Cover Me

by Margaret Watson

  She folded the final stand and put it into the case, then looked around the pub. She didn't want to leave her instruments unattended, but what if Brendan was in the parking lot and needed help?

  Swinging the cases onto the stage, she called to Keith, "Keep an eye on these for a minute?"

  He waved at her without looking up from the drum set he was breaking down. "Sure."

  She was heading out the door when she heard Brendan's voice behind her. "Hey, Cilla. Where are you going?"

  She spun around to see him rounding the end of the bar, heading for her. Her shoulders relaxed and she took a deep breath. "Hey," she said. "I figured you'd left and was going out to open my car."

  "Told you I'd help you." He drew her to the side, into a corner near the bar so people could go around them. "You weren't running away from me, were you?"

  She touched her shoulder to his upper arm and pretended to nuzzle his neck. "Thought you might have gone outside and needed help."

  "Yeah?" He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. "Thanks for worrying." His mouth brushed her ear, and she swallowed. They were pretending. Putting on a show. But her body hadn't gotten the memo yet.

  She was reacting as though it was real. As if this heat between them was more than acting.

  Forcing herself to smile and relax into him, she murmured, "Wouldn't want you to get hurt tonight. Not before we..." She put her mouth to his ear and pretended to whisper naughty things to him.

  His hand tightened on her waist, his fingers digging into her side as if he really was anticipating a night of passion. "Let's get your stuff in your car."

  "Anxious?" she purred.

  "You would not believe how anxious I am."

  She looked up to see Keith watching them. When she caught the drummer's eye, he looked away. But not before she saw his scowl.

  She hoped Keith wasn't going to go all protective on her.

  She swung her keyboard cases off the stage and Brendan plucked them from her hands. They walked into the warm autumn air and headed for her car. The shadows were just as dark as last night. The parking lot had the same slightly seedy atmosphere as the night before – broken glass from an empty Jack bottle next to the dumpster, weeds growing up through the fissures in the asphalt, cracked pane of glass in the kitchen window. But there was no sense of danger tonight.

  Was it because Romano wasn't watching as they walked to her car?

  Or was it because Brendan made her feel safe?

  She'd never needed a guy to feel safe. She was a cop. She carried a gun. And she knew how to fight. But having Brendan at her side felt comfortable. Reassuring.

  She'd done undercover jobs alone. It was nice to have a partner this time.

  Don't lie to yourself. It was nice to have Brendan as a partner.

  The chemistry between them was off the charts. And that was good. Perfect for the job. Still, after the job was over, they'd shake hands and walk away to their next assignments.

  Exactly as she liked it.

  This time, she might glance over her shoulder as she left. But she'd keep walking.

  "Earth to Cilla," Brendan said softly as he stood next to her car, her keyboard cases in his hands.

  Hoping the darkness hid the rush of color into her face, she fumbled in the small bag she carried for her keys. Her fingers brushed her side piece, a small Sig P238, and the cold metal steadied her. Reminded her of why she was here.

  "Sorry," she muttered, popping the hatch. "Thinking about the job."

  Brendan slid the cases into the back and closed the door. He glanced over her shoulder and stepped closer to her. "I watched a group of four guys for awhile," he said into her ear. He slid his hand up her arm. "Two of them are standing next to their car, watching us."

  Cilla glanced over Brendan's shoulder. Sure enough, Angry Bro and his friend were glaring at her. "I noticed them inside." She gripped his shirt in both hands. "Maybe you should mark your territory."

  One side of his mouth curled up. "My pleasure."

  He edged her around the side of the car, putting his hands over hers to keep them on his chest. Once they were silhouetted for the watching guys, he cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.

  * * *

  Her lips were smooth. Warm. Soft. She leaned into him, and a lock of her hair fell across his face. Its citrusy scent surrounded him, and his cock stirred. The idiot didn't know this was make-believe.

  He didn't want it to be make-believe.

  Brendan tucked the long, caramel-colored waves behind her ear and dismissed the thought. That was his cock talking. He didn't want a serious relationship. All his energy went to his job and his...other pursuits. Pursuits he didn't name, even to himself. Naming might jinx it.

  He nuzzled Cilla's neck, sucking lightly at the soft skin beneath her ear. She gasped and gripped his shirt more tightly.

  Yeah, they would pretend really well. They'd sell it to the crowd at the Pipe and Shamrock, he thought, as he trailed his mouth over her cheek and back to her lips.

  He crowded her into the side of the car, slipping one leg between hers. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, touching his tongue to the vulnerable skin inside her lip. Her breasts flattened against his chest as he pressed closer, and her hard nipples sent blood rushing to his groin.

  Cilla let go of his shirt, and he figured she was going to shove him away. But instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and opened for him.

  She tasted like the iced tea she'd been drinking, tart and lemony. He curled his tongue around hers and felt her breath catch. She shuddered, then suddenly she was kissing him back.

  One of her legs curled around his, pulling him closer. Her hands roamed his back, dipping down to his hips. Playing with his waistband, as if she might slide both palms inside and over his ass. When he tugged up her sparkly tee shirt, the garment that had taunted him all night, her breath stuttered again.

  Her abdomen was smooth and firm. The muscles quivered beneath his fingers, and as he moved higher, she held her breath.

  The tiny part of his brain that wasn't focused on Cilla heard a car engine roar to life behind them. The driver accelerated until the engine screamed in protest, then pulled away, tires squealing.

  Cilla would stop him now. The need for the show was over. The guys who'd been staring at Cilla were gone.

  But she didn't stop kissing him. Instead, she burrowed one finger beneath the waistband of his jeans and tickled the small of his back. He groaned into her mouth and shoved his hand beneath her bra.

  She moaned, a needy, desperate sound that traveled straight to his groin. Her breast fit his hand perfectly. Its pebbled nipple burned his palm, urging him to taste it. He wanted to unleash more of those sounds. He wanted to hear her chant his name when her legs were wrapped around his waist and they had far less clothing on.

  His hips jerked into hers in time with the strokes of his tongue. He shoved her shirt and bra up to her neck, but it was too dark to see the color of her nipples. He desperately wanted to know. Wanted to see them in the light. Needed to watch her face as he licked them.

  Her whole hand was on his ass now, gripping and releasing. Gripping and releasing. He fumbled for the car door. Inside. Back seat. Horizontal. Now.

  A car door slammed close by. Keith called, "Night, Cilla. Remember what I said."

  He'd warned her about the guys at the pub. That they only wanted to hook up.

  Cilla jerked as if she'd touched a live wire and broke the kiss. She leaned back, studying his face. Her chest rose and fell too fast, and her hands tightened on his ass. Then dropped away as if his skin was electrified and had just sent a shock up her arm.

  She tugged her shirt down. "Wow. I guess Angry Bro and his buddy got an eyeful."

  "Yeah," he said, remembering the way he'd lifted her shirt and exposed her. Regretting the way she'd covered up again. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get carried away."

  She lifted one shoulder. "Good that they saw,
right? Sends the message." She opened her car door and slid inside. "See you tomorrow night?"

  He grabbed the door as she tried to pull it closed. "No. We need to talk. Come to my place tomorrow. Or I'll go to yours."

  Her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles whitened. "Nothing to talk about," she said. "We were doing our job. Setting up our cover story. Don't worry about it."

  His chest tightened. Had it all been make believe for her? "Not what I was talking about. We need to compare notes on what we saw tonight." He leaned close enough to smell her orange-y shampoo. "But maybe we need to talk about that kiss, too."

  Chapter 6

  Cilla's hands shook as she drove out of the parking lot. She didn't look in the rear view mirror. She was afraid she'd turn the car around if Brendan was watching her.

  As soon as she was out of sight, she let out the breath she'd been holding. She'd forgotten they were playing a role. Forgotten the people watching them from the parking lot.

  She'd forgotten everything but Brendan's mouth devouring hers and his hands caressing her body.

  Damn it!

  When their lips touched, the facade of Cilla the flirty keyboard player had vanished and real Cilla took her place. Real Cilla was the woman who'd wanted him since he'd pulled her over on the Dan Ryan Expressway. The woman who looked at his hands and his mouth and imagined him doing exactly what he'd done tonight.

  She pressed the accelerator a little harder. Real Cilla needed to remember why she didn't get involved with cops.

  Especially right now. After her arrest of Ryan Ward, she had a target on her back. Maybe Brendan already knew about that fiasco. Maybe he was looking for a little payback.

  He didn't seem like the type, but she wasn't going to take any chances. She'd do her job and she'd keep her distance from Brendan. She wouldn't let him tempt her with what she couldn't have.

  Didn't want, even if she could have him.

  He was a cop, after all. And her Aunt Jessie's pinched face and her mother's warnings about cops were burned into her brain.

  They don't make good husbands.

  They'd rather hang at a bar with their cop buddies than come home to a wife and kids.

  They cheat.

  Cilla tried to block Brendan's image by thinking about the Mustang. Her baby. It needed an oil change. Maybe she'd do that tomorrow. It would be good to get some grease on her hands. Tinker with her engine for a couple of hours. Wipe the memory of Brendan's passion-filled blue eyes out of her brain.

  By the time she got home to her apartment in Chicago's Lakeview neighborhood, her heart had stopped racing and the burn of lust had dissipated. A few embers smoldered, but she could ignore those.

  Until she was around Brendan again a tiny, irritating voice whispered. Then those embers would flare to life.

  She pulled her car into the garage she rented, patted the Mustang's fender as she slid past it, and hoisted the keyboards out of the cargo area of the SUV. She wasn't going to waste another minute thinking about Brendan Donovan.

  * * *

  She rolled over when her phone rang. Trying to drag her eyes open, she snatched it off the nightstand and stabbed the button to connect the call. "Marini," she growled.

  There was a pause. Then Brendan's familiar voice said, "Well, aren't you Mary Sunshine this morning." His voice dropped to the low purr she remembered all too well. "I bet I could adjust your attitude about waking up."

  "You got coffee you can pour through the phone?" She pushed up so she was leaning against her headboard. "'Cause that's the only thing that adjusts my attitude when I'm woken up at the ungodly hour of..." she glanced at her clock, "nine AM."

  "Nine?" She could practically hear his grin. "Something keep you awake last night? A lot on your mind?"

  Yes. You. "Yeah. I got sucked into a book. Hard to put it down."

  "Glad to hear you're a night person." His voice went low and throaty. Sexy. "There's so much fun to be had in the dark."

  She ignored the shiver that trailed down her spine. "Cut the crap, Donovan. We're not at the pub. What do you want?"

  Another pause. "We need to get together," he said, all the sexy gone from his voice. "My place. Figure you don't want me in your space."

  Impersonal, business-like Brendan was back. That was good. That's who she wanted. Not the guy with temptation oozing out of every pore. "What time?" She could be business-like, too.

  "How about noon?"

  "That works. Text me your address. I'll pick up some lunch on my way. Any requests?"

  "How about Chipotle? Carnitas burrito for me. Hot sauce."

  She resisted saying he already had more than enough hot sauce. "Got it. See you at noon." The phone disconnected, and she stared at the screen for a long moment before setting it back on the nightstand. She wanted to know how he switched it off and on. She'd like an 'off' button, too.

  She'd spent half the night thinking about Brendan and those moments next to her car. Which was why she was grouchy and still sleeping at nine in the morning.

  Sighing, she got out of bed and padded into the kitchen to start her coffee maker. She needed to keep her hands busy and her mind engaged this morning. As soon as she gulped some coffee, she'd spend some quality time with the Mustang. Maybe she'd be able to focus on that instead of what had happened with Brendan last night.

  * * *

  Brendan lived in an older apartment building, surprisingly close to her place. The building was shaped like a U, with two long wings and a short wing connecting them. A wrought-iron fence and gate stretched across the courtyard, which had been planted with trees, shrubs and flowers. Creamy orange canna lilies bloomed next to a small pond and multi-colored flowers mounded against the building walls.

  It was a classy place. Not exactly where she'd pictured Brendan living.

  Maybe he had hidden depths.

  She pressed the bell next to his name, balancing the two books of mug shots and the bag with their lunch. The scent from the burritos made her stomach growl.

  The gate buzzed open a moment later. When she reached the door, he was waiting in the tiny lobby, holding the inner door open with his foot.

  "Hey," he said, taking the large binders from her, his eyes twinkling. "You showed up. Wasn't sure you would."

  "I said I'd be here." She let the door slam a little too hard. "I do what I say I'm gonna do."

  "Good to know." He gestured for her to precede him up the stairs. When she got to the top step, she stood aside and waited for him. He led her down a softly lit hallway with a slightly worn floral carpet to an unlocked door, then pushed it open.

  "Come on in," he said.

  The apartment was small but inviting. The kitchen had old oak cabinets and was big enough to hold a tiny table. A faded floral couch sat in the good-sized living room, in front of windows looking onto the courtyard. A half-closed door off to the side was probably his bedroom. She swallowed and tore her gaze away from that door.

  Bookshelves against one wall were filled with books, both paperbacks and hardcovers. On some shelves, the books were stacked on their sides, filling the space completely. A desk stood near the bookshelves, a computer standing open on top of it. Framed pictures lined the front of the desk, and she wandered over to study them.

  As she approached, she caught a glimpse of the computer screen. She glanced over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows. "You read that blog, too?"

  Faint color washed his cheeks and he shoved the lid down on the computer. "Yeah, I read it. Do you?"

  "Of course. And there's nothing to be embarrassed about," she said, watching the color recede from his face. "Pretty much all the cops I know read 'Cops and Robbers'."

  "Yeah, that's why I was reading it. Heard it was interesting."

  "He has to be on the job. No one but a Chicago cop could know some of that stuff." She studied him for a moment, wondering at the hint of discomfort in his expression. "Do you know who it is? Is that why you look like a kid with his hand
in the cookie jar?"

  He lifted one shoulder. "I don't think anyone knows. And you know cops – nothing they like as much as gossip. If anyone knew, we'd all know. Maybe it's just a guy with a good imagination making stuff up."

  Cilla shook her head. "He gets too many details right. Uses language only another cop would know."

  Brendan shrugged. "A mystery, I guess."

  "And who doesn't love a mystery? The more people talk about 'Cops and Robbers', the more intriguing it gets."

  "Maybe." He glanced at the brown bag in her left hand. "You took my lunch suggestion, I see."

  He was changing the subject, but she didn't mind. She was hungry. "Yeah. I love Chipotle." She lifted the bag. "Let's eat while they're still hot."

  "You want a beer to go with that?" he said as he headed to the kitchen.

  "No, thanks. We're working tonight."

  "Just thought I'd offer. I have a few cans of soda from the last party. Iced tea. Orange juice."

  "Iced tea would be great."

  He drew a pitcher out of the refrigerator, poured two glasses and handed her one. She raised her eyebrows when she tasted it. "Brewed tea."

  "I knew you liked it. Easy enough to make it."

  A curl of warmth unfurled in her chest. "Nice of you."

  "Not a big deal."

  He pulled out a chair for her, then sat across from her and lifted a burrito and a burrito bowl out of the bag. As she dug into her bowl, Cilla looked around the apartment.

  "I like your place. It's not exactly where I pictured you living."

  "No?" He took another bite, swallowed it and said, "Let me guess. You had me in some slick, soulless place, all black and white modern furniture and dirty dishes in the sink."

  "I hadn't pictured the dirty dishes," she said, her lips curling up. "This place feels comfortable. Homey."

  "Why wouldn't it? I spend a lot of time here."