The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

  Once again, Mary Alice stared at the ceiling all night.

  Was Bridge lying dead somewhere out in the desert at this very moment, a bullet in his back and buzzards feasting on his dead body?

  She was more convinced than ever that her decision to end their relationship was the right one. Although outwardly calm, she hadn’t slept and had hardly eaten since he’d been gone. Her body couldn’t take much more of this kind of punishment. It would be better by far never to know the kind of danger he was putting himself into.

  Even if it meant that she would never again know the loving freedom of his arms.

  Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Fifty-Two

  Despite Mary Alice’s preoccupation, Friday’s meeting with the Rose Society’s board went well. Mrs. Underwood, Mrs. Wyeth, and the delightful Miss Beadle gushed over her, and exclaimed their genuine dismay at Bridge’s absence.

  “Oh, whatever shall we do?” Mrs. Underwood cried. “We had counted on him to take pictures of the proceedings.” She glanced in consternation at the small point-and-shoot camera dangling from her hand. “I’m quite sure I would cut off everyone’s head if I tried to take them.”

  Mary Alice chuckled, waving over the fence at Jose and Enrico, who were driving up Charlie Watson’s driveway in their dilapidated gardening truck. Damn. She’d forgotten it was Friday. The lawn wouldn’t get mowed this week. And Bridge wouldn’t be around to do it...

  She deliberately returned her attention to the situation at hand. “I’d be happy to take the photos, Mrs. Underwood,”

  “But Mary Alice, you should be in the pictures,” countered Miss Beadle. “And what a shame your young man won’t be in any of them,” she added with a mischievous wink.

  “Yes,” Mary Alice said wistfully. “What a shame.”

  Miss Beadle looked at her with a hint of concern, but just then Mrs. Underwood said, “Very well,” and thrust the camera into Mary Alice’s hands.

  The meeting was brought to order. Most everything would be done outdoors that day, so she led everyone over to the newly refurbished and erected rose arbor, and the formal proceedings started. Introductions and announcements were made, and Mary Alice took a series of photos featuring the whole group as well as individuals during the subsequent tour of the garden.

  “Everything is so lovely,” Mrs. Wyeth said, beaming at her over a budding Clotilde Soupert bush. “Where did you get that beautiful old arbor? It wasn’t here last time, was it?”

  “No, it wasn’t. Bridge restored it for me last weekend.” She looked at it and could barely keep the tears from filling her eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell him you liked it.”

  Miss Beadle gave a huff. “My dear, come and show me the climber you’ve started over here by the fence,” she admonished, leading her away from the group. “And tell me whatever is wrong. No, no, don’t pretend with me,” she scolded when Mary Alice started to protest. “I can tell. It’s something about your fiancé, isn’t it? You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Unable to deny it, Mary Alice lined up and shot a photo of the kindly old woman as she steadied her voice to speak. “You see, he’s a— That is, he’s been on a very dangerous assignment the past few days. I haven’t heard from him.”

  “Oh, dear. That is worrisome. But he struck me as being a very competent fellow. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  Just then, Jose the gardener appeared at the fence. “Señorita Flannery, we should do your lawn today?”

  “Oh, hi, Jose. We’ll be a few more minutes in the garden, but if you’re still here when we go into the house, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Si, sure thing.” He smiled and melted back onto Watson’s property.

  “Your neighbor has a some beautiful water lilies,” Miss Beadle commented, peering over at Charlie’s pond where Enrico was up to his calves in the murky water pulling out dead pads.

  “Mmm-hm. We have sort of a rivalry going over our favorite flowers,” Mary Alice said with a wan smile. “Naturally, my roses are winning. Well, shall we call the committee inside for some refreshments?”

  “Oh, yes! Let’s do.”

  Mary Alice showed everyone into the house, placing the camera on the mantle on her way to the kitchen. She should be elated the selection process was over and her dream of having Mrs. Trent’s roses included in the registry was finally coming true.

  One more thing on her Master List of Things To Accomplish was nearly completed. Now she could move on to the next item on the list, which was to find a nice choir to join—to help fill the long evenings. And then start researching that dog.

  But somehow, the whole Master List thing suddenly didn’t seem nearly as important as it had for the past three years. It felt hollow. Empty.

  And she knew exactly why.

  Because Bridge wouldn’t be there to share her life...so things would never be perfect, no matter how many items she crossed off that damn list.

  Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Fifty-Three

  The desert sun rose on Bridge’s third day away from Mary Alice, and he gratefully soaked in its warming rays. He pulled his thin police jacket closer to his body and shivered. Most people thought the desert was always hot. Obviously, they hadn’t spent the night lying on a rocky promontory with their teeth chattering so loud they were terrified the scumbag hiding out in the ancient prospector’s hut down the arroyo would hear and come out shooting.

  Damn good thing he and the rest of the local police would be moving in any minute now.

  He thought about Mary Alice, and wondered how she was taking this whole situation. When he’d walked out the door that morning three days ago, he’d never expected to be gone this long, nor be involved in one of the weirdest episodes in his entire career. She was probably worried.

  He sighed mentally. Worried, hell. She was probably going to kill him. He hoped she was, anyway. Anger would be far preferable to the debilitating stress and anxiety he remembered his mother going through.

  But he knew Mary Alice was strong. He’d seen it himself. He just had to pray she wouldn’t crack on him. Not before he could get back and help her through it. With any luck he’d be home in time for the party at Watson’s tonight. With any luck she was still speaking to him. And still wanted him.

  The sheriff gave a signal, and the deputies that surrounded the shack started moving in. Bridge drew his weapon and took aim.

  Because he wanted a life with her so badly it hurt. He’d do anything to make sure they had one. He didn’t want to have to choose between the job he loved and the woman he’d come to realize he loved even more.

  Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Fifty-Four

  Mary Alice stared into the mirror and sighed in disgust. No amount of make-up was going to hide the ravages the past three days had wrought on her face. Drawn and tired, fine lines surrounded her mouth and dark circles sagged under her eyes. She looked ten years older. The very last thing she wanted to be doing right now was going to a party.

  She couldn’t believe she’d let herself be talked into this. Lord knew what she would tell Charlie when she showed up at his door with Sam Grayson in tow instead of Bridge.

  Sighing, she gave one last tug on her miniskirt. Maybe if she got him to look at her legs he wouldn’t notice the guilt or fatigue in her face.

  The party was already in full swing when she and Sam arrived at ten o’clock. Mary Alice had hoped to slip in unnoticed, but Charlie spotted her immediately and hurried over, giving her a floor-lifting hug.

  “Darling! I’m so glad you finally made it. I’ve been watching for you and— Well, well. Where’s Russ?” He eyed Grayson up and down, brows lifted.

  “Out of town. This is Sam.” She tried to ignore Charlie’s assessing gaze.

  “I see. Well,” he swept a hand toward the crowds of people gathered around the built-in bar next to the pool, “make yourself at home, Sam. I’m going to get Mary Alice a drink.”

  With a shrug, Mary Alice allowed herself to be led away from
the FBI agent. So far, so good. It was her job to keep Charlie occupied while Sam did what he called a plain-sight search of the house.

  “You’re looking very sexy this evening,” Charlie whispered in her ear, startling her out of her thoughts.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, scooting quickly around the corner of the bar and nabbing an empty stool. Surely, that hadn’t been his hand on her bottom?

  “I must say, you’ve changed in the last few weeks. I don’t know what Russ did to cause it, but I’m hoping I’ll be eternally grateful. Is he out of the picture, then?”

  She realized she’d made a big mistake by sitting when she felt his hand settle warmly on her knee. She tried to swing away from it, but only succeeded in pressing her other thigh up against his trousers. “Um, no. He’s not out of the picture, just out of town.”

  Charlie’s hand crept up an inch. “And what about the other one? The young guy that took his place?” Another inch. “On the road crew. The one I saw sneaking out of your house at an ungodly hour this morning.” He leered.

  She swallowed and folded her hands across her lap to prevent his from traveling any farther up her thigh. “Deane? Oh, um, he, uh, had a fight with his girlfriend. Bridge said he could sleep on the couch while he was gone.”

  “How very generous. And how long will Mr. Bridger be gone?”

  She looked around nervously. “I was actually hoping he’d be back by now.” She spied several couples dancing poolside and grabbed his hand before he could do any more mischief. “Anyway. Would you like to dance?”

  To her surprise, Sam Grayson was also on the dance floor, with a cute Asian brunette wrapped around him. Mary Alice sent a glower his way. What was he doing? He should be busy breaking into wall safes or something.

  After two dances, Sam still hadn’t budged from the brunette, and Mary Alice was getting royally tired of fending off Charlie, so she pleaded nature and slipped into the house. Worried he’d follow, she ducked through the first door she came upon. It opened onto the landing of a set of wooden stairs leading down to the bottom floor of the house, where the garage was located.

  “Oh, great. Just where I needed to end up.” She jumped when the lights snapped on automatically, then rolled her eyes at her own skittishness. She took a few steps down the stairs and surveyed her surroundings.

  It was a huge three-car garage, pristine white, adorned with one blue and white marine power cruiser resting on a trailer in the far bay, and one perfectly polished candy-apple-red Porsche convertible parked just below her. Not a grease spot in sight. She descended the stairs and looked around.

  “No weekend mechanic, our Mr. Watson,” she murmured, running her finger along the hood of the shiny car. She strolled over to the other side and gazed up at the boat, admiring the spotless white hull and gleaming chrome of the railings.

  “I can’t imagine what Charlie wants with a boat,” she murmured to nobody in particular. He’d never taken it out that she’d seen. Though hadn’t he mentioned he intended to? “Hmm. I wonder...”

  She walked around the trailer, looking for a way to get up to the deck. “Not a chance,” she muttered, glancing down at her mini shirt, hose and high heels. She turned and rested her hands consideringly on the Porsche. “But maybe...”

  She doubted she’d find anything incriminating in the car, but what the hell, she could at least take a quick look through the glove compartment. Grayson sure as heck wouldn’t be getting around to it. “You never know, right?”

  The top was down, so she leaned over the passenger door and fiddled with the glove compartment lock. It sprang open.

  Bingo. She rooted through the contents—maps, a packet of tissues, a flashlight. No microfilm, thumb drives, or secret spy documents. Well, what did she expect? The man was hardly likely to—

  “Busted, Flannery,” a gravelly voice said behind her at the same time a large hand clamped over her mouth.

  She gasped, struggling to right herself, but a powerful arm across her back kept her hanging in her undignified pose, draped over the Porsche’s door.

  “I’d tell you to assume the position but I kinda like the one you’re in.”

  “Bridge!” His hand left her mouth and helped her up just as the overhead lights automatically clicked off. “Oh, Bridge, you’re back. Thank God.”

  She whirled and threw her arms around him. Never mind that she had to tell him she never wanted to see him again. He was here now—alive!—and that’s all that mattered.

  She breathed deeply of his wonderful, masculine scent and met his eager lips with her own. He crushed her to his chest, pouring his wet, delicious kisses like honey into her mouth. Her knees went weak and her breasts tightened with craving for his touch.

  “Angel, Angel, I missed you so much. I thought about you every second I was gone.” He kissed her cheeks, her ears, her eyes, her lips.

  “I thought I’d go mad. I was so worried—”

  “Shhh. I’m here now, baby.” His hand slipped under her blouse and cupped her breast, his fingers tugging aside the lacy wisp that encased it. “You feel so damned good,” he whispered into her mouth.

  Her moan turned to a gasp when he gently thumbed the aching tip. Spreading her blouse, he bent his head and feasted on her soft flesh, and she thought she’d die of bliss.

  She melted in his arms, trying desperately to remember what she had to tell him. “Bridge, we have to talk.”

  “Later. Right now I need to feel your heat around me.” His hands slid under her bottom and lifted, carrying her to the front of the car. From the windows in the garage doors, moonlight pooled like a spotlight on the shiny hood where he deposited her.

  “But someone might—”

  “When I saw you, I locked the door upstairs. Just try not to scream too loud.” A roguish grin flashed in the dim light.

  He tipped her onto her back and she felt herself being stripped of shoes and panties. “Russell Bridger, you can’t be serious,” she whispered, scandalized.

  Warm silk whispered by her ear and after a moment she heard the rustle of foil.

  “What’s the matter? Never made love on the hood of a car before?”

  “Certainly n—” Her eyes widened in shock as vivid as the memories of her dreams. The dreams that had started this whole crazy attraction with Bridge. “That is—”

  Scrunching her skirt up to her waist, he parted her legs and loomed over her, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Yes?” he teased. The long, hard column of his arousal rubbed between her thighs. “So, I’m not the first?”

  She swallowed, her body quickening to the fantasy. “I had dreams. About you.” The slippery, erotic motion of his slow, slick massage sent tremors tumbling through her. “That first day when I saw you on the road crew holding that silly stop sign, I dreamed of you...”

  A low rumble came from his chest and his voice roughened. “Tell me what I did in your fantasies, so I can make them come true.”

  He flicked open her bra, and her breasts spilled free for his caresses. She arched under his hands. He could light her on fire with a mere word, but his searing touch made her forget even her own name.

  “Tell me,” he coaxed.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You made me stop my car with that stupid stop sign. You had no shirt on.”

  He grabbed his T-shirt and ripped it off, flinging it on top of her pantyhose. “What did I do?”

  “You leaned through the window. You were a little sweaty and smelled so good, like a real man. I hadn’t been close to a man in so long...” She sighed longingly. “Then you kissed me.”

  “Like this?” He pulled her up and wound a hand in her hair, pulling her head back. His lips covered hers and his tongue slipped into her mouth, taking her breath away completely.

  When they came up for air, she moaned. “Mmm, just like that. I wanted you to kiss me all over, everywhere. You opened the car door and pulled me out.”

  He kissed a trail down her throat. “And?”


  “Then you stripped off all of my clothes.”

  He gave an appreciative grunt, unbuttoning her blouse and slipping it down over her shoulders. “There, in front of everyone?” It and her bra joined the growing pile of clothes next to her. “My, I am a naughty boy.”

  “No,” she laughed, then pulled in a sharp breath when his mouth closed over one nipple, his fingers over the other. “It was dark by then, and we were all alone. You lifted me onto the hood of my car.” His suckling grew more ardent. She let out a ragged whimper, leaning back on her hands, offering herself up for his enjoyment. And her own. “The air was chilly on my naked body, but the metal of the car hood was warm. Your hands were so warm, too. Touching me all over, caressing me, stroking me.”

  She let him press her down onto the Porsche and lay back as he acted out her words, his mouth and tongue working over her in sensual torture. She moaned, writhing under his hands.

  “You were so hot,” she said, panting breathlessly. “I could see you—big and hard. I never knew a man could be so huge.”

  “This big?” he urged hoarsely as he covered her, fitting the hot blade of his cock to the apex of her parted thighs.

  She cried out when he thrust home, but he captured the sound in his mouth and fed it back to her as his own, and thrust again. She wrapped her legs around his lean waist and shivered in ecstasy, sandwiched between the slick, shiny wax of the hood and the iron hard muscle of his torso. He moved over her, driving in and out, slowly at first, then faster and faster, making them both gasp for air.

  He felt so good, so right, she nearly wept.

  How could she ever give him up?

  He rode her like there would be no tomorrow, and she kissed him like this would be the very last time they would ever make love. And as the heat and ecstasy overtook them and they both shot over the edge of oblivion in each other’s arms, she cried out again.