Undercover Man

by Merline Lovelace

  Her senses tingling with delicious feminine anticipa­tion, she swiveled on the dressing stool to gaze at the two-piece dress that hung on the wardrobe door. It met her stringent requirement of no sequins, but even without any glittery trim, it was an outfit Meredith herself might purchased. The snowy watered silk shimmered with a luster all its own, and the exquisite beading on the three buttons and the low square-cut neckline of the short-sleeved jacket was handworked. The straight skirt stopped just above Paige's knees, but was slit high on one side to allow ease of movement.

  In thirty minutes or so, she'd slip on that deceptively demure skirt and fasten those tiny beaded buttons. She'd walk out of this sumptuous bedroom for the last time to join David in the suite across the hall, then leave imme­diately for the honeymoon Adam had arranged aboard a luxurious yacht owned by a friend of his. Paige made a silent vow not to fall off the gangplank this time.

  Now, though, she had thirty minutes to get ready. Thirty minutes to blend the best of Paige Lawrence and the worst of Meredith Ames.

  Grinning wickedly, she tossed the towel aside and walked over to the bed. With unabashed eagerness, she plucked the lemon-colored lace teddy off the coverlet and held it up by its thin straps. She'd been waiting far too long for the opportunity to put this little baby to use. When they hit that yacht, both she and David would be ready—more than ready!—for immediate carnal copu­lation.

  Shrugging out of her robe, Paige stepped into the flimsy scrap of lace and shimmied it up her thighs. She wiggled to adjust the divided strip of fabric that ran be­tween her legs, a little shocked in spite of herself at the intimacy of the garment. She'd just slipped her arms through the narrow shoulder straps and was tucking the underwire lift beneath her breasts when the sound of the door opening made her spin around, both hands plas­tered against the front of her chest.

  David stepped inside, still dressed in the tan slacks and blue knit shirt he'd changed into as soon as they re­turned to the hotel last night. This morning. Whenever. The bandage on his left shoulder bulged a bit under the shirt, but be showed no other signs of his recent wound.

  "You can't come in here," Paige protested. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony. You're sup­posed to get changed in the suite across the hall."

  "I'm going to," he said slowly, his eyes skimming her body. "I just came in to give you— Jesus, Paige, what is that thing?"

  "It's called a teddy. I think. I've never seen one, um, constructed quite like this."

  "Neither have I," he muttered. "It doesn't have any back."

  "Not much of a front, either," she admitted. With a little spurt of daring, she dropped her hands. The stunned expression that crossed David's face sent a dart of pure delight through her.

  "Good grief! Is that what you bought when you went shopping today?"

  "No. This is—was—Meredith's. I've been saving it for a special occasion." Her shining, fresh-washed hair swept her bare shoulders as she tilted her head and smiled at him. "I think our wedding night qualifies as special, don't you?"

  David stared at her for long moments. Then he re­turned her smile with a slow, crooked one of his own.

  "Very special. But I don't think I can wait until to­night."

  He turned, and the sound of the key snicking the tum­blers in the lock thundered in her ears.

  The old Paige, the shy, timorous one who had driven through the French Alps with an aching heart because she believed she wasn't woman enough for this man, might have protested. She might have reminded David that Maggie and Adam were waiting just across the hall. That Henri would be pacing the floor, all puffed up with im­portance over the fact that Paige had asked him to give her away. That the American consul might arrive at any minute, or the French magistrate.

  This Paige simply shivered in delicious anticipation. They had thirty minutes, after all.

  As David crossed the room, she wet her lips in an un­conscious invitation. He stopped in front of her, his fin­gers reaching to brush the tip of one breast. She drew her shoulders back, and the underwire lifted her soft flesh even higher. The scalloped edge of the lace cup barely covered her nipples as it was. Paige's instinctive little movement exposed them completely.

  David drew in a sharp breath. His eyes darkening with pleasure, he shaped her breasts, fondling them, wor­shiping them. Then he bent and brushed the soft mounds with his mouth. The sight of his dark head against her flesh sent a shaft of savagely primitive possessiveness slicing through Paige.

  She wanted to wrap her arms around him, cradle him against her breasts as she had last night, keep him safe and secure from all harm. She now understood David's urge to protect her, to shield her. She felt the same, ex­actly the same.

  His breath was ragged when he lifted his head. Paige saw the hot, urgent need flaring in his eyes, and her own rose in waves. His hands less than gentle, he searched her front for a hook or a fastening on the one-piece teddy.

  "How the hell does this thing open?"

  "It doesn't. It doesn't have to."

  "What?"

  "You're an engineer," Paige purred. "You figure it out."

  With a half laugh, half growl, he drew her into his arms. Paige went willingly, eagerly. Her hands slid up the broad planes of his chest—then stopped abruptly when her fingers encountered the bulge of the bandage.

  "Oh, David! We can't! Your wound!"

  He drew her closer, nuzzling the side of her neck. "What wound?"

  "You lost a lot of blood," she reminded him, hunch­ing a shoulder against the tickle of his moist breath in her ear.

  "I had a steak for lunch."

  Despite her own fiery need, Paige stepped back. The memory of those desperate moments when she'd tried to stanch his bleeding was too fresh to ignore.

  "David..."

  "I'm here, sweetheart."

  The look in his eyes almost melted her resistance, but she took another step backward, until her bottom bumped against the dressing table. She gestured help­lessly toward his shirtfront.

  "Doesn't it hurt?"

  He nodded. "Like hell."

  "Oh, David!"

  Her heart aching in sympathy, Paige reached out to brush her fingertips gently over his poor, injured shoul­der. He caught her hand.

  "Not there." He redirected her hand to a spot consid­erably below his shoulder. "There."

  "Oh!"

  Paige had hoped this sinful little garment would have an instantaneous, erotic impact on David. It had. Her fingers pressed against the bulge in his slacks, and the hot, liquid desire in her own belly flowed into her loins.

  Still, she was careful to avoid touching his shoulder when he swept her into his arms once more and brought his mouth crushing down on hers. He held her hard against him, his palms spearing down the small of her back to cup the bare, rounded flesh of her bottom.

  When his fingers found the narrow strip that traced between her legs, he stiffened. The old David, the one who had always held himself rigidly in control for fear he'd hurt her with the violence of his passion, might have drawn back at this point. He might have undressed her gently and laid her on the bed, supporting himself on his arms as he surged into her.

  This David took full advantage of the teddy's ingen­ious construction. Holding her mouth with his, he arched her against him and explored the moist dampness be­tween her legs. Paige gasped as his fingers found the opening in the fabric and parted it. One, then two, blunt fingers slipped along her slick, wet channel.

  She strained upward, her belly clenching as he stretched her, entered her, impaled her. She moaned far back in her throat. Or David did. She wasn't sure.

  Sensation after sensation rippled through her body. She was sure she couldn't take much more when her bril­liant engineer figured out just how to put that narrow strip of lace to even greater effect.

  He twisted one thumb around the fabric and tugged on it, sawing it gently back and forth, creating a friction that had Paige squirming frantically. Wave after wave of
heat shot out of her belly to her thighs, her breasts, her throat.

  "David," she panted, dragging her mouth from his. "I can't... I won't..."

  "You can. You will."

  He reached behind her and swept the various bottles and brushes and combs on the dressing table to one side. Wrapping his good arm around her waist, he lifted her and set her on its smooth, satiny surface. The cool wood only heightened by contrast the fevered heat of her skin.

  While Paige worked frantically at his belt buckle, he snagged his shirt and drew it, one-armed, over his head. In seconds, he stood before her, hard and rampant and hungry.

  The old Paige might have waited for him to make the next move.

  This one planted her hands on the smooth surface be­hind her, spread her legs wide and tipped her hips to re­ceive him.

  David surged into her with a power and a strength that took her breath away. The bottles rattled. A brush tum­bled off the table. Paige arched her neck, throwing her head back as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  The savage thrusts slowed, then stilled.

  Surprised, she opened her eyes.

  He planted both hands beside hers, his chest heaving as he leaned over her.

  "Who do you see, Paige?"

  She struggled for breath. "What?"

  Eyes as stormy as a winter sky bored into hers. "I warned you that we might not recognize each other by the time this mission was over. Who do you see now?"

  "I see you," she panted, lifting a hand that shook with the force of her love to cup his cheek. "My David.''

  "Me, I do not like this!"

  Red hair slicked down, scrubbed face scrunched up in a scowl, Henri folded his arms across his shiny new suit coat, with its jaunty red carnation in the lapel, and stared at the foyer.

  "It is past the time they were to be here. Well past the time. The magistrate, he comes. The consul, he comes. But Mademoiselle Paige and David, they do not come." His scowl deepened. "The champagne goes flat."

  Maggie twisted her half-empty flute in one hand and nodded sympathetically. "So it does."

  She knew very well what had delayed the errant cou­ple. She'd gone across the hall some time ago to check on them. It hadn't required any exercise of her linguistic skills to interpret the rough, urgent intonation in Doc's voice when he told her they'd be there shortly.

  Shortly, of course, had stretched into longly.

  Grinning, Maggie took another sip of the now sparkleless champagne. She'd known when she met Paige Lawrence in the boutique on the Croisette that there was more to the younger woman than met the eye. But the Paige who'd emerged these past few days had surprised everyone, herself included.

  That once shy, demure young woman was now late for her own wedding because she was unabashedly enjoying her honeymoon.

  A few moments later, the door to the suite flew open and a glowing Paige dashed in, followed more slowly by Doc. The bride wore the two-piece Saint-Laurent suit she'd purchased earlier today, but the side slit was twisted to the back and the jacket buttons were fastened crook­edly. Instead of the white heels she'd chosen to go with the dress, she'd pulled on the same gold sandals she'd worn last night. She hadn't bothered or hadn't had time to put on any makeup, but this Paige certainly didn't need any. Her green eyes were huge, her lips red and ripe, and her cheeks were flushed with what Maggie guessed was whisker burn.

  "I'm so sorry we're late," she said in a breathless rush. "David stopped by the suite to... to..."

  "To give Paige her engagement ring," he finished smoothly for her.

  Maggie turned to Doc in surprise. "Her engagement ring? Did someone fish her purse out of the bay, after all?"

  "No. The emerald's gone, but I had another stone set for her this afternoon."

  Shyly Paige held out her hand for general inspection.

  Henri whistled, tilting her hand this way and that. "The stone is of a fine quality. If we are in need of money, I can get a good sum for this, I think."

  David rested a hand on his shoulder. "Forget it. Paige and I will make sure you're not in need of money."

  "I couldn't ever pawn this, anyway," she told the boy. "It's the diamond from the compact."

  "No kidding," Maggie exclaimed.

  "It was a wedding gift from Adam," she added, glancing at the tall, dark-haired man watching the pro­ceedings with his usual cool air.

  "From OMEGA," he said easily, strolling over to ad­mire the square-cut diamond solitaire.

  Maggie grinned at Paige. "So anytime you want to call Doc home, all you have to do is..."

  "Press once to transmit, twice to receive," she fin­ished, laughing. Her eyes sparkled as she grinned up at the man beside her. "Now who's got whom on a leash?"

  "Before anyone does any more pressing," Adam sug­gested dryly, "I suggest we proceed with the ceremony."

  Henri seconded his suggestion with a quelling look at Doc. "Out/ The champagne goes flat."

  The civil service was simple and poignant.

  Paige gripped the bouquet of white roses Adam had presented to her, somehow managing to look radiant and confident and shy, all at the same time.

  Doc stood beside her, his eyes never leaving her face as he repeated his vows.

  The maid of honor, positioned at Paige's left, trans­lated the magistrate's stuttering half English, half Provencal phrasing for her whenever necessary. Mag­gie's throat closed at the look that passed between Paige and Doc when they joined hands.

  Adam, at Doc's right, handed him the white-gold ring at the appropriate time, then stepped back. Paige passed roses to Maggie, who stepped back, as well.

  Maggie tried not to stare at the tall, immaculately groomed man at Doc's side, concentrating on the ser­vice instead. But during each slight pause, she felt her gaze straying to Adam.

  He hadn't purchased that charcoal gray suit in any boutique, she knew, or that red silk tie. They were hand-tailored in Boston, she suspected. Or New York. Or Paris. He looked so aristocratic. And so damned hand­some, she thought with a small sigh.

  No one would believe this wealthy, jet-setting politi­cian had expertly worked the controls of a hovering hel­icopter just hours ago, his whipcord-lean body encased in black and his jaw darkened with stubble.

  And no one would believe this calm, distinguished in­dividual had icily torn a strip a half-mile wide off Mag­gie during the mission debrief. She buried her nose in the white roses to hide her grin, wondering if he'd really skin her alive if she ever swung out of a helicopter without prior jump certification again.

  "And so, madame and monsieur, I pronounce you husband and wife."

  Tucking the laminated card with the words of the service into his pocket, the portly magistrate beamed at the couple before him.

  "You may kiss your bride."

  Doc didn't need his permission. He swept Paige into his arms with a hungry, masculine fervor that made the magistrate blink, Adam smile and Maggie suppress a twinge of envy. Of their own volition, her eyes strayed to Adam.

  When Doc raised his head, Paige laughed up at him, her face glowing.

  The wedding supper was cheerful, noisy, and a tribute to Henri's taste. The head chef himself presented the last course himself, bowing regally when the small crowd ap­plauded his spectacular flaming crepes suzette. Looking more like a royal duke than a bead cook, the distin­guished gentleman smiled benignly while his minions served the dessert.

  "It was here, in Cannes, that the Prince of Wales first tasted flambeed crepes," he informed them importantly. "The dish was named for his companion of the night. A most ravishing woman, or so we're told."

  He kissed his fingertips in a tribute to the glorious Suzette, a long-ago counterpart of Meredith Ames. Paige slanted David a private smile.

  When the last crepe was consumed and the last toast offered, the newly wedded couple rose to leave. A shower of rose petals tossed by Maggie and a gleeful Henri fol­lowed them to the door.

  At the foyer entrance, David shook Adam's hand. "Th
anks for coming to Cannes. And for staying a few more days, to look after Henri for us. We'll take him off your hands when we get back." "No problem."

  "Just keep an eye on your wallet." "Roger."

  Henri's innocent brown eyes reproached him. "Mon­sieur/ I have retired from the business. That business," he added scrupulously.

  David ruffled his red hair. "We'll talk about your next business ventures when we return. See you in a couple days."

  "You will watch Mademoiselle Paige?" the boy asked, trailing them to the door. "Me, I do not like this idea of the boat."

  "I'll make sure she doesn't go overboard unless I'm with her."

  Paige didn't take offense at the assumption by these two males that she still needed looking after, since she knew very well they needed it, also. And she intended to provide it. For the rest of their natural lives. Smiling, she took David's arm.

  Halfway out the door, she suddenly stopped and slipped her hand free. "Wait! I almost forgot."

  She spun around and tossed the bouquet. The roses sailed across the room, heading right toward the tall, platinum-haired woman.

  Laughing, Maggie caught them with both hands. She buried her nose once again in the soft, velvety roses, breathing in the heady scent of love.

  When she glanced up, the laughter died in her throat. Adam was watching her, with an expression in his blue eyes that she'd never seen before. Maggie's heart slammed sideways against her ribs. Her fingers crushed the white roses.

  "I have something for you, too," Paige told Adam with a shy smile. She came back to him, holding out her hand. His dark brows rose when she laid a small rectan­gular box on his palm.

  "You're going to need this far more than David will."

  A slashing grin creased his cheeks as he slipped the re­ceiver into his pocket.

  "I'm sure I will."

  Paige wasn't sure just how or when Adam Ridgeway would manage to fit the laughing, fiercely independent Maggie Sinclair with a bash, electronic or otherwise. But from the look that flared in his blue eyes as they rested on the long-legged blonde, she suspected it wouldn't be long until he tried.