Live and Let Love (29 page)

She stopped him. “Don’t bother. I know my way around. I’ll get it.” She slid off her
trench coat, one slow shoulder shimmy at a time.

Damn, one fantasy dashed. She wasn’t topless. But she was the next best thing—wearing
a sexy black bra beneath a sheer black button-up blouse that may as well not have
been buttoned at all. It fell open to her navel.

She was really putting him through the wringer now. His mouth went dry, which was
better than salivating all over her.

As she tossed her coat over the back of the sofa, the backlight lit every luscious
curve of her body.

His gaze naturally rested on her chest, where he got a hot view of the round curves
of her breasts. He had to resist the urge to reach out and touch one. He cleared his
throat, trying not to sound hoarse with desire. “A button or two has come undone.”

She smiled and trailed a light touch across his chest, then looked down at her own
and shrugged. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” She didn’t button them.

Oh, she really was trying to kill him.

Unfortunately, his pill wasn’t. He had to stall for a few more minutes until it kicked
in.

She walked seductively to the kitchen, pulled out the electric teapot, filled it with
water, and plugged it in. He watched her hips and her beautiful butt as she reached
into the cupboard for cups and tea bags.

He felt like an adolescent boy who’d just gotten his first look at a copy of a porn
magazine—about to lose it.

She was doing this on purpose, damn her. Tempting him to take her to bed and break
his cover. He balled his fist. He was going to hang on and not crack under this exquisite
torture no matter how hard and uncomfortable matters became. Until his meds kicked
in and things got ugly.

“Would you like a cup?” she asked, her voice sweet and seductive.

He’d like so much more. “Sure.”

He took a seat in the recliner where he had a nice view of her working and where she
couldn’t come over and sit too close to him. He left the big sofa for her.

“Does Aldo have any mint and honey?”

“I—”

“Oh, never mind.” She kneeled down to look into a low cabinet where Aldo kept supplies.
He watched the sweet curve of her butt and the light shine through the thin material
of her blouse. She stood. “Mint and honey.”

The teakettle whistled and boiled. Willow poured two cups, then walked to the bar.
What the hell was she up to there?

She reached for a bottle of rum. “Here it is. Deep, dark rum. Aldo always has the
good stuff.” She walked back to the kitchen and poured a generous shot of rum into
each mug of tea. She brought the two cups and set them on the coffee table, which
sat perpendicular to the chair.

She stood over him, looking down at him with smoky bedroom eyes. “These should really
cool for a minute. No use burning our tongues.”

The next thing he knew, she straddled him in the chair, knees on either side of his
hips. Her long hair tickling his chest as she lowered her crotch onto his and rubbed
against him.

He couldn’t hide it. She had to feel him bulging against her. Even through two pair
of jeans, the sensation was killing him. This was like being a teenager again and
desperately trying to get to the next base, fully clothed groping. Only he was trying
not to get to the next base, fighting his baser nature. He grabbed the arms of the
chair to keep from stroking the breasts that met him in the eye.

Oh, damn.

Just then, he felt the first tremor, the tiny rumbling in his gut that meant the pill
was working. Just a few more minutes now. He hoped he could hang on long enough, because
after two years away from her all he needed were two exquisite minutes. Just two,
though he’d love more.

His mission was riding on a razor’s edge; everything depended on his fast-acting pill
to act faster, damn it. Because there was no way he was stopping himself. In another
second or two, he’d lose it.

“Con,” she said on a near moan, whispering a name that was, and was not, him as she
ran her fingers through his hair and sighed. He wanted to hear her moan and call his
real name. Call for Jack. But that was lunacy.

He swallowed hard.

She leaned down and sucked his nipple.

He sucked in a deep breath and lost his control, reaching out and stroking her breasts.

She unzipped his jeans.

He pulled her face up to meet his and brought his lips to hers. He grabbed the handle
for the recliner and pulled it, sending the chair into the reclining position, and
Willow tumbling on top of him as he kissed her, one hand tangled in her hair. The
other held her tight.

He wanted to feel her, all of her, every last inch.

He slid his hand up beneath her shirt and stroked her back as his lips possessed her
mouth.

He needed to feel her bare breasts on his chest. He released her waist and fumbled
with the few remaining fastened buttons on her blouse before trying to unfasten her
bra.

He’d just freed her blouse when his stomach turned over and a wave of nausea hit him.

They both heard the rumble and gurgle—it was loud enough to wake the dead. Fortunately,
it was going to keep this dead guy from being outed as still alive. Damn, he just
had seconds now to make it to the bathroom.

He pulled away from her kiss. “Sorry. This is a bad time for this to come up,” he
quipped as he pushed her off him as gently as a man in dire need of a bathroom can.
Actually, it was perfect timing. One second later and—

“Excuse me.” He dashed for the toilet. Good thing he’d always been fast. And, despite
his mother’s fanatical training, left the lid up when he was on his own. He made it
just in time.

It was a shame he’d had to resort to such extreme measures to keep himself under control.
Aldo had cooked him a terrific dinner. Now it was going to be a while before he could
look a manicotti in the face again.

“Con?” He heard Willow’s trembling, worried voice as he bent over the porcelain throne
and retched.

“I’m fine,” he finally managed to say as he gasped for breath. “Must have been something
I ate.”

She appeared at the doorway to the bathroom. It was a humiliating position to be in,
but she looked at him with nothing less than the loving compassion of a wife. Yeah,
Willow had seen him like this a few times before.

“I hope it’s not contagious.” He wiped his mouth, took a deep breath, and tried to
grin. “Sorry.”

No, it definitely wasn’t contagious.

“Don’t worry about me. Bad timing,” she said, sounding almost suspicious and looking
so good he almost forgot his nausea.

He was almost desperate enough to ignore his condition and proceed with the ravishment.
But after two years apart they deserved a better reunion than that.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Can I get you something? Let me stay and take care of you—”

“No, no, I’d rather you didn’t see me this way any more than you have to. Please.”

“I guess I’ll be going then.…” She sounded hesitant as she turned to walk away.

“Don’t go alone.” He didn’t mean to sound so alarmed.

She stopped and stared at him.

“Call Aldo and have him take you. I insist.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Aldo walked Willow to her front door. “Thanks for believing in Con.” He shook his
head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into this town. Suddenly my cousin is this big,
bad man who uses women and takes their money.

“Salemos are many things. Dishonorable, bah! That is something we are definitely not.
We are
not
thieves. We don’t care that much for the money, only the passion of life.” As he
sighed, his belly jiggled. “If I didn’t have to make a living, I’d say,
No meatballs for any of them.
”

Willow smiled at him. Aldo and his meatballs. He’d been kind enough not to mention
her sexed-up look. She’d dressed for Con’s eyes only. “Don’t take it too hard, Aldo.
It’ll blow over. Once they get to know Con better, they’ll forget all about this nonsense.”

“They won’t get the chance. Con is already making noises about leaving early. He doesn’t
want to put me out or make things worse. If he leaves, it will put an end to all this
rubbish. That’s what he says.”

“What?” Her worst fears were coming true. She couldn’t let Con leave.

“Maybe
you
can convince him to stay longer?” Aldo said with a lifted brow. “A beautiful woman
possesses powers of persuasion that I don’t, eh?”

Willow laughed softly.
If only.
Aldo was her only ally.

Then again, if Con was Jack he was here for a reason and he wouldn’t leave until that
reason was fulfilled. If only she knew what it was. Maybe it was time to find out.

“I’ll try,” she said, and meant it. She didn’t want Jack to leave. Ever. She unlocked
her front door.

“Good night,” Aldo said.

She slid into her house and locked up behind her, pausing a minute by the narrow windows
on either side of her front door to watch Aldo walk back to his car. Spookie came
running in to greet her.

“Hey, girl.” Willow scooped her up and cuddled her.

Willow had been so close, this close to everything she needed. She’d only missed it
by a fraction of a second. Okay, maybe five minutes, tops. She felt a frustration—sexual,
emotional, and overpowering—so strong and complex she almost didn’t have words for
it.

At that minute, Willow just needed to be near Jack. She carried Spookie into the bedroom,
set her on the floor, and pulled her memory bin of Jack from beneath the bed.

Oh, Jack. No matter what you’ve done, I love you. Even if you’ve faked your own death,
come back to me. I’ll forgive you anything.

It was a mantra she’d repeated many times. She’d said it before and she would say
it again—there was nothing Jack could have done that was so bad she wouldn’t love
him. Even deserting her for two years and letting her believe he was dead. She trusted
that he had a good reason. She lifted the lid of her memory box and tenderly pulled
out one memento after the next—the flag, the dog collar—

She gasped.
What?

Jack’s brush was back. She picked up the gallon-size plastic bag that contained it
and stared hard at it, heart pounding in her ears.

No, this can’t be.

She hadn’t missed this before. She hadn’t. It was one of her most prized possessions.
Someone had replaced it. Only two people, or entities, had a reason to steal it in
the first place—Jack and the Agency. Only two had any reason to replace it—the same
two suspects.

Her heart surged with joy and hope. She smiled a happily evil smile.

Jack, you prankster, you. You can’t fool me with Cubs tattoos or by wearing cologne
I hate.

Jack would have known she’d tried to get his DNA and made sure she had none to compare
a test sample to. NCS would have done the same.

She held the Baggie up to the light and stared at it closely. Something was off. She
frowned and opened the Baggie, gently feeling a strand of hair.

This isn’t Jack’s.

She knew the touch and feel of Jack’s hair. Con’s hair felt like Jack’s in her fingers.
This was imposter hair, replaced to throw her off.

She thought about the convenient timing of Con’s sudden nausea. Food poisoning? Stomach
flu? No, she thought not. It would have been just like Jack to take something to make
himself sick. He probably had syrup of ipecac on hand. Or something stronger. The
man never could resist her. And after two years? He’d have to be made of ice. No,
Jack needed a sexual suicide pill to stop him from having sex with her and blowing
his cover. She knew he did.

Oh, Jack, you’re good. But I’ll get you yet.

*   *   *

When he’d been in the military, there was nothing Jack loved better than a good recon
mission. Nothing like the excitement and adrenaline high of being out in enemy territory,
spying.

As a spy, he didn’t technically do recon, which was a military function. Spies were
supposedly noncombatants. The thought gave Jack a good laugh. Tell that to the bastards
he’d killed in the name of freedom and protecting innocent lives.

Now, he would have loved this recon mission more if his stomach wasn’t still sore
from all the retching he’d done earlier. The things he did in the name of duty.

He pulled a bottle of bitch-in-heat urine from his pocket and sprinkled it along the
primrose path Kennett had planted leading from his apple storage barn to the orchards.
Old Duke and Buddy were soon going to be feeling some of the sexual frustration Jack
had felt earlier this evening.

Jack looked at the dark flowers in the moonlight and shook his head. A floral pathway
seemed kind of girlie, but what did he know? It was Cooper’s anyway.

Jack wound through the orchards, sprinkling urine and creating a maze of sexual frenzy
and disappointment for Kennett’s dogs that should keep them occupied and out of Jack’s
hair for hours.

Welcome to the club of sexual frustration, boys.

Jack didn’t need pheromones to keep him frustrated. He had Willow.

Jack emptied the bottle, screwed the lid back on, and returned it to his pocket. He
wore his night-vision goggles, camouflage fatigues, and had reapplied the eye black
in the area beneath his eyes. If anyone caught him, he’d have a hard time explaining
himself. Then again, they weren’t that far away from Aryan Nation territory. Not that
that explanation would win him any friends.

Jack shook his head at the residents of Orchard Bluff. They were still keeping an
eye on him. He’d seen four cars drive past Aldo’s before he left for the orchards.
Aldo lived at the end of civilization on a street that went nowhere and probably had
three cars a year cruise farther than his house. Good luck to the Orchard Bluffers
trying to stop him. He’d sneaked past them without any problem. They didn’t know whom
they were dealing with.