his faux wife without her having to bend down.

  Damn, it was harder to keep his mind on the mission with all the caresses and kisses. He fought the urge to sink into character and never emerge. Breaking the kiss he leaned to the side, pushing aside a mass of unfamiliar dark red curls to nuzzle the sensitive skin of Trix’s throat. “Where?”

  It was a good question. Patricia wanted to say the cloak room, it was the nearest private room she could think of, but she just managed to bite those words off. “Four o’clock. Lavender dress. Her husband trailing her. Two men appear to be on her tail.”

  Remaining on the step, Cullen turned slightly, bringing an arm around Patricia so she could snuggle in close while he idly surveyed the party-goers. Letting his eyes relax was a trick he’d learnt as a toddler so that it wasn’t readily apparent he was studying an object or person closely.

  Mara was not a beautiful woman. Her bone structure too sharp. Her nose just slightly too pointed. But she looked elegant in a lavender crepe silk column dress that made the most of her fit frame and flattered her raven hair. Tonight pulled back in a bun. Her husband, the surgeon, was a rugged chap. Wide shoulders, square faced with a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once during his younger days playing rugby at University.

  “Interesting.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mara’s security team.” The two men were moving along the outer edge of the room, mixing with several other bodyguards and protective agents who were likewise trying to keep their charges on a tight leash and most failing dismally, given the wall to wall crush of people. Making their job even more difficult was all the elaborate white and silver Christmas decorations that annoyingly obscured lines of sights.

  “What about them?” Patricia casually eyed the two men in tuxedoes, who blended easily into the crowd of bodyguards.

  “No female agents.”

  “You think it’s important?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe there weren’t any female agents available or suitably trained to work security for this evening’s event. It leaves a gap in her protection detail.” At that moment Mara’s head turned and for some reason her attention settled on them. It might have been the light reflecting off Trix’s dress or perhaps some innate sense of being closely watched that had caught Mara’s attention.

  Cullen laughed, because a man like Luis Adoum, rolling in money and a gorgeous wife on his arm had a lot to laugh about. But it was Cullen, the man, who tipped back Patricia’s head and planted another kiss on her lips. He wasn’t worried about Mara paying attention to him. She wouldn’t equate the quiet, loner, imminently precise and professional Professor, the brilliant analyst, with the darkly handsome, laughing man across the room fondling his new wife, young enough to be his daughter. A bird of paradise in a sea of dour black clad men and women.

  Just as he planned Mara’s gaze shifted away from them, yet interestingly it zeroed in on four gentlemen standing talking and drinking a few feet away. Three out of the four were not so discreetly checking out Patricia, the fourth just looked bored and half way drunk. Mara’s attention locked onto the group for two point five seconds too long to be dismissed as casua
l. Was one of those men her contact? Cullen casually turned his body slightly so his cameras would capture the quartet.

  Mara’s gaze continued to sweep across their section of the room. He recognised her bland look hid furtive assessment. Checking for threats, it was automatic. But was it anything more than reflex? Training? Did Mara have anyone to feel threatened by here tonight?

  Watching closely, without seeming like he gave a damn, he observed as Mara suddenly smiled, greeting a trio of women, moving into their circle, chatting, pulling her husband close but not into the group. Thanks to his investigation into the school and its attendees, he recognised the School Headmistress, her mousey executive assistance and the Honourable Mrs Gwynne Partridge, Head of the Parents’ Committee.

  “Should we try and get closer. Eavesdrop?” Patricia had been observing Mara’s behaviour just as closely.

  “Not unless she does something atypical. For the moment my family are on it.”

  “Really.” Patricia thankfully stopped herself from asking - where? like a complete novice. Instead she discreetly tried to identify Cullen’s relatives. Hmmm, she was betting the very dour, unimpressed matron sitting against the far wall. Who was obviously eavesdropping on the young couple standing a few feet away from her. Their body language clearly stating they were having one of those tense whispered public quarrels. Where every word was spoken from between clenched teeth.

  And maybe those two gentlemen by the bar, they had that military stance that was hard to hide. Neat hair and moustaches. Perfectly fitted tuxedos. An unobtrusive air. If obviously a little peeved by the encroaching circle of people standing too close to them surrounding a large man with wild red hair and a beard. He was wearing a kilt and waving a tankard of beer around as he entertained a number of females who appeared captivated by his big personality and raucous unashamed laugh.

  “I don’t suppose I could talk you into giving me a clue as to their identities?”

  “Trix. I am pretty sure if you set your mind to it that you could talk me into just about anything.”