Trick Me, Treat Me (7 page)

“Fine. But no more than that,” the doctor cautioned. Then she turned and walked toward the doorway.

Gwen followed her into the hall, leaving Hildy to say good-night to Miles. She wanted to talk to the doctor, but she also wanted to escape Miles’s amused—but deeply knowing—stare.

Surprisingly, Mick Winchester stood right outside the door. She hadn’t realized he’d come downstairs. Dr. Wil
son obviously hadn’t, either. A faint flush crawled up the woman’s pretty face, pinkening her pale cheeks.

Ahh…another hapless female fell victim to Mick’s boyish charm and smart-ass grin. She almost chuckled, liking that the shoe was suddenly on the other foot. For a confirmed bachelor and self-confessed ladies’ man, Mick was a likable guy, even if he was too flirtatious for her taste. The lady doctor could do worse if she was looking for a playmate during her holiday weekend.

“Well?” Mick asked.

Dr. Wilson quickly explained her diagnosis.

Mick’s eyes widened and he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re saying Hildy knocked out a grown man with a bunch of pennies? God, this is too bizarre to be anything but a joke. He’s faking the amnesia, right?”

The doctor shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s not unusual for there to be some mental confusion when someone’s knocked out cold with a blow to the head. I’m sure he’ll remember and will laugh over this in the morning. These cases aren’t as dramatic as in the movies. They’re generally short-lived…hours, at most. I feel sure he’ll be fine soon.”

Mick didn’t look convinced. He glanced at his hand, in which he held a wallet—probably his own—and a wrinkled, water-stained manila envelope. Gwen couldn’t make out any writing on the envelope, just a jack-o’-lantern sticker. The wallet was easier to understand. He’d probably grabbed it in case he’d had to make an emergency trip to the hospital. That didn’t surprise her. For a shameless ladies’ man, Mick was a pretty nice guy.

“You’re
sure
he’s not faking?” he asked Dr. Wilson.

“I’m sure about the injury to his head. And the bruise on his shoulder from where he struck a chair while falling.”
The pretty doctor lifted a hand to scrape a long strand of hair away from her face. Mick’s concern for the man in the kitchen seemed to be momentarily tempered by his fascination with the way the woman’s shirt pulled tighter against her body as she moved. He watched her with palpable interest.

Gwen almost laughed again.
The randy flirt
. She didn’t know whether to be amused or relieved that he hadn’t commented on her own skimpy nightie. Though, of course, he had noticed it. She’d seen him give her a thorough once-over when she’d exited the kitchen.

“So, you had a chance to talk with this man before he was injured?” he asked her once he’d finally stopped watching Dr. Wilson with frank appreciation in his eyes.

Talk? Oh, yeah, they’d talked. Her pulse quickened as she remembered the conversation she’d shared with Miles. How she could have been so totally lost to time and place, to propriety and her own self-preservation, she didn’t know. All she knew was that if her Aunt Hildy hadn’t knocked the man out, she might not have left the kitchen after he’d kissed her good-night.

At least, she might not have left alone. Because in his arms, for those last few seconds before he’d crumpled to the floor, she’d contemplated inviting him to come upstairs with her. If not for Hildy, they might right now be involved in the kind of erotic bedroom activities she’d only ever fantasized about. In spite of having been with a few other men in her life, she’d sensed from the first that the intense, dark, handsome secret agent could make her feel things she’d never felt, try things she’d never tried.

How bizarre for a woman who’d grown so accustomed to playing it safe. How strange that she’d never doubted, not for one moment, how much he’d wanted her, in spite of
the serious blow her self-confidence had taken during her last relationship.

How naughty that the very good-girl innkeeper, for one night had wanted to be very,
very
bad.

Too late now.

Then she thought of the hours stretching before them. She just as quickly forced that flash of speculation out of her mind. She’d be sitting up with him tonight as a babysitter. Nothing else. The man probably had a concussion, for God’s sake. He couldn’t remember his own name, much less hers! And he certainly wouldn’t be up to fulfilling the erotic fantasies of a lonely woman while sporting a colossal headache.

Pity.

Mick seemed to notice the way she’d gotten lost in her own thoughts. A slight smile curved his lips, as if he knew what she was thinking. She cleared her throat, finally remembering his question. “We spoke briefly.”

“Uh-huh.” Then he crossed his arms and leaned on the banister. “And he told you his name?”

She nodded.

“Did he say anything else?”

The doctor still stood there, listening to their conversation, but Gwen wasn’t sure she was doing it out of concern for her patient. No, Dr. Wilson had been surreptitiously doing some looking of her own in the past few moments. At Mick.

“Not really.” Then she frowned, remembering something. “It’s strange, Aunt Hildy says she didn’t check him in, but I can’t ask him about it. Thankfully we do have a vacant room.”

“Well, I think I’ll go back upstairs,” the doctor said. Then she looked at Mick. “Funny, I’m not as tired as I was when
I went to bed a couple of hours ago. Must be all the excitement. I might have to finish that brandy I took up with me after the cocktail hour, Miss Compton.” But she never took her eyes off Mick. And Gwen saw a flash of something in her eyes. Interest? Maybe. Heat? Definitely. Perhaps even acceptance, though, as far as she could figure, no question had yet been asked.

Shockingly, Mick didn’t offer to escort her to her room.

“Good night, Doctor,” he murmured, looking regretful. “Gwen, can we talk for a minute?”

The doctor stiffened, probably as surprised as Gwen was. Mick let out an audible sigh as she walked away. He obviously realized he’d lost out on something.

“You must
really
want to talk,” Gwen said. “You just gave up about as close to a sure thing as I’ve seen in a long time.”

Mick gave her a cheeky wink. “The night’s young. And I’m good at apologizing.” Then he got serious. “I have something to tell you. Something about that stranger in the kitchen.”

Her breath immediately caught. “What about him?”

“I know who he is.”

Oh, lord. Aunt Hildy had said something. “Listen, Mick…”

“And I know why he didn’t check in. He wouldn’t, not right away, until he made sure it was safe. But I know why he’s here, because he came to meet
me.
”

This time, confusion made her tilt her head. “You?”

Lowering his voice, Mick leaned close.

“Yes. I’m his contact here in Derryville, Gwen. Agent Stone and I are working together.”

O
KAY, SO HIS NAME
was Miles Stone, and for some reason he’d been in the kitchen of a bed-and-breakfast, making out with a gorgeous blonde in a negligee, when her old lady aunt had nailed him with a bag of pennies. He’d gone down for the count. And he’d come to with an empty memory bank and an ostrich egg-size lump on his skull, as well as the biggest bitch of a headache he’d ever experienced.

Or, so he thought, since he couldn’t remember any previous headaches. Nor could he remember anything else. But at least the headache had faded in the hour since he’d taken the medicine and come upstairs to one of the bedrooms in this B & B.

He’d been dressed all in black. The beautiful innkeeper and her dotty aunt seemed nervous for some reason. And he’d supposedly been carrying a gun. So…he had a lot of questions.

Why did his own name, Miles Stone, ring no bells in his mind? What was he doing at a bed-and-breakfast with no luggage—as he’d discovered when he’d been escorted to this empty room. Why would he have a gun? Why wasn’t he carrying a wallet in his back pocket? Why would Gwen Compton be so cautious, listening for every creak, peering around corners as she led him upstairs?

Why had they been making out in the kitchen when, by God, every molecule in his body screamed that he should have had her in a bed? Naked. Panting.

Maybe most important, who was she to him and how would she react if he picked up where they’d left off before the aunt had interfered?

Unfortunately, his companion didn’t appear inclined to answer a damn thing. “You’re sure you don’t want me to try to find you something else to sleep in?” Gwen asked, her eyes shifting to stare everywhere in the room but at him, sitting in the bed with a sheet draped loosely over his legs and hips.

She’d scrounged up a robe somewhere and had covered up that skimpy white nightgown of hers. Too bad.

“I’m fine. And decent,” he replied carelessly.

True. She couldn’t see anything through the dark green sheet. Even if she could, he wasn’t naked. He was apparently a boxer-briefs kinda guy. Thank goodness. He’d have hated to strip out of his black jeans and see tighty whities, or, God forbid, something hideous like a leopard-print thong. At least, whoever he was, he didn’t dress like a loser.

But she’d stepped out of the room to let him undress, so she didn’t know what his underwear of choice was.
Yet.
Since she’d returned, her cute little rear had been perched at the edge of a chair, as if she intended to flee if he moved off the bed.

“I’m fine, Miss Compton. Now, how about you and I stop staring at each other and get down to business?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He raised a disbelieving brow. Sure she didn’t. There’d definitely been some mutual staring during their small talk about the weather, the inn and the merits of acetaminophen over aspirin when it came to concussions and penny-induced headaches. But every time he tried to make the conversation more informative, or more personal, she looked away and clammed up.

“I mean, let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “You’re not telling me something. I want to know what it is.”

She shook her head. “That’s not a good idea. We just have to get you through the night. You should be able to sleep soon, it’s been almost two hours since the, uh…unfortunate incident.”

That was one way to put it.

“Your speech isn’t slurred. Your eyes look normal. You seem well enough to go to sleep in another hour or so.”

Leaving him wondering how they might fill that hour.

“And tomorrow you should wake up and remember everything.”

He wasn’t sure he liked the way she said
everything
. “What if I don’t? Remember by tomorrow, I mean.”

He regretted the question when he saw her stricken look.

“You have to remember. It’s dangerous…”

“Dangerous?” He sat up straighter.

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You said it. Look, I’ve had enough of this. I might have a lump on my head and a lack of personal data at my disposal, but I’m not on my deathbed.” Throwing the sheet back, he stepped out of the bed, not caring that she gasped at the sight of his body, clad only in his gray boxer-briefs.

Not giving her a chance to get up and leave, he walked around her and planted himself in front of the door. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he merely looked at her. If she wanted out, she was gonna have to go through him. “Just because my memory’s gone, doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I know there’s something more than meets the eye going on here. Start talking.”

She stared up, not rising from her chair, as if her legs had suddenly turned to mush and she didn’t trust herself to stand. She didn’t touch him…not with her hands. But right
now, standing with his waist at about the level of her head, he knew what was meeting
her
eye. She continued to look, with eyes full of hunger and heat, making no effort to disguise the way her lips parted and her breaths grew ragged.

The already palpable awareness between them skyrocketed.

Damn. Getting out of the bed had been a big tactical error. No way he could focus on getting answers, not when he couldn’t even hide his reaction to her blatant interest.

She noticed that reaction. Considering the size of his hard-on, a person standing a block away could notice it.

Her body shook, her nipples puckering to twin peaks below her gown. His mouth went dry with want. Had he tasted that sweet spot? Had he sucked her nipples, rolled them on his tongue? Had he cupped her, licked her, sampled every inch of her?

Not knowing if it had happened was hell. Not knowing if it would happen
again
was worse.

A flush washed over her. She didn’t appear to notice that one sleeve of her silky robe had slid down, baring her shoulder, the curve of her neck, and the low-cut neckline of her gown. Standing above her, he was unable to look away, imagining her touching him with her hands, her mouth, as well as with her hungry eyes.

In her lap, her fingers clenched together, inching higher, almost of their own will, toward the apex of her thighs. As if she had a need to fulfill. Even if she had to do it herself.

The thought sent even more blood rushing to his groin. And he gleaned one more fact about himself. He had a big…

“Don’t you think you should get back into bed?” she asked, her final word almost a squeak.

Bed. Yeah. That’d work. If only it weren’t abso-friggin’lutely impossible. “You’re killing me,” he growled.

His world-class hard-on wasn’t going away until he did something about it. Or until
she
did. Which couldn’t happen. Until he knew who he was—if he was married, an escaped convict or a sex fiend—he could not touch her.

One thing was for sure. He was definitely straight. Because he could picture making love to this woman in more positions than you could find in the
Kama Sutra
and still not get enough of her.

The thought made him even harder. So hard, he nearly erupted out of his low-riding briefs.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her jaw wide open. She stared at his crotch like he was some kind of dancer at a strip club.

Hell, maybe he
was.

“I think you’d better get out of here,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse, the words so painful he nearly had to rip them from his throat. He stepped away from the door, willing her to leave. When what he really wanted to do was to pull her close. Very close. To bury himself inside her and let all the confusion be washed away by raw, physical intimacy. “Go
now.”

Shaking her head, she stood to face him and sucked in a few deep, ragged breaths. “I can’t leave you alone.”

“I’m fine,” he bit out between clenched teeth.

She squared her shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere. You can get back under the covers, and we can…”

Have wild, horny, sweaty, kinky sex.

“Talk. Or play cards. You just go back over there to your side of the room. Everything will be fine.” He didn’t know who she was trying to convince more with that weak, breathy voice…him or herself.

He’d tried to play the gentleman, tried to send her on her way untouched, safe and sound. She hadn’t taken him up on his offer. So now all bets were off. “Okay. Suit yourself.” Stepping closer until their bodies almost touched, he pressed each of his hands on the wall behind her head, effectively trapping her.

“But if you stay, we’re going to pick up wherever we left off downstairs in the kitchen.”

G
WEN KNEW
he was trying to intimidate her into leaving, for her own good. If he knew the truth—that his implied threat excited her more than it frightened her—he’d be the one in retreat. Because he didn’t
mean
it. He wanted answers, not sex.

Well, okay, he probably wanted both. Correction, judging by the erection straining against his underwear, and,
oh, God
, nearly erupting from the top of them, he
definitely
wanted sex. But she’d lay money he wanted answers more. She certainly would, if the situation were reversed. She’d want to know who she was before she could even think about having hot, erotic sex with a stranger.

Then again, she wasn’t a guy.

“You want to bring me up to speed on how far we’d progressed before we were so painfully interrupted?” His voice had returned to that sultry purr she remembered from earlier that night. His tone was sensuous and hypnotic. His stare equally so.

“W-we were saying goodnight.”

He stepped closer, until his bare legs brushed against hers and one of his feet was between her own. “Sure we were.”

She flattened herself as far as she could against the wall, fisting her hands to avoid throwing her arms around the
poor man’s neck and begging him to take her. Now. Hard. Right where they stood. Or on the bed. Or in the bathtub. Or all of the above.

Not the kind of thing one should do to a secret agent with a concussion and amnesia. Not when the bad guy could be pounding down the door any minute, catching them unprepared. Distracted. In the throws of ultimate physical pleasure. Damn, it almost seemed worth the risk when she thought of it in those terms.

“So, I’m to believe we were going to bed…separately?”

“We were,” she said. “We just met tonight.”

He thought about it. “Okay, I guess I can buy that. I can’t imagine even a blow to the head could make me forget you if we knew each other more…intimately.” He looked down, his gaze resting on the gaping vee of her robe, where the glittery, beaded bodice of her nightgown was exposed. “We obviously hit it off.”

She nodded. “Yes, we did.” Clearing her throat she said, “But that doesn’t matter now. We have to make sure you’re okay tonight and everything will be fine tomorrow. You’ll get your memory back. You’ll do what you came here to do. Then you’ll go.”
Taking the arms dealer sleeping upstairs with you.

And maybe coming back for a visit in the future, when this was all over. God, she’d give a year off her life if he’d come back so they could finish what they’d started. Particularly now, when she’d seen the physical evidence of what he had to offer.

A lot.

His eyes narrowed. “What I came here to do. You mean, beyond this?” He pressed against her suggestively. His tight boxers and her nightwear were the only things sepa
rating the hungriest parts of them both. “
Is
there anything beyond this?”

No. She didn’t think there was. Hadn’t thought so ever since she’d seen him get out of that bed, her body instantly responding. Without a touch, merely at the sight of him, she’d gotten so aroused she’d barely trusted herself to stand up.

He moved again, brushing his hips against hers in an agonizing sexual tease, coaxing a hopeless whimper from her mouth. How could he know her so well when he didn’t know her at all? Was she so easy to read, so pathetic a female that he had been able to tell just by looking at her how much she wanted him? Had wanted him since she first set eyes on him?

“We can’t.” That sounded about as strong-willed as a teenager who’d already climbed into the back of a car with her boyfriend.
We can’t. We mustn’t. We shouldn’t. Take me, baby!

He ignored her, moving his hands lower on the wall until his forearms touched her shoulders and his fingers teased a few long strands of her hair. She sighed. Obviously hearing the sound, he lowered his mouth to her throat, tasting her skin, breathing deeply as if he couldn’t get enough of her scent.

Her brain screamed
danger
. Her body said
to hell with it
.

“So,” he continued as he moved higher, sliding his tongue on her neck as if testing the fluttering of her pulse. “What am I doing here, Gwen?” Another nip. Another tiny flick of his tongue. Another question. “What haven’t you told me?”

She couldn’t think, could barely breathe, could hardly remember her own name at this point.

“Come on, angel. Let’s just get it out in the open and
move on.” He kissed higher, sucking her earlobe into his mouth and nibbling it so lightly she shivered with sensation.

“Tell me.” He punctuated the command by lowering his hand to trail his fingers along the neckline of her gown, tracing a path on the sensitive skin above her breast.
“Tell me.”

Resistance was futile. Gwen caved in like a guilty suspect being interrogated by Sipowicz on
NYPD Blue
. Or like a counterspy being seduced into talking by James Bond. That was probably closer to the truth. Her words came out in a rush, on one long, exhaled breath. “You’re a secret agent and you’re chasing a Russian arms dealer and his buyer and you were supposed to meet your local contact tonight, but he knows you’re hurt, so he’s outside making sure the perimeter is secure. I’m to stay here with you to make sure you’re all right and if you stop touching me, I think I’ll die.”