Kathleen Creighton - Undercover Mistress

“Wow.” Max ran a hand back across his thinning hair, then left it clutching the back of his neck, which he began to rub as if he’d just developed an ache there. “This…could be a problem.”

“Tell me about it.”

Celia slid from the arm of the chair into the seat and leaned eagerly forward. “Actually…I think I can help you with your problem.” No stranger to the effectiveness of good timing, she paused, teeth clamped down on her lower lip, to let the suspense build.

Across from her, seated side by side on the bed, the two men exchanged “Is she for real?” looks.

It was Max who spoke, in a polite and wary tone. “And…what problem is it you think you can help us with?”

Celia delivered her money line, shivery with triumph. “You need to get someone onto Abby’s yacht, right? Well…it just so happens…I can do that for you. I can get on board that boat.”

Roy snorted and threw up his head like a startled horse. Max frowned and said, “Abby?”

“Yes-the Arab prince? Abdul Fayed Amir Abbas-or whatever… anyway, it’s Abby, to his friends.”

“Friends…” Max said faintly.

“Good Lord,” Roy exclaimed, staring at her, “you mean to tell me you know him?”

Celia flicked a gaze toward him, but it was like touching hot coals and she quickly brought it back to Max where she felt much safer. She wasn’t used to having men look at her the way Roy did-unless, of course, such a fierce and smoky look happened to be called for in the script.

But this-this wasn’t anything like having some actor standing in front of her, reading lines, feeding her cues. And she had no lines to give back to him, lines cleverly written by someone else. She was on her own. This was real. She could almost feel the heat radiating from those eyes…hear the tension singing in that taut body. And she knew when she continued, whatever she came up with, her voice wasn’t going to be as steady as she wanted it to be.

But I still…somehow…have to make them believe in me. I have to make them believe I can do this.

“I don’t know him well,” she said, locking eyes with Max and finding it was much easier if she pretended Roy wasn’t in the room. “But I have met him. Several times. At parties, and things. Look-” she lifted a hand and gestured toward the pictures on the walls “-you have to understand-the house my parents left me is right up there in the part of Bel Air where Abby’s is. It’s like a small town. If I hadn’t sold the house when I did-it was about the first thing I did when I turned twenty-five and came into my inheritance-too many memories…” She gave Max a shrug and a sad little smile. “Anyway…if I hadn’t sold that house, Abby would be my neighbor now. But then,” she added, turning up the wattage on the smile, “I wouldn’t have had this place, and I wouldn’t have been here to discover Roy washed up on the beach and saved his life. It’s like…kismet…isn’t it?”

“Did she do that?” Max asked Roy in an awed tone. “Find you on the beach?”

“’Fraid so,” Roy said. It was the sound a dangerous animal makes, low in its throat…just before it springs. “I was about to tell you.”

“Good God. How the hell did she get you in here?”

“Carried me.”

“Not…by herself.” Max’s tone was flatly disbelieving.

“Well, of course not,” Celia interjected, “I had help. But even with Doc, it wasn’t easy.”

Max’s glare snapped back to her. “Doc? Who the hell is this we’re talking about?”

“Yeah, that’s another thing,” Roy said ominously.

“Oh, never mind that now.” She switched her focus to Roy, bracing herself, willing him to look at her. Then he did, and it was worse than she’d expected. Her heart stumbled and began to beat even harder and faster.

She said breathlessly, “I saved your life. Dammit, you-”

“Don’t…say it-” His face squinched up in a grimace of extreme pain.

“-you owe me.”

Roy clamped a hand over his eyes and let out a gust of breath. “She had to say it.”

Max sat forward and clasped his hands together, elbows on his knees. “Miss Cross-”

“Oh-Celia, please.” She flashed him her most radiant smile.

He coughed, looked at his hands, then back at her. She thought his eyes seemed intelligent…measuring. Unlike Roy’s, which looked like something that could set off explosives. “Celia. What is it, exactly, that you want?”

She sat up straight and widened her eyes. “What do I want? Why…nothing, except what I said. I want to help, that’s all. We’re all fighting a war, right? I just want to do my part.” She felt an odd little thrill go through her as she realized she meant it-absolutely-and she finished in a quieter voice, keeping her eyes locked on Max’s, even though the words were meant for the person who was sitting next to him, simmering like an active volcano. “I can’t do much, but I can do this. You suspect Abby’s yacht is being used by terrorists, and you need to get someone on board to find out for sure. Well, I can get you there.” She paused. “Are you telling me you’re willing to pass up a chance like that?”

While Max studied her in thoughtful silence, Roy cleared his throat loudly. “You’re forgetting something,” he said, raspy anyway. “The prince’s thugs got a real good look at me. By this time, they’ve probably got me ID’d, as well.” Max looked at him. He lifted a shoulder. “I was about to tell you.”

Celia laughed, a light ripple of sound. “You’re forgetting where you are. I know people who can change your appearance so your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.”

“So do I,” Max said, studying her thoughtfully.

Roy looked at him and made a disgusted sound. “I can’t believe it. You’re actually considering this ridiculous notion of hers. It’s crazy, you know that. Lunacy. These people are dangerous. Trust me,” he added darkly, “I know.”

Max was gazing at Celia with narrowed eyes. “It’s not like she’s planning on joining special ops. Hell, during World War II, movie stars flew bombers. All she’s wanting to do is what she does anyway.” He gave her his very nice smile. “And very well, I might add. I don’t see how there’d be any danger…”

“Yeah, well, you can’t guarantee that. I’m not having any part of it.”

“It’s completely understandable you wouldn’t want to go back there again,” Celia said sweetly. “I’m sure Max can find someone else to go with me.” Her gaze followed Roy as he pushed himself awkwardly to his feet-she just couldn’t help it.

He stood glowering down at her, jaws black with beard, eyes black with fury, radiating heat and energy and danger…although…he did look a little silly, she thought fondly, with his hair all shower-rumpled, wearing baby blue sweats that were miles too short. But…with a shave and a good haircut, dressed in something…really classy…something elegant…say…Armani?

Oh, my. A wave of heat nearly knocked her over. She caught her breath audibly, and Roy instantly rounded on her with a suspicious, “What?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Nothing,” she lied. She couldn’t very well tell him she’d just gotten incredibly turned on from imagining him in clothes, could she?

Well, it’s because I’ve already seen him naked, she told herself. No imagination needed there at all.

With a supreme effort of will, she tore her gaze away from images of Roy-both real and fantasy-and turned back to Max, who was also getting to his feet, though with considerably less devastating effect on her senses.

“Fact of the matter is, if she’s right-” he nodded at Celia as he pulled his sunglasses out of the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt “-she can save us a whole lot of the one thing we don’t have enough of, and that’s time. We might not have a choice.”

He jabbed a finger at the yellow UCLA scrawled across Roy’s chest. “You-sit tight for the moment. Nobody knows you’re here-it’s a good safe house for you, until we know how badly your cover’s blown. I’m gonna send a company doctor to look you over, make sure you’re okay…get you some antibiotics. Meanwhile, I’ll run this idea of hers-” he nodded at Celia “-by the director, see what he says. And, I’m gonna need to talk to this Doc character, too. Where’d you say-”

“Next door,” said Celia, trying not to sound too eager. “Doc’s okay-really. His name is Peter Cavendish. He’s a real doctor, just…well-” she bit down on her lower lip and gave him a winsome smile “-not currently licensed to practice. But that’s good,” she added quickly when she saw Max and Roy exchange glances, “because it means the last thing he’s going to do is tell anyone about this. Right?” She beamed at Max as she took his arm.

Roy thought he could actually hear his teeth grinding together. His knew his stomach was in knots, and the phrase over my dead body kept running through his brain. He really wanted to kick someone’s butt-Max’s, for instance-but was pretty sure if he tried it, he’d only fall flat on his own.

“I don’t suppose you remembered to bring me some clothes,” he called plaintively.

In the doorway, Max snapped his fingers and half turned to give him a shrug of apology. “You know…I didn’t. Sorry-I was kind of in a hurry to get here.” His grin went crooked and all the humor went out of it. “Hey, I thought for sure you were dead. When I didn’t hear…” He cleared his throat, then tilted his head toward Celia. “She’s right, you know.” He smiled at her along his shoulder. “You do owe her. Big-time.”

The two of them walked out of the room together, arm in arm, cozy as two kids heading off to the prom. Just as they disappeared from view, Roy heard Max say, “Could I get your autograph? It’s for my wife-she’s a big, huge soap opera fan…”

Roy stood where he was and swore until he ran out of words. Then he figured the problem was he needed some air. He’d been laid up in bed, cooped up in a strange house with strange people, way too long.