by Cassie Miles
“If you want to take that kind of risk,” he said, “that’s your choice. But don’t put Hazel in danger.”
He was right. She shouldn’t have come here, and she definitely shouldn’t have talked to him. Trust me? Fat chance.
Their connection had already begun to unravel, which was probably for the best. He irritated her more than a mohair sweater on a sunny day. Her unwarranted attraction to him was a huge distraction from her work. She should tell him to go. She didn’t need a bodyguard.
But Sean was strong and quick, well trained in assault and protection. He knew things about investigating and undercover work that she could only guess about. Her gut instincts told her she really did need him.
“Come with me,” she said. “Back to San Francisco.”
Chapter Five
At five o’clock the next morning, Sean stood at the window in the kitchen and opened the blinds so he could see outside while he was waiting for the coffeemaker to do its thing. He’d turned off the overhead light, and the cool blue shadows in the kitchen melted into the shimmer of moonlight off the unbroken snow. The blizzard had ended.
Soon the phones would be working. Lines of communication would be open. There would be nothing to block Emily’s return trip to San Francisco. She’d decided that she needed to go back and dig into her investigation, and it didn’t look like she was going to budge.
It was up to him whether he’d go with her as her bodyguard or not. His first reaction was to refuse. She had neither the resources nor the experience to delve into the criminal depths of Wynter Corp, and she was going to get into trouble, possibly lethal trouble. He needed to make her understand her limitations without insulting her skills.
Outside, the bare branches of aspen and fir trees bent and wavered in the wind. So cold. So lonely. A shiver went through him. Their divorce had been five years ago. He should be over it. But no. He missed her every single day. Seeing her again and hearing her voice, even if she was arguing with him most of the time, touched a part of him that he kept buried.
He still cared about Emily. Damn it, he couldn’t let her go to California by herself. She needed protection, and nobody could keep her safe the way he could. He would die for her...but he preferred not to.
After she’d made her announcement in the living room, she outlined the plan. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll catch a plane and be in San Francisco before late afternoon. There’ll be time for you to have a little chat with Agent Levine and the other guys in that office. We’ll talk to my contacts on the day after that.”
He’d objected, as any sane person would, but she’d already made up her mind. She flounced into the dining room and ate chili with Hazel and Willis. The prime topic of their conversation being big snowstorms and their aftermath. The chat ended with Emily’s announcement that she’d be going back to San Francisco as soon as the snow stopped because she had to get back to work.
During the night, he’d gone into her room to try talking sense into her. Before he could speak, she asked if he would accompany her. When he said no, she told him to leave.
Stubborn! How could a woman who looked so soft and gentle be so obstinate? She was like a rosebush with roots planted deep—so strong and deep that she could halt the forward progress of a tank. How could he make her see reason? What sort of story could he tell her?
Finally, the coffeemaker was done. He poured a cup, straight black, for himself and one for her with a dash of milk, no sugar. Up the staircase, he was careful not to spill over the edge of the mugs. Twisting the doorknob on her bedroom took some maneuvering, but he got it open and slipped inside.
For a long moment, he stood there, watching her sleep in the dim light that penetrated around the edges of the blinds. A pale blue comforter was tucked up to her chin. Wisps of dark hair swept across on her forehead. Her eyelashes made thick, dark crescents above her cheekbones, and her lips parted slightly. She was even more beautiful now than when they were married.
She claimed that she’d changed, and he recognized the difference in some ways. She was tougher, more direct. When he thought about her rationale for investigating, he understood that she was asserting herself and building her career. Those practical concerns were in addition to the moral issues, like that need to get justice for the guy who was murdered and to right the wrongs committed by Wynter Corp. He crossed the room, placed the mugs on the bedside table and sat on the edge of her bed.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. “Has it stopped snowing?”
He nodded.
“Have you changed your mind?”
“Have you?”
She wiggled around until she was sitting up, still keeping the comforter wrapped around her like a droopy cocoon. Fumbling in the nearly dark room, she turned on her bedside lamp and reached for the coffee. “I’d like a nip of caffeine before we start arguing again.”
“No need to argue. I want to help with your investigation.”
“I’d be a fool to turn you down.”
Damn right, you would. His qualifications were outstanding. In addition to the FBI training at Quantico, he’d taken several workshops and classes on profiling. When he first signed on, his goal was to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. But that was not to be. His psych tests showed that his traits were better suited to a different position. He was a natural for undercover work; namely, he had an innate ability to lie convincingly.
“Plus, I’m offering the services of my brother, the computer genius and hacker.”
Suspicion flickered in her greenish-blue eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but what’s the quid pro quo?”
“Listen to you.” He grinned. “Awake for only a couple of minutes and already speaking Latin.”
She turned to look at the clock and then groaned. “Five-fifteen in the morning. Why so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“So you thought you’d just march in here and make sure I didn’t get a full eight hours.”
“As if you need that much.”
The way he remembered, she seldom got more than five hours. He often woke up to find her in the middle of some project or another. Emily was one of those people who bounced out of bed and was fully functional before she brushed her teeth.
“It’s going to be a long day.” She drank her coffee and dramatically rolled her eyes. “Plane rides can be so very exhausting.”
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “There aren’t any direct flights from Aspen to San Francisco. You’ll be routed through Denver first.”
Watching him over the rim of her mug, she nodded agreement.
“Since we’re already there, let’s make a scheduled stop in Denver, spend the night and talk to Dylan. We’ll still be investigating. Didn’t you say you were looking for documents about imports and exports? He could hack in to Wynter Corp.”
“Information obtained through illegal hacking can’t be used for evidence.”
“But you’re not a cop,” he said. “You don’t have to follow legal protocols.”
“True, and a hack could point me in the right direction. Dylan could also check company memos mentioning the murder victim. And, oh my God, accounting records.” She came to an abrupt halt, set down her coffee and stared at him. “Why are you making this offer?”
“I want to help you with your new career.”
Though he truly wished her well, helping her investigation wasn’t the primary reason he’d suggested a stop in Denver. Sean wanted to derail her trip to San Francisco and keep her out of danger. As far as he was concerned, the world had enough investigative journalists. But there was only one Emily Peterson.
Her gaze narrowed. “Are you lying?”
He scoffed. “Why would I lie?”
“Turning my question into a different question isn’t an answer.” A slow smile lifted one corner of her mou
th. “It’s a technique that liars use.”
“Believe whatever you want.” He rose from her bed and placed his half-empty coffee mug on the bedside table. “I’m suggesting that you use Dylan because he’s skilled, he has high-level contacts and he won’t get caught.”
She threw off the covers and went up on her knees. An overlarge plaid flannel top fell from her shoulders and hung all the way to her knees. The shirt looked familiar. He reached over and stroked the sleeve that she’d rolled up to the elbow. “Is this mine?”
“The top?” Unlike him, she was a terrible liar. “Why would I wear your jammies?”
“Supersoft flannel, gray Stewart plaid from L.L.Bean,” he said. “I’m glad you kept it.”
“I hardly ever wear flannel. But I was coming to Colorado and figured I might want something warm.” She tossed her head, flipping her hair. “I forgot this belonged to you.”
Another lie. He wondered if she’d been thinking of him when she packed her suitcase for this trip. Did she miss him? When she wore his clothing to bed, did she imagine his embrace?
He stepped up close to the bed and glided his arms around her, feeling the softness of the flannel plaid and her natural, sweet warmth. She’d been cozy in bed, wrapped in his pajamas that were way too big for her.
She cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”
“I’m holding you so you won’t get cold.”
He stroked her back, following the curve of her spine and the flare of her hips. With his hands still on the outside of the fabric, he cupped her full, round ass. Her body was incredible. She hadn’t changed in the years they’d been apart. If anything, she was better, more firm and toned. He lifted her toward him, and she collapsed against his chest, gasping as though she’d been holding her breath.
“Ground rules,” she choked out. “This is where we really need rules.”
He lifted her chin, gazed into her face and waited until she opened her eyes. “You’re supposed to be the spontaneous one, Emily. Let yourself go—follow your desires.”
“I can’t.”
The note of desperation in her voice held him back. Though he longed to peel off the flannel top and drag her under the covers, he didn’t want to hurt her. If she wanted a more controlled approach, he would comply.
“One kiss,” he said, “on the mouth.”
“Only one.”
“And another on the neck, and another on your breast, and one more on...”
“Forget it! I should know better than to negotiate with you. There will be no kissing.” She wriggled to get away from his grasp, but he wasn’t letting go. “No touching. No hugging. No physical intimacy at all.”
“You promised one,” he reminded her.
“Fine.”
She squinted her eyes closed and turned her face up to his. Her lips were stiff. And she was probably gritting her teeth. He’d still take the kiss. He knew what was behind her barriers. She still had feelings for him.
His kiss was slow and tender, almost chaste, until he began to nibble and suck on the fullness of her lower lip. His fingers unbuttoned the pajama top, and his hand slid inside. He traced a winding path across her torso with his fingertips, and when he reached the underside of her breast, she moaned.
“Oh, Sean.” A shudder went through her. “I can’t.”
His hand stilled, but his mouth took full advantage of her parted lips. His tongue plunged into the hot, slick interior of her mouth.
She spoke again. “Don’t stop.”
She kissed him back. Her hand guided his to her nipples, inviting him to fondle. Her longing was fierce, unstoppable. Her body pressed hard against his.
And then it was over. She fell backward on the bed and buried herself, even her face, under the covers. He loved the way he affected her. As for the way she affected him? He couldn’t ignore his palpitating heart and his rock-hard erection. But his attraction was more than that.
“About these ground rules,” he said. “Don’t tell me there’s no physical intimacy allowed. If I’m going to be around you and not allowed to touch, I’ll explode.”
“You scare me,” she said as she crawled out from under the covers. “I don’t want to fall in love with you again.”
Would it really be so bad? She kept talking about how she had changed, but he was different, too. Not the same undercover agent that he was five years ago, he had learned tolerance, patience and respect.
Much of this shift in attitude came from his developing relationship with his brother; he was learning how to be a team player. Sean still teased—that was a big brother’s prerogative—but he also could brush the small irritations away. At TST Security, he didn’t insist on being the lead with every single job. He’d be nuts to interfere with Dylan’s computer expertise, and their other partner, Mason Steele, was good at stepping in and taking charge.
His relationship with Emily was different. When they had been married, he might have been impatient. The way she kept prodding him about his work had been truly annoying. Why hadn’t she been able to understand that undercover work meant he had to be secretive? If he kissed another woman while he was undercover, it didn’t mean anything. How could it? In his mind, she was the perfect lover.
“First ground rule.” He had to lay out parameters that allowed them to be together without hurting each other. “No falling in love.”
“That’s a good one,” she said. “Write it down.”
He sat at the small desk, found a sheet of notebook paper and a pen to jot down the first rule. “What about touching, kissing, licking, nibbling, sucking...” His voice trailed off as he visualized these activities. “I can’t even say the words without needing to do it.”
“I feel it, too, you know. We’ve always been amazing in bed, sexually compatible.”
“Always.”
In unison, they exhaled a regretful sigh.
“How about this?” she said. “No PDA.”
Public display of affection? He wrote it down. “I can live with that.”
She sat up on the bed and reached for her coffee mug again. After a sip, she proposed, “No physical contact unless I’m the one who initiates it.”
He didn’t like the way that sounded. “I need to have some kind of voice.”
“You mean talking dirty?”
“Not necessarily. I might say something like I want to touch your cheek.” Illustrating, he glided his hand along the line of her jaw, and then he leaned closer. “I want to kiss your forehead.”
When he kissed her lightly, she pushed his face away. “You can ask, but I have veto power. At any time, I can say no.”
“So you have veto power and you can also initiate.”
“Yes.”
“What does that leave for me?” he asked as he returned to sit at the desk.
She cast him an evil smile. “Begging?”
“I’m not writing that down.”
As far as he was concerned, their negotiation was taking a negative turn. The way she described it, she controlled all physical contact. She had all the power. No way would he be reduced to begging. There had to be another way to work it out.
As he doodled with the pen on the paper, he heard the ringtone from the cell phone in his pocket. “Finally we have communication from the outside world.”
“Who is it?”
“The caller ID says Zebra929. So it has to be my brother. Dylan likes to play with the codes.”
As soon as he answered, his brother said, “This is a secured call, bouncing the signal. It needs to be short.”
“Shoot.”
“I got a call from FBI Special Agent Levine out of San Francisco. Guess who he’s trying to contact?”
“Emily Peterson,” Sean said. A chill slithered down his spine. This was bad news.
<
br /> “Whoa, are you psychic?”
“I’m looking right at her.”
“Emily Peterson Timmons?”
Sean heard the amazement in his brother’s tone.
“Emily the poet? Emily with the long hair? Your ex-wife?”
“What was the message from Levine?”
“He wanted to warn her. There’s a leak in SFPD. Wynter might know her identity.”
“Why did Levine call me?”
“He’s grasping at straws,” Dylan said. “None of her San Francisco contacts know where she went.”
“What about her parents?”
“I asked the same question. The Petersons are out of the country.”
Actually, that was good news. A threat to Emily could mean other people in her family might become targets for Wynter. Sean asked, “Did Levine mention an aunt in the mountains? A woman named Hazel?”
“Is that the Hazel Hopkins you took a contract with?”
Sean’s pulse quickened. Not only had he received phone calls from Hazel, but he’d looked her up on the internet. It had taken nothing but a phone call for Levine to track him down. If Frankie Wynter figured out that connection, he might hack in to TST Security phones or computers. They could find Hazel. “How secure are our computers?”
“Very safe,” Dylan said. “But anything can be hacked.”
“Wipe any history concerning Hazel Hopkins.”
“Okay. We should wrap up this call.”
“Thanks, Zebra. I’ll be flying back to Denver today with Emily. We need your skills.”
He ended the call and looked toward her. No more fun and games. She was in serious danger.
Chapter Six
Emily watched Sean transformed from a sexy ex to the hard-core FBI agent she remembered from their marriage. His devilish grin became tight-lipped. Twin worry lines appeared between his eyebrows. His posture stiffened.
She didn’t like the direction his phone call was taking. As soon as he ended the call, she asked, “Why were you talking to your brother about Hazel?”
“If you’re in danger, so is your family.”
