Jared followed her up a flight of stairs, where she keyed some numbers into a control panel and opened the door. They emerged into a huge kitchen where everything gleamed a blinding white, from the ceramic tile beneath their feet to the cabinets and appliances. The place was so contemporary it almost made his eyes ache. There was nothing homey about this kitchen.
Nothing Margo.
Surprised, he wondered what kind of kitchen would suit her. The Victorian she'd mentioned, of course. He could picture her surrounded by wood, some of it a bit scarred or distressed. Ruffled curtains, old-fashioned copper pots hanging from hooks, and friendly pottery sitting all over the place.
And if that wasn't the most unmanly thought Jared Carson had experienced in his adult life, he didn't know what was. He shook himself, banishing the image. DEA agents didn't think about kitchen decor. A smile curved his lips. Damned good thing no one could read his mind.
Margo turned on the flame beneath a white kettle. 'Tea?' she asked over her shoulder.
'Sure.' Jared never drank tea, but for Margo he'd have said yes to battery acid. She arranged white cups on a white tray with a white carafe. The white thing was really getting ridiculous.
A few minutes later, they were sitting at a small table off the kitchen that overlooked the fancy gardens below. Jared felt uncomfortable as hell. The tabletop was glass, and the base was wrought iron. White wrought iron…
He had to ask. 'Is the whole place white?'
Margo smiled, and a distant expression flickered in her eyes. 'Pretty much. Nick liked the sleek, modern look. He almost fainted when I mentioned painting one wall in the den red.'
'I'll bet.' The last thing in the world Jared wanted to discuss was anything about Nick, but he didn't want to rush Margo. He still had hours before he was due at the club. 'Red, huh?' He managed a smile, just for her.
'Good
'Uh… no. Just sugar. White.' Not that Jared knew enough about tea to be sure of his answer. He liked black coffee with sugar, so tea was probably the same.
She leaned back in her chair and took a sip, 'Well, I suppose we've delayed this long enough.'
Jared met her gaze, hoping his eyes didn't reflect his churning emotions. 'I suppose.'
She set her cup down with a clatter, reaching out to steady it with both hands. They trembled, making the china clatter even more. Finally, she bit her lip and clutched her hands together on the glass surface. 'I'm sorry.'
'Nothing for you to be sorry about.' He took a sip of tea and remembered immediately why he was a coffee drinker. He set the cup aside, congratulating himself for not shuddering.
Until he saw Margo's hands on the table. Unable to stop himself, he reached over and covered her hand with his own. She flinched slightly, and her eyes widened. A moment later, she blinked and turned her palm upward, into his.
'It really is good to see you again.' Her voice trembled a little. 'You look well.'
'You look ravishing.' He followed the comment with a smile, hoping he wouldn't scare her away. This Margo seemed uncertain and frightened, very unlike the self-assured, loving young woman she had been in his arms.
Had Nick done this to her? No. He shoved the thought aside. Nick Riley had been selfish and competitive, but he never would have harmed Margo — at least, not physically.
It felt good to hold her hand. He wanted to do a lot more but sensed that Margo wasn't ready. Meeting her gaze, he had to wonder if she'd ever be ready.
'I really am sorry about Nick.' He gave her hand a squeeze. 'There wasn't any love lost between us, but he sure didn't deserve to die so damn young.'
She released a breath as if she'd been holding it. 'Thanks for that. I wasn't sure…'
'How I would react to the news?' He shook his head. 'You know me better than that, Margo.'
She lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked right at him. 'Yes, I do. And last night's performance was definitely out of character.' A gleam entered her eyes, and she pulled her hand out from under his. 'Do you mind if I tape our interview?'
'Our what?'
She rose and grabbed a leather briefcase beneath the breakfast bar. 'Interview,' she repeated. 'Did you forget?' She withdrew a small recorder and a notebook, then returned to her seat. 'You owe me. Remember?'
'Is what a defense mechanism?' She gave him a confused look.
'The Lois Lane treatment.'
'Ha-ha.' Margo grimaced and arranged the tools of her trade. 'So can I record the inter—'
'No.' His answer came out harsher than he'd intended. 'Sorry, but…' Hell, now he was the nervous one. He raked his fingers through his hair and released a breath in a whoosh. 'Margo, this has to be off the record. I promised you an explanation, but I have to make sure you won't blow my cover first.'
'Cover?'
He saw reporter instincts flashing behind her baby grays. '
She held his gaze for a few moments, then popped the cassette out of the recorder. 'All right, off the record for now, as long as you give me something for my article.'
'What's your topic?'
She rolled her eyes and sighed. 'My editor's brilliant idea for a human interest piece.'
'Uh, okay.' He lifted one shoulder. 'What human interest piece?'
Margo's eyes danced with mischief, and she waggled her brows. 'What would make an intelligent man resort to bump and grind as a career? Basically.'
Heat flooded Jared's face. 'Not by choice.'
'If we aren't taping this, we might as well talk in the den.'
With her notepad and pencil in hand, she led him into a room with white walls, white pleated shades, gleaming white-and-glass tables, and white leather furniture.
She sat on the couch, and he sat beside her. All right, so he probably should've taken the chair across from her, but the urge to sit beside her had stolen his common sense. 'What do you want to know?'
Clearing her throat, she set her notepad and pencil on the glass-topped coffee table, then half-turned to face him. 'Before we get to my interview, I want to cover the off-the-record stuff Why are you pretending to be an erotic dancer?'
A grin tugged at his lips. 'Pretending? Does that mean I'm not any good at it?' He pressed the flat of his palm against his chest. 'I'm wounded.'
'Male ego aside…' Her expression was serious. 'Why, Jared?'
'It stays between us?'
She crossed her heart, right between her lovely breasts. Jared's gaze followed her movement, riveted to the outline of her nipples showing through her thin sweater. The heat that had filled his face earlier now did an about face and settled one hell of a lot lower.
'Why?' she repeated, her voice low but intense.
'I work for DEA.' He held her gaze, watching for any sign of a reaction. 'I'm undercover.'
'The cover was pretty skimpy from what I saw last night.'
He held his head in his hands. 'If I'd realized anyone would recognize me, I can guarantee you I wouldn't have taken this assignment.'
'I'm sure. But you had a background in Broadway jazz from college, and the, uh, body to pull it off, so… '
Margo's giggle crawled into a special corner of Jared's heart — one that had missed her more than any person in his life. He still cared about her.
No, he still loved her.
