Virgin In Disguise
“The bugs seem to have a particular liking for your taste.” Sweet or salty? The thought sent heat flashing over her neck and cheeks. She kicked Rusty’s door shut and nudged Cabrini in the direction of the house. “Let’s get inside before they make a meal of you.”
Once inside, she shut and locked the inner door and turned off the porch light. She tapped Cabrini’s shoulder and nodded toward the breakfast nook. “Have a seat.”
He folded his length onto the bench and slid into the corner. It gave him a power position from which he could observe her, but it also severely restricted his mobility. If he made any unexpected move, she’d have her gun out and at the ready before he could do more than slide to the end of the table.
“Thanks.” She acknowledged his tactic.
“I figure the only way to earn your trust is to behave in a trustworthy manner.”
“Let’s really put you to the test then.”
He sat up a little straighter. “What do you have in mind?”
“Cooking.” She shrugged at his raised eyebrows. “I’m not very good and have a rather limited repertoire. Tonight’s options are mac and cheese or tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“Kind of heavy on the cheese, aren’t you?”
“Just doing my part to support the local economy.” She began unpacking the grocery bag. “Pick your poison—which will it be?”
“I’ll leave it to you.”
“Macaroni and cheese it is.” She put water on to boil. “It’s more of a one-handed meal, which is all you’ll have available after I cuff you to the table leg.”
It only took a few minutes to stow the rest of the groceries in the cupboard, then she set about readying the ingredients for their meal. All the while, she was acutely aware of his steady gaze on her as she moved around the kitchen work island dicing ham and cheese.
“No box?” His question caught her by surprise.
“Nope. Scratch.” She tossed the cheese and ham into the pot with the drained pasta, added some milk and stirred.
“Isn’t a box easier?”
“Not really, and this tastes a whole lot better.” Satisfied with the progress of their meal preparation, she turned her attention to the next item on her agenda—securing Cabrini while they ate. “Which hand do you eat with?”
The wicked twinkle in his eyes told her he was remembering the rest stop and her logistical error. A slow smile curved his lips. An answering heat crept up her neck.
Manitoba. She hadn’t blushed this much since…ever.
She had a bad feeling she better get used to the heat.
Chapter 4
Frank lounged back against the cushioned kitchen banquette. In spite of her warning, the meal had been rather tasty, if heavy on the dairy products and lacking in the vegetable food group.
The handcuffs rattled as he stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders. His dining posture left something to be desired. The table leg she’d cuffed him to was positioned too far under the table for him to sit upright.
He rattled the cuffs again, drawing her attention. “Could I interest you in undoing these?”
“Why would I do that?” Eating hadn’t noticeably improved her disposition.
“It’ll be easier for me to do the dishes without the bracelets.”
“You want to do the dishes?”
“I’ve never known anyone who wants to clean dishes. It just seems a fair offer to make since you did the cooking. It was quite good, by the way. I don’t think I’ve had macaroni and cheese since I was twelve.”
“Hmph.”
“Figure out your problem yet?” They’d eaten their meal in silence. Neither of them had offered any conversation openers. He’d spent the time mulling over the situation and trying to come up with a plan.
“What problem?”
“Whatever it is that’s been eating at you for the past half hour.”
“The problem part is easy. It’s the solution that has me stumped.”
“Let me guess. I’m your problem?”
“Perceptive, aren’t you?”
“Still haven’t decided if you believe me?”
“Whether or not I do, I’m still stuck.” She dropped her head into her hands and dug her fingers into her hair. “Which agency did you say you work for?”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you take the cuffs off and I’ll answer all your questions while I deal with the dishes.”
She didn’t answer.
“Consider it a test.”
She blew out a breath and pushed away from the table. “You’ll answer all my questions?”
“All that I can without jeopardizing my investigation.”
She snorted. “That’s convenient. Anything I ask that you don’t want to answer, you just claim classified, is that it?”
“Even if it is, you’ll still get the dishes washed and the kitchen cleaned up. That must be worth something.”
“Fine. Turn around.”
He complied, twisting his right arm behind him as he faced the wall. She was still plenty wary and not taking any chances. Every time she uncuffed him, she made sure he was in as awkward a position as she could come up with.
The cuff loosened and he waited for her next direction. He really wanted to win her trust, and figured it would be in his best interest to comply with her requests and not move until so ordered.
“Stand up.”
He turned slowly and found her standing across the table from him with her gun drawn. Laying both hands on the table, he slid to the end of the seat and stood.
“I didn’t find any soap for the dishwasher, so you’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. There’s dish soap in the cabinet under the sink.”
He nodded, gathered up the dishes and moved to the sink. The black of night beyond the glass turned the window over the sink into a mirror. He could watch her as he worked with his back to her. Water splashed, suds grew and silence fell.
“No questions?” he prompted.
She stood behind him, her arms crossed, her gun resting at the ready. “Who did you say you work for?”
Time for a little more trust-building. “Actually, I never said.”
“You aren’t really a Fed, are you?” An undercurrent of anger shaded her words.
“No.”
He heard something that sounded suspiciously like “Sanibel.” Was she more pissed off that he hadn’t told her the truth or that she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion? “If it makes you feel any better, I was with the ATF up until about a year ago.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” Nothing he’d talk about. “Just time for a change.”
“Are you freelance or part of an agency?”
“The Diamond Group is a moderate-sized, highly respected private investigation firm in Washington D.C.”
“Isn’t that nice. What’s it got to do with you?”
No more assumptions on her part. He smiled. She learned quick. “I’m on the staff.”
“So, what are you doing in Minneapolis?”
“We’ve been contracted to look into an old case that never closed.”
“Who hired you?”
He shook his head. “There we’re getting into client confidentiality. You can appreciate that, I’m sure.”
The distortions of the window didn’t lessen the impact of her glare at him. He waited for her next question.
“If you can’t tell me who your client is, will you tell me what you’re investigating?”
“Arson.”
She straightened and their eyes met in the dark glass.
“I don’t suppose you can tell me what you’ve learned.”
“Sorry, Elf. I’m a long ways from writing the final report. Especially with this unexpected interruption in my schedule.”
Her sigh told him his little dig had landed on target. He wiped his hands and draped the dish towel over the dishes in the drainer. When he turned around, he caught her in midyawn.
“Tired?” He glanced at the clock on the wall then double-checked the time with his watch. It was nearly one in the morning. “Strange. It’s late, but I’m not that tired. In fact, I’m feeling rather well-rested.”
She scowled at him. “We’re back to my problem. How am I going to secure you for the night?”
“Do you suppose the owner of this place is into bondage? Maybe he has an extra set of cuffs….”
Elf turned a furious red from her collarbone to her scalp. He grinned. “Guess not, huh?”
“I would find it highly unlikely.”
“So this place isn’t yours? Who does own it?”
“My…uncle.” Her slight hesitation didn’t escape his notice. “He was good enough to let me borrow the cabin for the weekend.”
“Cabin?” He looked around at the butcher-block counters and stainless steel appliances. The kitchen was as well-equipped as his back home. If the rest of the house was as modern, it would fit right into some of the newer housing developments he’d seen around the Twin Cities area.
“Oh, don’t even go there. It’s ostentatious and ridiculous, I know. He never had a family of his own to spend his money on, so it all went to…stuff. I wish he could have found better use—” Her mouth snapped shut with a sharp click of teeth. “Turn around.”
She had him cuffed and moving towards the stairs before he could figure out what her outburst might mean. He tucked the information away for later.
Upstairs, the bedrooms carried through on the promise of the first floor. Decorated in what some designer probably considered rustic charm, the rooms reminded him of a bed-and-breakfast he’d stayed in once. He’d intended for that weekend outing to end with a romantic proposal. Then he’d discovered the truth about his almost-fiancée’s “love.” He shied away from any more memories of the disaster he’d barely avoided.
They stopped just inside the door of the second bedroom. It was the smallest and farthest from the top of the stairs. Colorful rag rugs warmed the hardwood floor. The bed was a roomy queen with a Shaker-style headboard.
“Good. I hoped this bed was still here.” She nudged him into the room. “This will work just fine.” The gym bag she’d carried up landed on top of the blanket chest at the foot of the bed.
“You’re pretty familiar with the place.”
“We used to come up here during the summer when I was little, but I haven’t been since high school.” She motioned him farther into the room. “I wasn’t sure how much of the furniture I remembered would still be here.”
“You and your uncle?”
“And Mom.” A sad tone entered her voice. Another bit of information for future consideration.
She zipped open the bag and pulled out a few items. “The bathroom.” She nodded toward the door and followed him into the short hall.
The two smaller bedrooms shared a bathroom with a single entrance from the hallway. She turned on the light and stepped aside for him to enter. As she unlocked the cuffs, his quick recon of the room revealed pretty much what he’d expected. No second door and no window big enough for him to squeeze through to freedom.
He turned to face her and she pushed the small pile of items into his hands. “Five minutes. Plenty of time for you to come up with some sort of weapon. Unless you’re serious about wanting me to trust you.” She stepped back and pulled the door closed.
He set the soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, all still in their wrappers, on the counter and shook out the last item.
“Hey, Elf. What are the shorts for?”
“To sleep in.”
“I don’t normally—”
“This isn’t normal. This is Minnesota and you’ll sleep in shorts.”
“Testy, testy.” He smothered a chuckle and silently thanked her for the foresight. Sleeping in the nude might be his preference, but he didn’t care for that sort of exposure in this sort of situation.
Between his boxers and the shorts, he might stand a chance of disguising the evidence of his body’s intense reaction to her every time she got close to him.
Three minutes later, two minutes before she intended to pound on the door and roust him, the bathroom door swung open to reveal a half-naked Frank Cabrini.
Angel’s breath caught in her throat. Helsinki. He’s gorgeous. Broad shoulders, defined muscles, golden tan. A light dusting of coal-black hair covered his chest, narrowing over his six-pack abs and disappearing into the waistband of the navy knit shorts she’d picked up as an afterthought.
She kind of regretted having had that afterthought.
Insane or dead. She was going to be one or the other before the weekend was over.
“Keep looking at me like that and I won’t be held responsible for the results.” He reached out and tapped her chin, confirming her fear that her mouth had fallen open. “Do you want to search me, in case I did come up with a weapon?”
She didn’t want to but couldn’t stop from dropping her gaze to the front of his shorts. A wave of heat started somewhere in the vicinity of her chest, flowing up in embarrassment and rolling down in hunger.
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