Absolute Pleasure. Jamie Denton
the subject of my past employment never came up.”
“It is a big deal,” she argued. “You’re a former agent, connected to a case under the Bureau’s jurisdiction. You of all people should know procedure. How am I supposed to know you’re not hoping for an opportunity to sabotage the investigation?”
His expression became tolerant. “Oh, come on,” he said with a wry chuckle. “That’s a stretch.”
Maybe she was overstating, but he should’ve told her. Because it could have an effect on her investigation? Or because if he was terminated for cause, she could kiss any hope of turning that tangled-sheet fantasy into reality goodbye?
He shook his head and moved to the desk. “I’ve done nothing to interfere with your investigation. I even offered to give you copies of my files. That should tell you there are no ulterior motives at work here.”
She wasn’t quite ready to agree with him, even if she did believe he was telling her the truth. “Were you fired?” she asked.
His gaze remained steady. “I was no longer employable.”
Which was not an answer and only heightened her curiosity. “Will you tell me why?” she asked. Agents were relieved of duty for any number of reasons, from failure to pass a psych exam to illegal activities. He didn’t look like a crazy or a crook. But then, neither had Ted Bundy.
Duncan looked away and pushed the stack of case files from the edge of the desk, considering how much, or how little, to reveal to Sunny. He’d had no illusions that he’d be able to keep his former association with the Bureau a complete secret from her, he just wished he’d been able to milk information from her before the door to opportunity was slammed in his face. Three cases with hefty recovery fees that would go a long way to keeping his business solvent were on the line.
Perched on the edge of the desk, he shifted his attention back to Sunny and her caution-lined gaze. “I bombed my annual firearms recertification,” he stated honestly. Since she’d come asking questions, he was banking that she’d been unable to access his full service record. “But why ask me? You must’ve looked me up on the system before coming here.”
She glanced away. “So why couldn’t you pass?”
Bingo. She didn’t know squat, which was fine by him.
“An undercover assignment went bad,” he told her, again truthfully. “I caught a bullet in the shoulder and ended up with a torn rotator cuff and a lot of nerve damage.” He leaned forward and brought his left hand down hard on the edge of the desk a couple of times.
She winced. “You have no feeling at all?”
“Almost none. What isn’t numb, hurts like the devil when the mercury dips too low.” And served as a daily reminder of choices he’d made, resulting in the end of his career.
He squelched the resentment before it had a chance to surface. “The nerve damage was too extensive,” he added. “Managing a firearm was enough of a challenge, let alone taking aim on a moving target.”
She circled the chair and perched on the padded arm. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
The sincerity in her voice made him uncomfortable. Arrogance deserved no sympathy. Wasn’t that what he’d been told?
“Old news,” he said, anxious to change the subject. “Any other questions?”
She held up her index finger. “One more.”
The smallest trace of a smile touched her lips, and he started to relax. For now, at least, his secrets remained safe.
“Were you really an undercover op, and where?”
“You sound surprised,” he said, tactically avoiding the second half of her question. The Bureau’s computer system might keep his past hidden, but he couldn’t say the same for the men he’d put in danger.
“A little.” Her smile widened a degree. “No, I take that back. You have the same…intensity as a guy I know who used to work undercover out of D.C. As if you’ve seen more, done more than the rest of us mere mortals.”
A few pImages** from his time as an undercover operative haunted him some nights, making sleep all but impossible. He’d crossed the line, a fact he wasn’t particularly proud of, but her assessment still made him smile at the reminder of better memories.
“A false sense of superiority comes with the territory,” he admitted. “Eventually someone reminds us superhuman capabilities only exist in sci-fi flicks.”
Her green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Even Achilles had a weakness.”
That smile of hers was easily becoming his Achilles’ heel. She’d looked damned cute, too, when she’d first shown up with her superagent feathers all ruffled. “So this guy,” he said, watching her closely. “Exactly how involved are you?”
“Not that involved,” she said, her voice laced with more humor. “He’s very happily married with a baby on the way.”
“Good.” He couldn’t help himself. His grin widened. “Then it’s safe to ask you to dinner without trespassing?”
Her frown would’ve been effective if it hadn’t been for the brief flash of pleasure in her eyes. “Why would I want to have dinner with you?”
Slowly, he came off the desk and walked toward her. “Because you think I’m irresistible.” Arrogance did have a certain usefulness.
“What I think is that you’re awfully sure of yourself.” Nervousness coated her gentle laughter, taking the sting out of the insult.
Nervous was good, when it translated to interest. “So, how ’bout that dinner?” he pressed, narrowing the remaining distance between them.
She caught the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth. Weighing her options? He hoped the scale tipped in his favor. Just thinking about kissing her was making him hard. A romantic entanglement with a federal agent probably wouldn’t be his wisest move, but he had nothing against playing out a fantasy or two. Besides, he was only offering dinner, he reasoned. For now.
She tilted her head back to look up at him. Uncertainty mingled with longing in her eyes. “We probably shouldn’t.” Her voice lacked the conviction necessary to dissuade him, courtesy of her soft, husky tone.
“Why not?” He took one last step, his thigh brushing against her knee. Heat shot to his groin. “Let’s take all this chemistry out for a ride and see where it leads.” He knew exactly where he wanted it to lead…right to the nearest bed.
“I…”
“You what?” He bent toward her. Her breath fanned his lips. “Want me to kiss you?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Not about to give her an opportunity to change her mind, he cupped the back of her head with his good hand and brought his mouth down softly over hers. Apparently gentle wasn’t her thing, nor was she shy about upping the ante. Her slender arms wound around his neck, bringing their bodies together, but not close enough to suit him.
The silken glide of her tongue taunted him, teased him, dared him to deepen the kiss. He willingly obliged, slanting his mouth over hers and stealing inside to take all she offered. She tasted sweeter than he’d imagined. And minty, he thought. Like fresh peppermint taffy.
Moving his hands to the swell of her hips, he urged her off the chair and into his arms. She pressed against him, her beaded nipples brushing temptingly against his chest through the thin material of her blouse. He skimmed his hand up her side and along her rib cage to cup the side of her breast with his palm. She issued a soft moan and pulled her arms from around his neck. For a brief instant he thought he’d taken things too far—until the coolness of her fingers interlaced with his and she guided his hand over her breast.
His dick swelled to the point of pain and throbbed.