Body Contact (8 page)

Deliberately spacing his words, he said, “Mr. Reynard, I understand your need for security, and I appreciate your
desire to keep tabs on your guests. But I will not tolerate recording equipment in my personal space.”

That said, he opened the French doors, took the camera outside and smashed it on the limestone patio. Then he repeated the procedure with the camera's twin, which he unearthed in the living room inside a planter.

She squeezed her hands together tighter, hating the sick shaky feeling that trembled inside her, hating her own unprofessional behavior. She was familiar with covert operations. She had trained for this mission. But she knew now that she'd just been kidding herself.

The airplane and the customs area had been bad enough. But it had been Reynard who had struck terror in her heart—terror as he'd looked at her with those pale, predatory eyes. And Jack had been the only thing standing between her and the man's lust.

She had been about to blurt out her fear and horror—until Jack had taken her into his arms and prevented her from speaking. He'd also reminded her of the stakes they were playing for—their lives and Dawn's.

When he'd kissed her, she'd tried to cast everything from her mind but the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body against hers. She'd used blind, mindless sex to try and wipe away the image of Reynard.

She wasn't proud of that. And the present tightness in her chest did nothing to make her feel more competent as a covert agent with a vital mission to fulfil.

She shuddered as Jack came back into the room, his gaze appraising as it swept over her.

That knowing look made her straighten her shoulders.

“Well, I've taken care of two of the cameras,” he said with an easy shrug. “There could be more. There could be microphones I haven't spotted.”

She gave him a tight nod, telling him she understood
there was no way they could talk about their assignment in these surroundings.

“At least there won't be video equipment aimed at the bed when I screw you,” he said, then added in the same casual tone, “although I do admit that the thought of being watched has dampened my ardor for the moment. I have my faults, but exhibitionism isn't one of them.”

The tossed-off comment made her mouth go dry.

“Um,” was all she could manage as she struggled to come to grips with reality—their present reality.

She was still a bundle of nerves. He'd morphed into Mr. Cool the way he had that first night back at Winston headquarters. Still, she knew she hadn't been imagining the hot encounter a few minutes ago. He'd wanted her every bit as badly as she'd wanted him. But that was probably just an exercise in letting off steam. And he was the one who'd come to his senses and gone in search of hidden video cameras.

Now he was telling her that he might not have taken care of the problem. That they might still be under surveillance.

He let her absorb that before asking, “Want to go out and do a little exploring?”

Out of the cottage. Where they might be able to talk.

“That sounds like fun,” she answered gamely.

“Good girl. Why don't you slip into something more comfortable first?”

“Okay,” she agreed, then realized that taking off her clothes in this room might be treating someone to a peep show. A guard. Or Reynard.

Reynard!

Swallowing a sudden sick feeling, she rummaged in the suitcase that had been set out on a stand in the dressing area. Grabbing a pair of white slacks and a turquoise
T-shirt decorated with bright tropical fish, she disappeared into the bathroom.

Please, Lord, not in here too, she prayed as she glanced from the toilet to the tub and then to the shower. With her bottom lip between her teeth, she pulled off the sundress, wishing she'd been able to wear a bra underneath.

In one smooth motion she tossed the dress onto the counter while she pulled the T-shirt over her head. The slacks followed in record time. Then she zipped out of the bathroom and grabbed a bra.

Jack had come back into the room, and gave her a warning look. “Nervous?”

“Well, the idea of putting on a free show doesn't set too well,” she allowed.

“Yeah. It's kind of different for me. I can just think of this place as the guys' locker room.” As he spoke, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Her eyes were drawn to the magnificent expanse of his chest, and for a moment she couldn't stop herself from remembering the feel of his hair-roughened skin and hard muscles pressed to her softness.

Maybe he was remembering that, too, because he went very still, his gaze focusing on the front of the T-shirt where she suspected that her nipples were clearly visible through the sea of fish swimming across her front. But she didn't look down to find out.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, then he seemed to give himself a mental shake and turned to his own suitcase.

“Let's go see if we can find the beach. Maybe there's a hidden cove where we can enjoy each other's company in private.”

He ushered her out the French doors and across the patio to another path that led through the foliage. In the distance, she could see more villas, but the path stayed
away from all of them. Apparently Reynard believed in giving his guests privacy—except from himself.

She wanted to ask Jack if he thought the cameras were to satisfy some kinky sexual appetite of their host. Or if they were for security reasons. Probably both, she decided.

She wanted to ask a lot more questions, but since Jack only made small talk, she followed his lead, and she soon realized why.

Jack nodded toward the greenery on one side of the path, and she caught a flash of movement.

With a little frisson, she realized they weren't alone. Two men in camouflage outfits were keeping pace with them, outfits that made them all but invisible in the dense foliage.

M
ADDY SUCKED IN A
ragged breath, then let it out slowly.

Was there no place where they could find some privacy, no place where they could talk about the assignment that had brought them to Orchid Island, and about the unfortunate complication of Oliver Reynard's interest in her?

Jack shot the men an annoyed look.

It was all she could to keep from clinging to him. Instead she made her touch casual as they rounded a curve, and she saw blue sky ahead of them.

She could hear the crashing of surf, smell the tang of sea air, feel the wind coming off the water. The path ended on a ridge that sloped down to one of the most beautiful white sand beaches she'd ever seen. Together they stood for a moment staring out at the breaking waves.

“Want to go down there?” Jack asked.

“Not in three-hundred-dollar shoes, I guess,” she answered, thinking that they'd lost the chance for a private conversation.

“Yeah, well, let's go spend some of Reynard's money. Why don't you go to his spa and primp up for that party tonight?”

“Oh, right,” she answered, following his change of subject. During their preparation sessions they'd discussed various strategies and had decided that one place Maddy might pick up valuable information was the beauty salon. “Do you think I can get an appointment?”

Jack gave her a little grin. “Sure. They're there to serve
you.” Turning to face the closest guard, he said, “Can you direct us to the ladies' spa?”

Surprise spread across the man's broad, brown face. But he stepped out of the shadows and answered with a polite, “Yes, sir.”

As he came closer to them, Maddy saw that, like Henri, he was wearing a name tag. It said Evans.

She also noted that he had the strap of an Uzi slung casually over his shoulder.

Jack didn't look fazed by the weaponry. Probably the character he was playing had his own private security force of armed thugs back home. “Then lead the way. But take us past the path to our villa first, so my sweetie will be able to find her way back.”

The man led them past the villa and back to the main garden area, which they crossed on a diagonal, then took another short walkway that led to a building that looked like an Egyptian temple.

“Right here, sir.”

Jack inclined his head toward Maddy. “Then I'll expect you back in a couple of hours. All dolled up for me.”

“Yes,” she answered with what she hoped sounded like eager anticipation. “I'll see you later.”

Jack turned and left her alone. Very alone, she thought with an inward shudder. If Reynard knew she was here…She ruthlessly cut off the thought.

Near the entrance to the building were several gardeners, apparently busy plucking more leaves from the manicured lawn. Probably they were positioned to pick up tidbits of conversation, too, Maddy thought. She also thought that the island was making her paranoid. Which was probably a good thing—because she understood the risks now. In New York she hadn't quite wrapped her head around the level of danger. Now she was very aware that any slipup could be fatal.

With an inward sigh, she pulled open one of the spa's heavy glass doors. Inside, the hard marble surfaces were softened by sweeping draperies, magnificent vases of cut flowers and deep, cushioned furniture. Reynard might not treat women as equals, but apparently he knew how to cater to them when it suited him.

Carrying out the Egyptian theme, a receptionist dressed in a short tunic came forward as soon as Maddy stepped inside. Like the guard who had showed them here, she was an islander, with coffee-colored skin and large brown eyes. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, my name is Maddy Griffin. I'd like my nails redone. And my hair sculpted into something special for tonight.”

A woman who had been sitting in a chair near the desk jumped up. “It would be a pleasure to serve you. Right this way. Can I get you something? Iced tea? Coffee?”

“Iced coffee would be wonderful.”

The drink came almost immediately on a tray with cream, skim milk and sugar syrup.

“We can do your nails first.”

Maddy followed the attendant to a table and found she was seated next to one of the other women from the plane, who was having her nails polished.

She looked up, surprise registering on her classic features. Then her lips turned up in a smile that seemed a bit forced. “Hi, I'm Rosalie. We were introduced, but I'm so bad at names.”

“Maddy,” she said as her manicurist took one hand and began to remove perfectly good polish.

“It's good to get away from the guys for a while,” Rosalie commented.

Maddy nodded.

“I'm never so relaxed as when I'm being fussed over,” she murmured.

Maddy agreed in the same languid tone, although if there was anything she hated, it was being fussed over.

Rosalie lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I noticed you sitting back there by the rest room on the plane. What did you think about the couple going in there?”

Before Maddy could reply, her new friend answered for her. “It was disgusting, don't you think?”

Well, she could certainly agree on that. “Very,” she answered as the manicurist dipped her hands into a bowl of viscous liquid.

“Could you hear anything through the door?”

“No,” Maddy lied.

The woman's voice dropped even lower. “It turned Don on. What about your guy?”

“Yes,” Maddy admitted.

“Don waited until we got to our room.” She gave a little laugh. “It was quick. Hardly even mussed my hair. But that's Don's specialty. The quick in and out.”

Maddy made a little choking sound. She didn't explain that Jack had spent the time right after their arrival finding and smashing video cameras.

“Just let me put a quick-dry layer on your nails,” the manicurist interrupted softly. “Then you can go have that nap you mentioned.”

“Yes. Thank you,” Rosalie said. When the woman was finished, she held up her bright red nails to admire the polish.

Maddy tried not to sigh with relief as Rosalie departed. Looking around, she saw that she was the only remaining guest in that part of the spa. As she leaned back in her chair, she regarded the delicate woman with thick, jet-black hair who had begun to work on her cuticles. The woman's name tag identified her as Juanita.

“Have you worked here long?” she asked.

“Not too long. I lived off the island when I was little.”

“Where?”

“Oh, here and there.”

So Juanita didn't want to talk about her background, Maddy thought as she switched topics and asked, “Um…how do you like your job?”

“It's what I know. I like to make women's hands look pretty.” She finished with Maddy's cuticles and gestured toward a tray of bottles. “Which one you like best?”

“That one,” she answered, pointing to a soft pink. As the manicurist began to stroke the color on a nail, she asked, “Do the same women come back to visit the island?”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no.” She looked down, applying more polish to Maddy's nails.

When she and Jack had talked about the spa, she'd assumed she could ask some questions. Her recent experiences had made her cautious.

“I bet all the women are young.”

“Of course.”

“Any teenagers?”

Juanita shrugged. “I'm not sure.”

“I have a young friend who came here not too long ago. Donna,” she said, giving a name that was close to Dawn's. “She's got light brown hair and big green eyes. And she has three holes pierced in each of her ears. Did you meet her?”

The manicurist looked up, then quickly down again. “I didn't see her,” she said carefully. Too carefully.

Maddy stared at Juanita's hand. It was shaking slightly, so that she had to stop applying polish for several seconds.

The woman raised her eyes, studying Maddy intently. Then she went back to work.

“We never talk about other guests,” she murmured. “You understand?”

“Yes,” Maddy answered. Her next comments were about the beautiful landscaping and the luxurious rooms.

Was she reading too much into the woman's reaction? Or had she seen Dawn? She couldn't be sure. But she had the feeling Juanita knew something. And she realized suddenly that the woman had specifically asked to work on her after hearing her name.

She gave none of her thoughts away as she held up her nails admiringly. “Thank you,” she said.

“You come back to the spa while you're here. We are happy to serve you.”

“Yes. Thanks,” she answered, thinking that the woman's tone of voice was almost an order.

Juanita turned her over to a beautician who styled her hair into a romantic upsweep. Congratulating herself that nobody had come in to arrest her while she sat under the hair dryer, she headed back to the villa.

And she got a little jolt of pleasure as she walked back into the villa and watched Jack's eyes light up.

“Well, you're looking dazzling,” he murmured.

The compliment made her glow, until she remembered he wasn't speaking entirely for her benefit.

“Why thank you, sir,” she answered, repressing the impulse to glance around the room, looking for microphones.

He was studying her carefully, and she realized her face betrayed some of the disquiet she'd felt here earlier.

“So what's Reynard's spa like?” he asked.

“Nice, and there are some…unexpected touches,” she answered, wanting to tell him about Juanita and their conversation. But that was out of the question until she knew they could speak privately.

He stared at her, as if he were hoping to get the information from direct brain-to-brain transmission.

She lifted one shoulder, then said, “We had to get up so early. Maybe I should relax before the party tonight.”

He sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

Before her own frustration could reach boiling point, she turned and left the room.

Her first few hours on the island were so disturbing that she thought relaxing would be impossible. But after she'd carefully propped her head to keep from mussing her hairdo, she closed her eyes and drifted away from the world.

 

H
E SHOULD WAKE HER
, Jack thought, as he stood staring down at Maddy. She needed to start getting ready. Instead he found himself standing beside the king-size bed staring down at her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breasts.

Ten more minutes, she could use ten more minutes' sleep, he decided as he wedged his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her.

It was an interesting exercise, because he knew it was going to happen sooner or later. One taste of Maddy Guthrie had only whetted his appetite for her. And he needed more. Craved more. He should have kept his hands off of her in the airport lounge and then in the plane. But he'd succumbed to the temptation, and now he was paying the price in frustration.

With an inward curse, he forced his mind to switch gears. She'd found something out this afternoon at the spa. Something that disturbed her. Or gotten her wondering. And he wanted to know what the hell it was. But he couldn't ask. He couldn't even write a damn note because he didn't know if he'd gotten all the cameras.

He'd prowled around after she'd left, looking for more bugs. But he hadn't found anything obvious. Still, he had
to assume there were a couple of mikes active in this place.

He'd told her this assignment was going to be difficult, and he'd thought he was prepared. Now he felt as if a crushing weight was pressing down on his shoulders.

He sighed, and Maddy stirred. Her eyes blinked open, and in that first unguarded moment of transition from sleep to waking, she gave him a smile that made his heart turn over.

Then he watched as memory flooded back. Memory of where they were and what they had to do.

“Rested?” he murmured, stepping closer to her—his hand moving toward her like a magnet to steel.

“Um-hum.”

She looked like she expected him to climb in bed with her. Which wasn't on the program until later.

Later. God, what was he going to do when their charade dictated that they crawl under the covers together?

Turning abruptly from the bed, he went to the closet where her evening dresses were hanging. They were all indecent. Either too tight or too low. Too clingy or too transparent.

When he'd selected them, he'd told Maddy she would have to fit in. Now he was thinking that he'd probably still been trying to get her to stay home. And, failing that, to punish her for putting herself in danger.

Well, he hadn't known just how much danger. Now he cursed inwardly again. That slimy bastard, Reynard, had a special interest in her. And the clothing was going to put her on display for him.

With a sigh, he picked a slinky midnight-blue number that he knew she was going to hate. Yet the thought of seeing her in it made his already overheated blood boil. He rationalized the choice by telling himself there wasn't anything more modest.

 

M
ADDY STOOD
in front of the mirror trying not to tug at the hem of the dress. The damn thing left half her thighs showing. But if she tried to pull it down, that would only display her cleavage to better advantage.

Trying to relax her mouth, she gave her hair and makeup one more inspection. And her jewels. A necklace, earrings and a matching bracelet. Real diamonds—provided by Stan Winston—which she hoped were going to make it home with her.

Satisfied, she marched out of the bathroom in the two-inch heels that went with the dress. At least they weren't as bad as the pair she'd worn that first night. She'd told Jack she couldn't manage anything that high, not and move with any degree of speed.

The expression of lust on Jack's face when she stepped into the bedroom was almost worth it—almost. She wanted to sail past him out the door, but she knew that would be out of character for the woman she was supposed to be. So she waited while he shrugged into his tuxedo jacket, then checked his bow tie in the mirror.