Serious Risks

by Rachel Lee

  He paused, stepping away just enough that she could see him in the mirror, too, and he removed his own clothes, all the layers that made him a government agent, that shielded him from the world. When he returned to her he was naked and hungry and as vulnerable as she was. Then, with incredibly gentle hands, he took away her last disguise. The satin teddy vanished, the panty hose disappeared and she stood before him unadorned.

  And then his hands began to make a wicked, enticing journey over her hills and hollows.

  “No, no,” he chided gently when her eyelids fluttered closed. “Watch.”

  Helplessly she watched, finding it incredibly erotic to see what she was feeling as his hands shaped her breasts, as his fingers tugged gently at beading, aching nipples. His skin was darker than hers, and the darkness defined his every movement against the canvas of her pale skin. He murmured words of praise in her ear as he stroked her and petted her, his whispers twining with magical Mozart.

  Then he turned them both sideways, face-to-face, so that she could see how she looked in his arms. And when she was trembling so hard she was sure her knees couldn’t hold her, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all and carried her toward the bed.

  “You shouldn’t carry me,” she gasped, clinging to his neck. “Arlen, I’m too heavy!”

  “I can’t imagine why I spend so much time working out if I can’t carry a neat armful like you to bed,” he said, his voice at once heavy with passion and full with teasing. He was smiling as he sat on the bed and then slowly eased her back onto the mattress. “And you’re not nearly as heavy as you seem to think you are.”

  A groan escaped her as his mouth found and closed on an aching nipple and sucked so strongly that she felt it all the way to her center.

  Macho, she thought hazily. No matter how gentle and sensitive and secure a man was, he still had a streak of macho in him. He carried her to bed like a conquest….

  With a shiver of longing she surrendered, reaching for him, grasping him and caressing him. He needed to be needed, he wanted to be wanted, and he hungered for her hunger. How she knew these things she had no idea, but she sensed in him a fierce, deep need, and she answered it by tugging at him, by telling him with her sighs and cries, with the undulations of her body, that only he could give her what she needed, and that she needed all he was capable of giving.

  Mozart reached a fantastic crescendo with them, a crescendo that drowned every other sound. Only later in the silence did the foreshadowing of loss pierce Jessica’s heart and her joy. Only later. Too late.

  Chapter 10

  Two weeks later, on a rainy Sunday afternoon, Jessica sat in the window seat on the stair landing and stared down into her backyard. Water dripped steadily from everything. It had been a wet spring, but on the heels of several years of drought, no one was complaining too much.

  Downstairs in her kitchen sat an FBI agent from San Antonio. He had come to the house yesterday morning shortly after Arlen had left, had come driving Arlen’s sedan and wearing a duplicate set of clothes. Even his hair was a close match. From a distance he would pass for Arlen, as he had been intended to. His name was Wade Gentry, and he was here because Arlen refused to let her be alone.

  That refusal disturbed Jessica more than anything that had yet happened. Two weeks ago Arlen had asked her to be careful because matters were following an unpredictable course. Since then nothing—at least, nothing she was aware of—had occurred.

  Now, once again, she was faced anew with Arlen’s concern for her safety. She was also reminded that probably one of the main reasons he was still staying with her was concern for her safety, not…other things. And she was reminded of his family and his determination not to become involved again, because this weekend he was visiting his daughter in Waco.

  It was probably silly on her part, but she felt a little hurt that he hadn’t suggested she join him. Of course, a man didn’t want to introduce his daughter to his mistress, and of course he didn’t want to show up at Melanie’s with a strange woman on his arm. More important, he probably didn’t want to expose Melanie to the danger he appeared certain was swirling around Jessica’s head like a dark cloud of doom.

  All of this she could understand, but it hurt anyway.

  And the most ridiculous thing of all, she told herself sternly, was to feel so sharply the very pangs that she had known were bound to come from loving Arlen. He had made his position clear, but she had persisted in pursuing him anyway. There had been ample opportunity for her to bail out before things went too far, but she had plunged ahead regardless and thrown her heart over the moon.

  Sighing, she leaned her shoulder against the cool glass and stared down at the wilderness her backyard seemed to have become almost overnight. The grass needed cutting desperately, and if it didn’t stop raining soon it would probably be more than her small mower could handle.

  This relationship, she admitted with a heavy sigh, was harder than she had expected. Two weeks ago, high on the newness of being in love, she’d believed it would be enough to love Arlen, that she would be happy with whatever crumbs he chose to give her. Such foolishness, she thought now. Such naiveté.

  With each passing day she became increasingly aware of all Arlen withheld from her. The distance between them could be measured in years—not the years separating their ages, but the years he felt he could not give. She still wanted his crumbs, but she knew they were crumbs from what could have been a banquet.

  She drew up her legs and clasped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. In fact, she thought, because Arlen was so consistently courteous, kind and gentle, she’d begun to feel as if she were some kind of penance he was performing. Except for that one time, he never even lowered his guard enough to grow irritated with her, and heaven knew she had given him cause from time to time.

  No, he was the government clone from dawn to dark, and it was beginning to drive her crazy. Only when they made love did she feel she came close to the real man, and even then she felt his restraint. Some portion of himself was always kept tightly under lock and key.

  She couldn’t help wondering if he’d guarded himself this way with his wife, or if this was something he’d devised to protect himself since Lucy’s death.

  And she was beginning to understand how it was that a woman could want to provoke a man. She had managed to provoke him into her bed, but now she needed to provoke him out from behind his emotional walls. She needed to drive him into feeling something. Anything. Just so long as it was strong enough to break down the barriers.

  And that might be really dangerous, because he might not return her feelings. In fact, when she thought about that she couldn’t see any reason why he should return her feelings.

  All of which was an indicator of the confused state of her heart and mind, she thought ruefully. She wanted things from him, yet she was afraid of the consequences if she got them. A classic case of the dithers.

  A footstep on the stairs alerted her, and she turned to watch Agent Gentry come up to her. For better than twenty-four hours they had shared the same house yet had hardly shared a word. On the few occasions where they’d had to exchange important information, they had done so in whispers. Otherwise, they’d kept pretty much to themselves.

  Now he squatted beside her on the landing and spoke in a voice that was little more than a barely audible whisper.

  “I’m leaving now, Ms. Kilmer. Agent Coulter radioed to tell me he’s on his way and should be here shortly.”

  Jessica nodded. “Thank you.”

  From the rear he really did look like Arlen, Jessica thought as she watched him descend the stairs. Especially from the rear. No casual observer was likely to note the differences that Jessica noticed—differences that would have made her blush if she’d had to describe them to someone else. His buns, for example. Or the exact shape of a denim-covered thigh. Or the angle of his head when he paused to look around. Little things that only someone who knew him really well would notice. The litt
le things that made him so unique that Jessica could have picked him out of a crowd of look-alikes.

  With another deep sigh Jessica dropped her chin to her knees once again. Agent Gentry’s footsteps faded from the house, and she heard the kitchen door close with finality.

  She still wasn’t alone, though. Arlen had assured her that the house was being watched by the Bureau, though he wouldn’t say from where. He wanted her to feel safer, knowing the FBI was protecting her. Jessica wasn’t sure it made any difference. Emotionally she hated knowing that someone was either watching or listening all the time. It hardly mattered anymore whether it was the FBI or the unknown listeners. Either way, she didn’t have a shred of privacy. Not even in her bedroom. There she bit back cries and sighs, and pillow talk was nearly nonexistent. Sure, they played music loudly enough to drown out anything short of utter mayhem, but she held back anyway, because she couldn’t quite forget. Arlen couldn’t know, of course, just how she was holding herself back, but she knew. And when he whispered sweet things in her ear, she whispered nothing back. It was even worse at other times, when the music wasn’t playing. They had nothing approaching a normal conversation unless they were out of the house.

  God, what a mess!

  Nor would it end until they got whoever was behind the bugs in her telephones. She was beginning to think that if she could conceive of any way at all to force matters, she would. Somewhere along the line she had lost her fears. Maybe a person just couldn’t stay afraid forever. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t afraid, but she was tired and angry, and very, very frustrated.

  And not just about having her privacy shot to hell. Here she was, in love for the first time in her life, having the big affair of her life, and she might as well have her grandmother looking over her shoulder every minute. She wasn’t saying things that should be said, and she was withholding intimacies and confidences because she wasn’t alone with Arlen.

  Which was probably a relief for him, she thought sourly. After all, he didn’t want to get involved. She, however, was very much involved and hated the way this spy business warped everything. Even if it was all one-sided, she ought to be able to throw herself wholeheartedly into what was undoubtedly going to be the best relationship of her life.

  Very likely it would be the only relationship of her life, she amended glumly. She cherished no illusions about her ability to attract the opposite sex. Arlen told her she was sexy, he whispered that she was lovely, and sometimes, in the lamplit bedroom as he hovered over her, he told her huskily that she was beautiful. Jessica, however, prided herself on an unwinking, unblinking approach to life. She was not delusional, and she would not allow herself to be deluded.

  Arlen, she told herself, found her sexy because he was horny and she was handy. Handy? Heck, she’d practically hurled herself at him. Maybe, she allowed, maybe long hair turned him on. She did not, however, believe her plump, mousy self to be lovely, let alone beautiful. Nope, those were words spoken in the heat of passion, and men were notorious for, well, exaggerating at such times. And besides, Arlen was a nice, kind man. He probably wanted her to feel good about herself. She didn’t think his compliments were calculated or conniving—he wasn’t the type. No, they were well-intentioned, which made them equally meaningless.

  So here she was, experiencing something she would probably never experience again, and she couldn’t even fully savor it.

  “That was a heavy-duty sigh.”

  Arlen stood at the foot of the stairs. Clad in a black turtleneck pullover and snug, well-worn jeans, he looked so good to her that tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision. She didn’t even bother to blink them back. And to hell with listeners.

  “I missed you,” she whispered through a tight, aching throat.

  For a moment he didn’t move. He simply stood looking up at her, studying her almost solemnly. And then, one riser at a time, he climbed toward her.

  “How’s Melanie?” she asked quietly, hating the way her voice thickened with her unshed tears.

  “Happily married, happily employed and happily pregnant. If she weren’t my daughter, I could almost resent all that happiness.”

  He was only a few stairs away now, and she managed a watery, wavery smile. “Some people do seem to live charmed lives,” she said with false brightness. “It’s enough to make you believe in fairy godmothers.”

  Arlen knelt beside the window seat so that his head was on a level with hers. “Everybody has troubles and grief. Sometimes they’re just not visible from the outside.”

  “I know.” A shaky sigh escaped her as he covered her clasped hands with one of his.

  “You’re all curled up on yourself, Jessie,” he said, gently tugging her hands apart. “You look like you want to roll up into a tight ball and hide.”

  She guessed she did, but she tried to joke about it. “Like a pill bug?”

  He shook his head. “Like you’re hurting. Am I hurting you, Jessie?” In his heart he believed he was, and he steeled himself for her answer.

  “No,” she whispered. “Oh, no. Don’t even think it. I’m just—just—”

  Blindly she reached for him, and then just as quickly tried to stop herself. She felt free to reach for him out of desire, but she did not feel she had the right to reach out with her emotional needs. This was supposed to be a light, uninvolved relationship, after all. He had made that clear from the outset.

  But as soon as she hesitated, Arlen moved. He gathered her swiftly to his chest, and the next thing she knew she was sitting on the edge of the window seat, tangled all around him. Her face was buried against his neck, her arms embraced his shoulders and her thighs cradled his narrow hips. She felt his kiss on her temple, felt his big hand stroking her back with so much gentleness, so much kindness.

  “I’m sorry, Jessie,” he said, as if everything were his fault.

  “Don’t be. None of it’s your fault. I guess I’m just tired of feeling like a bug under a microscope.” Even now she whispered, hoping to evade the unseen listeners.

  “It’s a strain, all right.” He thought of taking her to a hotel, but was afraid any watchers would be unnerved by such an inexplicable move. Impatience was eating at him—nothing at all had happened for two solid weeks—but not for anything would he take the risk of increasing Jessica’s danger.

  She was so warm and soft against him, and though he felt like a traitor for even thinking it, he could not remember ever having found it so satisfying to hold Lucy. Jessica seemed to soothe longings he hadn’t even been aware of until she touched him.

  But right now he felt her tension and frustration, and knew he had to do something to help. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a damn thing that would really help matters. A rainy afternoon drive in the country, a trip to the movies, anything at all, would only give her temporary surcease.

  His pager chose that moment to chirp, and the word he muttered under his breath, right into Jessica’s ear, shocked a laugh out of her.

  “Sorry,” he said, reluctantly releasing her. “Come on, Jessie, let’s take a little drive.”

  To a pay phone. Since he had just driven back from Waco, Jessica doubted that he wanted to go one step farther than that. She was getting used to these interruptions, though. There was seldom an evening when Arlen didn’t have to call in about something, and she had gathered from things he had let slip that she was far from being the only case he and his agents were handling right now. In fact, from what she was able to discern, he was making quite an effort to manage things so that he could spend as much time with her as he did.

  The trip to the pay phone, as usual, took longer than the five minutes the direct route required. Only when he was certain that they weren’t being followed by anyone did Arlen at last pull into the parking lot of a convenience store, nosing the sedan right up to the row of pay phones.

  As far as he knew, no one had attempted to follow either him or Jessica at any time, and he was beginning to think the cigarette smoker who had stood across
the street that long-ago morning had simply been innocently walking a dog after all. It was as if, once the bugs had been planted, the perpetrators had gone up in smoke. The notion frustrated him even further, because unless they got a break of some kind they were never going to get to the bottom of this case. The thought of subjecting Jessica to much more of this made him angry in a way he had seldom experienced.

  Phil Harrigan was the agent on call this weekend, and he answered his phone on the third ring.

  “Phil? Arlen. What have you got?”

  “You said you wanted to know immediately if there were any developments in the MTI case.”

  “So tell me.” He shifted from his right foot to his left and tried to restrain his impatience. Turning his back to the phone, he looked at Jessica. She sat in the car, watching him through the windshield, and, damn it, she looked too pale to please him.

  Phil spoke. “Maddy Kazin called to tell me she might have screwed up. Royally. You told her to look into Barron’s personal acquaintances as well as his financial situation.”

  “Right.” Arlen nearly sighed. What had happened to all his patience?

  “Anyhow, she came across a real close buddy of Barron’s. The two practically lived in each other’s pockets, I guess. If they weren’t fishing together, they were hunting on a deer lease they own together down south. Kazin says she let it go because it turned out that this guy, a fellow named Carl Stratton, was Barron’s brother-in-law. Martha Barron, the widow, is Stratton’s sister.”

  “Okay.” But it was not okay. After the Walker spy ring, how could any serious agent or investigator fail to realize that people could make a family practice out of spying? Kazin was right, she really might have screwed up. “What changed her mind?”

  “Well, it seems you asked her to investigate the Czech student that Greg Leong introduced Jessica Kilmer to at lunch that day.”