White Heat (5 page)

“I could use it afterward. The skull, I mean.”

“Right. You mentioned that.”

“Besides, they can't hurt too badly if everyone's getting them.”

He slung one arm over the steering wheel. “They hurt badly enough. Why put yourself through it?”
And mar that soft skin,
he added silently.

“Good point. Since you're so tough, you should get the tattoo—
my
name on
your
arm.”

No way would he etch a woman's name on his skin. The permanence of that scared the hell out of him and she knew it. That was partly what told him this was a setup. “Sorry, ain't gonna happen.”

They reached the highway, and he accelerated as they headed toward Interstate 10, which would eventually take them through Riverside and into Arizona, almost all the way to Portal. “We don't need tattoos.”

“It'll take more than simply telling everyone we're married to make them believe it.”

“You've got a ring, don't you?”

“A ring only signifies that we once exchanged vows. It doesn't mean we have a close relationship. So…you tell me. How do you want to play this? Do you want us to seem sort of…estranged? Regretful that we tied the knot? On the brink of divorce?” She poked the tiny brush inside the polish and changed feet. “I could win an Oscar I'd be so good at
that
performance.”

He'd hurt her six months ago, and now she didn't like him. It bothered him, but it was better to have her not like him than like him too much. At least, that was how he felt most of the time. “That won't work, not for this. We need to act as if we're close.” Otherwise, he'd be less capable of protecting her.

“That's what I thought you'd say. Or you would've gone in as my brother, like I wanted you to in the first place.”

So
that
was what all this was about. She was punishing him, or trying to spook him into changing the nature of their pretend relationship before they arrived in Phoenix and found themselves locked into the arrangement.

He would've been more than happy to accommodate her, but he wasn't sure it'd be any easier to play brother and sister. There was too much sexual tension between them. They ignored it, of course. When he'd rejected her, he'd cut her pride so deeply she'd go without air before she'd ever admit to wanting him again. But since that night in January, the energy that flowed between them had only grown stronger. When they were at the office together, he was aware of every move she made, and he was afraid others were beginning to sense what they both so categorically denied. That kind of interest would hardly seem appropriate between siblings.

“We'll have a close relationship, but no tattoos,” he reiterated.

She dipped the brush again. “So you're suggesting we let it all hang on a ring?”

“Works for me.”

Finally dropping the manipulative tactics, she
straightened. “Oh, come on. Let's just say you're my brother! We don't even want to get close enough to rub up against each other. How convincing will body language like that be?”

Want
had nothing to do with it. He glanced over to tell her they'd just have to improve their acting and caught a glimpse of her dress bunched up around her hips, bare legs plainly visible. Another inch or two and he could've spotted her panties.

Rachel wasn't trying to entice him. That was obvious from her careless attitude. She was so sure he wasn't interested, she saw no point in being cautious, which wasn't very wise if they were going to be living together. Maybe he wasn't in love with her, but that didn't mean he was blind. He could appreciate her physical assets the same as the next guy.

“Convincing enough, I hope,” he said. “And one other thing.”

She made a careful swipe with the polish, then another. “What's that?”

He waited for her to look at him. “Unless you want me to knock down that invisible wall you've constructed between us, I wouldn't tease me if I were you. That's not a punishment I'll tolerate.”

Her jaw sagged. “
Tease
you?”

When he shifted his gaze to her legs, his meaning finally seemed to register.

“I'm painting my toenails!” she said. “You think I'm trying to punish you? That I'm trying to do it by
arousing
you?”

She didn't have to
try.
That was the problem. “Just put your dress down,” he said with a scowl. “And leave it there.”

S
he wasn't the only one nervous about sharing a bedroom. Nate's grumpiness made that clear. He probably wouldn't refuse a quick lay if he was in the right mood—he hadn't refused last time, had he? But he didn't want
her,
and he couldn't be any more obvious about it. She wasn't willing to get burned a second time. She'd already offered him her heart and soul, and he'd tossed them right back at her. Hell would freeze over before she ever made him that offer again.

Ignoring his order to keep her dress down, she raised it again and proceeded to paint the rest of her toenails. Without shifting her dress she couldn't do it comfortably. If he thought ordinary behavior constituted teasing, that was his problem. They'd be “married” in name only. Until they moved into the commune, they wouldn't even share a bedroom.

Soon after she'd finished, the scenery outside changed from the green and brown of the rolling hills surrounding L.A. to the monochrome beige of flat desert. By afternoon, they couldn't get a radio signal and Rachel lamented the fact that she hadn't brought her iPod. The only sound, other than the warp of their tires on asphalt, came from the fan of the air condition
er. It hummed at full speed but pumped hot air into the cab. According to Nate, they must've lost their coolant somewhere along the highway because he couldn't get the AC to work any better.

“Why do you still have this old truck?” she grumbled.

“Because I like it. It has character. And it comes in handy for work—and play.”

Besides using it on various undercover jobs—jobs like this one—he sometimes took it four-wheeling with the guys. But she never would've agreed to ride with him if she'd thought they'd have to travel without air-conditioning. She would've flown into Tucson and had him pick her up there. At least that would've eliminated this extended trek across the hottest desert in North America. It had to be one hundred and twenty degrees outside. The truck felt like an oven.

“I can't believe this,” she complained. “We're in the Sonoran Desert. It's the middle of July. And we don't have air.”

“Roll down your window.”

She did as he suggested. The wind caused strands of her hair to come loose but did little to cool her off. Drops of perspiration rolled down her back and between her breasts. She'd abandoned her sweater long ago. Now she kept raising her skirt over the closest air-conditioning vent to funnel the air up under her dress, which clung miserably to her if she didn't.

“Do you want me to drive?” she asked, suddenly so restless she felt she couldn't tolerate another mile.

“I've got it,” he said, but when she continued to shift and squirm, he pulled to the shoulder and turned off the engine.

“Change your mind?” she asked.

“No, I'm getting you a cold drink.”

He was hot, too. She could see the dampness of his T-shirt, could smell the slight tang of his sweat—and wished she found it distasteful.

A moment later, her door opened, and he stood there with a bottle of water he'd taken from the cooler in back.

“Thanks.” She reached out, but he twisted off the lid and squeezed it down the front of her dress.

Gasping at the cold, she grabbed hold of the bottle and fought to turn it back on him.

“Hey, I'm just trying to help!” he said, laughing at her futile efforts.

Mad enough at his surprise attack to scramble out and get her own bottle, she flung water at him while he circled the truck to avoid her. She got him by acting as if she'd given up, then pivoting abruptly when he made a move to get in. But he didn't seem to mind. He merely removed the cap from a third bottle and poured it over his head.

“Better?” He grinned as he dribbled the last few drops over
her
head.

Knowing she looked bedraggled, she glanced down at her soaking dress. She wasn't willing to give him any credit, but she did feel cooler. “A water fight. That's your solution?”

“
I
enjoyed it,” he said. Then, in a motion that seemed as impulsive as it was unexpected, he used his thumb to stop a drop of water from rolling down to her cleavage.

Rachel caught her breath at the contact. Looking up
to see him watching her intently, she stepped out of reach. “It's my turn to drive,” she said, and hopped in before he could protest.

 

This was the way Nate liked Rachel best—completely undone. Her hair was a mess, her face devoid of what little makeup she'd put on, her dress damp and wrinkled and hugging every curve. He could even appreciate the thin sheen of sweat on her smooth skin. The dampness caused the soft tendrils of hair at her nape to curl.

God, she was pretty. At times she took his breath away.

“What?” She glanced over as if she could feel his scrutiny and didn't like it.

“Nothing.” He turned his attention to the rocks, soil and cacti flying past his window. During moments like these, he was so tempted to act on the attraction between them it was all he could do to keep his hands to himself. He wouldn't have bothered to fight the impulse if she was half as resilient as she pretended to be. But her desire to love him showed in those wide blue eyes every time she looked up at him. He couldn't take advantage of her vulnerability; he wouldn't break her heart. He, of all people, knew what could happen if he did.

“We haven't talked about Portal,” she said.

He adjusted his seat belt. “There's not a lot to say about Portal. It's a very small town.”

“How small?”

“Maybe fifty people, mostly ranchers, artists, bird-watchers and nature enthusiasts. Paradise used to be even smaller than Portal, until the Covenanters moved in.”

“Why aren't we starting off in a bigger place?”

“The closest town with any significant population is Willcox. They have about thirty-five hundred people, but it's an hour and a half from Paradise. I felt that was too far and we'd have trouble making contact with the cult.”

She fought the wind whipping at her hair by anchoring several loose strands behind her ears. “But how can a cement contractor expect to earn a living amid fifty ranchers, artists and bird-watchers? I doubt they're the type to pay for a lot of concrete work.”

“I'm actually playing an out-of-work contractor. With the downturn in the economy, I've decided to go after my real aspirations—photographing wildlife. I'll be taking pictures for a coffee-table book I hope to sell.”

Her eyebrows slid up. “Did you bring a camera?”

“Of course.”

“Nice thinking. Except that doesn't explain to others where we get the money to eat and pay rent.”

“We've recently inherited a small sum from your grandfather.”

“That wasn't in the dossier, either,” she pointed out.

“I just made it up before we left. We have this inheritance and we're using it to spend a year in Portal to take photographs for my book, hoping to recoup expenses when we sign a big deal.”

“Okay, so you're an aspiring photographer. What am I going to say
I
do?”

“You'll be my assistant.” That would keep her at his side all the time. It was perfect. But she didn't seem convinced.

“Don't you think this might seem kind of random?”

“No one says we have to be the most responsible couple in the world. Reckless can be believable, too.”

She bit her lip as if contemplating what he'd said, but his explanation must've pacified her because she changed the subject. “How much farther do we have to go?”

He checked his Swiss Army watch. “Another four and a half hours. But we'll hit Phoenix soon. We'll stop there to buy your wardrobe and other supplies.”

“Are we planning to get the air conditioner fixed in Phoenix, as well?”

“We don't have time if we want to reach Portal before dark, which is advisable considering there'll be no city lights. I'll fix the air-conditioning myself once we take up residence.”

“If Portal is an hour and a half from Willcox, which is the closest population center to Paradise, how far is Tucson?”

“About three hours.”

“This is sounding
very
remote.”

“There's no mall.”

“Forget the mall. I'll settle for running water.”

“We'll have an outhouse.”

She wiped the sweat from her upper lip. “Great. Snakes
and
an outhouse. My two favorite things.”

“Don't worry. I'll be there to look after you.” Confident that it would provoke her feminist tendencies, he gave her a satisfied smile and she didn't disappoint.

“I can look after myself,” she snapped.

“Aren't you at all concerned that we'll be so far from help, should we need it? I mean, say one of us did get bitten by a rattler. Tourniquets aren't an attractive option if you plan on using that leg again.”

“I'm not worried.”

He could tell it was a lie. The fact that they'd be so out of touch bothered him, too. But he wouldn't let her get hurt—by a rattler or anything else.

Pulling the bodice of her dress away from her body, she fanned herself, even though she must have known it was a futile gesture. “I'm anxious to see what these little towns are like. Especially Paradise.”

“I'm surprised you didn't look them up on the 'Net.”

“Last night? I had too much to do to get ready.”

He covered a yawn. “Like trying to talk me out of taking you.”

“Actually, I was trying to talk you out of coming along,” she admitted.

“You wanted to do this alone.”

“That's how I prefer to work.”

“Milt would never have gone for that.”

“Milt's totally indifferent to what's best for us. He didn't even give us a chance to prepare.”

“He knew we'd have a long drive, plenty of time to flesh out the details.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How long have
you
known about this?”

“A couple of days.”

“That's long enough to do some research.”

“And I did a little. What do you want to know?”

“How about what I would've found if I'd done my own?”

“Portal sits at one end of a large canyon, with the Chiricahua Mountains to the west and New Mexico to the east. Paradise is an old mining town, five miles up the mountains.”

“Mountains? You mean,
real
mountains—in the desert?”

“Real enough. The highest peak is almost ten thousand feet.”

She nodded. “I'd say that's a real mountain.”

After driving in silence for several miles, she glanced over at him again. “It won't be easy keeping our stories straight. The longer we live in Portal or Paradise or wherever we wind up until this job is done, the more we'll get to know other people, and the more we'll talk and share anecdotes. We'll seem strange, reclusive, if we don't make friends. That'll make folks uncomfortable and less likely to trust us. Yet the more we open up, the greater our risk of exposure.”

“We'll manage.”

“But we won't even be sleeping together. How do we fake intimacy that's not there?”

She was putting him on notice, drawing the line at her bedroom door. But he had some ammunition he could use, too. “It's not as if we haven't made love in the past, Rachel.”

Her knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. That was the first time he'd ever referred to the night he'd found her waiting in his bed. He generally chose not to embarrass her, but what had happened sat so awkwardly between them. If they were going to play husband and wife for the next few weeks, they needed to address the issue and get it out of the way. Then maybe they could both relax.

“That was a long time ago,” she said, but he wasn't about to let her off the hook that easily.

“Not
that
long ago. I know your body, and you know mine. We'll go by memory.”

Her chin jerked up. “I
don't
know your body. I—I can't remember a thing. I was drunk or…or I never would've been so bold.”

She hadn't been drunk at all. As a matter of fact, he'd only ever seen her drink one glass of wine, even at company parties, where most employees drank much more. “You're saying that wasn't the real you.”

Unwilling to meet his eyes, she kept her head at a jaunty angle. “Not at all. You know what it's like. Sometimes you have too much to drink. You get a wild idea like ‘hey, why don't I surprise my boss?' and you act on it. Then you wake up feeling like an idiot, wondering what on earth possessed you to do something so stupid and normally unappealing.” She glanced over to see if he was buying her act, so he pretended to believe her.

“Normally unappealing.”

“Yes.”

“And the details are…gone. You've forgotten them all.”

“Every single one.”

“Bullshit,” he said with a laugh.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You remember the details as well as I do.” And for him, they remained in sharp focus, including the taste and texture of her skin, even the smell of it. He'd never forget how greedily she'd responded to his touch, how she'd given herself so artlessly, so honestly—then brought all pleasure to a screeching halt when she told him she loved him. Talk about getting sucker-punched.

Her grip on the steering wheel grew noticeably tighter. “No, I don't.”

He waved a hand. “Fine, if that's what you want me
to believe, I'll play along. So…you'll just have to fake the attraction.”

She tossed him an overconfident grin. “No problem. I'm a pro at faking.”

Now she'd gone too far. “You weren't faking anything when you were with me,” he said simply.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, she yawned and stretched. “Like I said, I wasn't myself. I didn't know what I was saying or doing. Or saying,” she added again. “It doesn't matter, anyway. I was going through a rough patch, so you were just one in a long line of screw-ups. I mean, men.”