Secret Agent Boyfriend. Addison Fox
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Hot tears spilled over her cheeks, made even hotter by the cool spring air that blew over her skin.
When would it stop? The moments of abject pain that came up and simply swallowed her when she thought of her father, his life snuffed out by the will of another.
A hard cough drew her from her thoughts, and she ran wet hands over her cheeks to remove the tears before turning. No one interrupted her morning sessions in the pool, and it was jarring to know someone was there.
And they’d seen her tears.
Whatever embarrassment that might have caused faded as she took in the large male form that stood at the edge of the pool. Long and lean, she caught only a vague sense of dark features as the early-morning sun limned his frame, highlighting an impressive set of shoulders in a rich patina of gold.
Wrapping the haughty demeanor she’d perfected through the years around her own shoulders like a shawl, she climbed up the pool ladder to get a better look at their visitor. Because of the lingering threats of the past few months, no one got onto Adair property without passing several security checkpoints.
If he was here, he was meant to be here.
But who was he?
“Miss Adair?”
He spoke first, his voice rich and deep. She ignored the outreach as she grabbed her towel, curious when a buzz of nerves lit her stomach.
Landry dried her face but let her body drip water on the Spanish tiles that made up the length of the pool terrace. Although she hated scrutiny, she knew well enough how to use her long, lithe body as a weapon, and the water would only highlight her curves.
It might have been a trick as old as time, but it remained a surprisingly effective tool against the male of the species.
“Landry?” Sharper now, but with a hint of something husky and warm in that deep baritone.
“Yes?”
“I’m Derek Winchester. I’d like a moment with you.”
“It’s awfully early for a moment, don’t you think?” She kept her gaze cool but allowed it to roam over his body. Was this the man her brother Carson had spoken to her about?
He certainly fit the bill with that long, rangy form so tall and straight he appeared to stand at attention.
Tight.
Contained.
Controlled.
Reluctantly fascinated, she continued her assessment, cataloging his features as she looked her fill. His skin was a rich bronze, set off by short black hair and deep, piercing eyes nearly as dark as his hair.
He was attractive in a wholly masculine way. There was nothing pretty about him; rather, he exuded a mix of confidence and stoicism that drew the eye.
“It’s early for a swim that could fell an Olympian, too. That doesn’t make my business any less urgent.”
Business?
Although the urge to bait him was strong, she reached for her pool wrap and slipped underneath the thin black material. Showing off her body to gain an advantage was one thing. Sitting there half naked during a business transaction was tantamount to stupid.
And she wasn’t stupid.
“Please have a seat.” Landry gestured to the long glass-topped table that dominated a section of the patio. “Help yourself to whatever you’d like.”
She busied herself with drying her hair and took a few more moments to assess her adversary. He crossed to the long table the kitchen staff set up each morning, filled with coffee service, an assortment of pastries and fresh fruit. When he returned with nothing more than a cup of black coffee, she was curious.
Was he nervous?
In her experience—and she had plenty with the size of her family—men ate breakfast.
She crossed to the buffet to fix her coffee, then her usual plate of fruit. The kitchen’s world-famous blueberry muffins beckoned, but she suppressed the urge to take one and added a few extra pieces of melon.
“So, Mr. Winchester. What can be so urgent you needed to interrupt my morning?”
Her brother’s earnest request that she play along echoed through her thoughts but she tamped it down. If Derek Winchester was the man they thought, then he should be able to handle anything she threw at him, too.
“I thought it made sense to get started.”
Started?
And why did that word sound like a promise?
A shudder of awareness prickled her spine that had nothing to do with the light breeze that coated her skin. She turned away from the buffet and kept her voice light. Unaffected. “Started for what?”
“Effective immediately, I’m your new boyfriend.”
* * *
Derek sat back and waited for the fireworks as a series of reactions flashed across Landry Adair’s expressive face. For the first time since receiving this asinine mission from his old boss and trusted friend, Kate Adair, he actually had a moment to enjoy himself.
So the resident princess did have a bit of heat underneath that cool demeanor.
The thought surprised him as it took root and he turned the words over in his mind. Why should he care if Landry Adair ran hot or cold? She was a job, nothing more.
Even if he hadn’t felt any heat—for anything—in far too long.
Nor had he found himself captivated by the long arch of a woman’s neck, where it tapered down to meet her shoulder in a delicious dip just made for his mouth, in an equally long time.
Shaking off the lush images of running his lips over her skin, he shifted his attention to the valley that spread out as far as the eye could see.
Adair Acres.
Or simply “the ranch,” as he’d already heard it called more than once.
A shockingly gorgeous stretch of land that spoke of money and promise, hard work and fierce ambition. His gaze drifted over the lush vista, the light scent of citrus wafting from the rolling hills full of grove after grove. Oranges and avocado, grapefruit and lemons.
It was a far cry from the street gangs of LA or the more refined—yet no less devious—minds of Washington, DC.
Which only reinforced the question he’d been asking himself since fielding a phone call from Kate Durant Adair O’Hara, former vice president and current whirling dervish.
What had she gotten him into?
While he respected the heck out of the former vice president—and he appreciated her belief in his abilities more than he could ever put to words—he still didn’t fully see how he could help her.
But no amount of skepticism had put Kate off her plan.
“What are you playing at, Mr. Winchester?”
Landry had stilled at his rash comment, and while he’d expected the hostility, he hadn’t expected the cool, assessing look in her vivid blue eyes.
Or the sudden realization that fake or not, no one would ever buy Landry Adair hanging off his arm.
“Your aunt Kate wants me to look out for you.”
“And what makes her so sure I need looking after?”
Whatever momentary gain he had with his opening salvo faded as she collected herself, wrapped in an aura of predatory cool.
Damn, but the woman was a looker. Tall—he’d put her around five foot ten to his six one—which gave him the unusual opportunity to practically look her in the eye without craning his neck. Her body was long and lean, lethal in its perfection.
He