The Professional

by Rhonda Nelson

  And if he didn’t stop sending her those sexy half-smiles and sidelong glances, she wasn’t merely going to have to wonder—she’d have to know.

  And that, she knew, was out of the question.

  Of course, it’d be easier to remember that if he’d quit flirting with her. She looked down at the ugly flannel shirt and winced. Clearly her plan wasn’t working.

  “Go change,” Tewanda told her. “It’s not too late. You’re spending the whole day with him. Has he asked for that massage yet?”

  “No,” Audrey said, releasing a shaky breath at the mere thought of her hands sliding over that silky skin and muscle. “And I hope he doesn’t.” She whacked Tewanda against the arm.

  “Ouch,” Tewanda yelped accusingly, rubbing the spot. “What the hell was that for?”

  “That was for suggesting I give him a massage. Carlos can give him a massage. Not me.”

  “Hunh.” She shook her head. “That man is not going to let another man give him a massage.”

  “He will if he wants one bad enough,” Audrey said. She needed to keep her hands to herself, thank you very much, and it was going to be hard enough without Tewanda’s interference. Honestly, she’d known that her friend didn’t care for Derrick, but she didn’t realize just how much Tewanda hated him until Jamie had come along.

  Derrick had called last night immediately following Audrey’s help-yourself-orgasm buffet and she’d felt so guilty over fantasizing about Jamie that she hadn’t answered the phone. Of course,

  the instant his accusatory “Where-are-you?

  Why-aren’t-you-waiting-on-my-call?” tone had sounded through the small speaker, she’d immediately let go of any remorse.

  “My mountains are done,” Jamie called from over his shoulder.

  Tewanda frowned. “Mountains?”

  “Don’t ask,” Audrey said, laughing under her breath.

  “Oh, now you can’t laugh like that, then tell me not to ask.” Tewanda squinted down the hill at Jamie, trying to make out his painting. “What’s going on?”

  Audrey nodded her head in Jamie’s direction. “He’s painted some special…artwork for my grandfather.”

  “How nice,” Tewanda said, brightening. “The Colonel should like that.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Audrey crossed her arms over her chest. “Why don’t you trot down there and take a look and then we’ll see if you still think he’ll like it.”

  With a haughty look of sheer bafflement, Tewanda did just that. Audrey quietly followed, looking forward to hearing her friend’s take on Jamie’s paintings.

  “Do you mind if I take a look?” Tewanda asked him.

  Jamie glanced past Tewanda and his twinkling gaze tangled with hers. “Not at all,” he said. “Art is meant to be shared, after all,” he drawled.

  Still smiling, Tewanda sidled forward and inspected the painting on the easel. The smile froze comically and she cocked her head and squinted, seemingly trying to make Jamie’s mountains into, well…mountains. Her eyes widened and a shocked laugh burst from her throat when she realized what she was looking at. “Oh, you did not!” she said, her voice equally flabbergasted and impressed.

  Jamie chuckled at her. “Want to see my orchid?” he offered.

  One look at the orchid made Tewanda dissolve into a fit of hysterical laughter. “He’ll have your beautiful white ass drawn and quartered for this, you know,” she finally told him when she could speak.

  Jamie inclined his head. “Probably.”

  “You don’t look nearly as worried as you should,” she added.

  “Nothing worries me much anymore,” Jamie said lightly, but there was a truth in the humor which somehow rang very honest. It was a telling statement, Audrey thought, and filed it away for future consideration.

  Tewanda sighed regretfully. “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said with one last look at Jamie’s orchid.

  “Radio me if you need me,” Audrey told her.

  She laughed. “Don’t I always?”

  Audrey sidled into her friend’s vacated spot next to Jamie and inspected the mountains for herself. Like the orchid, there was a surprising amount of detail which told her that, while he definitely was a novice painter, he had quite a knack for capturing the female form. And since he was painting from memory, well… She instinctively knew he’d never leave a girl hanging.

  He would be a guaranteed orgasm.

  The mere knowledge made a shiver work its way through her.

  “You cold?” Jamie asked.

  Audrey shook her head, trying to clear it of before and after orgasmic visions of her and Jamie. “No, I’m fine.” She drew a bracing breath. “So…are you finished painting or would you like to try your hand at a banana?”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’ll save the banana for later in the week.”

  A self-portrait? Audrey wondered, her mouth watering. “All right, then. Let me take a look at your schedule and see what you’re supposed to do next.”

  Jamie rinsed his brush off, then disposed of the water in the cup. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want to do next?” he asked. He’d lowered his voice an octave and a curious invitation, one that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, rang through the deep, sexy baritone.

  She paused, toying with the necklace around her throat. “I’m hoping you’re going to want to follow along with the schedule, but if it makes you feel better to tell me what you want to do, then by all means, go ahead.”

  “Where’s Moses?” he asked, moving closer to her.

  Audrey felt her brow wrinkle. “He’s at home.”

  “Locked up tight, then?”

  “Er…yeah.”

  She lost a little more of her personal space as he crowded even closer in. “Can’t escape and tear my throat out?”

  “No,” she said hesitantly.

  Jamie’s finger slid up her neck, tilting her face closer to his, and rested under her chin. “Can’t interrupt?”

  “R-right,” she murmured shakily, utterly mesmerized and rooted to the spot.

  “Then, if you have no objections, I’d like to pick up where we left off last night,” he murmured softly, weaving his voice and the image he’d effortlessly conjured around her senses. His warm breath fanned against her lips and his body heat seemed to be magically absorbed into her own hot spots. Her nipples tingled, her belly grew muddled, and that throb in her womb hammered until she wasn’t altogether sure remaining upright without his support was going to be possible.

  “Can I kiss you, Audrey?” he whispered, asking permission, of all things, when he could surely tell she had no objections. Making the choice completely hers. It was old-fashioned and noble and her heart squeezed with the kindness behind the gesture.

  “Y-yes,” she breathed, unable to conjure the sane response.

  And God help her, that was the last fully-formed thought before his lips touched hers and life as she’d known it abruptly ended.

  * * *

  JAMES AIDAN FLANAGAN had stolen his first kiss in third grade from a blue-eyed blonde who’d smiled with angelic wonder after his bold preemptive move—then immediately thereafter cold-cocked him for his impertinence. His nose had bled for half an hour and his mother—probably the hardest working person he’d ever known—had had to leave her job and come to the school for a “meeting” on his behalf.

  Jamie had learned two important lessons from that singularly defining experience.

  One, never take anything without asking first.

  And two, there was no action without consequence and sometimes those consequences weren’t your own.

  As a result of his stunt, his mother had had to pay for that thirty minutes of lost time with an extra shift, or lose her job. Though his grandmother had insisted that he go to bed that night, Jamie hadn’t slept, and when his mother’s tired footsteps had brought her into his room later that evening and he’d felt her fingers brush his cheek and glimpsed her weary loving smile, his chest had ach
ed with the weight of guilt.

  Curiously, though tasting Audrey—savoring her sweet breath and the plum-soft texture of her lips—was one of the most phenomenal gut-wrenchingly perfect experiences of his life, that same weighty ball of guilt he’d noted at eight had taken up residence in his belly. The meaning was clear—he might not have taken her kiss without permission, but he had a grim suspicion that she’d be paying for the consequences of his actions.

  A better man would stop now, wouldn’t be dragging her closer to him, angling her head to more fully devour her. A better man would stop, or more importantly, would never have started. And let’s face it, a better man wouldn’t have agreed to the Colonel’s scheme at all, admiring the purpose but refusing to participate.

  But if being a better man meant he’d never feel these small hands pushing into his hair, tasting the gentle pleasure of her breath, the silken slide of her tongue into his mouth, then Jamie would simply have to resign himself to being a self-serving bastard. Because he couldn’t stop now if his life depended on it.

  Unlike a lot of men who merely used kissing as a means to an end, Jamie had always enjoyed it. While he wouldn’t go so far as to say that kissing was as good as sex, he would say that it was second in line to the most personal…and telling. A guy could learn a lot about what sort of lover a woman would be by her kiss. In fact, a sorry kisser almost always resulted in a sorry lover.

  It was no surprise then, given how potent his initial attraction and curiosity about Audrey had been, that the meeting of their mouths could be anything short of extraordinary.

  And it was also no surprise that she was the single most talented kisser he’d ever had the pleasure of tangling tongues with. Kissing her was a full-body experience. He felt the effects of her lips in every cell in his being. His hands shook, his dick throbbed, his belly inflated with what felt like fizzy air and the rest of him seemed to be melting. Her technique was flawless. She was ardent and energetic, sensual and sure.

  But most importantly, she didn’t try to pretend like she wasn’t equally affected.

  He could feel her beaded nipples through the flannel, raking against his chest. Flannel suddenly became his favorite fabric, Jamie decided as he slid a hand down her tiny back, then over her sweetly curved rump. She slithered and squirmed, positioning herself as closely to him as she possibly could. Her hands alternately kneaded his scalp and shaped his jaw, forcing him to accept her ministrations. Every mewl and sigh of pleasure echoed off his tongue and it took every iota of willpower he possessed to not topple her to the ground and bury himself inside her.

  Just like their kiss, he knew it would be instinctively explosive.

  Jamie wouldn’t have thought a bolt of lightning could have startled them apart, but ironically, a single ring of his cell phone did.

  Audrey stilled in his arms, then quietly stepped back. In a second, he watched the passion fade from her gaze and a cloud of worry and regret take its place.

  He inwardly swore, checked the display, then swore aloud when he recognized the caller.

  Garrett.

  The man clearly had some sort of psychic connection, Jamie thought, resisting the ridiculous urge to scan the tree line. “Flanagan,” he finally answered, his voice a bit rusty to his own ears.

  “Where’s my granddaughter?”

  Jamie’s gaze slid to Audrey. “Standing right here,” he replied. “Would you like to talk to her?”

  “Now that was subtle, Flanagan,” he said, annoyed.

  “Sorry, sir,” Jamie lied dutifully. “What can I do for you?”

  An exasperated sigh hissed over the line. “I just wanted to check in and see how things were going. Are you making any progress yet?”

  Oh, yeah, Jamie thought, his gaze sliding over Audrey’s slightly swollen lips. He could say that. “Yes, sir. I’m enjoying myself,” he said, opting to play along and keep up the ruse. In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposed.

  Especially now.

  “Excellent. Has she confided anything about Derrick yet? Told you that he’s proposed?”

  “No, sir. The weather’s beautiful. We’ve been painting and I’ve—” Jamie smothered a chuckle. “I’ve made a couple of things for you.” He aimed a smile at her and was relieved when a ghost of a grin caught her lips as well. “Audrey has kindly offered to have them framed and shipped to you.”

  “Well, just keep plugging along,” Garrett told him. “You haven’t been there a full twenty-four hours yet. Even with your legendary charm, I didn’t expect her to fall at your feet.”

  How odd, Jamie thought, when just a second ago she’d been standing on them to get closer to his mouth. Somehow he didn’t think Garrett would appreciate that little nugget of information, though, so he decided to keep it to himself.

  “Right, sir.”

  “You’ve got to make this work, Flanagan,” Garrett told him grimly. “Failure is not an option here. According to my sources, Derrick is so sure of Audrey’s answer that he’s already bought a ring and booked a venue.” He growled low in throat. “The arrogant SOB.”

  Jamie silently concurred. He glanced at Audrey and tried to imagine her married to Derrick and discovered, quite disturbingly, that he couldn’t imagine her married to anyone…but himself. Which was ridiculous when he had absolutely no intention of ever marrying anyone.

  Period.

  Furthermore, he’d just met her. Soul-soothing eyes and flaming attraction aside, thinking about any form of permanent attachment was extremely premature. He was losing his mind, Jamie decided. She’d gotten him so damned hot she’d evidently rewired his brain.

  Garrett cleared his throat. “Do your job, Flanagan,” he told him. “And don’t forget my orders. On deck but never up to bat. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

  Jamie’s conscience twinged. He passed a hand over his face. “No, sir.”

  “Good,” the Colonel groused. “I’m fond of you, Flanagan. I’d hate to have to kill you.” With that, he disconnected.

  Evidently unable to stand still, Audrey had gathered their watercolor gear while he’d been on the phone. She folded the final chair and added it to the stack. “Checking in on you, eh?” she asked, obviously going to pretend that their scorching kiss had never happened.

  Up on him was more like, but Jamie merely nodded. “Yeah.”

  Audrey hefted the bag onto her shoulder and frowned. “He’s been acting weird lately,” she said. A droll smile tugged at her lips. “He and Tewanda have spent entirely too much time on the phone for my comfort recently.”

  Jamie grabbed the remaining painting paraphernalia and fell in behind her as she made her way back up the hill. “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” She started to say something, but quickly changed her mind. She gave her head a small shake. “It’s nothing, I’m sure.” She shot him a smile. “I’m just being paranoid.”

  No, she wasn’t, Jamie thought, feeling even more like a snake in the grass. She was reading everything correctly, but the signals just weren’t clear enough for her to realize what was going on. God help Garrett—and himself—if she ever did realize what they’d been up to. While Audrey might come across as easygoing and mild mannered, he had the distinct impression that she could very quickly unload…and hold a grudge.

  She’d forgive the Colonel—he was her grandfather, after all, and had her best interests at heart—but she would never forgive him, Jamie realized.

  She’d hate him.

  And the kicker was…he’d deserve it.

  8

  “DON’T BE GENTLE, CARLOS,” Audrey said, sighing with pleasure as Unwind’s resident masseur used his magic hands on her shoulders. The soothing sound of bubbling water and the pungent aroma of relaxing herb-scented candles wrapped around her senses. If she didn’t have so much on her mind—namely a six and half foot Irish American with miracle lips and the best ass she’d ever seen—she’d undoubtedly take a little catnap. As it was…

  “Okay, then,” he said, upping the pressure
. “You asked for it. Geez, I haven’t seen you this tense since that week we had the Slim-It-Up Diet group here.”

  “God, don’t remind me,” she groaned, her face pressed into the hole of the massage table. “Those women were horrible.” And that was an understatement. They’d driven Tewanda stark raving mad with their low-fat no-fat strictly-organic screw-it-where-the-hell-are-the-candy-bars? demands.

  Carlos clucked his tongue. “Hungry women are bitches.”

  She grunted. “Hungry women are insane. They broke into the kitchen. Remember that?”

  He chuckled, working on a particularly tense spot between her shoulder blades. “I’d forgotten about that,” he mused aloud. “That diet was too stringent. No wonder they snapped.” He sighed. “Everything in moderation, I always say.”

  Yeah, well, that only worked if you only liked things in moderation, Audrey thought, guiltily picturing the half-pound block of chocolate in her bedside drawer. No one ever wanted good stuff in moderation, and those who did were…boring, she decided. To her dismay, an image of Derrick leaped instantly to mind, bringing guilt right along with it. She determinedly pushed both away, unwilling to devote any brain-power to what she knew would be a sobering thought process.

  Say what you wanted about those dieters, but at least they were passionate. They knew what they wanted and had the guts to go after it. What if Monet hadn’t painted in excess? If Beethoven had only been moderately motivated to compose? What if she did exactly what she wanted and seduced the hell out of Jamie Flanagan without the slightest notion of right, wrong and consequences?

  What if she threw every bit of good sense and caution to the wind and didn’t consider the repercussions of her actions at all? As if there wasn’t a Derrick? As if Jamie wasn’t her grandfather’s friend? What if she did exactly what those passionate dieters had done and just said to hell with all of it? She let go a whimper. Would that be so terribly wrong?

  Carlos paused. “You say something?”

  She blushed. “No.”

  She was in hell, Audrey decided. And considering parts of her were still feverish and she’d left Jamie more than an hour ago, she imagined things were only going to get worse. Honestly, finishing out the day with him after that meltdown of a kiss—hell, she’d practically scaled his body, trying to get closer to him—had been sheer torture. Rather than dealing with the situation like an adult, she’d pretended like it had never happened. Pathetic? Juvenile? Cowardly? Yes…but she couldn’t help it.