Undercover Wife. Merline Lovelace
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of her breasts against his bicep than the fact that he’d been gulled by a couple of con artists.
What was with him, for God’s sake? He’d held her in his arms before. And not just at the firing range. A few months ago, he’d escorted her to a black-tie reception and used her as cover while scoping out a congressman suspected of selling government secrets. He’d nailed his target, but sweat still gathered at the base of his spine when he remembered how Gillian-with-a-J had moved in a strapless, flame-colored column of silk that bared more of her than it covered.
Damn it all to hell! He had to get his head straight. Too much rode on this op to let his fantasies about this blue-eyed siren override his common sense.
“Let’s go,” he repeated with a distinct edge to his voice. “We have business to take care of.”
Chapter 4
The first item on the agenda was to check into the hotel. Hawk was too preoccupied to appreciate the British colonial ambiance of the Peninsula’s pillared entrance or the soaring lobby with its brass fixtures, rattan chairs and potted palms. Jilly, however, drank in the elegance as they walked to the reception desk.
“Welcome to the Peninsula, Mrs. Callahan.”
With a small jolt, she realized the clerk at the reception desk had addressed her. “Thank you.”
“I hope your flight in wasn’t too exhausting.”
“Not at all.”
Once Hawk had stopped drilling her on operating procedures and let her get some sleep that is. She’d retaliated during the final leg of their journey with a lecture covering four thousand years of Chinese dynastic history.
“Is this your first trip to Hong Kong?”
“I’ve visited several times before but my…er…husband hasn’t.”
Hawk covered the near stumble by sliding an arm around her waist. “Still takes some getting used to, doesn’t it, darling?”
His slow smile ignited sparks just under Jilly’s skin and darned near melted the receptionist where she stood. Like hopeless romantics everywhere, the young woman got all googly-eyed. “Are you on your honeymoon?”
“We are.”
“Congratulations.” Her fingers tapped the keyboard. “Perhaps we might be able to switch you to the…Oh, I see you’re already booked into one of our finest suites. I’ll send up some champagne and fresh strawberries, compliments of the house.”
“Sounds wonderful. We’ll put them to good use.”
There was that smile again. Tender, intimate, so full of sensual promise that heat raced through her like a California wildfire.
“Your luggage has already been taken up to your suite. If you’ll just sign the registration form, Mr. Callahan, I’ll scan your passports and credit card.”
She didn’t question the fact that Jilly’s passport was in her maiden name. The blushing new bride wouldn’t have had time to change it.
“You’re in the Tower, sir. Edward will show you the way. And once again, my congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
As they followed the uniformed attendant to the elevators, Hawk kept the pretense up—and the wildfires raging—with a casually possessive hand to the small of Jilly’s back.
The heat didn’t cool until they reached the twenty-second floor and their escort slid a key card into a lock.
“There are two entrances to your suite,” he informed them. “This one accesses the foyer. The other, just there, takes you into the walk-in closet and storage area.”
Jilly thought that was pretty handy until she saw Hawk eyeing the second door with a crease between his brows. Two entrances, she realized belatedly, meant twice the necessary security precautions.
Damn! She’d better start thinking more like a field agent.
“Here you are.”
Handing Hawk the key card, the attendant stood aside to let them precede him into the foyer. All marble and cream, with an artistic arrangement of snowy-white chrysanthemums on a side table, the entryway led into living and dining rooms that blended Asian and European with flawless symmetry.
Rich, jewel-toned Oriental rugs softened the parquet floors. Jilly’s heels sank into the plush thickness as she admired the twin black lacquer chests inlaid with mother-of-pearl that framed the fireplace. The mantel held an artistic display of porcelain ginger jars in a delicate blue-and-white pattern that complimented the wingback chairs and sofas.
But it was the terrace with its floor-to-ceiling sliding-glass doors that knocked the breath back down her throat. Shedding her jacket, she aimed straight for the doors. Once outside she felt as though she was standing at the top of the world.
A stiff breeze whipped her hair while she watched gulls circling above a fishing junk that chugged through the gray-green waters of the bay. Across the harbor, late-afternoon sunlight glinted on the glass towers of Hong Kong. Twenty stories below, a cruise ship was just pulling into a berth alongside the Ocean Terminal.
“Hawk! Come see this view!”
When he didn’t answer, she turned and found him with a phone already held to his ear.
“Guess the honeymoon is over,” she murmured to the squawking gulls.
“That’s right,” Hawk was saying when she slid the terrace doors shut behind her. “Mr. and Mrs. Michael Callahan. We e-mailed Mr. Wang about arranging shipment of the furniture and antiques we intend to purchase in Hong Kong.”
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