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him.
    He once again looked at Isabel, who was making her way back to their table clutching two drinks in her hands. As usual, her hair was puffed all out in a punky style, and her full lips were ruby-red with lipstick.
    â€œBetter drink up for strength,” she said as she sat down next to him. “It’s going to be a long night for you.”
    He knew she was referring to the fact that Bart, the owner and bartender of the place, had given Adam the job of cleaning up after hours.
    The pay was cash under the table and a discount on their room. Although Isabel and Adam needed neither, it was part of the facade they wanted to maintain.
    â€œYeah, just think of me when you’re all snuggled in bed and I’m down here slaving to keep you in cheap, tacky outfits,” he said.
    She laughed. “At least these cheap, tacky outfits of mine keep me blending in with the female patrons of this place.”
    â€œI suppose,” he replied, his irritation rising once again. As far as he was concerned, there was no way she blended in. Throughout the past week women had come and gone from the bar, but none of them had been as pretty, as sexy or as compelling as Isabel.
    â€œI’m beginning to think this whole scheme is nothing but a waste of our time.” He scowled into his drink.
    â€œThat’s not true.” She leaned into him, her body warmth raising his internal temperature substantially. “We’ve learned about the Patriots, and we didn’t know anything about them before this.”
    â€œWe still don’t know anything about them,” Adam whispered in return. “Ben hasn’t been able to find any information on them, and we sure as hell don’t know if they had anything to do with your father’s kidnapping.”
    His tone was sharp and she flinched beneath the rancor in it. Instantly he was sorry. He drew a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair, steadying himself. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to yell at you. Dammit, I’m just getting frustrated.”
    â€œI know. So am I.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, only serving to make matters worse.
    He wondered vaguely why she couldn’t sense hissimmer, smell the scent of an imminent explosion. It was growing more and more difficult to think of anything other than how badly he wanted to taste her mouth again, how much he wanted to touch her.
    He eased himself away from her, grateful that she dropped her hand and straightened in her chair, taking her heat, her scent and her nearness away.
    They sat side by side until closing time, sipping their drinks and playing the roles they had undertaken as Bella and Adam Wilcox.
    When the bar closed, Isabel went upstairs and Adam began the task of cleaning the tables. Bart had left him alone with the instructions to clean the tables, wash any dirty glasses and sweep the floor.
    Adam set to work, dreading the time when he would go upstairs to the room where Isabel slept and conform his body to what had become a torture device…that damnable lumpy chair.
    He’d slept on hammocks, on the ground and on hard narrow cots, but nothing had kept sleep at bay like that chair. He wondered vaguely if his nightly restlessness was due to the lumpy stuffing of the chair or the fact that Isabel was so near, wearing that sexy lilac nightgown and a scent that drove him half wild.
    How much longer could he do it? How much longer could he be tormented by Isabel and this mock marriage without overstepping the boundaries of propriety? How long could he be strong enoughnot to follow through on his enormous desire for her?
    He’d finished with the tables and dishes and was sweeping up the floors when he heard a key in the front door. He turned, tensed and was surprised to see Blake Hariman walk in.
    The big man filled the doorway and Adam eyed him warily, wondering what was going on. Was this some sort of a set-up? As Adam watched, Blake closed the door and