Wow. Just wow. “Do you speak Japanese?” she asked.
He nodded. “My mother grew up in Seattle and was Japanese, and she taught me both Japanese and English before she died when I was seven. I kept up my studies, no matter where I went. It’s a way to keep a part of her with me.”
Brigid’s heart stuttered. Finally. The real Raider. The more she knew him, the more she liked him, and the worse she felt about the entire situation. Yet she couldn’t stop delving into him. “And your father?”
“A marine who died in action before they had a chance to get married, hence my last name,” Raider said. “I don’t remember him at all, but she sure loved him, so he must’ve been a good man. They were engaged. I hold that close, too.” He leaned back, effectively withdrawing. “All right. Shall we go through my closet for anything that might work?”
She wanted to keep talking and learning about him, but the temptation to see his bedroom was too much to ignore. “Sure, and you don’t have to hide the accent from me.” Okay. Maybe she wanted to hear it again.
“It’s habit by now,” he said, sounding like he came from the Midwest. “This way.” Brushing by her, he moved into the bedroom, and she followed, her heartbeat quickening just enough for her palms to grow a little sweaty. Raider Tanaka’s bedroom.
A big bed with a blue comforter, standard dresser, tables and lamps. And one personal touch. Two pictures on the dresser. She moved to the larger picture, lifting it to see a teenaged Raider with two other boys, a pretty blond girl, and an African American woman with salt-and-pepper hair and smiling brown eyes.
He looked over her shoulder. “Miss A, Hunter, Faye, Mark, and me.” His voice cracked just enough on Mark’s name that she paused and looked at him. “We lost Mark in the line of duty. Faye and Hunter are getting married sometime next year, and Miss A is going strong.” He paused, obviously searching for the right words.
She set it down and picked up the other photo—this one of two boys and two girls, all younger than the kids in Raider’s picture. “These?”
“The next crop of kids to go through.” His smile was soft. “We crossed time there.” Then he sobered and pointed to the cute brunette in the middle. “That’s Wendy. She was with Mark, and when he died, she just took off. I mean, I know she’s safe right now, but I wish she’d reach out.” His smiled widened as he pointed to the tiny blond girl with deep brown eyes. “That’s Michelle, who was always the wild one. Poor kid spent time in foster homes across the entire country, based on whether her mom was clean or not. She’s in Portland now and doing well.”
The fondness in his voice was alluring. Brigid set the picture down. “Looks like a nice group.”
His voice softened. “My family.”
Family. Something told her Raider would do anything for family. Anything for those he loved. “I like that about you,” she whispered.
He blinked. “Like what?”
Instead of answering, she turned and gently placed the picture on the dresser. “Let’s see those uptight clothes of yours, Agent Tanaka.” Trying to force her feelings back into a box, she turned to his closet, because she also knew he’d do his duty, and if he was determined to bring down her father, nothing would make him stop. That put them on opposite sides of their mission, and that didn’t take into consideration her other duties. The ones he had no clue about and didn’t control, which would definitely irritate him. “Please tell me you have jeans that aren’t dark and perfectly pressed.”
He sighed and tugged open the bottom drawer of the dresser, pulling out several faded and ripped pairs of jeans. Everything was neatly folded and color coded. Totally organized. Control freak. “Of course. I mean, come on.”
Those were perfect. The idea of his tight butt in them made her mouth water. She had to get a grip on herself. “Okay.” She opened the closet door and shoved several nice suits out of the way. “Ah, Raider,” she breathed, pulling out a well-worn black leather jacket that was made for long rides on a motorcycle. “This is beautiful.” And so freaking sexy she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him in it.
He took the jacket, his lips curving into a light smile. “We bought them the first chance we could after getting jobs. Hunter’s is dark brown, Faye’s is a light camel color, and Mark’s was a lighter brown.” He took the jacket and shrugged into it, looking like a guy who’d just found home.
Her ovaries flipped over. Just right over and then danced around. “It’s nice,” she croaked, heat flooding her face. “What else is in here?” She buried her head in the closet, seeing more dress shirts and fancy clothes. All hanging perfectly and organized both by color and fabric. Man. The guy really did have control issues. “Where are your T-shirts?” After she’d gotten herself under control, she turned back toward him.
He moved to the dresser again. “Before you ask, I like boxer-briefs. I am not getting tighty-whities, or full-on boxers, or going commando. That’s nonnegotiable.”
His underwear. They were discussing his underwear. Her breasts tightened in total betrayal of her mind. This assignment might actually kill her. Could a woman die from a sexual attraction that was so wrong for her? How was she going to pretend to be his fiancée? Though, that would give her an excuse to touch him. Maybe a little. Just a little. Okay, she’d have to keep it to a little—like just his arm and maybe his tough-guy neck. Or his chest. Just how hard was it?
“Brigid?” Raider turned from pulling out a stack of perfectly folded T-shirts.
What had he asked her? Her mind went blank. “Shoes,” she gasped. “What about shoes?” Loafers wouldn’t do it.
Raider tossed the shirts on the bed and headed for the closet, leaning over her somehow. “Box in the bottom.”
Her breath heated, and she turned, ducking down and pulling out a box. Her butt brushed his knees on the way down, and was that a groan? She glanced over her shoulder and up, and his face was a polite mask. She must’ve imagined it. When she drew the box out, he backed away.
Then she flipped open the top to reveal black cowboy boots—the real kind. No heel, square toe, broken in. “Wow,” she breathed.
He nodded. “They’re good for riding motorcycles as well as moving pipe.”
She shook her head like a dog with a face full of water. “You’ve moved pipe?” The term meant moving sprinklers to water all of a field, and she’d spent half her life doing it for low pay at their farm.
“Yep. In Kentucky, summer job as kids. We didn’t move those fancy ones with the wheels. No.” He smiled at the boots. “We unhooked, lifted, moved, set down, and rehooked them up.”
Good God. Raider Tanaka had moved pipe. She was so far down the rabbit hole, she’d never find her way back up. Had he been shirtless in the sun moving those sprinklers? The idea was almost too much. She stood and handed him the box. “You look so smooth and put together. Fancy,” she murmured.
