Private Lies

“The ponytail. It’s a hair piece woven into the back of my hair.” He set his glass aside, then wrapped a long, curly strand of her black hair around his finger. “A wig, I guess.”

“Of course. You’re wearing dark brown contacts.”

He nodded. “And green for you. Toni’s idea, I assume.”

“Her shop came in handy.”

“You sensed something today at lunch.”

She pressed her lips together for a second. She should have known she wasn’t fooling him. “She saw you in the Quarter last night. This case, I guess.”

“What are the odds?” He shook his head, as if the path they’d traveled to get here was irrelevant. And, in a weird way, it was. “I was arranging with a minor player to meet Mettles,” he continued as his hand slid to cup her face, his eyes darkened with tenderness. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He had. She knew it. He knew it. It seemed ridiculous to deny her feelings.

He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone, sending sparks shooting down her body, even as she longed for the strength to pull away. “The dusky makeup really completes the look.” His eyes turned dark, smoky. A look of desire she recognized all too well. “If I didn’t know you…”

What? she wanted to ask. What would you do with me? To me? Even as an illicit thrill raced through her at the idea of actually being able to pick up Gage at a bar, take him back to her hotel room and explore his body well into the night, she wondered if a woman that confident would have accepted and been fooled by his lies.

“Tanning cream and bronzing powder,” she said.

His gaze slid down her body, lingering on the plunging neckline. “You two looked like tourists on the make.”

Surprising pleasure rushed through her, and she remembered those first few moments after she’d approached him. He’d had no idea who she was. Gage Dabon, savvy, hardened—he’d always seemed hardened, even as a banker—experienced Secret Service agent fooled by Roxanne the quiet accountant. “We certainly convinced you.”

“You did,” he admitted, though he seemed reluctant. “The attitude sent the disguise over the top. You were bold.”

She had kind of gone full force with the Mysterious Mediterranean Marina thing. “Really?”

His thumb, stroking her face, brushed her earlobe. His white teeth flashed in a knowing smile. Even with the slick ponytail and brown eyes—maybe even because of them—he made her libido hum a merry tune. “Mmm. Bold and adventurous.”

Hunger rolled off him. He wanted her. Really. Now. The fact that she could want him so much in return should have worried her. Instead, she felt strong. “You liked it?”

His hot breath brushed her cheek. “Very much.”

“Was I sexy?”

“Oh, yeah.” He leaned forward, his lips a breath from hers. “Totally unlike yourself.”

As his warm, persuasive mouth settled on hers, she desperately wanted to sink into him, forget the circumstances that had brought them to this place, indulge in unrelenting, overwhelming passion. She recalled his gentle, then sometimes demanding, touch. The waves of satisfaction he alone could bring. But his words seeped into her brain.

Sexy…Totally unlike yourself.

She planted her hand on his shoulder and shoved. Hard. “I don’t think so,” she said confidently, rising.

Maybe it was the “Marina” disguise, maybe she’d tapped into some hidden inner strength, or maybe she was just completely pissed off, but she found the assurance to move away from him. A month ago, a week ago, hell, an hour ago, she would have let him pull her under the spell of passion. But not now. Maybe not—she drew a deep breath—ever.

The trust she’d had in him had been shattered tonight. And she’d never let him break her heart again. No matter what else happened, he was a cop. She’d held up her part in the deception earlier, but the moment they were safe…bye, bye, baby.

“I thought you were cheating on me,” she said, facing him, her arms crossed over her chest.

Gage clenched his jaw. How could she think—

He stopped himself. She’d thought a great deal about him tonight—and none of it good. “I’m not—I wouldn’t—” Damn, given his deception, no response sounded right. And he feared nothing in his life would ever seem right again. Still reeling from her rejection of his touch, his brain buzzed with plans to bind her to him, even as another part of him scrambled to find a way to save his investigation. We were supposed to be married.

They would be married.

And he would get Stephano.

“I’m not that kind of man?” she asked in a mocking tone he’d never envisioned her thinking, much less voicing. “I wouldn’t cheat on you? I wouldn’t lie to you?”

As she spun away, he took a step toward her. “Roxanne, I—” Didn’t mean to lie to you? To hurt you? He’d known he was doing those things and did them anyway. Denying his actions seemed petty and worthless. The coffee hissed into the pot, punctuating the silence with monotony. “I’ll get the coffee.”

He retrieved a steaming cup, adding cream and sugar as she liked, all the while rolling plans around his brain. He had to get her out of the hotel undetected. And she had to be long gone before the meeting with Stephano. He wouldn’t let that oily mobster get his grimy hands on Roxanne. Somehow, he’d finesse his way through the man’s anger at being denied her presence.

Oh, yeah, then he had to save the only relationship he gave a damn about.

You can do all that in your sleep, Gage.

Right.

As he carried coffee to Roxanne, he prioritized his plans—first, her safety, then Stephano, then relationship. He handed her the mug. “We need to get all that off you.”

Sipping her coffee, she lifted her eyebrows. “Think again.”

No sex. He fought a wince over that bit of reality. Roxanne had never refused him, but at the moment her safety was a priority. He had to stop acting like a man and start acting like a cop. “I meant the costume.” He retrieved shorts and a shirt from the bedroom. “Put these on. If any of Stephano’s goons spot us, they won’t recognize you.”

She nodded and started toward the bedroom. Then she stopped. “What will Stephano do when I don’t show up in the lobby?”

Gage shrugged, though the volatile mobster wasn’t exactly known for his graciousness. It was rumored he’d once cut off an associate’s thumb with a switchblade for bringing Stephano the wrong brand of scotch. “He’ll get over it.”

“Come on, Gage. He’s not going to just say, ‘Gee, that’s too bad,’ when you tell him I’m not coming to dinner. You heard Mettles. He’ll kill you.”

“I’ll tell him we had a fight and you ran out on me.”

She frowned. “Won’t that look like you can’t control me?”

“I don’t want to control you.”

She sighed and walked toward him.

The woman certainly had some kind of walk in that cat suit. Sweat popped out on his forehead.

“I know you don’t want to control me me, but you want the mob to think you can control Marina me. It’s a loss-of-manly-respect thing.” She angled her head. “Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

Irritated, he snapped, “Of course I’ve done this before. How do you know about the mob and their codes?”

“I’ve lived with cops all my life. You tend to absorb some of that stuff between pass the potatoes at the dinner table.”