Tami Hoag - Heart of Gold

Shane stared in disbelief at the door that had just been shut in his face. This wasn’t quite the greeting he had imagined receiving from Senator Gerrard’s ex-wife. But then, he admitted, he hadn’t imagined the senator’s ex-wife would be running around in a worn-out Notre Dame sweatshirt and faded old jeans that lovingly molded her curvy little figure either.

He could easily call to mind every detail of the photographs he had casually glanced at when going through her file. Silk and mink. Hundred-dollar hairstyles and flawless makeup. The woman who had answered the door had looked more like a maid than the owner of the Keepsake Inn.

Pretty, he noted, then stubbornly ignored the sweet ache of physical attraction. It didn’t make a bit of difference to him that she had the kind of feminine appeal that made the average man’s blood heat to the boiling point. His blood was only just simmering, and he was in complete control of it.

Faith Gerrard, or Kincaid, or whatever the hell she wanted to call herself, was no woman to get tangled up with. Senator Gerrard had found her angelic expression and sparkling dark eyes irresistible too. Now the senator was under indictment for bribery, racketeering, and conspiracy to defraud the federal government, and Faith was lolling her days away under protection of the Justice Department-probably because she had cut some kind of deal for herself.

He punched the doorbell again, irritation rubbing against his raw nerve endings. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need this wimpy assignment, didn’t need the headache a woman like Faith was bound to inspire. But orders-no matter how distasteful-were orders. Banks had sent him there to do a job. No delectable little slip of a woman was going to keep him from doing it.

When she swung the door back on its hinges this time, Shane snatched up his bag and stepped inside in a move more graceful than any door-to-door salesman had ever mastered.

“Oh dear,” Faith murmured, wide-eyed. Agent Callan looked awfully determined to stay. The prospect sent another flurry of tingles down her limbs. “Umm-Mr. Callan, I don’t think you understand. It’s like I told you-”

“I know what you told me,” Shane said, staring down at her. Annoyance scratched at his temper when he realized his gaze was being drawn to the O of Notre Dame on her sweatshirt, where the letter distinctly outlined her nipple.

He cleared his throat and glared at her as if her body’s involuntary response had been planned deliberately to distract him. “Now let me tell you a thing or two, Mrs. Gerrard. Mr. Banks believes you need protection. I take orders from Mr. Banks. When the Justice Department sends an agent to look after you, you can’t just say no thank you and slam the door in his face. That may work with encyclopedia salesmen, but it doesn’t work with me.”

Faith stared open-mouthed at him for a full thirty seconds before she could scrape together a response. With her small chin set at a mutinous angle, she decided to fight arrogance with arrogance-provided she could fake it. Arrogance wasn’t high on the list of things this man was making her feel.

“The last I knew the United States was a democracy, not a police state,” she said in her most businesslike tone. “My taxes pay your wages, Mr. Callan. That makes me your boss.”

Immediately her imagination raced to consider the possibilities of having this government hunk at her beck and call. Her skin heated.

“That’s an interesting theory,” Shane said, successfully suppressing a chuckle. She was a feisty little thing… but that didn’t interest him in the least. In an effort to keep his eyes off her breasts, his gaze wandered lazily around the spacious entrance hall, taking in the heavy mahogany reception desk, the polished walnut wainscoting, and the freshly papered wall above it. “Maybe you should join a debate club.”

Faith cast a longing glance at his shins, wondering what the penalty would be for giving a federal agent a good swift kick. Her thoughts segued quickly into speculation about what his legs looked like under his fashionable trousers. Probably muscular, probably hairy, prob-

With a little gasp of surprise at the suddenly sensuous bend her mind was taking, she snapped her gaze back to focus just to the right of his handsome face.

“I really don’t appreciate your attitude, Mr. Callan,” she said primly. “You’re awfully snippy.”

Snippy? Shane had to rub a hand across his mouth to hide his amusement. He’d been called a lot of things in his day. Snippy was not among them. Damn, she was cute… but it wasn’t his job to think so.

When his gaze swung back to her, it held the sharp glint of steel. “Mrs. Gerrard, the federal government is willing to spend time and manpower protecting that pretty little fanny of yours. The least you could do is cooperate.”

“All I’ve done from the start of this nightmare is cooperate,” Faith insisted, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the fact that he’d commented on her derriere. She crossed her arms in front of her to keep from running her hands over the seat of her jeans. “I’ve been a veritable paragon of cooperation.”

“Mama?”

Shane watched with keen interest as Faith went to her daughter and knelt down. The little girl was adorable. Four years old, the file had said, a cherub with a heart-shaped face framed by red-gold waves. There was a smudge of flour on her button nose. Her eyes were the same sable shade as her mother’s, and they sparkled with curiosity as she peered over Faith’s shoulder at him.

“Who’s that, Mama?” she asked shyly.

“Nobody, sweetheart,” Faith said, trying nonchalantly to scoot around so Agent Callan wouldn’t be able to stare at her behind.

Shane scowled. Nobody, huh? The little one smiled sweetly and waved a chubby hand at him. Something caught hard in his chest. He tried to ignore the feeling as he awkwardly lifted a hand to return her salute and then self-consciously ran it back through his hair.

Rolling her eyes, Faith frowned at him, then turned back to Lindy. “Sweetie, it’s almost time for supper. Why don’t you take your baby to your room and put her to bed?”

Lindy shook her head, an impish smile curving her mouth. “She’s not sleepy.”

“She will be by the time you get to your room,” Faith assured her. She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “Go on now. Be a good girl.”

Tossing Shane a heart-stealing smile, Lindy snuggled her doll, then turned and headed back down the hall. Faith remained on her knees for a moment, watching her daughter walk away. A day didn’t go by that she didn’t thank God for Lindy. When everything else in her world had seemed bleak and hopeless, Lindy had unfailingly provided her with sweetness and light. She was doing it still, Faith realized as she rose and turned to face Shane Callan once more.

“I imagine we can clear all this up with a phone call,” she said pleasantly. After all, she’d been raised to have good manners. And she had learned to deal with all sorts of people during her twelve years in Washington.

Of course, none of them had rattled her the way this man had. Not even the Arab sheik who had offered her former husband nine camels for her.

She could feel Callan’s gaze as he followed her. Electricity ran down her back in warm rivulets. Beneath her sweatshirt her nipples were tight knots. She became suddenly, acutely aware of her rear end. He must have been staring at it, the infuriating man. She tugged her sweatshirt down and tried not to wiggle as she led the way down the hall.

The inn’s office was a small room, neatly kept, but crowded with a walnut desk and a four-drawer filing cabinet. The wallpaper was feminine and flowery with a background that women probably called mauve, Shane thought.