Every. Damn. Time.
Rita liked undercover work. Really she did. It was fun to pretend to be someone else and watch how perps, and random strangers, responded to her when she was "in character." And she liked the adrenaline rush of having to keep a cover and do all the regular parts of her job at the same time. Honestly, a good undercover gig could help stave off the tedium of bureaucracy: paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. The new chief of police had graduated from a public service management program last year and thought that made him special. What it made him was in love with paperwork, which Rita had to do ten times more of now, and she was sure Commissioner Smith never read half of it.
So Rita was enjoying this little undercover operation. Plus, she liked to glam it up every now and again, and it wasn't like she'd had a lot of opportunities of late. Not since Eric. There hadn't been any men in her life since Eric. And she felt too old to ask her girlfriends for a dress up night out. They weren't twenty-two and hitting the bars until 3:00 am anymore. Which she was mostly glad about. She didn't regret most of those evenings, or most of the casual sex. But the hangovers? And the boys who thought they were men, but took too long to understand that "no" is the end of a conversation and not the beginning of a negotiation? Those she didn't miss.
So yes, she was enjoying the feeling of this slinky black dress, its smooth satin running like a warm bath over all the curves of her body. She felt something she hadn't felt in a long time: sexy. And the looks she was getting from half the men (and a few of the women) in this casino suggested others appreciated the effort she'd put into the dress with its mile-high slit and the laddered hose and the smokey eye make-up and the fancy up-do and the gemstones dangling from her ears. (Maybe that's why she didn't call up her girlfriends for a glam night out anymore. It was a lot of work!)
But every damn time she put on something sexy, some man—or men in this case—thought it was an open invitation to let their fingers do the walking whenever and wherever they wanted. The first guy she'd playfully slapped off. She was supposed to be a bit of a honey tonight. Carefree and bubbly. A woman used to handling some of the finer pleasure businesses in town, with all the experience with deflecting overly-handsy punters that entailed. No good breaking his fingers. Though maybe later she could "accidentally" drop a highball glass on his pinky. Such a clumsy mistake. "So sorry!" she'd swoon insincerely.
Then, on his shift change, the blackjack dealer squeezed her bum for the second time tonight, letting his fingers linger and roam, and it took every ounce of self-restraint she possessed not to put her elbow through his sternum. But he was one of the six men they had under surveillance tonight. So she flirted rather than fought and at least found out when he'd be back to the table and where he was spending his after-work hours. She'd let him cop his feel in exchange for decent intel they'd eventually use to put him and his friends out of business.
But this new guy? The obnoxious drunk one who laughed as he grabbed her breast… and squeezed? Uh uh. Not a suspect. Not someone she had to put up with. As her undercover persona Shania Marlin, she was pretending to be perky and indulgent, not dumb or lacking in self-respect. She moved in position to break his thumb and in the half-second it took her, Chris materialized and beat her to the punch.
Chris was undercover as a high-stakes roulette player named Billy Briscoe. They weren't supposed to know each other. Weren't supposed to be on the same section of the gaming floor together. Yet here he was. Rita watched him seize Mr. Grabby Hand's wrist, hauling the man's ear to his lips in less than a heartbeat.
Rita felt more than heard the threat Chris conveyed and braced herself to have their cover blown. Luckily for them, Grabby Hands read Chris' intervention as generalized chivalry rather than very specific territory marking.
"Hey man, lighten up. The lady comes in here looking like that, she's begging for attention." He was full of bluster and rage, but walked away after being warned off, jabbing his elbow into Chris's ribs for good measure as he did.
Once the lout was out of earshot, Rita quickly stage whispered, "What are you doing? I'm a big girl, Chris. I can handle myself. And you're going to blow our cover." And then immediately, and quite audibly, she practically drawled: "Well thank you, handsome. That was awfully kind of you." She offered him a sultry smile that hid her irritation at him risking their sting. They'd spent weeks setting this up. She damn sure wasn't going to let these guys give them the slip because Chris temporarily lost his head.
He saw the look in her eyes that told him to keep his cool. He nodded, smiled his trademark grin and said loudly, "That's alright ma'am. I just hate to see a pretty lady get hurt. You have a good night." He made his way back to the roulette table, soaking up on the way the attention of more than a few young women who'd eyed his heroics.
Rita made a show of recovering herself before slinking over to another suspect they were surveilling, the one currently losing his considerable ante at the no-limit poker table. As she crossed the casino floor –her hips loose, eyes sweeping the room in a way that was meant to convey ease but was really taking in the details of the other patrons – she replayed the scene. It wasn't like Chris not to trust her to handle herself. Sure, he'd always had her back, had always been keenly aware of danger and rushed to defend and protect her when she was in a truly threatening spot. But Grabby Hands had just been an annoyance. An entitled jerk who'd had too much to drink and forgot what few manners he may otherwise have possessed. And yet, there Chris had been. And not for the first time in the last few months. He was increasingly acting more like an over-protective or jealous lover than a co-equal partner in crime fighting. It made her want to both smack him and kiss him. It was the second of those feelings she was trying not to probe too hard.
Luckily she reached the poker table before she had to ponder her own responses more. She sidled up to one Jason Dagosta, another of their suspects in this money laundering and drug running scheme that had led to the murder she and Chris were investigating. She danced her hand down his impressively muscled arm until her fingers rested lightly on his forearm where she stayed just long enough to distract him from his rising irritation at having lost another hand. With a few faint taps of his index finger he signaled the dealer his intention both to stay in and raise the stakes. But while he did so, his eyes raked over Rita with raw appreciation.
"Mind if I watch?" Rita purred.
"Please do. Maybe you can change my luck," he winked.
As the cocktail waitress walked by he ordered a refill of his whiskey sour and a glass of Vueve Clicquot for Rita, without asking what she wanted.
Rita stayed with him for nearly an hour. He seemed to enjoy her company and let it buoy his spirits despite his poker woes. He got a little handsy, too, especially when Rita leaned in close enough for her breath to tickle the side of his neck. She was willing to flirt if that's what it took to get him to drop his guard. But she had minimal success extracting useful nuggets of information from him. He was here to play cards. And then his luck turned again at the table, with nearly every hand suddenly going his way. Rather than becoming more unguarded and flirtier, he turned from Rita to focus on the game. But not before dropping a business card in her cleavage and suggesting she call him sometime soon.
As the song says, you've got to know when to fold 'em. Rita thanked him for the lovely time, casually caressing his arm as she turned to walk away. The evening wasn't a total loss. She'd caught a few signals Jason had thrown to one of his criminal partners at the next table. She observed enough to start to glean how they communicated and had some ideas about how they might be structuring the money laundering. And she'd warmed Jason up enough to keep the sting going over the next few days. This wasn't the last she'd see of Mr. Dagosta.
There would be no arrests tonight, but they'd have other opportunities to bring these guys in. The work she and Chris had done here had set them up well.
To avoid raising suspicion, Rita didn't engage with any more of their suspects. Instead she called it a night and started toward the exit. On her way, she heard some whooping and gloating coming from the roulette table. There was Chris, apparently living large with the department's cash. She let a half smile pass her lips and caught his eye just briefly enough to signal her intent to leave. Only she would notice that the quick nod he made was for her rather than any one of the three young, voluptuous, and adoring women positively pouring themselves over him.
It was hard not to laugh at how infallible his charisma was. Rita couldn't remember more than a week going by that some woman at some crime scene, diner, or beach hadn't tried to pick him up. And no. No. That definitely wasn't jealousy she felt poking up from her sub-conscious.
Rita floated down the casino steps into the rapidly cooling night air. The ocean breeze hitting the silk of her dress made her feel even sexier. Maybe just a tinge lonely, too. After tipping the doorman generously as he opened a cab door for her, she had the driver drop her at the Marriot where she would be holed up for however long this operation took. Chris was staying in the Hilton across the street. He'd phone her in an hour or two once he finally called it a night at the casino.
Stepping into her suite, she knew she should take off the dress and make up and jewelry and get ready for bed. But the ensemble took so much effort to put together—and she felt so damn good in it—that she left it for now, grabbed a glass of water to counter all the champagne, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window to take in the flickering lights of Miami, which is where they'd been loaned out for this gig.
Thirty minutes later she heard a light knock on the door. She hadn't ordered room service, and she didn't know any one here. Just as she was preparing to get her gun, the knock came again, lighter this time. With it she heard Chris's voice asking faintly "Sammy? Sammy, are you asleep?"
Rita left the gun in her purse and opened the door to find Christopher Lorenzo in a very well-cut, asset enhancing suit leaning against the door frame. She hoped her intake of breath was audible only to her.
"Christopher, what are you doing here?" She dragged him in quickly, hoping the surveillance cameras weren't picking up her room. It wouldn't do any good to have people catch them together now. Dropping his arm, she left him standing near her door as it closed. She crossed to the window to draw the blinds. Rita didn't think they'd been made as cops since they'd arrived in Miami so there shouldn't be anyone spying on her room, but there was no point in taking unnecessary chances.
Chris's voice floated over to her. "Sorry, Sammy, but I had to see you." He paused. "I just… I've been looking at you all night. You in that dress, looking sexier than any woman I've ever laid eyes on." His voice hitched but he recovered himself. "After watching all those men treating you like cheap furniture, I just needed to see you. Even if just for a minute. Not as "Billy Briscoe" the gambler looking at "Shania Marlin" the CEO of tawdry business interests. Not as two strangers in a casino. But as your partner and friend, Sammy. I needed to see and talk to you as you. Are you all right?" He'd managed to bring his monologue back to safe territory, but Rita caught all of it.
Rita blushed as she laughed, deflecting the compliment and marveling at how clueless her adorable Sam could be sometimes. "Chris, that's what men do. Being a woman in the world means either putting up with or putting men in their place when they treat your body like public property. And it's worth it to get these guys. If a few hands stray, and I don't say anything, they see me as just another woman who of course loves their uninvited attention. Not as a cop, and not as a threat. And that's exactly what we need them to see."
Chris cocked his head to one side. "I'm sorry about that, Sammy." And then he took another deep breath, "but I do know why they were tempted. You look stunning." He paused. "You are stunning." So much for safe territory.
Rita took him in. Really looked at him. Where was this coming from? She'd seen him drunk many times before. He wasn't drunk. He'd had some alcohol tonight at the casino to make the cover believable, but he'd paced himself. No, this wasn't booze talking. And she saw a shift in his eyes—a softness that she swore looked like longing crept in as his gaze locked on hers. She felt a tremor run through her and saw his Adam's apple working faster now. She realized he felt it too, whatever this electricity was that was building in this moment, that had, in fact, been building for weeks.
And then she saw him. Really saw him. Chris the man. Not her partner. Not a cop. Not the cocky jock out on the basketball court or the hothead fresh out of Vice he'd been when they first partnered up. Chris the man, a deeply good man, with all of his competing desires, his gentleness, his intensity. He was just looking at her. Guileless and waiting. Willing her to say something. To do something. To tell him to stay or show him the door.
He'd thrown her the opening she hadn't allowed herself to admit she'd been hoping for. He was here doing the opposite of what all those men in the casino—and all those men on the street, and in the clubs of her youth—had done. He gave her a choice. And she was terrified. There was no going back from this if she said yes. They would be crossing a line, the line, risking their professional partnership and possibly their friendship in the hopes that a night of passion was a beginning rather than an end. Talk about high stakes.
He was no more than ten feet from her. She inched one step toward him. And stopped. Her heart was racing. His eyes scanned her face, curious. Not pressuring her, just watching her like he had all the time in the world because he was exactly where he wanted to be. Rita's breath caught again as she saw his eyes drop momentarily, his jaw working as his gaze lingered over her thigh peeking out from the slit of the dress.
She saw him falter slightly, his knees threatening to give way, but he managed to stay upright and brought his eyes back up to her face.
Rita took one more step, hips tugging against the silk of the dress. She could see Chris's chest rising and falling more rapidly now, but still he said nothing. She paused again, and saw his blue eyes turning gray as need for her was building in him. Was she really going to do this?
She swallowed and let out a slow ragged breath.
Three more slow, measured steps and she was close enough to touch him. But she didn't. He waited. He wouldn't push. He wouldn't presume. "Sam," she rasped, her voice thick with the desire threatening to explode from her. "This is a bad idea, Sam." She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more—herself or him.
"Is it, Rita?" He tilted his head again slightly to one side but still didn't touch her. "If you believe that, if you tell me you don't want this, I will go. Just tell me what you want, Sammy." She could hear the growing urgency of his craving for her underneath the gentleness of his words.
Rita swayed slightly as she felt warmth spreading through her. She didn't trust herself to speak just yet.
"Tell me what you want, Sammy," Chris's husky whisper set off another electrical storm in her stomach. She felt herself edge slightly closer to him, the heat pulsing from his body now reaching her own flesh. "What do you want, Rita?" He whispered again, his voice dropping an octave, his head dipping closer to hers.
Rita swallowed. Ran her tongue over her lips. "You," she finally managed to murmur. And it was only once she heard herself say it that she knew it for sure. Knew that the risk was worth it. She wanted this man—this deeply good, strong, sexy man. This man who showed her he respected her and loved her every day, with gestures large and small. She wasn't sure when her feelings had tipped from friendship to longing, but looking at him here tonight, she knew what she wanted. Christopher Lorenzo. All of him.
"You, Sam," she said more forcefully. "I want you."
She slid her hands onto his chest as she pressed her lips into his. She claimed his mouth as she planned to claim all of him. When she deepened their kiss she felt his arms circle around her, holding her close as a promise: this was where she was meant to be.