Page 23 of Undercover Hearts

"I can picture it," Jenna replied, turning her head slightly. "You in a power suit, commanding the room while I noticed how the candlelight caught in your eyes."

The casual intimacy of the observation—half operational detail, half something that felt dangerously authentic—made Michelle's hands falter.

"Careful," Jenna murmured, "we have an audience."

Michelle tensed, scanning the beach while maintaining her position. Her gaze locked with familiar eyes, and her stomach dropped.

Nicole Padilla, the PWC recruiter who had shown particular interest in Jenna during yesterday's meeting, was setting up a beach chair not thirty feet away. There was no mistaking the recognition in her expression or the deliberate way she waved after catching Michelle's eye.

"Nicole," Michelle said under her breath, hands still resting on Jenna's lower back.

Jenna didn't startle or look around—another testament to her undercover abilities. "Coincidence?"

"Unlikely," Michelle replied, forcing herself to continue the sunscreen application with calm, affectionate strokes that would look natural to observers. "We're under assessment."

"Then let's give her something to assess," Jenna said, rolling over beneath Michelle's hands in a smooth motion that left Michelle's palms resting against her abdomen.

The casual sensuality of the movement, combined with the knowing look in Jenna's eyes, nearly broke Michelle's composure entirely. She could feel warm skin beneath her hands, the gentle rise and fall of Jenna's breathing, the subtle flex of muscles as Jenna reached up to brush a strand of hair from Michelle's face.

"You missed a spot," Jenna said, voice pitched to carry just far enough, fingers trailing along Michelle's jawline in a gesture that would appear affectionate to anyone watching.

Michelle leaned into the touch instinctively, her body responding before her mind could intervene. She was aware of Nicole observing them with calculated interest, aware of their cover requiring authentic intimacy, aware of the dangerous line between performance and reality blurring with each passing second.

"They're testing us," Michelle whispered, maintaining her smile as she traced a path along Jenna's collarbone, spreading sunscreen in small circles.

"Then we'd better pass," Jenna replied, eyes never leaving Michelle's face.

Nicole approached a few minutes later, her timing too deliberate to be casual. "Michelle, Jenna," she called, feigning surprise as she drew near. "What a coincidence! I live just up the beach."

Michelle shifted to sit beside Jenna, one arm draped around her shoulders. "Nicole, nice to see you," she said, injecting warm recognition into her voice.

"Enjoying your Saturday?" Nicole asked, her gaze drifting appreciatively over Jenna.

"Perfect day to show Jenna our new neighborhood," Michelle replied, tightening her hold slightly as Jenna leaned into her side.

"We've been so busy with the business, it's nice to finally relax," Jenna added, her hand coming to rest on Michelle's thigh in a casual gesture that sent tendrils of heat coursing through Michelle's body.

The three women chatted about Phoenix Ridge, the upcoming PWC event, and inconsequential local gossip. On thesurface, it was friendly and ordinary, but beneath ran currents of assessment and performance.

Throughout the conversation, Michelle maintained physical contact with Jenna—fingers idly playing with her hair, hand resting at the small of her back, shoulders touching as they sat side by side. Each touch was deliberate to strengthen their cover, yet Michelle's body responded as if the connection were genuine, heart racing when Jenna pressed a casual kiss to her shoulder during a lull in conversation.

When Nicole finally departed with promises to see them at Sienna's gathering, Michelle felt as if she'd run a marathon. The sustained performance, combined with her body's persistent response to Jenna's proximity, had left her mentally and physically exhausted.

"She was watching for inconsistencies," Jenna observed quietly as they watched Nicole make her way up the beach. "Testing how we interact when we think no one's looking versus when we know we're being observed."

"I know," Michelle replied, voice tighter than she intended. Her skin felt too sensitive, too aware of every point where it connected with Jenna's. The heat of the day, the lingering touch of Jenna's lips against her shoulder, the sustained intimacy required by their cover—it all pressed against her with suffocating intensity.

Jenna studied her face with quiet assessment. "You want to leave."

It wasn't a question. Michelle considered denying it, maintaining their day at the beach for the sake of appearances. But the thought of hours more of this exquisite torture—touching Jenna, being touched by her, all while maintaining the fiction that it affected her only professionally—felt suddenly impossible.

"We've established our presence," Michelle said, striving for a neutral tone. "And we have to prepare for tomorrow's meeting."

Jenna nodded, her expression revealing nothing as she reached for her cover-up. "Whatever you think is best, darling."

The endearment, deliberately chosen and perfectly delivered for any observers, was the final straw. Michelle began gathering their belongings with barely contained urgency, her movements too sharp, too hurried to maintain the relaxed appearance they'd cultivated all morning.

She needed distance. She needed control. She needed space where she wasn't required to touch Jenna while pretending it meant nothing.