Besides local police interference.
He shook his head, still pondering Charlie’s words of assurance last night. They’d sounded weak. Uncertain. If the Studfinder really was a front for a drug cartel, and Jared’s cover was blown, his ass was toast.
The door behind him squeaked open, and Jared slid between two lockers, waiting to identify the intruder. None of the dancers had a reason to be here this early. The only other living thing around this time of day was the resident cat. If the owner caught him, he’d come up with some kind of excuse, but not being discovered at all was an even better idea.
He held his breath as the person emerged from the dark hall. Margo. Alone, she stood peering around, waiting. She was looking for him—why else would she be here?
Jared stepped from his hiding place and just stared. All the feelings he’d carried in his heart for so many years punched him in the solar plexus. It was a miracle he could remain standing at all. For a few miserable moments, he couldn’t even draw a decent breath.
She started toward him, and he dragged in a shaky breath, preparing himself. Seeing Margo again was amazing. And agonizing. Damn. There’d never been anyone else for him—never would be.
“We need to talk,” she said quietly.
She’d been crying. Over Nick. Jared gritted his teeth and nodded. “Not here.”
“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “My office is only—”
“Not there. Too public.” He gripped her elbow and steered her toward the side entrance. “Do you have your car?”
“Yes, but—”
“Let’s just get out of here first.” He struggled against the urge to stop and pull her into his arms, to murmur words of love and comfort, to kiss her until they both forgot everything that had happened since the last time they’d kissed. “Then we’ll talk.”
She remained silent but managed to free her arm. Without looking over her shoulder, she marched toward a red BMW with a vanity plate that read LOVENICK.
Perfect. Just frigging perfect. She punched her remote and the locks clicked. Jared reached in front of her and opened her door. She glanced back at him, her eyes wide and filled with questions, her lips slightly parted and beckoning.
He cleared his throat and pressed his hand to the small of her back, urging her to enter the car before he did something stupid, like kiss her. Besides, the sooner they were away from the Studfinder, the safer he’d feel. Having Margo here, where she could be in danger if his cover was blown, made Jared nervous.
A nervous cop is a dangerous cop.
Remembering those words from his training didn’t help put him at ease. Once she slid into the driver’s seat, he slammed her door and hurried to the other side. Within seconds, he was in the posh leather interior, buckling his seat belt.
Margo locked the doors and started the engine, backed the car out of the parking space, and pulled toward the exit. The engine purred, the ride like skating on butter.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Your place.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
He looked at her. Big mistake. Trying to ignore the lick of lust that damned near made him groan aloud, he said, “You have questions for me, and my answers aren’t for public consumption.”
She set her lips in a thin line. “Very well, but this is just business.”
“Whatever you say.” He flashed her a grin, enjoying the leap of her pulse in the side of her neck and the color creeping upward from the neckline of her blouse. “Nice car.” Except for the license plate.
“Nick bought it for me.” She sighed.
And the vanity plate. Jared didn’t want to talk about Nick, but they had to. Dead or not, Nick still lurked between them. He always would.
“I—I’m sorry, Margo.” He waited a beat and bit his lower lip. “About Nick. I didn’t know.”
“You must not go back to Riley’s Crossing very often.” She turned the corner, keeping her gaze on the traffic, sparing Jared those devastating gray eyes of hers. “The whole town was in mourning.”
Because Fred Riley still owns the place. “No, not once since college. My uncle moved to Florida—no reason to go back.”
“That’s right. You didn’t have any other family.”
You were the only family I wanted.
Margo stopped at a wrought iron gate and inserted a card. The gates swung open for her, and she drove into the complex. Posh condos sat in a parklike setting among immaculate gardens, fountains, and trails.
Jared kept expecting to see Nick Riley’s gloating expression, and every time the thought struck, guilt answered.
Margo punched a button and a garage door opened. She steered the car inside, killed the engine, and lowered the door. Only a small light overhead dispelled the darkness. She punched yet another button on her handy remote and a brighter light filled the garage.
So, this is the good life. Nick had always known how to appreciate the finer things. “Nice place.”
“It’s all right.” She opened her door and Jared unfolded himself from the passenger side.
“Just all right?” he asked over the roof of the car.
She lifted a shoulder. “Nick wanted this, but I wanted a little Victorian fixer-upper across town.”
He met and held her gaze. “So move.”
She looked nervous as she slammed the door. “No. Not yet anyway. This is fine.”
She’s not over Nick. Remembering the way she’d left the breakfast table this morning, why did that surprise him? Because he wanted her to be over Nick. Damn.
Jared followed her up a flight of stairs, where she keyed some numbers into a control panel and opened the door. They emerged into a huge kitchen where everything gleamed a blinding white, from the ceramic tile beneath their feet to the cabinets and appliances. The place was so contemporary it almost made his eyes ache. There was nothing homey about this kitchen.
Nothing Margo.
Surprised, he wondered what kind of kitchen would suit her. The Victorian she’d mentioned, of course. He could picture her surrounded by wood, some of it a bit scarred or distressed. Ruffled curtains, old-fashioned copper pots hanging from hooks, and friendly pottery sitting all over the place.
And if that wasn’t the most unmanly thought Jared Carson had experienced in his adult life, he didn’t know what was. He shook himself, banishing the image. DEA agents didn’t think about kitchen decor. A smile curved his lips. Damned good thing no one could read his mind.
Margo turned on the flame beneath a white kettle. “Tea?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Sure.” Jared never drank tea, but for Margo he’d have said yes to battery acid. She arranged white cups on a white tray with a white carafe. The white thing was really getting ridiculous.
A few minutes later, they were sitting at a small table off the kitchen that overlooked the fancy gardens below. Jared felt uncomfortable as hell. The tabletop was glass, and the base was wrought iron. White wrought iron…
He had to ask. “Is the whole place white?”
Margo smiled, and a distant expression flickered in her eyes. “Pretty much. Nick liked the sleek, modern look. He almost fainted when I mentioned painting one wall in the den red.”
“I’ll bet.” The last thing in the world Jared wanted to discuss was anything about Nick, but he didn’t want to rush Margo. He still had hours before he was due at the club. “Red, huh?” He managed a smile, just for her.
“Good chi.” She laughed at herself and poured tea into both their cups. “Milk? White?”
“Uh…no. Just sugar. White.” Not that Jared knew enough about tea to be sure of his answer. He liked black coffee with sugar, so tea was probably the same.
She leaned back in her chair and took a sip. “Well, I suppose we’ve delayed this long enough.”
Jared met her gaze, hoping his eyes didn’t reflect his churning emotions. “I suppose.”
She set her cup down with a clatter, reaching out to steady it wi
th both hands. They trembled, making the china clatter even more. Finally, she bit her lip and clutched her hands together on the glass surface. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about.” He took a sip of tea and remembered immediately why he was a coffee drinker. He set the cup aside, congratulating himself for not shuddering.
Until he saw Margo’s hands on the table. Unable to stop himself, he reached over and covered her hand with his own. She flinched slightly, and her eyes widened. A moment later, she blinked and turned her palm upward, into his.
“It really is good to see you again.” Her voice trembled a little. “You look well.”
“You look ravishing.” He followed the comment with a smile, hoping he wouldn’t scare her away. This Margo seemed uncertain and frightened, very unlike the self-assured, loving young woman she had been in his arms.
Had Nick done this to her? No. He shoved the thought aside. Nick Riley had been selfish and competitive, but he never would have harmed Margo—at least, not physically.
It felt good to hold her hand. He wanted to do a lot more but sensed that Margo wasn’t ready. Meeting her gaze, he had to wonder if she’d ever be ready.
“I really am sorry about Nick.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “There wasn’t any love lost between us, but he sure didn’t deserve to die so damn young.”
She released a breath as if she’d been holding it. “Thanks for that. I wasn’t sure…”
“How I would react to the news?” He shook his head. “You know me better than that, Margo.”
She lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked right at him. “Yes, I do. And last night’s performance was definitely out of character.” A gleam entered her eyes, and she pulled her hand out from under his. “Do you mind if I tape our interview?”
“Our what?”
She rose and grabbed a leather briefcase beneath the breakfast bar. “Interview,” she repeated. “Did you forget?” She withdrew a small recorder and a notebook, then returned to her seat. “You owe me. Remember?”
So much for her being frightened and uncertain, Carson. “Is this a defense mechanism?” he asked, quirking one corner of his mouth upward.
“Is what a defense mechanism?” She gave him a confused look.
“The Lois Lane treatment.”
“Ha-ha.” Margo grimaced and arranged the tools of her trade. “So can I record the inter—”
“No.” His answer came out harsher than he’d intended. “Sorry, but…” Hell, now he was the nervous one. He raked his fingers through his hair and released a breath in a whoosh. “Margo, this has to be off the record. I promised you an explanation, but I have to make sure you won’t blow my cover first.”
“Cover?”
He saw reporter instincts flashing behind her baby grays. “Off the record, Margo.”
She held his gaze for a few moments, then popped the cassette out of the recorder. “All right, off the record for now, as long as you give me something for my article.”
“What’s your topic?”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “My editor’s brilliant idea for a human interest piece.”
“Uh, okay.” He lifted one shoulder. “What human interest piece?”
Margo’s eyes danced with mischief, and she waggled her brows. “What would make an intelligent man resort to bump and grind as a career? Basically.”
Heat flooded Jared’s face. “Not by choice.”
“If we aren’t taping this, we might as well talk in the den.”
With her notepad and pencil in hand, she led him into a room with white walls, white pleated shades, gleaming white-and-glass tables, and white leather furniture. Weird.
She sat on the couch, and he sat beside her. All right, so he probably should’ve taken the chair across from her, but the urge to sit beside her had stolen his common sense. “What do you want to know?”
Clearing her throat, she set her notepad and pencil on the glass-topped coffee table, then half turned to face him. “Before we get to my interview, I want to cover the off-the-record stuff. Why are you pretending to be an erotic dancer?”
A grin tugged at his lips. “Pretending? Does that mean I’m not any good at it?” He pressed the flat of his palm against his chest. “I’m wounded.”
“Male ego aside…” Her expression was serious. “Why, Jared?”
“It stays between us?”
She crossed her heart, right between her lovely breasts. Jared’s gaze followed her movement, riveted to the outline of her nipples showing through her thin sweater. The heat that had filled his face earlier now did an about-face and settled one hell of a lot lower.
“Why?” she repeated, her voice low but intense.
“I work for DEA.” He held her gaze, watching for any sign of a reaction. “I’m undercover.”
“The cover was pretty skimpy from what I saw last night.”
He held his head in his hands. “If I’d realized anyone would recognize me, I can guarantee you I wouldn’t have taken this assignment.”
“I’m sure. But you had a background in Broadway jazz from college, and the, uh, body to pull it off, so…”
Margo’s giggle crawled into a special corner of Jared’s heart—one that had missed her more than any person in his life. He still cared about her.
No, he still loved her.
Admitting that to himself left him breathless for a few miserable moments. Logic intervened, reminding him that it didn’t matter how he felt—she’d married Nick and still mourned him. End of fantasy.
“I always knew you wanted to go into law enforcement, but DEA?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Just gullible, I guess.”
“Very funny.” Her expression grew serious again. “So…DEA thinks someone at the Studfinder is dealing drugs?”
“We’re still off the record?” Jared directed his most solemn gaze toward her. “If my cover is blown, I could be in danger. I don’t think you want that.”
Fear flickered in her eyes. “No. Of course not.”
The sight of her tongue sweeping across her lower lip sent Jared’s blood supply down and dirty in record time. She still turned him on, but that was the least of his problems. The fact that he still loved her was considerably more dangerous than his libido.
“Yes, we have reason to believe the Studfinder might be a front for distribution. I lost the toss.” He smiled, hoping to ease the fear he’d planted in her eyes.
“It sounds dangerous.”
“Not if I’m careful.” He struggled against the urge to pull her into his arms. “And I intend to be careful.”
“All right.” She released a shaky breath. “I’ll keep your identity and your role a secret, if you’ll give me the dancer interview my boss wants.”
“But I’m not really a dancer.” Jared flashed her a grin, enjoying the crimson flush that crept up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks.
“You looked like one last night.” Her answering grin almost drove him to his knees. “I don’t think you’d get any argument from the rest of your admirers in the audience.”
“All right, now you’ve done it.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m embarrassed. Are you happy?”
She grew sober and reached for her notepad with trembling fingers, but she knocked it to the floor instead. He reached for it at the same time she did, and they bumped foreheads.
Before he could draw his next breath, he pulled Margo to her feet and covered her lips with his. A tremor trickled through her body, and he feared she might pull away, but instead she molded herself against him, parting her lips for his.
Oh, God. He never should’ve let this happen, because he’d forgotten how sweet she tasted. Memories swirled through him of the first time they’d made love, augmenting his desire even further. He pressed his hand to the small of her back and laced the other through the silky hair at the nape of her neck.
This was Margo—not a dream. Hungry for her, he deepened their kiss, swallowing her moan wi
th an answering growl that came from a place he’d believed no longer existed. When he’d lost Margo, he’d buried a part of himself. Now that neglected part of him clamored for release.
The vault where he’d locked these feelings away cracked open a tiny bit. Even that small portion of emotions long denied were potent enough to make him crazy.
He wanted her. Needed her. Loved her.
This was so right. The years fell away. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw.
“Jared,” she whispered, and he kissed her mouth again.
“Hey, sis, what—”
Margo jerked herself free of Jared’s embrace, her face flushed, her breathing labored. “Steph, what are—”
A tall redhead stepped from behind Margo’s sister. Jared met Raquel Eastwood’s gaze.
And saw murder in her eyes.
6
Margo straightened her skirt and drew a desperate breath. When had she stopped breathing? And why? She was single. So what if her sister and a virtual stranger had just caught her kissing an equally single man? Big deal. Nothing wrong with that picture.
Then why did she feel like crawling under the nearest rock? Nick is dead. She struggled for another breath, and though logic demanded she accept her husband’s death and his rivalry with Jared, she couldn’t. Traitor.
Steph extended the key card that had belonged to Nick toward her. “Want this back?” She flashed her a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be silly.” Margo cleared her throat and noticed the fury glittering in Raquel Eastwood’s eyes. Why would she be angry about this? It made no sense at all. Of course, Raquel’s early morning breakfast invitation hadn’t either.
“Looks like we arrived just in time,” Raquel said, her voice sounding deeper than it had before.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Jared said quietly.
Raquel took a step toward him. “Yeah. Mine.”
“What the—” Steph looked from Raquel to Jared, then back again. “You may be tall, but I think Jared could take you with one hand. Besides, what’s it to you?” As usual, Steph had the courage to voice Margo’s thoughts.