In Close Quarters. Candace Irvin
Entrance open before marching down the corridor. Besides, TJ wasn’t being totally honest with her either. She was sure of it. She might not have concrete proof he’d held something back on her last night, but she didn’t have to. Her instincts were pretty darn good.
They were right about him.
Tijuana Jones.
God, she hated that nickname, almost as much as she hated the man’s reputation. She wasn’t stupid. She hadn’t missed the not-so-subtle allusion to Indiana Jones.
What a crock.
It wasn’t the man’s sultry looks, either. It was his personality. TJ Vásquez was no self-effacing Harrison Ford. But then, it wasn’t his personality his fellow agents had been attempting to immortalize when they’d baptized him with the moniker, now was it? And while she didn’t doubt that a number of his DEA exploits had taken on the legendary feel of an action hero’s, she had a feeling the topic those two agents she’d overheard betting on her was closer to the real reason behind the name.
Yes, the man was irresistible.
Unfortunately he also knew it—and he abused it.
She reached the end of the corridor and took the left that led to her office. Tijuana Jones her tush. His buddies should have nicknamed him Don Juan. He probably had women lined up outside his apartment, waiting their turn.
Well, she wasn’t standing in it.
Karin stopped in front of the door to her new office and grabbed the knob, but as she twisted, something made her jerk her hand back and blink. She grabbed the knob again and turned it again, opening the door a crack so she could peer inside.
She couldn’t see anything, but there it was again.
That noise.
Someone was scraping open the drawers of the desk across the room. Her desk. But all she could make out as she craned her neck around the door were broad shoulders encased in Navy whites and the back of a blond, barely regulation haircut. It was enough.
Doug.
She slammed the door open and stormed in. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
An equally loud string of curses blasted back at her when, closing the top drawer of her desk, he smashed his fingers. Then he turned. She stared up into a pair of deep-green eyes. Not blue.
And not Doug’s.
The lieutenant quirked a sheepish brow. “Looking for a pen?”
She closed her eyes, certain her humiliation had seared off the tips of her ears. But mercifully, the man was smiling sheepishly as she reopened them.
He stuck out a hand. “Dr. Hunter—Eric. And you must be Dr. Scott, my new office mate.”
She returned his easy grip. “Karin. Look, I’m sorry. I had no right to startle you like that.”
Eric shook his head as she withdrew her hand. “No apology necessary. And I swear, I don’t make a habit of going through people’s desks. I just needed a—”
“Pen—I know. And really, I am sorry. Look, I had a rough night. It’s not an excuse, I know. But I’m sorry.”
He grinned as she dumped her briefcase on the desk. A friendly open grin that didn’t churn her stomach into a mass of quivering nerves.
Thank God.
She opened the briefcase and pulled out her basic office supplies, including the ghastly silver nameplate her mother had just engraved for her.
Eric nodded. “That’s right, you just got back from the Persian Gulf, didn’t you? Having trouble sleeping without a ship rocking beneath you, eh?”
She smiled. “Among other things.”
“So what are you doing here, anyway? I thought the new class didn’t start for another two weeks.”
“We don’t. You know how it is—just wanted to get in, catch up on a few medical journals, maybe nail down a detailed layout of the hospital while I’m at it.” She pulled a pen from the inner pocket of her briefcase and held it out.
Eric took it, slipping it into the breast pocket of his whites. “Thanks—I owe you. Hey, how ’bout joining me in the cafeteria for lunch? I’d take you someplace nicer, but I’m on call today—obstetrics. I’ll give you the grand tour afterward.” He was smiling again, a charming smile, in a safe friendly kind of way.
Not like TJ’s.
God, why did she have to compare every man to him?
She was about to accept, out of spite if nothing else, when the door opened.
“Perdóneme. I will come back.”
She stiffened. “TJ?”
It couldn’t be.
She spun around.
Stunned, she stared at the uniformed janitor standing in the doorway. It was TJ, all right. She wasn’t fooled by the way he’d pulled his hair into a low ponytail and capped it with that worn blue baseball hat. Nor was she fooled by the matching blue coveralls or the cart of cleaning supplies in the hall beyond.
Then it hit her. TJ was undercover.
And she’d blown it.
Or would have if he hadn’t covered quickly. He shook his head smoothly as he strolled forward. Her mouth was still gaping open as he reached for her hand. He tugged it toward him, his dark hooded gaze smoldering into hers as he bowed over her hand and grazed her flesh with his lips. “Believe me when I say, señorita, this TJ is a lucky man to know such beauty as you. But alas, I am not he, for I would remember meeting you. José Rodríguez at your service.” His breath feathered over her hand as he kissed it again.
A shiver of warmth stole up her arm and into her stomach, sparking a fire that threatened to consume her on the spot. She couldn’t move, couldn’t talk. Hell, she couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stare into those dark bottomless eyes. Into that dark seductive soul.
TJ hadn’t dared to loose the full brunt of his charm on her since the afternoon of Jade’s wedding. It was a damn good thing, too. Because just like that, he snared her heart. Snared it, softened it and shaped it—sculpting it into something she didn’t want. Let alone want to have for him.
A cough, and suddenly the spell broke. The remaining pieces shattered as someone cleared his throat again.
Eric.
Oh, Lord, how could she have forgotten he was here?
Easy. TJ.
Dammit, he’d done it to her again, and she hated him for it. She clawed through her mind until she found the face from long ago. Her father’s face. She slapped it over TJ’s confident one. Amazing how the two could look so much alike. One might be dark and the other light. But they both used the same smooth overpowering charm to get what they wanted.
And they’d both used her.
She ripped her hand back, stabbing TJ with a glare as she shrugged. “Sorry. My mistake.” Still humiliated, she faced Eric.
Thankfully, he laughed. “Guess you weren’t kidding about not being able to sleep. You’re seeing things—or, rather, people.”
She was saved from a response when his beeper went off.
Eric tugged it off his belt and stared at the readout. “Damn. Sorry, Karin, it looks like we’ll have to take a rain check on that lunch date. My patient just shifted into hard labor, apparently without any relief from her epidural.”
“Yikes, you’d better go rethread her anesthesia line before the woman unthreads your esophagus.”
Eric chuckled. “You know it.” He nodded to TJ as he reached the door. “Hey, José, if you find any pens, leave ’em on my desk—and don’t touch