“He won’t.”
She drew back. “Because you kissed me?”
“Because he thinks we’re a couple. Come to think of it.” He gave in and pulled her closer into his embrace. “You’d better dance with me for a few more songs. We wouldn’t want to blow our cover.”
She tipped her chin to look up at him. “You seem to be taking this operation very seriously.”
His desire to kiss her again was exceedingly serious. “I am. It’s covert.”
A twinkle came into her eyes. “Then I think I’m going to need a code name.”
He sent her out in a spin and reeled her back. “How about Dancing Rose?”
“Yuck.”
“Honeysuckle?”
“That sounds like a little girl.”
“Buttercup?”
“What’s with all the flowers?”
“Your hair smells like flowers.” As soon as the words were out, he realized he’d revealed too much. “You want something with more zip?”
“I want to sound tough and rugged.”
He almost laughed at that. She was beautiful and delicate, not the least bit rugged. “How about Scarlet Fire?”
She thought about it. “That’s not bad. What about you?”
“You think I need one, too?”
“I do.”
“You pick.”
The song changed, and he took a surreptitious look around, half afraid Josh would try to pull the same stunt he had.
“Dirt Rider,” she said.
“That doesn’t sound very appealing.”
“But, it’s apt.”
“I’m going to call you Scarlet, and you get to call me Dirt?”
She laughed. “There’s a wildflower called Goat’s Beard.”
“You are not going to call me Goat.”
“Okay.” Her voice softened. “How about Wild Rider?”
“You’ll call me Wild?” For some reason, he liked that.
“I’ll call you Wild.”
“Okay, Scarlet. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
His phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, and she jumped back in surprise.
“Sorry,” he said.
“No problem. We covert operatives have to get used to being startled.”
“My sister’s been trying to get hold of me.”
“So talk to her. If I know sisters, they won’t give up. And there’s nothing worse than making them mad.”
“I’m not going to talk to my sister while I’m dancing.” He wasn’t about to let anything interfere with holding Jillian in his arms.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Do you have a sister?” He found himself curious about her family.
“Two. Dani and Jade.”
“Older or younger?”
“Dani’s the oldest, then Jade, then me.”
“Baby of the family?”
“That, I am. What about you?”
“I’m the oldest. One sister, Amelia.” His phone buzzed again. “Who seems intent on getting to me.”
“Answer it.”
“No.”
“Come on.” She reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, checking the screen. “It says it’s Amelia.”
“I’m not talking to her.”
“Okay.”
To his surprise, she pressed the answer button.
“Wild Rider’s phone,” she said cheerfully.
He plucked it out of her hand. “I’m busy, Amelia.”
“It’s Morgan.”
Devlin stopped dancing. “Oh, hey, Morgan. Sorry about that. What’s up?”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“You’re not... Okay, you are. But that’s all right. Where’s Amelia?”
“She’s on the landline.”
Devlin took up a slower dance rhythm, moving them to the edge of the floor, keeping Jillian close with one arm. “Is something wrong?”
Jillian’s face took on an expression of concern as she watched him talk.
“She wants to elope.”
The announcement took Devlin completely by surprise. “Why would she want to elope? Has she met our mother?”
“She wants the family to come along. But one of her fellow cast members just had a really bad experience with the tabloids.”
“Amelia isn’t famous.” Devlin’s sister had a recurring part in a popular television series, but she was hardly a household name.
“Neither was the other cast member. I’ve tried to talk her out of it, but logic doesn’t seem to be getting me anywhere.”
Devlin couldn’t help but smile. He liked Morgan a lot, and he loved his sister. But there was no denying Amelia was a handful. “She’s determined.”
“That, she is. Can you make it?”
“Of course I’ll make it. Just tell me when and where.”
“Two weeks. I’m suggesting Phoenix, but she’s talking about Vegas. She says we can blend in with all the other brides and grooms.”
Devlin caught Jillian’s eyes and smiled at her as they danced. “A wedding in Vegas. You might want to bring smelling salts along for my mother.”
Morgan chuckled. “Believe me, I have mentioned your mother’s reaction on a number of occasions.”
“Tell them a cruise ship,” Jillian whispered.
“What?” Devlin whispered back.
“A cruise ship is better than Vegas if you want a no-frills wedding.”
It wasn’t a bad idea.
“What about a cruise ship?” he asked Morgan.
Morgan paused. “You’d have time to go on a cruise?”
Good point. Devlin moved the phone from his mouth. “The guests won’t have time to go on a cruise.”
“One night, maybe two,” she told him. “San Francisco to LA. And the bride and groom can stay on the boat if they want to and cruise down the coast for their honeymoon. I can send them some ideas.”
“Devlin?” Morgan prompted.
“I have an event planner in my arms,” said Devlin. “She wants to send you some ideas.”
A worried tone came into Morgan’s voice. “What exactly are you doing?”
Devlin couldn’t help but smile. He wished he was doing what Morgan thought he was doing. “I’m dancing,” he told Morgan.
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“Maybe for you.”
“Okay, I’m saying goodbye now. Tell the event planner to send any and all ideas.”
“Goodbye, Morgan.” Devlin hit the end button and tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Where were we?”
She started to break away, but he tightened his hold.
“I need my tablet,” she told him.
“Finish the dance.”
“But, I should—”
There was no way he was letting her leave his arms. “Finish the dance, Scarlet. Or you’ll blow our cover.”
o o o o
Jillian couldn’t help thinking that Devlin cleaned up well. She’d found a comfy sofa on the pool deck outside the King’s Cross banquet ballroom. A pool attendant had come by and lit the round gas fireplace in front of her, and she had scrolled through cruise line sites, looking for ideas for Amelia and Morgan.
At the moment, though, her attention was caught by Devlin as he crossed the patio toward her. He held two fluted glasses in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. Dressed for the party, he looked nearly as comfortable as he had at the track.
“Where’d you get that suit?” she asked, as he set the glasses on the low latticework table in front of the sofa.
“My closet.”
“It’s yours?”
“You think I don’t own a suit?”
She didn’t think it was that outlandish of an assumption. “I didn’t think you’d have much call to wear one.”
“It’s true that most of my customers prefer a more laid-back look.”
“You own an auto repair shop, right?” Hank had mentioned it to her during one of their conversations.
“I can see why you wouldn’t want to wear a suit there.”
“Not in the repair shop,” he agreed.
“It’s not out of keeping with my clothing philosophy,” she felt the need to point out.
“Do tell.” He poured champagne into each of the glasses.
“You should wear what will make the most favorable impression on your clientele.”
He lifted the first glass and handed it to her.
She accepted it. “For example, when a customer comes into an auto repair shop, they want to know their car will be serviced by a good mechanic. If you’re wearing coveralls and have a bit of grease under your fingernails, it gives them a sense of confidence.”
He gazed down at his fingernails.
She couldn’t see any grease, but it was pretty dark out here.
“I’m glad I have your approval,” he told her.
She took a sip of the champagne, letting the sweet bubbles tickle her tongue. She did love champagne. “Imagine, if you will, coming into an auto repair shop and being greeted by me in a cream linen suit by Vandella. How confident would you be that I’d correctly repair your car?”
“I understand your point.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“No. Well, maybe a little. You don’t seem to allow for the possibility of crossover.”
He had that completely wrong.
“I freely admit you can pull off a suit.”
He seemed to find some amusement in her words. “Thank you. But I meant you. At a motocross event.”
“I wore blue jeans today.”
“And a white blouse. And a designer blazer.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket, laying it across the end of the sofa. Then he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves.
“I don’t have much call to attend motocross.” It wasn’t like she’d thought through a wardrobe.
“You will for the next few weeks.”
It was hard to argue with that.
He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, his hand coming halfway across her back. The posture should have made her claustrophobic, but it didn’t. “We may have to take you shopping, Scarlet. I recommend the Value Clothing Mart downtown.”
His playful tone brought out a grin in her.
“You mean it’s an undercover assignment?” she asked.
“Your mission, socialite Scarlet Fire, is to infiltrate the ranks of the unwashed motocrossers, blend in, learn their secrets, and make sure they have a great event.”
She hesitated, worry gathering. “You don’t think I’m doing that already?”
He leaned forward and set down his glass of champagne. When he moved back, he seemed closer. He replaced his arm on the back of the sofa. “Not as well as you could be.”
She couldn’t help but feel indignant. “I assure you NMAC is getting my very best service.”
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’re very prickly when you’re accused of not being perfect.”
“You just accused me of giving less than one hundred percent. I don’t do that, Devlin. I don’t slack off.”
“I’m asking you to give one hundred percent in a pair of bargain blue jeans.”
“The clothes aren’t going to make a difference.”
He shook his head, seeming to get even closer as he did. “Oh, no. You can’t have it both ways.”
“You’re twisting my words.”
“I’m taking them literally.”
“What are you doing?” she breathed.
It looked like he was going to kiss her. It felt like he was going to kiss her. Oh, no. Big trouble. Because she desperately wanted him to kiss her.
“I thought I saw Owen heading this way.”
His arm curled gently around her shoulders, and his head dipped slowly toward hers. She had plenty of time to say no, plenty of time to back away, plenty of time to turn her head.
She knew Owen wasn’t coming this way. She understood Devlin’s ploy. She didn’t know why he wanted to kiss her again. And she sure didn’t know why she wanted to kiss him. But she did. And she would. And she—
His lips landed gently on hers, kissing her tenderly. It was different from yesterday, slower, more deliberate, more skillfully and thoroughly executed. His fingertips skimmed the curve of her chin, coming to rest, guiding...no, hinting she should kiss him back.
She did. She matched his pace and his pressure, exploring the firm texture of his lips. They were sweet with champagne, warm, and expertly adept as they turned one kiss into two, then three, then more.
But before it got really interesting, he pulled back, gazing into her eyes, the flickering firelight bouncing off the planes and angles of his face.
“Sorry,” he whispered, but the small smile on his face contradicted the words.
“I did kiss you back.” She wasn’t sorry. Confused, yes. Concerned, absolutely. But she wasn’t sorry. It had been a pretty wonderful kiss.
“It’s the dress,” he told her, gaze skimming from her bare shoulders to her high heels. “You look incredibly kissable in that dress.”
The compliment warmed her, and it brought a smile to her face. “It was the champagne.” She paused. “You taste very kissable with that champagne.”
He groaned, arm convulsing where it was around her, bringing his forehead gently against hers. “I don’t want to make things complicated.”
She gave into impulse and laid her hand across his cheek, urging him back so that she could look at him again. “It was a kiss, Devlin. People do it all the time.”
It had felt like a lot more than a kiss, but she wasn’t going down that road. Not with anyone right now, and definitely not with Devlin. They had a business relationship, and it needed to be protected. If she walked away from this silly attraction right here and now, nothing had to change.
She sat up straighter, and he backed further away.
“I’m heading up to my room now.” She gathered her tablet and small purse, swallowing the rest of her champagne. “I’ll meet you at the airport shuttle in the morning?”
“Yeah.” He sounded resigned.
She thought he also sounded disappointed, but she refused to check his expression to find out. The very last thing in the world she needed was a crush on Devlin Camden. She was smarter than that. She was stronger than that.
She came to her feet, her focus on the doorway to the ballroom and the lobby beyond, where she would take the elevator to her hotel room all alone. “Goodnight, Devlin.”
“Goodnight,” he echoed behind her.
People do it all the time, she told herself as she walked onto the elevator. People shared casual kisses. Men and women found each other physically attractive. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. No woman would deny that Devlin was attractive, in an earthy, edgy, dangerous sort of way.
He wasn’t Jillian’s type. At least he hadn’t been her type until he dressed up in that suit. Which was false advertising when she thought about it. He wasn’t a suit-and-tie guy. He was a T-shirt guy. A dusty, sweaty, faded jeans, physical, wild, passionate guy.
The elevator delivered her to her floor.
A picture of him at the Venus Mountain Golf Club emerged in her mind. Stepping off his motorcycle, mussed hair, dark glasses, an unabashed grin over that square, unshaven chin. She felt a flush move from her breasts to her cheeks, and it took her two tries to get the key card into the door.
Inside, with a slight feeling of panic rushing through her body, she grappled for her phone, pressing the speed-dial button for Shari.
It rang four times. “Hello?” came Shari’s creaky voice.
“Did I wake you?” Jillian asked, glancing at her watch and remembering there was a time-zone difference.
“No, of course not. Who sleeps at three o’clock in the morning?”
“Sorry.”
“No problem.” Shari’s
voice got a little stronger. “What’s up?”
Jillian got straight to the point. “I kissed Devlin.”
“Say, what?”
“I kissed him. Well, he kissed me. But I kissed him back. And, oh, man.” Her hand went to her forehead. “I think I liked it.”
“Context, Jilli.” Shari sounded wide awake now. “Give me some context.”
“We were at the King’s Cross windup banquet. We danced. Then his sister called. She’s thinking of getting married in Vegas. Not my first choice. So, I suggested a cruise. You know those one-night ones, or maybe two nights would be better. I started looking up—”
“Jillian.”
“Yes?”
“You’re meandering off topic.”
“Sorry. We were out on the patio, on a sofa, drinking champagne in front of the fireplace, and he kissed me. It was...” Jillian tried to frame it up in words. “It was sweet, kind of like we were both saying hello. Only we were saying hello as different people than we are when we’re working and arguing.” She drew a deep breath.
“Have you been drinking?”
“A little. They had champagne. But only after I’d finished all of my research.”
Shari’s voice went soft. “I wasn’t accusing you of neglecting your duties.”
“I didn’t neglect my duties.” Jillian was indignant at the thought.
“I’m suggesting you might wait and see how you feel in the morning, when you’re not under the influence of champagne.”
“Ahhh.” A light bulb went off in Jillian’s brain, and she dropped down on the hotel room armchair. “I could be drunk.”
The thought was comforting. Maybe it was only the alcohol that made her want to jump into bed with Devlin. Tomorrow morning, everything would be back under control.
She slipped off her sandals, wiggling her toes in the cool air. “That’s great,” she told Shari. “I’m sure you’re right. I’d never have kissed the man if I wasn’t drunk.”
“Is he a good kisser?” Shari asked, amusement clear in her tone.
“He’s a great kisser.” Jillian’s memory went back there for a moment before she remembered to pull herself out of it. “Then again, my judgment is impaired. I’d say average. Well, high average. It was like... I mean, the technique was all there. But there was also some kind of emotional magic that went along with it.”
“Jillian?”
“Hmmm?”
“You are so drunk.”
An Impractical Match (Match #2) Page 6
