Sex, Lies and Surveillance

by Stephanie Julian

  Sex, Lies and Surveillance

  By Stephanie Julian

  Janey DeMarco would love to have a sex life—and she has a serious crush on the new guy in her office. As manager for her family’s P.I. firm, she knows an office romance would end in disaster. Not only are her parents former spies, but her older brothers are tall, dark and overly protective. Still, a little sex would go a long way to reducing her stress levels, and the man is hot…

  NSA operative Mal Laughlin has been sent undercover to find a link between the DeMarcos and the gun smugglers who killed his partner. Unfortunately, the only evidence points to the woman who’s making him hot, hard and ready—Janey.

  Convinced Mal is hiding something, Janey’s determined to find out what. Can she do that while keeping her own secrets? Janey and Mal plot a course of seduction to uncover the truth about each other but when they’re thrown together on a dangerous assignment, sensual meltdown is imminent and secrets are about to be revealed.

  76,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  In 2012, we’re committed to bringing you an even wider variety of stories. With our January releases, we celebrate the diversity of the genres Carina Press has to offer. We’re publishing books across a variety of romance and non-romance genres, including mystery, cyberpunk, fantasy, male/male romance, paranormal romance, contemporary romance, science fiction, historical romance and more.

  I hope you’ll try a book in a different genre and spread the word to your friends and family that Carina Press is a destination publisher for quality books across genres.

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

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  For my guys—love you always.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The woman’s voice wrapped around Malcolm Laughlin like humidity on a ninety-degree day, making him unseasonably warm for a cool April morning.

  From the adjoining office, Janey DeMarco’s husky tone soothed. “No, don’t panic. I can talk you through this. You have to slide off the cover on the tower to remove the hard drive.”

  He had no idea who she was talking to. Didn’t matter. Her voice mesmerized—calm, logical, competent. Mal stifled a groan. Sexy as hell.

  With a rising sense of dread, he stared blindly into the monitor in front of him. He tried to shut her out, to imagine himself anywhere but the Philadelphia offices of DeMarco Investigations.

  A nice arctic oil field or Mount Everest, maybe.

  “No. Not the modem. Don’t mess with the cards. I need you to pull the hard drive.” She paused. “What do you mean, should you unplug the machine first?” Now her voice showed the slightest hint of agitation. “Oh for—Damn it, Nic, haven’t I taught you anything?”

  Her brother. She was talking to her brother.

  “You can’t just—no, don’t—Stop! Just stop.”

  She laughed then, a rich, melodic sound that completely erased the irritation.

  Goddamn, she had a great laugh. Gave him a hard-on every damn time. Luckily for him, in the month he’d been here, she hadn’t had much to laugh about.

  Mal used his forearm to sweep a clear spot on his desk. Ignoring the pile of discs that fell to the floor, he doubled over, resting his forehead on the cool, polished wood.

  “Yes, I know you don’t normally do this, but—No! You can’t just pull the plug! You have to shut it down first.” She paused again, as if to take a deep breath. “Nic, work with me here. I need that hard drive.”

  Ah, hell. Another groan twisted his insides into knots.

  Gallagher had said three weeks, in and out. No problem.

  Well, he’d been here four, and he hadn’t found a damn thing. This case was not as cut and dried as he’d been led to believe.

  “Damn it, Nic. I can’t believe you let it go this far. You should’ve called me earlier—”

  And the DeMarcos were not what he’d expected. He’d imagined The Sopranos. Instead, he got Ozzie and Harriet with a little La Femme Nikita thrown in for flavor.

  It was confusing as hell, and confusion generally pissed him off. He liked to have all his facts in a row. Who the players were. What their roles were.

  These damn DeMarcos wouldn’t stay in their boxes. Whenever he thought he had them figured out, they threw something new at him.

  “No, you can’t do that. No… You could wipe the disc.”

  Mal knew his limits. Knew his strengths and weaknesses. He was controlled, meticulous. He could be a cold-blooded son of a bitch who didn’t take shit from anybody. And he never, ever, let his libido dictate his actions.

  “All right, put her on,” Janey said. “Toni, honey, it’s going to be okay. You’ll have your term paper by the end of the week, even if we have to make Nic rewrite it. I swear, everything will be fine.”

  A goddamn term paper. Jesus. He was screwed.

  Still, if she told him the sky was green and the ocean pink right now, he’d believe her. If she told him to hide under his desk because the sky was falling, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

  And if she ordered him to strip naked and lie on his desk for her pleasure…well, shit, he’d think he’d died and gone to heaven.

  Christ Almighty, didn’t he have enough problems without lusting after the suspects’ daughter?

  Fighting the urge to kick his desk into submission, he lifted his head and tossed the glasses he hadn’t worn in years onto the mess on his desk. He rubbed at his eyes, then applied pressure to his temples, trying to ease the throbbing.

  Yeah, he knew it was a lost cause. He dropped his head again, this time banging it on the desktop. Hard enough to make him come to his senses, although it would probably take a sledgehammer to sort this case into any kind of order.

  Four weeks. Four fucking weeks of dead ends.

  It’d never taken him this long to dig up something, anything. Everyone had secrets, and he was damn good at ferreting them out.

  “Mal? I thought I heard something fall. Hey, are you okay?”

  He flinched and his temples throbbed harder. The object of his lustful obsession had just stepped into his office.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He didn’t look up. Janey read people better than any CIA-trained profiler he knew. “Just a headache. No problem. I’ll pick up those discs in a minute.”

  “I’ll get them,” she said. “You just keep your head down.”

  Damn good advice. For a lot of things. But he couldn’t help himself. The whisper of silk-clad legs as she moved closer was too much of a temptation and he turned to watch her. From this angle, he had a great view of her hips. When she bent over to pick up the discs, he had a side view of her ass.

 
; Janey wasn’t a big girl, but she wasn’t model thin either. She had a little meat on her bones. And Christ, did that make for a world-class ass. Softly rounded and perfectly curved for his hands—

  He sucked in a sharp breath then released it quietly, closing his eyes against the tantalizing sight.

  “Oh, Mal, let me get you something for that headache.”

  Oh, baby, I wish you would.

  “Some aspirin would be great, Janey.” Jesus, was that his voice, that croak? He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll be right back. Then I’ll rub your neck. That always helps my brothers.”

  Her words held no sexual undertones, but just the thought of her hands anywhere on his body threw gasoline on an already raging fire.

  “One hundred.” He heard his voice faintly, as if from a distance. “Ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-nine, seventy-two, sixty—”

  “Here you are, Mal.”

  His self-appointed angel of mercy placed two white tablets on his desk, then laid one warm hand on his shoulder. He jumped, sitting up so fast his temples nearly exploded.

  “No, Janey, really.” He shifted away from her. At least, he told himself he did. “That’s okay, you don’t need to—”

  “Just relax,” she murmured, ignoring his protests as if he were a child—or one of her brothers. He sure as hell was not her brother. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Her slim fingers worked the tight muscles and sweet relief spread over his nerve endings.

  This close, he caught a hint of vanilla from her hair. It played royal fucking havoc with his so-not-under-control libido.

  “It’ll be better in a few minutes.” Her voice soothed. “I promise.”

  Now her fingers dug into the tight muscles of his shoulders and his limbs melted like chocolate in the hot sun.

  Bad move. Very bad move. He shouldn’t let her continue, should never have let her touch him. But he couldn’t help himself.

  Shit. When had this gotten so damn complicated?

  Well, that one was easy. The day he’d met the DeMarcos.

  More importantly, the day he met this particular DeMarco.

  Opening his eyes, he stared into the darkened computer monitor at Janey’s reflection.

  Only her face was visible. She seemed intent on her task, biting her full bottom lip, eyes narrowed. He’d always thought her sloe eyes should be dark—black or brown—to go along with her olive-toned complexion, a gift of her father’s Mediterranean heritage. Instead they were the blue of the fall sky. Along with her lush features, the combination made for an exotic beauty.

  Like a drowning man slowly sinking to the bottom, he gave in to the temptation to simply enjoy her touch.

  “There, you’re starting to loosen up already.” Her voice held a smile and his cock pulsed. Christ, he felt like a horny teenager. “I told you this would help.”

  As she put more muscle into her massage, her breast brushed against his back. How many times had he imagined his hand there, cupping her, kneading? His mouth on her puckered nipple?

  A small sound of pain escaped.

  “Does that hurt?” Now her voice held cool concern. “Let me just knead that muscle there.”

  Oh, it hurt. Just not where her hands continued to work their magic. Lower, much lower. Shit. He forced his gaze upward, to focus instead on her slightly uptilted nose. It played so well off her high cheekbones, just as well as her lush mouth and those bright eyes beneath straight brows that could curve up at an intriguing angle.

  Okay. Deep breath.

  Which only allowed him to inhale the erotic scent of her perfume.

  You’re in deep trouble here, son.

  Ah, there was dear old Dad. His father’s voice, the voice of his conscience. It should have drop-kicked him out of the erotic lethargy spread by Janey’s supple fingers.

  Unfortunately, his libido told the old man to take a flying leap. He did have some self-control left, though. Gripping the chair arms hard enough to leave dents, he forced his vocal cords into action.

  “Janey,” he began, but had to stop and bite back a groan when she hit a sensitive area.

  Fool. Tell her to stop now.

  Mal fought the urge to simply give in and forced himself to turn the chair slightly, just enough to make her lift her hands. She’d distracted him long enough. He couldn’t let it go on.

  “Thanks.” He forced a shy smile and averted his eyes. “But I need to take those pills now.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I put the aspirin there.”

  She pointed to the tablets as she clasped his shoulder with her other hand. Her grip wasn’t seductive or coy. Since he’d started, she’d been unfailingly polite, had never given him one sidelong glance that he could interpret as sexual interest.

  And didn’t that just suck?

  Another little squeeze and she released him. “I’ll just get you a glass of water.” With a swish of fabric, she headed for the door again.

  Turning his chair slowly so it didn’t squeak, he watched that beautiful ass sway as she walked away. No harm in looking, right?

  He couldn’t help but wonder what she wore under that white cotton shirt and demure navy skirt. Lace? Cotton? Satin? Black lingerie or white?

  He closed his eyes and imagined Janey—in sky-blue lingerie to match her eyes. Lace. Rough to the touch and playing peekaboo with her nipples…

  Son, keep your head in the game. And the game doesn’t include screwing the suspects’ daughter.

  Damn, but the old man was always right. With regret, he shook away the image of Janey in lingerie.

  Shut down. Tune out. Concentrate on the mission objectives.

  “Malcolm, dear, are you all right?”

  His eyes flew open, and he almost, almost reached for the nonexistent gun at his hip.

  Damn it, boy. Where the hell is your head?

  One of his “objectives” had materialized in the doorway. Grace DeMarco stood there, a warm smile on her face. He swore the woman could walk across a floor covered in marbles without setting off the most sensitive motion detector.

  He tried not to look like he was grimacing. “Just a headache, Mrs. DeMarco.”

  Dressed in a bright red suit, her strawberry-blond hair a sleek bob, Grace didn’t look a day over fifty although he knew she’d just celebrated her sixty-first birthday. She exuded an energy that belied age, with sharp intelligence shining from her eyes.

  And her expression was a twin of Janey’s. He should be able to arrest them for disturbing the peace. His peace.

  “You’ve been working such long hours since you started. Your research on the Demming case was invaluable.”

  He slammed down the inappropriate pride at her statement. A compliment from the United States’ most-revered former female counterintelligence agent was enough to make anyone in the industry bow at her feet. Hell, before this assignment, Mal would’ve been the first in line. “That’s what you hired me for, Mrs. DeMarco.”

  She nodded. “Yes, we did. However, we don’t require you to work fourteen-hour days. Just because we’re all workaholics doesn’t mean you need to be. I think we’re in pretty good shape for this new case, so we could spare you for a day if you wanted to take some time. Maybe visit your aunt?”

  New case? He blinked, working hard to control his expression. They didn’t need him for a new case. He hadn’t known there was one.

  Goddamn, son, you’re getting sloppy.

  “I’m, uh, sure I’ll be fine,” he stuttered deliberately and watched Grace’s expression soften. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m set to go on Sunday. What’s up?”

  Grace’s mouth firmed as her green eyes went flint-hard. “Someone kidnapped a German industrialist’s five-year-old son two days ago. Ties link the kidnappers to the states, and the father was referred to us. He’s flying in today.”

  Mal was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of that look. His day would come, though. The thought left a curious burnin
g sensation in his chest. He caught himself just before he reached for the antacid tablets in his drawer.

  In the silence he refused to break, he watched Grace submerge all that fierce emotion. She did it so well, he couldn’t help but wonder what else she was hiding.

  “Well.” She relaxed against the doorjamb, where a minute ago she’d been stiff as a plank. “We certainly don’t want you to burn out. You’ve only been here a month, but we’ve all grown very fond of you. Haven’t we, dear?” Grace looked over her shoulder as Janey reappeared.

  His heart kicked up a mambo as he waited breathlessly for her answer.

  You are just one big accident waiting to happen, son.

  And don’t I know it, Dad.

  With the sleek grace of a cat, Janey slipped by her mother, a small Waterford tumbler in one hand. No plastic in this office.

  “Of course, Mom.” For one brief, unguarded second, Janey looked into his eyes, hers heated and stormy as she placed the glass on his desk. He felt the impact of that gaze like a shot to the solar plexus. If he didn’t get some air soon, he’d keel over.

  Then, with a vague smile in the vicinity of her mother, Janey walked out of his office and disappeared down the hall.

  Mal didn’t realize his mouth was hanging open…until Grace shifted in the doorway, snapping him back to attention. Her gaze bored into his, her lips tilted upward. With tremendous effort, he pasted on a shy grin and reached for the glass, wishing he could dump the water in his lap to douse the fire flamed by Janey’s gaze.

  “Well, then,” Grace said. “Take care of yourself. And think about my offer to take a day. You’ve proven yourself invaluable to us in the past weeks.”

  He forced himself to meet her gaze. “Thank you, Mrs. DeMarco. But I’m just doing my job.”

  “No, thank you, Malcolm.” Her tone held a genuine warmth. “And please, call me Grace. Take care of that headache, dear.”