Undercover Pursuit. Susan May Warren

      “—are a couple, at least in public. So turn on some charm or something. You’re good with the ladies—or at least you were. Dig deep and find that old lady-killer.”

      Luke walked through the bedroom to the tiny cement bathroom, turned on the faucet then stared into the mirror. He needed a shave. “I’m not that good, Chet. And besides, I’m not the guy I was.”

      He hadn’t been that guy since he woke up one day to angry pounding on his hotel room door, looked at the woman on the other side of the bed and realized he’d turned into his lying, cheating father. Only Luke’s lying and cheating hadn’t exactly been his fault. Not that it mattered, in the end.

      Chet’s voice softened. “No, you’re not. I know that.”

      “Besides, this girl isn’t going to be charmed. She’s a straight shooter, and she’s not into playing games.”

      “So be the new guy—the gentleman.”

      The gentleman. He hadn’t had much practice in that arena, either. Last time he had a date, the previous president had been in office.

      “Most of all, get the job done. Keep Lucia—and Stacey, for that matter—alive. No matter what it takes.”

      “Okay, boss.” Luke said goodbye and hung up. Then he picked up the note left for him at the check-in desk. His “fiancée” hadn’t stuck around long enough to read it with him, and of course, she’d booked her own solo accommodations.

      Not that he expected to share. But in today’s world, it might make convincing the Sanchez clan they were a couple just a smidge easier.

      But perhaps this was for the best, because, just for a second, sitting beside her on the boat, watching her purse those unpainted lips that made her appear more innocent girl than hired muscle, well, he’d felt something shift inside. Add that to the way, for a second, she seemed even hurt, and yes, she’d unglued him long enough for him to wish he could take back his words in the cab—the ones that had put the pain in her eyes.

      He went to the sink, washed his hands, pressed a towel to his face.

      Stared at the familiar villain in the mirror.

      Yes, he would turn on the charm, but only for the sake of the mission.

      Three days was going to feel like eternity.

      He opened the note and found a hand-scrawled script. “Meet us on the boat by five for drinks and dinner. Lucia.”

      Unfortunately, by the time they’d arrived, the cocktail hour had come and gone. Thankfully, he’d found out Scarlett’s room number after greasing the palm of a valet in the lobby, one who had seen them enter the hotel together. It never hurt to make friends with the staff, and Raoul looked like a guy Luke might need later, so he added a retainer to his information gratuity.

      And, with the twilight already hovering over the sea, Raoul had found a boat willing to skipper them out to the yacht.

      Yes, the fun was about to begin.

      Now these were the accommodations she’d hoped for—an ocean view, the sound of the seabirds, the briny redolence of the ocean. She loved it all, just as she knew she would. Not that she’d ever been to the sea before, but she’d read about it plenty of times in the romance novels that lined her shelves. And everything she’d read about Mexico and Isla Mujeres had told her she’d love it.

      And to think she’d nearly missed all this.

      Never again, champagne.

      And while she was at it, she should probably calm down about her sister fixing her up again. Luke certainly wasn’t a cretin. It could be much, much worse. Her sister might have found her a mechanic from Des Moines. Yes, it was possible that she’d ever so slightly overreacted to being paired with one of her sister’s cast-offs. She wished he hadn’t mentioned that he’d been “around the block” a few times, however. What, was that supposed to remind her that he was slumming with her?

      For a second, the image of him leaning over a plate of sushi with her sister in some high-rise restaurant, the lights of New York City twinkling like starlight, shot into her brain.

      Yes, perhaps he was simply reminding himself that normally his dates had a tan and wore less on their trips to Mexico.

      She didn’t want to know.

      I really do know what I’m doing.

      She just bet he did. But not with her, thanks.

      I’m not just here to watch.

      She’d nearly run from the cab, screaming. Really, she didn’t even know where to start with her shakedown of Bridgett when she found her.

      So much for calming down.

      I’m here to do a job, same as you. A job? As if she was some sort of mission? Befriend the bride’s lumpy sister—someone has to do it.

      It hurt more than she’d imagined, and frankly, he could have started out with a little charm, even if he’d had to fake it.

      In fact, if he had led with something sweet, she might not have been so militant about going stag.

      She shook Luke’s arrogant words away. It seemed she’d set him straight after her comments on the ferry, however. He’d behaved himself after that.

      Still, a girl didn’t have to have it pointed out to her that Luke, her nondate, might have been a good catch in other circumstances, with his wind-tousled golden-brown hair, brown eyes, the hint of fresh sun bronzing his skin as he considered her this afternoon.

      I don’t want to walk into any surprises. Is there anything you need to know about me?

      Just what had Bridgett told him? My pitiful sister—she’s a temp, you know, has been for nearly ten years—needs a date for the wedding. Do you know she actually thought my fiancé was in love with her?

      Scarlett winced as she imagined Bridgett’s voice. Nope, she didn’t care how dedicated the man was, didn’t care that Bridgett had flown him in. A girl had to stand up for herself, be her own hero. She didn’t need Mr. Plus-One, thank you very much.

      In fact, given the chance, she might have just found a plus-one on her own.

      But when Luke had said something about looking like an “actual couple,” it hit her.

      It would be easier for everyone if she had a date. Her standing alone on the edge of the dance floor would only make everyone feel bad. If only her parents were alive, maybe it would be easier to be in Bridgett’s shadow again. But it was just her standing at the sidelines. And, she didn’t know what history Luke had, but he seemed to need to be her date.

      Maybe he’d been in love with Bridgett. Wouldn’t that be fun? She and Luke could stand together in the shadows and watch the bride and groom dance.

      Maybe he was just what she needed. A guy who didn’t expect anything, who just needed someone to stand next to when the lights dimmed. Yes, they could work together.

      And she didn’t want to make trouble, not again. So yes, she would pretend, for Bridgett’s sake.

      She’d simply ignore the fact that for a second—a long second—after he’d picked up her bag and carried it all the way to the top deck, after he’d settled on the bench beside her and the sea breeze had carried his strong and spicy scent, after he’d spoken to her in soft, almost gentle tones, she’d wanted him to really be her date.

      Thankfully, she wasn’t so foolish to think he was actually interested.

      After all, she had learned her lesson with Duncan. A smart girl would have realized that in the two years Duncan spent being her friend, meeting her for coffee and learning to ballroom dance with her, he’d never once looked at her the way he looked at Bridgett, her beautiful sister, when she walked through the doors of the church.

      Fresh off the runways