The Honeymoon Assignment

by Cathryn Clare

  Sam drew her deeper and deeper into the moment, into the kiss, murmuring her name against her lips, groaning deeply as the satin softness of her tongue met his, inviting her into the warm recesses of his mouth and the untapped strength of his desire.

  One of her hands was resting at the open collar of his worn white shirt, and she could feel his pulse hammering under her fingertips. That pounding beat echoed in her own body, calling up an answering moan of undisguised need, making her almost painfully aware of how her body was responding to Sam’s kiss.

  If they went on from here…

  If they somehow crossed the distance from the table to the bedroom door, where the big queen-size bed was waiting…

  Her own wanton thoughts didn’t surprise her. This undercurrent of passion had been there all along. It needed only the merest touch to flare into high-voltage life.

  And this was much more than a mere touch….

  She felt him slide one possessive hand along the line of her throat, as though he was searching for something. He followed it a moment later with a trail of slow kisses that left Kelley gasping.

  His hand was sliding lower, over the collar of her loose white shirt. He met the first button and flicked it open with casual skill. Kelley moaned again, letting her head fall even farther back as Sam reached the second button.

  “Sam—maybe—we should move—”

  She wasn’t sure how she managed to get the words out. Everything inside her seemed to be vibrating, humming, as though Sam Cotter had been heaven-sent to make glorious and erotic music with her body.

  Or maybe it was the devil who’d sent him. There was something diabolically brazen about the way he was now kissing the inward curve of her breast. It felt unbearably right, as though she belonged to him and he knew it, and he was only claiming what had been his all along.

  And Kelley wanted him to do it. She twined her fingers through his hair and let him rock her in an embrace that was becoming more and more provocative with every slight shift in the way they were holding each other. Her heart was beating so hard now that it seemed to be knocking at her eardrums, urging her in very primitive language to touch Sam, to hold him, to feel him in the core of her, where it was so clear he belonged.

  The knocking of her heartbeat had gotten harsher, somehow, and Kelley frowned without opening her eyes. What on earth—

  Sam had noticed it now, too. He lifted his head from the soft valley between her breasts and looked around the room. The darkness in his eyes told Kelley he’d been as caught up, as far away, as she’d been herself.

  But something had dragged them back to earth. And after a few confused seconds, they both realized it was Helen Price, tapping insistently at the screen door just a few feet away from them.

  Sam’s low expletive barely made it through the hoarseness in his throat. He seemed, if anything, even more startled than Kelley was. He stayed motionless for several heartstoppingly long seconds, until Kelley finally shifted her weight and eased herself off his lap, away from his embrace.

  Even then, as she quickly buttoned her shirt and tried to rally her wits, she seemed to be recovering more quickly than Sam from the shock of Helen’s arrival. Kelley slid the kitchen door open, wondering what on earth she could say to their half-puzzled, half-embarrassed client.

  They’d slipped up. They’d let themselves be distracted—devastatingly, powerfully distracted—from the job they’d been hired to do. And Helen had caught them at it.

  There was no point making excuses. Kelley felt her face flushing an uncomfortable red and wondered what she must look like, with her hair disheveled from Sam’s caresses and her eyes no doubt darkened by the desire that was still pounding through her veins.

  Fortunately Helen jumped straight into the reason for her surprise visit. “Something very strange has happened,” she said, her astute brown eyes glancing at Sam and then away again. “Harold noticed Steve Cormier packing some things into his car earlier this afternoon and asked him where he was going. Cormier said he was just going into town on an errand, but he hasn’t been back yet. And when I went over to his cottage just now to ask him about something, it looked very much to me as though he had taken his few things out of it.”

  Kelley heard Sam swear softly again. She didn’t blame him for not standing up—she’d felt the evidence of his runaway desire when her hips had pressed against his body, and she was sure he was staying put because he didn’t want Helen Price’s inquisitive eyes taking note of how thoroughly aroused he was.

  But he seemed to be trying to gather his wits, in spite of his shock. “Do you have a key to Cormier’s cottage?” he asked.

  “Of course. We have keys to all the—”

  He didn’t let her finish, and Kelley winced inside at his brusqueness. But at least Sam was working again, shifting back into the professional frame of mind they’d both slipped so far out of.

  She’d wanted it to happen, Kelley realized. She’d wanted their embrace to go as far as it could possibly go. She’d been so completely caught up in her feelings that she hadn’t even stopped to consider anyone might be watching them through the windows of the kitchen, or that it might be dangerous to let her thoughts drift so far away from her real reason for being here.

  She’d done the one thing she’d sworn she would never do again: she’d let Sam Cotter make her forget everything in the world but him.

  Suddenly she was furious with herself, with both of them. She reached for the dark green sweatshirt she’d hung on a peg by the kitchen door and tossed Sam his rustcolored windbreaker while she was at it.

  “Has Cormier ever done this before?” he asked, as he pulled the garment over his head.

  “No, not for this long. And the Gustaffsons’ drain is still not working, and—”

  Once again Sam cut her off, and this time Kelley couldn’t blame him. She was sharing the urgency she could see in Sam’s long-legged strides, feeling the same need to find out what was happening around them.

  When she thought of what had nearly happened, she felt herself blush all over. But she resolutely shoved the thought of it to the back of her mind and preceded Sam—now safely cloaked by his windbreaker—out onto the deck where Helen stood.

  “We’ll turn the place over,” Sam was saying, sounding angrier all the time. “If he’s given us the slip—”

  “Then it proves he must be the counterfeiter, right?” Helen sounded tremulous but determined.

  “Looks like it. And unless he’s more obliging than I think, he’s not likely to have left us any clues, any proof, any—”

  Helen interrupted him a second time, and Kelley had to wonder, as the three of them started across the grassy hill toward the handyman’s cottage, whether their client was trying to make a point about the way Sam had cut her off a few moments ago.

  “I’m assuming,” she said, lightly but meaningfully, “that what I just saw through your kitchen door was all just a part of your act. Because otherwise, when I think about the possibility that our forger may have managed to get away without anyone noticing—”

  Sam growled as his strong, rangy legs propelled him to the top of the knoll ahead of the two women. “Don’t worry,” he said, and even in the darkness Kelley could see the savage look of guilt and anger and sexual frustration on his face. It almost seemed that the man who’d held her so intimately just moments ago, the man who’d smiled into her eyes with such slow pleasure, had disappeared into the night.

  “If Steve Cormier is our forger, we’ll find some way to prove it,” he said. “And as for what you saw through the door—”

  He paused, glaring at Kelley briefly as though daring her to contradict him. “I can guarantee you that it won’t happen again,” he said finally, and stalked down the other side of the little hill at a pace that left Kelley breathless as she tried to keep up.

  Chapter 7

  The cottage had been cleaned out, all right. Sam hadn’t expected anything less. But the sight of it—the closet doors standin
g open, the bare countertop where he’d seen Cormier’s developing equipment only this morning—made him burn inside. If he’d had his whole mind on this job—

  “He left his tools.” Kelley was checking the kitchen drawers while Sam inspected the bedroom.

  “Actually, most of the tools belong to us,” Helen Price said. “I suppose we should be grateful that he wasn’t a petty thief as well as a counterfeiter.”

  As far as Sam could see, there wasn’t a whole lot else to be grateful for. Cormier seemed to have packed his few belongings in a hurry, judging by the half-closed drawers in the dresser. But he’d had enough time to be thorough about it.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of tracing him now.” Helen sounded disheartened as Sam joined the two women in the little hallway.

  “Chances are he’s long gone, maybe over the border by now,” Sam confirmed. He was feeling too angry at himself even to think about sugarcoating the news for their client. “I’ll make some calls, just in case. Wiley has contacts in most of the law-enforcement agencies in the state, and maybe they can help us turn up something.”

  “It might be worth checking in Cairo, too,” Kelley put in. “He was pretty noticeable, with that bright red hair. If anybody happened to spot him, we might get some idea which way he was headed.”

  Sam had been about to suggest the same thing. “I’ll do that next,” he said. “But beyond that—”

  A floorboard under Kelley’s feet creaked loudly as she shifted her weight, and all three of them jumped.

  “That was one of the many things Steve Cormier said he was going to fix around this cottage,” Helen said, frowning down at the hardwood flooring at her feet. “I suppose he was too busy making phony bills to do what he was hired for.”

  “He always seemed to be busy when we saw him,” Kelley said thoughtfully.

  “Oh, he worked hard enough during the day. But if there was any kind of emergency after hours, it was like pulling teeth to get him to see to it. There was one evening I was sure he was in here, but he wouldn’t answer the door when I knocked.”

  She sighed and patted at her soft brown hair, as though she wanted to make sure at least one thing in her life was where it was supposed to be. “That’s the last time I’m letting Harold’s practical considerations triumph over my instincts,” she said firmly. “Although I’ve never been fond of saying ‘I told you so’—and frankly, I’d rather have our criminal than the satisfaction of knowing I was right.”

  Sam cursed silently as he took the cottage keys from Helen and stalked back outside to where his pickup truck was parked. Kelley followed him into the vehicle, refusing to let herself be left out. But Sam had no intention of letting his attention be waylaid by her beautiful, insistent presence a second time this evening. If only the honeyed scent of her hair wasn’t swirling around the truck cab—

  “Sam—”

  He started the engine with a roar, not caring whether he disturbed the peace of any of the Windspray residents who might be enjoying a leisurely dinner. Still seething, he jammed the truck into gear and pulled out onto the gravel driveway. Kelley had to grab the dashboard to keep from sliding into him.

  “Sam, we made a mistake. Is that any reason to—”

  “We made more than one mistake, sweetheart.” He got the words out through tight lips, and wished like hell he’d left a pack of cigarettes in the truck. “First of all, we let Steve Cormier slip through our fingers. He must have figured out this morning that I was after more than just a pair of pliers. Damn.”

  His frustration boiled over, and he slammed the steering wheel hard with the flat of his palm. The muscles in his shoulder tensed in protest, but he told himself grimly that he didn’t mind. Pain could be a useful wake-up call, if you paid attention to it.

  It was only when you started letting yourself go soft, thinking about comfort and sensuality and solace—

  He growled deep in his throat and fought off the memory of the way Kelley had felt in his arms, how the touch of her soft skin had made him want to cry out for more of her. There had been the sweet promise of comfort in her kisses, her embrace, the eager response he’d always found so exciting.

  But comfort had a high price. And Sam wasn’t ready to risk paying it again. Aside from the danger to his heart, he had a job to do, and an investigation agency to take over as soon as this case was wrapped up. Losing his head over Kelley Landis again was a complication he simply couldn’t afford.

  “Cormier must have been thinking of bolting before now,” she was saying. “I’m sure it wasn’t just you—”

  He refused to let her finish. He knew she was trying to make him feel better, but sympathy was the very last thing he wanted right now.

  “Even if I didn’t scare Cormier away, we still screwed up big time by letting Helen walk in on us like that. We both ought to have our heads read for getting so carried away.”

  They’d reached the end of the Windspray lane now, and Sam had to wait as a passing car turned at the intersection of the beachfront road that led to Cairo. The brisk wind off the Gulf rocked the black pickup slightly, and Sam felt as though the weather outside had joined with his own conscience, buffeting him with strong, accusing gusts.

  He’d spoken bitterly, abruptly, and Kelley didn’t seem to have an answer for his words. Had he hurt her, or just stung her into the realization that he was right? At the moment he couldn’t afford to care.

  “Sam.”

  She finally spoke just as the light changed and Sam was shifting back into first gear. Kelley’s quick touch on his wrist stopped him.

  “That floorboard—”

  At first he couldn’t imagine what she was talking about. He was working hard to collect himself, to dispel all the longings and memories that surfaced when he’d taken Kelley in his arms. He didn’t have a lot left over for original thinking.

  And then it suddenly clicked. “The floorboard Helen stepped on,” he said. “The one that creaked—”

  “Cormier said he was going to fix it, but he didn’t.” She’d turned toward him now, her blue eyes shimmering with the quick intelligence Sam found so captivating. “Do you think—”

  “I think it’s worth checking on.”

  He’d been intending to turn Cormier’s cottage inside out later, but Kelley’s idea was too good not to act on right away. Stomping on the clutch pedal, he ground the gearshift into reverse and started back through the low stone gates into the Windspray Community.

  It was a good thing Cormier had left the tools behind. Sam ransacked the kitchen drawers for a hammer and a small pry bar while Kelley located the spot they were after.

  “If I’m wrong, Harold and Helen aren’t going to be too pleased about what we’re doing to this nice hardwood floor,” she commented as Sam began tapping the blunt end of the pry bar into the line between one piece of flooring and the next.

  “Yeah, but if you’re right—”

  It was beginning to look as though she was right. The floor in the hallway was smooth, polished maple, but the boards were cut wide for an intentionally rustic look, and there were slight spaces between them. Sam hadn’t noticed ‘ it earlier, but now, on closer examination, it was clear that someone had pried up this particular board before, with a little more finesse than he was now using. He could feel his excitement mounting as he began to lift the floorboard, catching a glimpse of a dark space underneath, where there should have been only plywood subflooring.

  Kelley was stooping next to his shoulder, her thigh grazing him. Even now, even after the silent lecture he’d just given himself, Sam couldn’t ignore the subtle perfume of her skin or the way the warmth of her breath curled itself around the back of his neck.

  He frowned with the double effort of lifting the floorboard and resisting Kelley’s nearness. If he couldn’t keep his mind on his job, after what had happened earlier this evening—

  In a moment it became very easy to focus on the job. What they saw, when Sam had finally pulled the strip o
f hardwood loose, was a small stack of twenty-dollar bills, neatly bound with a rubber band. It was impossible to be sure at a glance, but this time Sam decided to listen to his instincts, which were telling him loudly and clearly that the money would probably turn out to be counterfeit.

  “So that’s it.”

  Kelley speared her last shrimp thoughtfully but didn’t raise it from her plate. She and Sam were sharing a late’ dinner at the little restaurant in Cairo, sitting at a table for two near the back of the softly lit room. The place was quiet on this Thursday evening, and the staff were showing signs of cleaning up for the day.

  Kelley had thought she was ravenous. The Gulf shrimp in tangy Cajun sauce, served over rice, was the kind of thing that usually tickled her taste buds. And the restaurant was a pleasant place to linger over a meal. The walls were painted in a pale peach-colored wash, in contrast to the rich green carpet underfoot. Local art—Kelley had recognized a couple of Helen Price’s watercolors—graced the walls, highlighted here and there by the soft light of the candles on the tables.

  She should have been enjoying the food, and the atmosphere.

  She should have been happy that this assignment was over.

  She should have been convinced that it was over.

  But she wasn’t.

  And neither was Sam, judging by the black looks he’d been giving his marinated steak. Kelley watched him toss his napkin onto the table as she finished her meal, wondering if he was sharing her doubts, in that uncanny, intuitive way of his.

  “So that’s it.” Sam echoed her words. “I can’t say it’s a resounding success, with the perpetrator on his way to God knows where by now, but at least the mystery’s cleared up.”

  “And the clients are happy.”

  “That’s an understatement.” He gave her a grim smile. “I thought Harold was going to pump my hand right off the end of my arm when I told him we’d found solid evidence connecting Steve Cormier with the counterfeiting.”