Undercover Mistress

was only in his. Every nerve, every instinct was telling him to run like hell, to get away from there before he was found out. Any moment now, the prince or one of his bodyguards would see through his charade. If they haven’t already. How could they not?

He’d never felt so exposed.

Meanwhile, maddeningly, Celia was chattering away, oblivious to the danger, asking questions about the yacht in her sexy, sultry voice. And Prince Abdul, dividing his attention between both members of his audience, was regaling them with the boat’s dimensions and specifications. Roy tried to listen with the right amount of interest, just a touch of awe, but he was restless and on edge. It was hard to concentrate when all he could think about was the danger he’d put Celia in, if, in fact, he’d been made. And when and how he could end the interminable small talk and get the hell out of this place.

At the same time, inexplicably and unforgivably, but in a very visceral way, he was thinking about the kiss. Thinking…not with his mind, but with the elemental pulse-pumping, heat-making part of him…about the thump in his belly…the fire in his loins. And how much those parts of him wanted to feel like that again.

Be careful, the thinking part of him warned. Don’t let them know you’re edgy. Don’t let them see you sweat. They’ll know something’s up. And for God’s sake, don’t let them get a good look at your face.

Celia’s shoulders were rigid against his arm as he turned her slightly and, with a casually possessive, almost languid motion, lowered his head to one side of hers. With her face between his and the bodyguards’ watchful eyes, as the conversation continued, he lazily stroked her hair with his chin…blew his breath along the intricate whorls of her ear…

He felt her shiver. Swaying, as if in a dance, she contrived to turn her head toward him, her smile quivering at the corners, her eyes questioning. But when he tried to explain silently-I have a reason…play along… please…trust me!-he could see the desperate appeal in his eyes bounce off the confusion and anger in hers, like pebbles thrown against a wall.

Or had it? A moment later, she managed to deftly and charmingly bring the conversation to a close, by waving gaily to some distant someone and explaining to the prince, with a wry smile and rolled eyes, that she’d promised her agent she’d say hello to this certain producer… The prince, being familiar with the ways of those in The Business, laughed and kissed her cheek, shook Roy’s hand…and he and his retinue moved on.

So did Celia and Roy, making their way with excruciating slowness through the crowd on the patio, then the living room, pausing often to exchange gracious greetings, introductions, small talk and good wishes with a whole lot of beautiful and famous people, much of which, to Roy’s mind, even seemed sincere.

Meanwhile, his neck, shoulders and jaws screamed with tension and a feral desire to bolt for the exit like a spooked deer. He could feel a similar tension in Celia whenever he touched her, a kind of minute vibration running like an electrical current through her body, and he marveled at how relaxed she appeared, how naturally she moved through what to Roy seemed an impossibly complex and utterly alien world.

Then he thought, She’s an actress. She’s in her element. These are her people.

Besides, he told himself, she doesn’t have to worry about a killer recognizing her face.

It was while they were making their way through the entryway, saying their goodbyes, waiting for Celia’s coat, that Roy caught a glimpse of her in an ornate, Spanish-style mirror that took up most of one wall, some distance away. For a moment he thought, Who’s the old guy with her? And he was actually glancing around when the realization hit: Holy… Jeez-it’s me!

Okay, so he was an idiot. As the tension drained out of him, he felt shaken and foolish. What had he been so worried about? It was just as Celia had said: the way he looked right now, his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.

Chapter 11

Celia sat hunched in the passenger seat, listening to the steady thump of windshield wipers and fidgeting to hide the shudders that rippled through her from time to time. She could feel Roy’s glance dart her way, but kept her eyes steadfastly focused on the raindrops that spangled the Land Rover’s windshield and hood like diamonds.

Stopped for a light on Sunset Boulevard, hands relaxed on the wheel, he looked over at her and said quietly, “You’re not sayin’ much.”

She looked at him and lifted a shoulder. The last thing she felt like doing was talking. Her mind felt drained… empty…exhausted. And yet her body was humming with tension, with an excess of energy, as if, she thought, forces beyond her control, alien forces, had taken it over.

“You did good,” he went on, and she could hear the wryness in his voice. “Damn good. Surprised the hell out of me, in fact.” The light changed, and so did the direction of his voice as the Land Rover moved forward. “You might just be a natural.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly, and she was thinking that a week, even a day ago, she’d have been quivering like a puppy over a compliment like that.

Instead, anger rushed over her unexpectedly, making her feel off balance, the way a wave did when it swirled and sucked around her feet, then slid dizzily away.

“Apparently, I have a few things to learn.” She’d meant to say it lightly; the tight, hard edge she heard in her voice, and its tendency to tremble, shocked her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on controlling both the anger and the trembling.

Roy’s chuckle was oblivious. “Maybe one or two.”

“About working with you, I mean.” Her voice was hers again, light and only mildly curious. “For instance, what was with that kiss? Some kind of ploy, I suppose, but you might have given me some warning.”

She heard a soft snort and then, for a long, unbearable time, silence. Ashamed of the need, she managed to steal a quick look at him before setting her gaze on the windshield again. When she swallowed, she was surprised at how much it hurt.

Finally, he exhaled and said in a low, half-muffled voice, “Yeah…well. Didn’t have much time to discuss a game plan with you. It was the best I could come up with at the moment.”

“Really? Game plan…for what, exactly? I mean, I know I’m supposed to be your mistress, but the rest of the evening you barely touched me. Was that kiss just a declaration of ownership for Abby’s benefit? ‘Hands off, this woman is mine.’? Not that I mind-it’s definitely not the first time I’ve been kissed according to script. I just like to know my motivation.”

“For God’s sake,” Roy said harshly, his body leaning toward her as he took the hard right turn onto the Pacific Coast Highway. “Not Abby-the bodyguard. I was trying to keep him from getting a good look at me. And…like I said, it was the only thing I could come up with at the time.”

“The bodyguard?” She stared at his profile, grim in the highway lights.

“I was afraid he might…I was afraid he’d recognize me.” His voice sounded tight, as if his teeth were clenched. “He’d seen me before-on the boat. He was the one who shot me.”

She paused to let that sink in, and to consider whether it made any difference. Deciding it didn’t, she said, “And…the thing with my hair…and my ear?” Breath, in mysteriously short supply, sifted from her air-starved lungs.

He glanced over at her and lifted a shoulder. In the erratic light, his face seemed like a mask. “Like I said.”

She sat for another time in silence. The rain was coming down harder, now, the way it can in California, sluicing over the windshield and side windows and curtaining them inside in their own little bubble of quiet, alone with the tension of misunderstanding and a thousand unspoken thoughts.

She drew a breath. “He wouldn’t have recognized you.”

“Yeah,” he said, somewhere between a drawl and a growl, “I think I know that… now. Can’t say I did then, though.”

She listened to the echoes of irony. Though far from being an apology, it made the silence seem less electric,