Authors: Sara Craven
She blinked at her reflection, getting used to the style he had created with such dexterity. Their breath had mingled as he’d drawn the scissor-like heated panels of the straightening iron through the sections of hair that framed her face.
He had lingered as he worked, touching her forehead, lifting her chin, caressing an ear. Those marvelous fingers worked their magic, both on her hair and her libido.
He had been so close then, her nostrils flared at the lime scent of his aftershave. And the damn pheromones he threw off along with it. Her cheeks were heated, and so were other parts she didn’t want to think about. Five-alarm fire sirens were screaming like crazy in her head.
His hands could be so gentle, she had trouble visualizing them performing anything like defense. But those calluses along his outer palms had not evolved through pampering. Martial arts, probably karate, studied over a considerable period of time would have formed them. Hers were similar, only not nearly as prominent as his.
“You will need to undress,” he announced abruptly, all business.
“In your dreams,” she replied evenly. “You had your show yesterday.”
He held up a spray can, shaking it. “Got to tan you. Don’t want to miss any spots.”
“Hey, I’m not all that fair. Won’t I do?”
“Well, I can’t get you any lighter than you are, but the hair change isn’t enough. Let’s go a bit darker.”
Oh well, she could stand that. Obediently, she stripped down to her bra and panties again, praying her nipples wouldn’t peak. It was anything but chilly in the room, so there was no excuse. Well, there
was
one, but she didn’t want to reveal that to him.
“Straps down, please,” he snapped impatiently.
Carefully, Dawn slipped her arms out of the bra straps and hoped the cups would cling to her breasts and not fall down around her waist. Not much chance of that, since she was almost too well-endowed, a fact he was now noticing without trying to be obvious about it. Oddly enough, she didn’t mind.
Just for good measure, literally, she inhaled deeply. No reason why she should be the only one suffering around here.
He quickly focused elsewhere. “Okay, hold out your arms,” he ordered, his voice gruff as he continued coating her with the spray. Dawn figured he was fighting a little battle of his own now, but she refused to look down his body to check whether he was. Didn’t matter.
Did
…
not
…
matter.
He crouched and stroked her legs with the spray, clearing his throat as he nudged her knee so he could get to her inner thighs.
Oh…my…goodness.
Dawn felt laughter well up in her throat. She coughed to cover it. This was so ridiculous. Which one of them was more awkward with this? Well, it was Vinland’s idea to do it himself. Let him deal with it.
He stood quickly and turned away from her, depositing the can back into his kit that sat open on the bed. “There. All done. In a few minutes, you’ll be brown as a berry, a deep Riviera tan with no streaks. Leave your clothes off until it dries.”
“Leave my clothes off,” she repeated dryly.
“Hey, you can trust me,” he replied. “Scout’s honor.” Grinning, he held up three fingers in the official salute.
“You were a Boy Scout,” she deadpanned.
“Oh, absolutely. Got a merit badge for ignoring naked women.” He sighed, a woeful sound. “Of course, I was about ten at the time. A couple of years after that, I had to give it back.”
“I’ll just bet you did.” She frowned into the mirror of the dresser and flicked back one side of the dark waves that fell to her shoulders. “I look strange. But not exactly Middle Eastern, if that’s what you’re going for.”
“No, it’s not, but you
do
look very different. The idea is to change your looks. You’ll be surprised at how that will
automatically alter your behavior, mannerisms, everything. Works wonders,” he told her.
“Oh, so now I’ll be flighty, disorganized and dumb?” she grumbled. “Tell me, how is this good for the mission?”
He grunted a laugh. “Cute. Now for the makeup.” With a deep and audible breath of what sounded like frustration, he withdrew a smaller case out of the large one.
Dawn barely squelched a groan. More touching. Time to call a halt to this torture, or one of them was bound to cave and do something really, really stupid.
She hadn’t been this revved up sexually since high-school graduation night when Harry Forsythe seduced her in the back of his parents’ van. Her skin tingled like crazy and her pulse must have doubled by now. The sweet memory of old first love Harry vanished completely in light of the hot fantasies this guy stirred up. Thomas or Scott didn’t even come to mind long enough to warrant a dismissal.
Then there was the debacle of her trusting Bergen too much. Not that she had ever had any personal attachment to the man, but his overwhelming betrayal had undermined whatever vestige of confidence she had in her dealings with men.
No use making these comparisons. She was not, definitely not and no
way,
about to allow any slap and tickle with beach boy agent, no matter how thoroughly he stirred up her hormones.
There was too much at stake. Her career, to begin with. Her reputation. Her credibility. Engaging in anything like that with him, considering her circumstances, would be disastrous. And there were the other reasons, she reminded herself. Better and more personal reasons than screwing up on the job. She couldn’t do the sex thing casually. It just wasn’t in her, and she knew it.
It irritated her that she couldn’t, because she didn’t need or want a commitment at this point in her life, even if the guy was willing to commit. Which Vinland never would be, she firmly reminded herself.
“I can handle the makeup,” she declared, snatching the zippered makeup bag out of his hand. “Go do…whatever you need to do to yourself.”
She meant for him start on his own disguise, of course, but her guilty glance at his body’s reaction to her and his fierce frown told her he had briefly thought she meant something else entirely.
She couldn’t help grinning at him.
To her surprise, he didn’t shoot back some smart reply. Instead, he took the rest of the kit and stalked into the bathroom, leaving her alone.
Eric had to lean on the sink for a minute to get his equilibrium back. What was the matter with him?
This was one of his specialties. How many female agents had he assisted with disguises during his years with Intel and with Sextant? More than he could count. But this one, even with all her clothes on, did something powerful and unique.
She screwed up his concentration. She overturned his priorities. She aroused him without even being interested.
Generally speaking, he required at least a modicum of interest from the other party. Otherwise what was the point in letting himself get excited?
He had kissed her hand last night, an impulse he had regretted immediately. She’d hurried away the instant he’d let go of her. Maybe she feared sexual harassment on his part, since he was technically running the op and she was the secondary. Still, he didn’t have the power to affect her
career at NSA since he worked for a different outfit entirely. Surely she knew that.
No, fear wasn’t a factor. Dawn wasn’t above a little teasing, but he could tell she wasn’t up for a tension-relieving tumble. Neither was he, not with a fellow agent. He had rules about that and suspected she did, too.
He looked in the mirror and blinked at his image. Why wasn’t she interested? Ordinary-looking guy, he thought. Nothing special, but something about him usually drew women to him, he knew that. They probably sensed his innate love and appreciation of them. He rarely met a woman who didn’t have something great to recommend her.
Bev, his friend and sometime lover, once told him that his main attraction was that he truly listened when she talked, that the intensity of his look, the fact that he met her eyes and held them, communicated real regard. Little did she know that he was probing her mind for what she really meant instead of paying attention to the words that came out of her mouth.
He sighed and looked away. If women only knew what a fraud he was, how he played to their own fantasies. That had begun when he was a spindly tenth-grade swimmer instead of the beefy quarterback he had longed to be.
Even though he had never used his mind-reading talent to score with girls, he had used it to insure that they liked and trusted him as a person. Consequently, he felt he had never had a real relationship untainted by his advantage.
Dawn would be the perfect woman to begin one with if he could leave the mind thing alone, abandon all attempts to read her and play it straight. It really bothered him, how much he wanted to do that.
Unfortunately, their present situation made that impossible. He had to keep trying, to somehow get inside her
mind and see whether she harbored some little something that might help with this mission.
Not that he believed for a minute that she was holding out details on purpose. It was just that people often knew things they didn’t realize they knew. Ferreting those out was what he did best. Usually.
In spite of the necessity and as selfish as it was, Eric almost hoped Dawn would keep blocking him. How much he wanted a chance of something lasting with her surprised and daunted him. The thought, the very idea of that, was premature to say the least. He hardly knew her. And yet he felt he knew Dawn better than other people whose minds were wide open to him. Why was that?
He clearly had the hots for her, but his feelings seemed to go well beyond that even now. His protective instincts had kicked in the second he saw her, even though he knew she had to have been trained to take care of herself.
Something quirky about Dawn had hooked him like a clueless trout and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. Maybe the fact that he couldn’t read her mind contributed, but there had been others like that whom he’d shrugged off without a pause. Not her. No shrugging.
No shagging, either, he reminded himself firmly. At least, not while they were working this job.
He turned on the cold water and splashed his face several times, then scrubbed it fiercely with a towel.
“Grow up and quit bellyaching,” he muttered to his reflection. “Keep your focus on the game.”
Eric reached for the kit on the countertop and set about becoming someone else.
Maybe when he switched identities and cultures, he could temporarily change his attitude toward her while he was at it. If he couldn’t, he knew he was in the worst kind of trouble.
D
awn nearly jumped out of her skin when Eric walked into the den. Until he grinned, she thought a stranger had broken in. Nothing could disguise that grin with its almost-dimples and flash of perfect white teeth, but everything else about him had changed radically.
He had dyed his skin darker than hers and his eyes were so black she couldn’t distinguish pupil from iris. Even his eyelashes were inky, their fascinating golden tips a thing of the past. The makeup job was fantastic.
He wore a stark white silk shirt and loose trousers that had to be tailored and looked very expensive. On his head was a linen cloth with a crown of black cord to hold it in place.
His bearing had altered, too. As he walked over to her, she noted how his elbows rested nearer his body, his shoulders were not quite as straight as before and his gait seemed
more measured. He gave the impression of being much more self-contained and reserved. If it weren’t for that grin.
It vanished abruptly and he regarded her with a serious expression. Now he had become another man entirely. Dawn stared, transfixed and amazed. What a dress rehearsal. She could tell he was enjoying her reaction.
He bowed. “Greetings,” he said simply, his voice a caress hot as a desert in July. He added another soft musical phrase, this time in Arabic, lifting the dark eyelashes that had briefly covered his taunting black eyes.
Dawn quirked an eyebrow. “May Allah bless you with many camels. And deliver you from flaky mascara.”
He broke up, laughing so hard the ghutra toppled off his head. Still chuckling, he pulled off the embroidered skullcap he had worn beneath it and collapsed on the sofa beside her. “I wonder if anyone would notice duct tape over your mouth under your chador.” He ran both hands through his jet-black hair, causing it to stand on end.
“Under my what?”
“Your chador, the traditional veil and robe you’ll be wearing.” he explained.
She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I am
not
wearing one of those. I would suffocate or dehydrate from sweating.”
Eric sighed. “Your eyes, nose and mouth needn’t be covered if you’ll remember to keep your head down. Modest western dress is acceptable sometimes, of course, but the chador will be good cover for you, no pun intended.”
“So you found out our shooter is headed for Sand Land?”
He sighed, smoothing out the wrinkles on his disguise’s headgear and folding it neatly. “No. We don’t know yet where the chase will lead, but we do know a buy will go down. It stands to reason there will be a few from
that neck of the woods who will want this technology. I plan to be one of them.”
“I just don’t understand why you are going to these lengths to disguise
me?
I know you think it helps with the personality switch or whatever, but I could act differently than I do without all this. Who’s gonna know I’m American?”
“I’m taking every precaution I can think of to prevent anyone finding out. You’re supposed to be Andorran, of Spanish birth, but a convert to Islam, therefore not a Western wife. Otherwise, my credibility would be shot with these people. Hell,
I
might be shot if anyone even suspects who you really are. And you surely would be. Or worse.”
She picked up the ghutra he had laid aside, giving it a cursory examination as she spoke, studying the intricately braided cord crown that held the linen head-covering in place. “Okay, I can play this part, but even I know enough about customs over there to know I won’t be allowed to attend any meetings with you. You can’t introduce me or even talk about me to any other men, and I probably won’t be able to communicate with any of the women. Why take me along?”