Mission: Impossible to Deny (The Impossible Mission Romantic Suspense Series Book 7), Jacki Delecki [polar express read aloud .TXT] 📗

on assignment to work with you. Not to sleep with you. If the Sureños are involved, this is going to get dangerous. I can’t be distracted.”

“Ah … so, you admit that I distract you?” He grinned.

And she hadn’t realized how much his humor and smiles lessened her constant need to be on, to be in charge. He made her laugh, and for a moment, she forgot that the world was treacherous. But this wasn’t the time to weaken because of a beautiful man’s smile.

“You know that you do. Please don’t make it harder than it has to be.” She wanted to say, don’t make me want you … make me regret not exploring this connection … don’t grin, don’t make ridiculous jokes, and don’t look at me as if I am special to you.

He searched her face for clues to her feelings. He was good at reading her. She smiled, noting he had recognized her tell when she pressed her lips together.

“You’re right. It is going to get dangerous. And we will both need to be on top of our game.”

She reached to start the ignition. She wouldn’t let him see the hurt from the kick to the gut he delivered. Their relationship always had a short shelf life. It was what she wanted, but why the raw pain and the feeling of immediate loss when he agreed? He didn’t even try to convince her differently. She had hoped he would still want her, knowing it was just for the sex. She wouldn’t crumble over a little romp in the pool that meant nothing. She was a CIA officer and previously a soldier who served in Afghanistan. She could handle what was thrown at her, including irresistible Reeves Hewitt.

“Was Professor Wainwright surprised to hear from you?”

“I’m not sure. He’s a bit of the absentminded professor type. But he cleared his afternoon for us and seemed touched by my visit.”

“I read up on him on the plane. Impressive bio. I didn’t see any red flags.”

He laughed a low rumble that sent waves of need through Darcy.

“Why is that funny? Anyone with his success must have an incredible drive. And universities can’t be that different than any workplace with in-fighting and dirty politics.”

“Wainwright lives in a mathematical theoretical realm. He’s barely able to function in the real world. He’s always late, never remembers little details like eating or showering. He’s rather a cliché. But unlike many of the faculty, he was supportive to all of us. He was our advisor in the Theoretical Computer Science department. Academics aren’t usually interested in the students or teaching. They’re all about making a name for themselves and getting tenure. Students are a means to an end … assisting with the research, writing the papers to be published. But Wainwright didn’t need students to move up the food chain. He was the top in his field.”

“Are we wasting our time if the professor doesn’t pay attention to the details of life?”

“He pays attention to mathematical theory, and Charlie’s interest was always the theory of computation. Wainwright’s focus. And he’ll know what Charlie was working on at Berkeley and any other work. Tex and I were both more drawn to Lambda calculus and type theory.”

“I’ve no idea what any of that means.”

“We all were interested in the mathematical theory in computers.”

“Thank you. So, Wainwright was closest to Charlie?”

“Strange that you ask, I’ve never really thought about it. But you’re right. Though I doubt Charlie would have confided in the professor about his drug habit.”

Chapter Nine

Reeves stared straight ahead but tracked Darcy’s every movement as she drove to the Stanford Campus. Her curly hair was harshly pulled back in the same clip as when they first met. She wore the same navy-blue jacket and skirt. She had a fresh white blouse, the same style as yesterday. She probably owned a closet full of navy-blue suits and white blouses. He had only seen her in a suit and the heart-stopping, instant hard-on bikini, a vision that was burned into his brain for life. No woman would ever match sensual and strong Darcy Wilson in all her glory.

She probably wore jeans and a t-shirt when she hung out. He’d like to see her in tight jeans hugging her round hips and ass. Her only feminine adornment was small gold hoop earrings, probably allowed as part of the CIA dress code. Meeting all the rules and recs, she was bundled in her bureaucratic uniform. But he knew the sexy woman who hid under that uptight outfit. He wanted to undo her hair and watch the curls spring as out of control as the woman who screamed his name, lost in pleasure.

“You okay?” She glanced over at him, her voice warm with concern.

She might act like a hard-ass, but she was a big softie. And she’d take him down if she ever heard him describe her that way.

“Now that the shock is wearing off, I’ve got a few questions.”

“Just a few?” She smirked.

“Smart-ass.”

How did his sense of foreboding ease by seeing her determined face relax into a smile?

Why did women have to make it so difficult? How long would she keep denying the hot sparks between them? And what absolute bullshit that she had to focus on her job. The woman leaped out of a swimming pool, naked, to defend him against an attack. He had no doubt she could multitask. But she asked him not to make it harder for her. He wouldn’t now, but he planned to make it real difficult once the case was closed. Darcy Wilson didn’t like to be pushed, so he’d back off and bide his time. He might not be CIA, but he was “gifted” with a relentless focus on solving a problem. And his focus would be Darcy, and the problem would be making her happy screaming his name.

“So, what’re your ‘few’ questions?” Her eyes briefly sought his to evaluate his mental state as the dutiful officer that she was. She wouldn’t be