Deadly Deception (11 page)

He propped her up against the house while he rummaged through her purse for her house keys.  Finding them, Lane unlocked the house, carried her in, and slammed the door shut with his foot.  He flipped the switch for the lights, then rushed her into the bathroom and placed her sitting in front of the toilet.  Watching her to make sure she was going to stay upright, Lane pulled off his boots, his gun and holster, and then stripped off his jeans down to his boxer shorts.  Lane placed his gun along with the holster in her bedroom on a dresser.  His tie and shirt ended up in a pile atop his jeans in the hallway. He searched through the bathroom drawers looking for a washcloth.  Finding a fluffy blue one, he held it in the sink and soaked it with cold water.

Lowering himself so he was sitting behind Frankie, he pulled her gently against him and removed the black leather jacket she was wearing.  He tossed it behind him then placed the cold cloth on her forehead. 

"Why won't the room stop spinning?"  Frankie asked as she leaned against him. 

"It'll stop soon.  I promise.  Do you want a glass of water or anything?"  He kissed the top of her head and felt her move her hands to his thighs to steady herself.

"Yes."

He got up, grabbed his clothes from the hallway floor, and made his way to the kitchen.  Finding a washer and dryer in an alcove off the kitchen, he popped his clothes in a warm wash and walked back into the kitchen.  He washed his hands in the sink, then found a glass, filled it with ice cubes, and cold water from the refrigerator.  He trekked back to the bathroom.  She wasn't there.  He went to her bedroom.  Hugging the left side of the bed lay Frankie sound asleep.  He tiptoed around the bed and placed the glass of water on her nightstand. 

He got as far as the living room when he stopped himself.  There was no way he could get his large frame in a comfortable position on her small sofa.  The floor wasn't appealing for sleeping either.

What if she got sick again?  What if he was in the living room and didn't hear her?  He went back to her bedroom and stood at the door.  He'd sleep in Frankie's bed tonight but as far away from her on the bed as possible.  As much as he wanted to be there, he didn't want to bear the brunt of her temper if she discovered he was in her bed uninvited.

He crept to the right side of her queen-sized bed, grabbed a pillow, and pressed it against the headboard.  He sat perfectly still watching her and listening to her soft breathing for the longest time.

The seduction of sleep overcame him and he slipped down under the comforter, careful to hug the right side of the bed.  He hadn't been asleep long when movement woke him up.  He opened his eyes in time to see Frankie roll over, flinging her arm across his chest, and her leg across his thighs.  He froze as she settled her head on his chest.  She made a sound like a cat's purr and cuddled closer.  Soon he heard her soft, even breathing.

He remembered what Michael had said about Frankie's wicked temper.  He thought briefly about her possible reaction in the morning when she realized they'd slept together.  Not that they'd done any of the things he'd like to do with her in her bed.  He'd just have to risk it. 

Streams of morning light slipped through the window blinds and streamed across the bed.  Frankie's head throbbed with pain and she shielded her eyes from the light with her arm.  Her head hurt, her body ached, and her stomach was doing somersaults.  The only thing that felt good was the heat she was near so she inched closer to the source.

Frankie needed an Advil badly.  She had to do something about the pain.  Pulling herself up in a sitting position, Frankie covered her eyes with her right hand and reached back with her left hand to brace herself.  What her left hand touched was not the bed.  She gasped and jerked her hand away from her eyes.  Oh my God.  Lane Hansen slept half-naked in her bed.

"Please tell me this is a dream.  I couldn't have been stupid a second time,"  she said out loud.

"That statement does wonders for a guy's ego."

"What the hell are you doing in my bed?  What happened last night?"

"Unfortunately, not what you're thinking.  Look down at your clothes, Frankie.  Weren't you wearing those last night?" 

Frankie looked down, her mind spinning.  Lady Gaga.  Loud music.  Strawberry daiquiris.  Being sick.  Oh, shit.  

"You brought me home last night.  I remember. But why are you still here?"

"I couldn't leave you alone when you were that sick."

"Oh, and you couldn't have slept somewhere else?"  She eyed him suspiciously.

"I was going to sleep in the living room but was afraid I wouldn't hear you if you got sick again."

Frankie blinked and her heart squeezed.  She believed him, damn it.  Suddenly, she realized her mouth tasted terrible and her breath undoubtedly smelled as bad.  She climbed out of the bed and walked across the room, realizing Lane was watching her.  She rushed to the bathroom and turned on the shower then reached for her toothbrush and toothpaste.  Peering into the mirror, she noticed she was pale and her makeup was smeared.  Her hair looked post-sex messy.

The news had finally arrived. Anne Mason-Brandt was on a mission.  She and Frankie had been waiting to hear this news for a couple of months.  Harley's girlfriend, Millie, had given birth to four perfect Giant Schnauzer puppies — one of which was earmarked for Frankie.  Excited to tell Frankie, she'd jumped in her SUV and rushed to Frankie's house.

Frankie emerged from the shower feeling human again.  She smoothed baby oil onto her skin.  She then pulled out her hair dryer.  The noise of the dryer combined with her still throbbing head was a bad combo and she decided to let her hair air dry.  She reached for her robe, but it wasn't hanging on the hook on the back side of the door so she wrapped a fluffy blue towel around herself.  Right.  Her robe was in her room.  She slipped out of the bathroom and peeked into her bedroom.  Her bed was empty.  Another one of Lane’s infamous disappearing acts?  She was almost to her closet when she heard the knob turn in her front door.  Lane was definitely ghosting again.

Still wrapped in a towel, she walked into her living room at the same time that Anne burst into the room and Lane, in boxer shorts, arrived from the kitchen holding out a steamy cup of coffee.

 Anne looked at Frankie in the towel then Lane in boxers and gasped.  "Oh, my God!  This is so not a good time.  I'll come back later.  I'll call first."  Her face crimson, Anne backed up until she reached the open front door to escape to her car.

Frankie turned to look at Lane who by now had bolted to the kitchen.  She rushed to her bedroom, threw on her blue terrycloth bathrobe, and went to the kitchen.

"I thought you'd left."

"Why would you think that?"

"You had no problem shooting out of here like a rocket the last time you stayed over."

"I'm sorry about that, Frankie.  I hope someday you'll forgive me."

"Why are you walking around my house half-naked?"  Her eyes scanned his body and her temperature shot up.  Christ, he was ripped and undoubtedly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.  Her insanely stupid heart was beating out of control.

Lane pointed his thumb to the clothes dryer. "My clothes aren't dry."

She closed her eyes and grimaced as she remembered soaking him the night before with her vomit.  Could this get any more embarrassing?

She sat at her breakfast table and he brought her the cup of coffee he'd had in his hand when Anne burst into her living room.  He poured a cup for himself then sat across from her.

"I'm not going to be one of those women who drink too much and pretend the next day not to remember anything.  I remember it all, including the getting sick part and you taking care of me."

"You remember everything?"

"Yes."  She eyed him suspiciously.

"So you remember when you told me that I made you hot."

"Okay, that part I don't remember.  Are you making that up?"  Amusement flickered in the eyes that met hers.

"Nope.  Do you want me to turn on some slow music so we can re-enact the moment it happened?" 

Visualizing the two of them slow dancing dressed as they were with him in boxer shorts and she in her robe ignited a need deep in her that she fought to douse.  Luckily, she was saved her dryer bell announcing the completion of Lane's clothes.

Apparently modesty was not in Lane's skill set because he started pulling pieces from the dryer and dressing right in front of her in her kitchen.  Their gazes met and a spark of heat passed between them.  She decided she needed to get this man out of her house before she made the monumental mistake of dragging him to her bed.  Again.

"Let's talk about your undercover op."

Instantly she had his attention.  He stopped buttoning his shirt and moved to the table to sit down again. 

"When I talked to Uncle Tim yesterday, he said you promised him you'd treat me as you would any other law enforcement professional.  He said you knew better to let things get personal in an undercover operation with a female partner.  Is that true?"

"Yes.  By the way, it would’ve been nice to know that my boss, the sheriff, was your uncle."

"I haven't seen you much the past six months."  She shot him an icy glare.

Okay, he was moving her away from that discussion.  "So have you decided to do the undercover operation?"

"Maybe, as long as we work together to create some rules."

"What kind of rules?"

"We need to have a clear understanding before I agree to do this."

"Okay, I'm open to that.  What do you have in mind?" 

"Rule number one, things between us are professional
not
personal."

"I agree." 

"Rule number two, you stay out of my backpack."  She waited for his response, challenging him to disagree.

"Okay, that's a tough one because I know you hide my favorite coffee in there."

"Are you saying you won't agree to number two?"  She asked with hands on her hips.

"I didn't say that.  I agree, damn it.  Are there any more rules?"

"No."

"So you'll agree to go undercover with me?"

She accepted Lane’s hand extended to her and shook it.  "Yes.  I'll tell Uncle Tim tomorrow after I talk to Ted about taking over my self-defense classes while I'm gone.  I also need to talk to Anne."

"Why Anne?"

"Ted isn't as computer savvy as Anne.  I'm hoping she'll take over that part of the business until I return."