White Heat. Brenda Novak
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badly if everyone’s getting them.”
He slung one arm over the steering wheel. “They hurt badly enough. Why put yourself through it?” And mar that soft skin, he added silently.
“Good point. Since you’re so tough, you should get the tattoo—my name on your arm.”
No way would he etch a woman’s name on his skin. The permanence of that scared the hell out of him and she knew it. That was partly what told him this was a setup. “Sorry, ain’t gonna happen.”
They reached the highway, and he accelerated as they headed toward Interstate 10, which would eventually take them through Riverside and into Arizona, almost all the way to Portal. “We don’t need tattoos.”
“It’ll take more than simply telling everyone we’re married to make them believe it.”
“You’ve got a ring, don’t you?”
“A ring only signifies that we once exchanged vows. It doesn’t mean we have a close relationship. So…you tell me. How do you want to play this? Do you want us to seem sort of…estranged? Regretful that we tied the knot? On the brink of divorce?” She poked the tiny brush inside the polish and changed feet. “I could win an Oscar I’d be so good at that performance.”
He’d hurt her six months ago, and now she didn’t like him. It bothered him, but it was better to have her not like him than like him too much. At least, that was how he felt most of the time. “That won’t work, not for this. We need to act as if we’re close.” Otherwise, he’d be less capable of protecting her.
“That’s what I thought you’d say. Or you would’ve gone in as my brother, like I wanted you to in the first place.”
So that was what all this was about. She was punishing him, or trying to spook him into changing the nature of their pretend relationship before they arrived in Phoenix and found themselves locked into the arrangement.
He would’ve been more than happy to accommodate her, but he wasn’t sure it’d be any easier to play brother and sister. There was too much sexual tension between them. They ignored it, of course. When he’d rejected her, he’d cut her pride so deeply she’d go without air before she’d ever admit to wanting him again. But since that night in January, the energy that flowed between them had only grown stronger. When they were at the office together, he was aware of every move she made, and he was afraid others were beginning to sense what they both so categorically denied. That kind of interest would hardly seem appropriate between siblings.
“We’ll have a close relationship, but no tattoos,” he reiterated.
She dipped the brush again. “So you’re suggesting we let it all hang on a ring?”
“Works for me.”
Finally dropping the manipulative tactics, she straightened. “Oh, come on. Let’s just say you’re my brother! We don’t even want to get close enough to rub up against each other. How convincing will body language like that be?”
Want had nothing to do with it. He glanced over to tell her they’d just have to improve their acting and caught a glimpse of her dress bunched up around her hips, bare legs plainly visible. Another inch or two and he could’ve spotted her panties.
Rachel wasn’t trying to entice him. That was obvious from her careless attitude. She was so sure he wasn’t interested, she saw no point in being cautious, which wasn’t very wise if they were going to be living together. Maybe he wasn’t in love with her, but that didn’t mean he was blind. He could appreciate her physical assets the same as the next guy.
“Convincing enough, I hope,” he said. “And one other thing.”
She made a careful swipe with the polish, then another. “What’s that?”
He waited for her to look at him. “Unless you want me to knock down that invisible wall you’ve constructed between us, I wouldn’t tease me if I were you. That’s not a punishment I’ll tolerate.”
Her jaw sagged. “Tease you?”
When he shifted his gaze to her legs, his meaning finally seemed to register.
“I’m painting my toenails!” she said. “You think I’m trying to punish you? That I’m trying to do it by arousing you?”
She didn’t have to try. That was the problem. “Just put your dress down,” he said with a scowl. “And leave it there.”
4
She wasn’t the only one nervous about sharing a bedroom. Nate’s grumpiness made that clear. He probably wouldn’t refuse a quick lay if he was in the right mood—he hadn’t refused last time, had he? But he didn’t want her, and he couldn’t be any more obvious about it. She wasn’t willing to get burned a second time. She’d already offered him her heart and soul, and he’d tossed them right back at her. Hell would freeze over before she ever made him that offer again.
Ignoring his order to keep her dress down, she raised it again and proceeded to paint the rest of her toenails. Without shifting her dress she couldn’t do it comfortably. If he thought ordinary behavior constituted teasing, that was his problem. They’d be “married” in name only. Until they moved into the commune, they wouldn’t even share a bedroom.
Soon after she’d finished, the scenery outside changed from the green and brown of the rolling hills surrounding L.A. to the monochrome beige of flat desert. By afternoon, they couldn’t get a radio signal and Rachel lamented the fact that she hadn’t brought her iPod. The only sound, other than the warp of their tires on asphalt, came from the fan of the air conditioner. It hummed at full speed but pumped hot air into the cab. According to Nate, they must’ve lost their coolant somewhere along the highway because he couldn’t get the AC to work any better.
“Why do you still have this old truck?” she grumbled.
“Because I like it. It has character. And it comes in handy for work—and play.”
Besides using it on various undercover jobs—jobs like this one—he sometimes took it four-wheeling with the guys. But she never would’ve agreed to ride with him if she’d thought they’d have to travel without air-conditioning. She would’ve flown into Tucson and had him pick her up there. At least that would’ve eliminated this extended trek across the hottest desert in North America. It had to be one hundred and twenty degrees outside. The truck felt like an oven.
“I can’t believe this,” she complained. “We’re in the Sonoran Desert. It’s the middle of July. And we don’t have air.”
“Roll down your window.”
She did as he suggested. The wind caused strands of her hair to come loose but did little to cool her off. Drops of perspiration rolled down her back and between her breasts. She’d abandoned her sweater long ago. Now she kept raising her skirt over the closest air-conditioning vent to funnel the air up under her dress, which clung miserably to her if she didn’t.
“Do you want me to drive?” she asked, suddenly so restless she felt she couldn’t tolerate another mile.
“I’ve got it,” he said, but when she continued to shift and squirm, he pulled to the shoulder and turned off the engine.
“Change your mind?” she asked.
“No, I’m getting you a cold drink.”
He was hot, too. She could see the dampness of his T-shirt, could smell the slight tang of his sweat—and wished she found it distasteful.
A moment later, her door opened, and he stood there with a bottle of water he’d taken from the cooler in back.
“Thanks.” She reached out, but he twisted off the lid and squeezed it down the front of her dress.
Gasping at the cold, she grabbed hold of the bottle and fought to turn it back on him.
“Hey,