Lying in Bed

by Jo Leigh

  Angie’s eyebrows rose and her towel lowered, but only a little.

  Calling Jeannie forced him to move back. As he hit her speed dial, he made the mistake of glancing at the mirror. Christ. Angie’s bare back made his cock stir. Which was nothing compared to the view of her nearly naked behind. The thong made it sexier than if she hadn’t had a thing on.

  “What’s wrong?” Jeannie’s voice was rough with sleep and annoyance.

  Turning his gaze to the bathtub, he explained about the laptop.

  “Any other signs of intrusion?” Jeannie asked, not pissed anymore.

  “Nope, that’s it.”

  “I’ll see that it gets done. Leave your phone on. I’ll have someone text with the outcome. Just keep being a happy couple until we get this sorted.”

  “Right,” he said. “Tell them to hurry.” When he hung up, he found Angie leaning against the sink, her towel still in place and her expression pensive. He should have gone back to staring at the tub, but he couldn’t, despite the fact that they’d had their first real confirmation that the blackmailer was scoping them out.

  “There’s no camera on that computer,” Angie said.

  “What?”

  “Whatever they loaded on to the computer isn’t video.”

  He blinked, nodded, brought his thoughts to heel. “That’s the upside.” He looked at the cell phone again, urging it to ring, despite the fact that no one could have possibly searched the hard drive yet. Like a man under a spell, he couldn’t help but stare once more at Angie, at the way her dark hair swept over her shoulder, the curve of her hips. “I wonder if it was just us,” he said. “Or if whoever it is will be trying to surveil everyone. That might be the approach across the board.”

  “Not everyone would have brought a laptop.”

  “True. But I imagine they have options. Anything quick. In and out, because it’s a risk, breaking in like that. Maybe someone on the hotel staff working for them? Someone with a master key?” He glanced at his phone again. Focused on it as if his thoughts could make it ring. “Did you get anything useful when you left the craps table? I should have asked. Was there something else to tell Jeannie?”

  Angie’s inhale drew his gaze, and he just gave it up. As long as they were in the bathroom and she was undressed, he was physically incapable of not looking. Unbelievable. Thirty-two years old and this was his life.

  “Tonya knows Ira’s a problem gambler,” she said, talking faster than normal as if she would forget if she didn’t spit it out. “And Marcus likes high-priced hookers.”

  “I saw him with that redhead. She had to cost him a pretty penny.”

  “From what Tonya said, it’s a regular thing with him. I also saw her leaving the front desk office. The assistant manager had faxed some pages for her. I only got a glimpse of them, not enough to see what they were, but it made me wonder. Intimate At Last has an office here, on site. There’s no way on earth they don’t have a fax machine. So what was she faxing so late on a Wednesday night that couldn’t have waited till morning? Why not use the hotel’s business office for guests if it was something she didn’t want her partners to know?”

  “Well, hell. The only one we haven’t caught doing something hinky is Delilah.”

  “She’s probably the mastermind. At least she’s clever enough not to get caught.”

  “I don’t know.” Ryan shook his head, trying to piece together the night, what he’d want to put in his report. “Marcus was watching me like he knew something. Or maybe he was waiting to hear something back. For example, that our computer had been breached. You’d left the craps table already—”

  Angie nodded, clearly clicking with the notion that Marcus had been up to no good. She pushed off from the sink. “If we can get a trace on whatever he did to the computer—” She gestured with her arm. The one holding the towel.

  Her breasts were perfect. Small, pert, with hardened nipples that made his mouth water.

  Her gasp made him turn away, guilt slamming him in the gut. He knew she’d covered herself again, but he wasn’t sure at all what to say.

  She cleared her throat. “Um, there’s no camera on the laptop,” she said.

  Keeping his eyes low, he nodded. “We’ve already established that.”

  When she didn’t respond, he dared a glance. Angie, with very wide eyes and pink cheeks, motioned to the door with her chin.

  “Oh,” he said. “Sorry. Sorry. I—” Now the sound of the water seemed exceedingly loud and he noticed she’d been in the middle of taking off her makeup because there were cotton balls on the counter and a bottle of something blue open. “There’s no reason for me to wait in here.”

  “Not that I can think of,” she said, looking at everything but him. When he moved, she moved, skittering around trying to keep herself as covered as she could. Only, there was a flash of her from the side, a reflection in the mirror as he took the few steps to the door.

  The swell of her breast made his pace stutter and his hand slip on the knob. The nipple was hidden, but it was too late. He’d seen it, the exact shade of pink and how her areola was like a perfect halo. The modest glimpse of side breast shouldn’t have knocked him for a loop, but it was the most erotic thing he’d seen tonight.

  He was out the door in a flash, upset, embarrassed and more confused than ever. “Well, that happened,” he said softly, not sure whether he should laugh or offer to sleep in the bathtub. In the meantime, he put on his pajamas, keeping himself away from the computer even though he couldn’t imagine there was anyone watching.

  Changing wasn’t easy, though, because his body was clearly trying to make a point. His brain filling him with urges and memories that made it hard to breathe. His cock, on the other hand, was being a son of a bitch, already more than half-hard. Like a man obsessed, he imagined kissing her now, when he knew so much more. Wondered what it would feel like to meander up those mile-long legs of hers, first with his hands, then with his mouth.

  In perfect and swift retribution, Angie walked out of the bathroom just as he pressed his palm against his now very hard and insistent erection. A second later, the cell phone rang, but the damage had already been done.

  * * *

  ANGIE DID HER BEST NOT TO STARE. Not that he didn’t deserve to be stared at, but she was above that sort of thing. What was important now was the report from the team. She needed the distraction more than she could say, especially since she’d realized in the middle of washing her face that she could have put on her sleep shirt the moment Ryan had entered the bathroom.

  “That’s a relief,” Ryan said into the phone. He’d turned his back on her, the chicken. Too late. She just wished there was a way to delete the image that was now burned into her brain forever. It wasn’t as if those pajamas were especially thick or tight fitting. Or that his hand hadn’t been right there.

  Although he had looked amusingly like a kid caught with his hand not just in the cookie jar, but with a fistful of Oreos. Quite a fistful, in fact.

  “No, okay. We’ll work on it tomorrow. Maybe an email from Roxanne wouldn’t be out of the question?”

  Oh, so, keylogging. She imagined it would be hypervisor based, software running underneath the operating system, becoming a virtual machine that would reproduce itself on the blackmailers end. At least, that’s what she’d look for first. She would have asked Ryan to put the call on speaker, but his back was still turned.

  At least it wasn’t just her. Angie wished it wasn’t so late, as she’d love to talk to Liz about, well, everything, but that would have to wait. What Angie needed this minute was to put herself to bed. Because falling asleep was the only possible way out of the mess in her head. Unfortunately, despite being tired enough to face-plant in the middle of a run, she was also chock full of adrenaline and raging hormonal influences.

  Even so, she put her clothes away and parked her bathroom case, then slid beneath the sheets. Ryan was either listening to a very long explanation of computer tech or was waiting unt
il his hard-on deflated.

  Finally he made a quick dash to the bathroom. She wanted to be snarky about that, but in truth, he was being considerate. He didn’t want to make her any more uncomfortable than she’d been. God, when she’d lowered the towel...

  She closed her eyes as she positioned herself on her side, facing away from Ryan’s sleep spot. Nothing needed to change. Outwardly, at least.

  So much had happened since they’d gone to dinner she could barely get things straight. The way she’d reacted to Ryan in the casino was a major issue. Made more immediate than ever now that he’d seen her, and she’d seen what she did to him.

  It wasn’t a terribly big surprise. This thing between them had been burning like a slow fuse, and hell, maybe Liz was right and they should just bow to the inevitable. But the idea of sleeping with her partner while in the middle of a case felt fundamentally wrong.

  Nothing about this case wasn’t fundamentally screwed up, even without adding sex.

  The bathroom door opened, and in quick order, she felt the bed dip and the covers move.

  “No trace of a microphone,” he said, calm as could be. “Whoever it was is key—”

  “Keylogging, yeah, I figured. I assume we’re going to use that to our advantage.” She started to roll onto her back, but stopped short.

  “The team is working on that. Getting together some scripts. A push by Roxanne to keep the affair going. Something like that.”

  “Good,” she said, closing her eyes. A sudden and vivid picture hit her. Of Ryan in his pajama pants, pressing down on his cock. Followed immediately by the way he’d stared at her when the towel had slipped. She bit the side of her cheek to keep steady. The last thing in the world she wanted was for him to hear something weird in her voice. “Who’d you talk to?”

  “Arnold. He said that a trace will take time, especially because whoever uploaded the program knew his stuff.”

  She nodded. “So not a game changer. We keep doing what we’ve been doing.”

  “Yep,” he said.

  Silence fell, and while it should have been a comfort, it was the opposite. Her nipples had hardened. Just like that. Hard like erasers and she found herself pressing her palm on her breasts, which just reminded her again of his hand and his pajamas....

  Angie was reasonably sure she was going clinically insane. What the ever-loving hell was she doing to herself? Only a complete masochist would continue to somehow forget that Ryan was not her boyfriend, her lover, her husband, her dream man, her anything except her partner. Regardless of erections. Regardless of dubious advice from friends.

  There just didn’t seem to be anywhere for her to hide. No switch that would let her turn off the thoughts. Even during her run this morning, her last bastion of sanity had been filled with thoughts of Ryan and sex. Sex and Ryan.

  Perfect. Wonderful. She should be getting the FBI Special Agent of the Year award any minute now.

  “What was that sigh about?” Ryan asked.

  “Frustration,” she admitted, and winced at what he undoubtedly thought she meant. Great, the incredibly uncomfortable silence came back to make everything worse.

  “I have to admit, it’s harder than I thought it would be,” Ryan said, his words soft and half-mumbled.

  “What is?” Angie did roll over this time. Onto her back, so all she had to do was turn her head to see him. At least, see him in shadow. Because he couldn’t mean what she thought he meant.

  “Pretending.”

  She froze as his response derailed her. She understood the word but not what he meant. Pretending to be married? Pretending they hadn’t been hot for each other for ages?

  He turned until he was lying on his side facing her. Then, as if he hadn’t already stolen her breath, he reached over and took her hand in his.

  She wished she could see his eyes more clearly, even though she was pretty sure about his intention. The next bit would be up to her. If she slipped away from his grasp, they could hold on to their very rocky status quo. If she reciprocated...

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled away.

  9

  “I MEAN, TONIGHT,” HE SAID, as if he’d never touched her. “It was weird flirting with those girls. Acting like a jackass at the table. Not my style, that’s not me.”

  “You were very convincing. I’m sure what Tonya and Marcus saw helped the case. You looked like a man trying to puff himself up, to make himself feel more powerful. That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

  “True,” he said. “I think we both did really well tonight.”

  Except for the part where she’d completely lost touch with reality. But he didn’t have to know that. “Agreed.”

  “So, six?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He leaned over and did something to the clock, then ended up with his back to her once more.

  She stared at him, the shape of his head, the edge of his T-shirt, his shoulder rising and falling with his breath. It was tempting to take another stab at understanding him. For all the seeing each other in compromising positions, all the touching and kissing they’d practiced, this talk right now was by far the most intimate thing that had happened since she’d arrived.

  What she didn’t know was if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Keeping her distance felt like a matter of survival, but opening up to Ryan might end up being the linchpin to this whole operation. Perhaps if they became real people to each other, the mystique left over from the night that almost was would go away.

  Knowing the real man would certainly change the fantasy Ryan she’d been carrying for so long. It was ridiculous to think her reaction this evening had been about Ryan himself. She didn’t know him well enough to feel anything more than physical attraction, and that had never been enough for her. Her fantasies weren’t built on anything but lust and fiction. Until this week, it had felt like being in lust with a character in a TV show.

  * * *

  STARING AT THE CLOCK wasn’t in any way helping Ryan relax. At the very least it should have bored him to sleep. But the night ahead of him was destined to be uncomfortable in every possible way.

  She wasn’t sleeping, either. He could tell from her breathing, her small movements. What he needed was a brain wipe, but what he might be able to get was something less provocative to replace the miasma of erotica starring his bedmate that continued to plague him. “Tomorrow I’m going to sign up with Marcus for a private session. Give him an opportunity to ferret out some damning information.”

  “Oh, God,” she said.

  “I know. I haven’t wanted to avoid something this badly since my old man gave me the talk.”

  “Oh, that,” she said. “How old were you?”

  “Twelve.” He stared at the window, so aware that she was a matter of inches away from him it was hard to think. “I’ll give him credit. He was creative about it.”

  Angie shifted. “What do you mean?”

  Without looking he could tell she was on her back again. “Books weren’t his thing. Neither was a straightforward conversation. What he did tell me wasn’t exactly orthodox.”

  “No ‘When a mommy and daddy love each other very much...?’”

  He laughed, the sound surprisingly bitter even to his own ears. The heat in his face made him yank on the comforter. “Why are we talking about this?”

  “You brought it up.”

  “I really, really don’t want to think about getting a massage from Marcus.”

  “Understood. Carry on, then. He was creative...?”

  Ryan’s sigh was more telling than he wanted to admit. But at this point, talking about his father, which was his least favorite topic in the world, was preferable to letting his mind have free rein. “It wasn’t the mechanics that he’d gotten wrong,” he admitted. “It was the entire subject of women.”

  “Oh?” Of course Angie sounded surprised. He never discussed his private life. Not even with Jeannie.

  “He’s sure as hell not a
nyone’s idea of a model father.” Ryan tried to make it sound as if he were joking but the attempt fell flat. “He lives his life as if he’s in a pulp novel from the fifties.”

  “For example...?”

  “Chauvinistic crap about a woman’s place, blah blah blah. You know that old saw, ‘A man wants a maid in the living room, a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom’? That was...is...his credo.”

  When she didn’t say anything for a weirdly long time, he couldn’t hold out any longer. He used rearranging his pillow as an excuse to not only settle on his back, but to look at her.

  Even in shadow, he had no difficulty filling in the details. No cover would be thick enough, ever again, and wasn’t that completely screwed up. He bit back a groan that would have made everything worse.

  * * *

  ANGIE WAS GLAD, NOW, that she was staring at the ceiling. Things had just gotten very personal. She could sense his embarrassment as if his thoughts had weight. If she didn’t do something soon, this would be the last time he’d open up to her, of that she felt certain. The risk seemed worth it. She faced him, moving that much closer to the middle of the bed, but being the chicken she was, she stared at her hand instead of meeting his eyes.

  “My mother gave me the talk. She had a book of some kind that explained everything in excruciating clinical detail. With pictures. It was horrifying.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “A week later, I got to go over the entire subject again, with my father. Evidently he’d found my mom’s book and thought he could do better.”

  The bedclothes rustled. His warm breath swept gently over her hand, and when she looked up in surprise they were only inches apart. One-quarter turn more and they’d touch.

  “How long did it take you to recover?”

  It took her a second to remember what he was talking about. “There is no recovery. Only shudders when the thought swims to the surface.”