Page 22 of Undercover Hearts
The drive to Phoenix Ridge's main beach passed in heavy silence. Michelle gripped the steering wheel with unnecessary force, her knuckles whitening as she navigated the coastal road. Beside her, Jenna gazed out the passenger window, seemingly content to let the quiet stretch between them.
Michelle had chosen the beach deliberately—a public space where the constant vigilance required to maintain their cover would override any lingering desires from the night before. A strategic decision. Nothing more.
At least, that's what she told herself.
When they arrived, the beach spread before them in a gentle curve of golden sand, the Pacific glittering under the late morning sun. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries carrying on the salt-laden breeze. Families had already claimed prime spots near the water, colorful umbrellas dotting the landscape like wildflowers.
"Let's find a good spot, babe," Jenna said, loud enough for nearby beachgoers to hear as she casually intertwined their fingers. The simple touch sent electricity up Michelle's arm.
Maintaining cover, Michelle reminded herself, forcing a smile as she squeezed Jenna's hand. Anyone watching would see Michelle Rodriguez and Jenna Wolfe, the lovers enjoying a day off.
They settled on a spot that balanced visibility with relative privacy, maintaining their cover while allowing space to talk. As Michelle unfurled their beach blanket, the ocean breeze carried the mingled scents of coconut sunscreen, salt water, and grilling food from a nearby concession stand.
"Perfect day," Jenna murmured, standing close enough for her breath to brush Michelle's ear. The intimacy wasn't for show—no one was close enough to overhear—but Michelle understood. They needed to practice these moments of casual affection until they became second nature.
Michelle nodded, keeping her smile in place with effort as unwanted memories surfaced. Taylor's voice echoed through their living room during their last fight three years ago.
"You can lie to yourself all you want, Michelle, but not to me. I've seen how you look at her."Taylor's face had been flushed with anger and hurt, tears standing in her eyes."You haven't touched me in months, but you light up when Detective Reynolds walks into a room. You're more in love with your damn job than you've ever been with me."
Michelle had denied it vehemently then, insisting the long hours with her attractive junior detective were purely professional. But the divorce papers that arrived a week later proved Taylor had seen what Michelle refused to acknowledge—that her capacity for desire hadn't died; it had simply transferred to someone inappropriate.
Someone like Chelsea Reynolds, and now someone like Jenna Walsh.
Young. Keen. Hot.
Her thoughts scattered like startled birds when Jenna stood and in one fluid motion pulled her sundress over her head, revealing a turquoise bikini.
Michelle's carefully constructed professional mask cracked instantly.
The swimsuit hugged curves that Jenna's work attire had only hinted at. Athletic shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, toned stomach leading to muscular legs that seemed endless in the bright sunlight. The sight hit Michelle with physical force, her mouth suddenly dry and heart hammering against her ribs.
"Would you put some sunscreen on my back, honey?" Jenna asked, eyes twinkling with something that looked like mischief as she held out the bottle. The endearment rolled off her tongue with ease—perfect for their cover, devastating to Michelle's composure.
Michelle took the bottle automatically, suddenly aware of other beachgoers watching them with casual interest. A young couple on a blanket nearby smiled knowingly, the woman leaning into her partner's shoulder with obvious affection.
They were supposed to be that couple. Supposed to show that same casual intimacy. Supposed to make it look real.
But as Michelle stared at the bottle in her hand, she realized her problem wasn't making it look real. Her problem was that it already felt too real—desire curling through her body with insistent heat, memory of Jenna's touch from the night before still burning beneath her skin.
Operation focus. Justice for three victims.The mantra cycled through her mind, failing completely to override the visceral awareness of what came next. She would have to touch Jenna to maintain their cover, all while fighting the attraction that threatened to shatter her control entirely.
Michelle squeezed a generous amount of sunscreen into her palm, acutely aware of every pair of eyes that seemed drawn to Jenna as she stretched out on the towel. A group of college-aged women nearby kept glancing their way, their appreciative gazes lingering longer than necessary. A woman jogging along the shoreline did a double-take, nearly tripping over a child's sand castle.
An unfamiliar heat flared in Michelle's chest—a possessiveness she had no right to feel, yet couldn't seem to suppress. She watched a young woman whisper something to her friend, both laughing as they looked in Jenna's direction,and found herself shifting closer, her body language announcing her claim.
"Ready?" Jenna asked, settling onto her stomach, arms folded beneath her head.
Michelle nodded mutely, though Jenna couldn't see her, and knelt beside her partner's prone form. Her hands hovered momentarily above Jenna's back, gathering courage for what should have been a simple task. Warm skin, smooth beneath her fingertips. The subtle shift of muscle as Jenna adjusted her position.
"That feels nice," Jenna murmured, her voice carrying a husky quality that sent a shiver down Michelle's spine despite the heat.
Michelle worked methodically, trying to keep her touch clinical as she spread the lotion across Jenna's shoulders, down the elegant curve of her spine, around the edges of the bikini top. But there was nothing clinical about the way her fingers trembled or how her breathing had shallowed to quick, controlled sips of air.
"So," Jenna said conversationally, "what was Meridian Heights like? For our backstory."
The question—so practical, so operational—should have grounded Michelle, reminded her of why they were really here. Instead, it felt like two realities overlapping: the fictional relationship they were crafting and the electricity sparking beneath her fingertips.
"Corporate culture, very competitive," Michelle managed, focusing on keeping her voice steady as her hands slid lower, tracing the dimples at the base of Jenna's spine. "Glass towers downtown, expensive restaurants where deals get made. We'd have frequented Emilio's, an intimate Italian place, good for business dinners that turn personal."