Frances Housden - Honeymoon With A Stranger

No. This was very bad.

Her head was still spinning when he lifted his lips from hers. She’d just discovered what it meant to become putty in someone’s hands, but she wished they hadn’t belonged to Mac.

“Better now?” His voice was gentle, as was the hand rubbing her back. Soft. Gentle. Sexy. “Believe me, you’ll get used to it in time.”

She nodded, ignoring an urgent desire to melt into his arms and throw every particle of moral decency she believed in out of the window.

“All you have to remember is no matter what I do or say, play along. They think we’re lovers. We have only to keep up the charade and everything will be okay.”

As his breath grazed her cheek, she was struck by the absurdity of them standing so close, when he’d said they could speak freely without being overheard.

Yet, she stayed where she was, steam billowing like sea fog round an island, hiding them from the rest of the world. “You really believe that we’ll get out of this with our skins?”

“Yes, and you better believe it, too. So far, you’ve handled it like a pro. Be proud of that.”

In a way he was correct. It was one thing letting him know she was frightened, but she had hidden it from the others. Mac aside, that’s what had kept her alive. “I’ll try.”

He patted her shoulder, an action that ought to have reassured her. “Have that shower now,” he said, “and try to get warm while I check the rest of the attic. If I find a bug we’ll put it to good use.”

“You mean misinformation?”

“Exactly. And by the way, while I’m gone, get used to the idea of sharing the bed.”

So much for him treating her like a niece.

She spluttered, but he didn’t give her a chance to object.

“I’ve no intention of freezing my butt on the floor, so we share the bed and the warmth and that’s all. However, if I find any bugs next door we might have to do a little pretending. Make the bed squeak and moan a little. Put on a show to stop arousing their suspicions.”

Mac left before she could let rip. Put on a show? She hadn’t signed up for this. In fact, she hadn’t signed up for being intimidated by Mac, or being taken hostage.

And she definitely hadn’t signed up for sharing a bed with a man she’d known less than six hours.

Mac sent up a silent thank-you to his Maker that he discovered the camera on top of the armoire before starting his search.

Guess they hadn’t counted on him being so tall.

His second piece of luck was in knowing the make and model. It recorded in monochrome and was triggered by movement, but it didn’t have a facility for sound.

It irritated him to know that if his mind had been on the job, instead of worrying about Roxie, he would have anticipated its presence.

It made sense that Zukah wouldn’t expect him to go around talking to himself. That didn’t mean he could discount them having placed listening devices.

The camera meant he needed to take a much more subtle approach to searching for the little beasties.

On leaving the bathroom, the first place he’d checked had been behind the armoire. The woodwork was badly scarred and it was too heavy to move without making a noise.

He’d run his fingers down the small gap between it and the wall next to the bathroom door and found nothing. But the armoire wasn’t as high as the bar he used to do chin-ups.

As soon as he raised his head above the contoured wooden ledge, he’d noticed where the dust had been disturbed.

Then again, the wire leading from the miniature camera was a complete giveaway. What bothered him most about the setup was the camera angle. It hit the bed square on.

Roxie was going to give him problems, or maybe not. Maybe the camera had solved that one for him.

His mind raced ahead, planning.

Content with his decision, he took off his jacket, folded it and laid it on the floor by the side of the immense piece of furniture, all this done without moving in front of the camera.

Roxie had to be in the shower by now and the plastic curtain ought to give the illusion she was safe from prying eyes.

Clouds of steam engulfed him when he opened the door. Once inside, he saw a neat pile of folded clothes on the white marble counter surrounding the basin, while her black boots sat on the floor.

Behind the opaque white plastic her shape was a pink blur, an enticing blur. Too bad that the time, the place, the woman and the moment were all wrong.

It hadn’t occurred to him that she might not have heard him enter as he called out, “Roxie?”

She let out a whoop of surprise and for a moment looked as though she might slip. He stepped forward to catch her, but all that happened was the plastic curtain ballooned, then resettled.

Rosy-cheeked, her head appeared around the edge of the shower curtain.

He hadn’t the heart to tell her that the plastic she was clinging to for protection showed the perfect curve of her breasts with their dusky centers as clearly as if it had been fashioned from glass.

“What are you doing here? Can’t I have a shower in private?”

“This is urgent or I wouldn’t have intruded. There’s a camera….”

“What, in here?” The hem of the curtain skidded across the metal bath as she wrapped it closer. Close enough for him to tell that the hair guarding the apex of her thighs was as brown as the damp strands curling against her cheeks.

“No. It’s on top of the armoire and aimed straight at the bed.” While he watched her take in the information, he kept his eyes fixed on her face. Her panic would only escalate if she looked down and saw the view he had of her nude figure.

“Wonderful, we have a permanent Peeping Tom in the bedroom. We’ll never get away with pretending to be lovers.”

“Yes we will.” He needed to persuade her it was imperative they make the show convincing.

“Look, I’m not saying it will be easy. This bathroom is the only place we can let down our guard. But once they suspect that we’re playacting…”

He paused, wondering how he could put it without alarming her more than he already had. “Wouldn’t you enjoy fooling them?”

Her wet eyelashes were clumped together by small droplets that fell as she nodded emphatically. “I’d like that very much.”

From where she stood their eyes were level at last, but it only served to emphasize how tiny she really was, and make him wonder once more what had made her go into the spy business.

But his momentary lapse into empathy now made him even more blunt. “I’m still the man with the money, they need me. If they discover my deception they’ll probably put it down as a hero complex and laugh it off as some stupid act of valor, it’s a guy thing. But you…?”

He gave it to her straight with the certainty that she wouldn’t thank him for treating her like a child.

He’d been correct. She shook fear by the throat and said, “Come on, Mac, spit it out. They’ll kill me, won’t they?”

Reluctant to load her with more bad news, he bit the inside of his cheek, before deciding that this was one aspect of their incarceration he could share with total honesty.

Hell, she was an experienced agent; she should know the score.

Sure, he’d had a moment’s aberration when he’d kissed her and gained a response, but they both knew that was a no-go area.

There was a rueful quality to the sigh that accompanied the shrug of his shoulders. “I hate to admit it, but there is every chance of them taking that way out.”

Damn, since when had he become so namby-pamby? “Chérie, what other choice have the bad guys got? You’ve seen their faces.”

“So have you.” She did the eye-roll thing, a flash of silver that made him wish he could promise nothing would happen to her, and asked him, “Aren’t you frightened they’ll kill you as well?”