Undercover Sir

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Then she rolled her eyes at herself, too. She was a goody two shoes—she rarely ever swore, even in her own mind!

  The ladies' room was empty, thankfully. She was on the verge of tears for no particular reason besides the fact that her butt was killing her, her brother thought she hated him, and a man she barely knew but who had still managed to create some kind of strange reaction—or was that attraction—in her was being entirely too nice to her. All she wanted to do was to go home and wallow in her room, but she still had the rest of the meal to get through yet.

  She couldn't even splash water on her face, because that would ruin her makeup. Instead, she took a deep breath to try to calm herself, blinked back the tears she hadn't allowed to fall and headed back to the table. She might as well get it over with. Once she got home, she could go into her room, close the door behind her, and cry her eyes out.

  The men rose when she arrived, and the dashing Englishman held her seat for her again.

  Throughout the meal, which everyone around her raved about as she picked at her salad, Ia continued to resist his attempts to draw her out, giving one word or short declarative statements to his earnest inquiries—not that anyone else was having any better luck.

  After one such response, Daniel chided her, but not nastily, "Ia, you're being impolite to our guest."

  She'd just opened her mouth to deliver an automatic, toneless apology, but Douglas came to her rescue. "She's not at all, my friend. Sometimes a person just doesn't feel very sociable, and I understand that. After all, I am familiar with sisters and their moods, since I have one of my own." One who often reacts in exactly this manner when I've had to punish her, he thought, but didn't say.

  He might not have succeeded in enticing Ia into conversation, but Taffy seized on that to ask him all about his life in England, a conversation which continued during the ride home.

  Ia sat there and looked out the window. Douglas wisely abandoned his attempts to cajole her out of her perfectly understandable bad mood and let her be.

  Although it was only eight-thirty when they got home and everyone was gathering in the living room to chat and have coffee, Ia, instead, stood near the hallway, saying in a quiet, stilted tone, "If you'll excuse me, I'm not feeling well, and I'm going to retire."

  The men were already standing, turning toward her when she spoke. Taffy came over and hugged her. "Are you okay? Would you like me to bring you some warm milk or an aspirin or something?"

  "No, thank you. Good night." She gave Taffy a lukewarm smile and headed down the hall.

  The men murmured their good nights from behind her, and she had to remind herself not to run into her room—that they were still standing there, and she didn't want any of them to see her do that.

  Once she was in her room, even then, when she'd removed her makeup and had a short shower, climbing into bed with a well-worn copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, tonight, not even that could cheer her up.

  She fell asleep not long after she'd gotten into bed. The enormous emotional storm that she'd been holding at bay all evening never happened. Nonetheless, the pillowcase beneath her cheek was damp with tears.

  Ia rose in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Her clock, in the dim light of the small lamp on her bedside table, read one-seventeen, and by the time she got back to bed, she knew she was awake. Sometimes she had a hard time sleeping, so she shouldered her way into her robe and headed out to the kitchen to make herself the warm milk that Taffy had offered hours ago—with liberal amounts of cocoa mix in her version, though—to help her get back to sleep.

  "Are you all right, Miss Baldwin?"

  If the "Miss Baldwin" hadn't given away the identity of the person who was inquiring, the accent would have.

  Ia tightened the belt on her robe and turned to see him standing, fully dressed, in the doorway of the kitchen. Since she knew the layout of the house, she hadn't turned on any of the lights, but somehow it felt wrong to stand there in the dark with him while wearing nothing but her nightwear, so she flipped the overhead light on.

  Both of them blinked in the glare, but Ia felt immediately better.

  "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

  She was excruciatingly aware that she didn't have that side of the house to herself for the next two weeks, and when she'd made her way to the bathroom, she'd been as quiet as she could possibly be.

  "No, I was awake. I don't sleep for very long when I do, and I haven't gone to bed yet, if I'm confessing," he whispered conspiratorially at the end, bestowing another one of those startling smiles on her.

  That surprised her, but she didn't pick up the conversational thread, not that it seemed to bother him.

  "There's always work to be done when you own your own company—as I'm sure you know from your brother—so I was just trying to get some of it done." He looked behind him, and she deduced that he'd been working at the dining room table. It was strange that she hadn't seen him at all when she'd walked by, but then, she hadn't known to look for him, either.

  Ia turned back to the stove. The milk was taking much longer than usual to heat, she was sure.

  "I do hope you're feeling better."

  "Feeling better?" she parroted back to him quizzically, sounding like an idiot and only realizing belatedly that she'd allowed herself to be caught in a little white lie and attempted to smooth over it, wishing she didn't know that she was blushing because of it. "Oh, yes, thank you. I'm fine."

  The deliberate tone of his murmured, "I'm very glad to hear it," let her know in no uncertain terms that he was well aware that he'd caught her, too.

  If she'd been his and he'd made that discovery, she would have ended up at least over his knee getting a spanking, regardless of the fact that her bottom couldn't have been in any too good condition. A lie was a lie—and he did not hold with degrees when it came to prevarication.

  "If you don't mind my asking, what are you doing up at this hour of the night?"

  She did mind, but she could hardly say that without sounding rude. Her answer was deliberately short and to the point, "Insomnia. Hence the cocoa." Darn. Now she was socially obligated to offer him some. "Would you like some, Mr. Martin?"

  He took a further step into the kitchen, and suddenly, it felt very crowded, even though he wasn't anywhere near the size her brother was.

  But he had a definite presence—and one she found much more disturbing than she wanted.

  He leaned back against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankle and lacing his fingers in front of him. "Only if it wouldn't be any bother."

  "It would not," she answered truthfully. She'd just give him half of what she was already making. "With mint or without?"

  "Oh, that sounds wonderful. I've never had hot chocolate made that way." She was quiet, and he wished he could draw her out, but he didn't want to force the conversation, so he didn't say anything else.

  Ia got another mug down, putting a piece of a peppermint stick in the bottom of each of them before pouring the hot cocoa over it.

  "That looks absolutely delicious," he complimented when she'd turned off the stove, given the kitchen a once over to make sure she hadn't left Taffy, who was always the first one up, a mess to deal with in the morning. Ia then handed him his mug on the way past him, while carrying her own, her completely forgotten book—which she had been planning to read in the living room—tucked under her arm.

  Douglas took a sip as she slipped by him. "And it is. I'll have to remember that. My sister will love it." He crossed to the dining room table. "If you're just going to sit awake in your room, I would love to have your company, but only if you'd like."

  He'd issued the invitation fully expecting her to turn him down, and he probably wouldn't have issued it if he'd thought she was going to agree out of a sense of duty, which he deduced was exactly why she did.

  Douglas had watched her closely when he spoke. She was already almost in the hallway, but he saw her beautiful head tilt back a bit as if she was thinking,
Damn and blast, let me go to bed already, man!

  But she didn't say that. Instead, she surprised him by turning back and heading for the dining room table with him. Struck by a sudden inspiration, he sprinted into the living room, coming back with one of the small throw pillows that resided on the couch. Before she sat down anywhere else, he placed it on the seat of the chair to the right of where he was already set up, which he held out for her.

  Ia froze in place when she saw the cushion, that innocently sensual mouth slightly open, looking utterly stricken, which was far from his intent as her eyes went from the pillow to him and back again.

  He sighed, explaining quietly, "I only meant to make you more comfortable while we talk, Miss Baldwin."

  Face bright red, she turned and walked away from him without a word, when she obviously wanted to run from him. And when she got to the safety of her room, she leaned back against the door, blushing fit to beat the band, panting as if she'd just run a marathon. Her nipples peaked against her cotton nightgown beneath the demure robe She even thought she felt something dripping from between her legs, although she knew her monthly wasn't due for another two weeks.

  Ia stood next to her bed and pulled her white cotton panties down to check, but there was nothing there except a damp splotch on the crotch that she'd never seen before.

  She'd never felt anything like this before—shaky and nervous—and she'd never had those other symptoms, either. But she had a good idea who was the cause of it all.

  As she was berating him for the various ways that her body was acknowledging him as a fit mate, the man she was silently fuming at stood at the end of the dining room table, doing a pretty good job of it himself.

  Good job, Douglas, he thought, wanting to punch himself in the face for being such an idiot. Good job!

  Chapter 4

  Now it wasn't just Daniel who was getting the cold shoulder. At least he had company, he supposed.

  They all—except Taffy, who kept the house running like a well-oiled machine—worked roughly the same hours, so they were up for breakfast together every day and home for dinner in the evening, most nights. Sometimes he and Daniel ended up at business dinners, and he had to say that he was quite impressed with how his friend conducted business during those meals.

  The slightly younger man never lost sight of the goal—to bring in new clients. His mouth never ran away with him—he didn't indulge in some of the off color talk that meetings like that often descended into rather quickly, especially once everyone had had a round of drinks. Daniel didn't drink at business meetings, though, and Douglas had adopted that habit himself. He got more done, got more clients, and generally felt better when he wasn't constantly arriving home smashed.

  Sometimes they stayed a bit after, and only then did they order drinks.

  But more often than not, he was quite anxious to get home to his wife, which was another thing Douglas admired about Daniel. He'd known him for years, and he had never seen any instance of bad behavior from him. He loved his wife, and no matter how many pretty waitresses hung all over him—at home or away—he never partook. At least, not when Douglas was with him, anyway. But that was more honorable than most men were, he was sad to say.

  He wanted that kind of relationship with his wife—to want to be home more than anywhere else—but it hadn't happened for him yet. Not that he was giving up hope.

  And he wasn't giving up on getting to know Ia better, either. He might have—if her cool side was all he thought there was. But there was the occasional, enticing crack in her façade, such as when she was talking with one of her girlfriends on the phone, during which she sounded incredibly animated and like she'd be a lot of fun once she stopped pouting.

  But even better than that was when he and Daniel were in the living room, waiting for Taffy—with Ia's help—to put dinner on the table.

  He knew he'd earned points with Taffy, when, the first night they'd eaten at home, he'd offered his help if she needed it. He'd probably lost points in Daniel's eyes for doing that, but he didn't care about what Daniel thought. He didn't even care about what Taffy thought, really, although it would be a nice bonus if she liked him.

  Ia hadn't acknowledged his offer in the least, but he knew that he'd impressed Taffy, which made it more likely that she would say nice things about him to her sister-in-law.

  "No, thanks, I think we have it under control, but thank you for the offer!" She had smiled brightly, and he found himself wishing he could get Ia to do that.

  Douglas cautioned himself to have patience, though. He didn't want to rush her, and he didn't want to blow it again like he had that night when they were both up in the wee hours.

  He made the offer every evening, and she turned him down every time, but he made sure to ask. Then he and Daniel ended up chatting in the living room while having a drink.

  Daniel never noticed, he didn't think, but Douglas was only half listening to him. Instead, his ears were tuned to hearing anything he could that was coming out of the kitchen.

  "Get your pan out of my sink—I got here first!"

  "Yeah, but I need to drain the juices to make the gravy, and I want to put the bowl in the sink!"

  "Well, that's just too bad about cha, ain't it? I'm here, draining the potatoes for mashed, as per your orders, and you're just going to have to wait your turn, girlie girl—ow! Keep those blasted boney elbows away from my ribs, Patricia!" Ia used her full name because she knew that her sister-in-law hated it, not only because she hated the name itself, but also because Daniel pretty much only used it when she was in trouble. "Darn! Those things need to be registered as lethal weapons, like James Bond's hands! I'm going to have bruises, I tell ya', bruises!"

  "I'll give you bruises, butterfingers, if you don't get the heck out of my way!"

  It sounded as if the two were going to kill each other, or at least that they were mortal enemies, but they were laughing the whole time while they were taking the mickey out of each other, as if they were born sisters instead of legally created ones. He loved hearing it. Ia was so different when she was just with Taffy, her ever-present guard down, giggling and joking with her the entire time.

  But that demeanor disappeared when they all sat down to dinner. She closed up entirely, gave clipped answers that were—calculatedly, he would bet—just shy of insolent and didn't invite further conversation when asked anything by anyone, even Taffy. He gave Daniel credit that he continued to try to entice her to join their conversations, but to no avail.

  The difference was quite striking to him; he couldn't imagine how jarring it would be to someone who had known and loved her all her life. He'd seen the wistful, pained look on the other man's face while she and his wife had been laughing together.

  It was the Ia from the kitchen whom he wanted to get to know, although he wasn't at all sure how to go about it, now that he'd—how had Daniel put it one time when he'd screwed up a client's account? Stepped on his schwantz—that was it. He'd stepped on his schwantz that night, and he wasn't at all sure he could recover from that blunder, but he was definitely going to try.

  Even if trying meant taking her to task for her atrocious treatment of her brother, which he had gleaned from conversations with him and his wife had been going on for years.

  He adored his little sister, Melanie, but there would be no way that he would tolerate that kind of attitude for longer than a few days. He guessed he was lucky, because although she would be somewhat cool to him after he'd punished her, her sunny, loving disposition always came through rather quickly, even when it had been a particularly severe punishment.

  He'd never had to face someone he loved perfecting stubbornness to quite that degree, but she wanted taking in hand, and apparently, Daniel wasn't willing to do it, for some reason, or perhaps he didn't want to make things worse.

  But Douglas had no such concerns.

  He knew he would be walking a fine line if he decided to speak to her about that particular private subject, and he would jud
ge for himself when might be the best time to do that. He was somewhat in the same boat as Daniel, since he wanted to date her, and confronting her about her behavior ran the risk that she would do the same thing to him, and there would go his chances with her.

  As Douglas studied Ia surreptitiously—although since she spent most of her time with her eyes down, it wasn't that hard to do without being noticed—he thought about what the best approach might be.

  He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted, one way or the other.

  And he very definitely wanted Anna Maria Baldwin, to an extent that surprised him. He'd never believed in love at first sight and was wholly unprepared for the level of discomfiture he was experiencing because of it. His attraction to her was almost immediate, and he'd been hard around her more often than not—that hadn't happened since he was in his teens, and he was well away from that age. It happened often enough so that just sitting en famille at the table with her made him thankful for the napkin on his lap.

  He intended to have her—not just for a date or two, or even a fling He wanted her for his wife, and nothing else would satisfy him.

  And to that effect, Douglas was trying to plan ahead. It was mid-week of the first week he was there, and, although they hadn't discussed it, he didn't think that Daniel had anything in particular planned for them to do the coming Friday evening. At least, he hadn't mentioned anything yet. Just in case he did, though, and in the interests of killing two birds with one stone, Douglas knocked on his office door the Wednesday afternoon before.

  "I've got a question for you that has nothing to do with work."

  That was unusual in and of itself. Douglas was at least as single-minded and driven as he was. "Oh?"

  "Yes." Daniel motioned for the other man to sit down.

  Douglas looked—and felt—a little awkward, which was also unusual for him. "I don't know how you're going to feel about this, but I would like your permission to ask your sister to go out on a date with me."