Taken by the Con. C.J. Miller
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his past, he was front and center on her “men to avoid” list.
“I can read you. You’re turned on. You want to kiss me and you hate that.”
Lucia inhaled slowly to calm herself. Lust was quickly overtaking the anger she’d felt. Interrogation techniques. Hiding her emotions. She called on the skills she’d learned as a special agent, but felt them failing. Cash was rattling her and Lucia didn’t rattle easily. She fought for composure and clear thinking. Was something in her face or posture giving away that she was attracted to him?
He was tall, handsome and confident. She could acknowledge he had certain attractive traits. That didn’t mean she wanted him in her bed. “You can’t read me as well as you think.”
“Kiss me and prove it.”
She laughed. He was contemptible. “I’m not kissing you.”
“I’ll go on believing the reason is that you’re afraid of what might happen.”
Afraid? Never. She feared nothing. Not even a player with thick brown hair that skimmed the tops of his ears. A strand had fallen over his forehead as if he’d styled it to draw her attention to his too-perfect face.
A surface-level attraction held no sway over her. It would pass. A kiss would change nothing, but a kiss would happen on her terms.
One hand cinching her coat together, Lucia grabbed the back of his head with her free hand and brought his mouth to hers in a hot, fierce kiss. She was unaffected by anything he could dish out. She could take it and not let it break her stride.
Except the kiss was like none she’d ever had. It sizzled and scorched her. She should stop it and throw him out, but her libido urged her for a few more seconds to taste him, a little more, a little longer. His tongue moved in sync with hers, his mouth brushing over hers with the right pressure and the right speed. The man had skills. She wondered what he was like in bed.
“How much have you had to drink?” he asked in breathless pants between kisses.
He must have tasted the wine on her lips. His question gave her a moment to think. She’d drunk half a glass of wine, but more importantly, she was standing in her condo kissing Cash Stone.
He had manipulated her so easily. Her guard hitched up and she broke away. She slid to the right, away from the counter and straightened her coat around her, ensuring everything was covered. He wasn’t getting another peep show.
She folded her arms. “See? Nothing between us but air. Now write this down as a rule so you don’t forget it. None of my other colleagues come to my home uninvited and unannounced. If you need something, you can tell me at work. Or better yet, don’t tell me. Tell Benjamin and he’ll pass it along to me.”
Cash studied her and Lucia refused to shift under his blue-eyed gaze. She tipped her chin up proudly. The master of reading people wouldn’t know how much he’d excited her. Thrills of pleasure still danced over her. Her knees felt weak and her thighs were quivering. She blamed the length of time she’d been alone.
“Benjamin will ask how our meeting went,” Cash said.
Would Cash tell him about the kiss? Would it matter? How her boss and colleagues saw her was important to her. Her reputation had been tarnished when she was moved from the high-profile violent-crime division to the lower visibility of the white-collar division. She had so much riding on this case. She had to prove she was a good agent. A great agent. “I’ll tell him it went fine and we won’t have any issues working together.”
“I think we might have an issue,” Cash said. “You’ll have to keep your hands off me.”
She sputtered.
“Come on, Lucy, I was joking. Lighten up.”
“Don’t call me Lucy. It’s Lucia.”
“Can’t we be friendly, Lucia?” he asked.
“If saying yes will get you out of my home, then yes.”
“That’s not very friendly,” Cash said. He looked around the condo. “Do you mind if I go out on the balcony?”
And invade her space further? “I’d prefer that you leave.”
“I spent the last four years in a cage and the last thirty seconds having my mind blown by a topless FBI agent. Let me grab some fresh air and cool down.” He strode to the balcony and opened the double doors leading outside.
“Fresh air is also available on your walk home,” she said.
“Come here a minute,” Cash said. “Please.”
The word please surprised her. Until now, he had been bold and confident. He hadn’t seemed like the type to ask, but rather that he would expect she do as he requested.
She walked to the balcony. He was a difficult man to say no to. His eyes and voice beckoned like a siren song—a very hot, very male siren.
“Look up,” he said, pointing to the sky.
She did and the sight took her breath away. The moon was bright and full, and stars filled the sky. How long had it been since she took a moment to enjoy her view? “The full moon explains that kiss.”
Cash put his arm around her shoulders. “Whatever story you want to tell, I’m game.”
She shrugged off his arm. “We can’t be friends. I don’t make friends at work.” Easier to define her role in clear terms and not wonder why no one looped her into their personal lives.
Cash took a deep breath. “Whatever you say, boss.”
He sounded sad and a touch of compassion brushed her. He seemed to be enjoying the view. What harm would it do to stand out on the balcony for a few minutes?
“I guess you aren’t married,” Cash said.
Prying, but she allowed the question. “I’m not married.” She had once been close to being someone’s wife, but it had been years since she’d dated or had much of a social life. Since the heartbreak of her broken engagement, she’d changed focus and had sacrificed a private life for her career. She now enjoyed being alone. She liked her space and preferred to do whatever she wanted with her free time and not feel guilty about working late.
“I was married once,” Cash said.
A personal conversation was unnecessary. She didn’t want to share details of her own misadventures in love. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You said you’re worried you can’t trust me. I’m giving you a reason to trust me.”
“That reason is what?” Lucia asked. “That you convinced some woman to marry you and now she has to live as your ex?”
“Not ex-wife. My late wife. She died in a car accident.”
She was a jerk of the worst kind. She’d gotten prickly and snarky and run her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Cash held up his hand. “Please don’t apologize. It was years ago and I’m okay now. But we have a son.”
Benjamin hadn’t said anything about Cash’s personal life and Lucia found herself riveted by what Cash was sharing with her, even as traces of doubt slipped through her thoughts. “Where’s your son?” she asked, scared of the answer. Cash had been in prison. His wife was dead. What had happened to the little boy?
“He lives with my wife’s mom. If I stay out of trouble and make a life for him, the court may let him live with me. That’s how you know I won’t betray you. My son is my life and getting him back means everything to me. Next time you worry about me running away, know that I have everything that matters riding on making this job work.”
* * *
Cash hated being chained to the FBI office in Washington, DC, and he hated the place where he was living. He hated being a free man in