we’re tailing him.”
Mario smiled broadly. Clearly, he liked the way she thought, which surprised her. Rachel really wasn’t one for cloak-and-dagger stuff. But she had been around the block, and well, if a good thriller was on television, she usually tuned in.
“I can call in a favor,” Mario said.
Rachel remained silent for the rest of the trip. After Mario pulled up in front of her building, he handed her a business card with his cell phone number inked at the bottom. “You call me next time he’s at your place.”
After an instant of hesitation, Rachel snatched the card. She offered Mario money for taking her Uptown, which he refused, then promised to call him unless her common sense got the better of her, which she didn’t figure had much chance of happening.
Determined not to waste the entire day thinking about Roman or what she might discover if she followed him on one of those mysterious mornings when he left her at the summons of his pager, she headed toward the gym. On the short walk over, she couldn’t help thinking about her mother, her sisters-the poster women for trust issues.
She supposed the fact that their father had left them high and dry when Rachel was only ten should have explained the plethora of neuroses shared by the Marlowe women, but Rachel hated to think that she was such a textbook case of deep-seated issues. Wasn’t like every relationship she’d ever had imploded because she didn’t trust her man. Okay, maybe a few. But not…oh, what was his name? Sean? Yeah, Sean. She’d dumped him because she didn’t like football. And the man had been entirely obsessed with the game. Of course, he had played right guard for the Hurricanes at the time they’d been dating-hence the shirt she was wearing today-but that was no excuse for him to spend from ESPN’s College Game Day on Saturday morning until the last whistle on Monday Night Football in front of the tube.
Yeah, that one hadn’t been about trust.
Unfortunately, she decided as she yanked on the door to her gym, he’d been the only one.
Rachel exchanged greetings with the receptionist in the too-tight sports bra, waved her ID card under the barcode reader, and, after scoring a bottled water from the vending machine, jumped on the first empty tread-mill she saw, the one with the broken distance meter. She groaned, but opted to use the clock on the opposite wall as her gauge. Not that she had anything pressing to do today. In fact, her life seemed incredibly up in the air-and she suspected it would remain that way until she figured out just what Roman was hiding from her.
And Lord knew when that would be.
A WEEK. ROMAN SNUGGLED closer to Rachel and lamented the fact that he’d only managed to stay away from her for a measly seven days. In his younger years, he would have cursed his lack of willpower. Now that he was older and wiser, he knew he was playing with fire, auburn-haired, green-eyed fire. Recklessness hadn’t gotten him to where he was in business. But taking chances with Rachel had invigorated his life to a level he hadn’t experienced in years.
“Was that your pager?”
Roman glanced at the bedside table. The annoying cube of technology was completely still and silent.
He rolled over and caught a momentary glimpse of panic in Rachel’s dark-green eyes.
Odd.
“Duty’s not calling just yet. Why?” he said, slipping his hands over her bare belly and inhaling the musky, sweaty scent of recent, delicious sex. “Anxious for me to go?”
She forced a smile. Forced. What was that about?
“Of course not. I guess you’ve been here a little longer than usual. Call me Pavlov’s dog, but the longer you’re here, the more I expect you to leave.”
He chuckled, but her instincts weren’t far off. He knew the pager would likely go off at any moment. His operation had been at a virtual standstill until last week, when new data had started to filter through. The Agency, the code name for the covert group of the highest level agents from various organizations under Homeland Security had sent word that a contact from a separate, even more secret division would soon provide needed information for his case. In all honesty, he’d had no business visiting Rachel on the eve of something so crucial to his mission. He should have been at the office, monitoring the situation firsthand rather than leaving the task to a subordinate or waiting for the contact to make himself known. But once this assignment was over, he knew the Agency would shuttle him out of New York at the speed of light.
His obligations to the mission kept him from revealing the true nature of his job to Rachel, so he couldn’t utter anything close to a goodbye. And for all he knew, this was their last night together-his last chance to imprint her silky skin, sweet scent and warm touch into his consciousness. He didn’t want to waste time anticipating the moment he’d have to leave-this time, perhaps, for good.
“You look nothing like anyone’s dog,” he said, his voice rough with renewed lust as his fingers inched over her breasts, eliciting a soft, seductive whimper from the back of her throat. God, the woman was like a drug.
“You always say the right things,” she whispered.
“And do the right things?”
He scooted the sheet out of his way and encircled one taut, brown nipple with his tongue. The heady saltiness of her flesh danced in his mouth like the bite of fine caviar.
She threaded her fingers into his hair, massaging his temples as he plied his mouth against her oh-so-sensitive breasts. He could make her come like this. He’d done it before, stirring her to madness when his own body wasn’t quite ready yet for another orgasm, but hers was primed and pliant.
Her breath came in shallow pants and he could hear her accelerated heartbeat in her chest. She writhed on the bed and he knew if he dipped a hand lower, he’d find her sex wet with readiness. If he timed his ministrations just right, one flick of her clit would send her over the edge. Then he could kiss her hard and swallow the sounds of her release.
With Rachel, he was no less than a hungry carnivore and no more than a man ensnared by an attraction more powerful than any other he’d ever encountered.
Unfortunately, just before he could slide his hand to that precise spot that would drive her wild, the bedside table buzzed with the sound of his pager. He should finish what he started, ignore the device and his responsibilities and obligations and give this woman what she so richly deserved, but on the second, longer vibration, Rachel stiffened.
The moment was lost.
Damn.
He curled away from her, grabbed the pager and pressed the button that lit the LCD.
The number he expected flashed across the screen, along with the code that told him he had no time to lose.
Rachel sat up, the sheet yanked tight across her chest.
“Looks like our fun is over,” she said.
He nodded. If she only knew.
CHAPTER THREE
“YOU’RE OUT EARLY.”
Mario looked up guiltily, his mind grasping for an explanation for Iris, who’d caught him in the act of working out the pain in his sacroiliac. Rachel had called him just after midnight and for whatever insane reason, he’d decided to forgo his comfortable bed and instead spent his night off in the backseat of his cab, parked around the corner from his usual spot near Iris’s coffee stand. He’d paid a night’s wages to his pal Sam to meet him before sunrise and wait outside Rachel’s building. This Roman Brach person had piqued his curiosity. He didn’t want to see Rachel hurt.
Unfortunately, pulling all-nighters in the backseat of a cramped vehicle wasn’t as kind to his old body as it used to be when he was on the force. Stakeouts had been his specialty back then. Now, they were literally a pain in the ass. And the back. And the neck.
