Undercover Mistress

again was surprised, this time by the queer little tremor that went through her when she said it. As when she’d seen his face in the light for the first time, it made him seem more real…brought her one step closer to knowing him…and did she really want that? She couldn’t think-didn’t want to. “Why on earth did you do that?”

His breath was warm on her face. “Tell you the truth, I’m not sure.” He was frowning; his fingers moved in her hair as if testing the texture of some fine, rare fabric.

Shivers cascaded through her; goose bumps prickled her scalp and poured over her body. Her nipples hardened. Solemn as a doctor delivering bad news, she said, “You’re badly injured, you know. You must’ve lost an awful lot of blood. You can’t stand up without fainting.” And then, sternly, “What were you thinking?”

“I dunno…something about…proving I’m still alive, I guess.” His lips tilted in a smile of charming irony that affected her the way the smell of baking bread would a starving man. She swallowed as he went on, “You know-the drive to survive…something primitive like that.”

She made a disparaging sound, but her heart wasn’t in it. Maybe because his hand had found its way under her shirt, and his fingers were brushing her back in that exploring way…as if acquainting himself with the feel, the unique texture of her.

“But…doesn’t it…hurt?” Her voice had grown breathless and hushed. His hand felt so good. “Your wound, I mean. I’d think-”

“Oh, hell yeah. But who-”

“Oh God-I’m sorry-you should’ve said-”

She was trying to shift her weight when his arms tightened around her with surprising strength. “Like I started to say, who cares?” His eyes seemed to smoulder as they looked at her. “Tell you what, though,” he growled. “You really want to make me feel better, you can kiss me again. And this time, come here to me. I’m an injured man- don’t make me come up there and get you.”

He is a pirate, she thought, quaking with laughter and a strange and delicious fear. At this moment, he could have just about anything he wanted from me, and I wouldn’t know how to defend myself against him.

And from somewhere far away, as she slowly dipped her smile to touch his, came the thought: Why on earth would I want to?

A pleased little chuckle bubbled up from her chest, and he answered it with one so fat with masculine smugness it should have enraged her-but didn’t. Then the pressure of his hand cupping the back of her head closed the last of the distance between her mouth and his, and she gave up thinking entirely. She plunged into the kiss, the moment, the fantasy like a giddy child into a vat of ping-pong balls, fully aware that what she was doing bore about as much resemblance to real life as that.

But, oh, how good it felt! And what marvelous, wonderful fun it was…

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t fun anymore. Oh, the desire still sizzled along her nerves and thumped in her body’s secret places, but now, instead of joy, it was tears stinging behind her eyelids, and pain cramped her belly just beneath the places where the newly healed scars puckered her skin. Somewhere inside her, an anguished child was crying, This is good-but it’s not enough! I want more!

She wanted him to make love to her, yes-so badly her whole body ached with it-and that in itself was astonishing. But at the same time she felt grief-stricken, because she knew if he did, it would never be enough.

I want more! I want…I want…

But she couldn’t say it, not even in her mind. Because what she wanted was a fantasy not even she, who’d lived in a fantasy world all her life, could find a way to describe with words.

Roy knew the moment it went haywire. He felt a shudder go through her, which could have been good, but somehow wasn’t. Instead of a vibrant, passionate woman, what this reminded him of was the way it felt to hold a captured rabbit in his hands.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

She’d torn her mouth from his and tilted her face downward, so his words emerged, rasping and guttural, against the watermark frown in the middle of her forehead. Her skin felt moist on his lips, as if she were coming out of a fever.

Her head rolled from side to side. In a muffled voice, she mumbled, “We can’t do this. How can you, even? You’ve been shot…you almost died…”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” Hell, how did he know? Some kind of biological imperative, maybe? Survival of the species? All he knew for certain was, he’d never felt a more powerful hunger for a woman than he did for her at that moment.

“Doc could walk in. Your friend Max-you said he’d be here ‘in a minute.’”

“He’s not my friend, he’s my handler,” he muttered. Then he swore softly and vehemently. After that, for a long time he didn’t say anything, because he wanted in the worst way to deny the sense in what she’d said and was flashing back to a time in his youth when he’d tried hard to delude himself-and others-into believing it really was possible to die from unresolved arousal. But breathing in her scent, that light, sweet flower fragrance he couldn’t place, he felt her body grow still in his arms. Inevitably, a similar acceptance came like cool rain to dampen his own raging fires.

After a while, he said in an aggrieved tone, “Did I mention you’re a very exasperatin’ woman?”

“You did.” She said it without lifting her head, aiming the words at his chest, but he thought he could hear a smile come into her voice. “And if I recall, I took it as a compliment.”

“Exasperating…and weird. When I said you were beautiful, which I thought was a compliment, you took it as an insult.”

“Yeah, well…”

Regret sliced through him like physical pain as she eased herself off of him, careful to avoid his wounded side, and scooted to the edge of the bed. She sat there for several moments, hands braced beside her, rocking herself slightly, face turned away from him, letting the silence lengthen.

Consoling himself with the visual feast of her…the long, supple lines, the graceful curve of neck and shoulder, the rapturous tumble of sun-shot hair, it struck Roy once more how beautiful she really was-easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Holding her in his arms, kissing her, he’d managed to forget that-and pretty much everything else, too, of course, including how much every part of him really did still hurt, and the vital nature of the mission he’d failed to complete-but especially that. Now, though, with the truth of it staring him in the face, the thought smacked him upside the head: Man, what were you thinking?

“What’s up with that?” He pillowed his head on one folded arm and aimed the question at her back, his voice an abrasive intrusion in a silence that had been allowed to linger too long. “I thought women liked to be told they’re pretty.”

She threw him a fierce dark look over one shoulder, a look he couldn’t read. “It’s nothing. Except, just once, I’d like-”

“What?” he demanded when she broke it off with a frustrated exhalation. “Don’t do that. What would you like? Tell me.”

It was nervy of him to say that to her, he supposed, and for a while he was sure she wouldn’t answer him. She sat very still, gazing along her shoulder at nothing, her profile revealing the same sad look she’d worn before when he’d mentioned how beautiful she was. He couldn’t explain it, but he really wanted to know why. He felt a strange certainty the answer was going to provide an important key to what made this woman tick.

With an equally strange certainty, he knew he wanted that key. What he wasn’t sure about was what he might do with it once he had it.

“Just once,” Celia said softly, “I’d like to be admired for something I’m responsible for. Do you understand?”

She shifted around to look at him then, a frown rippling the center of her forehead, and he forgot about the fact that she was an actress and thought about all the expressions he’d seen her wear on that lovely face of hers, and how none of them had tugged at his heart the way this one did.

“Listen. I look the way I do because I got good genes-big deal. My looks…and my acting ability…they were a gift. An inheritance.” Her gaze shifted again, this time to the pictures on the wall. “I’ve been beautiful and famous since the day I was born. And don’t get me wrong-” her smile was wry, now, but it didn’t