“I think we understand each other quite well, Ms. Evers,” Blair drawled, with a hint of a smile. He tipped his glass to Jessica and took a sip.
Shortly thereafter, the waitress stopped by the table to take their dessert orders. As the busboy set espresso cups around the table, Jessica excused herself to go to the restroom. Ever the gentleman, Blair stood up with her, taking the opportunity to put his hand on the small of her back as he told her where the restrooms were located.
Then he stared at her ass as she walked off.
John looked away, managing a polite tone as he thanked the busboy for the espresso cup.
Blair retook his seat and rested his arms on the table. “I’ve been wondering something, Dave. What, exactly, is the deal with you and Ashley?”
Next to the mayor, Morano suddenly seemed very interested in the alignment of his dessert fork and spoon.
Having a feeling he knew exactly where this was headed, John leaned back in the booth and fixed his gaze on Blair. “Meaning . . . ?”
“Meaning, is this just a professional relationship, or are you two involved personally, as well?” Blair asked.
Oddly, and in direct opposition to his undercover training, John was tempted to give some vague nonanswer to that question, something that dropped just enough of a hint to make the mayor rethink those lingering looks and “innocent” touches.
But.
As he knew better than anyone, Jessica was an extremely capable agent. She didn’t need his protection in this situation—or his interference—and she’d given him no indication that she wanted to change up their cover story. Which meant he would stick to the plan: They’d agreed that Ashley was single, so single she would be.
“It’s just a professional relationship,” John said with an air of easy nonchalance, as if the idea of anything else had never even crossed his mind. “I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
Blair grinned, teeth flashing as the predatory gleam came back into his eyes. “Fortunately for me, I don’t suffer from the same scruples.”
Now there was a fucking surprise.
14
“I think that went well for a first meeting,” Jessica said, as John drove the Mercedes out of the restaurant parking lot. They headed to the rendezvous spot, an abandoned warehouse, just three miles east, where they were meeting Leavitt and Todd. “Blair seemed to take the bait.” Before parting ways at the restaurant, she and “Dave” had offered to show the mayor the proposed restaurant site so they could more fully explain their plans for the property and had reiterated their desire to get the zoning issues resolved expeditiously.
“We even managed to make it through dinner without any mention of a ‘cherries jubilee’ from Morano.” John grinned.
“True.” Adrenaline running through her, Jessica felt charged after the success of the dinner. This was why she put up with the unpredictability, the travel, and the crappy hours. In these moments, when all her hard work and preparation came together, and she’d just pulled off a con on a bad guy who was that much closer to getting his comeuppance, the thrill of undercover work was not unlike the high of really great sex.
If memory served.
“Can you believe how restrained Morano was? Leavitt and Todd must’ve talked to him after we left the office yesterday,” she said.
“I’m sure they put the fear of God in him that he’ll be spending the next twenty years behind bars if he screws up this investigation with his antics.” John looked over. “By the way, I think you picked up a new member of your fan club tonight.”
Jessica made a face at the reminder. Unfortunately, yes, she’d noticed that, too—it would’ve been hard not to notice. “I think Blair spent half the dinner talking to my boobs. Which, given the circumstances, isn’t entirely a bad thing.” With a satisfied grin, she reached into the V-neckline of her dress. Given her line of work, she’d had a special modification made to a few of her bras: a small pocket hidden in the lining. From there, she pulled out the wireless microphone, a dime-sized metallic disc that looked similar to a camera battery, and tucked it into the case she’d left in the glove compartment.
“While you were gone, Blair asked if you and I were a couple.” John glanced over, saw she was readjusting the neckline of her dress, and looked back at the road.
“Did he, now?” Jessica’s mind began running through ways they might possibly use this development to their advantage. “What did you say?”
“That I don’t mix business with pleasure.” John’s tone took on an edge that Jessica assumed was one of disgust. “He made it clear he doesn’t share the same principles.”
A few minutes later, they pulled up to the abandoned warehouse. Leavitt and Todd were already out of their car, waiting.
“‘Sexy red leather on the banquettes’?” Leavitt joked, as John and Jessica got out of the Mercedes. “Who came up with that?”
John grinned, grabbing Leavitt’s outstretched hand in a congratulatory shake. “Jessica and I added a few details to the script last night.”
“You guys were great.” Todd’s expression was two parts approval and one part relief. “When Morano checks in, I wouldn’t be shocked if he says Blair’s already decided on the amount of money it’ll take for him to pick up the phone and call one of his ‘right’ people.”
They rehashed the highlights of the dinner, the camaraderie thick among them. While talking, John undid his shirt just above his navel and removed the microphone adhered to the back of the button.
Catching a glimpse of his smooth skin, Jessica felt a heated flush rise to her cheeks. My God, woman, get a grip. Looking away, she smiled along as Leavitt imitated Blair’s comment about choosing those causes he felt most “motivated” about.
“So, Jessica, we couldn’t help but notice that Blair seemed to be . . . well, flirting with you. Any thoughts on how you want to handle that situation?” Leavitt asked.
She appreciated that they were looking to her to take the lead on this—although, from her perspective, there was really only one way to handle it. Her job required that she play nice with Blair, and if that meant she had to put up with the jerk hitting on her over a couple of dinner meetings, well, unfortunately, she would hardly be the first woman to find herself in that predicament. “If stroking Blair’s ego and letting him think his ‘charms’ are working on me moves the ball along in the investigation, I say we just go with it.” She turned to John. “Don’t you think?”
He paused before answering, then nodded. “I agree.”
Jessica looked back at Leavitt and Todd. “Sounds like we have a plan.”
• • •
During the fifteen-minute drive to their hotel, Jessica told herself that she was overthinking things.
The meeting with Blair had gone off without a hitch. She was pleased with the way things were moving along, Leavitt and Todd were pleased, and everyone anticipated that Ashley and Dave soon would have a follow-up meeting with the mayor. By all accounts the night had been a success, and now the only thing she should be thinking about was which glass of wine she was going to grab at the hotel bar before heading up to her room for a long, relaxing bath.
But instead, she kept dwelling on John’s reaction when she’d asked if he agreed with her call on how to handle Blair’s flirting.
He’d hesitated.
Yes, it was momentary, and quite possibly it meant nothing, but she’d never seen John Shepherd hesitate about anything. Ever. As part of his military training, he was assertive, authoritative, and decisive. If anything, his one flaw at the Academy had been his tendency to storm into a situation full throttle and ask questions later—after everyone was facedown on the ground and in handcuffs.
And yet tonight, when she’d asked for his opinion on the situation with Blair, he’d held back before answering.
This did not sit well with her.
Even
during the height of their rivalry at the Academy—as much as it would’ve pained her to admit it back then—she’d had a lot of respect for John’s intelligence and tactical skills. Working side-by-side with him over the course of the last thirty-six hours had only increased that respect. She trusted him to have her back, and, just as important, she trusted his judgment. So if he had any doubts about the call she’d made, she wanted to know about it.
She was still debating whether to say anything as she pulled up to the hotel’s main entrance and handed the car over to the valet. On the one hand, her head told her that John, of all people, wouldn’t hesitate to tell her if he thought she was wrong about something. Heck, he’d spent most of their time together at the Academy doing just that.
But her gut nevertheless said that something was up. And in the six years she’d been a special agent, her gut instincts hadn’t been proven wrong yet.
In the lobby, where they normally would part and go their separate ways, she made her decision. “Actually, I think I’ll follow you to your room, if you don’t mind. There’s something I forgot to ask you about tonight’s dinner.”
John studied her curiously for a moment, then gestured in the direction of the outdoor walkway that led toward the rooms. “I’m in the second building.”
As they followed the walkway along the beach, she glanced over and looked for any sign that something was off—and noticed that he was similarly trying to get a read on her. They made small talk while walking to his building, and then, once inside, he directed her to his room.
“You’re being awfully mysterious.” At the door, he pulled the key card out of his pocket.
“Am I?” With a vague, noncommittal smile, she was careful not to give anything away. But then he opened the door to his room, and she became momentarily sidetracked by what she saw inside.
“You have an oceanfront view?” Her mouth fell open in indignation as she stepped into the room and set her purse on the bed. “How did you manage that on our budget?”
“I got a free upgrade at check-in.” He flashed her a grin as he tossed the key card onto the desk. “I think the receptionist was flirting with Dave the Value Creator.”
For some reason, the thought rankled Jessica. Of course she was—just look at you, she nearly said dryly, and then she thought better of it. After all, she wasn’t supposed to notice how John looked—at least not in that way. She was his partner, they were working together undercover, and that meant she needed to continue chugging along with this charade, pretending as though she were somehow oblivious to the things that every other woman saw.
Like the deep blue of his eyes. Or the stubble that was already forming along his angular jaw. Or the thick, dark blond hair that begged to have a woman’s fingers running through it.
Or how, right now, as he stood across from her in that hotel room, with the top button of his white collared shirt undone in a ruggedly sophisticated look, and his tall, broad-shouldered frame perfectly filling his gray tailored suit, he was—bar none—the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on.
She exhaled quietly, steeling herself as she met his gaze.
Yes. Good thing she hadn’t noticed any of that.
Watching her, John cocked his head. “What did you want to talk about?”
Right. She was there to discuss work. Having decided that a surprise approach was her best chance of catching John off guard—if he was indeed hiding something—she came right out with it. “Why did you hesitate when I asked if you agreed that I should humor Blair’s flirting?”
There was a flicker in his eyes. It was a momentary change, nearly imperceptible if she hadn’t been looking for it, but it was enough to tell her that she was on to something.
“I didn’t hesitate. I was thinking,” he said matter-of-factly. “You asked for my opinion, so I took a moment and then gave it to you.”
Hmm. A convincing response. But the tense position of his shoulders told her that something was off. “Why do I have a feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”
“Maybe . . . because you’re being paranoid?” He folded his arms across his chest. “Please tell me I’m not the first person who’s ever dared to pause before agreeing with the illustrious Jessica Harlow.”
The dig was a nice attempt to sidetrack her, but she ignored it and hit him with a question that was even more blunt. “Do you think it’s inappropriate for me to encourage Blair’s flirtation?” There was a firm rule that agents working undercover were not permitted to have any sexual contact with the target of an investigation, but she hoped it went without saying that she would never come close to crossing that line. In fact, as a woman in a profession dominated by men, she was especially careful not to even be within miles of that line.
John’s expression softened. “That’s what you’re worried about?” He took a step closer to her. “Jessica . . . I think you’re handling Blair perfectly. I never once thought that you are being inappropriate. He’s the dickhead here.”
She shifted her weight self-consciously. “You know how it is—you never know how these things will play out in court. Obviously, I can explain when I testify that I couldn’t call Blair a ‘pervert’ and walk out during the middle of an investigation that took eighteen months to plan. But what if the jury sees it differently? What if they decide I was honey-potting the guy, and that I unduly influenced him to take the bribe?”
“‘Honey-potting’? Really?” John asked, appearing amused.
She threw him a look. “It’s a thing.”
“Only in Hollywood.” He put his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. “Listen, no one is going to think you did anything wrong. Given the circumstances, you don’t have any choice but to play along with Blair’s flirting.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Okay?”
She nodded, giving him a relieved smile. “Okay.” She waited a moment, then cocked her head. “So . . . if you don’t think I have any choice but to humor Blair’s flirting, why did you hesitate earlier?”
John’s smile faded as realization set in.
Busted.
He let go of her shoulders. “Goddammit. I can’t believe I fell for your damsel-in-distress trick again.”
She grinned, pretty damn pleased to have pulled that off. “If it makes you feel any better, it is a very impressive trick.”
He glared at her.
Okay, apparently somebody wasn’t in the mood for jokes right then. “It’s your own fault. If you’d just tell me why you hesitated, then I wouldn’t have to resort to tricks.”
“Christ, I forgot how you’re like a dog with a bone when you’ve latched on to something,” he muttered.
Now that ticked her off a little. “Hey. All I’m trying to do is figure out why my partner is holding back with me.” Having established that he didn’t think she was doing anything inappropriate with Blair—which had been her original concern—she couldn’t fathom what the problem was.
“I told you, it’s nothing.”
She threw her hands up in exasperation, clearly missing something. “If it’s nothing, then just tell me why you hesitated when I asked you about Blair!”
He whirled on her, his voice raised. “Because I don’t like the way he looks at you!”
She blinked in surprise.
Oh.
John swore under his breath, and lowered his voice. “I had to sit in that restaurant, for two hours, as he ogled your chest and ass, and I couldn’t say a thing about it. So when you asked if I agreed with a plan that would encourage Blair to do more of that, yes, Jessica, it took me a split second not to choke on the damn word before I said ‘yes.’”
She took a moment before responding. “You’re saying this because we work together,” she clarified. “You don’t like the way Blair looks at me because we’re partners.”
He looked away from her, his tone dry. “Yes, Harlow, becaus
e we’re partners. What else would it be?”
He put his hand on the door handle, an indication that he considered this conversation over. And if Jessica was smart, she would follow his lead, say good night, and never bring up the subject again. He was in a mood, tempers were running hot, and they both had extra adrenaline coursing through them after the undercover job.
But nevertheless, something kept her standing there.
“I mean, I suppose it could be something . . . more,” she said, deliberately keeping her tone nonchalant.
John went still, and then he let go of the door handle.
“More,” he repeated. “As in, something more between you and me.”
He crossed the room toward her, and her heart began to pound.
“I said I suppose it could be something more.”
He gestured casually. “You were just . . . throwing the idea out there.”
“Exactly.”
He closed the gap between them. “Then why are you blushing?”
She opened her mouth to deny it, or make some quippy response, but when she saw the unmistakable heat in his eyes, the words fizzled and died on her lips.
Walk away, urged the pragmatic voice in her head. Better yet—run.
As if having the same internal debate, John stayed where he was for a moment, the air thick between them.
Then he reached up and cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb over her skin.
She closed her eyes, her breath catching at his touch.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard her inner pragmatic voice shouting through a bullhorn—Put your hands in the air, Harlow, and step away from the hottie—telling her that this was crazy, that she’d never so much as flirted with another agent before, and that a mere thirty-six hours ago, she and this particular co-worker barely had been able to speak two civil words to each other.