Express Male

Express Male
Elizabeth Bevarly

Why is everyone calling her "Lila"?Music teacher and part-time lingerie saleswoman Marnie Lundy's biggest thrill is playing piano at the local mall…until the night everyone seems to think she's somebody else!Suddenly she's being addressed in code, menaced by a man who claims to know her intimately and rescued by a handsome spymaster who thinks she's a threat to national security!But OPUS agent Noah Tennant has a feeling she's more Mata Hari than Mother Teresa. Could a woman this sexy truly be innocent, or is Marnie his opponent in a deadly game of spy vs. spy?

“So what’s your code name?”

Marnie met the faux-security-guard-turned-special-agent’s gaze and continued, “I mean, I can hazard a few guesses, but none of them is worth uttering in polite society.”

“I owe you an apology,” he said in an amazingly courteous voice.

“Yeah, I’ll say you do,” she retorted before she could stop herself. “What brings on this sudden change of heart?” For such a supersecret, sophisticated organization, they sure seemed like a bunch of boneheads.

“We ran a check on your name,” he said, “and we realized you are indeed who you say you are.”

“Why didn’t you run a check like that the minute I got here?” she demanded.

“We were convinced you were Lila trying to pull a fast one. We didn’t have any reason to believe you were who you said you were.”

Marnie nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said. Even though she was still suspicious of the sudden turnaround. “So does this mean I can go home?” she asked hopefully.

He nodded. “I’ll drive you myself….”

More delicious “special deliveries” from

ELIZABETH BEVARLY

and HQN books

You’ve Got Male

Overnight Male

Express Male

Elizabeth Bevarly

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For the Robinson women.

All four generations.

We rock.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER ONE

AN AWED SILENCE FELL over Carnegie Hall as Marnie Lundy strolled confidently across the stage in her elegant black formal, the flowing crepe whispering about her wrists and ankles with every step. The darkness of the auditorium hid the thousands of eyes she knew were fixed upon her, but she wavered not once. Smiling to herself, she recalled, as she always did when she took the stage, the old Bugs Bunny cartoon where the celebrated symphony conductor Leopold appeared amid hushed and reverent murmurs of “Leopold. Leopold. Leopold.”

Tonight, however, there was no symphony. Tonight, there was no conductor. Because tonight, Marnie Lundy, concert pianist, would solo for thousands of her admirers. Tonight, the hushed and reverent murmurs were of “Marnie. Marnie. Marnie.”

She threw back her head, shaking silvery blond hair over her shoulders, and seated herself gracefully on the bench. Her posture was impeccable, the piano was tuned to perfection and her knowledge of the music was complete. The gods were smiling, the planets were aligned and all was right in the universe. Lifting her hands to the keys, she gently stroked the ivory, filling her ears and her mind and her heart with the lovely, lilting strains of—

“Hey, lady, where’s the bathroom?”

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, sighing with much eloquence as her fingers went still. “It’s behind you,” she said glumly. “Through ladies’ hosiery and designer handbags, in men’s sportswear. Next to the Tommy Bahama display.”

“Thanks, toots.”

When she opened her eyes, it was to see a stout, balding man in an ugly Hawaiian shirt and enormous pants waddling away in the direction into which she’d sent him. Instead of a darkened Carnegie Hall, she was seated in the middle of a brightly lit department store—Lauderdale’s of Cleveland, to be precise—where Marnie Lundy appeared every Monday, Wednesday and Friday evening playing the piano. And where she appeared hawking overpriced underwear in the lingerie department other days. The black crepe formal was actually a straight, gray cotton skirt and light blue sweater set, and the silvery blond hair was really more of the dishwater variety. It was long enough to throw over her shoulders, though, if she wanted to. But that didn’t happen often, since it was generally twisted into a loose knot atop her head, as it was now.