First Temptation (14 page)

“Yeah,” she said. “I do.” She pulled out of his hold, ran her hands down his arms, but the look on her face set off a panic button inside Taft’s gut. She looked sad. Disappointed. But resigned. “I’ve spent my life pretending I loved baseball, tools, and root beer, instead of gymnastics, dolls, and Shirley Temples. I’m an expert at being someone else when I need to be. And I am a cop, Taft. A good cop, who’s pretended to be many things to accomplish as much as I have in my career. Most undercover work is taught on the job, and every undercover has to be a first-time undercover sometime.”

She squeezed his hands and released them, then turned away.

A desperation he didn’t understand grasped him by the throat, and he reached for her, catching her by the arm. “Zoe. I don’t want you that close to them.”

She turned toward him, nodding. Even in the face of his overbearing frustration, she didn’t lash out. “I understand.”

She curled her fingers around his and pried his hand from her arm. She raised his palm to her mouth and kissed it. When she released it, she stepped back, out of easy reach. She met his eyes steadily, but she suddenly seemed very distant, and Taft ached.

A sad smile tipped her mouth. “This is one of the reasons I don’t mix men and work.”

Eleven

ZOE SECURED THE LAST CLIP ON HER GARTER and straightened. Her muscles pulled and protested. Between the dancing and Taft, she had certainly gotten the workout of a century last night. But other parts of her hurt too, internal parts-her heart, her gut, her conscience.

She looked in the mirror as she slipped on the earrings she'd bought earlier in the day along with the dress. When she scanned her reflection, Zoe felt as if she were looking as someone else.

“Guess that's good,” she murmured, running her fingers through freshly straightened hair. “Because I'm supposed to be someone who'd sell her body.”

The soft knock on the door made her start.

“Zoe,” Taft said. “Time to go.”

The confusion and hurt resurfaced in an instant. “Be right out.”

She looked hard at her reflection and whispered, “He cares, you idiot.”

Zoe blew out a breath and pressed her lips together. The justification didn't carry any more weight now that it had any of the other times she'd tried to force it to fit. Caring about someone didn't give anyone the right to hold that person back. She'd had this problem with her father. He'd been all for her going into law enforcement, until she took the job in San Diego. Had been all for her getting into male-dominated sports, had even been the one to push her that direction, until she showed an interest in motocross, which he viewed as too dangerous.

Now she had Taft, who was all for her working undercover as long as she stayed within a certain circle of safety. And she absolutely could not live with someone's personal viewpoint having influence over her work. Talk about feeling powerless.

She'd spent all last night tossing and turning, trying to untie the emotional knots surrounding her feelings for Taft, then spent the day working with him in awkwardness. And she was still fighting this inner war.

“Crap.” She couldn't think about this now.

Another tap on the door. “Zoe?”

She pulled it open and found Taft standing sideways, his head tilted toward the door as if he'd been listening for her. He pulled back, lips parted in surprise.

“Sorry, didn't mean to rush…” His golden gaze slid down her body and turned to chocolate with desire. “Holy. Hell.”

Zoe forced a smile. But it was difficult. He looked just as delicious in black slacks and a silky-warm brown button-down that mirrored the color of his eyes. She wanted to wind her arms around his neck and slide her body up against his. But no… Better to stop the forward motion between them now than try to pick up the pieces from the inevitable crash when they derailed.

“You look sharp.” She tugged on a button of his shirt. “I'm ready.”

His gaze slowly rose, caressing her body along the way. “You certainly are.”

A loud metallic tap sounded on the store's front door. Taft's gaze jumped to Zoe's and held. That would be Cantos, signaling them for departure to the club. Zoe was ready to get this over with. Done. Behind her.

A small smile tipped one side of Taft's mouth. “Okay.”

The single word was a response to what Taft had read in her eyes. Their ability to speak to each other this way after only a few days made it feel like they'd known each other a lot longer. Like they fit together, two puzzle pieces.

But if Zoe let it, their intimacy could lull her into a false sense of security, and she'd find herself several months into a relationship with a man who could put her right back into that cage and close the door if she let him.

Or she could find herself in a relationship with a man who cared so deeply for her, she would feel more loved and appreciated and understood than ever before in her life.

Shit. This was what she'd been doing for the last twelve hours. She didn't know which way was up anymore.

His hands came up and cradled her head. Zoe focused and realized she'd zoned.

“Is your head straight, baby?”

She pressed her lips together, met his eyes, and nodded.

“Can you pretend you like me?”

She laughed. “I do like you.”

“Then kiss me,” Taft said and lowered his mouth to hers.

Her stomach tightened, but she kissed him back. Loved the taste of him. Told herself to let go and take a chance.

He's the best thing you've found in years.

The tap came again. Louder.

Taft pulled back with a smile. “I think he's trying to break the glass.”

Zoe turned off the store lights and followed Taft to the door, where he was making arrangements to meet Cantos at the club they'd agreed on. Zoe had been the one to make the deal directly with Picasso-no private homes or clubs. She told him she wanted to feel safe. Wanted neutral territory. They would spend some time together and decide how they wanted to proceed then. If Picasso decided he wanted sex with Zoe, she would consider it. And if they had sex, it would be in private-she wasn't doing public sex with Picasso.

Leaving everything open and flowing gave them all the more to work with and made Zoe and Taft look more authentic. Which ultimately bettered the chances of getting Picasso into a private room or space at the club, where members of a waiting team could grab him.

Unfortunately, as with all undercover, everything could change with the shift of a whim or a mood.

They drove in separate vehicles, with Cantos and Picasso taking different routes with lame excuses Taft and Zoe didn't question, knowing they were evading tails.

Taft remained quiet as he drove for the first few minutes. He seemed alert but not overly tense, and Zoe sank into the comfort and security of his presence. It was a good feeling. Secure. There was nothing wrong with that. It didn't make her less effective. Didn't make her weak.

Did it?

She forced her mind back to the club-its floor plan and exits.

“Have you ever been to a club like this?” she asked, a little afraid of the answer.

“A sex club? No.” He cast a side glance at her, then returned his eyes to the road. “You didn't sleep through the research on this, right?”

She smirked. “No, though I wouldn't have minded.”

“Made those sex toys look pretty tame, huh?”

She laughed. “Seriously.”

They fell quiet again, and to keep her mind from wandering, Zoe filled the time by running scenarios in her head.

Taft pulled into the lot at Secrets and helped Zoe from the cab, then slipped on a black blazer that matched his slacks and would hide the weapon that agents inside the club would pass off to him.

She, on the other hand, had no weapon, no identification, and no wires. She wouldn't be able to hide anything in this dress, including her own body. But the way Taft's eyes burned every time he looked at her was worth the self-conscious nerves.

His arm wound possessively around her waist as the others parked and got out of their vehicles. Cantos, Vasquez, and the three mountainous bodyguards glanced around the parking lot, but Picasso came straight to Zoe. She numbed herself.

He took both her hands, lifted them to his mouth, and kept his gaze on hers as he kissed her fingers. When he straightened, he held her arms wide and surveyed her body like a sculptor would survey a piece.

“Stunning, Brooks.” He turned his gaze on Taft. “Mind if I have some time alone with Brooks? I'd like to get a feel for whether or not we'd like to have some time later.”

Zoe wanted to look at Taft. She wanted to meet his eyes for that brief moment of reassurance the connection would bring her, but she knew he would see it as weakness and deliberately avoided glancing toward him.

Taft's hand released her waist, and Zoe's stomach pinched. Then his arm fell away from the small of her back, and she buzzed with the first wings of panic. Taft stepped back, relinquishing her without a word. His familiar musky scent faded, replaced by Picasso's much sharper citrus cologne. A sense of loss swamped Zoe as Picasso pulled her smoothly in beside him. Replacing the fading warmth of Taft's arm with his own, Picasso led Zoe toward the club entrance.

PICASSO’S QUICK POSSESSION OF ZOE had Taft's alarm flags at full mast. He wondered if this was all a ruse. If Picasso had never planned on watching sex between Taft and Zoe and had always planned on simply seducing Zoe into being alone with him.

Of course Taft hated that idea, but he had to admit that Zoe had been right last night. Every undercover had to be a first-time undercover sometime.

Taft slid his hands into his pockets so he could fist them as he watched Zoe walk away with another man. Taft's internal landscape warped and twisted in a way he couldn't describe.

Cantos walked up beside Taft, slapped a hand to his shoulder, and leaned into him like a buddy would. “My friend,” he said, his voice low, “I think you will need a few extra drinks tonight, no?”

The answer was yes, but Taft couldn't drink, so no. At least not alcoholic drinks. The agent posing as a bartender would make sure of that. As he would make sure Zoe's drinks were also nonalcoholic and clear of drugs.

Taft started forward with the rest of them. Cantos's hand fell away from his shoulder, but he stayed beside Taft.

“We men are twisted, eh?” Cantos said. “I could not let my woman go like this.”

He gestured to Picasso and Zoe ahead of them, where the man held her tight to his side, like he owned her. Which Taft supposed he thought he did.

“But, if I had Picasso's money, I too would wish to buy some of Brooks's time, even though I know she's yours. Only”-he laughed low-“I wouldn't just watch. You think you might share her again after this?”

Oh Christ. He knew where this was going. “Don't know. Why?”

“Maybe we do a trade, 'ey. Fumar sells fine merchandise, beyond tobacco, if you know what I mean.”

Taft met Cantos's gaze and nodded. “I'm interested. Let's see how this goes.”

“All right, brother.” Cantos laughed, excited by the prospect.

“Is that where Picasso gets his money? Sales?”

“No. He's in architecture and engineering. He gets bonuses when projects are built on time and on budget.”

They passed through Secrets' front doors without issue. Picasso led Zoe to the bar while Taft took inventory. Agents. Exits. Layout. Customers. Activities. His adrenaline had spiked; he felt it in the fine buzz burning through his body. Taft had spent a fair amount of time at regular clubs. He used to enjoy the trolling, the chat, the foreplay, the no-strings sex with someone he'd met the same night. Then the freedom afterward. No demands. No commitment. Just home free to find someone different the next week. Or day. Or hour if that was what he wanted.

But for the first time, he didn't want anyone but Zoe.

Only Zoe wasn't on board with being wanted. Not 100 percent. She didn't want Taft caring or worrying or interfering. She didn't want Taft's help. That was clear. And why should that bother him? Independent was good. The neediness was what made him crazy.

The contradictions in his own head were driving him insane. He diverted his attention to the club.

Secrets was upscale with low lighting, plush seating, and jewel tones as an overall theme though there were various areas decorated for a variety of tastes. Customers were high class, all ages. In this front area, Secrets looked like a typical club-everyone was dressed, there was music, a dance floor, a bar. Farther back…not so much.

His glanced over at the bar again. Zoe's stool was empty. Taft started scanning the millisecond her absence registered, and by the time the burn of panic had caught up, he'd already located her on the dance floor with Picasso.

When Taft glanced around for the others, he found the three bodyguards spread out in a triangular pattern with Zoe and Picasso at the center, Cantos and Vasquez carousing. He didn't worry about them. There was one agent assigned to each player, and a team outside surrounding the building and guarding the exits. No one would be leaving unnoticed.

“Walker.”

The voice pulled Taft's head around. Alex and Aurora, the agents who'd been at the store for the pole-dancing demo the night before, stood beside him, arm in arm.