by N. R. Larry
If he turned around now, he might actually act on one of these thoughts, and Corvin had just enough presence of mind to recognize that he needed to fight against that urge.
Taking a deep breath, he ran one hand through his hair.
His erection wasn’t subsiding. Bastard was persistent.
Behind him, Angelina’s breath had changed tempo, almost as if she recognized how he was feeling—as if, perhaps, she felt the same way.
I’m just going to have to cowboy up, turn around, and let her see the effect she has on me.
At the sudden, loud jangling of a cell phone, Corvin and Angelina both jumped, and he turned his head far enough to look at her. Angelina’s startled glance at the screen suggested she had entirely forgotten that the phone was in her hand. “Oh,” she said, gazing up at Corvin with wide eyes. “I have to take this.”
In a heartbeat, she was gone from the bedroom, leaving the undercover officer staring back down at the unmade bed bemusedly.
Jenna answered the call from her sister that had interrupted what she was pretty sure was about to turn into some weirdly erotic moment—weird given the fact that she and Mr. Gorgeous were in Angelina’s ransacked apartment.
“Where are you?” she hissed into the phone, scurrying all the way outside onto the balcony.
“Jenna, did you make it to New Orleans?” her sister asked breathlessly.
“I’ve been here for hours. I want to know where you have been. You didn’t meet me at the airport, or the bar, or your apartment—”
“Oh, God,” Angelina interrupted her. “You haven’t been to my apartment, have you? Don’t go there. It’s a wreck.”
With a snort, Jenna glanced back inside through the open door. “Too late.”
“Crap. Have they already been there?”
An uncomfortable mix of suspicion and dread crawled its way up Jenna’s spine. “Has who been here?”
“They have, haven’t they?” Angelina heaved a giant sigh on the other end of the line. “What about the PI guy?”
As usual, communicating with Angelina made Jenna’s head spin. “Who? What are you talking about?”
“Really pretty guy. Dark hair, bright green eyes. Goes by Corvin La-something. Pretends to be a baddie, but I’m almost sure he’s a private investigator.” Her voice lost its certainty. “Or something like that, anyway.” Jenna could almost hear her twin shaking it off. “Anyway, if he shows up, don’t tell him anything. If he’s not going to share information, neither am I.”
Closing her eyes, Jenna pressed her fingertips into her eyeballs. “I couldn’t tell anyone anything. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Gorgeous make his way back into the living room. Dark hair, green eyes. He certainly fit the description. Though Jenna would have chosen something other than “pretty”—hot, or sexy, or …
Gorgeous.
Angelina had continued talking straight through Jenna’s mind-wandering moment. “So I only need you to be me for a few days, okay?”
Wait. What?
“Back up. Say that again?” Surely her sister had not just suggested what Jenna suspected she had.
Angelina huffed an annoyed breath. “Keep up, Jenna. I need you to pretend to be me for a couple of days while I check out a lead. No big deal. Go enjoy Mardi Gras. I’ll be home before you know it, and we’ll spend the rest of your trip together. After I do this one thing.”
Glancing over at the man she was now sure was “Corvin La-something,” Jenna turned her back on the open door, cupped her hand over the phone, and stage-whispered, “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.” Angelina’s breezy tone was anything but reassuring. “Exactly like we used to do in high school. It’ll be easy.”
“Oh, no. I have heard you say that before.”
Angelina kept talking over Jenna’s objections. “I’ve got to go now. I’ll be in touch, okay? Have a great time! And whatever you do, don’t take off those red shoes! They’re magic. They’ll bring all your naughtiest daydreams to life.”
Jenna had drawn in a breath to try one more time to talk her sister out of whatever it was she was about to go do, when Angelina said, “Oh, and by the way? You should find a hotel room. My apartment might not be the … safest place to stay. And again: remember not to take off the shoes.”
Then Angelina clicked off, and Jenna was left staring at her phone.
Seriously? She thinks the shoes are the most important thing in all of this? She’s lost her mind.
Anyway, Jenna hadn’t even put the damn shoes on yet.
Well, Jenna’s sister had one thing right—her apartment was not a safe place to stay.
But Angelina was absolutely wrong when she said that trading places would be easy. It had never been easy. Jenna was nothing like her sister, and eventually, people would begin to notice. In high school, all their friends—well, mostly Angelina’s friends; she was the popular one—had known instantly when the Riggs girls traded places.
Of course, none of the teachers had been able to tell, suggesting that maybe only the people who knew the twins well would guess that she wasn’t Angelina.
And since no one in New Orleans knew Jenna at all, she ought to be able to pull this off.
Jenna glanced back into the living room, where Corvin La-whatever was poking at a sofa cushion with a pen he had picked up somewhere.
I am crazy to even consider this. Whatever Angie’s into, it got her apartment thoroughly trashed.
She had discovered one good thing in that conversation with her sister, though.
Angelina and Mr. Gorgeous were definitely not an item.
Maybe he’d be up to play Lord of Misrule, after all.
From the way he’d been staring at Angelina’s bed, Jenna thought she might be able to convince him.
Of course, he would assume that she was Angelina—the wild sister.
I guess I’ll just have to be Angelina, then.
Jenna’s mouth curved into a slow smile.
It is Mardi Gras, after all.
’Tis the season for masquerades.
Angelina’s half-whispered phone conversation had been too quiet for Corvin to hear more than a word or two, but her tone was definitely somewhere between irritated and anxious. He had been willing to let her keep talking in the hope that the call would give him more information about what was going on with the reporter.
It hadn’t, though, and that meant that she had been standing out on the tiny balcony for far too long. Granted, whoever had trashed her apartment was almost certainly long gone. But he needed to get her out of the area, just in case.
Really, he should have gotten her the hell out of here before he ever entered the building.
He shook his head. Damn, but something about that woman was suddenly messing with his mind.
Moving to the door, he leaned out and spoke quietly. “You need to go pack a bag.”
Blinking, she quit looking at the phone in her hand as if it were going to ring again and dropped it to her side. “Pack a bag?”
He raised one eyebrow, pointing back into the living room with one thumb. “You can’t stay here tonight. You have friends you can call?”
Maybe the one you were talking to a minute ago?
“Oh. Um. No. I—” The look of sheer consternation that crossed her face pinged his cop instincts. There was definitely something weird going on here.
Then again, maybe she was merely in shock over the ransacking of her apartment. “Go grab what you’ll need for a couple of days. I’ll wait out here. Let’s get you out of here first. We can figure out where to stash you later.”
She followed his instructions, leaving Corvin watching her softly curving ass walking away from him and fighting back his erection again.
Where to stash you later? What was he thinking?
By all rights, he should walk away from this. It had nothing to do with him. Worse, it could screw up his own operation.
&nb
sp; Getting involved with someone unconnected to his undercover persona was a stupid move. If he needed to get laid, his best move would be picking one of the women always hanging around the Salas crew. Preferably someone who might also be able to give him more information about his targets.
Suddenly, though, the thought of such a mercenary move turned his stomach.
As he waited for Angelina’s return, he tried to remind himself of all the reasons he shouldn’t get involved with her—especially their jobs.
Reporters lived to track down the truth, to pry away all the layers of lies that people built up to hide behind.
And the one thing he couldn’t do was let her snoop into his real identity, into who he was underneath his disguise.
No. I will be Corvin LeJeune.
But maybe he could help Angelina get clear of whatever trouble was following her.
I simply have to keep this mask in place while I do it.
Chapter 4
Where would Angelina keep a suitcase?
Trying to track down her twin’s stuff would be much easier if Mr. Gorgeous Corvin weren’t standing in the bedroom doorway, watching her with those heavenly green eyes.
For that matter, trying to think would be easier.
Jenna couldn’t very well tell him that she already had a perfectly good suitcase full of clothes out in the car. Of course, they probably weren’t the sort of clothes Angelina would wear, anyway.
No suitcase under the bed. Jenna used the bed to pull herself up from the floor and shoved her hair off her forehead. Maybe the closet?
“Not very organized, are you?” Corvin’s lazy voice didn’t match the sharp intelligence in his gaze as he moved into the doorway.
He might be even more difficult to fool than she had imagined.
“It’s been a while since I had to try to go on the run,” Jenna countered, hoping her sarcastic tone would put him off enough to keep him from asking anything else.
She pulled open the closet door. There, in the back corner. She leaned in to wrestle the oversized suitcase out, then swung it onto the unmade bed.
“Isn’t that a little much for a day or two?” So much for shutting down his questions.
Without answering the man in the doorway, Jenna unzipped the hard-sided case and shoved it open to reveal the rest of the luggage set tucked away inside. Triumphantly, she pulled out a weekender bag to brandish it at Corvin. To Jenna’s horror, though, a gallon-size, plastic, zip-top bag full of dildos—along with other, less immediately identifiable sex toys—tumbled out along with the carry-on she wanted, landing on the floor at Corvin’s feet.
Blushing beet-red, she swooped down and retrieved the plastic bag, dropping it back into the bigger suitcase and closing the top over the humiliating collection.
“I was looking for this,” she said lamely, waving at the small piece of luggage.
Corvin held up a hand in a gesture of surrender, but the gleam in his eyes had changed to amusement as he held back laughter at her embarrassment. “I’ll be on the balcony, keeping an eye out. It’s not a bad idea to hurry.”
“Wait.” Finally feeling like part of her brain was kicking in, Jenna stopped him. “Shouldn’t we call the police or something?”
Corvin froze, clearly not liking the idea, but Jenna couldn’t tell why. When he finally answered her, his wary eyes and casual voice were once again mismatched. “Sure. But they’ll have a lot of questions, and they might want you to go down to the station to answer them. I assumed you had a story to chase down and wouldn’t want to take the time out for that.” He tilted his head, watching her carefully. “Besides, I think you already know who did this.”
Now it was Jenna’s turn to freeze. He might be right. Angelina might know who had done this.
Jenna didn’t have a clue.
“I might have some ideas,” she hedged.
“Then let’s get out of here. We can put a call in to the cops once we’re gone.” With that, Corvin spun on his heel and headed out to keep watch while she packed.
I am clearly insane.
Blowing out a sigh, Jenna shook her head and began rummaging through her sister’s dresser drawers for something to pack. Holding up a pair of tiny, lacy thong underwear between her thumb and forefinger, she shook her head. These were nothing like Jenna’s own sensible underwear.
An image of Corvin La-Gorgeous sliding the slip of lace down her hips flashed through her mind, sending a spike of heat down through her body.
Okay. Maybe Angelina’s underwear choice wasn’t entirely inappropriate. Jenna wasn’t about to wear her sister’s underwear, though.
Except—what was that, pushed back in a corner of the drawer? Snagging the tag sticking up through the piles of lace and satin, Jenna gave a tug and revealed a matched set. Bright green, brand new, and barely-there silk undergarments.
The attached tags were enough to make Jenna toss them into her suitcase. She didn’t know if she would have to ever wear anything out of this bag, but if she did, at least she would have a full set of clothes.
That image of Corvin undressing her had absolutely nothing to do with her decision to raid her sister’s underwear drawer.
Nothing at all.
This is stupid.
Gripping the wrought-iron railing on the balcony with one hand—the one not holding his Glock—he dropped his head and closed his eyes for just a second. When he opened them, nothing had changed.
If he had any sense at all, Corvin would walk away from whatever this reporter had gotten mixed up in.
Two days ago, he would have done just that. He had his own issues to worry about. His job. His undercover operation. Taking down Salas and his crew.
He knew he ought to call this in. Call 911 and report it as a simple breaking and entering, then let his own contact know that the B & E might be something more sinister.
Somehow, though, he couldn’t walk away from Angelina Riggs.
Not today.
She looked frazzled when she emerged from the apartment carrying an overnight bag.
“Find everything okay?” He tried to sound teasing, but it came out more accusatory.
Angelina cast him an irritated glance. “I don’t know if you noticed, but some things in there were out of place.”
Oh. He had noticed all sorts of things. Including that bag of sex toys that had embarrassed her so much.
Too bad she put it in the suitcase she is leaving behind.
God. He had to get himself under control.
“Let’s get out of here.” Corvin’s Southern training urged him to gesture her to go down the stairs in front of him, but he pushed it down. In this case, he needed to take point. He didn’t really think anyone was still around. He and Angelina had been here for almost half an hour; if anyone had planned to jump her, they would have already done it.
Either that, or his presence had discouraged them.
Corvin was fine with that.
On the other side of the garden gate, Angelina headed toward the rental he had noticed on his way in.
“Where’s your car?”
At his question, her gaze flicked back and forth between him and the vehicle. “In the shop,” she finally said.
Lie.
What was going on with this woman? For that matter, what was going on with him? He knew that he should tell her goodbye and walk away now.
But he couldn’t.
“Where do you want to go now?” he asked.
Angelina considered for a few seconds before finally coming out with, “I guess I’ll find a hotel.”
“It’s almost Mardi Gras. You know that you’re not going to find a hotel at this point.” He bit the inside of his lip.
Don’t say it, LaValle. Don’t say it.
“I’ve got a place uptown you could stay.”
Damn it. I said it.
Her eyes narrowed. “With you?”
His cock twitched at the thought, but this time he managed to keep himself under control.
“No. I’m…staying somewhere else for now.” Because that didn’t sound strange at all. “You could have this place to yourself. It would be safe.”
What the fuck am I doing offering her my place?
And not Corvin LeJeune’s place, but his actual home. The one that belonged to his true life, the one that the department had kept up for him as a place to come back to when this op was over. The one that held his real self.
The last place in the world he should let anyone go.
Much less a reporter.
I’m not really considering going to stay at some stranger’s place, am I?
It was a stupid idea.
Maybe the stupidest idea she had ever had in her entire life.
Or maybe merely the craziest.
And certainly the wildest.
It certainly fit the criteria of doing something she had never done before. Wasn’t that the point of this vacation after all?
She knew she should be glad that Corvin didn’t plan to be there. But she had felt more than a twinge of disappointment when he said he would be staying elsewhere.
Don’t go home with strangers, Jenna.
But that was a rule for her real life. This wasn’t real life. This was New Orleans at Mardi Gras.
Real-life rules need not apply.
Don’t say it, Jenna. Don’t say it.
“That sounds great. I appreciate it.”
Yep. She had said it. She was going to Corvin La-Hottie’s place.
And so what if her mind drifted to the green thong underwear in the suitcase? A girl could have a fantasy, right?
Even if her fantasy was standing right in front of her, all 6’2” muscled inches of him, staring at her with green eyes, the color of which matched that new bra and panty set perfectly.
Oh, dear. I am in so much trouble.
“It’s on Octavia.” Corvin rattled off an address and handed her a key. “Know how to get there?”
“Um. Yeah, sure.” She could figure it out, anyway.
Thank God for GPS. Still, it didn’t hurt to rely on the natives, either. “Want me to follow you over there?”
