Honeymoon With A Stranger. Frances Housden

just decided if anyone ended up burned by this arrangement it could be him, when she said, “Shower’s off.”

      Mac began running hot water into the basin.

      “When I leave here, I’ll make a show of looking through the armoire to see if anything useful has been left in it. Just remember not to look straight at the camera. And no matter what, follow my lead. Act as if you love me.”

      He almost told her, The way you did when I kissed you. She didn’t seem to have to put on an act then.

      Her mouth had simply flowered under his.

      In the mirror he watched his own mouth twist in an expression of grim reality. Until he had Thierry check Roxie out, she’d better believe his was simply an act to make sure they both survived.

      That way, he might not only get out of this situation alive but with his honor still intact.

      “What are you doing, chéri? Come to bed.” Mac heard a sultry ring of impatience in Roxie’s voice. Only the two of them knew it wasn’t the sound of a hot-blooded woman anxiously awaiting her lover.

      Or, that having him in bed with her was way down on her wish list, if indeed it made it at all.

      “Soon as I switch off the lights.”

      Under cover of darkness, he threw his leather jacket over the camera, but before turning them on again there was something he needed to be sure of.

      Barefoot, he padded softly toward the window. A pale gold haze bloomed behind the trees like dawn on the horizon. Since it wasn’t anywhere near daybreak, it could only mean a largish town wasn’t too far distant.

      Interesting, but that wasn’t what he needed to know. The window overlooked the dark driveway and was unbroken by patches of light.

      That meant the other occupied rooms must face the back of the house, which meant it was okay to flick the switch on without anyone noticing there was light coming from the attic while the monitor showing the attic was dark.

      “How many extra quilts did you pile on this bed?” Roxie’s voice sounded hot and breathless, though she’d only worn her long black T-shirt to sleep in.

      Her words reached out to him through the thick gloom, a reminder that the conversation was lagging.

      “Only two.”

      “One would have done.” As the light came back on she tossed off the quilts he’d found in the armoire and slipped out of bed. Her dark hair, dry now, had a tousled and sexy appeal, as if someone had just run his hands through it.

      For God’s sake, keep your mind on the job, Mac.

      He palmed the countersurveillance gadget. Just in time, a second later, she was over at the table standing beside him shivering. “Trust me, we’ll need them.”

      “Come under the covers and then tell me that. The sheets are cold as well.”

      He knelt down. Keeping his hands hidden, he ran a scan and found a bug. There were so few pieces of furniture this shouldn’t take long as he’d already covered the armoire.

      That left the easy chair and the bed. His concentration focused on one thing alone, and again Roxie had to fill in the conversation. “Isn’t this the most uncomfortable bed we’ve ever slept in?”

      She’d gone back to the bed and was jiggling the edge of the mattress.

      “I don’t remember doing much sleeping,” he said from the end of the bed as he knelt to check underneath and got a faint signal.

      He moved to the other side. Roxie followed by rolling across the quilts, achieving a few satisfactory squeaks of the mattress.

      They were eye to eye as she inquired, “Don’t you know a euphemism when you hear it?”

      “You mean you’d prefer me to use a much more earthy term?” he asked, then ducked his head, quick to hide his grin. And there it was, a bug behind the antique iron frame supporting the sway-backed spring base.

      Damn Zukah. That one would have to go. Somehow he’d have to make it look like an accident, so that the Algerian kept thinking he was as dumb as they were both acting at the moment.

      Her voice came down to him, “Actually, I meant instead of making love.”

      “With you, chérie—” he punctuated his words with a couple of crude kissing noises “—I always make love.” Then putting a finger to his lip, he pointed behind the headboard.

      He had to admit she was quick on the uptake. While he turned the attic into a pool of darkness for a second time, she contrived to make smooching noises on the back of her hand.

      Within two minutes he’d shed his jeans and was slipping into bed beside her.

      Tonight, though it might be uncomfortable, he kept his shorts on as a concession to Roxie, the first time he’d worn a stitch to bed since junior high.

      He felt her body heat seeping under the covers, calling him closer, or maybe that was the dip in the mattress.

      It took him a couple of seconds to realize she had been lying there rigid from the moment he hit the sheets. Time to take up the slack before his macho reputation took a dive with whoever was listening. “Chérie, I want you out of those clothes.”

      He sat up making the bed groan and finished with “Now isn’t that better?”

      Better for whom, Roxie wanted to ask, but instead infused her voice with steam heat. “Much better. Come closer, I want to feel you against me,” she told him, counting on his promise not to jump her bones. After all, they were in this together.

      The gasp he uttered satisfied the devil in her, but she wondered if he felt all that kissing of the back of her hand was worth the effort he put into it.

      Then all thought vanished as he moved his lips to the fine skin inside her wrist.

      Her pulse raced. Darn, she knew he could feel it hiccup when his lips lingered on that particular spot before moving to the inside of her elbow.

      No better. Her skin was so sensitive there that his tongue felt as rough as a cat’s as he licked at it.

      His breathing became labored and heavy and all too real, the sound of it making her head swim as her own breaths mimicked the noises he made.

      This had to stop. He could forget trying to seduce her, she wasn’t about to roll over and think of England or even France for that matter.

      “Oooh, Mac,” she groaned, thrusting off his hand so she could reach for a mental life raft.

      Whoa, Mac told himself as he came up for air.

      The sensation of her pulse jolting against his tongue was enough to tempt a saint to forget his vows.

      It was a small leap from there to remembering the view he’d had through the shower curtain. Blood rushed into his groin.

      Instead of sipping, Mac wanted to plunder. Wanted to feel her body under and over his, while he discovered some of the many delights Roxie had to offer.

      Thank God one of them had some sense.

      But it should have been him who pulled away, not Roxie.

      He’d come up against some fantastic-looking women in his time. It was one of the hazards of his occupation. Damn, he couldn’t count the number of bad beautiful women who worked for the enemy.

      Only one had gotten past his defenses, though, and he couldn’t let that happen again.

      And why would he? He wasn’t a fool, and he wasn’t about to risk blowing his cover by sweeping Roxie into his arms and really making love to her.

      Time to get back to playacting.

      “How’s that feel, chérie?”

      “Wonderful.” The