“I should have known that a guy like you wouldn’t be my date. I don’t know where my head was.” Scarlett looked at Luke and shook her head.

Now, what was that supposed to mean?

She stood up before he could ask. “Listen, I am really sorry about messing things up here. Take me back to the island and I’ll get out of your hair. You can track down your real contact and get back to your mission.”

“Uh…Scarlett, I really don’t know how to tell you this but, see, you went through security with me. You might not be my contact, but you are my fiancée. At least for the next three days. I absolutely cannot let you walk out of here.”

SUSAN MAY WARREN

is a RITA® Award-winning, bestselling novelist of more than twenty-five novels. She has won an Inspirational Readers Choice Award, an ACFW Book of the Year award and has been a Christy Award finalist. Her compelling plots and unforgettable characters have won her acclaim with readers and reviewers alike. She and her husband of twenty years and their four children live in a small town on Minnesota’s beautiful Lake Superior shore, where they are active in their local church. You can find her online at www.susanmaywarren.com.

Undercover Pursuit
Susan May Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Forgetting the past and looking forward to

what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race

and receive the heavenly prize for which God

through Jesus Christ is calling us.

—Philippians 3:13, 14

For Your glory, Lord

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

How could she have lost her sister’s wedding dress?

Scarlett Hanson closed her eyes, willing herself not to leap across the customer service counter of AirMexico airlines and throttle the petite brunette airline representative in her cute light blue uniform and pigtails, typing a description of Scarlett’s lost “suitcase” into her computer.

“It’s not in a suitcase,” Scarlett repeated. “It’s a black, zippered hanging bag, with a pink ribbon on the handle, and please, please, my sister will kill me if you can’t find it.” Scarlett spread her sweaty hands on the cool smooth counter, aware of the line forming behind her. The rest of the passengers on Flight 2137 had already cleared customs, the officers at the customs desks now resuming conversations with their colleagues while the next bunch of tourists from the icy north herded through passport control. Beyond the glass doors, she spotted palm trees and cabbies in Hawaiian shirts, shorts and flip-flops, peddling freedom.

“Contents?”

“It’s a wedding dress!” Oh, she hadn’t meant to yell, but that’s what sixteen hours of travel on nothing more than a bag of peanuts and a Diet Coke did. It didn’t help that she’d had about six hours’ notice before that to block out vacation time at her temp agency, pack, pick up her sister’s dress—as well as her maid-of-honor dress—from a Nicollet Mall boutique in Minneapolis and catch her flight.

She just needed to calm down. Everything was going to be just fine. Hadn’t her flight made it out before the storms across the nation had grounded other flights? If that wasn’t divine providence—allowing her to make it onto the overbooked connection in Houston—then she didn’t know what was.

See, just because she felt as if God had forgotten her didn’t mean it was true. He did care about her, and she didn’t have to be a high-maintenance, high-stress, center-of-the-world diva like Bridgett to prove it.

Although, having her sister’s dress suddenly appear might prove God’s attention to the details.

“Are you sure the bag isn’t listed on the manifest?” She wanted to bang her head on the counter. Why hadn’t she carried her sister’s dress on the plane instead of checking it?

Or better, why hadn’t Scarlett just let her sister’s frantic phone call go to voice mail two days ago?

Maybe because, after the fiasco at the engagement party, she just wanted to make things right.

Scarlett’s feet had begun to sweat in her Uggs. She should have left her ski jacket in the parking garage at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. Please let her have remembered her swimsuit—although knowing Bridgett, the bride wouldn’t have scheduled beach time. Just lots of it’s-all-about-Bridgett time.

Scarlett shed the jacket and shoved it into the expandable pocket of her carry-on bag.

“Oh, I found it!” Pigtails peered at the screen, squinting. “It’s—oh, no…”

Scarlett gripped the counter, leaning forward, hoping for a glimpse of the screen. “What’s ‘oh, no’?”

“It’s in…Detroit.”

Detroit. Of course it was.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to catch a return flight back to the States.

“We can have it here by tomorrow, probably, Saturday at the latest.”

“She’s getting married Saturday morning.”

Pigtails smiled, white teeth against her beautifully tanned skin. “If you leave the name of your hotel, we can send it out to you when it arrives.”

Perfect. Scarlett dug out her cell phone and scrolled down to the notes. “The Lost Breezes Hotel.”

“You know that isn’t actually in Cancun, right? You have to take a ferry out to the island.” The woman glanced behind her at the clock. “Oh, you’d better hurry. The last ferry to the island leaves in thirty minutes.”

Of course it did. Scarlett grabbed one of the business cards on the counter. “I’ll call you when I get to the resort.”

“We hope you enjoy your stay in Cancun,” Pigtails said, her eyes already tracking to the complainer behind her.

At this point, Scarlett had her doubts.

She practiced some deep breathing, not glancing at the clock as she lined up to go through customs.

The agent seemed to pity her—or perhaps he just recognized a woman fraying as he released her and her carry-on bag into the country.

Welcome to Mexico. She passed the sign and entered a corridor, bordered by all manner of tourist services—tropical-colored signs advertising tours of lost coves and white-sand beaches, luxury golf packages, deep-sea fishing charters. She trolleyed her bag, the one with the chipped wheel that made a clipping sound as she walked, ignoring the calls of eager agents hoping to sell her a chance to swim with dolphins, learn to scuba dive or cook Mexican cuisine.

Thanks, but she was here for one reason: erase that horrid moment at the engagement party when she’d accused Bridgett of stealing Duncan, the groom.

Stealing—had she really used that word? That was the last time she drank champagne. Ever. One glass and her mouth stopped listening to her brain.

Scarlett smiled at a group of taxi drivers lingering in the cool air-conditioning of the airport and exited out onto the sidewalk. Her sister said a marked taxi would be waiting to take her and the last of the groomsmen to the resort.

Please, don’t let Bridgett have set her up on a blind date. Scarlett could see right through Bridgett’s pitiful attempts over the past six months to set her up, straight to the guilty conscience behind it. But there was no need for it. She and Duncan had never—not really—been a couple. Officially.

Regardless of the hours they spent hanging out after the church singles group events.

Regardless of the times they played tennis, or went cross-country skiing.

And, especially, regardless of what Scarlett may or may not have said at the engagement party.

No, she would be just fine at this wedding as a solo act. Singular. Dateless.

Sigh.

Scarlett had never seen palm trees. They lined the circular boulevard outside the airport. But she must have been miles from the ocean because she couldn’t smell anything but exhaust.

Lost Breezes—there. She spotted a Hispanic man in a white silk shirt, jeans and flip-flops holding a laminated sign. “Lost Breezes?” she asked in English.

He smiled. “Si.”

“Gracias.” Finally, she might be able to use her four years of high-school Spanish.

He reached for her bag. Wait—hadn’t she read something about people masquerading as cabbies and running off with carry-ons? She held her bag tighter. “I’ll take it in the car with me,” she said—or hoped she said—in Spanish.

He raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and opened the door of his sedan.

Indeed, the foreshadowed guest sat inside, waiting—impatiently, if she could read his body language. He looked over at her, his lips pursed, his eyes dark, sweat dampening the front of his white Oxford dress shirt. He wore a pair of jeans and black Converse sneakers, and made a feeble attempt to hide his irritation.

“Hi. Sorry I’m late.” She set the carry-on on the floor then climbed in around it.

He gave her a tight smile. “Hi.” He eyed her Uggs and possibly her turtleneck, but it was two degrees in Rochester, thank you very much. Just get her to a beach.

She sat back and noticed that, despite his perspiration, he didn’t exactly smell bad. And, upon closer inspection, she might even call him cute—tousled dark blond hair, golden-brown eyes, and it seemed he might spend some time in the gym. There was confidence in his posture, despite his impatience, as if he expected the world to be on time. And dressed appropriately. Exactly the kind of guy who might be interested in Bridgett.

Or, the kind of guy who might be her sister’s cast-off. Oh, no, please—

“I’m Luke. You must be my date.” He offered his hand to her.

She knew it. For goodness’ sake. She would kill Bridgett when she saw her.

“Okay. Well, I’m Scarlett. And I don’t know what you were told, but I’m just here for the wedding. So, you’re off the hook, pal. You don’t have to be my plus-one.” She gave him a tight smile, ignoring his hand.

He withdrew his hand and gave her a look. “Scarlett. Okay. I admit, I heard you like to work solo, but hey, I’m here to do a job, same as you. So, no, I don’t think I’m off the hook, thanks.”

Wow, that hurt. She liked to work solo? A job? What had her sister said to this guy? She liked a date just as much as the next girl. Just because she hadn’t had one in…well, her friendship with Duncan had nixed any real offers. Still, being her date for the weekend was a “job?” “Thanks, but I just want to get this over with as painlessly as possible. So, really, I don’t need your help.”

And she didn’t. With the exception of the dress—which had to make it in on the next plane—she could handle this wedding with her eyes closed. Nothing short of a terrorist attack would keep her from making sure Bridgett had the wedding of her dreams, and paying the appropriate attention to her “date” would only dilute her focus. She put some sugar in her tone, however, because no man—especially one of Bridgett’s pals—liked getting shut out. “Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll give you a good report, I promise.” Then, as the taxi pulled away from the curb into the mess of traffic, she winked at him. No hard feelings.

He stared at her as if she’d slapped him. “Wow. You really think you’re something, don’t you?”

“Uh…”

“Well, guess what? You’re not getting rid of me quite that easily. For the next three days, I’m your partner, whether you like it or not. So buckle up, honey.”

Awesome. She’d landed her own personal hero. Just what she needed.

Luke Dekker hated working a mission with an operative he didn’t know. He’d read Stacey—er, Scarlett, apparently, was the name she’d chosen for this op—Meyer’s dossier on the plane on the way over, and while she seemed capable on paper, meeting her in person had him second-guessing the entire assignment. Really, I don’t need your help.

And now she looked at him with unadulterated horror on her face, as if he’d just propositioned her.

Luke had been to Cancun before. The first time was a spring-break trip in high school that he barely remembered. Not that he really wanted to remember anything from those days. Still, he didn’t recall the small houses amidst towering resort hotels, palm trees and cracked sidewalks, dusty children playing in dirt lots, but maybe no one saw the back alleys of Cancun unless they really looked.

“I really do know what I’m doing. This isn’t my first time around the block.” He smiled, trying to lighten things up. Somehow, he’d gotten off on the wrong foot with her. Maybe because he kept sticking the other one in his mouth.

She looked even more offended, her eyes blinking. “Well, I’m sure it’s not.” Then she closed her mouth and turned away from him, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge his words.

What sort of penance was this? So maybe he shouldn’t have mouthed off when his boss, Chet Stryker, asked for volunteers for a mission to Cancun. “Hey, I need a tan, Chet.” Did the guy not know sarcasm when he heard it?

Only, maybe the joke was on him, because in the six-hour turnaround where he threw something that resembled swim trunks and wrinkled dress clothes from the back of his closet into his bag, he hadn’t even considered he might end up working with a snow queen.

Hopefully she packed her sunscreen, because the woman wore the hue—and demeanor—of Minnesota in January.

But he wasn’t here to be just an accessory, thanks. This was just as much his mission as hers. And, despite Miss I-Work-Alone’s confidence, the woman needed someone to watch her back as she pretended to be a bridesmaid. She’d be busy enough inserting herself into the bridal party of Lucia Romero, bride to Benito Sanchez, nephew of Augusto Sanchez, wanted drug lord and human-trafficking terrorist—and esteemed member of the guest list.

Lucia, a former law student, had been playing loving girlfriend to Benito for three years just for the chance to apprehend Augusto. And now, someone was trying to kill her. She needed people around her who she could trust to keep an eye on things until Augusto showed up to the wedding and the good guys used the opportune rare appearance to swoop in and nab him.

Hence, Lucia had turned to her old friend Chet Stryker and his international-security team. But Stryker International needed a few more female operatives on its team, because its only official female member had a severe bout of morning sickness.

Although, Mae, Chet’s wife, had nearly gotten on the plane with Luke this morning anyway. Even when Chet told her he’d brought in an accomplished freelancer to partner with Luke. A real pro, no problem. Stacey Meyer.

A pro who preferred to work solo, according to her file. Her description, however, hadn’t quite done her justice. Sure, the woman beside him didn’t exactly qualify as striking, but she had a prettiness about her, something simple and muted that could probably get her in and out of countries unnoticed. She wore her brown hair in a messy ponytail, some of it waterfalling around her face, and her intense green eyes suggested she could turn a person cold with a look. The way she seemed to scrutinize everything, from the driver to the landscape to Luke, as if taking in every detail…yes, he had no doubt she knew how to do her job alone. But too bad. “Listen, I know this isn’t your first choice. Frankly, it’s not mine, either—”

“What, there were other choices? A lottery?”

“No. I mean, I volunteered. But I was also the only one available.”

“Nice. I didn’t realize you guys were in such demand.”

What had Chet gotten him into? “I stay pretty busy.”

She widened her eyes a moment, a flare of something he might normally peg as panic.

“Please, just stay away from me.” She looked down at the space between them, then scooted more toward the window and crossed her arms and legs. A knot of offended female pride.

Or…maybe this was about the job. She probably feared that he’d take advantage of his role as her fiancé.

Staying away might be a little difficult if they hoped to pull off this charade. Yet, because she was still staring out the window, still shaking her head in a sort of disbelief, he lowered his voice. “Listen, I’m a good guy, really, and I won’t take advantage. And I know I’m not who you expected, but I’m not interested in anything but doing my job. We’ll just get it done and go home.”

She turned, and just for a moment she looked as if she might slap him. “How can I thank you for that ever-so-sweet warning, and for being willing to do this oh-so-offensive job? What would the world do without heroes like you?”

Ow.

But that’s what did it. The last thing he needed was a hotshot agent who had to run her own show. “Listen, I’m not just here to watch,” he said, slipping into his navy SEAL bark. “I’m here for a reason, same as you, which will probably include not only being near you, but probably even touching you.” He spent a little extra time on the word touching, just because of the priceless expression on her face. He probably shouldn’t have smiled, though.

“You’d better just be watching. I can give you my deathbed word that there won’t be anything but watching going on, buddy.” She shot a look at his hands as if they’d wandered somewhere. “Touch me once and you’ll pull away a nub.”

Oh! Uh. No, he hadn’t meant—now he felt like a letch.

Which made all the anger dissolve. He wasn’t that guy. She actually looked as if he’d offended her, her eyes reddening just a bit. So much for the iceberg agent.

“Look, I’m sorry—”

“Let’s just get to the wedding and try to stay out of each other’s way.”

“Yeah, that’s going to work.”

She took a breath, and it trembled on exhale. “I really, really don’t need an escort, you know. No matter what anyone says.”

Oh, he wanted to punch something, hard. “I’m not sure you quite cleared that up for me.”

“Jerk.”

Just swell. They’d have to start acting like a couple soon, because the moment they got on the island, Sanchez’s men were sure to be watching. “You could try to cooperate.”

“Cooperate. You want me to cooperate. Okay, this is me, cooperating. I’m the queen of cooperating.” She drew in a long breath, then bit her lip and, if he wasn’t mistaken, she tried not to…cry?

And right then, he had the strangest urge to push that errant dark caramel curl of hair away from her face, turn her toward him. Look right into her eyes.

Look who wasn’t as tough as she thought.

Interesting. He wasn’t sure what buttons he’d pushed, but something had her rattled.

He and Chet were going to have a long chat when he got to the resort. But he’d come a long way since the navy had discharged him for his temper, and he now had a let’s-play-nicely-with-others voice. “We both know what’s expected, and I promise, I’m going to watch your back if you watch mine. So let’s make the best of it, try to get along. How about we start over?” He put out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Scarlett.”

She glanced over at him and sighed. “Fine. Nice to meet you, Luke.”

That was a start. “Aren’t you hot?”

Her eyes darted to her turtleneck then over to him and his cotton Oxford.

Finally, she said, “Okay, yes, I’m boiling. I should have layered, so I could have shed as I came south, but I was in a hurry. I didn’t even get the call that I was coming here until…I guess almost two days ago now, and I had so much to do that, well, I forgot to dress for the weather.” She lifted one of her feet, probably marinating inside her blue fuzzy boots.

“Yeah, I only found out yesterday. Good thing we could put this together so fast.”

“So, you didn’t know you were coming, either? Aren’t you in the wedding party?” She regathered her hair into its ponytail, then fanned her face with a business card she held in her hand. For an operative, she had a small-town look about her—a sprinkle of freckles on a small nose, a little extra padding on her—instead of the hard-edged, lean-bodied look of a woman who could flip him in hand-to-hand combat. She looked just normal enough that they might pull this thing off.

“No. I’m just here for you.” He winked at her, and again, she gave him the oddest look, one that made him lose his smile.

“I thought you were a groomsman.”

“No, that’s not part of the plan. But you’re a bridesmaid, right?”

She nodded, staring again out the window. “Except my maid-of-honor dress fits someone else. I probably won’t eat for three days. If it even gets here.” She sighed and leaned back. “I can’t take any more glitches.” She shook her head.

Glitches?

A mariachi band from the driver’s radio filled the silence.

What glitches? “Is it something I should be worried about?”

“I think we’ll live through it.”

Good. Because survival always topped his priority list.

She closed her eyes, as if she weren’t worried, either.

Fine. Okay. He stared out the window as the cabbie drove them through the city.

At least she had stopped calling him names.

The driver let them off at the ferry entrance, and as she wrestled her carry-on out of the car—Luke offered to do it, but she’d rebuffed him—he bought their tickets.

“It’s leaving, come on!” He took off, but that crazy bag she’d opted for—which completed the tourist façade well but made him want to throw it in the ocean—clipclopped over the deck and down the cement pier. He finally returned for it and picked it up.

“I can take it.”

“I’m sure you can, but we can’t miss the ferry.” He gestured to the man waiting for them and didn’t put down the bag until they had climbed aboard and gone to the top deck.

“Thank you.” She sat on the bench and breathed out, lifting her face to the sun. “I’m sorry for being on edge. I just don’t like surprises. And, frankly, you’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” Hadn’t she been given his file to read also?

She gave him a small smile, a shake of her head. “I’m just used to…it’s just better if I go it alone.”

Yeah, well. “I prefer it, too, actually.”

She sighed. “I don’t like it. It’s just the way it is.”

He sat next to her, breathing in the salty air and the tang of coconut oil, listening to the cry of gulls overhead. The sky had turned a cerulean blue and a slight breeze off the ocean skimmed the sweat from his skin.

He could think of worse assignments.

She, too, seemed to relax as the boat pulled away from shore, cutting across the nearly translucent blue swatch of water between Cancun and Isla Mujeres.

“I have to admit, the good part about my job is the freedom to choose my own schedule. And take off when I need to. And I needed this.”

Yes, maybe he did, too. An assignment away from the cramped, cold quarters of his Prague apartment. He could already feel the sun baking his bones, uncoiling the tension of the past year. Years, actually.

“I don’t want to walk into any surprises. Is there anything you need to know about me?” he asked. “We should make sure we look like an actual couple by the time we get there.”

Although she’d put on her sunglasses, he saw her eyes widen. “I thought we’d ironed this out. I don’t need your help.”

“That came through loud and clear, but since I’m here, for the sake of world peace, let’s work together.”

She leaned over, pulled her feet out of her boots and took off her socks. She had cute toes with pink painted nails, a do-it-yourself job. “I guess you’re right. We’re all fixed up—it would spare us complications. Fine, you can be my date.”

Awesome. Except her tone might make a guy just throw himself overboard. Still, he tried a smile, just to be neighborly. “I promise to be the best wedding date you’ve ever had.”

She pulled down her glasses and narrowed her eyes at him, as if she might be trying to see through him. “Really, I meant it about the nub thing. Just because I’ll let you dance with me doesn’t mean—”

“Got it, Scarlett. Just enough to be believable.”

She pulled off her glasses and sighed. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know what you heard, Luke, and truthfully, any other girl might be flattered by your dedication. But I’m just here for the wedding, and I’d like to see it go off without a hitch.”

“Agreed.”

She smiled, nodded and replaced her glasses. “Good. Everyone just needs to calm down.” She pulled out a cap, put it over her hair and lifted her face back to the sun. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

Right. Luke folded his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. Just fine. “I trust you,” he said. What choice did he have?

TWO

“I don’t know, Chet, there’s something about Scarlett—er, Stacey. I don’t think she likes me, for one. I clearly offended her.”

“I think she thought that I expected a sort of, well, more realistic relationship. But the woman has more than a ‘Keep Away’ sign around her neck. She’s wired with a thousand volts of don’t-touch-me. And talk about cold. I think the Sanchez family is going to see right through us,” he said into his international cell phone.

Luke sat on the edge of the king-size bed, watching the surf pound the reef, spit froth into the air and break on the coral outside his Lost Breezes cottage. He had taken off his shoes, letting the tile cool his feet, and in a second, he fully planned on jumping in the shower and washing off the sweat of the sun, the saline of the ocean and the still-stinging reception of Miss Hot-Around-the-Collar.

Scarlett had barely spoken to him the rest of the ferry ride, or even as they’d hailed another cab to the far end of Isla Mujeres, the Isle of Women, where the resort of Lost Breezes sat on the northern tip. He picked up a towel folded in the shape of a swan sitting on his bed, shook it out and rubbed it over his forehead.

“Stacey is from the private sector, but she came highly recommended by my pal David Curtiss. He mentioned that she was a lone wolf, but she said she was very capable and knows what she’s doing.”

Luke pictured Chet in his office in the Czech Republic, staring out at the snow along the Charles Bridge in Prague.

“So, you’ve never met her?”

“Just on the phone. But I’m confident she can handle herself. She probably is used to working alone, but this is a couple’s job, so you need to get her to warm up to you.”

“Believe me, no matter what I said, it was the wrong thing. It felt pretty chilly over on the port side of the ferry.”

“Listen, Luke. If Sanchez’s men think you’re anything other than Lucia’s special guests for her wedding, they’ll take you out into the middle of the ocean and leave you for the sharks. Lucia has been working too hard and too long for this mission to go south.”

“Scarlett’s probably right. I could get the job done better solo, too.”

“No, you couldn’t. You need Stacey to act as Lucia’s bridesmaid and your fiancée, otherwise you won’t be able to stay close enough to Lucia to get her out of there when the CIA moves in on the Sanchez family. This mission all hinges on Lucia walking down the aisle on Saturday night. Augusto Sanchez will come out of hiding, and the CIA will finally get their hands on one of Panama’s biggest crime bosses. We need you on-site, watching Lucia, or she could get killed. And she needs someone there to remind her that she’s not in this alone. That’s Stacey’s job. Lucia’s already had one scare.”

“I thought you told me the accident in the market wasn’t an attempted assassination.”

“The CIA said it wasn’t. But that’s why she called for help. She’s scared, Luke, and you gotta keep her calm. Focused.”

Everyone just needs to calm down. Scarlett’s words made a little sense now.

Luke stood up and leaned against the doorjamb that led out to the balcony. The salt weighed the air, layered his skin in grit. “And why, exactly, did Lucia call you?”

He heard Chet sigh. “We met in D.C. We’re old friends.”

Old friends. Luke didn’t want to explore that meaning too far, but it was no wonder Chet didn’t want to take this job. After all, Chet was recently married and he didn’t need any reminders of past liaisons. Luke knew what ghosts could do to a guy—suck him back to the past, into his mistakes. No, Chet deserved a fresh start with his bride, Stryker International pilot Mae Lund. Luke’s silence pushed Chet into confession.

“We may have had some sparks, Luke, but mostly, we were just friends. She was just a young law student, and I was in and out of the country with Delta Force. It wouldn’t have worked. However, I also know Benito—her fiancé—from my Delta days, and if I showed up, he’d know Lucia had been betraying him, romantically and possibly otherwise.”

“Chet, is Lucia expecting you?” Perfect, just perfect. At least he now knew what not to say.

“No. She’s expecting one of my men. My capable, get-the-job-done-despite-personal-feelings men. That’s you, Luke. But you might have to do more than just your job here, Luke. The Sanchez family has to believe that you and Stacey—”

“Scarlett.”

“—are a couple, at least in public. So turn on some charm or something. You’re good with the ladies—or at least you were. Dig deep and find that old lady-killer.”

Luke walked through the bedroom to the tiny cement bathroom, turned on the faucet then stared into the mirror. He needed a shave. “I’m not that good, Chet. And besides, I’m not the guy I was.”

He hadn’t been that guy since he woke up one day to angry pounding on his hotel room door, looked at the woman on the other side of the bed and realized he’d turned into his lying, cheating father. Only Luke’s lying and cheating hadn’t exactly been his fault. Not that it mattered, in the end.

Chet’s voice softened. “No, you’re not. I know that.”

“Besides, this girl isn’t going to be charmed. She’s a straight shooter, and she’s not into playing games.”

“So be the new guy—the gentleman.”

The gentleman. He hadn’t had much practice in that arena, either. Last time he had a date, the previous president had been in office.

“Most of all, get the job done. Keep Lucia—and Stacey, for that matter—alive. No matter what it takes.”

“Okay, boss.” Luke said goodbye and hung up. Then he picked up the note left for him at the check-in desk. His “fiancée” hadn’t stuck around long enough to read it with him, and of course, she’d booked her own solo accommodations.

Not that he expected to share. But in today’s world, it might make convincing the Sanchez clan they were a couple just a smidge easier.

But perhaps this was for the best, because, just for a second, sitting beside her on the boat, watching her purse those unpainted lips that made her appear more innocent girl than hired muscle, well, he’d felt something shift inside. Add that to the way, for a second, she seemed even hurt, and yes, she’d unglued him long enough for him to wish he could take back his words in the cab—the ones that had put the pain in her eyes.

He went to the sink, washed his hands, pressed a towel to his face.

Stared at the familiar villain in the mirror.

Yes, he would turn on the charm, but only for the sake of the mission.

Three days was going to feel like eternity.

He opened the note and found a hand-scrawled script. “Meet us on the boat by five for drinks and dinner. Lucia.”

Unfortunately, by the time they’d arrived, the cocktail hour had come and gone. Thankfully, he’d found out Scarlett’s room number after greasing the palm of a valet in the lobby, one who had seen them enter the hotel together. It never hurt to make friends with the staff, and Raoul looked like a guy Luke might need later, so he added a retainer to his information gratuity.

And, with the twilight already hovering over the sea, Raoul had found a boat willing to skipper them out to the yacht.

Yes, the fun was about to begin.

Now these were the accommodations she’d hoped for—an ocean view, the sound of the seabirds, the briny redolence of the ocean. She loved it all, just as she knew she would. Not that she’d ever been to the sea before, but she’d read about it plenty of times in the romance novels that lined her shelves. And everything she’d read about Mexico and Isla Mujeres had told her she’d love it.

And to think she’d nearly missed all this.

Never again, champagne.

And while she was at it, she should probably calm down about her sister fixing her up again. Luke certainly wasn’t a cretin. It could be much, much worse. Her sister might have found her a mechanic from Des Moines. Yes, it was possible that she’d ever so slightly overreacted to being paired with one of her sister’s cast-offs. She wished he hadn’t mentioned that he’d been “around the block” a few times, however. What, was that supposed to remind her that he was slumming with her?

For a second, the image of him leaning over a plate of sushi with her sister in some high-rise restaurant, the lights of New York City twinkling like starlight, shot into her brain.

Yes, perhaps he was simply reminding himself that normally his dates had a tan and wore less on their trips to Mexico.

She didn’t want to know.

I really do know what I’m doing.

She just bet he did. But not with her, thanks.

I’m not just here to watch.

She’d nearly run from the cab, screaming. Really, she didn’t even know where to start with her shakedown of Bridgett when she found her.

So much for calming down.

I’m here to do a job, same as you. A job? As if she was some sort of mission? Befriend the bride’s lumpy sister—someone has to do it.

It hurt more than she’d imagined, and frankly, he could have started out with a little charm, even if he’d had to fake it.

In fact, if he had led with something sweet, she might not have been so militant about going stag.

She shook Luke’s arrogant words away. It seemed she’d set him straight after her comments on the ferry, however. He’d behaved himself after that.

Still, a girl didn’t have to have it pointed out to her that Luke, her nondate, might have been a good catch in other circumstances, with his wind-tousled golden-brown hair, brown eyes, the hint of fresh sun bronzing his skin as he considered her this afternoon.

I don’t want to walk into any surprises. Is there anything you need to know about me?

Just what had Bridgett told him? My pitiful sister—she’s a temp, you know, has been for nearly ten years—needs a date for the wedding. Do you know she actually thought my fiancé was in love with her?

Scarlett winced as she imagined Bridgett’s voice. Nope, she didn’t care how dedicated the man was, didn’t care that Bridgett had flown him in. A girl had to stand up for herself, be her own hero. She didn’t need Mr. Plus-One, thank you very much.

In fact, given the chance, she might have just found a plus-one on her own.

But when Luke had said something about looking like an “actual couple,” it hit her.

It would be easier for everyone if she had a date. Her standing alone on the edge of the dance floor would only make everyone feel bad. If only her parents were alive, maybe it would be easier to be in Bridgett’s shadow again. But it was just her standing at the sidelines. And, she didn’t know what history Luke had, but he seemed to need to be her date.

Maybe he’d been in love with Bridgett. Wouldn’t that be fun? She and Luke could stand together in the shadows and watch the bride and groom dance.

Maybe he was just what she needed. A guy who didn’t expect anything, who just needed someone to stand next to when the lights dimmed. Yes, they could work together.

And she didn’t want to make trouble, not again. So yes, she would pretend, for Bridgett’s sake.

She’d simply ignore the fact that for a second—a long second—after he’d picked up her bag and carried it all the way to the top deck, after he’d settled on the bench beside her and the sea breeze had carried his strong and spicy scent, after he’d spoken to her in soft, almost gentle tones, she’d wanted him to really be her date.

Thankfully, she wasn’t so foolish to think he was actually interested.

After all, she had learned her lesson with Duncan. A smart girl would have realized that in the two years Duncan spent being her friend, meeting her for coffee and learning to ballroom dance with her, he’d never once looked at her the way he looked at Bridgett, her beautiful sister, when she walked through the doors of the church.

Fresh off the runways of Milan, burnt out and needing a vacation.

In fact, no one ever looked at Scarlett the way they looked at Bridgett—not even their parents—but she thought she’d become used to that.

Until Duncan did it.

Yes, she knew what it felt like to be an afterthought, to disappear. So maybe she’d even enjoy having a man as handsome as Luke on her arm, even if it wasn’t for real. Bridgett would be thrilled if Scarlett showed up on Luke’s arm, her smile tucked into place. And this weekend was all about Bridgett, right? Besides, she could enjoy pretending, as long as she knew it was just a game. She’d been a theater major, after all.

Thankfully, the charade didn’t have to start until tomorrow, according to the note her sister had left in her room inviting her to the dinner cruise, which she’d already missed. Scarlett left her a voice mail message in case her absence worried Bridgett.

She wouldn’t hold her breath.

She stood on the balcony of her cottage, watching the sea hit the reef, break into a thousand shimmering pieces and crash onto the rocks.

She knew how that felt, to shatter into so many pieces you couldn’t find them all. It happened the day Bridgett showed up on Duncan’s arm to the church singles group. And the day she told Scarlett that she “just might stick around Rochester.”

Duncan is a dentist! Scarlett wanted to scream as Bridgett climbed into her BMW, leaving her standing in the parking lot beside her rusty Sunbird. But Bridgett probably already knew that, because she introduced him to their Aunt Gretchen as Dr. Browne.

And then came the day when Bridgett moved off Scarlett’s sofa and found her own condo.

Just over six months later, she and Duncan announced their engagement.

A seagull cried, dipping into the ocean for a morsel.

Scarlett should probably breathe in these few moments of peace before Bridgett and her bridal party—the ones who the bride really wanted to attend—returned.

If she’d had Bridgett’s wedding dress in her possession, she might be tempted to simply hang it on her sister’s door and take the midnight ferry back to the mainland. Bridgett didn’t really want her anyway—just her organizational services. Scarlett replayed the voice mail in her mind. Scarlett, my new maid of honor broke her leg in Vail. She can’t attend the wedding. Is there any way you could fill in?

Her new maid of honor. Scarlett had been the old maid of honor—with the big mouth.

There is so much left to do—organize the bachelorette day and bring my dress and the maid-of-honor dress, not to mention work with the wedding planner at the resort. Besides, I’m sorry. Really, I want you there. Please come.

Really. Scarlett must have been some sort of chump to call her back for details, let alone say yes.

Sure, Bridgett, I’ll be glad to help. Let me just board my cat, take a leave of absence, drive to Minneapolis in a blizzard to pick up your dress and while I’m at it, maybe I can also plan your honeymoon—

Everyone just needs to calm down. Her own words. She breathed them in as she stood at her balcony in the warm air. She could get used to the ocean, so many shades of blue. On the ferry, she’d watched the mainland shrink, turning her gaze to the ocean floor as it slid by. The coral reefs, ledges and ripples seemed so close she wanted to dip her feet in. She’d pushed up her sleeves, letting her white skin see the sun for the first time in months.

She’d get a tan here, no matter what it took.

Sitting on the bed, she toed off her Uggs. The tile floor cooled her boiling feet. She probably needed a nap.

Or a shower.

She picked up the cute towel swan on her bed, holding it in her hand. She could get used to this place. Maybe she could find a job here—after all, after ten years of temping, she knew how to fit in, make things happen quickly.

A skill, apparently, that had netted her this fun-filled weekend.

And no matter what anyone else said, she wouldn’t call her reluctance to get a “real” job an inability to commit. She just liked change, that was all. And, well, she’d never found the one thing that she truly loved to do.

The shower cleaned from her the grime of the last sixteen hours. She found a blue sundress, one she’d worn maybe once and grabbed in a hurry, crumpled at the bottom of her carry-on. Maybe she could order room service. Or better, she’d venture out, under the glow of the stars, to the all-inclusive seafood dinner at the cabana. Then she’d park herself under one of those grass-covered umbrellas by the shore, under a tiki lamp, and lose herself in a book. Again.

She didn’t even want to think about what Luke, her overachieving plus-one, might be doing.

Off her balcony, twilight had just begun to darken the ocean to an inky blue. Unseen seagulls cried against the surf. The smell of the sea drifted inside.

A night made for romance. Of course, her novel was the only romance she could count on. Not that she really wanted romance, but wouldn’t it be nice if she could have a happily-ever-after? With a real-life hero, the kind she might find in her novel? Someone charming and strong, who saw her for the girl she wanted to be—if she could ever figure who that was?

The sultry air had clearly overheated her brain.

She put on a little makeup and was tying up her still-damp hair when she heard the knock.

Maybe Bridgett had returned and gotten her message.

As she opened the door her breath stopped, right there, caught in her chest.

So. Luke didn’t play fair.

He stood under the glow of her porch light, looking freshly showered, his burnished golden-brown hair still wet, clean shaven and wearing a pair of black dress pants and a white silk shirt open at the neck. And he even smelled good.

“What?” Oh, she had a nicer side, really. She softened her tone. “Sorry. I mean, can I help you?”

He grinned, as if she should be expecting him. “Hey. I know you probably thought we weren’t on for tonight, but I got a note from the bride. She wants us to meet her on the boat.”

“She does? I called and left her a message—the cruise already left.”

“I know, but I found us a ride out to the yacht.” He held out his arm. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me to dinner, Miss Scarlett?”

THREE

Scarlett sat in the back of the motorboat Luke had hired to take them out to sea, his words lingering like a song she couldn’t get out of her mind.

Would you be so kind as to accompany me to dinner, Miss Scarlett?

He’d turned on the charm, and for a second there, she’d just about let his voice go right to her head.

Yes, Luke. Thank you. Had she really taken his arm? She’d walked an entire ten feet before she came to her senses.

This wasn’t a date. She wasn’t living in her romance novel, having met a mysterious man at a destination wedding who would sweep her off her feet and into a new life.

Instead, this was the man her sister had finagled into wooing her for the weekend, a man who had no real interest in her. After three days her name would stir nothing more than indigestion, so she’d better keep that in the forefront of her brain.

A game. She was just playing a game.

Sometimes her ability to fling herself into her fantasies just made her want to roll her eyes.

She turned into the wind. Her hair lashed her cheeks in the salty air, and although she huddled in her ski jacket—she didn’t care that she looked like a frumpy Minnesotan—her bare legs had turned to blocks of ice. Her sister had better be happy to see her after all this.

Luke sat across from her, outlined by the moonlight as the boat motored through waves toward the sprinkling of yacht lights in the distance.

Admittedly, he’d won this round. Not only had she taken his proffered arm, but she’d had no words to rebuff him, because he had gone to the trouble of getting her to her sister’s dinner party.

As if he might be a bona fide gentleman.

“Why did she leave you a note and not me?” she shouted above the sound of the motor.

“Maybe she did. You were in a big hurry to get to your room.” He grinned.

She yanked a thick chunk of hair from where it had lodged in her mouth.

“You look nice tonight, by the way.” Luke’s voice lifted above the motor’s roar, and she glanced at him. He nodded too enthusiastically, like her response to his invitation had gone to his head.

Not a date. Not a date. “You, too.”

The lights began to take form, and as the yacht came into view, Scarlett had to admit that international modeling must pay pretty well. The yacht resembled a small cruise ship, with three brightly lit decks rising from the sea to an observation deck…and was that a helicopter? Talk about overkill. But Bridgett never did anything in a small way.

No wonder Duncan fell so easily for her—no, that wasn’t fair. Duncan happened to be a great guy, a man of faith and principles. He wasn’t marrying her sister for her money.

Or her beauty.

But was she marrying him because he was some safe rebound after her race-car driving or soccer-playing boy friends?

Scarlett glanced at Luke, suddenly glad that she didn’t have to walk into dinner alone.

Coward.

Oh, yes. She even found a smile for Luke as the boat eased up to the stern of the yacht where they could disembark onto the deck. The motorboat seemed a toy next to the hulking ship. Two deckhands—bull-size men with the look of the sea about them—held the boat as Luke stepped out. He pulled her up behind him.

“Here we go,” he whispered as he helped her up the steps onto the aft deck.

A little too much help, if anyone asked her, but she let him keep his hand on the small of her back anyway, just because the bigger of the two men stopped them, holding a metal detector.

And in his waistband…was that a gun? She glanced at Luke. To her surprise, he held up his hands.

Then the deckhand stepped forward and wanded him. Luke just let him, as if this might be something he expected.

Then the man stepped over to her and motioned for her to remove her jacket.

“What is this?” She backed away but Luke shook his head ever so slightly.

What on earth?

She glared at the man as Luke helped her slip off her jacket, then stood back as the man ran the wand over her, too. C’mon, it wasn’t as though she could hide anything in a dress with spaghetti straps. The whole process made her feel dirty.

And even a little betrayed by Luke, who settled the jacket back over her shoulders and reached for her hand. But how pitiful had she become that she practically leaped when he offered it? Yes, she was a coward.

He pulled her close and curled her against him. “I know I don’t need to say this, but you’re truly a professional.”

She had never been more offended in her life. Who, exactly, did he think she was? Just wait until she found Bridgett.

She heard the party going on somewhere in front of them, laughter drifting down from the deck above. She’d never been on a boat this size, however, and she took her time walking along the side deck, watching the lights splash on the dark ocean, getting her sea legs.

“This must have cost a fortune,” she murmured.

“I think the family can afford it,” Luke said, still holding her hand, walking in front of her.

“No, really, I don’t think they can.”

He glanced back at her, the slightest frown on his face. They emerged on the bow of the yacht where a band played steel drums, filling the night with a tropical beat. A couple of waiters held trays of pretty drinks and dark-haired women in dresses that certainly wouldn’t have needed the wand danced together while men lounged on the chairs, laughing and smoking cigars.

Uh, maybe there was more than one wedding party on this ship. “She’s not here. I think we have the wrong group,” Scarlett said into Luke’s ear.

She didn’t let go of his hand, however. And bless him, he didn’t let go of hers, either. See, he was a gentleman after all. She might decide to like him, just for now, despite the coerced dating.

He stopped a waiter and asked him something in Spanish. She tried to catch it but he had a much better grasp of the language than she did, clearly, because he talked so quickly she got nothing. The waiter gestured up another deck.

“She’s in her stateroom waiting for us,” Luke said and pulled her toward the stairs.

Stateroom?

They found another group partying on the deck above. Not a familiar face here, either. She let Luke drag her to the back of the boat.

As he knocked on the stateroom door, she turned and stood for a moment, staring out at the mysterious black sea, the stars pinpricks on the undulating surface. The music, the flicker of lightning in the distance, the low tremble of thunder—she had entered a different world. “I can’t believe Bridgett rented this. I mean, she’s normally over the top, but—”

“What?” Luke sidled up beside her just as the door opened.

Scarlett turned, expecting Bridgett. Instead, a woman with dark hair, wide brown eyes and very red lips stood in the doorway. She was petite, beautiful and wearing an off-white silk gown that left nearly nothing to the imagination.

The woman glanced at Luke, then her gaze landed on Scarlett. What looked frighteningly like relief crossed her face.

“Finally,” she said. Then she reached out and put her arms around Scarlett, hugging her as if she might be her long-lost friend. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Something didn’t feel right. Luke couldn’t put his finger on it, but ever since they boarded the yacht—from the panic on her face when Sanchez’s men wanded her, to her more-than-friendly grip on his hand, to the way her eyes widened when Lucia threw her arms around her—something about Scarlett seemed off.

She had been briefed, right? And it seemed that when she’d slid her hand onto his arm back at the resort, she’d even settled into their charade, had put on her game face.

Lucia grabbed Scarlett’s hand and pulled her inside.

Luke followed and shut the door behind them. Wow, the drug business paid well. His tiny flat in Prague that he shared with Brody Wickham—he might be displaced soon, thanks to Brody’s recent engagement to pop sensation Vonya—would fit three times over in Lucia’s living room alone. Closed doors probably led to a bedroom and more. The place looked as if it should be in a showroom or a catalogue—a seafoam-blue sofa and overstuffed chair, cherrywood end tables, a giant flat screen on which played a soccer game. Opulence purchased with drug money.

The lavish setting probably accounted for Scarlett’s wide-eyed look, which she cast first at Luke, then back at Lucia.

He tried to dismiss this sense that something wasn’t quite right.

“I don’t understand,” Scarlett said softly.

Nope, there was no ignoring it any longer. Especially after Scarlett let go of his hand and said to the bride, the woman she’d been hired to protect, “Who are you?”

Who are you?

“This is Lucia, Scarlett. Lucia…the bride?” Luke said as calmly as he could.

Scarlett put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back, her voice low. The wild look in her eyes—something between panic and fury, only tightened the knot in his gut. “I know the bride. This is not her. And I’m starting to wonder exactly who you are.”

“I’m your…fiancé?”

She went white, put her hand to her chest, swallowed and stepped away from him. “Okay, what is going on here?” She took another step back toward the door, and Luke had no choice but to cut her off.

“Stop.” He put his hand up and she flinched.

Oh, man. The sudden flare of fear in her eyes made him feel awful. “Listen, you are Stacey Meyer, right? From Denver? You know, my bride-to-be?”

After seeing the look on her face, he didn’t know who to feel more sorry for—her, or himself. Because clearly he’d come to the wedding with the wrong date.

She drew in a breath, glanced at Lucia and then back at him. “My name is Scarlett Hanson, and I’m here for my sister Bridgett’s wedding.” Her voice had a sort of high twang to it. “But I think maybe you didn’t know that, did you?”

He looked at Lucia, who had frozen. Who, in fact, might not even be breathing. “Lucia, everything is going to be fine—”

“Who is this woman?” Lucia asked, her voice shaking.

“I picked her up at the airport. I thought she was my contact—”

“Picked me up? Picked me up? Oh…oh, you listen here—whoever you are. You were in my cab, thank you very much, and you were supposed to be my date, not the other way around, so let’s just rethink who picked who up, shall we?”

Perfect. He could spot a woman—no, women—about to unravel.

Oh, how he hated working with people he didn’t know. It made it very easy for things to go wrong. Things like this.

“Ladies, please, let’s just figure this out.” He held up his hands in surrender to Scarlett. “Please, sit down. Let’s talk about this.”

Scarlett stood there looking at Luke as if he had spoken Russian. Then, she drew in a long breath and shuffled over to the sofa. She sat on the arm, her hands tangled together in a whitened grip. “Is your name really Luke?”

“Yes. And I’m assuming you are really Scarlett Hanson?”

“Always have been. From the moment I got into the cab with you.”

Suddenly it all clicked—why she’d been so cold, even offended, when he’d suggested they might be a couple. And why she’d made sure he knew to keep his hands to himself. Oops.

He looked at Lucia and motioned for her to sit down. She shook her head.

Yes, next time he would definitely work solo. He schooled his voice into something resembling calm, hoping it might help him, too.

“Uh, okay, here’s what’s going down, Scarlett. Unfortunately, I was supposed to meet a woman named Stacey. She was my cover—my fiancée—for this mission. Clearly something happened to her.”

“Mission?”

“I’m…well, let’s just say I’m a security specialist. And in this case, I’m here to protect Lucia.” He nodded toward her.

“Why does Lucia need protecting?”

“Because I’m marrying Benito Sanchez,” Lucia said, none too politely. She finally sat down in the overstuffed chair. “And someone is trying to stop me.”

“Someone is trying to keep you from getting married?”

Lucia fiddled with the two-carat ring on her finger. Luke suddenly realized he should have noticed that Scarlett wasn’t wearing a ring. Mistakes—how he hated them.

“Yes. Maybe because they’ve figured out that I’m not really here to get married,” Lucia said.

“You’re not?”

She lowered her voice, glancing at Luke as if for permission. Scarlett glared at him. He nodded. Scarlett deserved some information at this point. It was the least he could do.

“I’m here to help the CIA catch Augusto Sanchez. He’s a terrorist and the leader of a drug and human trafficking cartel in Panama.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Augusto is a shadow. Very few people actually know what he looks like, or where he lives. But he’s my fiancé’s uncle and he’s coming to our wedding. The CIA will raid the wedding and arrest him.”

“On your wedding day?”

“Well, I’m not really getting married, obviously.” She cupped her hand over her mouth, swallowing, and Luke could see her tear. “Poor Benito.” She closed her eyes and took a breath.

Scarlett just stared at her, horror on her face.

Luke even felt a little sorry for Lucia.

But that’s what happened when you fell in love with liars. You got dirty, and people got hurt.

Lucia finally exhaled. “The problem is, I think some one knows the truth. Last week when I was at the market, someone tried to run me down, I know it.” She lifted her arm, and Luke winced at the ugly scrape that reddened her skin. “I told my contact at the CIA but he didn’t believe me. Frankly, I don’t know who to trust, so I called a friend.”

“My boss,” Luke said quietly, trying to read Scarlett’s face.

Scarlett turned to him and said, “So, this Stacey is supposed to be here protecting Lucia?”

“Yes.”

“As a bridesmaid.”

“Maid of honor. My friend from college,” Lucia said.

“And if you aren’t protected—”

“Then someone is going to kill me.”

Scarlett looked at Luke and shook her head. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh, yes, I am. I should have known that a guy like you wouldn’t be my date. I don’t know where my head was.”

Now what was that supposed to mean?

She stood up before he could ask. “Listen, Lucia, I am really sorry about messing things up here. And I pray you’ll be safe.” She turned to Luke. “Take me back to the island and I’ll get out of your hair. You can track down this Stacey girl and get back to your mission.” She held out her hand to Lucia. “Nice to meet you.”

Lucia didn’t move. She looked at Luke, her eyes glued to him.

Luke blew out a long breath.

Scarlett lowered her hand. “What’s the problem?”

“Uh…Scarlett, I really don’t know how to tell you this but, see, you went through security with me. And…”

Wow, he needed a drink—possibly more than water. Although those days were over, too. He sighed.

“Luke—”

“You can’t leave.” Lucia found her feet. “If Luke takes you back to the island and returns alone, they’ll know something is up.”

“What? No.” She’d gone white, and he grimaced as he delivered her fate.

“She’s right, Scarlett. You might not be Stacey Meyer, but you are my fiancée. At least for the next three days.”

“My sister needs me. I can’t stay here. She’s expecting me to help her with her wedding—I have to pick up her dress!” Her voice shrilled as she lunged for the door.

Luke hated himself just a little when he caught her, his hands closing around her arms. And he felt even worse when he went all military on her, dropping his voice. “Scarlett. I absolutely cannot let you walk out of here.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.