by Ann Macela
Clay watched Francie calm herself down. She’d looked for a minute like she wanted to beat Brenner up. He raised his eyebrows at Daria, who nodded affirmatively, their prearranged signal that her spells had worked and Francie was telling the truth.
He’d been studying her while Herb and then Daria explained. Francie was quite the mousey little computer nerd. Well, maybe not so little. Only about five or six inches shorter than he was. He couldn’t tell much about her body in her bulky sweater. For once, he regretted the tendency in Houston, even in September, to keep buildings chilly to combat the outside heat, thus forcing women to wear jackets and sweaters indoors. He didn’t think much of her clothing choices, either—definitely bland, to go with the pulled-back blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses.
But then he noticed how fine and almost luminescent her skin was, how the streaks in her hair ranged from pale yellow to gold to almost amber, and how large her brown eyes were behind the glasses. They were sort of a smoky brown, not unlike his favorite single-malt Scotch, and the sharp and wary look in them as she reacted to his earlier statement lived up to Herb’s assessment of her intelligence. Clay speculated briefly that there might be more to her than his first impression of “computer nerd, female variety.”
Then she shifted in the chair and the sweater pulled tight across her chest. Oh, my. It appeared Ms. Mouse was by no means flat chested. In fact, the evidence indicated she was quite the opposite—in a word, built. He felt his body stir slightly, but he ignored it. Right now, he had a job to do.
From the corner of his eye, he observed the spell aura around his sister flare as she boosted the enchantments she had already cast on herself. Francie jumped just the smallest bit as the spells’ power increased. Like a small percentage of the nonpractitioner population, the woman wasn’t oblivious to magic. She didn’t appear alarmed, however, since she settled herself in her chair, her attention on her boss. She probably hadn’t even noticed anything. Good. Daria’s magic would work as it was supposed to.
Then he spoke, drawing Francie’s gaze directly to his. “We want to get close to Brenner, find out what he’s after, if his company is behind him or if this is simply a freelance effort on his part. He’s a lousy, inept hacker. He wanders around the system haphazardly. We can’t tell what he’s looking for, or if he’s even after any particular piece of information. We thought we’d frustrate his invasion attempts, then supply him with a real expert and see if he will take the bait of using someone who’s a better hacker than he is, who might be looking for easy money, and whose ethics match his.” Clay paused and drawled, “I’m to be that someone.”
He could almost see her mind working behind those big brown eyes. She appeared at first to be somewhat confused, but she seemed to pull herself together quickly after breaking eye contact with him.
She nodded slowly. “It might work. Kevin does seem to be ambitious. I’ve always thought there was something shady or untrustworthy about him. Something not quite right. How do you expect to get close to him?”
“By becoming your boyfriend.”
He had meant to say “posing as” instead of “becoming,” but once the words were out of his mouth, Clay realized he liked the idea very much. Despite her drab clothing, he was attracted to this woman. There was just something about her. He couldn’t quite decide what it was, but he felt its presence. He shrugged mentally; real attraction would make his playacting all the more convincing. He couldn’t help grinning at her reaction.
“Wh-what? M-m-my boyfriend?” Francie stared at him. What was he talking about? She almost reeled physically from the idea but managed just barely to keep her wits about her. She didn’t want or need a boyfriend. Certainly not him. Especially not him. His grin, however, was devastating—and challenging. On top of the confidence and arrogance, he was definitely a charmer, and he knew it.
She shook her head and attempted to marshal her arguments. Who would believe someone like Clay was interested in her? How would they possibly convince Kevin, and especially Tamara? What about her determination to keep away from men like him? She tried to put absolute conviction into her next words. “I really don’t believe your plan will work, Mr. Morgan.”
He waved his hand dismissively, and a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes. “Nonsense. And under the circumstances, you’d better call me Clay.”
“I’m hardly your type.” She was beginning to get a little angry at his presumption and drew herself up primly. She welcomed the emotion. Anger might pull her out of this confused state. Didn’t the man have eyes in his head to see she was not interested in doing such a thing? There must be another way.
Evidently not, because he stated with more than a whiff of conceit, “This plan will work. An introduction through you is our best chance to find out what he’s up to. Remember, it’s your computer he’s using to hack. Until we know more from him, he can always claim you let him use it.”
He had a point there, she conceded, but only to herself. To him, she said, “How are we supposed to have met? Tamara knows my comings and goings and most of my friends. Won’t she be suspicious when you suddenly pop into my life?”
“We’ll say we met at the computer workshop Herb sent you to last month. Two computer geeks with a common interest.” He smiled, then sobered. “Oh, I just thought of something. Is there any other man in your life at the moment, Francie?”
“No,” and a shake of her head were all she felt capable of for an answer. Common interest, indeed. His smile seemed to bind them together. A shiver went down her spine as she had the sudden feeling he could see straight through all her defenses. Her breastbone began to itch severely, and she put a hand on her rib cage, pressing with her thumb to alleviate the torment in as ladylike a manner as she could.
“That’s fine,” Clay said. “We won’t have to worry about another player then. If I’m your boyfriend, you can introduce me to Brenner, and we can spend time with him and Tamara as a couple with no one the wiser about our underlying purpose.”
“Oh, God, Tamara,” Francie groaned and shook her head. “I really don’t like the idea of deceiving her.”
“I understand your feelings,” Daria said, in a woman-to-woman tone. “But if she were to break up with him, we’d lose our entrée. How good of a liar is she? If you tell her, could she pretend to still like Brenner, stay as his girlfriend? Or if they’re sleeping together, could she continue that level of intimacy without alerting him?”
“Probably not. She’s not a very good liar. Everything shows on her face.” Francie sighed. “She already knows I’m not particularly fond of Kevin. I’ve made no secret of the fact I think she’s too good for him.”
Francie felt some of her anxiety lift as she analyzed her friend’s situation further. “On the other hand, Tamara doesn’t usually stay with one man for long. Now that I think of it, I’m surprised she took the time for Kevin at all and that they’ve lasted as long as they have. She’s been channeling most of her energy into her business. She owns a boutique in the Galleria area, but I guess you know that. We don’t talk about their relationship much.”
“How long have they been seeing each other?” Clay asked.
“About three months. They met at a club.”
“We’ll have to see if he knew of her connection to you when he met her,” he said. “If so, he’s been using her from the beginning. In the normal run of things, how long would you expect them to continue as a couple?”
“Another month or so, if Tamara is true to form. Oh, Lord, I hope she’s not in love with him. I could lose a very good friend over this if she thinks I’ve betrayed her.” She felt her stomach lurch as her sense of loyalty to the company, her own integrity, and her anger toward Kevin warred with her loyalty to and love for Tamara. How could she keep such a secret from her friend?
“Place the blame on me when the time comes,” Herb stated. “Tell her I threatened your job if you didn’t help us.”
“Oh, Herb, I can’t do that, but thanks. I almost wish
you hadn’t told me about Kevin.”
“We considered it,” Herb replied, “but I couldn’t do that to you. I knew you’d want to be a part of stopping this screwball. The good thing is, we found him before he managed to frame you for his hacking. You know how important it is that we get to the bottom of this, Francie. Can we count on your help?”
“I guess I’m in,” Francie acknowledged wearily, finally leaning back again in her chair. What else could she do? She had a responsibility to Brazos Chemical and to Herb especially. He’d been the one who hired her. But she also had to protect Tamara somehow, and if it took pretending to be Clay’s girlfriend, so be it. “I don’t seem to have a choice. What do I do first?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven for dinner tonight,” Clay said.
“Tonight?” Francie exclaimed. So soon? She’d hoped for more time to get used to the idea of it all. She’d assumed all she’d have to do was introduce him at one encounter with the other couple. Now they were going to date?
Clay studied her for a moment, gazing into those smoky eyes, wondering how they would look with the fire of desire in them. He discarded the thought before it really registered and, leaning toward her over the table, stated, “It’s Friday, a perfect date night. We need to establish our relationship quickly, so I’m going to sweep you off your feet.”
He’d had a revelation of sorts while watching her react to the scheme. She was an intelligent woman and fiercely loyal to her friends. And courageous and ethical as well. She was really a golden lioness, not a brown mouse. Despite obvious misgivings—mostly, it appeared, directed against him—she was going ahead with his plan.
The more he observed her, the more he’d bet the money for his next computer upgrade that her dress and those glasses were camouflage. He could tell from the lack of refraction the lenses were plain glass. Why she wore them, he didn’t know, but he’d really like to find out what she looked like without them—and without her god-awful sweater. His body stirred again, more forcefully this time, and he idly rubbed at a small itch on his chest under his tie.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted his sister looking back and forth between him and Francie. Daria had a particularly intent expression on her face as she studied them. He’d have to remember to ask her about it later. Right now, he concentrated on the tall blond next to him.
Francie stared into his eyes for a moment, mesmerized by the combination of male confidence, attraction, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Then her common sense and determination kicked in.
She’d be damned if she’d let this, this . . . consultant, attractive or not, get the better of her. She’d help them put a stop to Kevin, but she’d keep her feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much. “Well, if that’s all we have to talk about at the moment, I need to prepare for my meeting this afternoon.” She looked at Herb and raised her eyebrows.
“Why don’t we get together on Monday, say at ten, and discuss our next moves? That will give you, Francie and Clay, the chance to think through the situation and discuss the best approach to Brenner,” Herb said. When the two nodded, he leaned back and rubbed his hands together with a smug expression on his face. “We’re going to teach this idiot a real lesson. Go to your meeting, Francie. If you need anything, let me know. Thanks for all your help.”
“Seven o’clock,” Clay reiterated as she opened the office door. “We’ll go someplace nice.”
CHAPTER TWO
Francie arrived at her apartment out past the Galleria shopping district about six, showered, put on her makeup, did her hair into a French twist, and then stood in front of her open closet. She alternated between dithering about what to wear and fuming about the arrogance of the man who was taking her out “someplace nice.”
Why couldn’t she have invented a previous engagement? Not that it would have helped, she snorted as she took a dress out and held it to her in front of the mirror. He would have ordered her to break it. Overbearing man. He was probably stubborn, too.
She stared at herself in the mirror and sighed, then gave herself a little shake. She was in this conspiracy now, and she might as well make the best of it, be civil to the man. They both had a job to do. And who knew, she might learn some useful computer tricks from this hotshot consultant.
When the doorbell rang, she tightened the sash on her robe and hurried to the door, praying Clay had not decided to come early. She peeked through the peephole and saw only Tamara’s red hair.
“Hi!” her friend said when Francie opened the door.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Francie leaned against the door in relief.
“What’s the matter? Are you sick?” Tamara stepped in, and Francie closed the door.
“No. I have a date. He’s coming at seven.”
“A date?” Tamara’s face lit up with delight. “A real date? Tonight? Who with? How did this happen? Did you finally give up your self-imposed idiocy to have nothing to do with men?” Her eyes clearly stating that Francie needed help, she looked her up and down. “At seven? We don’t have much time. Tell me everything while we get you dressed,” she ordered as she dragged Francie into the bedroom.
Tamara started rummaging in the walk-in closet, scrutinizing and rejecting clothing items. She stopped long enough to stick her head out and command, “Talk to me, Francie. Where are you going?”
“Dinner. Someplace nice, he said.” Francie sat on the bed, totally exhausted all of a sudden. How in the world did she get into this situation? And she had to keep the truth from her best friend.
“Okay, I get the picture.” Tamara pulled out one of the dresses she had forced Francie to purchase last year about this time. “This will be fine. It’s more a Sunday-go-to-meeting dress than a ‘date’ dress, but the orange and brown pattern fits the fall season. It has sleeves, so you won’t need a jacket in the restaurant, and it’s still in the high seventies outside. Don’t you just love Houston in September? Anyway, the colors will play off your brown eyes and blond hair. And glory be, it shows off your fabulous figure. Who’s the man?”
Francie struggled to remember the story as she took the dress from Tamara. “Uh, his name is Clay Morgan. We met at the computer workshop I went to last month.”
Tamara rolled her eyes as she turned to Francie’s lingerie drawer. “Just what you need, another computer type. I can see him already: scrawny, thick glasses, bad haircut, pale with a computer pallor from being inside all the time, and the usual pocket protector. He probably thinks ‘someplace nice’ would be one of the upscale burger joints. Well, I’ll do what I can to help you. A date is a date, and it gets you out of the house. So, what happened? Did he just call you out of the blue?”
“Uh, no. He’s a consultant. We ran into each other in the lobby of my office building.” Francie wasn’t about to correct Tamara’s assumption of Clay’s description. That would raise too many more questions, and she didn’t have the time or the strength to answer them now. After she put on the underwear and hose Tamara pulled out of the drawer, she looked down at her peach lace-and-satin bra and panties set. “Isn’t this a little too much? It’s just a date.”
“I’ve always approved of your lingerie, you know, and no, it’s just right. I’m glad you didn’t give up nice underwear when you went drab.” She held up another set, this one a light lavender. “Boy, howdy. If the guy could only get a glimpse of this, he’d probably keel over on the spot. No chance of that, unfortunately,” she ended with a sigh.
“Tamara,” Francie said, injecting a warning note in her voice to leave the subject alone. She shivered. She didn’t want to even consider Clay seeing her in her underwear. She stepped into the dress and put her hands through the sleeves.
“Okay, I’ll be quiet.” Tamara came behind her and zipped up the dress, then dug around in Francie’s jewelry box. “Here, put on this necklace and these earrings with it. And hold still while I punch up your makeup. Do you have to wear those glasses?” She nodded at the spectacles resting on t
he chest of drawers.
“Yes.” Francie shoved them back on her nose when Tamara was finished with the eye shadow and blusher. She needed some sort of defense against Clay, and in this dress, her glasses would be all she had.
“You don’t need this hairdo, either,” Tamara ordered, taking down the twist and fluffing her mass of blond hair so it fell over Francie’s shoulders. “There. That looks nicer.”
The doorbell rang. “Finish dressing,” Tamara said.
“I’ll let him in.”
“But . . .” She was too late. Tamara was out the bedroom door and closing it before Francie could stop her. All she could do now was put on her shoes, change purses, and hope Tamara wouldn’t grill Clay about their meeting.
Tamara whirled back into the bedroom within a couple of minutes, closed the door, and leaned back against it panting, her hand on her upper chest.
“Tamara, what?”
“Francie, that is no computer nerd out there. That is an absolutely gorgeous MAN, in capital letters, in a navy suit I know for a fact cost big bucks, and he’s got a smile that would tempt a saint.”
“Oh, please.” Francie rolled her eyes.
“And with a deep voice that slides over you, and a backside that cries to be touched, well . . .” She grabbed Francie by the shoulders, gave her a little shake, and whispered fiercely, “Francie, you listen to me. Don’t you dare go into your don’t-touch-me act with this one. He’s definitely not Walt. I don’t care what his brain is like or if he just wants your body. Let yourself go! It’s about time you had some fun with a man, and if ever there was a man to have fun with, it’s this one!”
She stopped to take a breath. “My goodness! I’ll never think of computer nerds the same way again. And if he has a brother, or a cousin, or even a friend like him, promise me you’ll introduce me.” Tamara increased her shaking of Francie until they were both vibrating.
