door closed and they were alone. Ronnie cleared her throat, making Blake wonder if she was more nervous than she appeared. Not that her demeanor would so much as hint at anything but ladylike calm, he thought. A more erotic image tripped through his mind, one that would have Ronnie Carmichael’s cultured Southern charm slipping…right into his arms.
“The agency needs someone inside and allowed free rein of the island,” she said, dragging his thoughts out of the bedroom and back to their conversation. “Our primary objective is to determine how the drugs are being moved through the island, as well as ascertain the key players.”
“I understand DEA wanting to avoid jurisdiction problems, but you’ve already got two agents on-site hampered by resort policy. What makes you think we’ll have any more luck?”
She lowered her gaze, her dark sable lashes sweeping downward. “Because we’ll be going in undercover,” she said, without looking at him. “Only not as employees.”
The knot of tension returned and tightened, and he rubbed the back of his neck to help ease it. “But why me?” he asked, his voice filled with caution.
She smoothed her skirt again. “Your lieutenant explained you were the only officer he could spare…that fit the profile.”
Blake frowned again. That twisting in his gut made a return visit, too, causing a riot among his insides. “Profile?” he asked, slowly lowering his hand. “What profile?”
Ronnie sighed and looked at him, her turquoise gaze intense. “I’ve read your file, Detective. Your experience in this area is well documented, and while there were other detectives with more experience, you are available and you fit the profile.”
His frown deepened. “What profile?” he demanded a second time.
“You’re thirty-one, right?”
“So? What does age have to do with an interdepartmental investigation?”
She tilted her head to the side, and regarded him skeptically. “Your lieutenant didn’t tell you, did he?”
The churning increased, igniting a ball of fire in his gut that had him reaching into his pocket for the roll of Tums he’d starting carrying two weeks ago. “Tell me what?”
She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slow. “Detective, the resort under surveillance is Seaport Manor.”
He shrugged and reached into his pocket. The name meant nothing to him.
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her hesitation had his suspicion mounting. “Seaport Manor is a honeymoon retreat.”
His hand slipped over the roll of antacids. “I’m still not following you,” he said, refusing to jump to the wrong conclusion.
“We’re going undercover, Detective. Tomorrow morning we board the Island Express, a water taxi which will take us to the quaint island resort and deliver us directly to the private dock of Seaport Manor, where we have two weeks to gather as much evidence as possible. We are registered under the name St. Claire, one of Savannah, Georgia’s oldest and most prominent families.”
His hand tightened over the roll of Tums. “We are registered?”
“That’s right, Detective,” she said with a brisk nod. “Blake and Veronica St. Claire will be spending the next two weeks at Seaport Manor as newlyweds.” She flashed him a saucy grin, and a victorious light brightened her turquoise eyes. “Welcome to Operation Honeymoon. Babe.”
2
RONNIE FLASHED the too-polished and too-gorgeous-to-be-real detective a grin filled with satisfaction as his arrogance faded. Her own grin dimmed when his raven-black eyebrows collided over narrowed, pale gray eyes.
“Find yourself another cop to play house,” he said, angrily pushing out of the chair. “I’m not interested.”
Her smile disappeared completely. There was no other cop, and she had her assignment. Because of jurisdiction, she’d been forced to partner herself with the LAPD, rather than one of her own, for which she was secretly grateful. The last thing she wanted was to play loving wife to the very men who’d made her life a living hell the past three years. A fact that confirmed she should’ve followed her own dreams rather than attempted to fulfill a prophecy she’d never asked for, nor wanted.
She shifted in the chair as he reached for the door. “I’m afraid you have no choice,” she said, grateful when the firm tone she tried managed to stop him from leaving. “While your department has been more than cooperative, you know as well as I do that deep budget cuts have left your division operating with the bare minimum. You’re the only officer available. And I’ve been guaranteed—”
He spun to face her, his frustration-filled gaze connecting with hers. “I really don’t give a damn what you’ve been guaranteed.”
“Look, I’m sorry you’re not happy about the assignment, but there isn’t any other way.” She didn’t like him glowering down at her, so she stood and rested her backside against the desk. If he’d been standing in front of her, he’d still tower over her by a good ten inches, but at least she’d equaled the playing field…somewhat. “With employees being banned from Seaport Manor during their off-hours, we need undercover operatives on the inside that have the freedom to come and go as they please. And it is a honeymoon resort. If we went in as singles, we’d be suspect from the moment we stepped off the launch.”
He let out a long breath filled with impatience. “You really think people are going to believe we’re newlyweds?”
She gave him a brief smile, in hopes of placating him since they hadn’t exactly started out on the best of terms. “From what I’ve read about you, Detective, you’re very good at what you do. I’m sure you’ll provide a convincing performance.”
Something in his gaze shifted, sending a ripple of alarm skirting down her spine. His soft gray eyes filled with purpose as he crossed the cramped office, closing the distance between them. With every ounce of willpower in her arsenal, she held her ground instead of darting behind the desk like the little warning voice in her head was shouting for her to do.
He stopped mere inches away, invading her personal space, and close enough for her to breathe in the alluring scent of cologne and man. She cursed her rotten luck. Why couldn’t they have found her a more middle-aged, less virile cop to play one half of the happy couple for the next week or two? Living in close quarters, in a ridiculously expensive and lavish honeymoon suite no less, with a man she found dangerously attractive held little appeal.
Or maybe too much appeal, her conscience taunted.
Definitely way too appealing, she thought. Since she knew the type so well, she could protect herself. Couldn’t she? Forewarned was supposed to mean forearmed, not an invitation to lose control. Considering she’d once fallen victim to a guy with all the right words, all the right moves and all the wrong answers she’d been too blind to see, she’d just have to be extremely careful not to lose her head. She could never, for one second, forget Blake was merely a means to an end that would finally give her the chance to follow her own dreams for a change.
Oh, yes, she knew Blake Hammond’s type all right. Cocky swagger and confident, killer smile, the kind
