The Elliotts: Bedroom Secrets: Under Deepest Cover

Four

Lucy tasted like wild cherries. Maybe it was her lipstick, or maybe it was just how Lucy Miller tasted, but what Bryan had intended as a friendly, you-don’t-have-to-be-afraid-of-me kiss had turned into something much more.

Before he knew what was happening, Lucy’s arms had snaked around his neck, and she was kissing him back in a way that told him fear wasn’t in her vocabulary. She kissed as though she was born to it. Clearly she wasn’t the inexperienced virginal miss he’d pegged her for.

Or maybe he’d awakened some innate talent she had. He liked that idea better. He didn’t want to think about Lucy kissing other men, sleeping with other men.

Not that he would be sleeping with her. That would be taking their ruse a bit far. But kissing—for the sake of her cover story—was okay.

It was more than okay. He groaned as he buried his hands in her newly shortened locks. Her hair felt like the softest silk, and he found he didn’t really miss all that long, heavy hair. He liked the way the short ends tickled his hands and arms.

He stopped just short of pulling her hips against his and letting her know just exactly how okay her kiss was. But he did invade her mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss, breathing in the heady scent of cosmetics and shampoo and new clothes that clung to her.

He’d never known new clothes could smell so sexy.

She pulled away suddenly, staring at him with wide, startled eyes. “What are you doing?”

That was a very good question. He casually pulled his hands out of her hair. “I thought we were rehearsing. Getting comfortable with each other.”

“Well … okay, I got it. That’s enough practice.”

He couldn’t help grinning. “You sure?”

“Yes, quite sure.”

She ran nervous fingers through her hair, mussing it worse than he’d done, and straightened her clothes. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling so dramatically that he was sure she was going to pop out of her teeny tank top.

Where had those plump breasts come from? He hadn’t seen them earlier. Since he doubted Scarlet had given Lucy silicone implants, the breasts must have been there all along, hidden under the frumpy outfits.

“I really need to go to bed,” she muttered, turning away. “I’m sure everything will make more sense in the morning. Oh, tomorrow remind me to bring you up to date on everything I told Scarlet. She was curious about me, and I’m afraid I just blathered the first thing that came into my mind.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you and I met in Paris. I returned to my home in Kansas, burned all my clothes and traveled to New York, naked.”

“What?”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay? I really have to go to bed. G’night, Bryan, and thank you for everything.” She grabbed her pile of clothes and fled, her sandals thunk-thunking against his wood floor as she headed for the guest room.

Traveled to New York, naked? What had possessed Lucy to say something like that? But since she’d said it, he couldn’t get the picture out of his mind—Lucy boarding a plane, naked. Walking through the airport without a stitch on. Climbing into a cab—

No, he’d better not even go there. He was turned on enough already.

The woman was a siren, a witch. His groin ached with wanting her. Pretending to be besotted in front of others would be no problem—he was rapidly becoming obsessed. It was how to behave in private that would prove the problem.

He’d better just hold himself in check. Lucy was a key witness in what could ultimately prove to be a case of terrorism. He had no business kissing her or thinking about sleeping with her.

She’d said she was okay, that she could fake it. That had to be good enough. So, no more rehearsals. Professional, he had to be professional. He couldn’t take advantage of a woman whose life had been turned upside down. She’d done the right thing for her country, and for her trouble she’d been spied on, lost her job and her home and couldn’t contact anyone she knew. He was her anchor in a storm, and it would be easy for her to develop feelings all out of proportion.

He’d seen it happen before. He couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. She didn’t seem the casual-fling type, and that was all he could offer.

Lucy couldn’t sleep, despite the fact she was exhausted. Her mind raced, reliving that kiss over and over, recalling every nuance of the pressure of his mouth on hers, the intoxicating warmth, the possessiveness, the feel of his hands in her hair and all over her.

She’d come alive like never before—not just her body or her hormones, but her whole being. The kiss had been … transcendental. She couldn’t think of any other word to describe it.

Yet she knew that for him it was just another kiss. Rehearsal. Part of his business, his job. Keep the witness safe, make sure she knows her stuff, keep his family in the dark so they’re safe, too.

She couldn’t really blame him just because she reacted so profoundly to a simple kiss.

Her body still vibrated with the aftereffects, which only highlighted a sad fact about her life: for the past two years she’d been all but dead. A dull brain inside a dead shell, going through the motions, performing her job, staying out of trouble.

Only trouble had found her.

She might have been better off if none of this had happened. Maybe she’d have snapped out of her fugue on her own. Still, she couldn’t say she was sorry to leave that life behind.

But she had to manage herself better. Not like when she’d gone to work for the band. If she’d stuck to her guns back then, being satisfied simply to be on the fringes of that exciting world, she’d have been okay. Instead she’d deluded herself into thinking a millionaire rock star was going to marry her.

Her current situation wasn’t so dissimilar. She’d again found herself on the fringes of an exciting world. This time it wasn’t sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, but spies, embezzlers and terrorists. Neither was a world she belonged in.

She had to remember that and not let herself get deluded into believing she was in any way special to Bryan, no matter what motions he went through.

Lucy eventually drifted off. When she awoke, daylight poured through her bedroom window, and a delicious smell tickled her nose. Whatever it was, it drew her out of bed like a black hole draws antimatter. She jumped in the shower, then stepped into a pair of white silk panties. Scarlet had given her about a dozen pair of the most delicious panties, all still in their packages. Apparently designers and clothing manufacturers sent freebies to the magazine all the time, hoping models or celebrities would wear them for photo shoots.

Lucy only had two of the magical push-up bras, though. When she’d seen the price tags on them, she’d nearly fainted. Who paid $80 for a bra? She would, she realized, now that she’d seen the miracle it performed.

Ordinarily, if she wasn’t going to work, she’d put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. But Scarlet told her those clothes were out—they didn’t go with “Lindsay’s” new look. She would have to get used to wearing clingy knit pants and miniskirts, tiny crop-tops and blouses that revealed lots of skin.

She picked an outfit at random—a fawn-colored miniskirt and a fitted, sleeveless blouse with a subtle gold stripe. She didn’t worry about makeup or jewelry—she would put them on only if she was appearing in public. She certainly didn’t want Bryan to think she was trying too hard.

When she emerged from her bedroom and entered the kitchen, she found out what smelled so good. Bryan was making Belgian waffles, with fresh strawberries and real whipped cream.

“I’m going to be big as a house if you keep feeding me this way.”

“Good morning to you, too.” Bryan kept his attention on his cooking, never even glancing her way. “Sleep okay?”

No. I lay awake thinking about your blasted kiss. “Fine, thanks.” She tried not to look at him, because if she did, she would think about kissing him. She couldn’t help herself. He looked absolutely mouthwatering with his dark hair mussed, his face unshaven. He wore running shorts and a well-worn T-shirt with a Boca Royce Country Club logo on it. She recognized the name as an exclusive Manhattan club patronized by the very, very wealthy.

She was so in over her head.

He didn’t look at her. He was busy filling mugs from a coffeemaker that looked like it belonged at NASA. The fragrance blended with the smell of waffles and strawberries, and her stomach growled.

“I’ve been out for a run—I do that most mornings,” he said. “You can come with me. I also have a home gym.”

Lucy had never been much of a jock before. “Maybe I should try running.”

“If you like eating, it’s a necessity.”

She’d never been all that interested in food—maybe because she’d always had plenty. Growing up on a farm, the dinner table was loaded with meat, potatoes and fresh vegetables. But her mother had always urged her to eat more, claiming she was finicky as a cat.

When she’d hung out with In Tight, everyone had been more interested in drinking than eating, though there had always been something available—pizza or burgers. She’d eaten just enough to maintain her weight, so she hadn’t ever felt the urge to work out.

Now she was ravenous. She dived into her waffle, savoring the pure maple syrup and the crunchy-out-side, tender-inside texture. “Yeah, I’m going to have to do something, or all those pretty clothes Scarlet gave me won’t look too hot.”

“You can run with me tomorrow.”

“I don’t have any running shoes. Or gym clothes.”

“You can buy some when we go out for your contact lenses.”

She wondered how much money she had in her purse. Sixty dollars maybe, if she was lucky. “I can’t use my credit cards, right?”

“No. No transactions involving your real name, for any reason. No telephone calls, either—not to anyone, even someone you think the bad guys would never be watching. I don’t know the extent of their reach, but these guys are connected. Really connected.”

That reminder brought Lucy back to earth in a hurry. She shivered as she thought about those “bad guys” in her apartment, searching through her things, listening to her on the phone.

When Bryan finished the last waffle, he popped it onto a plate and finally spared a glance for Lucy. He did a double take.

“You can’t expect me to be glamorous twenty-four hours a day,” she groused. “Scarlet might have changed some of the trappings, but I’m still Lucy Miller.”

“Did I complain?”

“No. But you were looking at me.”

“I was looking because the clothes and hair color are still so different. I have to get used to them.”

“Me, too. I hadn’t realized how positively frumpy I’d become. But even in my wilder days, I still looked like me.”

“You still look like you.” He came and sat next to her at the bar, then leaned close enough that she could smell the faint scent brought on by his morning exertions. Not expensive cologne, but soap and sweat. A healthy, male scent. “Your smile is the same. You have a very pretty smile, only you don’t use it enough.”

“I don’t have much to smile about.” But that really wasn’t true. Yes, she’d become the target of some unsavory people, and yes, she’d lost her job and her home and her very identity. But she just didn’t care that much about those things. She was hanging out with a dangerously sexy spy and she was going to help him solve a crime. She had a wardrobe to die for and a personal-style consultant any woman in the world would give up her acrylic nails for.

“That’s better,” Bryan said, and Lucy realized she’d given him the requested smile.

Four hours later Lucy was in Victoria’s Secret, feeling a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Bryan had taken her first to get the contacts. She’d been fitted on the spot with a pair of bright-green lenses, and she’d walked out of the optometrist’s office feeling unburdened without the heavy glasses. She could see better, too. She’d forgotten how superior vision with contacts could be.

Next, Bryan had taken her shopping for all the things Scarlet hadn’t provided—mostly athletic clothes. He’d bought her a pair of first-class Nike running shoes and a couple of color-coordinated designer outfits. She’d never worn designer clothing before yesterday, thinking it was silly to pay so much for a label. But she’d found out the clothes really were superior in quality. The fit and feel were fantastic.

She’d mentioned that she didn’t have any sleepwear, so Bryan led her into the pricey lingerie store.

“We don’t have to do anything this fancy,” she protested. “You’ve already spent so much—”

“I can afford it. I want you comfortable, and you can’t be comfortable in some cheap polyester pajamas.”

“I can’t be comfortable in a peek-a-boo nightie, either,” she pointed out. But as she looked around, she realized the sleepwear here was gorgeous—not the least bit sleazy. She saw beautiful silk nightgowns in the most delicious pastels, but she also saw some pretty cotton nightshirts, and she knew that was what she should choose. Something supercomfortable.

“Uh-oh,” Bryan muttered as she tried to find her size in a peach nightshirt.

Lucy’s skin prickled with nerves. “What?” Had the bad guys tracked her down already? She glanced around, wondering if there was anyplace she could duck for cover if bullets started to fly.

“It’s my stepmother. Of all people.” He sounded disgusted. “Put down that nightshirt. I wouldn’t buy a girlfriend anything like that. Here.” He grabbed three skimpy nightgowns from a rack and thrust them at her. “Go try these on. Maybe you won’t have to meet her. Oh, cripes, she’s seen us. Too late.”

The woman in question was petite and very thin, with unnaturally platinum hair in an expensive cut. She wore a pair of snug, low-rise jeans and a clingy shirt that looked pretty good on her surgically enhanced figure.

She might have been pretty but for the superior sneer on her face, which Lucy guessed was perpetual.

“Bryan, what on earth are you doing in a lingerie store?”

“Hi, Sharon,” he said without much enthusiasm. The two didn’t touch. “I’m buying a gift. This is Lindsay Morgan. Lindsay, my stepmother, Sharon Elliott.”

Sharon nodded her acknowledgment while giving Lucy a thorough once-over. “Soon to be Sharon Styles again, thank God.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Lucy said politely. “Bryan, I’ll just go try these on and give you two a chance to visit.” And she scurried toward the dressing room, anxious to escape the obvious tension between Bryan and his stepmother. Her absence would also give Bryan a chance to explain her presence however he chose, without worrying she would say something to mess up his story. She was so new at this undercover thing, and she figured it was better if she got used to it in small doses. She hadn’t forgotten the crazy story she’d blurted out to Scarlet, which they now had to live with.

When she got to the dressing room, she quickly undressed and tried on one of the silk nightgowns. Though Bryan had chosen the clothing at random, he’d gotten her size right, and the gown was absolutely gorgeous.

Without meaning to, she pictured herself wearing it in Bryan’s loft. With Bryan looking on approvingly.

Though there was no one present to know her thoughts, her face flamed. She decided right then she would choose this gown—and a couple more just as sexy. She was done being frumpy, even if Bryan would never see the lovely scraps of silk on her.

“Who is she?” Sharon asked the moment she and Bryan were alone.

“I met her in Paris, but she’s from Kansas,” Bryan said, sticking to the story Lucy had told Scarlet. Although Sharon didn’t have much contact with the family since the divorce proceedings had begun, she did talk to Bryan’s father from time to time as they wrangled over the settlement details.

“And you’re buying her lingerie?”

He shrugged. “Something wrong with a man buying his girlfriend lingerie?”

Sharon’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh, so she’s your girlfriend. I don’t recall that you’ve had a girlfriend in a number of years.” As if that made him suspect.

Bryan chose to let that comment pass. “Lindsay is pretty special.”

“She seems very … sweet,” Sharon said. “Well, I must get on with this. I’ve been invited to a wedding shower, and though I hate those things, it’s at the Carlyle, and I heard there might be a couple of celebrities present.”

That figured. Sharon had always been a social climber extraordinaire. She came from a wealthy family—Patrick had handpicked her for his son Daniel, after all. But her parents weren’t famous-rich, like the Elliotts, and she’d reveled in her society-wife role, snubbing her old friends and collecting a new, richer batch. Now she was trying to elevate her status even higher.

He didn’t dislike Sharon, for she’d been tolerant enough to him and his brother, Cullen, two boisterous stepsons. But she didn’t give him any warm fuzzies, and she’d been pretty obstinate about the divorce.

She drifted away to shop, and Bryan found himself alone, staring at the wide array of sexy lingerie. Each thing he looked at—each bra and panty set, each nightie, each thong—he couldn’t help but picture on Lucy.

He’d been hoping last night was just a fluke, that he’d merely been turned on by the glamorous trappings Lucy had displayed. But when he’d seen her this morning, he’d known it was something far deeper than clothes or hair color that attracted him to Lucy Miller.

Lucy had an inner core of goodness that radiated from her. He’d never met anyone like her. He, on the other hand, was part of an ugly, shadowy world. Their two worlds were colliding, but that contact could only be temporary. She didn’t belong in his, nor he in hers. He had to remember that.

Lucy reappeared a few minutes later. “Is she gone?”

He nodded. Sharon had grabbed a slinky black nightgown, paid for it and left without a backward glance. He wondered if she would find an excuse to call his dad and report what she’d seen. Despite the pending divorce, Sharon loved to gossip. “I’ll put those up for you,” he said to Lucy, holding out his arms. “You can go back to the nightshirts.”

“No, thanks. I want these.”

He looked again at the slinky, transparent fabrics and daring, skin-revealing styles of the nightgowns she held, and his jeans grew noticeably tighter in the crotch. He did not need to think about Lucy wearing those!

Five

Lucy wore her ice-blue nightgown to bed that night. She felt sexy in it, which made her think of things she probably shouldn’t. But she couldn’t make herself clamp down on her fantasies. She’d spent two years seeing herself as a nonsexual being, and she didn’t want to return to that. It was wonderful being able to feel again, even if some of those feelings were painful.

In the morning she dressed in a pair of pink exercise shorts, a sports bra, a pink tank top with the word Diva across the chest, and her new running shoes. She wore a terry sweatband to keep her hair out of her face.

Bryan was waiting for her when she emerged, grinding beans in his futuristic coffeepot.

“Ready?” he asked, looking pointedly at her bare legs. At least he wasn’t focusing on her chest, or lack thereof. She’d gotten used to the cleavage her fancy push-up bras produced, but those bras weren’t practical for running.

“I’m ready, but I warn you, I’m out of shape.”

“We’ll take it easy.”

Five minutes later Lucy was thinking, If this is easy, I’d hate to see rigorous. She was huffing and puffing like a leaky accordion, her every muscle protesting. She’d had no idea she was in such bad condition.

To his credit, Bryan said nothing, just loped along beside her, breathing normally.

After a few minutes Lucy got into a rhythm and she felt a little better. She started to pay attention to the sights around her, the people hurrying to catch a bus or taxi, the bagel vendors, the honking horns and flocks of pigeons.

Oh, how she loved this city. She hadn’t, however, often seen it at this hour of the morning. The In Tight crew was accustomed to starting the day around noon. Mornings, she discovered, had the same energy, but also a feeling of anticipation, of possibilities.

“You doing okay?” Bryan asked.

She nodded.

They veered into Central Park where they joined dozens of other morning joggers. Lucy dropped back a little so she could run behind Bryan and enjoy the view. He had the most gorgeous, tanned, muscular legs she’d ever seen, and a tight butt she wanted more than anything to grab. She giggled and almost choked to death because she didn’t have the spare oxygen for laughter.

She stopped and coughed a few times, and Bryan, looking concerned, tapped her on the back until she was better.

“Maybe we should head back,” he said.

She nodded, unable to speak.

“That was really good for a first time out.”

She smiled at him, and he smiled back, and her heart did a little plonk. She wished he wouldn’t be so nice to her. She wished she wasn’t just a job to him, a responsibility to be taken care of. She wished they’d met some other way, and maybe they could go out on a date like normal people.

Her life was pretty far from normal.

She was sweating like an ox by the time they made it back to Bryan’s building. Instead of going straight up, they swung into Une Nuit. Bryan introduced her to his manager, Stash, a charming man with a French accent who eyed her speculatively as Bryan put together a plate of pastries.