“Here you go, Mr. Andrews.” She hands him back the cards after writing them down and taking an impression of the credit card—the same way they did back before credit card machines.
They’re careful.Jemma’s warning pops back into my head, and I do a quick scan for security cameras while trying not to look like that’s exactly what I’m doing. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to spot things someone doesn’t want seen.
“Thanks, honey.” He takes the cards back and sticks them into his wallet.
“Of course. Do you both have bags?”
“Yes. Black sedan just outside,” he says, pointing toward the car service we rented for the day under our fake names.
“Perfect. I’ll have them brought in for you and sent up to your room.”
“Can you tell me where that is? I’d love to freshen up,” I say, hoping my smile is genuine and not at all as uncomfortable as I feel.
“Of course, Mrs. Andrews. You’re going to take the elevator up to the third floor.” She gestures toward the elevators off to our right. “You’re in room three-o-seven. It’s one of our better suites,” she adds with a sideways grin at Shawn. “An upgrade for first timers.”
Jealousy momentarily surpasses my nerves.Seriously?
Fake wife or not, I’m standingright here.
“Thanks, honey,” I say, using the same term of endearment as Shawn did, while I wrap my arm around his waist and lean into him. “Shall we, my love?” I ask, pinning the woman with a glare I hope helps her get the point.
Back off.
He’s not yours.
He’s not mine, either, but she doesn’t know that.
He clears his throat, and for a brief moment, that smooth smile falters. But less than a heartbeat later, it’s back in place. “Of course. Thanks again.” He takes the keycard she set on the desk, then guides me toward the elevator.
As we step on, I remain where I am while he presses the button. Then, he leans in and presses his lips to my ear. “Cameras everywhere,” he says so quietly, I barely hear it. “Smile.”
I do as he says and smile, then shiver when he pulls away.
This is a mistake.
This whole thing is a mistake.
If we don’t end up dead, I’m going to end up heartbroken. Fake marriage or not, what I’m feeling—my reaction to his closeness—is very, very real.
And then there’s the crushing guilt that I’m falling for the man helping me investigate the murder of my husband.
Ten years or not, it should feel wrong. Right?
14.Shawn
Beckett is barely keeping it together as we make our way into the suite I rented using the fake credentials Jemma crafted for us.
She hasn’t said or done anything, but after more than enough time spent undercover, one can see the signs. The extra bead of sweat on her brow, the way her gaze flicks back and forth like she’s waiting for someone to pounce. Then there’s the subtle trembling of her body when I placed my hand on her back.
If I don’t find a way to calm her down, she’s going to lose it before we even start looking for the evidence we need.
Then there’s my own distraction.
As we move inside, I scan the large room. It’s nearly twice the size of my first apartment and decorated with a massive sectional couch and a large TV hanging over a roaring fireplace.
Crimson wallpaper adorned with golden pin stripes covers all four walls, and a pair of oversized double doors leads to the bedroom.
I swallow hard.
