Virgin In Disguise

Virgin In Disguise
Rosemary Heim

Undercover agent Frank Cabrini knew he was in trouble when he awoke to find himself staring into the cold barrel of a gun. The woman wielding the weapon changed identities as often as some women changed clothes.But whoever she was, Frank needed her help in finding out who'd blown his cover–if his desire for his alluring captor didn't undo him first.Angela Donovan–aka Angel–might be able to shift accents at a moment's notice, but the risk-taking bounty hunter was on treacherous ground when it came to men. Especially when danger rocked their world, forcing Angel to trust the sensual, enigmatic man who was leading them both into uncharted territory–and making her love every minute….

Her warm scent surrounded him, filling Frank’s head with all sorts of imaginings better left for late nights and soft beds.

Angel kept a firm hold on his handcuffed wrist. “Let’s see if we can do this nice and easy. Swing your legs out of the car, stand up and turn around.”

He followed her directions. She was close enough that he could feel her warm breath fanning the exposed skin of his throat. Close enough that he could see her swallow and watch the dawning awareness in her eyes.

Close enough that she would notice exactly how…aware…he was in a couple of seconds.

If he didn’t watch out, this attraction would get out of hand way too easily. He’d already broken one of his rules by talking to a civilian about his assignment.

He stood dangerously close to breaking a few more.

Virgin in Disguise

Rosemary Heim

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ROSEMARY HEIM

grew up on a dairy farm, attended a one-room schoolhouse, lived in an English castle and (finally) settled in Minneapolis. She lives in a charming old house (which needs much work) with her romantic husband (who doesn’t need much work at all) and four cats (who work very hard at being cute).

Rosemary would love to hear from readers. You can visit her Web site at www.rosemaryheim.com or write to her c/o Midwest Fiction Writers, P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424.

To Elise Heim and Dorothy Bentler.

My mother and sister. Special women, both.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My heartfelt thank-yous to: Shannon Godwin, for believing in Angel’s story and being our champion. Dr. Lou Betty Rood and members of KOD for coming to my medical assistance, pointing me in the right direction and letting me know I was on the right track. The Princesses and my critique group, a phenomenal collection of women. You know why. And Georgie-Peaux. I miss your calls, long talks and friendship. The state fair will never be the same.

Author’s note to those familiar with downtown Minneapolis—I know. Please forgive my artistic license in relocating an escalator or two and building the library before its time.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 1

“There ya go, darlin’,” the thick southern-accented voice coaxed. “Wake up and let me see those baby blues.”

Frank Cabrini did not want to open his eyes—no matter how gentle and enticing that voice sounded. If he did, the light would just set off another set of drums to join the timpani already pounding a rhythm in his brain.

A gentle hand smoothed through his hair, sliding down to pat his cheek. The faint scent of vanilla surrounded him. His eyelids flickered against his will.

“Are you sure he’s going to be okay?” Another woman’s voice registered in his fuzzy brain.

“Sure. Thanks for your help.” The first voice again, this time without the southern inflections. “Go ahead and take off. I can handle things from here.”

Frank fought the fog muffling his awareness. Something was wrong. Way wrong. He didn’t recognize either voice. The last thing he could remember was sipping a tonic water at the shabby CC Club bar and being chatted up by a woman who looked better suited to lunch at Chino Latino, the trendy Minneapolis Uptown restaurant.

That was how long ago?

Now, he lay stretched out on a bed that wasn’t his. He could tell because it was too short for his six-foot-four frame, and the pillow under his head was flat as Nebraska.

Somewhere to his left, a door clicked shut. He wanted to ask what was going on, but his mouth felt like the morning after cleaning out the liquor cabinet.

Vanilla surrounded him again as his head was lifted and something pressed against his lips. Water, cool and unflavored, dribbled into his mouth.

“Thanks.” His voice cracked on the single word. The bed shifted and the vanilla scent faded. He turned his head and tried opening his eyes. He knew better than to leave himself vulnerable like this. In his line of work, it could get you dead real fast.