It felt good to hold her hand. He wanted to do a lot more but sensed that Margo wasn't ready. Meeting her gaze, he had to wonder if she'd ever be ready.
"I really am sorry about Nick." He gave her hand a squeeze. "There wasn't any love lost between us, but he sure didn't deserve to die so damn young."
She released a breath as if she'd been holding it. "Thanks for that. I wasn't sure…"
"How I would react to the news?" He shook his head. "You know me better than that, Margo."
She lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked right at him. "Yes, I do. And last night's performance was definitely out of character." A gleam entered her eyes, and she pulled her hand out from under his. "Do you mind if I tape our interview?"
"Our what?"
She rose and grabbed a leather briefcase beneath the breakfast bar. "Interview," she repeated. "Did you forget?" She withdrew a small recorder and a notebook, then returned to her seat. "You owe me. Remember?"
So much for her being frightened and uncertain, Carson. "Is this a defense mechanism?" he asked, quirking one corner of his mouth upward.
"Is what a defense mechanism?" She gave him a confused look.
"The Lois Lane treatment."
"Ha-ha." Margo grimaced and arranged the tools of her trade. "So can I record the inter—"
"No." His answer came out harsher than he'd intended. "Sorry, but…" Hell, now he was the nervous one. He raked his fingers through his hair and released a breath in a whoosh. "Margo, this has to be off the record. I promised you an explanation, but I have to make sure you won't blow my cover first."
"Cover?"
He saw reporter instincts flashing behind her baby grays. "Off the record, Margo."
She held his gaze for a few moments, then popped the cassette out of the recorder. "All right, off the record for now, as long as you give me something for my article."
"What's your topic?"
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "My editor's brilliant idea for a human interest piece."
"Uh, okay." He lifted one shoulder. "What human interest piece?"
Margo's eyes danced with mischief, and she waggled her brows. "What would make an intelligent man resort to bump and grind as a career? Basically."
Heat flooded Jared's face. "Not by choice."
"If we aren't taping this, we might as well talk in the den."
With her notepad and pencil in hand, she led him into a room with white walls, white pleated shades, gleaming white-and-glass tables, and white leather furniture. Weird.
She sat on the couch, and he sat beside her. All right, so he probably should've taken the chair across from her, but the urge to sit beside her had stolen his common sense. "What do you want to know?"
Clearing her throat, she set her notepad and pencil on the glass-topped coffee table, then half-turned to face him. "Before we get to my interview, I want to cover the off-the-record stuff Why are you pretending to be an erotic dancer?"
A grin tugged at his lips. "Pretending? Does that mean I'm not any good at it?" He pressed the flat of his palm against his chest. "I'm wounded."
"Male ego aside…" Her expression was serious. "Why, Jared?"
"It stays between us?"
She crossed her heart, right between her lovely breasts. Jared's gaze followed her movement, riveted to the outline of her nipples showing through her thin sweater. The heat that had filled his face earlier now did an about face and settled one hell of a lot lower.
"Why?" she repeated, her voice low but intense.
"I work for DEA." He held her gaze, watching for any sign of a reaction. "I'm undercover."
"The cover was pretty skimpy from what I saw last night."
He held his head in his hands. "If I'd realized anyone would recognize me, I can guarantee you I wouldn't have taken this assignment."
"I'm sure. But you had a background in Broadway jazz from college, and the, uh, body to pull it off, so… "
Margo's giggle crawled into a special corner of Jared's heart — one that had missed her more than any person in his life. He still cared about her.
No, he still loved her.
Admitting that to himself left him breathless for a few miserable moments. Logic intervened, reminding him that it didn't matter how he felt — she'd married Nick and still mourned him. End of fantasy.
"I always knew you wanted to go into law enforcement, but DEA?"
He lifted a shoulder. "Just gullible, I guess."
"Very funny." Her expression grew serious again. "So… DEA thinks someone at the Studfinder is dealing drugs?"
"We're still off the record?" Jared directed his most solemn gaze toward her. "If my cover is blown, I could be in danger. I don't think you want that."
Fear flickered in her eyes. "No. Of course not."
The sight of her tongue sweeping across her lower lip sent Jared's blood supply down and dirty in record time. She still turned him on, but that was the least of his problems. The fact that he still loved her was considerably more dangerous than his libido.
"Yes, we have reason to believe the Studfinder might be a front for distribution. I lost the toss." He smiled, hoping to ease the fear he'd planted in her eyes.
"It sounds dangerous."
"Not if I'm careful." He struggled against the urge to pull her into his arms. "And I intend to be careful."
"All right." She released a shaky breath. "I'll keep your identity and your role a secret, if you'll give me the dancer interview my boss wants."
"But I'm not really a dancer." Jared flashed her a grin, enjoying the crimson flush that crept up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks.
"You looked like one last night." Her answering grin almost drove him to his knees. "I don't think you'd get any argument from the rest of your admirers in the audience."
"All right, now you've done it." He chuckled and shook his head. "I'm embarrassed. Are you happy?"
She grew sober and reached for her notepad with trembling fingers, but she knocked it to the floor instead. He reached for it at the same time she did, and they bumped foreheads.
Before he could draw his next breath, he pulled Margo to her feet and covered her lips with his. A tremor trickled through her body, and he feared she might pull away, but instead she molded herself against him, parting her lips for his.
Oh, God. He never should've let this happen, because he'd forgotten how sweet she tasted. Memories swirled through him of the first time they'd made love, augmenting his desire even further. He pressed his hand to the small of her back and laced the other through the silky hair at the nape of her neck.
This was Margo — not a dream. Hungry for her, he deepened their kiss, swallowing her moan with an answering growl that came from a place he'd believed no longer existed. When he'd lost Margo, he'd buried a part of himself. Now that neglected part of him clamored for release.
The vault where he'd locked these feelings away cracked open a tiny bit. Even that small portion of emotions long denied were potent enough to make him crazy.
He wanted her. Needed her. Loved her.
This was so right. The years fell away. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw.
"Jared," she whispered, and he kissed her mouth again.
"Hey, sis, what—"
Margo jerked herself free of Jared's embrace, her face flushed, her breathing labored. "Steph, what are.
A tall redhead stepped from behind Margo's sister. Jared met Raquel Eastwood's gaze. And saw murder in her eyes.
6
Margo straightened her skirt and drew a desperate breath. When had she stopped breathing? And why? She was single. So what if her sister and a virtual stranger had just caught her kissing an equally single man? Big deal. Nothing wrong with that picture.