Lying in Bed. Jo Leigh

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      He took a look at his watch, then excused himself, closing himself behind the bathroom door. She knew he had his phone with him, and at his unexpected exit she wondered if he was ducking out to privately call Jeannie. Or maybe another woman. None of her business, she reminded herself, not in this room. Why couldn’t she have been partnered with Brian? He would have been a nightmare, too, but in a totally different way. At least with Brian, there was no fear of being caught ogling like a lovesick teen.

      While Angie polished off her yogurt she thought about what Ryan had said so she wouldn’t end up blowing their cover in the first five minutes. With the notable exception of the attraction situation, she was actually getting a little revved about this sting and what they were about to do. It had been a while since she’d been assigned to the field, and though she loved her computers more than Paula loved her cats, there was an adrenaline rush with casework that went unmatched, even by winning a major race.

      An undercover assignment called on skills that were rarely used in any other type of investigation. Which was terrifying, and also exciting, although it would have been even more thrilling if they could have made the actual bust, but that wasn’t up for debate. Besides, the blackmail text likely wouldn’t come until after the week was over.

      As long as she kept the goal firmly in mind, she should be fine. Jeannie had offered her services as her coach, and Angie had promised she wouldn’t hesitate to call if she felt out of her depth.

      “We don’t have much time left,” Ryan said, coming back outside, and powering down his laptop. “You okay with everything so far?”

      “Fine. Anything else you need me to know?”

      He held up a hand as he put the computer into a hard case and locked it. After that was in the closet, along with the rest of the luggage, he went to the dummy laptop on the dresser. He pulled out his wallet and extracted a small rectangle of clear plastic, which he was able to attach to the monitor seconds before it closed. If anyone opened it, the card would slip out, but not be observed. Clever.

      He turned back to her and she was caught off guard once more at how broad his shoulders looked in that polo shirt. She shook the thought away, angry that she’d even think such a thing.

      “Tonight,” Ryan said, all business, “we’ll have a much better idea how to proceed. For now, we stick to small talk and distractions. If anyone asks something we’re not sure about, we plead ‘sore subject’ and move on.”

      “Good.” Angie put her hands on the armrests ready to go, but Ryan slipped into his chair and leaned forward, capturing her attention fully.

      “As for how far I’m willing to go, I want to make it perfectly clear that I will do my utmost to avoid any delicate situations. If we get stuck, I’ll keep in character, but I’ll do my best not to make you uncomfortable.”

      She inhaled slowly. His declaration wasn’t a surprise, but it was welcome, nonetheless. Even though she’d tried not to imagine situations in which they could be forced into that kind of intimacy, way too many had come to mind. The massages, of course, and what if they were the only two who didn’t jump onto the clothing-optional bandwagon? Would that make them look suspicious? Would that scream undercover cops?

      Regardless, none of that should matter. Awkward stuff always happened on undercover operations. It was part of the job. Still, it was going to be damn weird. After that Halloween incident, she’d told herself that there was no way in hell she and Ryan were ever going to see each other naked. This week, it would be a miracle if they could avoid it.

      PURPLE WALLS AND PURPLE carpet made it very clear why they called the main workshop space the Lavender Room. The giant bean bags on the floor arranged in a big circle were pretty much what Ryan expected, or should he say dreaded.

      “What’s that frown for?” Angie asked.

      “I thought bean bags went out in the early eighties. But instead, they just continued to grow. Those are huge.” Ryan gave her the smile that terrible joke deserved, and it felt great when she grinned back. Picturing the two of them curled up together on the bulging bag of polystyrene pellets just became a little more comfortable. For about a minute.

      Jesus. A whole week of foreplay and no main event.

      What the hell was it going to take to get him to stop thinking about her as anything more than a fellow agent? His gaze moved from her smile to the red blouse to her thigh-hugging trousers. The outfit made everything worse. At work, in her nonfitted suits she wore sensible shoes with small heels. Something she could run in. Today, the heels on her sandals had to be five inches. She was tall without them, but standing next to him like this, their eyes were almost level, and he was six-one. There was no way he could fool his brain into seeing her as anything but stunning. Beyond tempting. Sexy.

      “Six couples,” she said.

      He nodded, then turned away, checking out the rest of the room. Two exits, a bank of closed windows. The carpet was industrial, the tables in the back standard and there were two whiteboards, a blackboard and too many posters of greeting card couples on the walls.

      The long tables with chairs had clipboards in front of each of twelve seats, along with the ubiquitous seminar water carafes and glasses.

      “There’s Delilah,” Angie said, bringing Ryan’s attention back to her. She nodded toward a tall, attractive woman walking up to the whiteboard. Delilah had blond hair that reached past her shoulders. A nicely proportioned body and a broad smile completed the very-professional package.

      “Older than her brochure picture.”

      “Not by much,” Angie said, and they were both speaking softly, moving slightly away from a couple who hovered nearby. “She’s pretty.”

      “Damn relaxed.”

      “She would be. This is old hat for her.”

      Delilah wore dark slacks and a sensible button-down white shirt. She would have looked at home in any business setting, and that surprised him. “I pictured flowing robes and too many flowers.”

      “I guess they left that up to Ira,” Angie said, scoping out the tall, slender male therapist who’d just walked in.

      “An aloha shirt?” Ryan watched Ira Bridges approach Delilah and put his hand on the small of her back. His salt-and-pepper hair brushed against his shoulders. Garish flowers covered the pale, roomy shirt. Ryan wouldn’t be surprised to find he wore a ankh necklace or an infinity bracelet. “Tell me he’s not wearing flip-flops.”

      Angie leaned just enough to the left so she could tell. “He is.”

      Ryan sighed. “They’re going to play that pan flute music, aren’t they? I hate the pan flute.”

      Angie poked him in the side with her elbow, dislodging his train of thought. It didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it was more of a gentle nudge but it had been enough to remind him that her skin was slightly tan and looked like silk.

      He held his breath, afraid to move. She’d never have done that back in L.A. under any circumstances. Angie would have cleared her throat, turned toward him, said something, but she wouldn’t have touched him like that. Angie Ebsen not only would, but should, and the touching would soon be a hell of a lot more intimate than an elbow to the ribs.

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