Prologue
“Do you want to die?” Marc Jergen leaned forward in his chair, anxiously watching his best friend and most lucrative client. “Get away from that window.”
Angus turned from the glass panes overlooking the barren coast of northern Maine to grin, even white teeth flashing in his rugged face. “Aren’t ye overreacting a wee bit? ‘Tis only a few letters, Marc.”
“Very strange letters. And a picture. Of you. Standing in that very window.” He pointed to the space Angus had just abandoned. “If they got close enough to snap pictures, we have to take this seriously.”
Angus paused at the wet bar to pour a glass of the cheap whiskey he kept in stock. Marc couldn’t restrain his shudder of revulsion. He’d tried the stuff. Once. And nearly wound up in the E.R. He likened the experience to drinking battery acid with a lye chaser.
And the man drank it like it was weak tea. Marc swirled the wine in his glass. Thank God Angus kept weaker libations on hand for those with lesser constitutions.
He’d had eccentric clients before, but none like Angus McLeod. The author was all but a recluse, staying holed up in this drafty old castle want-to-be he called home, only coming out for the occasional book signing. He’d been called the “Howard Hughes” of the literary world by more than one publication, despite the fact that he was only thirty-five.
And it was all because he’d had the misfortune to hire a sleazy agent for his first book—a book that had hit the best seller lists like a runaway train. Angus had gone from a small Scottish village where everyone knew their neighbors, straight into a New York media feeding frenzy that would have done justice to English royalty. The press had come damn close to eating him alive, and his agent not only didn’t protect Angus, he’d encouraged the turmoil.
After six months of having every corner of his life probed, not being able to leave his home without the paparazzi hounding his every move, Angus had reacted with a vengeance. He’d fired the agent and bought this isolated castle on the coast of Maine, refusing to come out in public unless Marc or his publisher forced him into it.
The mystery-man image might help sell books, but Marc feared Angus’s isolation was putting him in real danger. Weeks at a time went by when he had no contact with another living soul.
Angus downed half the contents of his glass before glaring at Marc. “‘Twas the damn poster. I told ye we should no’ have done it. I ne’er would have agreed if I’d known I was goin’ tae wind up half-naked. ‘Tis embarrassing.”
With a long suffering sigh, Marc rubbed the bridge of his nose. It might be embarrassing for Angus, but that poster had sold out faster than his best selling action suspense books. Women couldn’t seem to get enough of the man’s dark good looks. “Blame Linda. She had to find a way to get women reading your books. And you have to admit, it worked for a while. Your sales doubled in the six months following the release of that poster.”
“Aye, and now I’ve got some lust-crazed lunatic stalking me.” His glare turned into an evil grin. “‘Tis probably an eighty-year-old woman with an estrogen problem.”
“That’s it.” Marc stood abruptly. “You may not take this seriously, but I do. I’m hiring a bodyguard.”
“Nay, ye’re not. ‘Tis my money ye’re playing with, and I’ll not be wasting it on someone who’s only going tae drive me crazy. Look at me, mon.” He spread his arms wide. “Do I look such a wee delicate thing I canna take care of myself?”
Angus dwarfed Marc’s own five foot eleven inches by half a foot, and outweighed him by forty pounds of solid muscle. But—”Size has nothing to do with it. Can you stop a bullet fired from a hundred feet away with your bare hands? Even you aren’t that good, Angus. And the police are useless. They won’t do anything until after you’re dead. You need a bodyguard.”
“Nay.”
“Damn it, Angus, you could lie here hurt and dying for days before anyone found you. At least let me hire a housekeeper, someone who’ll notice if you’re bleeding and call 9-1-1. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“I moved here so I could be alone.” The glare was back. “I’ll no’ have some twittering female settin’ my hours for me, touchin’ me papers, tryin’ tae force me tae eat on schedule. ‘Tis why I’m a divorced mon now.”
Marc snorted. “You’re divorced because Luna was a money-grubbing twit.”
“True.” Angus was nothing if not complacent about the breakup of his marriage. His expression glazed slightly as he stared toward the window. “But ye have tae admit, Luna has a fine body on her. It might no’ be so bad tae have a woman around if she let ye know up front ‘twas the money she was after. ‘Twould give a mon the upper hand, so tae speak, keep him from getting his expectations astir. Allow him tae control the situation.”
When he turned his attention back to his agent, there was a wicked gleam in his cobalt blue eyes. Marc braced himself. He’d known Angus for ten years. By now, he could spot one of the man’s zingers coming from a mile off.
“If ye’re set on hirin’ someone tae stay with me, hire me a mistress. Now there’s someone I would find useful.”
Marc promptly choked on the swallow of wine he’d taken. Even he hadn’t expected that one.
“Do I look like a pimp to you? This isn’t the seventeenth century, you know. A man can’t just go out and…” His mind began to whirl with possibilities.
Maybe, just maybe, Angus had offered a way out of this mess. Of course, he didn’t have to tell Angus that. The author gave a whole new meaning to the word stubborn. If he knew what Marc was planning, he’d dig his heels in and nothing would budge him.
“Okay.” He applied an innocent smile to his lips, a smile that never failed to charm.
One of Angus’s thick black eyebrows vanished under his shaggy hair as he stared suspiciously at his agent. “What do ye have up yer sleeve, Marcus?”
“Not a thing.” Marc kept his smile in place. “I don’t want you staying here alone and you want a mistress. Sounds like a perfect solution to me.”
“Ye wouldna be planning on foisting a prostitute on me, now would ye? I will no’ have it.” His expression turned crafty. “She has tae be a lady. Someone with a brain as well as a body. And she has to obey orders.”
“Maybe we should get you a dog,” Marc growled. He held up a hand as a triumphant smile lifted the corners of Angus’s lips. “Oh, no. You aren’t backing out on me. I’ll find someone.”
“And I get final approval?”
Damn. “That’s not fair, Angus.”
“Aye, ‘Tis. You’ll not be the one bedding her, now will ye?”
Marc screwed his face into a scowl. “Fine. You get final approval. But don’t think you can get out of this by turning them all down.”
“Now, would I be doin’ that tae ye, Marc?” Angus refilled his glass and lifted it in a sarcastic, mock-toast. “But if ye can find a woman willin’ tae put up with me, one I’m willin’ tae tolerate, you’ll be a miracle worker instead of an agent.”
Chapter One
“Tell me, Mr. Jergen. Did you see ‘bordello’ anywhere on our sign? A modest ‘house of ill repute,’ maybe?” Kate shifted in her chair, staring at the man across the desk. He certainly looked normal. Dressed in a conservative, charcoal gray suit, his light brown hair neatly cut and styled, he was the epitome of the modern day businessman. Except the job he’d just offered was, hands down, the craziest request she’d ever had, one that made her very nervous.
When the man leaned forward, his brown eyes intent, her hand automatically edged toward the gun nestled under her staid suit jacket. Weirdoes came in all shapes and sizes.
“Miss Carson, Safety First is my last chance. My client could be in serious danger. He received another letter,
but the police won’t do anything about it. They think it’s a prank, a fan with a sick sense of humor. I just keep seeing John Lennon lying on the sidewalk in front of his hotel. You have to help me.”
She let her hand slide away from the gun, a twinge of sympathy running through her at the man’s distress. “If you wanted a standard contract I’d consider it, Mr. Jergen. Safety First has provided bodyguard service for many famous and wealthy people with great success. We may not be the biggest agency in New York, but we’re good. However, agreeing to be this man’s mistress is a little outside our usual procedures.”
Okay, that was a bit of an understatement. It was a lot outside their usual procedures. She’d worked her butt off for six years making Safety First the respectable, prosperous company it was today. Nothing would make her jeopardize the business by taking a job like this one. Her sympathy only went so far.
Marc Jergen slumped back in the chair and ran a hand over his face. “You don’t understand. Angus refuses to hire a bodyguard. He thinks having someone in the house will disrupt his writing. He doesn’t even want a mistress. The only reason he suggested it was because he thought I couldn’t find one. It was a ploy to get me off his back.” He shifted slightly. “There isn’t exactly an abundance of female bodyguards, and the few I have managed to convince, he’s sent away as unsuitable.”
“Angus?”
“Angus McLeod. The best selling author.”
Kate’s body tensed. No, it couldn’t be. She’d heard him wrong. Heat flushed her cheeks and she barely restrained herself from squirming in her chair. Steady girl, she thought.
There was no way this man could read her mind, know about the poster tacked to the inside of her closet door. Or know that the only orgasms she’d achieved in the last few years had been courtesy of the fantasies she’d spun around the Scottish hunk. God, what a man.
And now his agent wanted her to be the hunk’s mistress.
She licked her lips before she caught Jergen’s amused expression.
“He affects most women that way.”
Carefully, she schooled her features and lied through her teeth. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Jergen. Regardless, my answer still stands. We don’t sell sex, we sell protection. If your client changes his mind, feel free to give us a call.”
As though sensing a crack in her façade, he straightened. “I’m prepared to offer you a substantial bonus above your usual fee.”
Kate hesitated, her hands going still on the papers she was straightening. “A bonus?”
“Yes.”
The figure he named made her jaw drop. “Boy, you really are desperate, aren’t you?”
“Desperate?” He sighed. “If I thought begging would help, I’d be prostrate at your feet right now. Angus isn’t just a client, he’s my best friend. You’re exactly what he needs.”
Her mind spun, and again she hesitated. “Why me, Mr. Jergen?”
He crossed one well-shod foot over his knee. “I checked Safety First out very carefully before I called for an appointment. I know your employees are the best trained in the business. Some of the biggest industrialists in the state swear by your services. You’ve developed quite a reputation for getting things done, Miss Carson. You’re smart and savvy. If anyone can protect Angus, it’s you.”
Temptation had her heart pounding, her nerves tingling. She gave her head a tiny shake. What the hell was she thinking?
That damn poster. That’s what she was thinking about.
Warily, she eyed the man opposite her. “Not that I’m even remotely considering this job, but out of curiosity, what makes you think he wouldn’t send me packing like he’s done everyone else?”
Jergen smiled. “He won’t. This time, I have a plan.”
Without thinking, Kate licked her lips again. Her hormones went into a wild version of the happy dance every time she thought of Angus McLeod. Would it be such a sacrifice to actually sleep with him? Especially when there was the money to consider. Money she needed badly if she were going to help her sister save her fledgling clothing boutique. Safety First was lucrative, but it had got that way because every penny not needed for survival was plowed back into the business. There was none left over to play with.
The cash offer, combined with heated images of the man on the poster, was enough to have her lips trembling eagerly, acceptance of the job ready to spill out. Until reality came crashing down with a harsh thump. It took an effort to stifle her groan of frustration.
What about her reputation? If something like this got out, she’d never get another job. It was hard enough being a woman in the security business as it was.
No, she couldn’t risk it. There was still time for her to get the money another way. She only had to figure out how.
Standing to indicate the meeting was over, she smoothed sweat-dampened hands over her skirt. “I’m really sorry I can’t help you, Mr. Jergen.”
Following her example, he also rose to his feet. He looked tired, defeated, but apparently he wasn’t ready to give up yet. He reached into his wallet and extracted a card, handing it across the desk. “If you change your mind, Miss Carson, give me a call at any of those numbers.”
Without glancing at the white rectangle, she stuck it in her pocket. “I won’t change my mind.” She watched him walk to the door and vanish down the hall, taking the chance to make all her fantasies come true with him.
She nibbled her bottom lip in annoyance. It was insane to even consider his offer. What did she know about being a mistress? She hadn’t even dated in the last two years.
Annoyance faded as she thought about the poster, and a smile curved her lips. Maybe she couldn’t actually do the job, but boy, could she get some mileage out of the images it inspired. A shiver of excitement shimmied along her nerves. No one could stop her from dreaming.
* * * * *
Kate slid out of her jacket and tossed it on the bed before unfastening her shoulder holster. She probably didn’t need to wear the gun all the time, but she’d become so used to it when she worked for the bureau that she felt naked without it. Only in the safety of her own home did she feel comfortable taking it off.
Placing it on the top shelf in her closet where Samantha, her three-year-old niece, couldn’t reach it, she pulled off her silk blouse and stepped out of her skirt, reaching for one of the worn athletic tops she wore around the house.
Holding the top in her hand, she turned and came face to face with the man who had caused her so much regret today. Her eyes moved slowly over the poster, drinking in his bare upper torso, tanned muscles nearly rippling off the paper.
God, he was gorgeous. But in a rough, male animal kind of way. In the picture, he was wearing skintight black pants that hung low on his hips and did nothing to hide the prominent bulge a few inches lower. Bare from the waist up, his sleekly muscled arms were crossed over a broad, tan chest decorated with a line of black curls that vanished into his waistband in a plunging vee. A wide silver band circled his left wrist. Her mouth watered every time she looked at the poster. The only other article of clothing in the pose was a pair of leather moccasins that laced to his knees and defined manly calves.
They must have had a fan going, because his shoulder-length, raven hair was blowing in a tangled halo around his head, blue-black highlights glimmering.
He stood with his feet braced apart, his expression fierce, almost barbaric, and it never failed to send waves of longing over her. A man like that would know how to make love to a woman. A man like that would take charge and make his partner like it. He wouldn’t allow his lover to hold back on her emotions. No matter how deep they were buried.
“Oh, yeah,” she whispered as her nipples puckered. She skimmed a finger over one, feeling it harden to a painfully tight knot as pleasure streaked downward. “Looks like the old vibrator is going to get a workout tonight.”
Moisture pooled between her legs at the thought, and she ran her fingers lower, scraping a fingernail over her swollen clitoris.
Her body clenched hard at the touch. Maybe she wouldn’t wait until tonight. Maybe she’d just plunk down in front of the full-length mirror right now, while it was still light enough to see him.
Deliciously, her finger moved in a slow circle, her hips thrusting forward as she watched in the mirror. She’d heard a real orgasm beat the mechanical ones hands down, but she had no basis for comparison. The few men she’d dated all seemed to be of the old “wham, bam, thank you, Ma’am” school of sexual education. She’d bought the vibrator in self-defense.
Right now, it didn’t look like she needed it. The clenching came faster as she stroked her tiny erection, moisture lubricating the touch and increasing the sensations. Her breathing became more rapid as she fixed her gaze on the bulge in Angus’s pants, imagined freeing his cock from its constraints then licking her way down his length. Sucking him into her mouth, hearing his moans of desire as she brought him to ecstasy. And it didn’t have to be a fantasy.
She could really do it.
The orgasm hit her hard, weakening her legs until she crumpled to her knees, hand pressed tightly over her throbbing mound. Her head dropped, chin resting on her chest as she sucked in gulps of air. Tentatively, she licked her lips, almost able to taste his essence.
A few minutes passed before she gathered her strength, smiling as she rose. God, she had it bad. She’d never done that to a man before. Never even wanted to, until she’d first lain eyes on Angus McLeod. Now she dreamed about it constantly. Crystal would never let her forget it if she found out the poster she’d bought her plain, take-charge sister as a gag gift had this effect on said sister.
Kate was the steady one, the dependable one. The unemotional one. Yeah, good old Kate could always be counted on when the going got tough.
A sigh lifted her chest. She loved her sister, didn’t regret for an instant all the years she’d taken care of Crystal after their mother’s death. She’d do it again in a flat second with no hesitation. But sometimes she really wished she could step outside her mold. Not forever, just for a week or two. See how the other half of the female population lived. The wild half.
Undercover Mistress Page 1
