by Diana Palmer
"You don't sound like a football fan," she said.
"I like ice hockey," he mused. "And soccer."
"You're built like a football player," she murmured shyly.
He flashed her a smile. "Believe it or not, the school I attended didn't have a football team. My father refused to let me participate in what he saw as an educational wasteland."
"You didn't participate in sports at all?" she persisted.
"I did join the wrestling team," he said with a grin. "I was school champion two years running and graduated undefeated."
Her eyes ran over his muscular, fit body. "I can understand that," she said.
"I don't have anything against sports," he added. "They're good for kids, too. They teach sportsmanship."
She hesitated. "You aren't married?"
His eyebrows arched. "When would I have the time?" he asked honestly, and then realized that in his current role, it was a particularly strange answer. "I mean," he corrected, "I've been moonlighting until just recently."
"Oh. The way you talked about children, I just wondered if you might have any of your own," she said.
He shook his head. "I haven't found anyone I wanted children with," he replied, his dark eyes narrowing as he saw images of sleek, sophisticated women whose life-styles didn't mix with diapers and baby food.
"That's sad."
"How about you?" he asked.
"I like children," she replied easily. "I don't suppose I'll ever have any of my own, but I like other people's."
"Why won't you have your own?"
"You have to get married to have kids," she said.
"Not these days."
Her green eyes searched over his profile. "Maybe other people feel that way. I don't. I had religious parents. I was raised to believe that marriage came before children."
"Or anything else," he remarked with a teasing glance.
She shrugged. "I'm not suited for this century. Maybe I was supposed to be born in ancient times and the calendar got mixed up. I think I'm really a rebel at heart, but I don't have the stomach for some of the more modern attitudes."
The cigarette in his fingers had become a fireless stub. He tossed it into the already full ashtray. "Modern attitudes aren't all that modern. Since the beginning of time, people have defied convention. It works for a percentage of the population, it doesn't work for the rest." He glanced at her. "Do what you feel comfortable doing. Don't confuse rebellion with conforming to ideas you don't even like."
"That sounds deep," she said softly.
"Does it?" He pulled into a small shopping center that boasted an indoor theater. "If you want to be a rebel, you could start by doing something outrageous."
"Such as?" she probed, smiling.
"We'll think of something," he replied dryly. He parked the truck and cut off the engine, nodding toward the theater marquee. "See anything you like?"
She did. "The science-fiction thriller. Unless you'd rather see the spy film," she said with a smile, flushing when she thought how like a spy film her own life had just become.
He shook his head. "Science fiction suits me very well."
He got out and opened her door for her, grimacing when a loose spring on the seat caught her hose and snagged it.
"Damn," he said roughly, extricating her ankle. I'm sorry"
"I snag a pair a day at work," she said gently. Her hand touched his lightly where it rested on the truck door. She smiled at him. "It's all right. Really."
She made him feel odd. He remembered once when one of his dates had caught her stocking on a rosebush at the front of his home, and she'd raised hell for half an hour and demanded that he buy her another pair to make up for having ruined one. But Maureen was different. Very different.
"I'll get you a new pair, anyway," he offered.
"No. You've got enough to do, paying your own bills," she said quietly. "A pair of stockings isn't going to hurt my budget."
Her thoughtfulness made him feel more guilty with every passing minute, because he was deliberately letting her think he was something he really wasn't. But he had to find out about the jet. It was his job.
"Want some popcorn?" he asked after he'd paid for the tickets and they were in the lobby.
"Yes, please. We could share a bucket of it," she hinted.
"Not the buttered kind." He chuckled. "I've just taken off fifty pounds. I don't want to put them back on."
"Unbuttered is fine. And a small cola, please."
He got their order and led the way down the darkened hall to the theater, situating them in the center section halfway down. The movie was just starting.
Maureen munched popcorn and sent shy, fascinated glances at the big man sitting beside her. It was new and thrilling to have someone take her to the moviesespecially someone she really liked and wanted to be with. She was going to be sad if he turned out to be the disreputable man he might be. All the same, she hoped that this date wasn't going to be a once-in-a-lifetime day. It would break her heart to have him go back to his cold self after this. She liked him, despite his possible flaws.
On the other hand, she worried. What if he felt guilty because of the things he'd said to her at first, and this was his way of making up for it? She muddled this thought around in her brain until he'd finished the popcorn and suddenly slid his big hand around hers. She stopped worrying. The feel of his warm, rough skin against hers made it impossible for her to think at all.
Later, she couldn't remember a single scene in the movie. He walked her to her door, because it was dark by the time they'd had a hamburger in a fast-food restaurant and then gone home.
"That was fun," she said shyly. "Thank you for taking me to the movie."
"I enjoyed it, too," he replied. He meant it. He couldn't remember a date being so much fun. "Do you like to bowl?"
"Iwell, I've never been bowling," she confessed.
"We'll go next Saturday."
Her face brightened. She could hardly believe he'd said that. It was like a dream come true. He must like her, surely, to ask her out twice in a row! Men usually left her at her door and made vague promises and ran like the devil. She forgot her spy mission in the first flush of delight at his invitation.
"I'd like that," she said, sounding and feeling breathless.
He smiled down at her. His big hand touched her cheek, very lightly. "I haven't been to a movie in a long time," he said. "I seem to have spent the past few years trying to work myself to death."
"While I've spent the past few years trying to break out of the prison I live in." She sighed. "I have a great mental life, you know. In my own mind, I'm vivacious and daring and adventurous." Her shoulders rose and fell. "It's only in the real world that I have problems."
"The real world isn't so bad," he told her. "As for breaking out of your mold, that's easier than you realize. You can be anything you want to be. All you have to do is take the first step."
"With my luck, it will be into quicksand," she mused.
"No negative thinking," he retorted. "That's a mistake a lot of people make. If you expect bad things to happen, they will. You have to start with an optimistic viewpoint."
"I don't feel very optimistic, most of the time." she said. "Maybe I jinxed the Faber jet just by going to work for the company."
"Don't be absurd," he said, but his dark eyes were steady and curious.
She glanced at him carefully. "I keep wondering why Mr. MacFaber doesn't start an investigation or something."
"Well, MacFaber's hired a private detective," he informed her carefully. "Or so I hear. I guess he's worried."
Her heart skipped. So the old man wasn't just sitting back doing nothing. She wondered who the private detective was, and if this man knew. She became suddenly perturbed, worrying about her new friend winding up in jail.
He saw that worry and misinterpreted it. So she was nervous. Good enough, he told himself. She might make a mistake and fall into the trap.
"WellI'll see you Monday,
" she began, reluctant to say good-night.
"Why not tomorrow?" he asked, pressing his advantage. Just to make sure he could keep tabs on her, he assured himselfnot because he wanted to be with her. "Are you going somewhere?"
"Just to church."
"Do you mind some company?"
She shouldn't have been shocked, but she was. He didn't, somehow, seem like a churchgoing man.
Her expression made him smile. "You're right," he confessed. "I haven't been inside a church in a long time. But it will be a change of pace for me. What faith are you?"
"Episcopal," she said.
He nodded. "I was brought up a Presbyterian, but Protestant is still Protestant. What time do we leave?"
"I go at ten-thirty. That gives me time to walk. It's only just down the street," she said, aglow with excitement.
"Suits me." He studied her in the light from her apartment, because she'd opened the door and was standing in the doorway. "Are you in a flaming rush to get in there?" He nodded, indicating her apartment.
"No"
"Then why don't you come here and let me kiss you?" he asked, surprising himself, because he hadn't meant to say that. She had a body that delighted him, and he'd been staring on and off at her soft, pretty mouth all night. He was curious about her experience, or lack of it. She'd said she was innocent. He wanted to see if she really was.
She felt electric tremors running down her spine. "K-kiss me?" she asked.
"It's the usual custom, I believe," he murmured, moving closer. He slid a big hand around her waist and pulled her against him. "Or did you mean what you said that daythat I was too old for you?" he added, his eyes narrow and curious.
She could barely stand up, she was trembling so. "I didn't mean it," she said, her voice unsteady. "I was trying to convince you that I wasn't chasing you."
"You aren't the type to chase men," he said quietly. His hands slid around her and held her gently while his head bent toward hers.
"I know," she babbled. His breath was warm on her lips and she was almost delirious with nervous anticipation. "I've never been confident enough!"
"Shh," he whispered against her lips. His mouth brushed them, very gently. He didn't rush her. He was slow and tender, and he did nothing to frighten her. After a minute, he felt some of the tension go out of her body. Her hands were against the front of his shirt, and he felt their quick, jerky movement.
He lifted his head to look into her wide, bright eyes. That nervousness wasn't faked, he'd have bet his life on it. She was even a little frightened of him. "You don't know how, do you?" he asked.
"N-no," she confessed miserably.
"It's all right," he said, and smiled faintly as he bent his head again. "I'll teach you what you need to know, Maureen," he bit off against her mouth.
The words went through her with a shock of pleasure. She felt his mouth biting gently at hers in slow, brief, provocative movements. His hands slid down to her hips and began to draw her against him and then put her away, in a motion that aroused her beyond belief. His experience was evident, and so was her lack of it.
"Jake," she whispered, her tone soft with fear.
"Give in to it," he whispered back. "You're safe. I won't do anything to hurt you or frighten you. Give me back the kiss, Maureen. Open your mouth a little and lift it against mine Yes, little one, like that Harder this time harder !"
She felt the fierce crush of his mouth with awed pleasure. He tasted of coffee and smoke, and his lips were devastatingly expert. Her arms went under his and around him; her hands savored the taut muscles of his broad shoulders. She clung to him, her body trembling with a kind of pleasure that terrified her while his hard mouth took everything it wanted from hers.
When he lifted his head, her lips followed his, but he held her by the arms and stood looking down at her with an expression she couldn't decipher.
"You're trembling," he said quietly.
"I Nobody everever kissed me that way," she stammered, embarrassed by her own lack of experience.
His eyes darkened. He couldn't have imagined even a week ago that there was a woman in the country who hadn't had at least one lover. He was astonished to discover that it mattered to him that Maureen hadn't. He moved his big hands slowly between her rib cage and her waist, enjoyed the softness of her body, the feel of her trembling hands against his shirt. Work was the last thing in his mind as he looked at her. She wasn't the only one that hard kiss had affected.
"I won't take advantage of it," he said, his voice very deep in the stillness. "You please me," he added huskily, brushing his mouth gently over her forehead. "You please me very much."
She sighed and nestled close. "I must seem terribly ignorant," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
He linked his hands behind her and swung her lightly from side to side. "Why are you sorry?" he asked. "Hasn't it occurred to you that innocence can be very exciting to a man?"
She grimaced. "Not to the few men I ever went out with. They thought I was a hopeless case."
"Their loss. My gain." He said it lightly, but his deep voice was like shades of velvet.
She looked up, her eyes sliding quietly over the broad face with its deep-set dark eyes, its imposing nose and square chin. It was a very masculine face, full of authority and strength. Somehow he didn't look like a mechanic, she thought dreamily.
"Have you always been a mechanic?" she asked absently.
He looked and felt briefly uncomfortable, and his hands stilled on her waist. "No. Not always." He let her go. "You'd better get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
"All right." He seemed suddenly remote, and she wondered what she'd done to cause that reaction.
He lit a cigarette, pausing on the sidewalk to look back at her. "Do you cook breakfast or eat cereal?" he asked unexpectedly.
She hesitated. "I make biscuits and eggs and sausages, usually. Do you cook?"
He shook his head and smiled ruefully. "I'm living on stale cereal."
"You could have breakfast with me," she volunteered in a rush, forcing the words out.
One dark eyebrow lifted with gentle amusement. "Could I?"
"There's always plenty. Bagwell doesn't eat much," she said, laughing.
"What time?"
She'd been holding her breath. Now she let it out, feeling as if she were floating. "Nine."
He nodded. "See you then."
She watched him go, her eyes eloquent. It wasn't a dream. It was real. She couldn't have imagined even a week ago that her worst enemy would become her friend. But it seemed to be happening, all the same. She wouldn't let herself think about what he could be. Spying was beginning to lose its thrill already. Now she was going to go through agonies worrying about him.
She was up at six the next morning, just to make sure she didn't burn the biscuits. She baked them up fluffy and light, and fried both sausages and bacon, just in case, and had to restrain herself from making the eggs much too early.
But even as she stood in the kitchen in her long blue, men's pajama top, barefoot, with her long hair around her shoulders, deliberating, there was a light tap on the back door.
Trembling with anticipation, she pulled the curtain aside and looked out. It was him, dressed in an older but still trendy gray suit, with the jacket looped carelessly over one finger, in a white shirt and a tie. She wondered idly why he hadn't worn the very expensive suit she'd seen him in just days before. Could he possibly know that she was suspicious of him, and was he, therefore, trying to alleviate her suspicions?
She opened the door without thinking and blushed when his eyes went automatically to her long, tanned legs and back up to the deep cleft between her full breasts.
"II haven't got a robe," she stammered, embarrassed.
His eyes moved up to hers, dark and steady. "You have a beautiful body," he said quietly. "It's respectably covered and I'm not a lecher."
"Oh, I didn't mean it like that," she said miserably. "It's just"
He came in and
closed the door, tossed his jacket onto a chair and moved toward her without ever taking his dark eyes from her face. She almost backed away, but his hands came up to her face, framing it.
"There's no need to run from me," he said quietly, searching her wide green eyes. "I'll never hurt you."
"I'm not afraid of you."
He bent, smiling, and put his hard mouth gently against hers, holding the soft kiss until she relaxed and he felt her hesitant movement toward him. Heady with her shy submission, he let his big hands move to her waist and gently brought her against him. It was fiercely arousing to feel her breasts against his chest through the thinness of his shirt and her pajama top; to know that she was nude under it.
"Come closer," he whispered into her parted lips. "Put your arms around me."
"I'm notdressed," she moaned, trying to be sane.
"God, I know!" he bit off. His hands flattened on her shoulder blades, pulling, so that he could feel her breasts crush softly against his stomach because he was so much taller than she was. The feel of them made him groan.
"What?" she whispered, pulling back to look up into his dark, glittering eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"
He set his teeth, holding back the words. She wasn't like the women he'd known. He couldn't tell her that he was so aroused he felt like pushing her down on the couch and ravishing her. Her eyes were wide and misty with excitement. Her mouth was just faintly swollen where his had crushed it. She looked and felt like a woman on the verge of her first love affair, and he wanted desperately to be the man. The first man. The only man.
His hands held her waist, marveling at its smallness as he smoothed her top against her sides, watching with unnerving curiosity the taut thrust of her nipples against the fabric. She didn't even seem to be aware of that maddening little giveaway.
"I think you'd better put on some clothes," he said quietly, his eyes going back up to hers with darkening intent. "You can't imagine how tempting you look right now."
Her face changed, brightened. She smiled softly as he released her. "Do I, really?"
He turned away, his face rigid, and reached for a cigarette. "Have you already made coffee?" he asked stiffly.
