Lover Undercover (McCade Brothers 1)

“No.” She reached over and placed a hand on his hard, muscular thigh, and squeezed as if through touch she could somehow explain what she couldn’t fully articulate in her own head. “Like something I shouldn’t get used to. Like something that feels real because of the situation, but probably has more to do with hormones and adrenaline and some pretty intense circumstances.”

Talking about it definitely wasn’t helping. Emotions tangled in her chest, and words just kept tumbling out of her mouth. “Like something that wasn’t meant for me in the first place—not the real me.”

Oh God, you actually used the phrase “the real me.” Stop now. She sprang to her feet. “I have to go.”

Trevor got to his feet as well, and stood close, kind of trapping her between the sofa, the coffee table, and the big, muscular barrier of his body. With every warning about eye contact Stacy had ever given her screaming through her mind, she looked up at him.

The lopsided smile still lingered, but now there was a hint of amusement in those see-all eyes. “You think I don’t know the difference between Stacy and you?”

“No. I just…” Just what? Impatient with herself, feeling trapped, she spun and stalked around the other side of the coffee table and headed to the front door. He beat her there. Ever the Boy Scout, he opened and held it for her. The fact that he was clearly holding back a laugh ruined the gallantry of the gesture, in her opinion, and suddenly she wanted to kick him. Her. Saint Kylie.

“I don’t even know me anymore, Trevor. There’s no way you do.” Proof in point, she barely recognized the testy voice coming out of her mouth.

“Yeah, well, I guess we’ll see,” he replied in his maddeningly confident tone.

“The time you kissed me at the station, I was honest when I told you I wasn’t at a place in my life where I could date.”

“Maybe ’cause at that particular place in your life you were lying to me and pretending to be Stacy? I think we’re past that now—”

“Hard as this is to believe, not every decision in my life is motivated by Stacy. It only seems that way to you because you don’t know me—you know me pretending to be Stacy. But news flash, Trevor, she’s not the only one with big dreams. I’ve got ambitions too. Teaching yoga isn’t some hobby for me. I study hard so I can offer the best, most innovative classes available, build a loyal clientele, and, when the time is right, open my own studio. If I’m going to achieve these goals, I’ve got to focus. I can’t let myself get distracted and pulled offtrack by my personal life.”

She didn’t know what reaction she’d expected from him, but his rumbling, deep-chested laugh wasn’t it.

“I’m glad you think the notion of me having goals is such a gut-buster,” she said, and battled another urge to kick him. Hard.

Eventually he got his laughter under control. “Kylie, I’m flattered you think I could be such a huge distraction, but when it comes to people in your life who might get in the way of your goals, you’d better look a little bit closer to home. I can guaran-fucking-tee I’ll never ask you to drop everything, pretend to be me, and do my job for two months.”

That he had a point—and she knew it—only made her madder. But Stacy wasn’t a choice, damn it, she was family. Getting involved with a man, on the other hand, was strictly an option, and an unwise one for a woman like her. Relationships, with all their compromises and demands, had an insidious way of sucking the independence and drive right out of some women. Her mom demonstrated that on a regular basis. Kylie already felt that same weakness in her own heart, that same neediness, when it came to Trevor, which scared her right down to her bones.

Terrified, and furious with herself, she struggled for a dignified escape. “I see no reason to continue this argument, conversation…whatever it is.” Head high, she brushed past him, walked out of the house, and strode to the Bug. She slammed the door and got as far as putting her shaking hands on the wheel before someone tapped the driver’s side window. Turning, she saw Trevor there, his arms braced on the roof of the car, looking at her. He made a rolling motion with his index finger, and then crouched down so their faces were level when she lowered her window.

The vapor trail of a smile still lingered on his lips, causing her to snap, “What?”

“How’d it work?”

“How’d what work?”

“The whole ‘getting me out of your system’ strategy.”

She blinked. Tough week for an honesty pledge. “I don’t know. It’s too soon to tell.”

“Hmm.” Straightening, but still angling his head in her window, he tapped the roof of the car and smiled. “Fair enough. Do me a favor, okay?”

“Depends. What’s the—?”

He leaned in and cut her off by covering her mouth with his. He claimed it, branded it, and owned it before she could so much as finish her question. When he raised his head, she blindly chased after his retreating lips until the car door stopped her pursuit.

“Keep me posted,” he said. Then he grinned and strolled back toward the house.

…

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Kylie made it all the way back to her apartment before admitting, so far, it wasn’t going well at all. She walked in, realized Stacy wasn’t home yet, and immediately burst into tears.

Covering her face with her hands, she sat down on the sofa and gave in to the stress, fear, and powerlessness of the morning’s ordeal for several moments, allowing her sobs to build and release like waves crashing on a beach. If letting emotions out was cathartic, she was in the midst of a tremendously cathartic experience. But then it got a little scary, because she couldn’t seem to stop crying.

Get moving. Do something. Tears still flowing, she got up and dragged herself to Stacy’s room to find her costume for tonight’s shift at Deuces. Amid the clutter of her sister’s closet she searched out the pieces of the “slutty schoolgirl” outfit, stopping every few moments to swipe at her wet cheeks. While she was at it, maybe she could find some positive, affirming thoughts to get her through the evening.