Mission: Impossible to Deny (The Impossible Mission Romantic Suspense Series Book 7) - Jacki Delecki (great novels of all time txt) 📗

“We’ve had a long day and are ready to crash. What bedrooms are open?”

Darcy’s glare should have scorched a burn on Reeves. It was one thing for her to consider tearing his clothes off and running her lips down his sculpted body, but it was another issue, a big fricking issue, for him to assume tonight was a done deal.

“Please give Ms. Wilson an ocean view room. We want her to relax and enjoy the splendor of the Pacific. She’s had a trying day.”

 Shivers of excitement fused with apprehension that he could read her that well. She was the one trained to read people.

“Is there any chance that there are extra bathing suits? I need a workout.” Her face burned crimson at her choice of words. “I have a lot of work tonight, and it would be great to swim as a break.”

She scowled at Reeves before turning her attention to Jonathan.

Jonathan inspected her with a professional, impersonal air. “Of course. And we have several suits that will fit you. If you give me your suitcase, I’ll unpack, turn down the bed, and lay out the suits for you.”

Darcy hoped her mouth didn’t hang open. She had entered another universe where someone actually unpacked your suitcase. “Thank you, Jonathan, but that won’t be necessary.”

She wasn’t comfortable about anything in this entire situation. Especially not with being stranded in an unplanned location with a man who made her think about sex instead of possible threats and a deadline to find the perpetrators. Where was Darcy Wilson, dedicated CIA officer? Give her a nice terrorist cell to infiltrate, and she was in her element. But a hot dude and a non-stop talking manservant who catered to any of your needs? Now, that was throwing her off her game.

“Ms. Wilson is a very private person.” Reeves waggled his heavy brows. “And you never know what you might find in her suitcase.”

Jonathan’s face hadn’t registered any change. He was the classic unflappable butler from old movies.

“Ms. Wilson, if you follow me, I’ll show you the bedroom and your choices in suits.”

Darcy trekked behind Jonathan, who pulled her carry-on down the open-air hallway. Her heels clicked on the slate floor. The house's grandeur was understated by the natural color of the rock cliffs used throughout to blend with the magnificent setting. The beauty of the Pacific Ocean was center stage. During the day or at sunset, it would be spectacular, but even now, it was impressive.

She felt Reeves’s stare on her back. She refused to look over her shoulder and give him the satisfaction of her awareness and anticipation flitting down her spine. She wasn’t here on a beach vacation to do the nasty. She was on assignment. What had happened to the highly disciplined woman who always kept her goals in the front view?

Darcy sorted through the three “bathing suits.” All were designed for lounging on a chaise sipping exotic fresh fruit drinks, and for quick and easy removal in the heat of the moment. She held up the matching flowered halter and tiny bottoms, which would reveal more than cover. The tiny scraps of material would offer no support while exercising. Who did laps in a thong or pushed the conditioning envelope in a skimpy halter?

Could she give up swimming in the most magnificent pool in the most incredible spot—an experience she’d probably never have again—because she didn’t want to give Reeves the wrong impression? She wasn’t offering an invitation just because she was attired to hang out at Hugh Hefner’s mansion.

Her feminist heart became outraged on behalf of all womankind. No male would need to consider his choice of suits as a ploy. She held up the neon-yellow bikini. The top was smaller than the flowered one if that were possible.

Her choice wasn’t about seducing Reeves. She wanted to swim so she wouldn’t be tempted to take a tumble with sexiness incarnate in the gigantic bed—convoluted logic, but any woman would understand.

She kicked off her heels and shed her skirt. She was an incredible athlete who prided herself on her strength, stamina, and strong curves. Survival in the Wilson house depended on excelling in everything physical. No one and no bathing suit would interfere with her taking advantage of an amazing lap pool on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

She should strut in the bikini and jump into the pool as a way to say to Reeves, “deal with it.” But the problem was she wasn’t ready to deal with it—sex with Reeves—molding her lips to his, touching all that man, seeing him naked … and taking the risk.

The path of least resistance was the heavy terry cloth robe hanging behind the bathroom door.

Chapter Seven

Reeves sat in front of the fire pit, a computer on his lap, shifting his gaze between the moon over the ocean and his screen. The sounds of the waves and his fingertips gliding over the keyboard helped settle his swirling brain. He searched the online newspaper articles on Charlie’s death, trying to figure out what had triggered Tex’s investigation of the accident. Had Tex believed that Charlie was murdered? And if Charlie had been murdered, why was his death covered up to look like an accident? And did the same person kill Tex? The image of Tex lifeless on the floor was seared into his brain and not going away soon.

He was glad that he had a focus to keep him busy. He wouldn’t be getting any sleep in the foreseeable future from the visceral memory of his friend and his very visceral needs for Darcy. Having her nearby and not touching her guaranteed many restless nights ahead. She was slowly becoming a challenge he needed to unravel. As his early delving into Python script, he wanted to peel away every layer of Darcy’s protective shell to the soft, vulnerable woman.

When