He shrugged and reached into his pocket. The name meant nothing to him.
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her hesitation had his suspicion mounting. “Seaport Manor is a honeymoon retreat.”
His hand slipped over the roll of antacids. “I’m still not following you,” he said, refusing to jump to the wrong conclusion.
“We’re going undercover, Detective. Tomorrow morning we board the Island Express, a water taxi which will take us to the quaint island resort and deliver us directly to the private dock of Seaport Manor, where we have two weeks to gather as much evidence as possible. We are registered under the name St. Claire, one of Savannah, Georgia’s oldest and most prominent families.”
His hand tightened over the roll of Tums. “We are registered?”
“That’s right, Detective,” she said with a brisk nod. “Blake and Veronica St. Claire will be spending the next two weeks at Seaport Manor as newlyweds.” She flashed him a saucy grin, and a victorious light brightened her turquoise eyes. “Welcome to Operation Honeymoon. Babe.”
2
RONNIE FLASHED the too-polished and too-gorgeous-to-be-real detective a grin filled with satisfaction as his arrogance faded. Her own grin dimmed when his raven-black eyebrows collided over narrowed, pale gray eyes.
“Find yourself another cop to play house,” he said, angrily pushing out of the chair. “I’m not interested.”
Her smile disappeared completely. There was no other cop, and she had her assignment. Because of jurisdiction, she’d been forced to partner herself with the LAPD, rather than one of her own, for which she was secretly grateful. The last thing she wanted was to play loving wife to the very men who’d made her life a living hell the past three years. A fact that confirmed she should’ve followed her own dreams rather than attempted to fulfill a prophecy she’d never asked for, nor wanted.
She shifted in the chair as he reached for the door. “I’m afraid you have no choice,” she said, grateful when the firm tone she tried managed to stop him from leaving. “While your department has been more than cooperative, you know as well as I do that deep budget cuts have left your division operating with the bare minimum. You’re the only officer available. And I’ve been guaranteed—”
He spun to face her, his frustration-filled gaze connecting with hers. “I really don’t give a damn what you’ve been guaranteed.”
“Look, I’m sorry you’re not happy about the assignment, but there isn’t any other way.” She didn’t like him glowering down at her, so she stood and rested her backside against the desk. If he’d been standing in front of her, he’d still tower over her by a good ten inches, but at least she’d equaled the playing field…somewhat. “With employees being banned from Seaport Manor during their off-hours, we need undercover operatives on the inside that have the freedom to come and go as they please. And it is a honeymoon resort. If we went in as singles, we’d be suspect from the moment we stepped off the launch.”
He let out a long breath filled with impatience. “You really think people are going to believe we’re newlyweds?”
She gave him a brief smile, in hopes of placating him since they hadn’t exactly started out on the best of terms. “From what I’ve read about you, Detective, you’re very good at what you do. I’m sure you’ll provide a convincing performance.”
Something in his gaze shifted, sending a ripple of alarm skirting down her spine. His soft gray eyes filled with purpose as he crossed the cramped office, closing the distance between them. With every ounce of willpower in her arsenal, she held her ground instead of darting behind the desk like the little warning voice in her head was shouting for her to do.
He stopped mere inches away, invading her personal space, and close enough for her to breathe in the alluring scent of cologne and man. She cursed her rotten luck. Why couldn’t they have found her a more middle-aged, less virile cop to play one half of the happy couple for the next week or two? Living in close quarters, in a ridiculously expensive and lavish honeymoon suite no less, with a man she found dangerously attractive held little appeal.
Or maybe too much appeal, her conscience taunted.
Definitely way too appealing, she thought. Since she knew the type so well, she could protect herself. Couldn’t she? Forewarned was supposed to mean forearmed, not an invitation to lose control. Considering she’d once fallen victim to a guy with all the right words, all the right moves and all the wrong answers she’d been too blind to see, she’d just have to be extremely careful not to lose her head. She could never, for one second, forget Blake was merely a means to an end that would finally give her the chance to follow her own dreams for a change.
Oh, yes, she knew Blake Hammond’s type all right. Cocky swagger and confident, killer smile, the kind capable of reducing any living, breathing female to a tongue-tied idiot. Soft, sexy bedroom eyes, combined with a deep velvety smooth voice warm enough to melt the iciest resistance. Throw in a body, hard in all the right places, yielding in even better places, and he fit the type to perfection. She’d sworn to stay away from that kind of guy, no matter how irresistibly charming. One momentary lapse of common sense was more than enough to last her a lifetime, thank you very much.
She shook the thoughts from her mind and concentrated instead on the tiny lines of fatigue bracketing Blake’s eyes. She struggled to ignore the way her pulse revved when his gaze dipped momentarily to her mouth.
She would not make the same mistake twice, no matter how much her hormones clamored for male attention. Just to prove it to herself, she pulled in a steady breath. Almost.
“You’ve already threatened me with sexual harassment,” he said, his voice filled with a calm she suspected was tightly controlled. “How are we supposed to behave like newlyweds with a threat like that hanging over my head?”
His meaning wasn’t lost on her. Newlyweds not only spoke in endearing terms to each other, they touched, caressed and kissed…long deep kisses. Toe-curling kisses. Kisses that generated heat and fire and spelled trouble.
He shifted closer still.
She pulled back.
He followed.
She caught his tangy scent and nearly sighed.
“Newlyweds are in love and they act like it, Special Agent in Charge,” he said, his deep voice soft and gentle like the touches, caresses and kisses he’d implied. “You gonna file a complaint every time I have to do this, even if it means keeping us alive?”
He lifted his hand and cupped the back of her neck in his warm palm. Her breath stilled. His fingers sifted through her hair and sent a series of delightful tingles running over her skin. Reflexively, she placed her hand against his chest to hold him at bay.
Oh, big mistake, she thought, curling her fingers into a fist against the heat burning her palm. Surrounded by a solid wall of masculinity, damn if her feminine senses didn’t go haywire. He was as solid as he looked, and the thought of peeling his neatly pressed shirt away to expose all that dark, male skin shocked her clear to the toes of her sensible beige pumps.
She was supposed to be past this silly kind of juvenile behavior. Lust had nearly gotten her killed. Lust along with misplaced trust in an agent operating on the wrong side of the law, something she’d discovered after it was too late. Big deal if Internal Affairs had cleared her of any wrongdoing. Her service record might not have been damaged because of her stupidity, but that didn’t mean her heart and mind hadn’t been banged up more than a little.
“I have my orders, Detective,” she said with false bravado, despite the awareness shimmering between them. She fought hard to forget about bared skin and touching that glorious male body for the next two weeks. The thought of telling her family she planned to quit the agency and follow her own