4
SOMETHING WAS WRONG Jake realized,as he watched a blush mount Cynthia’s cheeks. The minute she heard the wordcondomher face took on on the color of the walls. A woman of her experience ought to be accustomed to discussing prophylactics, and she sure as hell better be using them. An unwelcome suspicion crossed hismind.
“You do use condoms, don’t you? Every single time?” It was one thing to be wild and carefree, but she better be usingprotection.
He felt like he’d just said a four-letter word to his aged aunt. Cynthia’s bright red face sort of puckered and her lips tightened into a prissy line. “I really don’t think that’s any ofyour—”
“You can be damn sure it’s my business. If there’s any possibility at all that you’re carryingsomething—”
She gave a funny kind of choking sound. “No. Of—of coursenot.”
His eyes narrowed on her face. If she was clean as a whistle, why did she look so odd? “I’ve got a good mind to make you take a physical before this goes anyfurther.”
She seemed to pull herself together. Her color was still high, but the prissy lip line softened. “Agent Wheeler, I am completely healthy. I’ve never had…never put myself…never conducted… I’ve been fullyprotected.”
The more her tongue tangled itself up, the more Jake’s gut instinct started clamoring for his attention. He couldn’t understand why she was getting all worked up about something so simple. While he watched her turn away and busy herself checking that the tarp was taped to the exact edge of the floor, he began towonder.
And as he did, a second piece of startling information occurred tohim.
She kissed like avirgin.
Sure, she’d been surprised when he’d grabbed her and kissed her; he’d been surprised himself. But it was only a quick celebration smacker, nothing that should have raised anybody’s bloodpressure.
The way she’d responded, first stiff with shock, then warm and yearning, increased his unease. He’d taken umpteen courses and seminars on reading people—body language, facial expression, blah blah blah. He also had a well-developed gut instinct. Right now, all that training and instinct pointed out the obvious—that her reaction to his kiss didn’t jive with what he knew abouther.
Correction. With what he’dassumedabouther.
Of course, it was possible he’d just startled her, and if she’d seen him coming she’d have cleaned his tonsils with her tongue. But he owed his life seven times over to listening to his instincts, and right now they were telling him that the sophisticated sexpot was afake.
What if the evidence of his eyes had deceived him and she was no more a wild woman than old Mrs. Lawrence next door? It was just a theory, probably false, but one worthy of furtherinvestigation.
Naturally, there was only one way to find out whether she was the sweet innocent her eyes portrayed or the kinky sex toy he’d first thoughther.
He’d have to kiss her again—in the service of hiscountry.
The way his own body had jolted as she swayed, warm and willing, against him, was not something he wanted to analyze. Whatever she was, nothing but trouble could arise from getting involved with her. He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes on this investigation. He was out so far on a limb on this one, he might never get back. If this weren’t his last shot at avenging Hank’s death, he wouldn’t have grabbed at straws this way, hoping an untrained volunteer could pick up some leads by doing her job and listening to officegossip.
It was only a kiss, damn it. Then he’d know. If she was the woman he believed her to be, she’d enjoy a deep wet kiss just for the fun of it. If not, he had some thinking todo.
He went back to the paint roller, determined to begin testing her. Making sure to brush by her at every opportunity, he watched her reactions, and they disturbed him. She was as jumpy as a new recruit in a combat zone. He kept her close, through a variety of ruses, just to invade her space. He had her climb her stepladder with a brush in hand and paint the very top of the walls where the roller couldn’t reach. Once she was perched up high, he “accidentally” knocked into the ladder just to grab hold of her waist and steadyher.
She quivered beneath his hands, her waist soft and female. He held on just a few seconds longer than necessary, and the way the flesh beneath her tank top went rigid beneath his hands, he knew she was holding herbreath.
Did that mean she was nervous or merely waiting for his nextmove?
When she came down for more paint, he moved nearer, trapping her against the stepladder. She was close enough that he could see the delicate nutmeg-sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, tawny against the smooth cream of her skin. Where her hair caught the light it gleamed, in some places old copper, in others the same rich wine of the walls—the exact same shade in one particular spot. He grinned and reached forward to tweak a paint-stiffened tuft. “Are you part of the decoratingproject?”
He kept his voice casual, but his eyes were alert, watching the pulse in her throat kick up a notch, noting the way her eyes, green as a glacial lake, widened slightly, and that her tongue licked her lips in a nervous gesture—or was that a subtle come-on?
“Excuse me,” she said into the thick silence, and he backed off to let her pass. Still he watchedher.
The skimpy top did him a favor, letting him see just how he affected her. From her jerky breaths to her pebbling nipples, she was aware of him, all right. He couldn’t decide about the nerves, but there was some heavy animal attraction happening under the grapeceiling.
It would have been darkly humorous if he didn’t have some major pebbles of his own demandingattention.
“Balls.”
Her head jerked as the word echoed loudly off the wet walls. “Pardon?”
