Sleeping With The Enemy

He was bored, restless and blamed both emotions on the brunette downstairs who’d cost him six whole days of prime surveillance time by doing nothing more exciting than traveling to the clinic each morning and returning before sundown each evening. Her lights were consistently out before midnight and he hadn’t heard so much as a television in the background during the four unremarkable telephone calls she’d received since he’d set the tap.

The restlessness sprang from other, more personal emotions and the fact he could not stop thinking about Dee in a way that bothered him. As in hot and bothered. He let out a stream of breath. Had he really been too long without a woman? Must be, he thought, otherwise he’d be able to ignore the fantasies occupying his mind. A little physical exertion would be just the ticket to clear his head so he could start focusing on the job, and not the way her skin would feel when flushed with desire.

He found a few tools for the yard in a small shed at the rear of the triplex, along with an old push mower in serious need of oiling and blade sharpening.

Despite the heavy humidity pushing the heat index higher than normal for the area, for the next four hours Chase trimmed and box-shaped the hedge, then cleared the weeds from the fountain. Armed with a half-empty spray can of lubricant and a sharpening stone he’d found after searching a battered red toolbox in the corner of the shed, he sat on the wooden steps outside Dee’s unit beneath the shade provided by the overhang on her side of the wide front porch and started tearing down the mower.

“Mind if I ask what you’re doing?”

Chase looked up, surprised to find Dee looking at him, curiosity banked in her eyes. In accordance with the climbing heat index and stifling humidity, she wore a pair of khaki walking shorts with a plain white top tucked into the narrow waistband. With one white sneaker propped on the bottom step and her hand wrapped around the wooden railing, she looked as if she’d been ready to bound up the stairs until she saw him.

Using the shirt he’d pulled off over an hour ago, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I thought the place could use a little work.”

“Mrs. England has a gardener, you know.”

“Then she should fire him because he does a lousy job.”

She shrugged, then hesitated long enough to have him wondering if she was debating whether or not she could trust him not to touch her if she passed by him.

As if every nerve in his body wasn’t poised for action, he gave the mower blade his attention once again. The sun had begun its descent over the western horizon, yet the air was still heavy with humidity, causing moisture to cling to just about every surface of his body. The moist heat would have been completely unbearable if not for the light sea breeze that occasionally teased his skin and gently stirred the fronds of the palmetto trees overhead.

She must’ve decided it was safe, because after a few ticks of the second hand on his wristwatch, she climbed the stairs to her apartment. The jangle of keys was followed by the click of the door and the faint whoosh of cool air from the central air conditioning that brushed against his skin.

The screened door snapped shut about the same time her front door closed. Well, now what? he wondered. He had been waiting for her to return, so now what did he do? The equipment was set to record if she received or made a telephone call. Maybe he could even come up with a plausible excuse to gain entrance into her apartment again. The “my phone is out” trick wouldn’t fly a second time, but he could always pull the lame borrow an egg or cup of sugar routine if he got desperate enough. There was the Senior Health class, but it wouldn’t make sense for him to contact her so soon about speaking to the class when school wouldn’t be in session for another two weeks.

Before he could conceive a viable plan, her door opened. “Are you drinking enough water to replenish what you’re losing?” she asked abruptly, keeping the screened door between them.

He detected a note of irritation in her voice, but finished his stroke along the mower blade before looking over his shoulder at her. Definitely irritation. Her sable eyebrows slanted into a frown. He couldn’t see her eyes clearly, but he easily imagined the gold highlights sparkling due to her annoyance. Annoyance he’d bet his badge was unwanted.

The question as to the cause of her aggravation held all sorts of interesting possibilities, and had him curious as hell. Because she didn’t want to care if he was running the risk of dehydration? Or did her attitude stem from some other, more base instinct? The same base instincts he’d been unable to stop thinking about since they’d touched that morning in her compact kitchen.

“I’m fine, Doc,” he said, forcing himself to return to sharpening the mower blade and not try to see for himself if those gold highlights were indeed sparkling. He flicked his finger over the sharpened blade. Not bad. Satisfied, he started working the opposite side.

“By the way you’re sweating, I’d say you’re dangerously close to dehydration, unless you’re taking in plenty of water.”

A smile kicked into a grin when he glanced over his shoulder at her again. She’d been watching him. And paying attention. “Is that strictly your professional opinion?”

He couldn’t be sure, but he could’ve sworn her eyes narrowed slightly.

“It’s an observation,” she said, the husky nuances of her voice conjuring plenty of images, but not a single one of them professional.

“So you’ve been observing, huh?”

Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. Damn, but he wished he could see her eyes clearly.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, it’s… Just drink plenty of water. And that is my professional opinion.” The sound of her door closing was followed by the slide of the safety chain.

He shrugged and went back to the mower blade. Not exactly the kind of conversation he’d envisioned, nor would it even remotely classify as a success as far as getting closer to her.

He slid the stone along the dulled blade. Considering his lack of progress all week, he supposed today’s encounter ranked right up there with mediocre success.

She noticed him. She noticed him and it bothered her. If that was the case, then Chase knew it’d only be a matter of time before he located the right combination to unlock the secrets that would lead him right to Jared Romine.

He heard the gentle glide of metal against metal again, followed by the jingle of the safety chain.

He looked up expectantly as her door opened one more time. She pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the covered porch. “Have you eaten?” The slight irritation he’d detected earlier hadn’t dissipated. The gold highlighting her green eyes intensified, almost flaring to life.

God, she had the most intriguing gaze. He couldn’t help wondering what they’d do when banked in passion.

He shrugged and shot for a casual attitude he was far from feeling. He was close, he could feel it, and he had to play it cool so he didn’t blow it. “Not since lunch, why?”

She slid her hands into the front pockets of her khaki walking shorts and frowned. “I have some halibut defrosted. It’s too much for just one person and it’d end up going to waste…”

“You inviting me to dinner, Doc?”

She let out a puff of breath. “I guess I am.”

He grinned, and set the blade and sharpening stone on the step beside him. “Then you got yourself a date,” he said rising.

“Uh, this isn’t, isn’t a date.”

Chase just grinned. He didn’t care what she was calling it. He’d just gotten closer, and that’s all that mattered. Almost all that mattered, he amended.

4

“IT’S NOT A TYPICALLY southern dish, but it’s healthy,” Dee said, hating that her voice trembled. She added a covered casserole dish filled with rice pilaf to the breakfast bar next to the salad and glazed carrots, and hoped he didn’t notice how her hands shook nervously.

He set the pan with the grilled halibut by the stove. “Then it should suit my Yankee taste buds,” he said, a teasing grin slanting his mouth in a way that had her heart thumping a few beats too fast.

He took the seat she indicated and poured them each a glass of wine. She added the halibut to their plates before climbing onto the bar stool kitty-corner from him. She’d changed the place settings a half-dozen times while he’d been grilling the fish on the little portable grill the previous tenant had left behind. Finally she’d aimed for the safest seating arrangement, one that would give her the most distance physically. There was enough awareness sizzling between them to send her into sensory overload. Sitting directly beside him where their thighs could brush, their knees lightly touch, or their feet tangle would be like flicking a lit match onto a bale of dried straw.

She cleared her throat, then offered him the plain glass bowl filled with glazed carrots. “So where are you from, Yankee?” He took the dish from her, his thick tanned fingers brushing against hers. She should’ve expected it, but the tingles rippling through her and landing right in the tips of her breasts still surprised, and annoyed her. Why now? Why did her well-trained and dormant hormones have to choose this time, this place, this man to become unruly and zing to life? Why, when she would be leaving the adorably quaint southern coastal town for a new life, did she finally find herself responding to the opposite sex?

Her feminine senses went haywire when he was around. They didn’t even fully function when he wasn’t around, either, and that was a very big problem. Especially when she took into consideration how she’d allowed herself to become distracted by his very kissable-looking mouth, imagining his kisses twice as intoxicating as his eyes when he looked at her that way. Like the way that said he knew every nuance, every curve, every aspect of her body as intimately as his own.

Impossible, but she couldn’t stop the wayward thoughts any more than she could stop the sun from shining.

There were times, she concluded, reaching for the dish of pilaf, when life just wasn’t fair.

“Ohio originally,” he said, drawing her attention back to his uniquely handsome face. His slightly crooked nose had been broken at least once in his life. But his eyes. Oh, a girl could really get lost in such an interesting shade of blue. That deep lilac color combined with the way he looked at her were just way too sexy. Factor in those long, dark lashes a tube of the highest quality mascara could never hope to duplicate on any woman, and her previously controlled hormones were history.

His mouth wasn’t so bad, either, she thought, absently cutting her fish with the edge of her fork. His lips, with the lower slightly fuller, could only be called sensual. Definitely sensual, she thought as she stared, watching them move as he spoke.

“Doc?”

His voice was sharp enough to snap her right back into reality. She forced her gaze from his lips back to his eyes. “Did you say something?” Well, of course he said something. His lips had been moving and she’d been staring at them like a love-struck schoolgirl for crying out loud.

He grinned while she struggled to regain her usual cool, calm composure. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”