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Rhianne’s back and shoulders were stiff as she moved around, unpacking her clothes. She was careful to give him room, making sure she didn’t brush against him.
She must have been used to sharing space with other people, from being in the Coast Guard, so what had her so on edge must be sharing space withhim.
“Sweetie?” he said, watching her fight an eye roll at the dumb accent he’d assumed for his part of a husband come thrill-seeking in ‘TJ’. “Wanna rehearse a little?”
“Before our big evening out? Sure,Eli, honey.”
“Okay,Raquel, sweetie. Tell me how long we’ve been married?”
They’d cooked up the story on the drive, where and when they’d met, how long they’d been together. Now they rattled through it again.
“And where we live—make sure you get the details of the property and the area right,” Rhianne cautioned from the bathroom. She emerged. “Do you think this outfit is okay for the bar?”
Eric glanced over and did a double-take. If he’d been drinking something, he’d have done a spit-take.
“The skirt’s too short, isn’t it?” Rhianne turned to go back into the bathroom.
“No!” Eric caught her arm. “It’s perfect. I mean, just short enough.”
The woman knew how to play the part of a wife on the prowl. Her leather mini was so short that he wasn’t sure if she’d be able to bend over in it let alone sit down without giving everyone a free show. The white top she’d paired it with was sheer and tight and left a sliver of her midriff exposed. Then there were her magnificent breasts, which seemed to be fighting to bust out of the low V-neck. The look had him shifting against the sudden tightness in his pants. Rhianne wore makeup, her full lips even plusher now they were a glossy dark pink, and her hair was loose, a mass of blonde waves.
“Eric?”
The way she said his name told him he’d missed something she’d said.
“Should we discuss how we’re going to get information?” Rhianne repeated.
He nodded, thinking she wouldn’t have any difficulty in getting any man to talk looking like that. “Talk on the way,” he replied, checking his watch. “Let’s head out.”
Outside, the streets were already filling up with revelers making their way into the bars and clubs on both sides of the wide street. Eric reached out an arm to loop around Rhianne’s waist and pull her to his side, out of the way of a trio of men who were paying more attention to the women outside one establishment than they were to passersby, and again Rhianne startled.
“Warn me when you’re going to do that!” she ordered in a low voice, out of the side of her mouth.
“Let’s start holding hands,” Eric suggested, out of the side ofhismouth, and at Rhianne’s answering nod, went to slot his fingers in between hers…to find she’d already gone to spear hers through his. A short tussle ensued, both of them trying to get their thumbs on the outside before their hands fit together.
“That’s more like it,” Eric commented, curling his fingers around her hand in victory. He stroked his thumb along the back of her hand, enjoying the feel of her soft skin and the sight of her smaller hand in his. Smaller, but very capable, he knew.
“Now to try walking in step,” he said. After a few tries, they managed it, for the rest of the short walk to the Cantina de Zorro, which was as kitsch as its name suggested.
“Sweetie!” Eric exclaimed in delight. “Just our kinda place!”
“Yeah, the music’s pumping, and the margaritas come in pint glasses.” Rhianne rubbed her hands. “And so many different beers!” She pointed over at the bottles on the shelf behind the bar. “How many are you gonna try tonight?”
“Oh, I wanna try some of those typical Mexican snack things. You know, the stuff like tapas?” Eric replied, leading her farther inside.
It was the sort of establishment that men openly ogled Rhianne and made remarks about Eric. “What did that guy call me?” he asked Rhianne, covering his mouth with his hand.
“You…don’t want to know,” she replied. “And anyway, ‘Raquel’ doesn’t understand idiomatic Spanish.”
Unlike Rhianne, who was fluent—a fact that they intended to mostly hide, to better eavesdrop on the locals. She’d only admit to knowing enough Spanish to hold a halting conversation.
“Sweetie, darts!” Eric gestured at the back, where there was a board on the wall. “I don’t know what they call it here, but come on!”
A crowd soon gathered to watch them play, cheering Rhianne on and commiserating when she missed. Soon they were making mock bets on each throw. Rhianne joining in, whooping with laughter and her speaking a few phrases in heavily accented Spanish while seeming to misunderstand what was being said got the spectators loosened up. She nudged Eric, telling him it was time to make a move.
“Oh, you’re no competition!” Eric complained. “Well, I bet no one here is. Any of you punks feeling lucky enough to take me on?” It had to be one of the worstDirty Harryimpressions ever, and Eric wanted to groan at it.
The way Rhianne half-mistranslated that for the crowd got them sniggering, but that Eric was issuing a challenge seemed to get across and a young guy stepped up to applause and cheers from the group.
