Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers (132 page)

He scrubbed his hands over his face. Last night it had all seemed so clear. He had to find a way to get close to Angel. They'd never be able to convince people they were lovers with the current level of hostility sparking between them. And he had to get her to relax and open up so he could draw out her secrets.

The waitress brought his coffee. He added sugar and stirred, watching the black liquid swirl around as he tried to put everything in perspective.

If Angel was the informant, he'd prove it and send her to jail. Hell, he'd love to see her behind bars. Unfortunately, this damned attraction raging between them kept throwing him off balance. Anytime she got close, he thought of her in his arms, the sweet velvet of her lips under his, triggering a heated desire. For the Angel he'd met in Hawaii. He scowled. But that woman didn't exist. She'd only been playing a part.

He rolled the spoon between his fingers. What if she wasn't the informant? Damn, that was even worse. He'd fallen in love with her once before. She still haunted his dreams.

Hell, if he did get to know her, and found she was a loyal agent… Then he would have a serious problem. She put her job above all else. Her betrayal had proven that. Would she sacrifice him to her career again?

He knew the risks, but he had a job to do. Somehow, he'd have to draw her close, while keeping his own heart at a distance. Could he do that?

The jealousy he'd felt watching that guy kissing her gnawed at his gut. And every time he got close to her, he could hardly control his body's response. On top of that, he had to fight the urge to comfort her whenever he glimpsed that potent vulnerability in her eyes. This damned protectiveness would be his undoing.

He'd have to keep it under control. No way would he allow her to drag him down again. This time he knew where her loyalties lay—with herself.

So, once he finished this coffee, he'd march over to her house and charm her all to hell. He'd be smooth. So smooth she'd think he'd fallen for her again. If she believed that, her guard would come crashing down.

Last time, she'd been the one in control, because she'd known the hidden agenda. Now, their roles were reversed. And he'd make sure it stayed that way.

* * *

Angel fixed a quick dinner of pasta and sauce then took a long, hot bath to ease her tense muscles. Afterwards, as she combed her unruly curls into submission, she stopped long enough to stare at herself in the mirror. Thoughts of Frank and glorious memories of the time they'd spent together on Hawaii filled her waking hours. In her dreams, Frank held her as he had in those never-forgotten days.

She should have refused to go out with him right from the start. Then she would never have known the bliss of being wrapped in his arms, his lips coaxing hidden desires to life. She would not have dreamed of him for four long years, longing for him to find her, to take her in his arms and tell her he forgave her for hurting him. She wouldn't feel the excruciating pain of seeing hatred in his eyes—directed at her.

For a long time, she'd thought she was incapable of feeling anything. She'd erected enough barriers around herself to cushion any emotional trigger from piercing the surface of her soul. It was the only way she could survive dealing with heartless criminals day after day while keeping her sanity.

She'd worried about the numbness that had claimed her, the feeling of drifting through each day. Never feeling happiness or sadness. Never knowing true companionship. Every feeling drifting through an invisible buffer, reaching her as a neutral flow of nothingness.

Now she longed to return to that state.

The doorbell rang, pulling Angel out of her reverie. Shedding her towel, she raced into her bedroom and pulled on some comfortable clothes. She and her neighbour, Dawn, were going to a movie together. If it was Dawn at the door, she'd wait. If it was someone else, Angel didn't care. She didn't cater to uninvited guests.

On the third persistent ring, she swung open the door. "Dawn, you're early and…." She stopped when she saw Frank standing on her doorstep.

"Is Don your boyfriend?" Frank asked, eyes narrowed, watching her reaction.

"That's none of your business." She folded her arms across her chest. "What do you want?"

"To talk to you."

"No," she said and started to push the door closed.

He pushed back, but Angel, strong and determined, pressed it almost closed before Frank gave a sudden thrust, sending her sprawling back against the wall.

"Angel!" Frank raced in and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to her feet.

She pulled herself from his grasp—and the tingling awareness that shot through her.

"Go away, Frank."

"Angel…"

He reached for her again but she backed away. Fear lanced through her. Fear of the feelings he elicited in her. Feelings she didn't want to experience. Feelings she couldn't cope with.

"Don't touch me." Her voice was strained, on the edge of breaking.

Frank watched alarm flicker across Angel's delicate features. He had to put her at ease. Standing here towering over her wasn't going to help, so he went over to the couch and sat down. He could hear her tiny sigh of relief. He watched as she took a couple of steps toward the small sitting area.

Did she have a date with this Don guy? His gaze skimmed her outfit: snug fitting jeans and a clingy red sweater. They must be going somewhere casual. That meant they'd been dating for a while. On a first or second date, she'd dress up and try to impress. Was it a serious relationship? His gaze lingered on the sweater and the way it outlined her breasts. It was a great colour for her. He suppressed a grin as he remembered the crimson bikini she'd worn the first time he'd seen her—and how she had left part of it on the beach. A flare of desire sizzled through him at the memory of her trotting back to her cabin with nothing but a towel covering her luscious breasts, especially knowing she'd been totally unaware of the fact. At any moment, she might have lowered that towel and—

"Frank, I've got someone coming over. Would you please leave?" Angel demanded.

At her words, he glanced up to her face, but the heaving of her chest drew his focus back to her sweater. It showed off her full breasts in a way that could drive a man wild. Jealousy seared through him at the thought of her wearing it for another man. He ripped his gaze away.

Christ, jealousy!
What kind of fool am I anyway? It's not like Angel and I have any kind of future together.

"I'm going to stay until I've said my piece, so why don't you sit down?" he said, indicating the armchair nearest him with his open hand.

She stared at him for a moment, assessing. Finally, she stepped over to the chair and sank into it.

"About the incident in Hal's office. I'm sorry for what happened. I shouldn't have manhandled you the way I did."

"You won't get any argument from me."

He raked his hand through his hair. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" He looked at her face and she averted her eyes. She wanted him to go. It was clear in the way she sat, the way her arms were folded across her chest, her legs pinched together from thigh to ankle.

She caught him staring at her and leaped to her feet to pace.

He ambled forward and put his hands on her upper arms, stilling her when she would have fled. Staring her straight in the eye, he steadied himself for the lie he needed to tell. To gain her trust. "Angel, now that I know you're an undercover agent, I understand why you turned me over to Cavaglione."

"Do you really? Does that mean you can accept what I did and forgive me? Just like that?"

Forgive her? Was she crazy?
But that's what he wanted her to believe. What he had to make her believe. She stared at him, expectant and skeptical. He had to play this carefully—with just enough honesty so she'd believe the lies. "No, not just like that. I've hated you for a long time."

Her eyelids flickered in a barely perceptible flinch. She started to move away, but he tightened his grip on her shoulders.

"Frank, I don't want to go through this again. I know how you feel—and why. I—"

"I believed you'd say anything—do anything…" This part of the act was easy. He simply drew on the real anger that flowed through him. He shook her slightly. "Oh, God, Angel, you know what I thought you were."

"Frank, please." Her clipped words hinted at tightly held anguish. Was the glistening brightness in her eyes a trick of the light, or tears barely held back?

He knew she was a good actress but…her distress seemed so real. Emotion welled up in him—things he didn't want to feel, like sympathy and protectiveness—but instead of allowing it to affect him, he directed it into his voice to make his words more convincing.

He shook his head, squeezing her shoulders slightly. "But now I know I was wrong. I just don't know what to do about it."

He didn't like the sorrow that had rooted itself in the tiny lines of her face. Suddenly, the feel of her beneath his fingers unnerved him. He ran his hand down one of her arms and she shivered, staring up at him.

"Don't do anything, Frank. Just leave it alone."

Her quiet words settled into him. He captured her wary gaze, willing her to believe him, to open up to him. "Angel, you did what you had to do to protect your cover. How can I blame you for that?"

He could see pain flooding her chocolate brown eyes. Where had his anger gone? All he wanted to do at this moment was to pull her into his arms and reassure her. To chase away the agony in her eyes. Unable to think of anything but easing that pain, he pulled her close.

His wariness turned to confusion. Her teeth tugged on her lower lip, a gesture that reminded him of the sweet, innocent Angel he'd loved so long ago. He didn't have to reach as deep as he thought to fill his eyes with loving tenderness. And he was shocked when he saw the same thing reflected back through the chaos in her eyes. Damn, could he be setting a trap for himself with this hare-brained plan? It would be too easy to get wrapped up in the role of loving Angel. It would be too easy to forget it was all an act. But right now, he didn't care. And that scared the hell out of him.

"Angel," he murmured, "I want to start over with you. To get to know you again."

A voice in the back of his head bellowed at him to pull away, to put as much distance between himself and this woman as he could. But he was already in too deep. The all-encompassing need to kiss her muted all protests, forced away all reason. He drew her closer, lowering his mouth to hers, the longing to feel her lips against his too great to resist.

Suddenly, her eyes widened in panic. "Frank, no!" she gasped, breaking away before he fulfilled his intent. She turned her back to him.

He wasn't sure if the 'no' was a denial of her feelings or of his attempt to kiss her. Or both. He rested his hands on her shoulders. "Don't you see, Angel? We have a second chance now." He turned her to face him and tried to capture her gaze, but she averted her eyes. He filled his voice with sincerity, wondering at how easy it was. "Back in Hawaii, we had something special. Let's try to recapture that."

"No!" she cried, snatching his hand from her shoulder. "Frank, when you first saw me in Hal's office, you were ready to strangle me."

He clasped her hand and brought it to his mouth, then caressed each fingertip with his lips. Each gentle touch sent shivers through her. "There were certainly things I wanted to do to you, but strangling wasn't one of them."

She knew he was remembering the passion that had flared between them, the need they had both felt. She snatched her hand from his grasp. "But you were driven by anger." She stepped back. "Frank, we've got a job to do. We can't afford to confuse things."

"This isn't about jobs, Angel. What we're talking about is you and me."

Angel knew she had to stop this before it started. She could not allow him to fall in love with her again. "You're wrong, Frank. This is about jobs. First of all, when we met four years ago, we were both on the job—undercover. We didn't get to know each other at all. Not really. We both played a part."

"But we can get to know each other now," he argued.

"And second," she continued, ignoring his comment, "we're working together. There's no way I'm going to jeopardize our mission by getting involved with my partner."

"So you won't even give us a chance?"

She summoned her hardest expression and locked gazes with him. "Frank, my job is everything to me. It will always come first. I turned you over to the mob once because it was the only way to preserve my cover—and I'll do it again if I have to. Do you really want a relationship with a woman who'll put her work ahead of your safety? Because that's what it boils down to." She stared at him, long and hard. "Think about it."

She marched out of the room, closing the door behind her.

In Too Deep: Chapter Five

Turning Frank away had been more difficult than Angel had ever imagined. The next day at work, the thought of this assignment with Frank swirled through her head like a tornado, laying to waste her usual concentration. His mere presence sent her common sense spiraling into a nose-dive. When he touched her, she lost touch with reality. How could she keep him at a distance while working with him day after day? While pretending to be in love with him? And, after the wedding, while pretending they were lovers?

The day slipped by and, too soon, it was time to go home. Too soon because at work, she was safe from Frank's physical presence, if not from rampant thoughts of him. Frank wouldn't come into her office—not until he'd established himself as her boyfriend—but he might drop by her townhouse. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to feel the things he made her feel, but she couldn't hide from him. She had a duty to perform and she'd never shirked her obligations before. She wouldn't start now.

When the doorbell rang at seven, she didn't want to answer it, worried Frank would be standing on her porch. She pulled open the door and peered outside.

"Dino! What are you doing here?"