Dressing in the T-shirt and jeans that Joe had purchased for her, she left off her panties and bra. That would have to be a sufficient signal of her intentions. She had no sexy slinky dress or nighty to work with. Then she sat on the couch with her second glass of wine to wait. Never mind if he thought her a wino, she needed it to calm her jitters.
Never mind that it wasn’t working.
By the time the door opened and Joe stepped inside with two bags in his hands, she was jumpy enough to spill her wine. All over the white T-shirt. After she got over the rush of embarrassment, she smiled to herself. At least it was white wine.
The wet T-shirt look was perfect.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Joe came over to her, dropping the bags on the entry table. “Looks like that shirt is useless.”
She saw the light of amusement and spark of something far more interested in his eyes as he looked her over. Her nipples were clearly visible in all their aroused glory. Licking her lips, contemplating her next move, wanting to make the most of the moment, she stepped to close the gap between them.
The rap on the door, accompanied by the announcement that room service had arrived, stopped her, stole the moment, decelerated the excitement as surely as stomping on the brakes of a speeding race car.
Joe blinked once then turned to the door. “What did you order? I’m starved.”
She couldn’t answer. Disappointment and pent-up desire coiled and clogged her ability to function. What the hell was wrong with her? She had all night, didn’t she?
Calm down, Mae. Get a grip on your libido before you scare him away.
Joe tipped the young lady delivering the food and set them up to eat in the middle of the room. If he thought anything of the vase of roses and the candles, he didn’t say. Though Joe did light the candles and that was something, enough promise to keep Mae from despair, even when he started talking about his plan to trap Salvatore Vito.
* * *
“In spiteof your best intentions, you’re not going to be bait for Detective Frank Harvey.” Joe tried not to let the unhidden curves highlighted by her wet T-shirt distract him. In fact, he was more determined than ever not to allow her to be put in danger even for a minute. He took a seat at the small table. Mae stood rooted in place as if unsure what to do.
“Maybe you should change your T-shirt.” His voice sounded like gravel. He cleared his throat.
“You’re right. I should. But I’m not going to bother. I don’t have a lot to wear here. This will dry quick enough.” After a second of hesitation, she sat down opposite him, her pretty eyes daring him. “So what’s your plan? How are you going to defy poor Detective Harvey?”
He ignored the tease in her voice.
“I’m going to dress up as you and go over to your house. I’ll have you come out of the studio lot and get in a taxi where I’ll be sitting low in the back seat. Then we’ll change spots. I’m pretty sure they’ll be watching and will follow us back to your house. I’ll get out and you stay low and ride off in the taxi. I’ll go inside and wait there for Sal and his men to make a move.”
“You really think you can dress up as me and fool them?” She laughed.
He knew it wasn’t a foolproof plan, but he’d seen plenty of male officers go undercover as women before.
“I’ll get a wig to match your hair. I’ll wear your sunglasses, carry your bag and wear a stylish trench coat like yours, only larger, and a hat. I’m having one of the ZGT guys drop off the items I need. The taxi will be driven by a ZTG guy. The only time I’ll be vulnerable is getting from the taxi into the house. But I’ll have him pull up close and I’ll move fast—or as fast as I can in heels.”
“And I come back here by myself?” Her voice rose the tiniest bit.
“No. You should go back to the studio. We’ll do it in the morning, at lunch. You’ll be safe at the studio. I’ll stay at the house and if Sal doesn’t show up by, say, seven, I’ll take your car and pick you up at the studio. Your car is still in the garage, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s a Porsche Boxster. It should get you where you want to go, but not inconspicuously.”
“I should have known.” He softened his comment with a smile when her face fell. “I didn’t mean—”
“Never mind. I know what you meant. I have flashy taste. I’m owning it and I’m not apologizing. I don’t need your approval. We have different . . . styles.”
“You could say that.” He was afraid their differences went deeper than a matter of style, but he didn’t say that, didn’t want to get into a difficult conversation. They couldn’t afford the distraction of emotional drama.
You should have thought of that before you slept with her.
His conscience was a tough bitch.
He cut a piece of the aromatic steak that he should be enjoying. “Thank you for ordering this. It’s perfect.”
“What happens when Sal walks into your trap? What do you do then?”