Undercover Wife. Merline Lovelace
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behind the oleanders separating the section of the promenade from the next.
Obviously relieved that the fracas was over, Hawk pocketed the rest of his money. “Let’s go.”
“Hang on a sec.”
“Why?”
“Just listen. Yep, there it is.”
The chirpy trill carried clearly over the hubbub of the harbor. A moment later, a flash of yellow nose-dived into the oleanders.
The man beside her was silent for several moments. “I knew it was a scam.”
“Uh-huh.” Grinning, Jilly hooked her arm through his. “You’re on my turf now, fella. You might want to consult me before forking over any more twenty-dollar bills.”
Hawk was a whole lot more concerned with his body’s instant, instinctive reaction to the press 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.”
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