Lola Carlyle Reveals All

now.”

“You need to stop bending over the table like that,” he said just loud enough for her to hear. “Everyone is staring at you.”

“I thought that was our op plan,” she reminded him. “To attract attention. Hide in plain sight. Remember?”

“We never discussed you flashing your breasts and butt.”

Lola glanced down at herself. At her dark purple bandeau top that showed a bit of cleavage and flirted with her navel and the waistband of her python miniskirt. Under her skirt she wore a purple thong so she wouldn’t have a panty line, and beneath the bandeau, her purple bustier kept her breasts in proper order, but the boning dug into her ribs. She’d yet to create a bustier that was completely comfortable. “You said I was supposed to make sure people noticed me. I think they’ve noticed.”

“You were supposed to come in and flip your hair like other fashion models.” He turned to her and let out an exasperated breath. “And that’s another thing. What’s with the hair? It looks like you just got laid.”

She smiled and ran her fingers through the big loose curls she’d separated with pomade. “I thought that was the point, too. To make people believe we’re together. Am I the only one here who remembers the plan?”

“No, I remember. I just had no idea you’d get off the plane wearing nothing but a little snakeskin.”

“It’s Dolce & Gabbana.”

“It looks like a purple python wrapped himself around your ass.” He shook his head. “I never should have let you out of the car dressed like that.”

“Max,” she sighed, now as exasperated as he, “you can’t tell me what to wear. So don’t ever try.”

He glanced behind her toward the bar. “I’m going to have to bust some heads before we get out of here tonight, and I’m really not looking forward to that.”

Lola looked over her shoulder into the dark interior. At the glowing Miller sign and the string of chili pepper lights hung along the huge mirror behind the bar. Yes, people were staring, but no one looked as if he would approach the two of them. Not with Max glaring as if he were spoiling for a fight.

When she and Max had first entered the bar, several men had shouted out greetings, but he’d ignored them. “You told me these people are your friends.”

“They are. I earned my BUD/S with some of these guys. That one sitting on the stool wearing a bad dog T-shirt is Scooter McLafferty. He was my swim buddy, and a big fan of your Sports Illustrated days. I’m sure he’d just love to meet you.”

“Well, are you going to introduce me to him?”

“Hell, no. Music’s too loud.”

Lola rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and turned her attention back to the table. The music wasn’t too loud. Max was just being contrary. “Five ball in the side pocket,” she said, and lined up the shot. She took a deep breath, but it did little to calm her nerves. Being so near to Max, hearing his tenebrous growl, seeing his handsome face and blue eyes scowling at her, plus the contemplation of what they had planned for that evening, made her feel flushed and antsy and uncertain all at same time.

“For the love of Christ,” he swore.

Lola jumped and missed the shot. “You’re not supposed to talk while someone is shooting,” she said as she rose. “This plan isn’t working. People are going to think we hate each other, and when it’s time to go, they’ll never believe that we’re leaving because we can’t keep our hands off each other.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “And it’s all your fault. You jerk!”

Max grabbed her wrist and brought the heel of her hand to his mouth. “You’re so beautiful you make me insane.”

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a jerk. “Now everyone will think you’re schizophrenic.”

He shook his head and his lips brushed across her pulse. “Lovers’ spat.”

Warm little tingles danced up her arm. “We’re not lovers.”

He pulled her forward and wrapped her arm around his neck. “Not yet,” he said through a sudden smile so sensual and carnal and totally masculine, it tweaked her heart and hastened the rhythm. “But we could be if you’re really nice and talk real dirty to me.”

That wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t talk dirty, at least she didn’t think so, and if they were ever going to make love again, which she wasn’t sure would be a good idea, he would have to make the first move. Something he hadn’t bothered to do since they’d left the island. “Max, I don’t talk dirty,” she told him.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I was raised to believe that a lady never uses bad language.”

He laughed and grabbed his pool stick. “Well, honey, I distinctly remember one time you forgot.”

Her hand fell to her side, and she watched him move to the other side of the table and line up his shot. He had to be talking about the one time they’d made love. She didn’t remember using profanity, but she supposed it was entirely possible, since she’d been so frightened and hadn’t been herself. And if she was completely truthful, Max had set her on fire that night. Now just thinking about it made her feel ready to combust all over again.

Max pointed at the pocket next to Lola’s left hip, then took the shot. The eleven ball rolled neatly into the pocket and he looked up at her. As he lined up his next, a smile crooked his mouth and his blue eyes shone in anticipation of beating her.

Lola couldn’t let that happen. If there was one person more competitive than Max, it was Lola. She placed her palms flat on the edge of the table and gazed over at him. Back in her modeling days, when she’d needed to seduce from the flat pages of magazines, she’d used certain tricks. One of them had been to think of the best lover she’d ever had. Now, years later, her old trick came back to her. Just like riding a bike, but she didn’t have to think long or hard to come up with a candidate. He was staring right back at her. She thought of her hands on his bare body, touching him all over, her fingertips feeling the different textures of his flesh. She licked her lips and her mouth parted on a slight inhaled breath. Her lids lowered and Max missed his shot.

He moved toward her and she straightened. “Nice shootin‘, Tex,” she said.

“I was a little distracted by your cleavage and that do-me-on-the-pool-table look you were giving me.”

She laughed and didn’t try to deny it. “It worked.”

“Yeah, too bad I don’t have anything that works that good on you.”

He had no idea. Just the thought of him flustered her. “Max, I’m sorry I called you a jerk.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He slid his palm across her shoulder to the back of her neck. “I was being a jerk.”

“True, but I shouldn’t have said it. I’m just very nervous.”

“About later?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not too late to call it off.”

“No. I want to do this. I need to.”

“I’ll take care of you.” He leaned his cue stick against the table and pulled her closer. “Nothing will happen.”

She believed him. He had a way of making her feel as if he could protect her from anything. As if by his sheer size and the force of his will, he could make sure nothing bad happened to her. In the past, men who’d wanted to protect her had also made the mistake of thinking she was too stupid to take care of herself. Not Max. He actually listened to what she had to say. During the engineering of tonight’s op plan, he’d listened to her ideas and input, even if he’d decided to do the exact opposite. He’d heard her, and she was afraid she was falling desperately in love with him, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it. It was like going down one of those dark tunnel slides. There was nothing to grab on to stop herself, and she didn’t know what waited for her at the bottom.

No, that was wrong. She did know. Heartache, because she could not live his life or ask him to change for her. She looked into his eyes, which were so familiar to her now. “I hate being afraid, Max,” she confessed, although at the moment she didn’t know which she feared more: getting caught breaking into Sam’s house or falling in love with Max.

One corner of his mouth pulled into a mock frown. “Poor baby, let me give you something else to occupy that gorgeous head,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers. One of his hands slid to her behind, the other to the back of her head. His fingers tangled in her hair, and he held her against his hard body.

Then, right there in the back pool room of the Foggy Bottom bar, the lamp lighting up the bottom half of them,