A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney #2)(26)

She braced one arm against the door frame. “That’s the longest you’ve gone without talking since we met, Brooklyn. I take it you like the dress.”

Busted.

Nick regrouped. “Don’t get too cocky. I was just trying to figure out where we’re going to stash a microphone in that thing.”

Jordan stepped aside as he entered her house and shut the door behind him.

Nick’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets.

My God, the back of her dress . . . it dipped invitingly low, practically begging him to stare at her ass.

“What’s this about me wearing a microphone?” she asked.

He blinked cluelessly. “Excuse me?”

“You said I’m wearing a microphone?” she prompted him.

Right. The microphone. Undercover op. “It’s just a precautionary measure. I want to be able to hear you and Eckhart talking while I’m downstairs in his office.” Nick reached inside the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a wireless, quarter-inch-sized microphone. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Jordan examined it curiously. “I can’t believe how small it is.”

“It picks up voices from fifty feet away, even through clothing. All you need to do is tuck it inside your bra.” His eyes went to the V of her neckline. “Assuming you’re wearing a bra with that dress.”

“Nope. Just Band-Aids over my ni**les.”

Six years working undercover for the FBI, another five years on NYPD vice, but damn if Nick had a clue how to handle that predicament.

Jordan grinned. “I’m kidding.” She twirled her finger. “Turn around.”

He complied. Don’t think about her ni**les. Don’t think about her ni**les.

He was thinking about her ni**les.

“Are you done yet?” he asked brusquely. Perhaps things would go faster if he lent her some assistance . . .

“I think I’ve got it,” Jordan said from behind him.

Nick turned around and watched as she adjusted her neckline, making sure her bra was hidden once again.

She straightened up and faced him. “What do you think? Good?”

His eyes roved over her. Good was putting it mildly. But instead of answering, he gestured to the door. He’d seen the car waiting for them out front, and it was time to go. “Ready for this?”

Jordan took a deep breath. “No. But I’ll do it anyway.”

BECAUSE OF ALL the wine they’d be offered at Xander’s party, Jordan had rented a Town Car for the evening. It was what she did every year, and Nick had emphasized that it was important for her to stick to her routine as much as possible.

Sitting in the backseat next to him, she tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She officially was about to take part in an undercover sting operation, and an excess of nerves could only hinder her objectives tonight. Previously, the closest to danger she had ever come had been the time a drunk, homeless man wandered into her store and knocked over a display of syrah before passing out on the floor. Really, though, the only danger had been that she would step on a piece of glass or stain her shoes as she cleaned up the mess, as the man had been so inebriated he hadn’t woken up after his dramatic entrance. And Martin had been there to protect her, standing over the man with a loaded bottle of Côtes du Rhône until the police had arrived.

Jordan looked at Nick, who she suspected was carrying something far more powerful than a Côtes du Rhône. Although where he could fit a gun in that perfectly tailored suit was anyone’s guess.

He’d shaved for the evening, and centered in his chin was a small cleft she hadn’t noticed before. The back of his dark brown hair brushed against the collar of his coat—he’d gotten a haircut as well.

When he had arrived at her house, there’d been a moment when she’d been struck by how refined and handsome he looked in his dress coat and suit. He would blend in at Xander’s party without any problem. Interestingly, however, she thought she liked him better with the scruff and jeans. Thank God he annoyed her a good ninety-five percent of the time they were together, because she had absolutely no intention of being attracted to Nick McCall. Stanton. Whoever the heck he was that night.

He caught her looking at him just as the car pulled up in front of Bordeaux. The driver got out and walked around the car to Jordan’s door. Nick studied her carefully, as if gauging her mood.

“So this is it.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a slight shake to her voice. The driver opened the door and she shivered when the cold, February air rushed into the car.

Nick leaned forward to address the driver. “We’ll need just a moment.” He pulled the door shut to give them some privacy.

He spoke quietly. “Jordan, look at me.”

She did, and he held her gaze.

“You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

She nodded, finding comfort in his steady tone. “Okay.”

Then he put his hand on her chin and moved closer—wait, was he going to kiss her?—and she felt the warmth of his breath against her neck as he whispered in her ear.

“But if anything goes wrong tonight, find the red-headed bartender. She’s a friend.”

Jordan’s eyes flew open. Wrong?

She didn’t have time to ask what could possibly go wrong, because Nick pushed open the door and the driver automatically reached for her hand. So she put on her game face and stepped out of the car. Nick followed, and together they walked to the restaurant’s front door and stepped inside.