Undercovers Read Online Free PDF Page B

tracking him for weeks, but he hasn’t been in the club since the last murder. I have Kris following up with some of my contacts on the street, but for now all we can do is wait until he returns.”
    Great. Just when she thought she could retire her stilettos.
    She turned to the door, ready to make her escape. “All right then. That’s all I had, so if you’re done, I will see you tonight at the clu—”
    “Wait.” Her hand stilled on the door knob and she turned around to face him. “How old are you again?”
    She wrinkled her brow. “That’s an odd question.” She gestured towards his desk. “Besides, you know how old I am. It’s there in my file.”
    “So you were fully matured in the 1850s?”
    Her eyes narrowed. “You’re hedging. What are you really trying to ask me?”
    “I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just that you remind me of someone.”
    She stilled, her heart thumping faster. “Really? I’m impressed that you can remember any of your conquests, given that there are so many.”
    “This isn’t a joke.” He pinned her with those piercing eyes of his. “Were you living in New Orleans in 1858?”
    She laughed, hoping it masked her nervous jitters. There was no way he knew. “That’s a silly question. Probably. I was born in New Orleans. If you give me a date—”
    “February 14, 1858.” He stalked towards her. “I met a woman—”
    “And I’m guessing she slept with you,” she said dryly.
    He ignored her barb. “She did, only to save my life. I was her first—”
    “And I’m sure that’s a distant memory for most of the women you’ve slept with. No wonder she’s memorable—”
    “Jasmeene.” He warned.
    She held up her hands. “Okay. Okay.”
    “We were at a masquerade ball. It was dark. I never saw her face, never even got her name. I looked for her, but it was as if she vanished. She was human—” His eyes narrowed. “Or so I thought.”
    Silence blanketed the room and her eyes widened when she realised what he was implying. “What? You think that girl was me?”
    “Was it?”
    She stared at him. “You’re serious?”
     “You remind me of her.”
    “Well since you didn’t see her face, didn’t catch her name, I’m guessing we move the same in bed,” she quipped dryly and his eyes glinted with anger at her flippant response.
     “You know what? Forget it. Now that I think about it, you’re nothing like her.”
    She bristled at the backhanded insult, every emotion she’d bottled inside her since that night years ago now threatening to spill forth. “Why? Is it because I don’t look at you with adoration in my eyes, or whisper tenderly against your ear, or throw myself at you with wild abandon and stupid naiveté?”
    He stood there frozen, his eyes boring into her, but she gave him nothing, not one emotion, not even a single flinch.
    She shrugged, shattering the tense silence that hung over them. “Nope, if she was anything like that, then I am definitely not your girl,” she said airily and breezed out of his office.
    She maintained her composure all the way to the ladies’ room. But once inside, she barricaded herself into an empty stall, forcing air into her burning lungs. She didn’t know if she was happy he remembered her or pissed—pissed that it had taken him so long to see what had been staring him in the face all this time.
     
    Roarke stared at his office door, his hands curling into fists, his body trembling like a leaf. He’d been drawn to Jasmeene from the moment she’d joined the unit several months ago, and if she was who he suspected she was, then that would explain why. But she couldn’t be? It was impossible.
    The moment their lips touched, he’d suspected. But it was last night—the way she moved beneath him, her wet warmth clenching around him, the throaty hitch in her voice just before she came—that made him think she was the one. The woman he’d been longing for over a century and a half.