Undercover Pursuit (8 page)

“Tagliata with rosemary, capers and lemon.”

“Really?”

She made a face at him. “You so underestimate me.”

Yes, perhaps he did. “Can I help?”

“Sure, turn down the heat on that balsamic vinegar I'm reducing. It should be the texture of syrup.” She glanced at the chef and he nodded, a smile on his face.

Luke picked up the spoon, stirring the mixture bubbling on the stove. “This smells good. And what's this?” He pushed what looked like mini artichokes around a pan seasoned with oil.

“Fried capers. I couldn't believe Estoban had them in his pantry.”

“Okay, I'm impressed.”

“Don't be. The recipe was in the back of one of my novels.” She slid the sliced meat onto a plate layered with cut arugula. “I cooked it for my aunt, and we pretended we lived in Tuscany for the day.”

“Is that where you came up with our scenario?”

“A great scene from
To Rome with Love.
” She reached for a pan of oil, rosemary and garlic and drizzled it over the meat.

“Another book?”

“Same book. But one of my favorites.” She picked up the caper pan, added it to the reduced balsamic vinegar and stirred. “See, life imitating art.” She looked up at him, smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

He'd hurt her. If the bloody knife didn't give it away, the way she tucked in her arms to move past him with the pot of vinegar did.

As if she didn't want to touch him.

He suddenly very much remembered touching her, his hand rubbing sunblock over her shoulders, on her upper back, the rich smell of coconut lifting from her skin.

The fragrance caught him as she walked by, and for a second he couldn't breathe.

He watched her pour the vinegar over the steak and for a long moment, he forgot where he was. He saw himself in a kitchen, just like this, Scarlett preparing dinner, him setting the table. Perhaps she'd look up at him and smile, as she did this afternoon when they'd spun their story. He'd put down the silverware, come over to her, wrap his hands around her waist and turn her, catch her face in his hand and—

“You can put this on the table. And then fetch Benito and Lucia.” She thrust the platter of meat into his hands without meeting his eyes.

Oh, boy.

He put the platter on the counter as she turned to the sink and began dumping in her used utensils. Her breaths came quickly, as if she might be trying not to cry.

He sighed.

“Scarlett, I'm sorry.” He glanced at the chef, now placing salad on their plates, and stepped up to her, longing to touch her shoulder but instead leaning over to talk into her ear. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm just trying to keep you and Lucia safe, and I can't help but think it would be better if you got thrown off the boat.”

Her breath trembled. “I know.”

He stilled. “You…know?”

“Yes. And I'll do it. But I'll feel sick every second.”

Yeah, well…him, too. He curled his hand over her shoulder, hating it when she stiffened. “I can't figure out how else to get you off this boat. As it is, you're going to miss your sister's party.”

“Oh, she'll be distraught, I'm sure.”

He didn't miss the sarcasm in her voice. “I'll have you back by morning, even if I have to hijack one of the Jet Skis.”

“Terrific.”

“It's just pretend, you know. You won't really be flirting with him.”

She closed her eyes, her jaw tight. “Yeah. I got that part. Loud and clear.”

Then why was she so upset? Certainly she knew that he didn't really think she could be a man-stealer, a betrayer? Six hours with her had told him that she was the kind of woman who would be faithful. Loyal.

Good thing they were just pretending, because she just might be the kind of woman he could trust, even…love.

What? He blew out a breath, backed away from her, gathered himself. No. He so didn't have room for a woman in his life. Not with his job taking him all over the world.

More than that, he had terrible instincts. Look what happened last time he'd given out his trust, his heart.

“I'll find Benito and Lucia,” he said, more coolly than he intended.

When he returned with Benito and Lucia, he didn't recognize the woman he'd left waiting for them in the dining room. She had loosened her hair, added lipstick and held a glass of wine that he knew she wasn't drinking.

“Hey, Benito,” she said in a voice that wasn't quite right. “I missed you.”

Oh, brother. If this was her being seductive, they'd be shark dinner. She just might be the worst flirt on the planet.

Indeed, Benito's eyebrow raised. “You made us dinner.”

“You asked me for dinner, didn't you?”

This couldn't be good. Luke pulled out her wicker chair. “Why don't we eat?”

She sat down and gave them all a sloppy smile. Really, she hadn't been drinking—had she?

Benito sat next to Lucia. And Luke wanted to cringe when Scarlett scooted her chair closer to him.

Benito took Lucia's hand. “What did you make us?”

“Tagliata. It's steak with capers and rosemary.” Scarlett leaned on one hand, meeting his eyes. “I hope you like steak.”

Benito picked up his knife. “It's no wild boar, but it'll do.” He looked at her.

Then he made the mistake of winking.

Scarlett laughed, something high and way too bright, and Luke wanted to dive under the table.

“Oh, Benito, you are so funny!” She slammed the table and everything shook. Luke reached out, grabbing her glass before it went over.

“O-kay, I think that's enough for you.” He moved the wine then slid his arm around the back of her chair while Benito eyed them. “She gets a little too friendly when she's been drinking.”

“I thought she didn't drink.”

“Only when I cook!” She went to bang the table again and Luke caught her hand. “How about if we leave the bride and groom to their dinner and I'll take you back to the room?”

She leaned back, put her hands over her mouth. “Oh, Lukie, I don't think that's a good idea.”

Lukie?

“It's the sun, I'm sure. It dehydrates a person.” He pulled out her chair, pulling her up into his arms. “Enjoy. She's a fabulous cook.”

Benito rose. “Do you need help?”

“Yes, help me Benito,” she said, her arm draped over Luke's neck.

Perfect. Maybe, if he'd let it play out longer, she might just get herself ousted by Benito himself. But, well, he couldn't take it. Besides, at this rate, they might both get thrown off into the sea.

He glanced at Lucia. Maybe it was enough, though, for a rousing fight in the morning, something Lucia could hurl at Scarlett. Something that might send her home. He tried to send that message to her but found her tight-lipped.

Even offended.

Okay, see, this is what he got for working with amateurs.

He pulled Scarlett from the table and let her lean against him as they walked out into the hallway.

They closed the door to the galley and in a second, she'd untangled herself from his grip and pushed him away. “What's your problem? I was doing great in there.”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her down the deck, his voice low. “Are you kidding me? It was painful. Like you've never flirted with a man in your entire life. That was wretched!”

Her eyes widened and she gulped in a breath. Then, yanking her arm from his grip, she marched in front of him, nearly running.

Perfect. “Scarlett!”

“Just leave me alone, Luke. Just…I'm sorry I'm such a fool.”

Oh, for crying in the sink. “You're not a fool.”

She rounded and her eyes glistened against the starlight. “I am. Because, well…okay, I haven't flirted with
a man. Ever. I don't know how. I just…well, apparently, my best attempts are laughable.”

“That was your best attempt?”

She closed her eyes and he wanted to bang his head against something hard.

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“I'm not my sister. I don't flirt. I'm just me, okay? But clearly that's not good enough. And yes, you're right. This was a mistake. I just hope…well, that I didn't destroy all your big plans.”

She whirled away from him and ran up the stairs to the next deck. By the time he followed, she'd slammed the door to her stateroom.

He stood there for a long moment, then walked out onto the deck and sat down on one of the lounge chairs. He leaned back and considered the stars in the night sky.

“Having woman problems, son?”

T
he cool darkness of the stateroom—only the moonlight slanted in through the blinds—calmed the chaos in Scarlett's brain.

She shouldn't have had that sip—not even one sip!—of wine. It went straight to her head and numbed her into believing she could pull this off.

It was painful. Like you've never flirted with a man in your entire life.

Well, she hadn't, thanks. She'd hoped she could rely on her acting skills, but apparently even those turned out to be abysmal. And now, because of Luke and the way he turned her brain to oatmeal, the way he made her believe that she might be some sort of secret agent, she'd turned herself into a fool.

Again.

She slid to the floor, her back against the door, pressing her head to her knees.

No wonder she liked romance novels. Because it was all she had. After all, who would actually fall for her? The girl hidden behind the stacks of books, the temp girl, the Hanson family leftovers.

Not Duncan, of course. And clearly not Luke.

She pressed her fists into her eyes. No, she wouldn't
cry. Luke had promised her nothing. He'd made it clear from the beginning that she just had a job to do. The blame for this night's fiasco belonged to her.

And, yes, maybe she had played it up a bit. After all, a girl didn't watch her glorious sister perform all the time without learning a few tricks.

She
had
enjoyed Benito's surprise. And the way Luke grabbed for her glass, clearly distraught. Okay, so maybe she'd gone over the top, but he deserved it. Betray him? Get herself thrown off the ship? Be accused of man-stealing? Never in a thousand years.

Her smile vanished. Except at this rate, she and Luke might both be thrown off the ship and wow, had she made a mess of his mission.

She cupped her face with her hands. They reeked of garlic and rosemary. Her stomach churned. Oh, please, she just wanted to go home.

“Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” She leaned her head back against the door. “I don't know why I do this—dream up some other life for myself than the one You've given me. I have a good life—a job that I like, friends, my aunt who loves me. I don't know why I thought this might be my chance to—”

“So, you're having woman problems?”

The voice came through the door and she stilled. It sounded like Benito, only deeper. With more menace.

She got up, moving into the shadows to look out the window.

On the deck outside, Luke sat on one of the lounge chairs, his head down, his arms folded across his chest as if defeated. “Hello, Claudio. Yes. She's angry with me.”

A bigger man leaned on the rail, not far from him. Claudio? Benito's father?

She stepped closer to the window, held her breath.

“I've been watching you two.”

Luke's head came up.

“It's my job. People are always trying to worm their way into my family, and I have to watch out for snakes.” Claudio took a drink of whatever he held in his hand. “There's something off with you two. I know you said you were engaged, but she doesn't look like a woman in love. She looks like a woman trying to make you happy. A woman you might have hired.”

Did he just call her a prostitute?

“Are you calling my fiancée a…hooker?” His voice held indignation.

Thank you, Luke.

“I'm just saying that I don't think she's quite what you think. Or maybe
you're
not quite what we think.”

Uh-oh…

Luke gave a weak laugh, and hello, if he thought her flirting sounded pitiful—

She opened the door, stepped out onto the deck. “Luke, honey, are you coming in?” And she even added a tremble, as if she might be worried.

Luke looked at her, swept the surprise from his face, smiled. “In a minute.”

But a minute might be too late, gauging by the expression on Claudio's face—the narrowed eyes, the way he considered her. She closed the door and walked out onto the deck into the moonlight. “No. Now. I'm so sorry I got angry with you. I just want to make sure I get some shopping in, but I know how you hate it. How about if I go to the mainland tomorrow? You can stay here.”

She turned to Claudio. “That would be okay, right?”

“Of course. We'll be docking in the morning to check
on the preparations for the rehearsal dinner and the wed ding.”

“Perfect.” She kept her smile and sat down next to Luke on the chaise. Lifting her hand, she ran it down his face, catching his eyes. “I want to make my future groom happy.”

And, despite the melodrama of the words, she delivered them from a place inside that didn't seem pretend. They felt, in fact, much too real. They shook through her, made her catch her breath, look away.

She caught Claudio with his eyes on her, as if testing her words.

What was a girl to do? She turned back to Luke, leaned forward and kissed him.

She'd expected something halfhearted from him, something to remind her that he was only pretending, but he must be a better actor than she gave him credit for because his hand came up, caught in her loose hair, and he pulled her against him.

She knew she shouldn't enjoy it, shouldn't let the feel of his lips on hers go to her head, but…

But his other arm came around her and tucked her into the pocket of his arms. Then, he kissed her back. His kiss swept every thought from her head—the romance of the sea, the gentle rock of the boat, the sound of the night. All of it lost as she let herself sink into his arms.

Luke.

His hands tangled in her hair, and when she pulled away, he met her eyes. For a flash, she glimpsed something unmasked in them.

Fear, maybe. A vulnerability.

Then he blinked and the game resumed in his smile. “Yeah, baby, it's time for bed.” He took her hand, pulling
them both to their feet.
“Buenos noches,”
he said to Claudio, then led them to the cabin.

He wasn't really going to sleep in her stateroom, was he? But of course, they were supposed to be engaged. Assumptions had clearly been made. Thankfully the room had an inner bedroom off the living room.

She entered behind him and watched him shut the door.

She could still feel herself in his arms. Oh, wow, this would hurt tomorrow when she walked away from him. When she took Dylan's arm at Bridgett's wedding and pretended to want to be there.

“I'm sorry I let you down tonight, Luke.”

He glanced up at her, his eyes unreadable. He had such beautiful eyes—she hadn't really noticed them before, how golden brown they were, how they could pull her heart from her chest.

“You were…brilliant.” His voice emerged rough, as if rife with some sort of emotion.

“What?”

“You were brilliant out there with Claudio. I…wow. I'm the one who's sorry. You're right. I underestimated you.”

“It's the least I could do. And now you're off the hook. Tomorrow I'll leave, and you can stay. Good luck.”

She turned to go, but he caught her arm.

And in that moment, with the moonlight puddling on his face, with his eyes shining, she just wanted to step into his arms and kiss him all over again.

But this was pretend. Period.

As if to remind her, Luke said softly, “Thanks for being a such a good sport.”

Right. A good sport in their
game.
She nodded, pull
ing herself away. “Not one foot off the sofa, bub, or you'll regret it.”

He smiled at her joke and she tried to match it. But it probably came out foolish, just like her. So, she fled to the bedroom, locked the door and pressed a pillow to her face lest he hear her cry.

 

The nightmare always started with a knock on the door. Regardless of where he found himself standing in the dream—at the picture window overlooking the D.C. cityscape, or in the bathroom, staring at his bloodshot eyes, or even sitting on the side of the bed, watching Darcy sleep—the knock startled him, brought him to his feet, to the door.

And every time, although he expected it, although he'd lived through it, he opened the door unguarded, as if expecting a tray of breakfast. Instead—and too often he woke himself up with a roar of warning—a man the size of a linebacker stood in the hallway, his eyes dark, his fist already cocked. Luke jerked, even in his sleep, as the blow landed on his jaw, as he spilled back into the room.

Sometimes, pain even exploded through his head, down his spine, shaking through him as he turned, fell to his knees.

Tried to clear his head.

“Gary, what are you doing here?” Darcy said as she roused, her eyes on his assailant. Something cold slicked through him.

She knew the man.

Worse, as she clutched the sheet to herself, as her eyes rounded, the truth hit Luke in the solar plexus.

She was married.

And when Gary grabbed him again by the collar, he
didn't even throw his hands up to protect himself. He just took the blow because he deserved it.

Still, he should have stood in the way when Gary grabbed his wife, when he shoved her toward the door, scooping up her clothing. And when Darcy turned back, fear in her eyes, he should have run after her.

Only this time, when she turned in the dream, it wasn't Darcy who peered back at him, who mouthed his name, whose hazel-green eyes spilled over with tears.

Scarlett.

And Gary—he had changed, too. No longer the irate former D.C. cop, estranged from his wife but still very possessive of her, his face morphed, darkened, twisted—

Benito.

Luke stood, shaken, pain seeping into his body, glued to the floor as Benito jerked Scarlett's arm, as he yanked her out into the hotel hallway.

No—no—“No! Stop!” Why couldn't he move? His body had gone dead, paralyzed. “No!”

“Luke, wake up. Luke!”

He felt hands on him, and the voice reached into the nightmare to pull him free, to propel him out of the icy grip of fear and into—

Their darkened stateroom. Kneeling next to the sofa, her cool hand on his shoulder, Scarlett peered down at him, concern on her face.

“You were yelling. At high decibels. I had to stop you before the coast guard banged down the door. Who's Gary? And who can't he have?”

Luke sat up, the sheet falling to his waist. The air-conditioning raised gooseflesh on his skin. He shivered and reached for his shirt, draped over the back of the
sofa. Scarlett got up and stepped back, her arms folded over herself as he pulled it on.

His hands shook as he fumbled with the buttons.

“Luke?”

He left the buttons and put his feet on the floor, needing something to steady himself. “I don't want to talk about it.”

She didn't move. He waited for her to leave but she simply stood there.

“What?”

“Please. Really? I'm going to go back to sleep after that?” Her voice softened, and then she sat down on the arm of the sofa. “You know, strangers make good listeners.”

Only she wasn't a stranger, was she? Not after they'd spent the day together. Not after—

The kiss. That's what triggered the dream. The kiss that she'd delivered after cluing into Claudio's curiosity. The kiss that had probably saved his hide—both their hides. The kiss that had turned into something dangerous, because suddenly he'd forgotten why he was on the yacht, forgotten Lucia and the Sanchez family, and only Scarlett remained—her soft lips, the way she curved into his arms. She smelled good, too—coconut oil, the salt of the sea. Yes, he'd forgotten his mission and simply wanted to disappear with her, in that moment when he'd felt safe.

Trusted.

He wanted to be with a woman he could trust, who trusted him back. Someone with whom he didn't fear betrayal.

Someone, perhaps, like Scarlett.

They were in big trouble. Because small mistakes led to gigantic ones, the kind where people ended up
hurt. Or dead. “I apologize, Scarlett. I never should have kissed you.”

He expected something of a flinch, perhaps, but she seemed nonplussed, lifting her shoulder. “I know it's all a part of the cover. An act. Nothing but pretend.”

Her words stung more than they should have. Because with her sitting there, the moonlight turning her eyes to emeralds, he didn't want it to be pretend.

A lifetime ago, he might not have cared. He might have taken that line between pretend and reality and wiped it right out.

But today, he cared. Today he wanted to be the kind of man who didn't have to apologize to himself, to God.

Maybe she saw it in his eyes, too, because she came over and sat beside him. “What is it?”

He couldn't look at her. Not without wanting to kiss her again.

“I just have to make sure we stay focused.” He ran his hands through his hair.

“Of course we will.” But her voice wavered, just a bit. As if she didn't believe her own words.

He knew she didn't understand. They
had
to keep this pretend. “Listen to me. That wasn't just a nightmare—it was a memory.” Maybe if he told her the kind of man he truly was… “I got someone I cared about killed.”

He didn't want to look at her but he couldn't help it. Perhaps he longed for the disgust, something to really shake reality into her. But no—concern, even sorrow, creased her face.

“Oh, Luke, I'm so sorry.”

He got up, put space between them.

“But you were calling my name, too.”

He was? He looked at her.

“What happened, Luke?”

He turned away from her. She looked so sweet and pretty in the moonlight. “I was in a dark place. I had just left the military—or rather, the military had left me. I had a lot of anger.” He stood at the window. “My father was a jerk and he left me and my mom when I was thirteen. He already had another family in a different city. But the affair that broke my mother happened in our own home.”