Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Lying in Bed

Lying in Bed
Jo Leigh
To find a blackmailer, FBI agent Ryan Vail is going undercover as part of a “couple” at an intimacy retreat.But when Ryan meets his “wife” he knows he’s in big trouble – this investigation looks set to be one irresistible temptation!



“We need to kiss …”
Angie knew exactly what was at stake. To kiss Ryan until it felt right. As if they were a real couple.
To get to a comfort level would take a considerable amount of kissing. And touching. Could she really handle that? If she blew this sting because of some ridiculous secret crush on an impossible man …
His hands squeezed her shoulders. “You’re right.”
His gaze locked on hers. “We have to get rid of this awkwardness between us, or risk the operation.”
“I agree. Totally.” She forced a smile, casually placed a palm on his chest, as if kissing him was no big deal, and hoped he didn’t see her pulse leaping out of control.
This was it. The moment of truth.
He took a step. Stopped. “I’m getting a scotch.”
Her whole body sagged in relief, but before she asked for a drink of her own, the stakes flashed through her mind.
So she grabbed Ryan’s shoulders, pushed herself against his body and pulled him straight down into the kiss of her life …

About the Author
JO LEIGH is from Los Angeles and always thought she’d end up living in Manhattan. So how did she end up in Utah, in a tiny town with a terrible internet connection, being bossed around by a house full of rescued cats and dogs? What the heck, she says, predictability is boring. Jo has written more than forty novels for Mills & Boon
. She can be contacted at joleigh@joleigh.com.

Lying in Bed
Jo Leigh


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

1
SPECIAL AGENT RYAN VAIL tossed the brochure on the bed. The amazingly comfortable-looking bed, which was a far cry from most of the rat holes he’d been stuck with on various FBI stings and stakeouts. The Color Canyon Resort and Spa was a decadent oasis in the middle of the Las Vegas desert built for people with cash to spend and a yen for excitement and being pampered.
Ryan settled against the headboard, the puffy comforter billowing around him. Straight ahead was a forty-two-inch flat-screen TV. There was a wing chair, a leather love seat, an extravagantly stocked minibar and, if he turned his head to the right, beyond the private patio was a view of a nice little courtyard with a pool and spa pool all in the shadow of the Spring Mountains. It might be February in the rest of the world, but in the Vegas desert it was a balmy seventy-two degrees with copious sunshine on the docket for the rest of the week.
He grinned, pulled out his cell phone and went right to speed dial text.
You’re gonna die when you see the bathtub.
He hit Send, adjusted the pillow behind him and checked out his work stuff. Another email update on Delilah Bridges, one of the cotherapists in charge of this barbecue. Four people ran the Intimate At Last retreat weekends, all suspects in a major blackmail scheme. Unfortunately for them, they’d unwittingly targeted a friend of James Leonard, the Deputy Director of the FBI.
Ryan’s phone rang, and he knew it was his partner without even looking. “Jeannie Foster. How’s my favorite witness for the State?”
“Shut up, you bastard,” she said, her voice echoey, as if she were speaking in a vast hall. Or a toilet stall.
Of course, he’d taken a picture of the big-enough-for-a-party whirlpool tub, which he promptly sent her. A moment later, the mother of two cursed him with her usual flair.
“I hate court. I hate lawyers. I hate judges. And don’t even get me started on juries. Get me the hell out of here, Ryan.”
“It should be over soon, right?”
“Probably around the time of the next ice age. Jesus, they love to hear themselves talk.”
“In a few hours you’ll forget all about them. This place is something else. If I’m going to be forced to sleep with you, I’m glad it’s in this beauty of a bed. Which is actually more comfortable than mine at home.”
Jeannie laughed. “It’s not the bed, honey, it’s all your extracurricular activity. I think you’d have to find a titanium mattress to keep up.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“Nothing is hilarious today,” she said. “You get the new updates on Delilah?”
“Yeah.”
Her sigh was long and filled with frustration. “Interesting about her father and his criminal record, but dammit, still nothing usable. With all the data we’ve collected, you’d think we’d have uncovered something more viable.”
“Everyone makes mistakes. But,” he added, “I’m going to be such a perfect mark, they’re gonna wet themselves waiting to get to me. We’ll be out of here in a few days.”
“I thought you said the accommodations were super deluxe?”
He grinned. This is why he liked his partner, despite the fact that she could be a stick in the mud, what with being married and a mom. She was quick … and needed a vacation as badly as he did after the intensity of the past two months preparing for this sting. “Right. Maybe it’ll take the whole week.”
“There we go. I have to get back to the torture chamber. I hear they’re planning on using the rack next.”
“Hey, I’m gonna sign off on this phone, but Ryan Ebsen’s cell and laptop haven’t finished charging. If there’s a God, I should be asleep when you arrive, so don’t wake me.”
“Coming off another late night, Romeo?”
“None of your business. Go be a witness.”
“I’ll talk to you in the morning,” she said, and then she was gone, and he was faced with the prospect of what to do with the rest of the afternoon.
It would be more fun to play craps or hang out in one of the casino bars, but from the moment he’d checked in, FBI Special Agent Ryan Vail was locked in a vault for the duration of his stay, replaced by the fictitious Ryan Ebsen. Husband of the equally fictitious Jeannie Ebsen. Son of Felicia and Bob from Reseda, California.
Ryan sifted through the file, studying the cover story he already knew inside and out. But when you pretended to be someone else, there was no such thing as too much prep. Ebsen was a regional manager for a business software firm. His lovely bride of nineteen months didn’t work because she didn’t need to. Not because he brought in enough money to live their extravagant life, but because she had a trust fund. A very hefty trust fund.
But Mrs. Ebsen had been spending a little too much time at the club lately with a very handsome tennis coach, which made Ryan itchy. He doubted they were sleeping together, but there was always a risk that if she started to feel as if the honeymoon was over, she could find solace in the tennis pro’s arms. It had been Ryan Ebsen’s idea to attend this couple’s retreat week, where they would “Learn how to transition to the deeper, more meaningful stage of a committed relationship.”
Mr. Ebsen, the scoundrel, really, really wanted to make the marriage work. He’d grown attached to their Brentwood home, the Manhattan pied-à-terre, his Ferrari, the first-class travel. He’d even decided to break things off with Roxanne, the gorgeous receptionist at his office. He was nothing if not serious about this intimacy crap.
He continued to read the email from his team in White Collar Crimes back in L.A. The first report of blackmail had come shortly after a weekend Intimate At Last retreat in Los Angeles, and since it dealt with some historic artwork and blackmail, the L.A. team had taken point on the investigation and now this sting operation. The Vegas office was up to speed, of course. No one wanted a turf war, but there was a time limit on this gig, because in a matter of weeks, the suspects were moving their base of operation to Cancún, Mexico.
So he was on the clock. Since the missus wasn’t here, he’d unpack, take a swim, order room service, charge his equipment and himself. Far from the carnal night Jeannie imagined, he’d been up till dawn talking the Long Beach P.D. out of putting his old man in jail. The stubborn idiot had been drunk off his ass again, trying to pick a fight with a half-dozen marines. It was like dealing with a rebellious teenager, only his father was in his fifties.
So sleep tonight, and tomorrow, he and Jeannie would be the very picture of a cookie-cutter couple: powdered sugar on the outside, but filled with lots and lots to lose if a certain trust-fund wife found out about her philandering hubby.
After he’d checked out the room service menu, and thank God there was an expense account because, Jesus, the prices, he opened up his suitcase while he found the sports channel on the TV. His thoughts weren’t on the scoreboards, however, but on the reason he needed this operation to succeed beyond all expectations. Deputy Director Leonard was looking to fill a staff position in his Washington, D.C., office. Ryan was a contender in a very narrow pool of candidates. And now that he was in the spotlight, he was going to make damn sure he was a shining star.
ANGIE WOLF SIGHED WHEN SHE heard the voices of the rest of the White Collar Crimes team coming in from their break on the outdoor patio. Damn, it seemed as if they’d left two minutes ago, not nearly enough time for her to breathe let alone hear herself think.
They were a great bunch: competent, dedicated and generally nice people with whom she got along well considering work colleagues were always a crapshoot. But the past two months had been brutal. She’d spent way too many hours in the office and right now she’d give anything to be alone, preferably on a ten-mile run with nothing more to worry about than beating her last record.
Even as she heard them close in on the bullpen, she stayed just as she was, legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed, one heel on her desk, leaning back in her chair as far as she could. The fresh air would’ve been nice, but two of the team members smoked and that she could do without.
“Hey, how come you didn’t come out for the lifting of the Red Bulls?”
Angie smiled at Paula, another Special Agent who’d been in charge of the artwork aspect of the operation. The painting in question was a Reubens, stolen during World War II and recovered in the late 1990s. It was worth millions, and had been “gifted” to a New Mexico art gallery, which had then sold it to an anonymous private collector.
The transaction had been legal on the surface, but the granddaughter of the original owner was certain her grandfather had been blackmailed into giving away the family treasure. The Deputy Director of the FBI had been friends with the family since birth.
And now, if Angie’s White Collar Crimes team had done their jobs right, the task force was days away from zeroing in on the blackmailers.
Angie realized Paula was still waiting for an answer. Break time was definitely over. “Haven’t we spent enough quality time together? Two months of eighty- and ninety-hour weeks? I mean, come on.”
Paula flopped into her chair and turned it so she faced Angie. “You can take a break when you’re dead. Or tonight, when we go out for drinks. That one, you’re not getting out of. We’ll use force if necessary.”
“You and what army?”
“Me, for one.” It was Brad Pollinger, Angie’s partner in the field. He was followed into the room by several other members of the group, all of whom cheerfully let her know that they weren’t above using every dirty trick in the book to get her to join them.
“Fine. But I’m having exactly one beer.” The bullpen was pretty full now, with only Fred MIA, but he was perennially late.
“Don’t you have any fun?” Paula eyed Angie’s sturdy low-heeled pumps propped on the desk. Comfort won over fashion every time for Angie. “Ever?”
“I have plenty,” she said, although her definition of fun leaned more heavily toward achievement than clubbing. Whether it was cutting a few seconds off her morning run or working on side projects that could get her to the next stage of her ten-year plan, she wasn’t much of a party gal.
She’d always been a big believer in setting short-term goals that fed directly into long-term strategies. Even though she’d stopped being a competitive runner, she still kept up the discipline and used the skills she’d picked up as a kid to keep herself on task.
From the beginning of this assignment, she’d realized the potential. With her computer programming skills and familiarity with investigation protocols she could make a significant contribution. And she had.
Angie’s new program had led to the revelation about Delilah Bridges’s father, that he’d been arrested under an alias for robbery on four separate occasions. It wasn’t much as far as real leads went, but it was still a piece of an ever-expanding puzzle. The broader the picture, the more likely the pieces that didn’t appear to connect would suddenly come together.
She’d worked damn hard on coding that sucker, a search engine with such a sexy algorithm it had given the guys in Cyber Crimes nerdgasms.
It had also been noteworthy enough to put her in the running for the position with the Deputy Director in Washington D.C. She wanted that job, badly. It would be a huge feather in her cap, the kind of promotion that would set her apart from the crowd. And it would put her squarely in the arena of real power, where she intended to not just stay, but thrive.
“Jeannie’s the one having all the fun,” came a voice from three desks down. “Can you imagine pretending to be Ryan Vail’s wife all week?”
Angie stared at Sally Singer, a normally sedate forensic accountant, checking to see if she was serious.
“Um, yeah, I think Jeannie wins this round,” Paula said, laughing, and God, looking a little envious.
Were they crazy? Ryan Vail was a hell of an agent, but he was a player of epic proportions. Everyone knew about his exploits. And while he kept his personal life separate from his work life, he hadn’t even tried to keep his reputation from spreading. Legend had it that he’d “entertained” four different Victoria’s Secret models, although no one was clear if that had been at the same time or not.
She had to give it to him. His technique was subtle and effective. To her own mortification, his charm had almost worked on her. Admittedly it had been at a party and they’d both had too much to drink, but it still embarrassed her to think about it. Nothing would have come of it, though, because the last thing she wanted was to be another notch on Vail’s belt.
“I think you guys are nuts. This week isn’t going to be easy for either of them,” Brad said as he rolled a quarter over the backs of his fingers in what he called a dexterity exercise, but was in truth his way of coping without cigarettes. “Sharing a bed? Intimacy exercises? I mean, what the hell would intimacy exercises even be?”
“Oh, brother. If you have to ask I feel sorry for your wife,” Angie said, and the rest of the crew laughed.
God, she hoped that cut the conversation short because she knew exactly what the exercises would entail. Lots of touching, kissing, maybe even getting naked and she absolutely could not think about Ryan in that context. At least not at work.
“I should have been the one to go undercover with him,” Paula said. “Seriously. I would’ve appreciated the experience so much more than Jeannie.”
Brad’s laugh was more about disbelief than amusement. “You have a boyfriend.”
Paula gave them an innocent smile. “It’s not cheating if you’re doing it for a case. That’s like vacation sex but you still get paid.”
“Like hell it’s not cheating,” he said to more laughter, which said more about their long hours and how punchy they all were than it did about the quality of the humor. “Angie should’ve been the one to go undercover with Vail. No offense to Jeannie but you two would’ve looked more like the Ebsens.”
Angie snorted, and not with any grace. “Me and Vail? Yeah, right.”
Paula shrugged. “You know I hate agreeing with Brad, but I see what he’s saying.” She tilted her head, glancing at Angie’s shoes again. “The right clothes and hair and you two would look as if you’d stepped off the cover of In Style.”
Angie chuckled. No one else did. Was it conceivable they were teasing her because they knew about her thing for Ryan? No, not possible. She barely glanced at him when he was in the office. Absolutely no one knew. Except for Liz, and Liz didn’t count. As her closest friend who also happened to be an FBI agent in the San Diego office, she knew almost everything about Angie. But certainly no one at work had an inkling that Angie might have thought about Ryan in a sexual context. A few times. “Shut up. All of you. As if I’d ever volunteer for an assignment with Vail.”
“You liar,” Paula said, a little louder than was appropriate in the bullpen. “I’ve seen you check out that ass. Everyone with a pulse has checked out that ass.”
“I’ve got a pulse,” Brian said. “Trust me. I have never—”
“I meant people who were into that kind of guy.”
“I have,” Sally said, raising her hand without a bit of shame. “And Angie, my dear friend, as cool as you play it, I’ve seen you blush when he walks by.”
“Probably because Vail had done something to blush about.” Angie was terrified she’d start blushing right this minute. The subject needed to be changed, although it wouldn’t hurt to make a definitive statement. “I mean, come on. To sleep in the same bed as him? To act like his wife? Palmer could’ve offered to pay off my car loan and no way in hell would I have—”
Assistant Director Gordon Palmer walked into the bullpen, and Angie swung her feet off the desk. Everyone else in the room sat up straight, dropping the banter like hot coals. “We have a problem,” he said, as if his demeanor hadn’t already tipped them off.
Palmer was a good man, a fair boss and someone who had a knack for assigning the right agents to the right tasks, unlike several A.D.s she could mention. “Agent Foster is being held over in court. Indefinitely. We’ve been trying to get a postponement, but the judge won’t budge.”
Angie’s chest tightened as if pressed by a vise. All their work, all the hours they’d spent putting this sting together…. This was the final Intimate At Last retreat being held in the United States.
“However,” Palmer said, turning toward Angie with purpose. Had he overheard? Was this part of the joke? No, he wasn’t the type. “There is one solution.”
The pressure in her chest got so heavy she could hardly breathe. “Oh, my God.”
“You’re up to speed with every aspect of the case,” Palmer said, making it very clear he was completely serious. “You helped build the cover stories. I feel certain that you can pull it off.”
“Wouldn’t Paula be a better choice?” she said, her voice tight and her hands gripping her chair as if her life depended on it. “She was just saying …”
Paula shook her head, all business. “I don’t know the cover, not like you do.”
Palmer walked to Angie’s desk. “I can’t order you to do this,” he said, softly now, for her ears only. “And there will be no negative repercussions if you aren’t comfortable taking over the assignment. I realize it’s a sensitive situation. No one’s going to blame you for declining to step in.”
The very thought of sleeping in the same bed as Ryan Vail made her skin tingle, made her want to hide under her desk. For all his colorful reputation, he would be a perfect gentleman, she had no doubt, but that didn’t mean she could be a perfect lady. Knowing she’d never be with Ryan in real life had no effect whatsoever on what she did with him in her fantasies. The idea of actually sleeping with him … She felt sick with panic.
Taking her own idiotic issues out of the equation, there were several practical reasons to turn down the assignment. She might have helped with the cover stories, but she couldn’t step directly into Jeannie’s shoes.
However, she couldn’t dismiss the short- and long-term benefits of saying yes. She didn’t want to let down the team. And if she’d thought writing the search engine code would get her noticed, agreeing to the undercover work would put her front and center in the Deputy Director’s radar.
She weighed the pros and cons: pretending to be Ryan’s wife all week versus nailing the job in D.C.
She stood. “We don’t have much time. Jeannie and I aren’t close to the same size so I’ll have to get a new wardrobe. We’ll need to put my paperwork and computer cover in place faster than is humanly possible.”
A.D. Palmer shook her hand. “Thank you, Wolf. Or should I say, Mrs. Ebsen.”

2
HE WOKE TO THE BED DIPPING. For a few seconds, Ryan’s adrenaline spiked until he remembered where he was. He groaned at the bright red numbers on the clock. “One a.m.? What the …?”
The rest of the question got lost in the dark, but it didn’t matter, because Jeannie didn’t answer. He didn’t blame her, she must be exhausted. At least she hadn’t turned on the lights. And he had asked her not to wake him. “You okay?”
She tugged sharply on the covers, pulling more of them to her side of the bed. But she didn’t confirm or deny.
Ryan craned his neck until he could just make out her head on the pillow, her back to him, hunched and tight. Must have gotten stuck at the airport or something. If she didn’t want to talk about it, fine.
He curled onto his side hoping to find the dream she’d interrupted. It had been nice. Smelled nice. He sighed as he closed his eyes, thinking vaguely that he’d been right that sharing a bed with her was no big deal. Especially when he considered what else was going to take place in the next few days.
It was amazingly quiet; they weren’t in the hotel proper, but a separate group of bungalows that had their own locked gate, their own pools, even an exclusive bar. That’s why the retreat cost an arm and a leg. So they could be near the secluded Namaste courtyard where the private couples retreat would take place. Too bad he had to work. This was the best vacation spot he’d been to in years.
He sighed as he let himself slip deeper and deeper into sleep…. The scent came back, a little like the beach and jasmine, low-key and sexy like—
His eyes flew open. His heart thudded as his pulse raced and it had to be the dream. The dream had gotten him confused. That’s all. No need to panic. That was Jeannie next to him. For God’s sake, who else would it be?
So why wasn’t he turning around? Even in the dark, it would only take one look to know for sure and then he would cool his jets and go back to sleep. Undercover jitters. It happened. Not to him, but he’d heard tales. Nothing to see. No chance in hell the boss would do something insane like pull a switch at this stage of the game.
Moving slowly, not wanting to disturb her, Ryan twisted until he could see his bed partner. He hadn’t used the blackout curtains because he never did—might have to see in the middle of the night. Like now. Just to check. Just to be certain.
He swallowed as his gaze went to the back of Jeannie’s head. Shit. It was a trick of the moonlight. Jeannie’s blond hair looked darker, that’s all. And longer. He bent closer, grabbing his side of the mattress so he wouldn’t tumble on top of her, then took a major sniff.
“What the—” Ryan sat up so fast the whole bed shook. His hand flailed in his search for the light switch, but even after he’d found it he didn’t blink.
It wasn’t Jeannie. The woman next to him. Wasn’t. Jeannie. Jeannie smelled like baby powder and bananas. The woman next to him smelled exactly like …
She groaned and as she turned over, he whispered, “No, no, no, no.”
Special Agent Angie Wolf glared back at him with red-rimmed eyes. She wasn’t supposed to be here. In the bed. With him.
“Jeannie is being held over in court,” she said, her voice as gruff as the hour. “They weren’t able to get a postponement. If you’d answered your phone or picked up your messages, you would know that. Palmer asked me to take her place. I would prefer not to be here, but we really don’t have a choice if we want to salvage the operation. Now, turn off the light and go back to sleep. Please.”
It took him a minute to digest what she’d said. Eventually he nodded. “Okay.”
She punched the pillow, looked once more in his general direction and said, “Oh, and if you wake me before eight, I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” then pulled the covers over her head while Ryan thought of five different reasons he should get up and go straight back to L.A.
That would end any chance he might have had for the D.C. job, but hey, he was a good agent. He could still rise to the top, even if he had to climb stairs instead of ride the elevator. Which would leave one of the other candidates to slip right into that sweet, sweet position working for the Deputy Director. For example, the woman sharing the goddamn bed.
What he couldn’t do was pretend to be married to Angie Wolf. This operation was possible because Jeannie and him, they had seen each other in their underwear before. It had been funny. No embarrassment whatsoever. Hell, he was pals with her husband. He played with her kids. They were cool, him and Jeannie, no matter what cockamamie new-age tantric yoga tofu-covered bullshit they might have to sit through.
Angie Wolf was a whole different kettle of fish. She was hot, for one thing. Hot as in smokin’ hot. Tall, lean, small up top, but on her it worked, and legs … Man, those runner’s legs. Her dark hair was straight and thick and flowed halfway down her back, and he’d found himself too often staring into her cocoa-colored eyes.
Worse than that, he’d almost broken one of his cardinal rules because of her: he did not cross the line with anyone connected to the job. But at last year’s Halloween party they’d come uncomfortably close. He’d been joking, sort of, but then there was this heat between them, and he’d realized that the fire had been smoldering for a long time, probably since they’d met. But A.D. Palmer had interrupted what had been dangerously close to a kiss and she’d stepped back. He’d laughed as if it was no big deal, as if his heart hadn’t been beating a wicked drum solo in his chest or that he’d been half-hard just from the scent of her perfume. They’d kept their distance since. Sixteen months later they still had to be careful because the pull hadn’t diminished one iota. At least not for him. She was kind of hard to gauge.
God, just a few hours ago, he’d been laughing about the Intimate At Last brochure. Body work. Couples massages. Delightful homeplay assignments. Shit. How was this supposed to work now?
Once the light was off, he stared into the shadows of the room. He wasn’t about to fall asleep anytime tonight. Angie Wolf was going to be his wife. For a week. Holy hell.
THE FIRST THING ANGIE thought when she woke up was how surprised she was that she’d slept at all. She’d assumed sharing a bed with Vail would have kept her wide-awake for the entire night, but the exhaustion of the day had won out. At least the bed was big enough that they wouldn’t have to touch. The thought of feeling his bed-warmed body brush against hers was enough to cause a surge of panic that woke her more efficiently than a cold shower.
“I’m ordering coffee,” he said, shifting behind her. “You want?”
She exhaled as she remembered her role. Not the one as his wife, but as his partner. “Yeah, thanks.”
The sound of the bedding rustling as he reached for the phone caused her muscles to tense and her jaw to tighten. So much for her resolve. She’d made a choice yesterday. She could have refused the assignment. As with everything worth having, and there was no doubt that the job in D.C. was, compromise and sacrifice came with the package.
No matter what her personal feelings were toward Ryan, her only task this week was to play his loving, entitled, slightly insecure wife so that Ryan became the perfect target for blackmail. The end. Nothing else mattered. Not sharing a bed, not the intimacy exercises they would participate in, not the inevitable touching. As long as they were both completely clear that no “optional” nudity was going to occur under any circumstances, they’d be fine.
Behind her, Ryan hung up the telephone, then the comforter shifted as he stood. Angie stayed frozen on her side just long enough for things to get really awkward. A quiet huff broke the silence and a moment later, the bathroom door closed.
She rolled onto her back and the way she relaxed told her just how tense she’d been. She hadn’t moved all night. Good thing because she’d been so close to the edge she could have very easily fallen right on the floor.
A shower would help things immensely. Personal issues aside, yesterday had been a killer. She’d barely made it on the last flight to Vegas. Getting into character had been insanity. While she’d had to suffer a mani/pedi, two of the L.A. team had hit Rodeo Drive armed with her measurements and crossed fingers to pick up a complete designer wardrobe. Underwear. Bras. Shoes. Earrings. She hadn’t had someone buy her panties since she’d been twelve.
Her own style was business casual, built around the fact that she carried a Glock in a shoulder holster. She’d be more comfortable dressing up as a vampire than pulling off Prada or bebe.
The bathroom door opened, and there was Vail. Shirtless. Wearing UCLA Bruins sweats that hung low on his sharp-edged hips. Of course, he was sculpted like a professional athlete, a swimmer, damn him. Even worse, he had a Hollywood-handsome face to go with it. Dark hair, piercing green eyes, goddamn chiseled jaw. She let out a groan but immediately stretched, trying to make it seem natural, and not a reaction to the six-pack and the shoulders-to-hips ratio.
He tried to fight a grin, not very convincingly, then took a few more steps toward the big dresser. “The bathroom’s all yours. I showered last night.”
Angie threw the covers back and swung her legs over, determined to get her act together. What she needed was to talk to Liz, who couldn’t have picked a worse time than yesterday to be incommunicado.
“You gonna sleep in your clothes every night?” Ryan asked. “I suppose it wouldn’t blow the gig, but I imagine it won’t be very comfortable.”
“Yeah, no, it was late,” she said, keeping her head down as she went to get her suitcase. Why wasn’t the room bigger? Like the size of Montana? “At least the room’s nice.”
“So is the minibar.”
She didn’t look up at him. “I don’t think the budget’s going to cover twenty-dollar beers.” The snick of the pull handle on her suitcase seemed alarmingly loud, but then everything since she’d agreed to this … situation had felt excessive.
To give Ryan credit, he was being extremely civil. She’d been worried he’d be in her face about the change in plans. She’d also imagined him very, very pissed. But then, they were officially on the job, and working for the government made acceptance of the absurd a necessity.
Ryan was a good agent. He was dedicated. More than that, he was smart. He wasn’t as concerned with rules and regs as the brass would like, but that wasn’t a big deal, not to her. He got the job done. He could be pleasant. Nice, even. He’d never been anything but professional, even after they’d had that brief … misunderstanding at the Halloween party. Hell, he’d moved on without missing a beat.
It was as a man that he failed spectacularly.
No, that wasn’t fair. He had different values than her own, that’s all. It wasn’t up to her to judge someone’s sexual practices. If he wanted to sleep with the entire female population of Los Angeles, it was his own business.
She made sure she didn’t look too anxious as she made her way to the bathroom, but slamming the door might have given him a clue. When the back of her head bumped the door she realized that she’d done nothing but behave like a child since she’d opened her eyes. Not moving, not looking at him, avoiding his touch. The man didn’t actually have cooties, and she would eventually have to meet his gaze. Touch him. Act like a professional. Act like his loving wife.
The first thing she did was turn on the shower. The second thing was to pull her iPad out of her suitcase and turn it on to Skype.
Liz answered the call in seconds. “I got your message. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” she asked, and Angie could see her redheaded friend perched at her breakfast counter, still wearing her Nike running gear. In front of her was a glass of orange juice and a bowl, probably oatmeal.
“I’m already in Vegas,” Angie said, keeping her voice low. She didn’t want Ryan to hear, God no. “With Ryan Vail.”
“Holy crap, Angie. Did you not have a choice?”
“Yes and no. I mean, how could I tell Palmer I didn’t want to step in? The whole case would’ve gone down the drain.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The job.”
“But …”
“I know!” Angie said. “God, why weren’t you around yesterday? I have to sleep in the same bed with him.”
“Oh, sweetie, that is the least of your worries. Do you know what tantric massages are like?”
Angie closed her eyes. “Stop it. That’s not helpful.”
“Well, I’m not sure what I can do from here.” Liz lifted the iPad and brought it up until her face almost filled the screen. “You can do this. I know you can do this, because you are fierce and you are a woman to be reckoned with. Besides, Ryan isn’t about to cross any lines with you. In fact, I’d bet a million he’s going to go overboard to make sure nothing hinky could even be implied.”
“I wish I could fit in a run,” Angie said. “I’m exhausted, but I’m wired.”
“Find time later. What do you have to do right now?”
Taking a deep breath, Angie let her friend’s steady voice calm her down. “Shower. Dress like Angie Ebsen. Coordinate our stories so we don’t contradict each other. Go to the first session. Introductions, filling in forms. Then lunch, and after that, there’s some kind of bonding ritual. God, Liz, a bonding ritual.”
“Don’t think about anything past lunch. Introductions are a piece of cake. You know the backstory, you’re expected to be nervous. You’ll be fantastic.” Liz smiled broadly, and damn if that didn’t help, as well.
“Now go get clean, then put on your disguise. Break it down like your training schedule. I’ll be in the field, but you can call me during the day. I shouldn’t be late, though, so we can Skype tonight, okay?”
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
“No problemo. Later.”
The screen went dark, Angie clicked off the tablet and stepped into the shower in no time. She’d already solved her first problem. No way she could have lasted the week with people calling her Jeannie. Thankfully Brian had thought of a way out of that little mess. Angie would be her middle name, the one she preferred. The computer guys had woven it into all the paperwork and background references.
The story of the Ebsens would remain intact. Unfortunately the team had used a lot of Jeannie’s personal history for Mrs. Ebsen’s childhood, and because Jeannie and Ryan had known each other so long, no time had been wasted filling in all those details.
Now those blanks would, by necessity, have to be replaced with Angie’s past. And Ryan needed to give her the Cliff’s Notes version of his history, as well.
With the shower running, she stripped, grabbed her toiletries and used her time to visualize herself as Angie Ebsen. She imagined the way she’d carry herself as someone wealthy, who had high-level expectations about service and general conversation. She could see herself playing the part, she really could, up until the point where she had to act as though she was in love with Ryan.
God, this was going to be tricky. Even in her own head, all she could picture was the humiliation of that single horrifying moment if, no, not if … when Ryan figured out that she still wanted him. How he’d been the man in her fantasies for more nights than she cared to admit.
She stared down at the unbelievably expensive engagement and wedding rings on the third finger of her left hand. She was so screwed.
RYAN REALIZED HE’D BEEN staring at the bathroom door for a while and that he might want to move before Angie finished with her shower. He shook his head as he turned back to the dresser to get ready for their first day of marriage.
He supposed they’d have to talk about it now. It being the distance they’d been maintaining for over a year. The polite nods without eye contact, the apologies that followed accidental touches. Walking on eggshells like that at work had been bad enough, even though their jobs required minimal interaction. But behaving that way here would ruin the mission.
What they needed was to be all over each other. Just shy of obsessively on his part, a little less so on hers. Jeannie and he had been A-OK with that plan. They’d practiced until they’d been able to stop cracking up with each vaguely sexual touch. But with Angie he faced the opposite problem.
Every touch was sexual with nothing vague about it. Hell, the slightest brush of Angie’s skin had caused a chain reaction that left him unsettled and heading toward hard. Thank God he wasn’t a teenager anymore, or he’d have had to walk around the office with a textbook handy to cover himself. As it was, he always managed to make a quick exit or distract himself long enough to settle down, but that wouldn’t be a viable option when they were in public here.
He pulled out a pair of khakis and a striped polo shirt, selected, along with the rest of his wardrobe, by a personal shopper who specialized in outfitting guys who made fifty times Ryan’s yearly salary. Even his boxer briefs and socks were ridiculously expensive, and he paid attention to his clothes.
The sound of the shower registered and, of course, his brain went straight to a very detailed picture of Angie naked with water running down her chest, a drop hesitating on the edge of her rigid nipple, streaking down her stomach only to get caught in the trimmed thatch of dark hair that signaled the approach to his happy place. Never mind that he hadn’t actually seen her naked. He had a good eye and could connect the dots.
And right there was the crux of the problem. The big, elephant-size problem.
In order to make the sting operation a success, they would have to break every boundary they’d very carefully set in place, consciously or not, at the risk of his libido overtaking his good sense.
Angie was not the kind of woman who would make exceptions for special circumstances. Even if they hadn’t been colleagues, she wasn’t his type of woman at all.
Physically? No question. She was a wet dream even when she wasn’t in the shower. But he suspected she wanted someone she could count on. Someone who would be there for the long haul. A man who would be an excellent husband and father. A stand-up kind of guy to share her life with.
He wanted a woman who didn’t particularly care who he was, as long as there was a bed and he could keep up his end of the bargain.
So not only were he and Angie required to mix business with pleasure for an entire week, they already knew that getting too close was playing with fire. Hell, all they’d done was consider, for like five minutes, hooking up, and they’d both backed off so fast they’d left skid marks.
This arrangement did not bode well. For either of them.
As soon as he was finished dressing, he speed-dialed Jeannie.
“I was going to call you.”
Ryan sat on the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. “How is this gonna work?”
“She can do it,” Jeannie said, in her I’m being serious voice. “We spoke last night and she’s completely committed to getting the job done. Just spend as much time as you can this morning going over your personal histories. Between the two of you, you’ll make it happen. I doubt there’s going to be anything heavy on the first day.”
“We can still postpone this. A family emergency or something. Before they meet her.”
Jeannie’s silence had him wishing he’d kept that last thought to himself. She didn’t know about the thing between him and Angie. Didn’t need to. No one did.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jeannie said finally. “Delaying could blow the whole sting. We’ve all worked too hard to get this far. Sometimes we’ve just got to roll with the punches. I figured you better than anyone could deal with that.”
“I know, I know. You’re right.”
Again she hesitated. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Nope. Nothing. I’m good.”
“Okay. You two look great together. You’re the perfect bait. Hey, get the evidence we need to proceed and you can come on home. Easy as pie.”
“Jeannie?”
“What?”
“You can shove that pie where the sun don’t shine.”
“Why, Ryan Vail, I never.”
“Yes, you have.”
Her laugh made him even sorrier she wasn’t here. But their conversation told him he’d better get his act together fast. “The trial going okay?”
“Same crap, different day. I’m really sorry, kiddo. I would have been there if I could.”
“I know.”
“Call me tonight, let me know what I’m missing.”
“If I can, I will.” He disconnected, shoved his phone in his pocket, hoping like hell there would be nothing to tell. Ever. That he and Angie would pull this sting off with no hiccups, and then he’d be on his way to D.C. to a new job before he had to give her another thought.
A minute later he still hadn’t moved and room service was at the door.
THE COFFEE WAS ALL SET OUT on the patio when Angie left the bathroom. Two laptops were open, one on the table which Ryan was staring at, the other on the dresser. That laptop had to be Ryan Ebsen’s because the screen saver consisted of revolving pictures of Ferraris.
She debated unpacking, but she needed the caffeine too desperately to wait.
Outside, it was surprisingly warm for February in the high desert, and the view of the mountains was beautiful. Ryan had a large cheese Danish on his plate, but in front of her seat at the round glass table was a yogurt-and-fruit parfait with a bran muffin on the side. She stared at the breakfast, then looked up to meet Ryan’s gaze, but only for a second. “What’s this?”
“Sustenance.” He poured her a cup of coffee, then put the carafe down.
“Thank you.” Interesting that it was the exact breakfast she would have ordered for herself.
“You’re welcome. Look,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I believe what’s required here is to barrel through all notions of propriety and just get down to how the hell we’re going to pull this off.”
Angie knew she was blushing, she could feel the heat rise on her cheeks. “Can I at least have a cup of coffee first?”
“Yeah,” he said, easing up, at least somewhat. His posture was still stiff and he could only hold her gaze for a few seconds at a time.
She proceeded to put the cream in her coffee, to take a few moments as she sipped to catch the view and try to relax. Ryan looked different in his Ebsen clothes. She’d never imagined him in khakis and a too-tailored-to-be-off-the-rack polo shirt. The suede bucks were the perfect touch to put him on the Street Style map on GQ. He’d always dressed sharply, but this change made him look rugged and elegant at the same time, and she’d better stop thinking about him in or out of clothes and get down to work.
After another big sip of almost hot enough coffee, she gave him a nod.
“Okay,” he said. “Starting with registration, we’re going to be the Ebsens to everyone at the hotel, so from this moment forward, we’re in character. We won’t be able to pull it off 24/7, but the more we practice, the easier it will get. Your part shouldn’t be too tough. I’m playing a ruthless bastard, so you won’t have to act much, at least not to start.”
She flinched at his words until she saw the way his mouth quirked up. Joking, just joking. Everyone in the unit, including Ryan, kidded around, often with really black humor, and as of yesterday afternoon, it had never made her blink. Now, though … Pulling out a smile, she said, “I don’t think you’re a bastard. I think you’re going to be very good at this.”
After a questioning look he cleared his throat as he reached down beside his chair and brought up a thick file folder.
“All right, then,” she said. “You want to go first?”
“Go first?”
“I need you to tell me as much as you can about the parts of your real life you used to fill in your cover background. We let you and Jeannie handle that aspect because she knows things about you that the rest of us on the team don’t.”
“Right.” He paused, obviously thinking over what he wanted to make public and frowning as if he wanted to be anywhere but sitting across from her. “I, uh. Huh. Maybe we should … How about you tell me what you know about me and I’ll confirm, deny, fill in.”
Bad idea. Really, really bad. It would be just like her to say some idiotic thing she’d made up in her head about him. Or ask a question that had nothing to do with the sting. “That seems more complicated than it has to be. And frankly, confusing.”
He looked out at the distant mountains. “I’m not trying to be evasive, but what Jeannie knows, she’s learned over the last three years.”
“I understand. She’s your partner. Kind of like a wife in a way.”
“A wife?” He laughed. “We’re not that close.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, saw the fleeting panic in his face and considered that maybe he didn’t. “Have you ever lived with a woman?”
“No.” He seemed affronted. “No,” he repeated, this time drawing out the word and meeting her eyes. “You?”
She started to shake her head but stopped herself. “Nope, never have lived with a woman. I was trying to get you to think in terms of what you’d expect a wife should know about you.”
He rubbed his eyes, and murmured, “Maybe you should go first.”
Dammit. Angie was going to have to take the lead on this and she’d been counting on following his example. “Okay,” she said finally, reminding herself to be cool and act her age. “We have one shot at these people, so when I’m finished, you can ask me any questions you like. And then we’ll discuss exactly how far we’re willing to go to see this through to the end.”

3
“I KNOW YOU BUILT Jeannie’s tennis playing into the cover story, but I’m just okay at tennis so we’ll have to be careful there. Running is my thing,” Angie said, and Ryan nodded because he already knew that. “In fact, I run every morning and I plan to stick to my schedule while we’re here.” She paused. “Do you want to write some of this down?”
He shrugged. “I will when I need to. But I already knew you were a runner.”
“Really?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head.
“Yeah, you know, that 10k you did in August?”
The head tilt was now accompanied by narrowed eyes. “I don’t recall talking about that at work.”
Ryan stared at her. Damn. There was a risk of getting too close to the line if he spoke to her about her runner’s body. Hell, it was obvious that she was dedicated to the sport. He flashed back to the picture he’d envisioned of her in the shower and he grabbed a pen, then ducked inside the room for a moment to grab a blank piece of paper and cool himself down. By the time he returned to the table, he was fine. “I must’ve heard someone mention it, but yeah, I’ll write it down.”
She seemed to buy that answer and turned to gaze thoughtfully through the sliding-glass door. “I’m not exactly sure what kind of subjects are going to come up during the intimacy exercises, so I’m gonna cover a broad spectrum. Um, I don’t like roses. Of any color. If a man were to—” Her gaze shot back to him. “You’d send me a simple fresh-cut mixed bouquet if you were to do that sort of thing. Nothing fancy and prearranged.”
He took notes. Flowers. Shit, he wouldn’t have thought of that, though he’d seen Jeannie buy carnations on the corner after work. He liked that Angie didn’t care for fancy arrangements, although he couldn’t imagine why it made any difference.
“Good Lord, how much can you write about flowers?”
He looked up. “Which one is your favorite?”
“Tulips, lilies, no, lilies remind me of funerals. Anything but roses and lilies.”
“Got it.”
“I don’t drink much, because of the running. But I don’t mind sour apple martinis or white Russians. I can’t see Mrs. Ebsen throwing back a Miller.”
Ryan smiled. “I don’t think I’d marry anyone who didn’t like beer.”
“I didn’t think you’d marry anyone for any reason.”
“That’s true,” he admitted, returning his eyes to the paper. “Back to Mr. and Mrs. Ebsen. I know you like sports in general so let’s get that squared away.”
She nodded. “I cross train in mixed martial arts, a beach volleyball league and ballet, but I watch basketball. I’m not into football at all, or hockey, sorry. Baseball bores me to tears, so let’s just stick with basketball. You do like basketball, right?”
“Not as much as hockey, but yeah, I’m a Lakers man.” He’d bet his official Gretzky jersey that she already knew that. He’d won the office pool several times. Just like she’d known he was into hockey. He remembered a disagreement they’d had about Larry Bird that had taken place before the Halloween incident.
“Good,” she said. “We met at a sports event, then. A championship game.”
He pulled out his own phone and started punching keys. “The 2010 Finals, there was a fund-raiser in one of the owner’s suites. How does that sound?”
She nodded and scribbled on the margin of her report. “Perfect.”
“Why don’t we make that our safety topic, then. I don’t think anyone would question it. We’re pretty athletic looking. Meanwhile, what are you going to do about your name?”
“Tell them I go by my middle name, Angie.”
“That’ll work.” He looked up from his phone.
Angie rose and stretched over to reach the coffee carafe. After topping off his cup, she tended to her own. It was interesting seeing her dressed as Angie Ebsen. Her blouse was red with big sleeves but snug around the waist. Nice, but not nearly as great as the slim, black pants. Completely unlike anything she wore to the office.
He’d never thought much about how she neutralized her looks by the clothes she wore. As far as he could recall, she completely avoided anything that hugged her figure, which was a damn shame.
“My favorite extravagant restaurant in L.A. is Mellise, which is somewhere the Ebsens would go,” she said, sitting again, and allowing him to relax. “Do you know it?”
“Yep, it wasn’t far from where I grew up. What about Matsuhisa?”
“Never been, but I have been to Nobu. If anyone asks, we’ll use Matsuhisa or Mellise, okay?” She sipped her own coffee, then took a bite of bran muffin. If her surprised smile was anything to go by, she liked it a lot.
“What else do people want to know when they first meet?” he asked, anxious about the time they had left before they had to report to the workshop. “No kids, so there’s that.”
Angie swallowed, then dabbed her lips with her napkin, drawing his gaze. “The cover story takes care of a lot. Where we live, no pets. My parents being filthy rich, me attending school abroad, which Angie Ebsen doesn’t like to talk about. Simple.”
He went back to his notes, afraid she’d caught him staring. “I can’t think of anything else.”
“No questions?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, now you fill me in.”
Ryan looked up, the urge to get out of this strong, but he couldn’t think of one reason she’d believe. He’d have to tell her what he could, and let her ask her questions. It wasn’t as if his life was anything horrible, or even that much of a secret. He simply preferred to keep work and personal life separate. It was easier and cleaner to let his coworkers believe what they wanted. Some of which was actually true.
ANGIE COULD BE WRONG, but she got the feeling Ryan’s hesitation was more about figuring out what not to say than how to fill her in on his life. He had to know she’d heard the stories. It wasn’t as if anyone said anything terrible about him. On the contrary. Men seemed to be jealous, but not enough to make him a target, and the women she knew … well, they were mostly like Paula or Sally if they weren’t happily married, like Jeannie.
Finally, after finishing off his Danish and the last of his coffee, he said, “I grew up in Santa Monica with my father. Don’t know much about my mother. She left when I was a kid. No siblings. I don’t have any other hobbies except sports, and yes, even though it’s less convenient, I work out at Gold’s.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that big a deal. In a pinch I’ll go to the FBI gym.”
“I meant … about your—”
“That was no big deal, either. Anyway, I graduated from UCLA. We already talked restaurants, I run, but it’s not my thing, and I play tennis occasionally. I prefer a pickup game, but what the hell.”
“So if someone in the group asks us to double at tennis? Remember I’m only so-so.”
“Then let’s give that a pass. We’ll need to be on every time we’re in public. At least if we go to the casino, there’s lots of distractions. The important bit is to get me into a situation where I can confess my sins. That’d probably be with Delilah or Ira. They’re licensed and have to honor client confidentiality, but if the opportunity arises with the other two staff members, I’ll jump on it. No telling who’s involved in their scheme.”
Angie nodded, trying to digest all the data Ryan had rushed through. No mother? Wow, that had to have been rough. But it might explain why he played the field as if his life depended on it.
“What about movies?” he asked.
“I’m in favor of them.”
He rolled his eyes, which was a good thing, in her opinion. Things had grown a little tense. “Fine. Spoilsport. I liked Date Night. Sin City. To Kill a Mockingbird. African Queen. Harold and Maude.”
Ryan inhaled. “I saw one of those movies.”
“Let me guess. Sin City.”
His eyes narrowed. “That was a trick, wasn’t it? You didn’t like Sin City at all.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, but it was friendly. Nice. Getting closer to the comfortable ballpark.
“So what are your favorites?”
“I know you’re expecting all the Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris movies that have ever been made, but that wouldn’t be true.”
“You don’t like Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris?”
“Not every one of their movies, no.”
“Seriously, guy flicks exclusively?” she asked.
“I’ve gotten misty over a film or two. I’m not that much of a stereotype.”
“Misty, huh? Like when Shaun had to kill his mom in Shaun of the Dead or when Rose let DiCaprio go in Titanic?”
Ryan’s eyes widened. “You liked Shaun of the Dead?”
Angie couldn’t help laughing.
“What?” Ryan looked hurt. Actually hurt. “It’s a classic.”
She smiled very slowly. “I agree. But for the purposes of this exercise, you go with Shaun, I’ll go with Titanic. It explains so much in so few words.”
“You’re mocking me. You shouldn’t make fun of someone’s taste in films.”
“You’re right.” She pursed her lips, trying to keep the straight face she’d struggled to find. “So we won’t even start with novels.”
“Can I ask one thing, though?”
Angie nodded.
“Is it a genetic thing with women, To Kill a Mockingbird?”
“It’s more a Gregory Peck thing, I think. Also, how incredible Atticus is with Scout.” She thought for a moment. “But maybe it’s genetic.”
Ryan seemed satisfied with that, and for the next while they ran through a quick list of favorite foods, best vacations, mountains versus beaches and family pets.
At least the questions and answers had helped ease some of her concerns. “You know, I agree that there’s not going to be a lot of intrusive questions, not on the first day, but we want to set the tone accurately. The single most important thing about both of us is my family fortune. So let’s get really clear about why the Ebsens are here. I don’t know you’ve been cheating on me, but do I suspect? Jeannie said she hadn’t decided yet, that she was going to take her cues once she spoke to the staff, but I’d like to hear your opinion.”
Ryan looked pensive for a moment, and she hadn’t noticed before but when he was thinking, he looked straight down, not to the right or left. Unusual. “I think it works better if you’re a little suspicious, which will mean keeping me close. I also think that, for today at least, we act like happy lovers but not ridiculously so. We’re nervous. Not sure what to expect. So we stick together, hold hands. Whisper a lot. Don’t stand out from the crowd. We can always switch gears as we get more comfortable.”
He took a look at his watch, then excused himself, closing himself behind the bathroom door. She knew he had his phone with him, and at his unexpected exit she wondered if he was ducking out to privately call Jeannie. Or maybe another woman. None of her business, she reminded herself, not in this room. Why couldn’t she have been partnered with Brian? He would have been a nightmare, too, but in a totally different way. At least with Brian, there was no fear of being caught ogling like a lovesick teen.
While Angie polished off her yogurt she thought about what Ryan had said so she wouldn’t end up blowing their cover in the first five minutes. With the notable exception of the attraction situation, she was actually getting a little revved about this sting and what they were about to do. It had been a while since she’d been assigned to the field, and though she loved her computers more than Paula loved her cats, there was an adrenaline rush with casework that went unmatched, even by winning a major race.
An undercover assignment called on skills that were rarely used in any other type of investigation. Which was terrifying, and also exciting, although it would have been even more thrilling if they could have made the actual bust, but that wasn’t up for debate. Besides, the blackmail text likely wouldn’t come until after the week was over.
As long as she kept the goal firmly in mind, she should be fine. Jeannie had offered her services as her coach, and Angie had promised she wouldn’t hesitate to call if she felt out of her depth.
“We don’t have much time left,” Ryan said, coming back outside, and powering down his laptop. “You okay with everything so far?”
“Fine. Anything else you need me to know?”
He held up a hand as he put the computer into a hard case and locked it. After that was in the closet, along with the rest of the luggage, he went to the dummy laptop on the dresser. He pulled out his wallet and extracted a small rectangle of clear plastic, which he was able to attach to the monitor seconds before it closed. If anyone opened it, the card would slip out, but not be observed. Clever.
He turned back to her and she was caught off guard once more at how broad his shoulders looked in that polo shirt. She shook the thought away, angry that she’d even think such a thing.
“Tonight,” Ryan said, all business, “we’ll have a much better idea how to proceed. For now, we stick to small talk and distractions. If anyone asks something we’re not sure about, we plead ‘sore subject’ and move on.”
“Good.” Angie put her hands on the armrests ready to go, but Ryan slipped into his chair and leaned forward, capturing her attention fully.
“As for how far I’m willing to go, I want to make it perfectly clear that I will do my utmost to avoid any delicate situations. If we get stuck, I’ll keep in character, but I’ll do my best not to make you uncomfortable.”
She inhaled slowly. His declaration wasn’t a surprise, but it was welcome, nonetheless. Even though she’d tried not to imagine situations in which they could be forced into that kind of intimacy, way too many had come to mind. The massages, of course, and what if they were the only two who didn’t jump onto the clothing-optional bandwagon? Would that make them look suspicious? Would that scream undercover cops?
Regardless, none of that should matter. Awkward stuff always happened on undercover operations. It was part of the job. Still, it was going to be damn weird. After that Halloween incident, she’d told herself that there was no way in hell she and Ryan were ever going to see each other naked. This week, it would be a miracle if they could avoid it.
PURPLE WALLS AND PURPLE carpet made it very clear why they called the main workshop space the Lavender Room. The giant bean bags on the floor arranged in a big circle were pretty much what Ryan expected, or should he say dreaded.
“What’s that frown for?” Angie asked.
“I thought bean bags went out in the early eighties. But instead, they just continued to grow. Those are huge.” Ryan gave her the smile that terrible joke deserved, and it felt great when she grinned back. Picturing the two of them curled up together on the bulging bag of polystyrene pellets just became a little more comfortable. For about a minute.
Jesus. A whole week of foreplay and no main event.
What the hell was it going to take to get him to stop thinking about her as anything more than a fellow agent? His gaze moved from her smile to the red blouse to her thigh-hugging trousers. The outfit made everything worse. At work, in her nonfitted suits she wore sensible shoes with small heels. Something she could run in. Today, the heels on her sandals had to be five inches. She was tall without them, but standing next to him like this, their eyes were almost level, and he was six-one. There was no way he could fool his brain into seeing her as anything but stunning. Beyond tempting. Sexy.
“Six couples,” she said.
He nodded, then turned away, checking out the rest of the room. Two exits, a bank of closed windows. The carpet was industrial, the tables in the back standard and there were two whiteboards, a blackboard and too many posters of greeting card couples on the walls.
The long tables with chairs had clipboards in front of each of twelve seats, along with the ubiquitous seminar water carafes and glasses.
“There’s Delilah,” Angie said, bringing Ryan’s attention back to her. She nodded toward a tall, attractive woman walking up to the whiteboard. Delilah had blond hair that reached past her shoulders. A nicely proportioned body and a broad smile completed the very-professional package.
“Older than her brochure picture.”
“Not by much,” Angie said, and they were both speaking softly, moving slightly away from a couple who hovered nearby. “She’s pretty.”
“Damn relaxed.”
“She would be. This is old hat for her.”
Delilah wore dark slacks and a sensible button-down white shirt. She would have looked at home in any business setting, and that surprised him. “I pictured flowing robes and too many flowers.”
“I guess they left that up to Ira,” Angie said, scoping out the tall, slender male therapist who’d just walked in.
“An aloha shirt?” Ryan watched Ira Bridges approach Delilah and put his hand on the small of her back. His salt-and-pepper hair brushed against his shoulders. Garish flowers covered the pale, roomy shirt. Ryan wouldn’t be surprised to find he wore a ankh necklace or an infinity bracelet. “Tell me he’s not wearing flip-flops.”
Angie leaned just enough to the left so she could tell. “He is.”
Ryan sighed. “They’re going to play that pan flute music, aren’t they? I hate the pan flute.”
Angie poked him in the side with her elbow, dislodging his train of thought. It didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it was more of a gentle nudge but it had been enough to remind him that her skin was slightly tan and looked like silk.
He held his breath, afraid to move. She’d never have done that back in L.A. under any circumstances. Angie would have cleared her throat, turned toward him, said something, but she wouldn’t have touched him like that. Angie Ebsen not only would, but should, and the touching would soon be a hell of a lot more intimate than an elbow to the ribs.
Another couple entered the room, which was what Angie had been alerting him to in the first place. He had no doubt he would learn more about these ten strangers than he wanted to. So he smiled as he cataloged his first impressions of the group. All of them were nervous and most of them held on to each other in some way because their partner was familiar and safe.
He reached with his left hand and found Angie’s right. She jerked at the initial touch, but he didn’t look at her. He kept his own slightly nervous smile on his face, and sure enough, she caught on and slipped her hand into his.
And he’d thought the elbow was memorable. God only knew what it was going to be like when they had to hug or kiss or he had to rub warm oil into her lush, lean body….
He cursed Jeannie and the entire legal system for putting him in this ridiculous position, and then he cut that nonsense straight out because Ryan Ebsen would be sizing up the men in the room and checking out the wives. Special Agent Vail would be looking for the other two staff members, and sizing up Delilah and Ira.
Neither of them would have an elevated heart rate because he was holding Angie’s hand.
“Come in, come in.” Ira Bridges welcomed the newcomers as he headed for the door. Delilah had written: Intimate relationships satisfy our universal need to belong and the need to be cared for in a clean, easy to read cursive on the whiteboard.
“There are nametags on the end of the tables,” Ira continued, his voice friendly, his smile wide and earnest. “Find a seat and please fill out the three-page questionnaire so we can get that out of the way. When you’re finished, come into the center of the room and find a spot … on the floor.” Ira beamed at the surprised murmur. “That’s right. Surprise is a wonderful part of intimacy, and it’s also a large part of this week, so keep on your toes.”
Ryan leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I’m going to grab us seats.”
She jerked sharply, caught off guard, her eyes wide and her lips parted. He wanted to apologize but as soon as she settled, he wanted to surprise her again.
“I’ll get the nametags,” she said, then hurried away, glancing back at him once.
He walked more sedately to his chosen seat then stared at the papers in front of him without seeing a word. The last time he remembered touching Angie on purpose had been a brush of fingers across the back of her hand. He’d wanted her then, but it had been at the party, and she’d been dressed as Scully, and though he’d never tell a soul living or dead, one of the main reasons he’d gone into the Bureau was because of Dana Scully and the X-Files.
Not the best thing to think about when there was so much on the line. The sting, the convictions, the promotion. After pouring himself a glass of ice water and downing half the drink in one go, Ryan started filling out the paperwork on the clipboard.
The first page looked like something he’d find at a doctor’s office. Some overarching medical issues, which were easily dismissed, some personal info about family and work and hobbies and that kind of crap. Since they were using their own basic backgrounds, he was able to fill in the blanks in short order. He kept checking the still-open door, glad to have his mind occupied.
“Here.” Angie dropped his nametag, already filled out, in front of him. When she sat, she shifted the chair closer to his.
He didn’t acknowledge the tag, just slapped the sticky side to his shirt. Then he flipped to the second page of the questionnaire. “Shit,” he said, under his breath.
“What?”
“Page two.”
Angie checked out the material before she looked at him. “What’s the problem?”
“You need to go first. Just make sure I can see your answers.”
Her brow furrowed for a moment as she studied him, but she relaxed quickly with a nod. He went back and fiddled with page one while she attacked the intimacy portion of the opening challenge.
The first question alone had stopped him in his tracks.
I think of my partner lovingly many times a day.
He doubted he’d ever thought lovingly of anyone. Not that he didn’t have good thoughts about people, especially about women, but lovingly? “What does that first question even mean?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“We’re in love,” she said. “You’d think of me lovingly a lot.”
Right. They were in love. If anything, he should go overboard on this questionnaire. Still, he’d take his cues from Angie, follow her lead. Make it appear that it was love with a background note of desperation, that brought them to this retreat, desperation with a mask of love that made them want to put in the effort. No sweat as a concept, but he hadn’t really thought through the language issue.
Statement two was no better:
We feel warmth and connection at least twenty minutes a day.
Who the hell knew how many times they felt connected? He felt connected to the L.A. Kings hockey franchise, at least when they were winning, but that lasted the length of the game.
He leaned closer to Angie with a sigh. “This is gonna suck. Even if they don’t play new-age CDs.”
She snorted. Daintily. Whispered, “It’ll be fine. Go with your instincts. Pretend they’re asking about you and your personal trainer. Trust me, all the answers will make perfect sense.”
He probably should have been insulted by that, but it actually made him laugh. He decided that when he was in doubt, he’d go with the opposite of his instincts, and he should be okay.
He glanced again at her paper, then stayed for a while, reading. Most of her responses were unsurprising given her backstory. The one about initiating sex equally made him blink. She’d given that a “Happens often.” Good to know.
Confident that he now had the game down, he tackled his sheet, filling in the numbers for Ryan Ebsen, a man dedicated to keeping his wife and her checkbook. By the time he reached the end of the third page, he figured this thing with Angie was going to work out just fine.
Then she stood up, leaned over the table to grab another pen, and he got a load of her picture-perfect backside.
Nope. No. This thing with Angie was gonna kill him. Dead.

4
“THE FOOD WAS REALLY GOOD,” Angie said, sipping her coffee from the back of the Blue Room. The group lunch hadn’t been nearly the ordeal she’d stressed over, but there had certainly been moments.
The whole lot of them had walked the short distance from the Lavender Room, passing another group, all of them holding fruity umbrella drinks. Angie had been tempted to switch her allegiance, or at the very least call room service for a cocktail of her own. Especially after she got a load of the weird as hell layout of their new location.
The lunch tables had been set up in odd configurations: some were long family style, some round that could seat eight, a couple of them could accommodate four and only one table for two. There were more seats available than participants and each seat had a complete table setting.
Delilah had asked them all to sit. Anywhere they chose. With no more than a glance between them, she and Ryan went for the round table for eight where, for the most part, they’d eaten and listened to other people talk. The person to her right had been Luke, husband to Erica. Luke had spent the bulk of the meal’s two courses telling her how he was only at this workshop because of Erica and how the whole point of intimacy was sex, and since they had sex pretty much every night, what was the point? He also mentioned the cost three or seven times.
Fortunately it hadn’t been difficult for her to play her role. Primarily because Ryan had kept checking in with her. Not with words. With a look, a smile, a roll of his eyes. Each one a string between them, connecting, strengthening, woven together like a safety net. That tie relaxed her enough that she was able to answer the few questions asked without over-thinking or stumbling.
The one time she’d tripped up was when she turned to find him staring across the table at Tonya Bridges, the yoga and tantric massage instructor. He’d looked riveted, interested. But then he’d turned back to the man to his left. Chris looked to be in his fifties. The two went on to discuss basketball until it was time for dessert and they’d all been “invited” to find different seats. Ryan had taken her by the sleeve and pulled her straight to the back of the room, to the table set for two where they hid like the bad kids during assembly as they watched the most confusing game of musical chairs ever.
“I think Ira’s wearing patchouli oil,” Ryan said as he fiddled with his linen napkin. He’d gotten coffee, nothing else, while she’d fixed herself a small plate of fruit. “Think he’s actually old enough to be a hippie?”
Ryan wasn’t looking at her, but that was okay because she was too busy scoping out the room to look at him. Their little table was situated close to the desserts. There were only three choices: a crème brûlée, a New York–style cheesecake, which was calling Angie’s name, and a bowl of fresh fruit. She ate another piece of cantaloupe and decided the cheesecake had to be a billion times better. “Delilah hasn’t had any work done I don’t think,” Angie said, pushing her grapes around. “Which makes me like her more, and also makes me question her involvement.”
“What? Why?”
“They’ve been living in L.A. and Vegas for years. Plastic surgery is practically required by law for any woman over the age of forty.”
He looked at her, clearly disbelieving. “That might be true for celebrities, but—”
“Ellen Fincher.”
Ryan tossed the napkin all the way past the table, which Angie doubted he meant to do. “Get out.”
Ellen was Palmer’s administrative assistant. Angie knew for a fact she was forty-seven, because Angie had been at the birthday party. Ellen’s present to herself had been eye lifts and some lipo. “Oh, I’m right.”
“I’ll take your word for it, but why does that make Delilah a more trustworthy person?”
“If she had a ton of illicit money, she’d probably have a nip or a tuck. She’s pretty, but she’s starting to droop. On the other hand, she could be saving every last penny for her dream retirement in Cancún.”
“Or maybe she’s just not that vain. You know—” Ryan stopped talking as Zach, the banker from Orange County, came by. Rachel, his wife, followed shortly thereafter, and all four of them chatted about how fantastic the food was until the couple wandered off.
Angie would have been fine with that if Zach hadn’t been eating his damn cheesecake right in front of her. But after four bites she’d broken like a dime-store toy. “You want anything?”
Ryan shook his head staring once more at Tonya, who was sitting at one of the long tables, talking with two other couples.
Angie refilled her coffee, then said, “Screw it,” even though no one was near enough to hear her, and picked up the biggest piece of cheesecake on the table. As she took her first bite, standing there like a heathen, she did a quick scan of the room. No one had left, even though they were perfectly free to do so. Marcus had cornered Olivia and Kyle. Delilah had both Paul and Natalie and Chris and Hannah.
Ryan watched Angie come back to the table. She sat down, both pleased and troubled that they were alone once more and murmured, “We’re the only ones without a staff member.”
“Yeah, I was thinking that we should probably move.”
“Not near Marcus,” she said after she’d swallowed another bite of the incredible cheesecake.
“We’ll have to talk to him at some point.”
“Not now. I spent five hours with him when you excused yourself after the main course.”
He blinked at her. “I was not in the bathroom for five hours.”
“My point exactly.” She’d rarely run across anyone as beige as Marcus. Not simply his skin tone, his dishwater hair and his clothes, but his voice and his whole demeanor were so dull it was almost mesmerizing. He could put whole cities to sleep. “Now that I think about it, it’s the perfect disguise.”
“What’s that?” Ryan’s lips were already quirked up a hair, which made her throat tighten for a second.
“Being so boring people will do anything to avoid you.”
Ryan’s smile broadened. “How come I didn’t know you were funny?”
That wasn’t what she expected him to say. “I have no idea. And I don’t think I am. Not funny funny. I’m intermittently amusing.”
“You’re under-the-radar funny. I imagine it would be very entertaining to sit next to you during bad movies.”
“Now that I know your taste in films, that’s never going to happen.”
“Excuse me? Shaun of the Dead.”
“You said bad movies.”
He laughed outright, and she hoped that Delilah and Ira were watching because this moment would convince anyone she and Ryan liked each other very, very much.
“ALL RIGHT, EVERYONE, are we ready?” Delilah glanced around at each couple, smiling serenely, until her gaze stopped on Ryan. “Is there a problem, Ryan?”
“Nope,” he said, eyeing the bean bag chair. “None.”
Problem was putting it mildly. This was exactly the nightmare he’d dreaded. Only worse. They hadn’t been back in the Lavender Room for five minutes when the woman had described their very first bona fide intimacy exercise. Of course, it involved a bean bag chair. One chair. To be shared by him and Angie. At the same time. Hell. For a second he’d seriously thought about faking an allergic reaction to something he’d eaten at lunch. But Angie would know. Not to mention they were on the job.
“Come on, Ryan, move it,” she whispered, her impatient voice edging toward panic.
He looked around, saw that all the other couples were in place, the husbands somewhere between lying and sitting, their wives cuddled on top of them. Slowly he lowered himself into the torture pit. Once he arranged himself as best he could he stared up at Angie, waiting for her to join him.
She hesitated, briefly met his eyes, then concentrated on her feet.
Ha. Yeah, real easy, right? He killed all hints of a satisfied smirk as he offered her his hand.
Ignoring it, she plopped down, none too gracefully, then swung a leg over him. He sucked in a breath, pretty sure she hadn’t meant to hit him there.
“Um, sorry, if I—”
“Don’t worry about it.” His voice came out wrong, more like a fourteen-year-old going through the change.
He refused to say another word. Just laid there and let Angie do her thing. She’d figure out exactly how they were supposed to be situated. At least her knee had eliminated the possibility of his cock getting involved, so that was something.
“Is this supposed to be comfortable?” he asked, his lips very close to Angie’s ear as she lay with her head on his shoulder.
“I have no idea.” She adjusted again.
Every time she moved, Ryan tensed another notch. Delilah had asked for one partner to be “enveloped” by the other in order to listen to their heartbeat. First off, he didn’t think Delilah knew what enveloped meant, but that wasn’t the issue. Having Angie curl up in his arms? Touching him from shoulder to calf? Mother of—
“You’re squeezing,” Angie said.
“Huh?”
“My elbow. Tightly.”
Ryan jerked his hand away, but it turned out to be a load-bearing hand and Angie slid down his chest until they reached a brand-new level of discomfort. Especially when her knee ended up on his inner thigh. Perilously near the first event.
“Oh, boy,” she said.
He swallowed a moan.
Then she made things a hundred times worse by trying to scoot back up using that damned knee. Against his thigh. He bit his lip and most definitely did not whimper.
“Sorry, sorry.”
He moved, too, attempting to keep his privates out of jeopardy while they struggled to get into position.
“That’s wonderful,” Delilah said from the front of the room. “Now that you’re all settled, I want you to listen to the sounds of the rain forest and become aware of your breathing.”
“Settled?” Ryan whispered. He hadn’t known a whisper could be high-pitched. He didn’t dare look around the whole room, but the couples in his line of sight looked as cozy as lovebirds. The bastards. “We’re doing this wrong.”
“What would you suggest?” Angie whispered back, her frustration making him feel a little better. “We don’t fit on this thing.”
“Everyone else fits. You have to relax.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jo-leigh/lying-in-bed/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.