by Debra Webb
Now he was just being stubborn. It seemed a shame to have so much handsome man at her fingertips and not be able to do anything fun with him.
“I’m here tracking a product and hopefully I’ll get to oversee the sale,” she admitted. “Sexy blondes in Las Vegas are everywhere. I thought it would be a foolproof disguise.”
“The red is memorable,” he agreed, eyeing her hair. “Too bad I forgot everything after that.”
His eyes raked her from head to toe and she felt as if he saw right through her pale blue cashmere sweater.
If he ignored her barbs, she could ignore his. “It would be nice to get a look at the security footage from the bar. Maybe we can identify the woman who drugged you.” Whether that would help with her mission or not was yet to be seen, but perhaps it would convince him that it hadn’t been her who’d drugged him.
“Why? You just said sexy blondes are everywhere.” He sipped his coffee and took another look at the marriage certificate. “Married by an Elvis impersonator. That is just not me.” He shook his head.
“It was your idea last night.”
“My brain on drugs.” He shrugged, sipped more coffee. “Great. When you’re finished with your mission are we going to do a drive-through divorce? I always thought those were an efficient concept.”
“Give divorce a lot of thought, do you?”
“Enough.”
She recognized a personal trigger point. She wanted to push for the real answers but, married or not, they weren’t actually on personal terms yet. “Does the drive-through thing even exist anymore?”
He glared at her. “Guess we’ll find out.”
“We should be done here in plenty of time to qualify for an annulment.
“Same result.”
“Does that mean you’ll cooperate?”
“Sure. Marriage is all about compromise. Or so I’ve heard.”
She didn’t like the way he said that, and for the first time since bolting into the wedding chapel with an oblivious fiancé on her arm she questioned the wisdom of her rash decision. Well, the second time. Sharing a room with him had pushed her resolve to the brink.
“Getting married was your idea.” Had she really needed a kiss from him that badly? She touched her lips again. If she were completely honest with herself she would admit that the kiss had been worth it. “I swear it was your idea.”
“You knew I was compromised.”
“True, and leaving you in a public place seemed like a really bad idea.” She folded her arms over her chest.
“Let me get this straight. You didn’t drug me, didn’t see who did, but you thought it was okay to haul me into an Elvis-themed chapel and marry me?”
“Not exactly. My first suggestion involved you giving me some cover at the craps tables.”
“I don’t gamble.”
“So you said.”
“What else?”
“We went for a walk and I asked you to kiss me.” She hurried on when he raised an eyebrow. “But you said we had to be married first. It was all rather gallant.” If she didn’t think about Isely and his thug flanking them. That was one part she could not afford to mention. Her mission was far too important to compromise for anyone, even the man she’d pretended to marry.
“Gallant?”
“I assumed it was a personality quirk. It fits your whole ex-military persona.” She went to the table and pulled out a chair, sitting on her hands so she wouldn’t fidget with the breakfast dishes. “But now that we’re stuck together it could be an advantage. Just give me forty-eight hours to track this product and sale and then I’ll pay the fees to grant you a speedy divorce.”
It wouldn’t be necessary because the receptionist knew he was intoxicated at the time of the marriage and because they hadn’t filed the marriage license, but Gin could tell him the whole story later. No sense burning bridges and tossing away an ally right now. This might be her only chance to experience a marriage. Not to mention she’d been having fantasies about this guy for weeks now.
As a CIA agent, she wasn’t the sort of woman a man brought home to his family. She didn’t even resemble the sort of woman a man wanted to build a family with. No, she’d learned that hard lesson early in her life.
She was the sort of woman men fantasized about, the woman men liked to show off, but never the woman they kept around. They gave different reasons and it took her longer than she cared to admit to learn those reasons were a reflection of the men who gave them, not the reality of who she was as a person.
When he still hadn’t given her an answer, she went for broke. “Please. I really need your help.” There, she’d said it. Gin Olin rarely asked for help, but she was no fool and it was clear she couldn’t finish this alone.
“Fine. I’ll help. Holt gave me an ultimatum. Either I fly back to the office or consider myself fired. The suite is booked through the weekend. If I’m fired I may as well have a little fun with the last perk my job bought me.”
“You’re willing to risk your job to help me?” Was he serious? Would Mission Recovery really fire him? Emotions she didn’t want to try and untangle were suddenly twisting inside her.
He startled her, tugging one of her hands free to hold it. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Do we need ground rules?” He raised her hand to his lips and feathered small kisses over her fingers. “Or do you trust me to be the best doting husband ever?”
She yanked her hand away. “Doting?”
“We might even enjoy ourselves.”
That was her second biggest fear. Her first was losing the trail of that bio-weapon. “We need ground rules.” That was a given. There was just something about this guy that got to her. As badly as she needed him, she also needed to keep her head on straight.
He sat back. “I’m listening.”
“Whatever happens outside of this room stays outside of this room.”
“Isn’t that just the opposite of how it should be for wedded bliss?”
She ignored him. “I mean it. The ‘doting’ is for public consumption. Up here, we’re just you and me—two covert agents sacrificing for the mission.”
His brow furrowed. “Ah, sharing a bed, giving completely of ourselves.” He made a tsking sound. “The sacrifices we make.”
She rolled her eyes. Snagging another piece of bacon, she nibbled it while she resumed her pacing. What she was about to do was risky, but having a second set of eyes and a capable agent at her back in the casino was her best chance of spotting the buyer.
“Let me fill you in on why I’m here.”
He leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head. “I’m all ears.” He sniffed. “Wait. What is that smell?”
“Bacon?” She held it up.
“Not unless it’s extra crispy.” He looked at the dishes and then swiveled around in the chair. “Something smells scorched.”
She sighed. “Probably your coat.”
“Huh?” He pulled it off the chair and turned it until he found the hole. “Why is there a bullet hole in my sport coat?” He stuck his finger through it, but his eyes were on her. “An explanation, Mrs. Grant?”
“Technically that happened before we exchanged vows.”
“Were they shooting at you or me?”
“Me. But I fired first.” She paused, thinking it through again. “I was followed into the bar. I thought the disguise and chatting you up would be enough to dissuade him, but you were going loopy on me. So we left, but I was followed again.” As much as she’d reviewed it, she couldn’t come up with any reason Isely would be onto Jason. Isely shouldn’t know her either, but she’d been following the virus for several weeks, and someone might have run a facial recognition that tipped him off. “They were definitely shooting at me,” she said confidently.
“All right. Is there a police report?”
“Not that connects us because we ducked into the wedding chapel when people panicked. I fired the gun through your coat. Sorry, that’s obvious, I guess.
” Why did this man make her so nervous? Maybe it was all those waking fantasies about him she’d relished.
He stared at her for a moment. “Did it work? Our marriage ploy?”
“You really don’t remember?”
“Could you please stop saying that?”
“Sure. It worked well enough.” She came closer and took the coat out of his hands, folding it so the bullet hole was hidden, then she draped it across the top of a different chair. “It made a great diversion.”
“Good?”
“Sort of.” She hesitated, balanced on the precipice of evading the truth or spilling it all in a messy rush of too much information. Unfortunately she was running out of time before the virus landed in the wrong hands. “Five years ago a European crime family named Isely acquired a lethal strain of influenza. A major sale was interrupted and the virus was confiscated by none other than Thomas Casey. Or so we thought. Testing proved the vials he brought back were fakes. The general consensus, if you assume Thomas Casey isn’t a traitor—”
“Which he isn’t,” he cut in.
“Agreed and proven. But that means someone in the Isely food chain still has the virus. It’s come back on the market recently and I’ve been following the tracking tags on the vials. One is here. I know the seller, but it would be great bonus points if I can identify the buyer.”
“That was your assignment in Colorado.”
“Among other things. Focus, Grant.”
“Oh, I’m dialed in.”
She met his intense gaze and nearly shivered in response. The man had an effect on her she could not deny. “Good.” She cleared her throat. “I need you to help me identify who’s who in this little drama. Two sets of eyes and gadding about in wedded bliss should be enough to get this done. I can watch the tracker tag and you can keep an eye on Isely.”
“He’s here? Isely?”
She nodded. “He surprised me. I guess he wants to oversee the transaction.”
“Are these people I’m supposed to spot wearing name tags or carrying around steel cases with ‘live virus’ stamped on the side?”
She glared at him. “Lucas Camp gave me the impression you were a competent agent.”
“I am.”
“He also implied there was more to you than the few lines on your public résumé.” She wanted to do a victory dance when she saw how that little barb dug into his ample pride.
“I think we both know résumés are always adjusted to suit the purpose.”
Her confidence almost faltered, but she knew she wasn’t looking at a hack or wannabe. Jason Grant was a Specialist, and how he got there didn’t matter. He was plenty qualified to help her on this. He’d agreed and she should let it go, but she had the sinking feeling there was more to it than a fear of reprimand back at the office.
“Well then.” He rolled to his feet and gathered the breakfast dishes, putting them back on the cart. “Let’s go downstairs, play the happy couple and see what we see.”
“Hang on.”
One dark eyebrow lifted in response.
“You haven’t explained why you’re here.”
“Right.” He dragged out the word while he bobbed his head. “I don’t know. What I gave you is all I have.”
“You really expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true. My orders were vague. I wasn’t told anything other than the code phrase.”
“What good is that?”
“Not much.” He pushed the cart closer to the door then turned to face her again. “I’d think that would make you happy. I don’t have anything to distract me from what you need to accomplish. Now, shall we?”
“Just let me check the status on the package I’m tracking.” She pulled out her phone and entered the information. What should have been a simple, quick process felt like an eternity with Jason staring at her. Finally, the feedback came through, confirming the virus vial hadn’t moved from the hotel room where the seller was keeping it.
She smiled at him as she tucked her phone away. “It’s all good.”
Chapter Four
Jason knew she was well-trained and talented—not just because Lucas Camp endorsed her, but because there was so little actual intel on her fieldwork. Last month his friend O’Marron at Interpol had given him the name to go with her stunning face, but beyond that there wasn’t much to go on. Her passport records could have fit any number of cover identities, and they probably did.
But her sudden transformation into his blushing bride the very moment they crossed the threshold into the hallway unnerved him. Her hands were everywhere. Not groping, just the small, quick touches of new lovers who feel the slightest distance as an unbearable ache.
And which poet wrote that sappy line so it would get stuck in his head at the worst moment?
Alone in the elevator, she didn’t back off. She grinned up at him as she pressed close and kissed him, nipping his lip ever so gently. It was for the cameras, he realized, struggling to keep up with her game and to keep his body in line. Mentally he understood her actions were about their cover, the mission, but physically his body struggled with the concept.
He wanted to blame the drug, but he knew it was out of his system. Lust was the source of his current haze. As much as his body might wish to play along with the marriage game, they had a job to do. And he had to keep things in line.
Still, he’d promised her a doting husband and that’s what she would get. As the elevator doors parted, he tugged her toward the shops rather than the casino floor.
“What are you doing? I thought we were going to play some blackjack.”
“In a minute.” He wanted to put off the gambling as long as possible. “I haven’t given you anything yet today.” He draped his arm over her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “A doting husband always takes care of his wife first and foremost.”
“That’s silly,” she said with a winning smile. “What could I need more than you?”
Oh, she was good. In a perfect world it would be exactly how he wanted his wife to feel. Contrary to any interpretation of his professional résumé, he’d spent enough time alone to know how he would treat the woman he chose to spend the rest of his life with.
In his line of work he didn’t expect to find that forever sort of woman. In truth he didn’t expect more than brief, superficial relationships. Not at this stage of the covert ops game anyway. Being a rather sad outlook didn’t make it less true. Deep down, under the career accomplishments, he knew he wanted the stability his parents hadn’t given him. He’d never so much as whispered it aloud, but he wanted the warm embrace his buddies had walked into after long deployments.
He wanted what his director, Thomas Casey, now had.
This marriage might not be destined to win longest running, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself for the time they had. Maybe that made him a glutton for punishment because this game would come to an end sooner rather than later, but he refused to allow that to deter him.
As they strolled down a wide corridor that felt more like an indoor mall, he silently commended the casino designers for putting everything within reach so no one had to leave. The clear blue of the fake sky painted on the ceiling made him a little claustrophobic, but it was evidently a system that worked.
“Here.” He paused at the window display of a jewelry store. “We’ll start here today.”
Her hand clutched his in a strong grip. “No.” She tugged him along to the next window. “If you want to buy me a present, why not something I need? I forgot my swimsuit.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Fair enough.” Not so surprising that she’d be practical, although he had no way of knowing if she really had or hadn’t packed a swimsuit. He should have made time to search her luggage.
In the elegant boutique, he teased her, holding up bikini after bikini, each with less material than the one before. She didn’t blush or protest—she just played along, dismissing some on color and accepting others. Wh
en she had a decent selection, she headed for the dressing room.
She spun around as he followed her. “You can’t come in.”
He didn’t see why not. They were married and he’d certainly given her an eyeful this morning. Based on her ground rules, outside the room was his only chance to see her body. There should be some perks to the setup—besides those drummed up by his too vivid imagination.
“I’ll be quick,” she said. Though the words were light and the kiss sweet, he heard the steel underneath. She wanted to get out there and find the buyer.
He understood her dedication, appreciated it even. But she’d already gone so far as to marry him, so they could hardly waste the inconvenience and effort by not embracing the part fully. He sat back in the plush chair and checked the police scanner app on his phone for anything strange.
Currently things were calm in the area, so he skimmed the news sites for anything about the shooting last night. Scowling, he read the official report that stated a tourist from Germany had been shot in the foot with his own gun. Interesting way to spin it.
Being relegated to haunt this one casino hadn’t been his idea of a great mission, but Gin was certainly perking things up, he thought as she shed her jeans and her bare lower legs appeared below the privacy curtain.
Knowing he couldn’t stop the reaction, he went along with it, imagining what she looked like in all the places he couldn’t see. If her toes ignited this slow burn of desire...well, it was no wonder he was trying so hard to remember last night.
There was a distinctive grace to her movements as she stepped in and out of several different styles of swimsuit bottoms. Her toes pointed, her calves flexed. She must have been a dancer somewhere in her past.
He almost groaned in protest when she pulled on jeans and slipped back into her heels.
She whipped back the curtain, and a catlike smile spread across her face.
Caught, he grinned at her. “You made a decision?”
A tiny scrap of bikini dangled from her fingertip. “This one should leave you breathless.”
He snatched it from her. “Can’t wait, sweetheart.” He went back to the sales floor, grabbed the first pair of board shorts in his size for himself and was headed for the checkout when she slowed him down. “We just need a couple of other things.”
