Cover Me

by Margaret Watson

  "That's because you're a sap, Cilla." He spun his chair around, pulled her into his lap, nuzzled her neck. She wore the shirt he'd discarded, the top buttons undone, and nothing else. His cock was interested. But it would have to wait.

  She cuddled into him, drawing her bare legs onto his lap, fiddling with the tie strings from his hoodie. "Who else knows you're the Cops and Robbers blogger?"

  "No one."

  "Really?" She sounded shocked.

  "Not a soul. I don't want anyone to know."

  She tilted her head up to study him. "You know I won't say a word to anyone. Ever."

  He nodded. "Okay."

  No one knew about any of his writing. He hadn't intended to tell Cilla, either. But he'd been so into what he was doing, he hadn't sensed her behind him.

  In the past, when he'd spent the night with a woman, he'd gone to her place. Precisely so this wouldn't happen.

  He was okay with Cilla knowing, he realized. He believed her when she said she wouldn't tell anyone. "I trust you. If you say you won't talk about it, I know you won't."

  She lifted her head from its spot between his neck and his shoulder and gave him a soft smile. "Thank you. It means a lot, that you have faith in me."

  "I do." The words made him freeze for a moment. Then he swallowed. Smiled at her. "Want to go back to bed?"

  "Will you come with me? Or are you going to..." She wiggled her fingers at the computer screen, "do more of that?"

  "Nope." He reached around her and saved his work, then closed the laptop. "I'm done for the night."

  He lifted Cilla off his lap, took her hand and led her into the bedroom. Unbuttoned his shirt and slid it down her arms. Stared for a long moment at naked Cilla, standing in front of him.

  "You're beautiful," he said. He touched her cool cheek, slid his hands down the silky skin of her sides, then her legs. "Perfect." And mine, that little voice said again. For now, he retorted. To shove that unsettling voice out of his head, he added, "And really hot."

  She smiled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. But her eyes were soft. Tender. "Take off those sweats, Mr. Writer. I want to see your beautiful, perfect and really hot body, too."

  Brendan shucked the baggy sweats and faded hoodie, then drew Cilla onto the bed. He worshipped her body with his mouth and his hands, making her come twice before he slid inside her.

  They made love slowly, their mouths fused together, their movements synced perfectly, as if they'd been making love for years instead of a couple of days. When he felt Cilla tightening around him, he let go himself. He held her close as their breathing steadied and the sweat on their bodies cooled.

  "What do your brothers think of you writing that blog?"

  He lifted himself on one elbow to look down at her face. Moonlight illuminated the bed, making her skin look pearly. Glowing. He smoothed her tangled hair away from her face. "They don't know."

  "Really? I figured, when you said no one knew, that it excluded your family." She sat up and leaned against the headboard, then reached for his hand and twined their fingers together. It felt...right. He scooted up to sit beside her. "You guys are so close. They'd keep your secret, wouldn't they?"

  "Yeah. 'Course they would. It's not that. It's..." He swallowed. Could he reveal his most closely held secret to her?

  "It's okay," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to tell me." She smiled up at him. "Have to keep some of the mystery, right?"

  "In my family, real men become cops. They're not writers," he said. "I think if I tell anyone, they'll look at me differently."

  "Being a writer isn't better or worse than being a cop. It's just different," she said softly.

  "I know. But it's complicated." Weariness settled over him like a wool blanket. "I'll tell you about it, but not tonight," he said, feeling his eyes closing. "We both need our sleep if we're going to the pub tomorrow night."

  "Yeah, you're right." She kept his hand as she slid beneath the covers. "You wore me out, Donovan."

  "I aim to please."

  "Mmmmm," she murmured. "You did. Several times."

  "Lost count, did you?" He'd steer them back into lighter territory.

  She must have sensed his uneasiness with the heavier conversation from earlier, because she opened her eyes and grinned at him. "Oh, I know exactly how many times. But I'm not about to feed your ego."

  "I'll get it out of you in the morning."

  She cocked an eyebrow. "I'd much rather you get it into me in the morning."

  His cock twitched, and he groaned. "Oh, my God, Cilla. You better not say stuff like that when we're working, or I'll be walking around with a permanent hard-on."

  "Suck it up, Brendan."

  "I'd much rather you suck it up."

  They stared at each other, then both of them burst out laughing. He was still smiling, wrapped around her, when he fell asleep.

  Chapter 18

  Cilla walked through the front door of the Pipe and Shamrock, smoothing her hands down the thighs of her skinny jeans. Brendan followed her, resting his palm on her back. It was a signal that they were a couple. They'd scripted their appearance carefully, trying to anticipate all possible scenarios. Brendan's hand on her was the first scene in the act.

  The weight of his hand felt ridiculously good through the thin material of her silk shirt. Warm. Reassuring. Comfortable.

  And yes, possessive.

  She wouldn't let herself think it was real. Brendan was out for fun. Just like she was, she reminded herself.

  This was merely window dressing for their show. In spite of that, a secretly sappy part of Cilla savored it for a moment, pretended it was real.

  Then she squared her shoulders and shoved those feelings deep inside, where no one could see them. Especially Brendan.

  Last night had been incredible. Intense. Powerful. She couldn't wait to repeat it again tonight, but she didn't have any illusions.

  Brendan wasn't looking for long term. He'd told her so himself. And she wasn't going to fool herself into thinking she'd be the one to change his mind.

  Here at the pub, though? She needed to act all smitten with Brendan, and she could admit to herself that it wouldn't be much of a stretch. As she reached for the inner door to the pub, she closed her eyes and slipped into 'besotted girlfriend' mode. Then took a deep breath and stepped into the noise and movement of the pub.

  Brendan curled his arm around her waist and bent close. "More people here tonight than I expected," he murmured into her ear. "I see a few people from the weekend, but lots of new faces, too."

  "Yeah." Cilla smiled at him as if he'd been whispering sweet nothings in her ear instead of risk assessments. "There are two seats at the other end of the bar, in the corner, where we can see most of the room. Let's grab them."

  As they slid onto the high stools, the bartender glanced at them, then did a double take. "Hey, Cilla," he said, walking over with a smile. "Can't stay away from this place, huh?"

  "I thought I'd see what it's like from this side of the stage." She leaned into Brendan's shoulder, pleased when Rick's gaze settled on them for a long moment.

  "Iced tea for you?" Rick asked.

  "Nope. I'm not working. I'll have a Warsteiner's Premium."

  Rick frowned. "That's non-alcoholic. Might as well have iced tea."

  "No, the Warsteiner is good," she said, smiling at Brendan. "I want to remember everything about this evening."

  Rick shook his head, a tiny grin curling his mouth as he turned to Brendan. "How about you?"

  "I'll have the same." Brendan picked up Cilla's hand and kissed her palm. "Same reason."

  He leaned closer, as if the words were meant only for Cilla, but Rick's eye roll as he set the beers on the bar told her he'd heard, as well. Which was exactly what they'd intended. Pleased, she rested her elbows on the bar and studied the room. Tightened her hand on her glass when she spotted the unpleasant guy from the weekend. "Mike Smith, the angry guy, is here."

  She looked
away quickly, but she was pretty sure Mike had seen her, too. "He's on your right," she murmured. "Looking this way. Probably spotted us."

  "Good. Maybe he'll get the message that you're off the market."

  She let her gaze drift in Mike's direction again. "Those kind of guys rarely get the message. Even when they do, it doesn't matter. They want what they want." She leaned closer to Brendan as Mike turned his head toward her. Stared at her for too long, his gaze flat.

  He finally turned away, and Cilla shivered, fumbling for Brendan's hand. "He gives me the creeps," she admitted.

  Brendan smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand as he frowned. "Maybe we need to add him to our list of possibilities. I could see him as a drug dealer."

  Cilla glanced down at their joined fingers and watched as Brendan drew pictures on her hand. As if he didn't even realize he was doing it. Swallowing once, she said, "He's certainly arrogant enough for it."

  They finished their beers and ordered another round, acting like lovers completely absorbed in one another. With Brendan so close, Cilla had a hard time remembering they were acting. She forced herself to keep watching the crowd.

  They were halfway through the second beer when Cilla said quietly, "Romano just walked in."

  "I see him. He's headed this way." He took a sip of beer and turned toward Cilla. "I don't want him to see our faces, at least not right away. Can you pretend like you really dig me?"

  She leaned closer. "It'll take all my acting skills," she said as she nuzzled his neck. "But I'll do my best."

  His laugh ruffled her hair and his warm breath skimmed her ear. "God, you're good at this."

  "At pretending?" She pressed one hand into his chest and eased back to simper at him.

  His hand tightened on hers. "At the whole undercover thing. You play it exactly right." He tugged her close enough that the curtain of her hair partially hid both of them. "I know you weren't pretending last night, though. I could tell by the way you screamed the third time you came," he whispered.

  Memories from the previous night flashed through her, making her clench her thighs together. "Careful, Brendan." She pressed into his side, and felt his little gasp. "Or I'll drag you out to the car and have my way with you."

  "Later, Cilla." His low voice promised all sorts of things that made her warmer.

  "I'll hold you to that." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Romano, weaving his way through the bar like he had somewhere he needed to be. "Romano's heading this way. Looking for someone, maybe. I doubt he'll notice us, but don't turn around yet."

  A few moments later, Brendan eased away from her. "He disappeared into a dark corner in the back. A little alcove. Semi-private. I've seen couples making out in there."

  "He came in alone. Maybe he's meeting someone." She didn't turn around to look, in case Romano was watching them.

  "Maybe." Brendan squeezed her hand before he let go. "I'll head to the washroom. It's in that direction."

  Her heart pounded, and she grabbed his wrist. "Be careful."

  "Hey, nothing to worry about. There's a steady stream of guys heading for the men's room every evening in a bar." He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Nice that you worry, though."

  He was right. It was normal to go to the restroom in a bar. But she was worried. That was bad.

  There was a good reason couples weren't supposed to work together. Emotion got in the way of doing their job. Made it more dangerous.

  So she'd do her job and not worry about Brendan.

  She picked up her beer, ignoring the stubborn pinch of anxiety in her gut, and studied the people around her. The pub was more crowded now, and she saw a few familiar faces. She'd ask Brendan to take a look when he came back.

  Her phone rang, and she scowled when she saw the screen. Her sister, damn it. If she didn't answer, Liv would just keep calling.

  She stabbed the call button on her phone. "Hold on for a minute, Liv. I'm at work."

  Cilla leaned toward the bartender, who was only a few steps away. "Hey, Rick."

  He walked over. "Need another beer, Cilla?"

  "No, I got a phone call I have to take. When Brendan comes back, will you tell him I went outside to take it? I'll be back in a few minutes."

  "Sure, Cilla. No problem."

  "Thanks," she said as she slid off the bar stool.

  She wove her way through the crowd, saying, "You still there, Liv? I'm almost outside."

  Bursting through the door, she walked to the side of the pub, but now the rumble of trucks and cars down the busy street made it difficult to hear. So she rounded the corner to the back of the pub, where the building would block the traffic noise. "Okay, Liv, we're good. What's up? I'm working right now and I can't talk for long."

  "You didn't call earlier. I wondered if you figured out which case James was interested in."

  Damn it! With the hostage negotiation, she'd forgotten to call her sister. "Livvy, I'm sorry. I got called out on an emergency and didn't have a chance to call. It was the Blaine case. I'll give you the details later. I have to get back inside."

  Gravel crunched behind her, and Cilla spun around. Mike Smith was rounding the corner. And he was looking at her. The smile on his face made her grip the phone more tightly.

  "Liv, this is important. Hang up and call this number." She rattled off Brendan's burner phone number. "Tell him to get his ass out here. Now. Rear of the pub. Trouble." She disconnected, turned on the voice recorder and slid the phone back into her purse.

  Then she turned to face Mike.

  "What are you doing out here, Smith?" She straightened her back, held her purse loosely at her side, tensed her leg muscles. "Heading home?"

  "I saw you leave. Came looking for you," he said. As he got closer, she saw a stomach-churning gleam of anticipation in his eyes. And a bulge in his jeans. "Thought you might like some company."

  "Thanks," she said, trying to sound calm and unconcerned as adrenaline washed through her and her heart began to thunder against her chest. "But I finished my phone call. I'm heading back inside."

  She didn't back up as Smith approached. Didn't show any fear. She stepped aside and tried to go around him. Before she got past him, he grabbed her upper arm. Dug his fingers in hard enough to hurt.

  "You're not going anywhere. The party's just getting started," he said, his eyes glittering.

  She swiveled her body to the side, lifted her arm and broke his hold. "Don't touch me again." She had this. She'd trained for street fights until muscle memory took over and her moves were instinctive.

  She heard a tiny snick as he brought his hand up. A switchblade. The sharp edge of the blade caught the faint beam of the flood light at the corner of the building. It flashed as he moved the knife closer. She backed away, gauging the distance she needed for a kick to his chest.

  He followed. "I'm going to be doing a lot of touching." He reached for her and she used a clenched fist to knock his hand away.

  "You planning on raping me, Smith?" She spoke loudly, hoping the voice recorder had caught her words. She circled around him, keeping herself on the side away from the knife. Scanning the back wall, looking for a place she could use to take Smith down. "Is that why you came out here?"

  He gestured with the knife. "Take off your shirt." His gaze held hers, giving her no opening to attack. "Jeans, too."

  "I don't think so." She braced herself for his attack, watching the hand with the knife.

  He stabbed at her, but she'd seen him tense his arm a moment before he struck, and was able to dance the other way. A dark blue dumpster was at her back now, and broken glass crunched beneath her shoes. The sour, stomach-churning smell of decay filled her nose.

  She sidled toward the end of the dumpster, and Smith lunged at her again. "I've seen the games you play," he said, almost panting with excitement. "With that guy who's been feeling you up out here after your shows. Tonight, I'm going to have some fun with you."

  His hand shook a little, catching the light again.
It wasn't fear, Cilla realized. It was excitement.

  Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed. She knew how to defend herself against a knife. She wasn't going to let this guy rape her. But he was closing in, and if he grabbed her again, she was in trouble.

  "You need to get busy with that shirt."

  Cilla stared at him, unmoving, and he suddenly lunged. The knife caught in her shirt, and as he yanked it away, the knife sliced through the silky material.

  She spun away from him, feeling the cool air on her bare skin. She sucked in a breath, then another.

  Smith's face twisted with rage. He lunged for her again, and she leaped aside just in time. The knife blade scraped against the side of the dumpster.

  She began to back toward the light, and Smith followed her. "Run," he whispered. "Please. I love it when they run."

  They? Oh, God.

  She took a deep breath, then feinted as if she was going to do just that. Run. When he lunged for her, she slid in the opposite direction and stuck out her leg.

  Smith stumbled over her and fell toward the dumpster. She swept her leg toward him, trying to trip him again. But he put his hands up to stop his fall and shoved himself upright quickly. Ran at her, knife extended.

  She twisted away from his knife side, but she planted her foot on a piece of the broken glass, and her leg slipped sideways, throwing her against the dumpster. Smith was on her before she regained her balance.

  He pressed her against the cold metal, his fingers digging painfully into her breast. He brought his right hand to her throat, pressed the tip of the knife against her jugular. Pressed a little harder when she flinched.

  She froze, and he ground his erection into her. "You should have run when you had the chance."

  She never would have run. She knew how to handle herself in a knife fight. One slip, though, had changed her odds.

  As skilled as she was in fighting, in self-defense, he was a male. Heavier than her. Bulkier, even though he was only a few inches taller. More muscular.