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He raised an eyebrow in reaction, but didn’t reply. After a moment, the corners of his mouth kicked up in a reluctant grin. He started to unbutton his shirt slowly.
All too aware of the power of his teasing smile, she couldn’t take her eyes off him as he stripped. She gazed at his hair-roughened chest, topped by tight pink nipples, and followed the hairline down to where it whorled around his navel and disappeared into his pants. He was semi-hard, judging by the bulge in his pants. Her mouth went dry.
Gone was the goon of a few moments ago. In his place was this blatantly sexy man. Jake’s muscular physic was a walking advertisement for hot, relentless sex. And the hungry look in his eyes made no secret he wanted her. He unsnapped his jeans.
She swallowed hard. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m getting ready for bed.” His jeans hit the floor, and his smile widened. “I usually sleep in the raw, but I'll leave these on to accommodate your tender sensibilities.” He pointed to the briefs that covered and cupped his manhood.
“Gee, thanks,” Samantha retorted sarcastically. She turned away, telling herself to get a grip. She’d seen other good-looking, hunky men, and there was no reason to go crazy about this provocation.
“No problem,” he replied with a chuckle. He climbed into the old iron bed, and the springs creaked in protest. “Do you mind switching off the overhead light, partner?”
She bristled at his amused tone. He probably thought she was a prude. Just because she didn’t have a lot of experience didn’t mean she was prudish, just selective.
A rueful smile curved her lips as she switched off the light. What a mess. She was hot for the man who wanted to throw her brother in jail. She sighed, walked over to the desk lamp, and switched it on.
Jake sat up in bed, instantly alert. “What’s the matter? Is someone out there?”
She was startled by his reaction. It brought home the fact that this wasn’t a game. “No. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I didn’t feel like sitting in the dark.”
“Suit yourself.” He lay down and rolled over, turning his back to the light.
She pulled the desk chair over to the window, sat down, and stared into the night. The full moon illuminated the weird shapes of the dock and pines, and highlighted the inky ripples on the lake.
An hour later, gentle snoring came from the bed. She yawned. This stakeout business was murder. She’d like nothing better than to crawl into that nice soft bed. She had to do something to keep alert.
She felt tempted to go down and put on a pot of coffee, but she didn’t want to leave her post. Jake might not hear the alarm if an intruder tripped it. She couldn’t take the risk of letting the bad guys slip away.
Yawning, she paced the room, stopping before the window to stare into the darkness. All was peaceful. She stifled another yawn and began to walk again, stopping in front of the computer.
Why was Jake so adamant about keeping her hands off his computer? Did it contain a file on Tad? She glanced at his moonlit silhouette. He was a secretive man, which meant he didn’t always see all sides of an issue. Maybe there was something here she would have a different angle on.
After a final hasty glance at the bed to ensure he was still asleep, she slipped into the chair, flipped on the screen, and reached for the mouse. She started reading what she’d assumed to be a dossier and blinked.
This wasn’t a clue. It was a mystery novel. “The Case of the Purloined Pearls,” by Ramsey L. Jacobs. Could this be the work of her very own Jake Ramsey? The answer was obvious.
Being a mystery lover, she’d read Ramsey L. Jacobs's previous novels. She had one in her suitcase downstairs. He was good in a gritty, dangerous, masculine way. The stories were all Jake. She could see that now, and he could write a page-turner that kept her riveted. Who would have thought he had a creative side?
He’d kept his talent under wraps, but why? She’d want to shout it from the rooftops if she were a successful novelist. Then she remembered the mysterious buzz about the author. Ramsey L. Jacobs never did interviews. His best-selling mystery novels carried no author’s photograph or biography, just a veiled suggestion that his line of work wouldn’t allow such revelations.
A wild speculation from reviewers concerning his true identity ran the gamut from clean-cut FBI agent to down-and-dirty gangster. His publisher had kept his secret very well, but all would be revealed at a Bookseller’s Gala in Chicago in several weeks. What a coincidence. Her firm, Samantha’s Special Affairs, was coordinating the event.
It must’ve been why Jake had made several comments about early retirement. He was going to move on to new horizons. They were horizons that didn’t include her. It wasn’t right to invade his privacy like this. She’d just read one more page and then stop.
Sometime later, a hand clamped onto her shoulder and made her jump. Her gaze followed Jake’s big, rough hand and traveled up his tanned arm to focus on his exasperated scowl.
She should have stopped at one page.
“I ought to have known you’d never do as asked.”
She’d pushed her luck too far this time. Still, she couldn’t help resenting his world-weary tone. “I apologize for invading your privacy. I’m very sorry.”
A nerve pulsed in his tight jaw. “Sure you are, now that I’ve caught you in the act. I should have known better than to try to keep a secret from a woman.”
Who had made him so distrustful of women? She gazed up at the harsh planes of his face, realizing that, while he knew her well, she knew nothing about him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were Ramsey L. Jacobs?”
