Excerpt Reveal: Undercover Lover by Jacqueline Francis

Check out the 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐭 below for the upcoming release for 𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐬 set to release 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡
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𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎
She’s not 𝘶𝘯attractive.
That’s the first thing I think as I take her in…because I’m a man. And that’s what we do. She’s got a decent rack on her, I’ll give her that much, but she’s definitely not…my type. I usually go for tall, leggy models with soft curves and even softer voices. The woman standing in front of me, however, is none of those things. Short, a little stocky, and built like she could probably bench-press me if she tried. Her dark hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail, like a drill sergeant who’s ready to run an obstacle course or…wrestle someone to the ground.
I’m willing to bet she’d prefer the latter.
Nothing about her is delicate or feminine. Maybe her eyes. She’s got really pretty eyes, but those caramel-colored spheres are currently burning a hole straight through me, so they’re no less hostile than the rest of her.
I clear my throat to ease the awkward tension. “What are the chances that your boss is gonna come back here and tell us he’s changed his mind because he’s realized this is the dumbest idea he’s ever come up with?”
“I’d say…roughly zero.”
That doesn’t sound promising, but I persist because I need to find a way out of this. “But you don’t want to put your future career on the line working with someone like me. It’s too risky. I’m not trained for something like this. I’m just going to end up being a liability.”
“Trust me, I already knew you’d be deadweight on this case before we even drove over here, but Detective Collins calls the shots, so…here we are.”
I’ll admit, that stings a little, but the egomaniac in me refuses to accept that I could possibly be bad at anything. So, I’m just going to take that snarky little remark as a challenge. She thinks I can’t do this job, so now I have to prove to her (and anyone else who doubts me) that I can. With my mind made up, I throw myself headfirst into this assignment.
Assignment? See? I’m starting to think like a cop already.
I lean back against the couch, casually stretching my arms over the backrest. “So, do you have a name, or should I just call you Officer Stiff?”
“Lopez.”
“That’s your last name. What’s your first?”
She hesitates, then irritably mutters, “Valeria.”
I let the name roll around in my head for a second. “Valeria,” I repeat, testing it out. “That’s a hard R. Valeria. I dig it. Valerrrrrrria.”
Her eyes shoot another dagger into me. She’s mentally stabbed me about six times already. From this brief interaction, I gather that she’s not much of a talker. Curt and to the point seem to be more her style. But if we’re going to do this, I need her to say more than three words to me.
“Fancy. Sounds like you should be ruling a kingdom, not glaring at me like you’re wishing I’d spontaneously combust and disintegrate into ashes.”
She crosses her arms. “Not glaring. Just waiting for you to start acting like a grown-up so we can get this over with.”
I grin. “Oh, sweetheart, if you’re waiting for that, we’re gonna be here a long time.”
She exhales sharply through her nose. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”
Yeah, she hates me. Which is fine. I can work with that. At least she’s…talking.
“Okay…Valerrrrria,” I say, stretching her name out again just to annoy her, “since we’re supposed to be madly in love, maybe you should tell me a little about yourself. You know, give me some intel.”
“Uh…I’m a cop,” she says as if I didn’t know that already.
“Wow. Riveting. Got any hobbies? Favorite color? Do you eat food, or do you just survive on pure determination and the smell of fear?”
She levels me with a look. “I don’t have time for hobbies. I work.”
Jesus. I’m supposed to fake date a woman who has the personality of a brick wall.
“Well, you sound like a fun time,” I say. “Look, no offense, but if we’re going to convince people we’re a couple, we should at least try to act like we don’t despise each other.”
“Who says I despise you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the open hostility you keep flinging in my direction and the look of absolute disdain on your face.”
“You’re mistaken.” She fakes a smile. “That’s just my face.”
“Charming.”
She exhales as if I’m testing her last shred of patience. “As long as we don’t have to hold hands or kiss or—God forbid—be affectionate, I think we’ll be fine.”
I press my hand to my chest, mock-wounded. “That hurts, Val. And here I thought I was irresistible.”
“Yeah, well, I have quite a high resistance to bullshit.”
I laugh, because okay, that was a good one. “Fair enough. How about we start small and work our way up? First, you need to stop looking at me like I ran over your childhood dog?”
“Fine.” She lets out an aggravated breath and tries her best to adjust the scowl on her face. “There you go. What’s next?”
“I’m gonna put that down as a work in progress because…your face hasn’t changed at all, but we can work on that in conjunction with point two.”
“Which is?”
“Which is…you sorta, kinda need to pretend that you don’t find me…repulsive.”
“I’ve never been good at lying.” She fakes another smile. “But if you put on a shirt, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Deal.”
I head upstairs to my bedroom, shaking my head as I pull a T-shirt from my dresser. She’s got an attitude; I’ll give her that. I tug the shirt over my head, then grab another one before heading back down.
When I reach the living room, she’s still standing there with her arms crossed, scanning the room like she’s looking for threats. It’s like she never takes a second to relax. Without a word, I toss the extra T-shirt at her.
She catches it on reflex, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “What’s this for?”
I drop onto the couch, stretching my legs out. “Maybe if you dress normal, it’ll be easier to slip into character.”
Her frown deepens. “I am dressed normal. This is my uniform.”
“Exactly.” I gesture vaguely at her. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend, not my personal SWAT team. The gun isn’t an accessory my other girlfriends have.”
She groans but pulls the T-shirt on over her uniform, yanking it down to cover her gun.
I watch her for a second, tilting my head. It’s weird, but— “Huh.”
She shoots me a wary glance. “What?”
I shrug. “Wasn’t expecting it, but you look…kinda cute in that.”
She groans again and flops onto the couch, as far from me as possible. “Can we focus?”
I wipe the wide grin off my face and draw my eyebrows together to feign seriousness. “Yes, of course. Mild distraction. I’m razor-focused now.”
She ignores me. “Collins says we need a solid backstory, something believable.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
She leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “So, I don’t know what my undercover name is yet, so let’s call me X for now. We—”
“Wow. X? How imaginative. You thought of that on your own?”
I get visually stabbed for the seventh time before she lets out an irritable breath and continues. “We met at a…diner. They’re probably going to make me a waitress…or a bartender, so—”
“What in the Cinderella bullshit love story are you trying to spin here? It’s unbelievable straight out the gate. It’ll make more sense if you were a talent agent or an exec—”
She swiftly cuts me off. “It’s not about the job. It’s about how easy it is to disprove. You fake an executive role, someone makes one call and I’m exposed. You fake a service job, and no one can pin anything down. A waitress makes sense. High turnover, inconsistent schedules. Restaurants open and close all the time, and there’s no public paper trail. If someone digs, there’s nothing solid to contradict our story.”
I guess that makes sense. “Okay, so you’re waitressing at this diner and I, what? Came in and swept you off your feet with my wit and charm? I have that effect on women, you know?”
She tries her best to suppress a gag. “No. You started a conversation. I wasn’t interested.”
“Mm. See, now that’s where your story loses credibility.” I lean in a little. “A hot movie star walks into your diner, flirts with you, and you…say no? No one’s gonna buy that. Wouldn’t it be more believable if you were fangirling? That’s usually the response I get.”
“Maybe that’s what intrigued you about me,” she says, as if her explanation is more plausible. It isn’t, but I’m trying to humor her. “I didn’t care about your stardom, but you were persistent. You asked me out for coffee. I said no. You asked again.”
I smirk. “Again?”
“Yes.”
“I would never ask again. I have what some would call…self-respect.”
“Well…” She stumbles for a second but quickly recovers. “You made an exception for me. You found my cold, borderline hostile rejection oddly… magnetic.”
I squint at her, trying to make sense of her distorted relationship with reality. “So, let me get this straight. You think I, a man who has women practically climbing over each other to breathe the same air as me, chased you because you were mean to me?”
“Exactly.”
“Sounds like I need therapy.”
“You probably do.”

𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀 ~ 𝗕𝗼𝗼𝗸𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿𝘀 ~ 𝗥𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗷𝗼𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗱𝗮𝘆
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