Opposition: Montana Wolves, Book Four (Montana Wolves series 4) (10 page)

“Wait!”

Mila paused and cocked her head expectantly.

“What if I can’t go through with it?” Holly whispered.

“Then you call me and I’ll intervene.” Uncharacteristic concern clouded Mila’s ice-blue eyes. “You know, not everyone is cut out for this kind of work. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do. I have to at least try. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

“All right then, give it your best shot. Always remember to look at it like a public service. You’re helping people become more comfortable with themselves. Like a therapist. Now, hop to it.”

And with a flick of her manicured fingertips she was gone.

“Showoff,” Holly grumbled.

She looked down at the bowl of water on the table and into the face of her new charge. Oblivious to her voyeurism, he slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, unaware that his life was about to change forever.

If
she had the skills to pull it off.

The thought kicked up the swarm of butterflies that had taken residence in her stomach since the day Mila had summoned her about the possible promotion.

I could have said no.

She let out a snort of disgust. As
if
. It would have been an unforgivable slight if Holly didn’t at least try out for the job Fairy Queen Lucienne had selected for her. If she crashed and burned and was a major disappointment to everyone involved—again—she could just go back to her old job and forget it ever happened.

Maybe then they’d all finally just let her be. And who knew? Maybe she’d be great at it.

With a sigh, she dipped her finger into the water and the scene reflected there shuddered and disappeared.

The clock was ticking.

She picked up the suitcase Mila had given her and laid it on the coffee table. Aside from the lingering scent of lilacs that accompanied her mentor everywhere, it was the only evidence of her having been there.

Although the potential contents of the bag terrified Holly, she was grateful for both it and the scent that still permeated the air. Both were ironclad evidence she wasn’t a raving lunatic.

On her twelfth birthday, as it was for all the fairies, she’d blossomed and was introduced to the world of magic. Even after fifteen years, every so often she still needed reassurance that she hadn’t lost her mind that day; that her whole life wasn’t just some prolonged delusion.

With no time for further contemplation, she opened the suitcase and then covered her eyes, peering down through the cracks of her splayed fingers. The tried and true method did little to soften the blow.

It was bad.

Really bad.

Three pairs of stiletto heels, two black and one red, stared back at her. Always practical, even in spite of the nerves clawing at her, she decided instantly on the red ones. That way when she toppled down the stairs and broke her ever-loving neck, at least the shoes would match the pool of blood that would likely be her final resting place. Mila would’ve been proud to know that at least one of her lessons had stuck.

A woman should always put her best foot forward. The way to lure a man is to C.A.S.T., darling.
C
olor coordinate, emphasize your
A
ssets, and never leave home without your
S
tilettos and a Thong.

Ah Jeez, and speak of the devil, there it was.

Holly wrenched her stupid fingers away from her stupid eyes and gnawed her lip as she stared down at the teeniest, tiniest scrap of underwear she’d ever seen. It made dental floss look positively substantial.

Well, fiddlesticks.

A
LEX
N
ICHLAUS YANKED
the glasses off his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose where they pinched just enough to be annoying.

Another couple days and he’d be rid of them for good. He couldn’t wait for the whole thing to be over. To get out of the cramped apartment, change out of the ridiculous clothes and, if there really was a God, to get laid.

And definitely not in that order.

After four months without sex, he was starting to lose his mind, and if the old wives’ tale held true, his vision wouldn’t be far behind. His hand just wasn’t going to cut it for much longer.

He needed a woman and he needed one bad.

Gooseflesh raised on his arms as the air went suddenly cold. A moment later, the curtains fluttered. He stood to investigate but before he’d made it halfway across the room, a loud crash and a muffled yelp sounded from the balcony.

His heart bucked as a rush of adrenaline coursed through him. Sliding the glasses up his nose, he reached a hand behind his back, resting his palm lightly on the Glock nestled there. He considered drawing the weapon but dismissed the idea. Foolhardy maybe, but he’d worked too hard for too long establishing his cover and he wasn’t about to risk blowing it at the eleventh hour by showing his hand if he didn’t have to.

Alex got to the French doors just in time to see a slight woman with a riot of red curls tangled around her face hauling herself up, using his ficus planter as an anchor.

He threw the door open and glared at the intruder, who’d finally righted herself. “What the hell are you doing?” he snarled.

The redhead started in surprise, teetering. Panic flashed across her face as she pitched forward. He steeled himself but her momentum was too great and she slammed into him, knocking him off his feet.

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her as they crashed to the floor. His lungs emptied with a
whoosh
as her full weight barreled into his solar plexus.

Shit.

“Crap,” the woman atop him muttered. She struggled to free herself from his grasp, but he wasn’t quite ready to let her go. If she did have bad intentions and possibly a weapon, he would be all but helpless until he got his breath back.

The darker part of him acknowledged that, bad intentions or no, it had been way too long since he’d had a woman wriggling on top of him. Her warm, soft curves molded against him in all the right places and he closed his eyes as he tried to hold her still.

The second he was able, he sucked in a deep breath and was assailed by the scent of warm woman and buttery brown sugar. Instantly his cock stiffened.

Down, boy
.

Rolling to the side, he spilled her off him and then jumped to his feet.

“Who are you and what were you doing on my balcony?” he growled. He stared down at her, more confused by the second. “And why in God’s name do you have on a trench coat? It’s almost ninety degrees out.”

She struggled onto all fours and then to her knees, peering up at him. A thatch of rust-colored curls had flopped forward, covering one side of her face and she blew them away with an exasperated huff. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink and she gnawed at her bottom lip.

Not exactly the hallmarks of a serial killer or potential burglar, at least not from his experience. Some of the tension knotting his muscles eased as his body got the signal that the “code red” had been downgraded to a code “what the fuck is going on here?”

The answer to that question hit him even as it formed in his mind—Saunders and Leeland. Those two were always looking for their next practical joke and apparently he was the mark this time.

He’d just been complaining to Saunders the other day about the job killing his sex life and now out of the blue, a cute redhead in a trench coat falls into his lap.

Literally.

Talk about ammunition, he’d practically laid himself out on a silver platter.

What didn’t sit right, though, was that his employees had engaged him at all while he was in the field, even by proxy. He was under deep cover and it was serious business. The case was coming to a close but he wouldn’t feel comfortable breaking character until the perps were picked up and all the evidence he’d collected was turned in to the authorities.

Dammit, he’d handpicked those two jackasses when he’d started his security company and it burned him up that they didn’t know better. They’d always been a little immature, but they weren’t usually careless. First thing on tomorrow’s “to do” list was to make sure nothing like this ever happened again.

Alex turned his attention back to the woman at his feet. He contemplated letting her off the hook but something about the way she looked—all flustered and on her knees in front of him, no less—made him want to see how things played out. This might turn out to be the most entertainment he’d had in months.

The woman on the ground pushed herself to her feet. “The coat came in the bag, if you
must
know. And I’m here because this is my neighborhood and you’ve been yearning for help.”

He scowled at her, incredulous. What the hell was she babbling about? “Are you drunk or something?”

“No, it just takes me a while to get used to these dag-burned heels. You’d think three-inch ones would do, right? But
nooo
.” She wrinkled her pert nose in disgust and shifted her gaze to the couch. Hunching her shoulders, she inched toward it. When she reached it, she heaved a sigh of relief, holding onto the back for support.

“There we go. I’ve got my legs under me now. Why don’t we have a seat and I’ll explain everything?” she asked, shooting him a wobbly smile.

There was a fine edge of hysteria to her voice and he felt a weird stab of sympathy. Either she was a great actress and this was part of the joke or she was brand new at this job. On top of her wholesome looks, she was just so…awkward. He hadn’t spent time with many strippers in his thirty-four years, just at the occasional bachelor party, but he was pretty sure he’d never seen one like her before.

Sharp, bottle-green eyes regarded him as she waited for him to answer.

He moved to sit on the ottoman across from her as she shimmied around the armrest and plopped down onto the sofa.

She slipped a hand into the deep pocket of her coat and he tensed again, hand on Glock, until she extracted a handful of note cards and a sheaf of paper.

Clearing her throat, she began reading from the cards. “Good evening, Mr. Nelson. My name is Holly Tucket and I am your Naughty Godmother.” She paused, looked up from her notes and made a grand, sweeping gesture with one arm before consulting the cards again.

Her face was so solemn he had to swallow the guffaw that threatened to escape.

“When you broadcasted your need of my services into the ether, I heard the call and I’m here to help. Trouble with women? Not a problem. When I’m done with you, you’ll be fighting them off.”

She gave him an encouraging, albeit rather patronizing, smile before continuing.

“I bet you’re wondering how this all works. Well, let me tell you. I have twenty-four hours to turn you, Nerdy Mr. Nice Guy, into a bad boy babe magnet. All you have to do is follow my instructions to the letter and promise not to tell a single soul about me. The contract outlines all the details.” She leaned forward and patted his shoulder gently. “I know this is a bit of a shock, so take a few minutes to read it over and get your head together. Then we can have a little Q and A session.”

Alex bristled at her assessment of him until he reached up and fiddled with his glasses and then looked down at his clothes. For a few minutes there, he’d forgotten what he must look like to her. And he’d also fallen out of character, which wasn’t cool at all. Whatever kind of joke this was, he couldn’t let it distract him when he was so close to the end of things. He had a job to complete and he was going to do it by the book.

What would nerdy Alex Nelson do in this situation?
he asked himself.

Taking the packet she handed him, he scanned it, shaking his head in admiration. The guys had gone all out. It looked and read like a real contract, with all the legal mumbo-jumbo and even sported a gold-leaf seal depicting the silhouette of a curvy woman with a wand.

Nice touch.

As he skimmed, he was pleased to note that the name under the signature line read “Alex Nelson”. At least the idiots hadn’t given out his real last name.

Grabbing a pen off the coffee table, he signed with a flourish.

“There you go. And thanks, you showed up just in time. I need all the help I can get. Where do we start?” He rubbed his hands together and pasted an eager, needy smile on his face.

She hesitated, her throat working as she swallowed audibly. A twinge of guilt niggled at him. Maybe he should just let her know he was onto her and end the charade.

Then again, there was no sense making the girl feel bad on her first day. And damn him, but he really wanted to see what was under that trench coat.

“So you believe me? Just like that?” she asked, cocking her head to the side quizzically. “Don’t need any proof or anything?”

“Nope. It all makes perfect sense.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

She looked so crestfallen, he found himself wanting to make her feel better. “But now that you mention it, maybe some proof would be good.”

Ms. Holly Tucket brightened at that and nodded. “No problemo.” She picked up the pile of notecards she’d sat on the table in front of her and leafed through them, plucking one out of the bunch.

Her face scrunched in concentration as she twirled a finger toward the floor lamp in the corner of the room and shouted,
“Luz versilus!”

A strange hiss and a loud pop echoed through the small space before the room went dark.

“Huh,” she mumbled. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. That was a new one for me, lemme try one of my usual—”

“No, no, that’s okay,” he assured her, and went into the adjoining dining room and turned on the light. Clearly whatever Leeland and Saunders had done to rig the lamp hadn’t worked exactly as intended. If he let her continue this charade she was liable to burn the place down. No wonder she’d been so bummed out when he didn’t ask to see some magic. A lot of work must have gone into that setup.

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

She thumbed through the cards again and pulled another from the pile. “Next, I’m supposed to…” She trailed off, the color draining from her cheeks.