Rough Cut

By Caitlyn Willows

The only thing six months of undercover work have gotten FBI Special Agent Tony Driscoll is a chronic case of the hots for Blythe Smithers—an itch he definitely decides needs scratching.

Blythe's been waiting for Mr. Right, but what harm is there in a little fling with the sexy massage therapist while biding her time?

A tryst turns into teamwork as Tony and Blythe search for smuggled diamonds—a fortune someone is willing to kill to possess. As love nudges lust aside, can Tony and Blythe live long enough to enjoy it?

NOTES: Re-release, previously titled Undercover Lover, re-edited and better than ever!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caitlyn Willows
• Release date: Apr 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386857020

Caitlyn Willows

Blessed (or cursed) with a vivid imagination, award-winning author Caitlyn Willows eventually learned to turn that talent inward. Readers will find deep emotions and sizzling sensuality seamlessly woven into her action-filled stories. Believing life is to be lived and felt, not merely watched, Caitlyn delivers real-to-life characters in unforgettable tales of love, adventure, and always steamy passion. No one is more surprised than she at the direction life has taken her. She is also a mosaic artist and an avid crafter with a passion for cross-stitch. Caitlyn lives in the beautiful desert of Southern California with her husband (a genealogist). She is always on the lookout for the next interesting tidbit that will help fill her writing well.

Book preview

Rough Cut

By

Caitlyn Willows

Copyright 2005, 2016 – Caitlyn Willows

Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

Editor: Ann Curtis

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. The author’s books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in BDSM titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. The author is not responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

About The Author

Chapter One

Blythe didn’t know whether to bless the week of freedom from her boss or curse it. Stephanie had piled up as much work on Blythe’s desk as if she were actually there. Maybe even more.

She rifled through yet another mismatched stack of papers and notes Stephanie had left. It was the fourth pile she’d found since she arrived at work three hours ago. Heaven forbid Stephanie use a computer. She depended heavily on Blythe for all things that involved the use of one—maintaining the accounts, researching suppliers, drafting proposal layouts, and handling the billing.

Stephanie claimed her mind worked too fast for the electronic world. The truth was she didn’t have the patience to sit still long enough to learn something new when it came to technology. However, Stephanie had little problem using her smartphone. The thing was almost permanently glued to her ear and hand while she scribbled notes on whatever scrap of paper she could find.

It wasn’t the best way to organize a business, with Stephanie constantly distracted. But her system, such as it was, worked for her. Very successfully too. Blythe liked to think that was due in part to her organizational skills. So far, she’d outlasted all of Stephanie’s previous assistants by three months. Their loss was her gain.

Crazy as it was at Cambridge Designs, Blythe had learned more about interior design in the six months she’d been here than she had in all those years of college. The stress was enough to make a saint swear, but the experience made up for it in spades.

Considering the volume of notes spread out before her, Stephanie must have spent the weekend writing them. Blythe prayed she wouldn’t slow down long enough to call. Dealing with Stephanie in person was hard enough. On the phone, it was impossible. At least the week without her would be calmer and give Blythe a chance to catch up. Clients’ calls were fewer with Stephanie gone. They wanted to deal with the owner, not the help.

She flipped the stack over to start at the bottom, where Stephanie’s first instructions should be.

Fabric swatches, Jensen’s living-room furniture.

Order drapery fabric, Dr. Sanchez. Two orders—home, office.

Earth to Stephanie. That had been last week, and the fabric was already here—a beautiful cream damask for the office, blue-violet for home.

Confirm delivery, Carters.

She sorted each note into the piles she’d started earlier. There has to be a good five-hundred messages here.

At least.

She jumped at the sound of Tony Blake’s voice. Papers exploded from her hand and scattered on the desk.

She scowled at him. He merely smiled.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.

Blythe forced herself to look away. The man was eye candy, and she’d been craving a taste since the first time she’d seen him. Blond hair dusted his collar and complemented his brown eyes. He had a body sculpted to perfection and made for exploring and the dark T-shirt to show it off. A ready smile, pleasant personality, and quick wit only added to her distress.

She hated the effect the man had on her. At least she didn’t go all quivery in the knees when she saw him anymore. That was one saving grace, because he wasn’t her type. Too rough around the edges. She still wanted him more than she cared to admit. And she hated herself for that.

She shuffled the papers back together to sort them once more. What are you doing here?

He leaned into her space and braced his forearms on the edge of her cluttered desk. It was a common ploy of his to gain her attention. She’d seen him do it more than once.

You’re joking, right? I come here every day at this time.

She almost smacked her forehead but caught herself in time. How could she forget? For the first few weeks she’d worked here, she’d waited with bated breath for his arrival. That lasted as long as it took her to realize that anything between them wouldn’t work out. He was for play, not for keeps. Blythe didn’t have time for games, and his easy charm screamed playtime and little ambition. Good masseurs were worth a mint. Why didn’t he have his own place? She didn’t like the door-to-door thing at all. The Cambridges felt that made him exclusive. To Blythe, exclusive meant office, receptionist, safety, security.

Notes piled everywhere?

Stephanie’s gone this week to a conference. She tried her best to ignore him, but the scent that was uniquely his—a hint of spicy aftershave and male—wafted over her, making her tingle in places she wished she could ignore.

Odd. She normally lets me know, so I can schedule someone else in her place.

She decided to go at the last minute when her husband had the chance to go with her.

And she didn’t leave a note for you to let me know?

Blythe sighed. What did it matter? Why the hell couldn’t he take his testosterone-laden body out of here? She fanned through the papers. Sure enough, there it was, buried deep in the muck, written on a paper napkin.

Cancel Tony this week. Me and Gavin.

Shit.

Blythe tossed the napkin in front of him. You’re cancelled for this week.

He gave it a cursory look, then wadded it up in his big hand and tossed it in the wastebasket behind her desk. His aim was flawless.

Too bad you didn’t tell me sooner. I’m still going to have to charge for today.

Stephanie was going to have a cow. She wasn’t a tightwad, but she hated to waste money. Blythe had bitten her tongue on more than one occasion. What was more frivolous than a daily massage? But then, it was the one relaxing thing Stephanie did. Blythe couldn’t fault her for that. Envy her, yes. Lying there naked. Tony’s big hands, wandering everywhere.

Blythe shook off the image and let another replace it. Stephanie blaming herself for not being more diligent and telling Blythe over and over how it was her fault, not Blythe’s. She didn’t have the patience to listen to it.

There’s no need. She pulled open her desk drawer and hauled out her purse. I’ll pay your fee.

And Gavin’s too?

She glanced up. The son of a bitch was smirking at her. She hated that come-fuck-me look in his liquid brown eyes. It stirred her lust. Who was she kidding? Everything about Tony Blake made her want him.

That’s two hundred dollars, you know.

I’m well aware. It was worth every penny for the peace and quiet it would give her raging hormones. Even now her nipples rasped against her bra, pleading for his attention. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.

She scribbled out the check and thrust it his way. There you are. Have a nice day.

Not so fast there, sunshine. He snagged her hand and tugged her to her feet. I don’t take charity. You paid for a service, and you’re going to get it.

Blythe yanked free. No, no, no! The last thing she needed was those long fingers dancing over her naked flesh. Heat pooled to her crotch. Damn. Her body betrayed her. Dampness soaked her panties, making them stick to her.

If you think I’m going to allow you to lay hands on me—

Grow up, he scoffed. I’m a professional.

A professional what? That’s what I’d like to know.

You can’t hurt my feelings by trying to insult me, sunshine. But I’m shocked you’d think Stephanie would do anything not aboveboard.

He pointed to the private office, then grabbed his portable table in one hand and a black leather duffel bag in the other. Come on. Time’s wasting. She keeps a robe on the back of the bathroom door. Strip down and be quick about it.

I know the procedure, Tony.

Then hop to it. Come on. I want to make sure you get your money’s worth. God knows, if anyone needs a massage, it’s you.

She whirled around and smacked into his hard body. Her palms landed on his unyielding chest. They itched for a chance to explore. Somehow she summoned the wherewithal to push away.

What’s that supposed to mean? she snapped.

He hooked his duffel strap over his shoulder and steered her toward the door. It means I’ve never seen anyone wound up tighter than you. Tension pours from you. Indulge me. You’ve paid for two sessions. Take them. It’s one hour out of your busy day. Your lunch hour. And you never eat lunch.

He had her there. Most days she worked through lunch just to keep up with Stephanie. Her only concession was lunch once a month with her best friend. Blythe didn’t know whether to be flattered or irked that he’d noticed. But it seemed he was determined to get his way. She didn’t have the energy to battle him. The sooner she got him out of here, the sooner she could get back to work.

All right. Be quick about it.

That’s a first. Never had someone say that to me. Can’t you relax and enjoy it? So far, I’ve never had any complaints.

There’s always a first time.

Blythe hurried on before he could see the flush in her cheeks. She hated his veiled reference to sex. Had it been intentional or her lust on overload? Her traitorous body tightened at the very notion of spending time getting hot and sweaty with this man. Now he’d be touching her. She shivered at the thought and ducked into the bathroom.

Stephanie’s white satin robe was on a hook behind the door. A small closet beside it held empty hangers. Blythe stripped down to skin and hung up her clothes with shaking hands. Her heart raced with anticipation. As she slipped her arms into the heavenly soft garment, the fabric brushed against her nipples, making them tighten all the more.

She drew in a breath and stared down at them. I didn’t take you out to play.

Her body ached for attention. She was ripe for a good lay. Trouble was, she couldn’t find one to save her life. Not that she’d looked. Work was her life. A mini-Stephanie in the making. The comparison rankled.

Closing her eyes, she rubbed her palms over her nipples. God, it felt good. Her clit throbbed for equal attention. She brushed her fingers down her belly, aiming to please. A knock at the door froze her.

I don’t have all day, sunshine.

Jerk.

Blythe smiled. Maybe he was good for something after all. Maybe a boy toy wasn’t such a bad idea. A little diversion to ease the tension. Someone like Tony would do well. He’d be gone before she could blink twice. Men like him never stayed around to tangle up a woman’s life.

But she sure as hell wasn’t going to go in there begging. Let him make the moves. She never knew a man yet who’d turned down sex. They never needed a reason to get laid, just a place.

I’m coming. Keep your shirt on. She hoped to be coming soon too, and she didn’t give a damn whether the shirt was on or off. It was his pants that needed to go.

Blythe whipped open the door. Tony had drawn the golden linen drapes in her absence and flicked on the overhead fluorescents. They hummed in unison with the hot blood zinging through her veins. His padded table was set dead center. A sage-green flannel sheet covered it. Another was folded back in invitation. He wore a black leather holster around his waist. A blue pump bottle peeked up from its pouch. A minor obstacle. She could have it off him in the blink of an eye and him crawling all over her in record time.

I have a CD of spa music for clients, but since Stephanie doesn’t care for that, I left it in my truck. I can get it if you’d like.

Not necessary. I’m ready. In more ways than one. She yanked open the robe and let it fall in a white puddle around her feet.

Tony’s eyes widened. He quickly masked his reaction, turning to peel the top sheet down. When he faced her again, a full erection swelled his jeans.

Glad to see you’re not shy. Crawl up. He patted the table. Facedown.

Though he’d left her ample room, Blythe edged close enough to brush her backside against his cock. It was big and hard, just the way she liked them. Once she stretched out, she hid her grin in the face cradle.

Tony draped the sheet over her, then folded the top down to her hips. The delicate scent of almond oil drifted to her. She heard him scuff his palms together, but the sound didn’t prepare her for the feel of his hot hands touching her back. She sucked in a breath through her teeth.

Too hard? he asked.

God, no. Just fine. Go on.

Don’t worry about being a mess. The oil will soak in.

She gave him a noncommittal Hmm and closed her eyes.

He spread the oil evenly in long, sweeping motions over her shoulders. The perfect touch. Not too soft. Not too hard. Muscles caved beneath his kneading fingers. Her body quivered for more.

A trace down the sides of her spine loosened her vertebrae. His thumbs melted the tension away from her lumbar. He swept his hands up in circular formation. Down her sides, over her ribs.

Blythe twitched against the tickle.

Sorry. Didn’t know you were ticklish. I’ll be more careful.

Up to the shoulders and down again, adjusting the sheet to reach her buttocks. Heat spread to her clit, swelling it all the more as he worked oil into her backside. Up again to the spine and down to the crevice between her cheeks, to the tip of her tailbone, then around the bottom curve of her butt.

She parted her legs ever so slightly.

More oil. That sound of rasping hands. He cupped her thighs in each hand, thumbs inside. Inch by inch he wandered downward until he reached her feet. He picked one up and massaged each toe, slow and precise. Then he did the same to the other. Working both hands on one leg, he made his way north.

He paused just shy of her crotch, then circled her butt and worked down the other leg. Blythe opened her legs a little wider. Again, he paused before cupping her butt, and she swore he gave her a little flick before moving upward.

She bit back a cry and forced her breathing to stay normal.

Tony’s hands spanned her shoulders and came down her sides, brushing the edges of her breasts. She swallowed hard. Where had the sheet gone? She didn’t care.

Lower once more. To her thighs, inside and out, inside and out, always missing what she desperately needed touched.

Why didn’t he make a move? Why didn’t he...

He traced his fingers to the end of her spine. Paused. Turned his hand and cupped her thigh.

Shock waves shot through Blythe. She jerked her head up. Good God, would you just...

Tony took a big step back. Just what?

Never mind. The massage is over. Pack up and go.

She swung down from the table, snagged her robe from the floor, and hurried to the bathroom. Jerk. He knew damn well what he’d been doing. Damn well.

Safe behind closed doors, she sank down onto the black-and-white tile. The cold did nothing to shock her system back to normal. She needed an orgasm, and she