Under the Covers

by Roz Lee

  His lips inched up at the corners. "Oh? And you think I'm under the influence of this cuddle hormone?"

  "Yes, I do," she stated. Think. Put this in prospective. "It's released by touching, and during sex."

  "Really." It wasn't a question. "And are you under the influence too?"

  Bree nodded. "Yes, I am. That's why I'm leaving." It was a ridiculous statement, what with her feet glued to the floor. Drew's half smile had grown to a full-blown one. He took a step closer.

  "Are you saying my touch makes you trust me? It makes you want to cuddle with me?"

  Oh, dear God. "It also makes me say things I shouldn't. Obviously. Or, that could be the testosterone."

  He took another step toward her, and she could almost see the male hormone shimmering off his body. "Testosterone?"

  "Uhm…yes. It increases in women when they're sexually aroused." Stupid.

  "And are you sexually aroused right now?"

  "No," she lied.

  "As much as I'm enjoying this little biology lesson, I'm much better with hands-on experimentation." He crooked his finger at her in an age-old signal. "Why don't you come here and we'll test out your theories. Again."

  "No. No, I… can't. I have to… go."

  A movement just out of her narrowed vision caught her attention, and her gaze flicked down. Drew's cock stood at full attention, and if she wasn't mistaken, it grew under her gaze. Her legs trembled enough to shake her feet loose from the floor. She bolted for the door and came up short when it wouldn't open.

  Damn. Locked. She hadn't heard him move. He stood behind her, not touching her except for his hot breath on the shell of her ear. One arm reached out and punched in a code. The opaque glass doors slid open, and she ran as fast as her wobbly legs could carry her.

  ****

  Drew locked the door and leaned his back against the cold glass. He sank to the floor and pulled his knees up so he'd have something to support his empty head. Fuck. What kind of idiot went into a mission not knowing all the possible ways it could go wrong?

  The kind with a death wish.

  Funny, he hadn't known that about himself. Not until tonight. What had started as a bit of revenge for handcuffing him naked to the railing had morphed into something else without his conscious involvement.

  He raised his head. Andromeda's Rock glowed from the overhead lighting like a monolith to his stupidity. Images of Bree sprawled across the rock, chained to it while he looked and touched every inch of her skin, replaced the barren landscape before him. She might be able to blame her reaction on some scientific mumbo-jumbo, but he was deathly afraid he had something more sinister to blame. His heart murmured the word his brain refused to acknowledge. With every rhythmic pulse, the deadly hormone pumped to every cell in his body until even his brain couldn't ignore it.

  Love.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, but the images remained. Bree might blame it on hormones, but no one trusted like she had done on the basis of chemicals alone. He ran his hands over his shaved head, doing his best to keep his brains from exploding out the top of his skull. This was bad. Worse than bad. He was in love with an FBI agent. A fucking hot, too smart for her own good, good at her job, dedicated to her job, totally in denial FBI agent.

  And she didn't even know she'd walked out of here carrying his heart in her hands.

  Well, shit.

  ****

  She'd give anything for a bathtub right now. Bree stood under the hot spray, letting the water wash away Drew's scent. Unfortunately, no amount of soap or hot water could wash away the feel of Drew's touch on her skin. Every inch of it. She ducked her head and let the water sluice over her face in a futile attempt to cleanse the memories from her brain. Bracing herself against the shower wall with one hand, she let the other skim over her torso, pausing to remember his touch here. And here. And there.

  She'd examined her body for marks and found none. He'd promised he wouldn't hurt her, and he'd been true to his word. He was careful with his teeth, careful to leave no trace, at least on the surface.

  Below the surface was something entirely different.

  What had possessed her to surrender to Drew? It had to be a chemical imbalance brought on by his touch. It was the only thing that made sense. And maybe, if she tried to think of it in those terms, she'd be able to walk away when the time came.

  Chapter Five

  "Is something wrong, Drew?"

  Drew's gaze snapped back to the here and now, and to the man on the other side of the desk. Ryan Callahan's eyes sparkled with humor as he leaned back in his chair and tapped his tightly clamped lips with the pen in his hand. Ryan might find this amusing, but Drew didn't. Ryan's gaze drifted from Drew's face to his chest, where Drew realized he'd been rubbing a circle on his bare skin until it was nearly raw. He dropped his hand and clenched the chair arm to keep his hand still. "Nothing," he said on a sigh. Nothing he wanted to talk about, anyway.

  "It doesn't look like nothing to me. If you keep rubbing that spot on your chest, you're going to wear a hole clear through to your backbone."

  "Look, I'm sorry. My mind wandered, but I'm paying attention now. What did you want to see me about?"

  "Candace and Fallon are getting a little stir crazy. We'd like to take them to Miami for a while. It's time we start trying to get our lives back to normal."

  "That's good news. I'm glad things are getting back to normal for you. I'll need some time to get your security set up in Miami. If you can give me your itinerary, I'll make sure all of you are covered."

  "Actually, we'd like for you to go with us, at least for a while. Our wives trust you, and they'd feel better knowing you were in charge of their security."

  "I can do that." Well, shit. Ryan was family. Sean's little brother. No way he could say no.

  "Good. How long will it take you to get things ready for us in Miami?"

  "A couple of weeks. I'll come with you and spend a few weeks, just to make sure the security measures are adequate. Then, if everyone is happy with the arrangement, I'll come back to the ship."

  "That's what I wanted to hear." Ryan stood. Drew followed suit and grasp his outstretched hand. "Look, Drew. I know it's none of my business, but you and Bree are almost family…."

  "Thanks, Ryan, but I can handle this. I promise this… whatever it is…with Bree won't affect my job or hers."

  "I'm not worried about either of you doing your job. I'm worried about you, both of you, on a personal level." Ryan smiled then, a smile Drew had seen before when Ryan was thinking of his wife, who’d turned him into a sap. "Candace says the two of you are in love."

  Drew winced and took a step back.

  "Hey, don't get all defensive with me. I'm just telling you what Candace said. You know how she is. She sees the world through a pink-tinted lens. She's happy, so everyone around has to be happy."

  "I'm happy, and I'm not in love with Bree. You can tell her that, and not to waste her time worrying about me. As for Bree, she can hardly stand to be in my company." She was avoiding him again, and he hadn't worked out a way to get past that yet. Every time he thought of her, the ache in his chest started up again. He resisted the urge to cover the hole in his chest where her heart should be, right next to his. "Look, I've got to go. I'll need your Miami hotel information, and information on any other plans you may have made."

  Drew left as if the Captain had just sounded Abandon Ship and there was a shortage of life vests. If it wasn't bad enough that Ryan and his wife had seen right through him, he was going to have to leave the ship, which meant being away from Bree. He'd have to find a way to keep tabs on her while he was gone. She was up to something. When she wasn't glaring at him, he could see it in her eyes. She might be FBI, but she wasn't stupid. She was out to get Vernon Cannon, which meant that for Drew, keeping an eye on Bree was high priority. The ache in his chest turned into a sharp pain. Christ. He understood why Ryan wanted to get the womenfolk off the ship, but his timing couldn't be worse.

  He
made his way to the private elevator and down to the Odyssey deck. He could swing through the Parthenon Buffet for a late breakfast, and then he'd get to work on the Miami trip. As he grabbed a plate off the stack, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored wall behind the buffet table and shook his head at his reflection. For the most part, he looked just fine on the outside. Sure, Ryan had noticed something, but only because Drew had let his mind wander. To her. Bree Stanton was going to drive him completely out of his mind with lust, and with need. His hand moved again to his chest before he caught himself. He scooped a mountain of scrambled eggs onto his plate instead.

  He should have let the wildcat mark him. If he’d done that, he'd have something to hold over her head. Something to show the stubborn witch, proof enough to convince her she felt something for him. But he'd caged her. Denied her the ability to react naturally. He'd let his anger at her little handcuff stunt, and his need to control everything, get out of hand. As a result, all the scars she'd left were on the inside, and they were slowly burning like acid to the surface. Drew added bacon and home fries to his plate and covered it all with thick white sausage gravy. He grabbed two biscuits in his fist and tucked napkin-wrapped utensils and bottle of apple juice under his arm. Icy cold rivulets dripped from the bottle and knifed from his ribcage to his hip.

  He found an empty table outside, hooked a chair with one leg and pulled it out. A waiter appeared with a coffee mug and carafe. Drew dug into his breakfast with utilitarian efficiency, oblivious to the aquamarine palate of sky and sea surrounding him. A couple at a nearby table cuddled close. He wondered if they knew about oxytocin, or if they were just cold.

  Love wasn't supposed to destroy you. Look at the Callahans and the Wolfes. Hell, Candace was so much in love; she thought everyone else should be too. It was enough to make a person sick. There was the possibility the horrible feeling in his chest wasn't love. Maybe it was something else. Maybe—No. Somewhere in the past week he'd come to terms with reality. He was in love with Bree. It had taken him awhile to recognize it for what it was. This was nothing like what he had once felt for Celeste. That, too, was love. But as Celeste had pointed out to him shortly before she accepted Sean's collar, he loved her, but he wasn't in love with her. Up until now, he hadn't known there was a difference.

  He sopped up the last of the gravy with his remaining half biscuit, washed it down with apple juice, and followed it all with a coffee chaser. No wonder Bree had been avoiding him for the last week. She wasn't the kind of woman who easily gave up control, and he'd forced her to do just that. Well, forced wasn't accurate. Not if he remembered correctly. Bree wasn't the type to be forced into anything. No, what he'd done to her, she'd freely allowed. She could have stopped him at any time. She had a safe word, pink, and no matter what he'd thought at the time, if she'd used it, he would have let her go.

  Perhaps he'd earned the distance she'd put between them. That's why he hadn't sought her out. But now that she'd had time for her pity party, or whatever it was, it was time to nudge her a little. He was damned tired of the ache in his chest, and even more tired of the other unassuaged pain caused by her absence. He needed to come up with a way to rock her boat, so to speak. As long as she kept a safe distance between them….

  Safe. Pink. His lips curled up on one side. Bree hated pink. Suddenly he knew how to break the silence between them. He waved the waiter away when he offered to refill his coffee. A moment later, he smiled at the snuggling couple as he brushed past their table on his new mission.

  He couldn't erase the satisfied smirk from his face as he crossed the florist's threshold.

  ****

  Bree considered going topside for breakfast to celebrate, but the idea of running into Drew kept her below the waterline, sliding a plastic tray along a stainless steel ledge. She speared a wedge of pineapple onto her plate, added a slice of toast and a dollop of cottage cheese, then joined a group of maintenance staff at one of the long institutional tables in the crew dining room. No one noticed her arrival, and that suited her just fine. Yesterday's conversation with her boss still resounded in her mind. If what he'd told her panned out, she'd be off this ship in a few weeks, at most. No more living like a sardine in a can, which—she chuckled to herself—wasn't living at all. Sardines in cans were dead. Just the way she felt, cooped up on the lower decks. She really needed to get out more.

  She ate in silence, left her tray on the conveyor belt that would take it to the sanitizing unit, and headed back to her room to floss the pineapple from her teeth. She traversed the spartan white-walled hallway, still contemplating her dilemma.

  Of course, walking among the living, meeting the passengers, meant running into Drew. He rarely came down to the crew quarters these days. Since his immediate concern was the safety of the ship's owners and their wives, he spent most of his time hovering in their vicinity.

  She opened the door to her room and the cloying floral scent hit her square between the eyes, sending her back out to check the number on the door. Puzzled, she covered her nose with her hand and stepped into the room. She stared at the tableau, unable to take it all in at once. Every flat surface was covered in pink flowers. Pink roses sat on the nightstand. Pink carnations in a pink-striped popcorn box took up the entire desk. Pink tulips rested on the stool that doubled as a desk chair. Rose petals blanketed the twin bed. Even the stool/chair supported an arrangement of pink—somethings. She reached into the bathroom for a towel to use as a breathing filter and saw the giant bouquet of pink-dyed daisies in the sink. Another mixed bouquet occupied the shower.

  With a hand towel clamped over her mouth and nose, Bree tried to make sense of it. One thing was certain. If Barbie owned a flower shop, this is what it would look like. She cursed the small box she'd called home for the last few months, then she cursed the person responsible for turning her little slice of hell into a pink nightmare. Drew Whitcomb.

  "I'm going to kill him."

  He wasn't difficult to track down. Bree simply looked for the biggest crowd she could find, and sure enough, Drew was in the middle of it. She elbowed her way to his side. Prepared to drag him away if necessary, she put a hand on his arm and tugged. His hard body didn't give an inch, but he did turn and look at her. A toothpaste-ad smile split his face when he recognized her.

  "Hi there, darlin'," he said as his arm snaked around her, drawing her up against him.

  She knew his strength, knew there wasn't a thing she could do to get away from him, not in a crowd anyway. Tactical error number one. She couldn't afford to make another. "Let me go, you idiot," she hissed.

  "I don't think so. Did you get my flowers?"

  "You know damned well I did. My cabin looks like Mother Nature barfed up Pepto-Bismol all over it, and it smells like a funeral parlor."

  "What? You don't like flowers?"

  "They're pink!"

  "I know. It's my new favorite color." He lowered his head so his lips brushed against her ear. His breath sent a shiver down her spine, and he whispered softly so only she could hear. "It reminds me of your pussy petals. Your flower is more beautiful than any other."

  His words boiled her blood. She shoved against his chest as hard as she could.

  Drew only tightened his hold on her and began to nibble on her neck.

  "My favorite color is red," she said. "Want to know why?"

  "Why?"

  The single syllable spoken against the tender spot behind her ear made her knees turn to rubber. How could he make a single syllable sound like an invitation to get naked? Drew absorbed her weight effortlessly. She sank her fingernails into the small of his back, her only defense against his seduction. She rose on tiptoe to brush her lips against his ear. She pulled his lobe between her lips and swirled her tongue around and around, sucking his flesh until she wrenched a groan from him.

  "It reminds me of your blood, and how it's going to look running across the deck when I shoot you." She practically purred the words against his ear. His shoulders stiffened, and
she reveled in having made her point. She felt his laugh rumbling up from somewhere deep inside his chest long before it burst from his lips.

  "Oh, darlin', you do know how to turn me on." He swung her to his side like a puppeteer positioning his marionette. "Let's watch this contest. Then I'll let you try to shoot me."

  Tactical error number two—goading Drew. Again. Bree followed his gaze to the contestants readying for competition, and her stomach sank to her toes. Tactical error number three—failing to gather intel before walking into a situation.

  Six naked women lay side by side on padded benches, their legs spread wide. Their eager partners, five men and one woman, knelt between their legs. Oh God! She'd stumbled into the Cherry Pie Eating Contest!

  Jason, the Cruise Director, stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen, let me remind you of the rules. Ladies on your backs, you may not assist in any way. Place your hands above your head and keep them there. Hips and thighs are in play, so make the most of them. Pie eaters, your hands must remain behind your back at all times. If you don't have it in your mouth, you can't use it. Just to clarify. That means tongues and teeth only. If you have anything else in your mouth, spit it out now."

  The guy on the far end sheepishly spit something into his hand and handed it to one of the crew who stepped up to take it. Jason shook his head, but he didn't seem surprised that someone had tried to cheat. "Anyone else have a tongue vibrator or a mint?"

  Jason's assistant went down the line, checking open mouths for banned items. His search turned up one mint-eater who was disqualified and replaced with someone chosen from the audience.

  Satisfied the rules were being properly observed, Jason continued. "First one to make your partner come will be the winner. Don't stop just because I announce a winner. Prizes will be awarded for second and third place finishes." He paused for the applause to die down. "Is everyone ready? On your mark, get set…go!"