One Wrong Move (5 page)

The cliché of tall, dark, and handsome suited him well. Height was a prerequisite for Rayma, since she stood five-nine. As much as her height gave her an advantage in certain situations, most of the time it made her self-conscious. This man dwarfed her. She lifted her glass to guzzle the remainder of the wine, which was pathetically lacking.

His molasses-colored eyes slid over her, making her tremble. She reached for the wine bottle and cursed at the quivering in her hands. Red sloshed to the table as she poured and missed. He swiped the bottle and topped off her glass, then asked everyone else if they wanted a drink or dessert.

Once the wine was topped, he leaned over and extended his hand. She forgot all about dessert. His eyes were more of an indulgence than anything on the menu.

“Your story might not have helped business, but it did bring out a lot of curious people,” he said by way of introduction.

She wiped her hands on her cloth napkin and ignored his hand. He finally dropped his.

“My name is Camden. I’m the chef who brought about your story.”

“I remember,” Rayma said. “Care to give us any insight?”

“Clashing of opinions.” His smile revealed perfect teeth. “Kind of like now.”

“Oh?” Rayma sipped her wine, but it came out as a slurp. She set the glass on the table and dabbed her mouth with the napkin in an attempt to look bored.

“You think I’m a jerk. I think you’re wrong.”

“You going to beat me up over it?” she asked, smiling. He was handsome and charming. She was taken in by his good looks but not by his charm. Charm didn’t faze her, even if her heart floundered in her chest and her entire body vibrated like a plucked string.

“How are you enjoying your dinner?” His voice, deep and rich, trilled along the lines of her collarbone and into her throat. His undertone was like a whisper-soft touch, and she fought the urge to tilt her head back and await his lips on her skin.

She dropped her napkin on her plate and tried to compose herself. “Why do you ask? You didn’t poison it did you?”

His laugh thrummed into her, each note sliding to a lower rhythm and settling into her core. “Now why would I do that?”

She scanned the room, her gaze landing everywhere but on his face. “I don’t know, to get rid of the bad advertising?” She finally glanced up at him. Their eyes met. She nearly collapsed with the punch of their chemistry. Her chair wobbled, like a dock in the ocean being hit by forceful swells, and her heart pounded out dissonant rhythms. “And anyway, you give me way too much credit. Barely anyone reads my blog.”

“Another clash of opinions,” he said.

He looked like the devil. Strong jawbone, deep-set eyes so dark she’d lose herself with one glimpse. Perfectly coiffed hair that could easily be mussed by her hands.

Certainly he evoked this effect on all women on purpose. She fisted her hands on her lap and relaxed her shoulders, breathing in and out slowly and inconspicuously. When that didn’t work to ease her, she grabbed her glass of wine and gulped.

“Would you like another glass?”

She hated how his eyes sparkled, as if he knew exactly how he affected her. He was probably accustomed to it, but she was certain he wasn’t accustomed to having the tables turned. He was like a gift from the heavens, and not because of his looks and his charm. No, he was the chef of a famous restaurant accused of smuggling drugs. What better way to unearth the information she desperately craved?

“No, thanks.”

“I have to get back to work, but I get off sometime after eleven. How about coffee?”

“Coffee at eleven?” she asked, oozing her own charm, turning her gaze down, then up again. Smiling. Flirting to her advantage, not his. “I’ll be in bed by then.”

“Bed sounds good.” His voice lowered to a level so deep, it strummed the inside of her core.

“And I’ll be alone.”

“Alone is no fun. How about dinner Sunday? Sundays and Mondays are my only days off.”

Perfect. She wasn’t above using men for information, especially when they looked like him. As long as she could control her hormones.

“You going to cook?”

“On my day off?”

She shrugged, relishing the way his eyes alit on her bare shoulders at the movement. The din of her friends’ snickering and talk surrounded her, but she couldn’t make out their conversations. Everything and everyone had disappeared but the two of them.

“Well, if you want to have dinner with me, the only way I can agree is if you cook.”

“I’d be happy to cook for you.”

She grabbed a pen and paper from her purse and wrote down her address. He brushed his hand across hers as he accepted the note, leaving a trail of fire on her skin. “See you Sunday.”

“Whoa,” Nicole said as all five women watched him walk away. “He’s not your next date profile. Remember old, fat, and divorced?”

“So I’ll go out with a fat guy tomorrow,” Rayma said and laughed at Nicole’s expression. “Besides, you don’t know, he could be divorced. And you’re the one who said there doesn’t have to be a spark, not me.”

“There should always be a spark, and it’s flaming off you both.”

Rayma shook her head. “No, no, and no.” She couldn’t tell her friend that she was only agreeing to a date with him to see if he could shed any insight on the restaurant and its suspected drug business, even inadvertently. She wanted to know what kind of men Darrell employed, and why.

No matter how good-looking this chef was, she wouldn’t admit otherwise. No matter how appealing Camden proved to be, she wouldn’t let herself fall for his charm.

***

Camden

“Well? How did it go?” Dare asked when Camden got back to the kitchen.

“How did what go?” He retied his apron and snatched the next food ticket, trying to shove the image of the woman out of his mind. He was supposed to make women tremble, not the other way around, but when her hazel eyes met his, he felt like he’d slammed his head into a pole and was still reeling from the aftereffects.

“With the woman. How did it go?”

“I made a date with her on Sunday.”

Dare slapped him on the back. “My God, Cam, you’ve got some kind of gift. Get her in your good graces so she won’t want to trash this restaurant again.”

Camden glanced at Dare and nodded. He wasn’t sure why Dare worried about it, but he probably wanted to avoid bad press, seeing as how his business was a front for manufacturing drugs. “You realize it was only a blog post. How many people do you think will see that?”

“She rubs me the wrong way. She’s out for some kind of story. A vengeance piece. Maybe because Mike dumped her, I don’t know. Take one of our best bottles of wine with you. She seems to like it.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Dare laughed and slapped him on the back again before walking away. Camden clenched his teeth and tossed together a side salad, dressing the plate of steak and potatoes with parsley.

He hadn’t dated in months. It wasn’t easy to maintain any type of relationship while undercover. Dare had tried to set him up with several women, which he’d quickly tossed aside. On a normal day, he wasn’t a long-term guy. In the middle of a huge operation, a relationship was the last thing on his mind.

Should
be the last thing on his mind. But he had a feeling it was going to take a while to rid himself of that woman’s image.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lacey

Lacey knew Sunday was Camden’s day off and he used that time to do whatever it was he did. Screw off, probably. He was the only one of them who had a personal life.

She left that morning before Moore could quiz her on where she was going, what she was doing, and if it would risk their undercover op.

She wasn’t stupid.

The last thing Lacey wanted to do was playact a happy marriage since she was divorced. Especially with a man like Moore, who treated her like an imbecile and demanded she lay out all her plans before she did them. The only life she had outside work these days was grocery shopping. Sure, she got to drive a sporty Lexus, but a pretend marriage to a rich asshole was beginning to lose its charm.

She knew Darrell Weberley’s schedule like the back of her hand, though she had never met him. She’d spent the past year of her life studying him, profiling him, watching his moves and listening to his conversations. She’d been assigned to profile him before any other action had been taken in the investigation, so she knew him better than anyone—his hobbies, what kind of women he liked, and how to approach him to get his attention.

Moore had considered using Lacey to see if she could woo Darrell and get invited to the party, but had changed his mind when Camden had been rehired. It pissed her off. She was a special agent. She should be doing something besides researching him and his employees and pretending to be Camden’s landlord.

So on Sunday morning, when most people were either sleeping off their hangovers or attending church, Lacey packed a beach bag and drove down the rural road toward Darrell’s house, where he would be enjoying his Sunday morning ritual of horseback riding.

She stopped on the road and popped the hood of the Lexus, standing outside her car and wiping beads of sweat from her brow as she waited for horse and rider. She was determined to meet him, but she had to be careful about it, lest Moore and Camden find out.

When he approached several minutes later, she drank heartily from a plastic water bottle and poured it over her head and top as if she had been out there forever. She wore short denim shorts, a midriff shirt, and her bathing suit underneath.

“Car problems?” Darrell dismounted his horse and approached her.

“Yeah.” She sighed and waved her phone. “My phone doesn’t get a signal, either. I’ve been out here for an eternity.” She drew her T-shirt away from her chest and fanned herself with it. “Can you help?”

Keeping hold of his horse’s reins, he moved closer. “I know nothing about cars. Sorry.” He glanced at her breasts, which were, to her delight, beading up for his attention. “Where are you going?”

“I was planning to swim. I had a huge fight with my husband and fled the house. I didn’t want him to find me, so I drove as far away as I could. Thought I’d lie on the beach for a while and decide what to do.”

“My phone works,” he said as he pulled it from his pocket. “Shall we call him?”

“No.” Lacey took hold of his arm and stared at him, eyes wide and full of worry, playing the damsel to a T. Changing the subject, she placed her other hand on the horse and touched his mane. “He’s beautiful. What’s his name?”

“Ceres. She’s female.”

“Oh.” Lacey inhaled deeply as she stroked the horse’s mane, knowing she had what it took to attract certain men. Camden may not appreciate her looks, and Moore didn’t count, but because of her research on Darrell, she knew what he liked in a woman. A tease who could see it through, a controller who liked to be controlled. A damsel in distress who could hold her own. Married women were like trophies to him. He was on the verge of being a sadist, from what she’d heard, and that was fine with her.

Like she’d told Moore, he was cute, and she was horny.

She’d had a boob job after her husband had left her for a spunky blonde, and Darrell was a man who liked his women hot. After her divorce, Lacey went through a metamorphosis, turning from a tomboy with long but unappealing hair into a woman who was audacious enough to get what she wanted out of life. She was a good actress, and the undercover work had given her plenty of experience.

And now she was going to play Darrell.

“You don’t want to call your husband?”

“Not really. No. I’m…” She gazed at him. “Scared of him right now.”

His eyebrows rose. Her lashes fluttered as she looked down, then back at him.

“I’m not ready to go home. I really just wanted to lie out on the beach and think about things. Now…” She glanced at her car, then back at him. “Now I don’t know what to do.”

“I can’t fix your car, but I can give you a horseback ride to the private beach of your dreams. You game?”

“Oh, uh…” She perched a hand on her chest, exaggerating her nervousness.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured her.

She politely laughed. “Of course not. I’d love a ride.”

She grabbed her beach bag from the car, and he helped her onto the horse. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed close, inhaling an unusual scent of grass, salt, horse, and aftershave.

As hot as it was outside, Darrell wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a hat, which was something else she knew about him. He was sensitive to the sun, and his horse riding days were about the only time he spent outside.

She imagined his drugs were safely stashed away
inside
.

The horse strolled along a sand-covered trail until it reached the coast. She pressed as closely against him as she could. He was right. It was the beach of her dreams, and not just because he was there. Situated near his house—she knew because of her research—but far enough away for privacy, this part was inaccessible without trespassing on his property or boating up to shore. Cupped by generous palm trees and sand dunes on three sides, it offered the kind of seclusion she sought. The kind of privacy she needed to start her seduction.

He stopped, helped her dismount, and tied his horse while she whipped her towel out on the sand and grabbed oil from her bag. His eyes burned her skin as she removed her shorts and top to reveal a diminutive bikini. She sat on her towel and stretched out her legs.

“Would you mind?” she asked as she held the suntan oil out for him. A beach seduction might not be the best enticement for someone who didn’t like the sun, but he took the oil from her and rubbed it deep into her skin.

She didn’t have to fake the pleasure. She closed her eyes and arched her back, enjoying his soft but callused hands. Her nipples hardened when he brushed his hands across her chest. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her breasts.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said.

“Dare.”

“Dare? As in, I dare you to kiss me?”

His eyes flickered as he studied her. “It’s a nickname.”

“Sexy.” She opened her legs wider as he rubbed the inside of her thighs, and her body tightened and released. “My name’s Lacey, and I feel terrible about ruining your day. The last thing you must want to do is to lie around the beach and babysit a woman who is pissed at her husband.”

“Lying on the beach with a beautiful woman beats any other plans I had in mind.”

She sat up and took the oil from him. “You want some?” She unbuttoned his shirt and poured oil into her palms, rubbing them together before massaging her hands over his chest. This was dangerous, but right now she didn’t give a damn.

She was having fun. This is what she was meant to do with her life, not sit inside a house and wait for things to happen. She was meant to
make
them happen.

“Why are you mad at your husband?”

“He’s such a bore.” She pressed her nose into his neck and inhaled. “Oh, you smell so good.” She pulled away from him and wiped a fake tear from her eye. “We haven’t had sex in months, and I just found out he’s cheating on me. Yet he wants me to stay with him, to keep up this persona that everything is perfect with us, so his daddy doesn’t disown him. I don’t know what to do, so I came out to be alone.” She lay back on her towel but he didn’t follow. “I can’t remember the last time I had an orgasm.”

“Really?”

Lacey knew this was no big deal to him. He had women all over him, all the time. He probably had several waiting for him in his house right now. A powerful man had powerful urges, and he was a man used to getting his way. She craved his attention, and nothing small would do. There could be no chance meeting in a library, no dining out or dates for him.

But a man like him loved his games. And she was a game in his eyes.

“You using me to get back at your husband?”

“No.” She watched him watch her as she played with her top, touching the beads peaking on the breasts she’d spent a fortune to own. She trailed her hands down her body, kept tan all year long with tanning beds. She touched the heat of her body and let out a soft moan. She didn’t have to fake it; she thought she would explode at any moment. Then she touched his mustache, the same dark color as his hair, and to her delight he opened his mouth to taste her. “Maybe. But your hands rubbing oil on my body really turned me on.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.” She hadn’t had a man watch her like this in years. She hadn’t had an orgasm with anything other than a hand in years. She didn’t count that quickie with the grocery store clerk downtown.

He watched as she touched herself. She placed her finger on his lips again, rubbed the taste of her on him. She followed with a hard but quick kiss.

Darrell, or Dare, or whatever he was supposed to be called, pushed against her and she leaned back. She let out an encouraging moan.

He liked his women loud, and she knew this from all the research she’d done on him. Ex-girlfriends and lovers liked to talk.

He removed his jeans, donned a condom, and entered her. It didn’t take her long to climax, for she had already been on the brink of losing control. She moved against him, letting him pull her, bite her, taste her like no one had ever done before.

Finished, he rolled away and retrieved his jeans, giving her no accolades or promises.

She hadn’t expected any.

“Will I see you again?” she asked.

“I’m not a one-woman man,” Dare said.

“And I’m not a one-man woman.”

His eyes crinkled as he pulled up his pants and smiled at her. “Good to know. Come on, I’ll get you to your car and get a wrecker called.” He lifted her onto the horse and mounted behind her, letting her take the reins.

As they trotted back through the path to her car, she kept telling herself this was all for her job, she was doing this for a good reason, and Moore never needed to know. She’d be a heroine when all was said and done and she was the one to put Darrell behind bars.

She shuddered. That thought left a hole in the middle of her chest. Did he deserve to be behind bars? She didn’t think so.

His breath warmed her ear as he rubbed his palms up her arms. “Are you okay?”

She leaned her head back on his chest as the horse gaited through the sand. “Wonderful, thank you. I was just thinking of going back to my husband, dreading it.”

After all of her years as an unappreciated agent, maybe it was time to turn the tables, help Darrell. She didn’t have to tell him who she was, what she was, but maybe she could inadvertently warn him or prevent him from getting busted.

Her new mission resolved, she straightened her shoulders. Darrell clasped his hands over hers on the reins and leaned forward. “Hold on. Let’s go for a real ride.”

***

Camden

Camden carried two paper sacks full of food, a bottle of Merlot, and a small spray of flowers when he knocked on Rayma’s door Sunday evening. When she greeted him, he nearly lost his grip on the bags he carried. Her smile, wide and unassuming, sexy but genuine, made him feel like a gawky teenager on his first date instead of a hardcore DEA agent who killed bad guys.

A short denim skirt accentuated her long legs, paired with a sexy pink tank top and matching toe polish. Her hazel eyes reminded him of the color of the sky at dusk, the brownish blue with tints of green and purple merging into one color. He didn’t want to let go of that glimpse, but she averted her attention to the paper sacks and started digging.

“What’s this?” She held up a tomato, smelled it, and inspected it under the light, as if that would give her an indication of where it came from. “Garden grown?”

“Yes. My landlords allow me a section of property to tend a garden.”

“Awesome.” She pulled the bundle of flowers from the sack and sniffed them. “Did these come from your garden too?”

Camden nodded as he unpacked fillets of beef.

“I didn’t really expect you to cook for me on your day off.” She filled a vase with water and arranged the flowers, fluttered around the kitchen. “I was only teasing.”

“I want to.”