The Spy Who Loves Me (10 page)

Her smile, warm and genuine, did a little number on his insides. “Considering how impressed I've been with your dating itinerary so far,” she said, “I don't think I'll second-guess your plans.”

“You won't be disappointed,” he said, earnestly hoping that was true.

They said good-bye, and fifteen minutes later they were heading back up the coast freeway. A comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated by the backdrop of Led Zeppelin streaming in from the classic rock station.

It was Amber who broke the silence, her finger tracing a long, thin slice in the Mustang's upholstery. “Let me guess,” she said. “A knife fight with an enraged former lover…and the car lost.”

“Could be,” Finn said. “This car's seen its share of adventures.”

“Considering the adventure you just took me on,” she said, “I believe that.” She reached forward, now running her finger over a crack in the dash. “And I think a few of those adventures have taken their toll.”

Finn aimed a stern scowl her direction. “Don't mock my car,” he said. “You'll hurt her feelings. She's a work in progress.”

“Well, I certainly hope so.” Amber raised an eyebrow. “I'd hate to think this is the look you were going for.”

“Clearly, you have no artistic sensibilities. She's raw, unrefined, but with beauty hiding just beneath the surface.”

“Kinda like some people, huh?” Amber quipped.

“Exactly,” he said. He tapped the brakes as he approached a car in the fast lane moving at a snail's pace. A can of motor oil rolled out from under the passenger seat and bumped against her ankles. He reached over, tossed it in the backseat, and gave her a sheepish grin. “I usually rent a car for dates.”

“Really? But this is a great car.”

“That it is,” Finn agreed, his estimation of Amber rising even higher. “But sometimes a man has to face facts. And this just isn't a prime dating car.” He aimed a smile her direction. “But you caught me by surprise.”

“I have that effect on people,” she said.

“That I believe.”

“At any rate, I'm glad you don't have a rental. I want to know the real Finn. Not some facade.”

At that, Finn almost laughed. He'd been wondering his whole life about who the real Finn was.

“What?” she asked.

He frowned, confused. “What, what?”

“I said I wanted to see the real Finn, and you got this distant look on your face.” She lifted a single eyebrow. “What's the matter? Have you got a secret identity you're not allowed to share?”

“That's the first time I've been asked that.” He had to admit, the question amused him. As if Agent Python was real, and Finn had to maintain a constant vigil lest his cover be broken.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her head cocked slightly to the left. “You haven't answered my question….”

“Secret identity, you mean?” He wasn't entirely sure what game she was playing, but it was right up his alley. “I guess you're just going to have to get to know me better and find out.”

“How convenient,” she said. She pressed her hand against his thigh, then eased it slowly up toward his crotch. “As you may have noticed, that happens to be my plan.”

“I noticed,” he said. “Learned anything interesting?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.” She leaned back in her seat, a teasing smile on her lips as she buffed her fingernails over her chest. “I think I know everything I need to know about you.”

“Oh, really?” he asked. “What do you know?”

“You're a lawyer,” she said. “And you're not too crazy about your job. But you're good at it. And you're good with kids.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

She laughed. “I see you with the twins. The other day you helped them build kites and flew them in the courtyard.” She cocked her head. “I told you. I've been watching you, Finn. And I like what I see.”

“What else?”

She shrugged. “I learned a lot about you today. You like adventure. You respect your elders. You have an affinity for history, as well as a reverence for it. And you like natural beauty.” She looked out the window at the stunning coastal view along PCH. “That's why we're taking the long way home, right? And it's why you took me to your scenic overlook earlier?”

“I guess you do know me,” he conceded. “Of course, now I'm at a bit of a disadvantage. I think I need to get to know you better.”

“Nothing to know,” she said. “My life is an open book.”

“Good,” he said. “I love to read.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to face her. “Let's start on page one.”

“To begin my life with the beginning of my life…”

“David Copperfield,” he said.

“You're good.”

“Nah,” Finn said. “I've just seen
Gone With the Wind
one too many times.”

“Never seen it,” Amber said. “But I've read the book twice.”

“You've never seen the movie? Melanie reads David Copperfield aloud when they're waiting to see if the men are safe.”

Amber shrugged, then slipped out of her sandal and propped her bare foot on the dashboard. “Movies weren't exactly part of my childhood,” she said. “And once I got older, I just never had the time.”

“It's a long movie,” Finn said, “but the book is longer.”

“When I'm in a book, time doesn't really mean much.”

Finn nodded. He got lost in his own fantasies for hours. Getting lost in someone else's sounded a hell of a lot more relaxing. “So you know what I do, but I don't know about you.”

“You mean that you're a lawyer,” she said.

“Right.” He winked. “I'm not allowed to reveal my secret identity.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Those aliases are hell that way.”

“Are you avoiding my question?”

“What? No. My job, you mean?” She twisted slightly in her seat, facing him more directly. “I'm a freelance editor for Machismo. Adventure books. Spies, intrigue. Stuff like that.”

“No kidding? That's cool.”

From her grin, Finn could tell she agreed 100 percent with that assessment. “Yeah, well, it's fun to get caught up in the fantasy.” She faced him dead on, her eyes probing. “Doing something like that for real, though. Well, that has to be a dream come true.”

“Something like what?”

She rolled one shoulder. “You know. Chasing down the bad guys. Fast cars, secret codes, the fate of the world hanging in the balance.”

Finn just laughed.

“What?” she said. “Am I wrong? You don't think that would be a trip?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I think that would be great.” But a woman who thought like he did—
that
was even better.

 

“Oh, you poor baby,” Diana crooned. She reached forward, sliding her hand through the crack in the doorway to press a hand to Poindexter's burning forehead. At the same time, she made a mental note to not call him that out loud.

Bernie.
His name was
Bernie.

She said the name over a few more times so she wouldn't forget. She was supposed to be all gooey with love for this guy. It simply wouldn't be prudent to spit out the wrong name in a moment of lust.

“I'm really sorry, Di,” he said, his voice thick and raspy. “I don't think I'm up for coming out.”

He started to push his front door closed, but she slid her foot neatly into the gap, her three-hundred-dollar pumps getting slightly marred in the process. “You poor, sweet baby,” she said. She was repeating herself, but she didn't know what else to say. She didn't
want
to be with the sniffling, sneezing little dweeb, but she had to.

Bernie Waterman was the only one who could access the satellite through the back door. Without him, they couldn't fire the laser. And without the laser, they were out of business.

All of which meant that Diana was stuck with Bernie, at least until she got him to open the satellite's back door. And so she was going to suck it up, kick off her shoes, and open a can of chicken soup.

“I'm really not—”

“I want you to march right back into your bedroom and get under the covers.”

His mouth hung agape, and she feared for drool. But then he blinked and took a step backward. She pressed the advantage, squeezing in through the half-open door. “Chicken soup, my pet.” She brushed his hair off his forehead, resisting the urge to wipe her palm down her skirt. The man was a sweaty, oily mess. As far as Diana could tell, that was his usual state of being. The fever, however, exacerbated the problem.

“But—”

“No buts,” she said, taking him by the shoulder and aiming him toward the bedroom. “You need your rest.” She swatted him on the rump, congratulating herself for putting up such a convincing front. “Now off you go.”

He turned, and from his expression she could tell he wanted to argue some more. Something in her eyes must have tied his tongue, however, because he pressed his lips together, nodded resignedly, and then padded toward the bedroom.

For the first time, Diana noticed his feet. Solid black socks, with a little sleeve for each individual toe.

Oh, please, God, don't make her have to sleep with this guy.

Standing a little straighter to fight distaste, she headed into the kitchen. The cupboard was mostly bare, but she found a can of tomato soup buried behind six cans of franks 'n' beans. She hoped the kitchen was in such pitiful shape because the man ate out often. Unfortunately, she doubted that was true.

The saucepan, at least, was clean. Sparkling, actually. And she noticed for the first time that the entire kitchen shined. Considering the man's own unkempt appearance, the pristine state of his apartment surprised her. If she'd cared one iota about him, she would have pondered the dichotomy. As it was, she simply filed the information away in case it later became useful.

The soup started bubbling around the edges, and she took it off the stove and poured it into one of the bowls in his cabinet. Heavy ceramic, hand painted with small yellow daisies. Another oddity. Another thing she wasn't going to worry about.

She found a yellow wicker tray in the shape of a fish behind the microwave and put the soup on it. Then she kicked off her shoes, picked up the tray, and headed to Bernie's bedroom in her stocking feet.

He was in the middle of the bed, a box of Kleenex in his lap, and crumpled, snotty tissues all around him. Diana wrinkled her nose and then eased up next to him, sliding the tray onto the bed. “Here you go, Pookie. You need to eat.”

“I'm really not hungry.”

“Nonsense.” She ran her hand over his forehead, the oil from his skin clinging to her palm. “Poor baby,” she said, then snaked her hand down the bedspread to his crotch, managing to wipe her palm in the process. “Isn't there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“I don't—
Oh…”

She'd pressed her hand down, rubbing him with a slow, methodical rhythm, and now she scooted closer, her breasts grazing his arm. “Anything at all?” she whispered, then flicked her tongue over his ear.

His face turned red and splotchy, and he closed his eyes, his head tilted back.

So easy.
The man had been eyeing her like a dog in heat since the first day they'd met. She'd posed as a programmer at a competitor and struck up a conversation with him at the little diner where he grabbed a coffee and Danish in the morning.

Drake had wanted her to go in with both barrels blasting, but Diana knew better, and eventually she'd convinced Drake. Bernie wasn't the type of guy who had women falling all over him. Especially not women who looked like Diana. And so she'd kept her distance, talking to him about bits and bytes. She'd said all the right things about finding a man who liked her for her mind and not her tits. And when he'd moved on to chaos theory, she'd known he was flirting in his own little Bernie-like way.

The foundation was set. And Diana was certain that a little bout of the flu wasn't going to keep his libido in check. Not if she could help it.

“You just lay back and relax, honey,” she said. “Diana will make you feel better.”

Slowly, deliberately, she slid her hand up to grasp the bedspread. She tugged it down slowly, both for effect and because of her inherent distaste for this particular assignment. But it was important. Hell, it was probably the most important seduction she'd ever done.

She just hoped he gave up the information as easily as he got a hard-on.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. Bernie's eyes flew open. “Don't answer it.”

“Oh, sweetie, you know I have to.”
Please, please, let it be Drake. Let him have cracked the code.