One Wrong Move Page 4

  “My accountant,” Darrell said. “But she broke up with him last night. I promised her an interview, but I can’t smooth things over with her because I’m afraid my derision will show. And you’re better at that stuff than I am.”

  Camden flipped the fish in the pan and considered the woman from last night. Tall, with just the right amount of curves, she looked damned good in the dress she wore. Her long blonde hair draped across a shapely shoulder and everything appeared natural, though it was hard to tell these days. “You can thank her for the crowd we have tonight,” he said.

  “I can thank God it’s Friday. She has nothing to do with it. I need you to go see if you can woo her.”

  “What….now?”

  “Yeah, now. I’ll get someone to cover for you.”

  Wooing was something Camden could definitely do. He enjoyed women and women enjoyed him. Most didn’t mind he was a player, and he didn’t have time to pretend otherwise.

  He removed his toque and his apron, tossed the fish onto a plate, and handed it to Darrell. “This goes to table seventeen. Don’t forget the rice.”

  He didn’t get much time to socialize with the patrons, but this was part of the job he liked. Women seemed to flock to chefs, as if they held some secret in their genetic code. Chefs were good cooks, so they must know how to take care of a woman. Chefs weren’t hardhearted DEA agents who wouldn’t know the first thing about romance.

  He winked at Darrell and sauntered out of the kitchen in search of whatshername. The news reporter. He’d know her when he saw her.

  And he couldn’t have missed her. Not surrounded by that group of women. One woman was good. Women were even better.

  ***

  Rayma

  Rayma was staking out the dessert menu when Nicole tugged her hands, vying for her attention. “Isn’t that the guy?” she asked.

  Glancing up, she saw the chef from last night. The menu thudded to the table. She latched onto her wineglass as if that would steady her heartbeat. She couldn’t remember all the drinks they’d ordered, but after the food she’d consumed, her body was feeling no ill effects from alcohol.

  The effects from the chef, however, were a different matter. She watched as he approached their table and talked to Liz. Liz? Of course Liz, why not? She was attractive, young, single, and scantily clad. Why wouldn’t he be interested? Besides, Rayma wasn’t on the look-out right now, so why should she care?

  He made his way around the table, next introducing himself to Brenda and Gail. They each fluttered at whatever he said to them. The guy was a looker, gorgeous even, but Rayma didn’t understand the female species. She would not act so juvenile.

  The cliché of tall, dark, and handsome suited him well. Height was a prerequisite for Rayma, since she stood five-nine. As much as her height gave her an advantage in certain situations, most of the time it made her self-conscious. This man dwarfed her. She lifted her glass to guzzle the remainder of the wine, which was pathetically lacking.

  His molasses-colored eyes slid over her, making her tremble. She reached for the wine bottle and cursed at the quivering in her hands. Red sloshed to the table as she poured and missed. He swiped the bottle and topped off her glass, then asked everyone else if they wanted a drink or dessert.

  Once the wine was topped, he leaned over and extended his hand. She forgot all about dessert. His eyes were more of an indulgence than anything on the menu.

  “Your story might not have helped business, but it did bring out a lot of curious people,” he said by way of introduction.

  She wiped her hands on her cloth napkin and ignored his hand. He finally dropped his.

  “My name is Camden. I’m the chef who brought about your story.”

  “I remember,” Rayma said. “Care to give us any insight?”

  “Clashing of opinions.” His smile revealed perfect teeth. “Kind of like now.”

  “Oh?” Rayma sipped her wine, but it came out as a slurp. She set the glass on the table and dabbed her mouth with the napkin in an attempt to look bored.

  “You think I’m a jerk. I think you’re wrong.”

  “You going to beat me up over it?” she asked, smiling. He was handsome and charming. She was taken in by his good looks but not by his charm. Charm didn’t faze her, even if her heart floundered in her chest and her entire body vibrated like a plucked string.

  “How are you enjoying your dinner?” His voice, deep and rich, trilled along the lines of her collarbone and into her throat. His undertone was like a whisper-soft touch, and she fought the urge to tilt her head back and await his lips on her skin.

  She dropped her napkin on her plate and tried to compose herself. “Why do you ask? You didn’t poison it did you?”

  His laugh thrummed into her, each note sliding to a lower rhythm and settling into her core. “Now why would I do that?”

  She scanned the room, her gaze landing everywhere but on his face. “I don’t know, to get rid of the bad advertising?” She finally glanced up at him. Their eyes met. She nearly collapsed with the punch of their chemistry. Her chair wobbled, like a dock in the ocean being hit by forceful swells, and her heart pounded out dissonant rhythms. “And anyway, you give me way too much credit. Barely anyone reads my blog.”

  “Another clash of opinions,” he said.

  He looked like the devil. Strong jawbone, deep-set eyes so dark she’d lose herself with one glimpse. Perfectly coiffed hair that could easily be mussed by her hands.

  Certainly he evoked this effect on all women on purpose. She fisted her hands on her lap and relaxed her shoulders, breathing in and out slowly and inconspicuously. When that didn’t work to ease her, she grabbed her glass of wine and gulped.

  “Would you like another glass?”

  She hated how his eyes sparkled, as if he knew exactly how he affected her. He was probably accustomed to it, but she was certain he wasn’t accustomed to having the tables turned. He was like a gift from the heavens, and not because of his looks and his charm. No, he was the chef of a famous restaurant accused of smuggling drugs. What better way to unearth the information she desperately craved?

  “No, thanks.”

  “I have to get back to work, but I get off sometime after eleven. How about coffee?”

  “Coffee at eleven?” she asked, oozing her own charm, turning her gaze down, then up again. Smiling. Flirting to her advantage, not his. “I’ll be in bed by then.”

  “Bed sounds good.” His voice lowered to a level so deep, it strummed the inside of her core.

  “And I’ll be alone.”

  “Alone is no fun. How about dinner Sunday? Sundays and Mondays are my only days off.”

  Perfect. She wasn’t above using men for information, especially when they looked like him. As long as she could control her hormones.

  “You going to cook?”

  “On my day off?”

  She shrugged, relishing the way his eyes alit on her bare shoulders at the movement. The din of her friends’ snickering and talk surrounded her, but she couldn’t make out their conversations. Everything and everyone had disappeared but the two of them.

  “Well, if you want to have dinner with me, the only way I can agree is if you cook.”

  “I’d be happy to cook for you.”

  She grabbed a pen and paper from her purse and wrote down her address. He brushed his hand across hers as he accepted the note, leaving a trail of fire on her skin. “See you Sunday.”

  “Whoa,” Nicole said as all five women watched him walk away. “He’s not your next date profile. Remember old, fat, and divorced?”

  “So I’ll go out with a fat guy tomorrow,” Rayma said and laughed at Nicole’s expression. “Besides, you don’t know, he could be divorced. And you’re the one who said there doesn’t have to be a spark, not me.”

  “There should always be a spark, and it’s flaming off you both.”

  Rayma shook her head. “No, no, and no.” She couldn’t tell her friend that she was only agreeing to
a date with him to see if he could shed any insight on the restaurant and its suspected drug business, even inadvertently. She wanted to know what kind of men Darrell employed, and why.

  No matter how good-looking this chef was, she wouldn’t admit otherwise. No matter how appealing Camden proved to be, she wouldn’t let herself fall for his charm.

  ***

  Camden

  “Well? How did it go?” Dare asked when Camden got back to the kitchen.

  “How did what go?” He retied his apron and snatched the next food ticket, trying to shove the image of the woman out of his mind. He was supposed to make women tremble, not the other way around, but when her hazel eyes met his, he felt like he’d slammed his head into a pole and was still reeling from the aftereffects.

  “With the woman. How did it go?”

  “I made a date with her on Sunday.”

  Dare slapped him on the back. “My God, Cam, you’ve got some kind of gift. Get her in your good graces so she won’t want to trash this restaurant again.”

  Camden glanced at Dare and nodded. He wasn’t sure why Dare worried about it, but he probably wanted to avoid bad press, seeing as how his business was a front for manufacturing drugs. “You realize it was only a blog post. How many people do you think will see that?”

  “She rubs me the wrong way. She’s out for some kind of story. A vengeance piece. Maybe because Mike dumped her, I don’t know. Take one of our best bottles of wine with you. She seems to like it.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Dare laughed and slapped him on the back again before walking away. Camden clenched his teeth and tossed together a side salad, dressing the plate of steak and potatoes with parsley.

  He hadn’t dated in months. It wasn’t easy to maintain any type of relationship while undercover. Dare had tried to set him up with several women, which he’d quickly tossed aside. On a normal day, he wasn’t a long-term guy. In the middle of a huge operation, a relationship was the last thing on his mind.

  Should be the last thing on his mind. But he had a feeling it was going to take a while to rid himself of that woman’s image.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lacey

  Lacey knew Sunday was Camden’s day off and he used that time to do whatever it was he did. Screw off, probably. He was the only one of them who had a personal life.

  She left that morning before Moore could quiz her on where she was going, what she was doing, and if it would risk their undercover op.

  She wasn’t stupid.

  The last thing Lacey wanted to do was playact a happy marriage since she was divorced. Especially with a man like Moore, who treated her like an imbecile and demanded she lay out all her plans before she did them. The only life she had outside work these days was grocery shopping. Sure, she got to drive a sporty Lexus, but a pretend marriage to a rich asshole was beginning to lose its charm.

  She knew Darrell Weberley’s schedule like the back of her hand, though she had never met him. She’d spent the past year of her life studying him, profiling him, watching his moves and listening to his conversations. She’d been assigned to profile him before any other action had been taken in the investigation, so she knew him better than anyone—his hobbies, what kind of women he liked, and how to approach him to get his attention.

  Moore had considered using Lacey to see if she could woo Darrell and get invited to the party, but had changed his mind when Camden had been rehired. It pissed her off. She was a special agent. She should be doing something besides researching him and his employees and pretending to be Camden’s landlord.

  So on Sunday morning, when most people were either sleeping off their hangovers or attending church, Lacey packed a beach bag and drove down the rural road toward Darrell’s house, where he would be enjoying his Sunday morning ritual of horseback riding.

  She stopped on the road and popped the hood of the Lexus, standing outside her car and wiping beads of sweat from her brow as she waited for horse and rider. She was determined to meet him, but she had to be careful about it, lest Moore and Camden find out.

  When he approached several minutes later, she drank heartily from a plastic water bottle and poured it over her head and top as if she had been out there forever. She wore short denim shorts, a midriff shirt, and her bathing suit underneath.

  “Car problems?” Darrell dismounted his horse and approached her.

  “Yeah.” She sighed and waved her phone. “My phone doesn’t get a signal, either. I’ve been out here for an eternity.” She drew her T-shirt away from her chest and fanned herself with it. “Can you help?”

  Keeping hold of his horse’s reins, he moved closer. “I know nothing about cars. Sorry.” He glanced at her breasts, which were, to her delight, beading up for his attention. “Where are you going?”

  “I was planning to swim. I had a huge fight with my husband and fled the house. I didn’t want him to find me, so I drove as far away as I could. Thought I’d lie on the beach for a while and decide what to do.”

  “My phone works,” he said as he pulled it from his pocket. “Shall we call him?”

  “No.” Lacey took hold of his arm and stared at him, eyes wide and full of worry, playing the damsel to a T. Changing the subject, she placed her other hand on the horse and touched his mane. “He’s beautiful. What’s his name?”

  “Ceres. She’s female.”

  “Oh.” Lacey inhaled deeply as she stroked the horse’s mane, knowing she had what it took to attract certain men. Camden may not appreciate her looks, and Moore didn’t count, but because of her research on Darrell, she knew what he liked in a woman. A tease who could see it through, a controller who liked to be controlled. A damsel in distress who could hold her own. Married women were like trophies to him. He was on the verge of being a sadist, from what she’d heard, and that was fine with her.

  Like she’d told Moore, he was cute, and she was horny.

  She’d had a boob job after her husband had left her for a spunky blonde, and Darrell was a man who liked his women hot. After her divorce, Lacey went through a metamorphosis, turning from a tomboy with long but unappealing hair into a woman who was audacious enough to get what she wanted out of life. She was a good actress, and the undercover work had given her plenty of experience.

  And now she was going to play Darrell.

  “You don’t want to call your husband?”

  “Not really. No. I’m…” She gazed at him. “Scared of him right now.”

  His eyebrows rose. Her lashes fluttered as she looked down, then back at him.

  “I’m not ready to go home. I really just wanted to lie out on the beach and think about things. Now…” She glanced at her car, then back at him. “Now I don’t know what to do.”

  “I can’t fix your car, but I can give you a horseback ride to the private beach of your dreams. You game?”

  “Oh, uh…” She perched a hand on her chest, exaggerating her nervousness.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured her.

  She politely laughed. “Of course not. I’d love a ride.”

  She grabbed her beach bag from the car, and he helped her onto the horse. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed close, inhaling an unusual scent of grass, salt, horse, and aftershave.

  As hot as it was outside, Darrell wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a hat, which was something else she knew about him. He was sensitive to the sun, and his horse riding days were about the only time he spent outside.

  She imagined his drugs were safely stashed away inside.

  The horse strolled along a sand-covered trail until it reached the coast. She pressed as closely against him as she could. He was right. It was the beach of her dreams, and not just because he was there. Situated near his house—she knew because of her research—but far enough away for privacy, this part was inaccessible without trespassing on his property or boating up to shore. Cupped by generous palm trees and sand dunes on three sides, it offered the kind of seclusion she sought. The kind of priv
acy she needed to start her seduction.

  He stopped, helped her dismount, and tied his horse while she whipped her towel out on the sand and grabbed oil from her bag. His eyes burned her skin as she removed her shorts and top to reveal a diminutive bikini. She sat on her towel and stretched out her legs.

  “Would you mind?” she asked as she held the suntan oil out for him. A beach seduction might not be the best enticement for someone who didn’t like the sun, but he took the oil from her and rubbed it deep into her skin.

  She didn’t have to fake the pleasure. She closed her eyes and arched her back, enjoying his soft but callused hands. Her nipples hardened when he brushed his hands across her chest. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her breasts.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she said.

  “Dare.”

  “Dare? As in, I dare you to kiss me?”

  His eyes flickered as he studied her. “It’s a nickname.”

  “Sexy.” She opened her legs wider as he rubbed the inside of her thighs, and her body tightened and released. “My name’s Lacey, and I feel terrible about ruining your day. The last thing you must want to do is to lie around the beach and babysit a woman who is pissed at her husband.”

  “Lying on the beach with a beautiful woman beats any other plans I had in mind.”

  She sat up and took the oil from him. “You want some?” She unbuttoned his shirt and poured oil into her palms, rubbing them together before massaging her hands over his chest. This was dangerous, but right now she didn’t give a damn.

  She was having fun. This is what she was meant to do with her life, not sit inside a house and wait for things to happen. She was meant to make them happen.

  “Why are you mad at your husband?”