Selia had no clue why she’d said any of that, but she couldn’t take it back now. Her cheeks burned and a girlish smile played on her lips. She’d never been able to really flirt in high school or with any of the Family members. She’d had to dance around her words and be careful of what she said around anyone else she’d dated, also. Trying to hide one’s self in the throes of passion wasn’t easy.
This was different, though. This time, she didn’t need to fear someone finding out her secrets and using them against her. It felt refreshing being able to tease and flirt with him without having to worry. Not that she expected anything to come of it. She was a part of the criminal organization he fought. No way would he be interested in her for anything more than a possible one-night stand.
“I was asking to see if I needed to provide you with clothes,” he answered with an unmistakable laugh in his voice. “I would not object to you walking about sans clothing, but it's not a requirement.”
“So does that mean I don't need to question your intentions?” she shot back playfully. “Where's the fun in that?”
“Question them all you want. I like to keep people guessing.”
Selia laughed. It felt good to laugh after everything that had happened. “Perhaps I should, just to see what you would do.”
“Well, unfortunately I wouldn't be able to enjoy the view for long,” he said with a sigh. “I do have work to get to, and sleep, eventually.”
“Pity,” she teased. “Guess that means I'll have to go break into Al's house and talk to him without anyone else finding out where I am. I doubt he'll believe me about Alfi, but at least I can keep him away from Soren. I hope.” She paused, and then became serious. “Or I could help you with your work. Doubt I could be much help for the sleep, though.”
She thought a wicked little twinkle crept into the Sandman's eyes at that last part. He cleared his throat before saying, “I would welcome the help in gathering more information before either you or I move against anyone.”
“All right,” she agreed cheerfully. “Shower, torture you,” she dropped a wink and bobbed her brows continuing, “then I'll visit Al and come back in time to help you gather information before we go to bed.”
So, she probably could have worded that last part a little differently, but she was thoroughly enjoying the banter. Not like she'd ever get to do it with anyone else without worrying about serious repercussions.
Standing, she smiled serenely at the Sandman, hands clasped in front of her as she watched him with an innocent, wide-eyed, angelic expression. That twinkle reappeared in his eyes for a brief heartbeat as he stood, laughing softly. She leaned over and grabbed her duffle bag from beside her on the floor before turning back, still the picture of exaggerated innocence. The Sandman shook his head and chuckled.
“Come on, the bathroom with the shower is upstairs,” he said, draping an arm around her shoulders and walking with her up the stairs.
Chapter Eight
T he bathroom was huge, not quite as large as her old one with Soren, but it was still big. A claw foot tub sat in the corner; a white shower curtain hung around it like sheer veils surrounding a sultan’s bed. The shower fixture shone, as though it were polished daily. Along one wall was a vanity and double sinks, cabinets on each side of the mirror that stretched nearly the entire length of the counter. The toilet was tucked away in a little hole to the side, probably to hide it and put the tub into focus.
Wicker shelving units were nestled in each corner to the right and left of the tub. The shelf to the left, farthest from the shower head, was filled with white and black towels. The one to the right was filled with a wide variety of shampoos, conditioners, and soaps. Small bottles and containers sat on a lower shelf, just barely in sight.
Stripping, Selia padded towards the sink, removing the pins from her hair as she stared at her reflection. A wry chuckle broke free as she surveyed the black smudges beneath her eyes and the hair that had pulled free from the pins. Her brown eyes were tired and there was an imprint of the holster on her shoulders and chest.
How the Sandman could possibly have been aroused despite her unkempt hair and black-smudged tired eyes, she didn’t know. Of course, she wasn’t entirely certain what did arouse a man’s interest outside a scantily clad woman.
She had the typical Amazonian’s figure: Firm, perky, full breasts, a narrow waist, and a firm derrière. Her legs were long and lean and though she had plenty of strength in her arms, it wasn’t obvious. Soren had loved letting her dress up for his parties, and it had helped raise her self-esteem and grow into a confident woman.
Massaging her head with her left hand, her nearly waist-length dark brown hair falling around her in messy waves, she opened one of the cabinet doors with her right hand. Inside were toothbrushes, toothpaste, brushes, and combs. All were on their own shelf in neat rows. Was there anything this man didn’t think of? She wondered as she grabbed a brush and began running it through her hair.
Tangles out, she turned to the tub, a broad grin on her face. A pity there wasn’t time for a good long soak, she thought, as she stepped into the tub and turned on the faucets. Ah, well, maybe she’d have enough time later.
Thirty minutes later, she stepped from the bathroom, wearing a black blouse, black jeans, carrying shoes in one hand, and her duffle in the other. Her hair was pulled back into a braided ponytail, still a little damp.
The main floor was broken into several rooms, she discovered. The door to the basement was in the central hall. The bathroom was to the immediate left of that door. There was a door to the right, another halfway down the hallway, and immediately opposite the basement door was a small foyer. She wasn’t sure what else the house held, but good manners said to not ask. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t explore the house, given the opportunity.
The Sandman had disappeared, and she couldn’t hear him anywhere. Since she needed to find him, she went to the door opposite the bathroom and tried the knob. It opened to reveal a large gym.
It had been two rooms, she decided, from the arched supports in the center that had probably, at one point, been part of a wall. The gym had everything imaginable. She spotted equipment used for weight training and strengthening, a punching bag, and even a large, thick mat that reminded her of the ones at the dojos she’d gone to as a teen.
Reluctantly, she shut the door and padded down the hallway. She was about to try the second door when she heard a noise. Following the sound, she found a small office behind the open door. Bookshelves filled with books of all sorts lined the walls. There were a few tables, a couple chairs and lamps. The room was interesting, but what drew her attention was the Sandman, hunched over a computer screen.
“Anything interesting?” she asked, setting her duffle bag on one of the chairs. “I thought I’d find you before leaving to talk to Al.”
“Yeah, that one actress that slept around on her last movie set is getting booted to the curb by her production company,” he replied dryly.
She snickered. “Guess the film industry doesn't approve of that kind of thing, or at least not when it becomes public knowledge.”
“My guess is that if they really wanted to keep her, they would.” He scratched at his chin under the mask. “Other than that, no companies have suddenly folded, had wild swings in their stock, or lost any senior members. Also, the camera I've got planted outside of Big Al's house hasn't shown any visits from Alfi, or anyone else that would raise concern.”
“He’s at his penthouse?” she asked, pulling a pair of pumps from her duffle bag, and stepping into them.
“He's obviously not at his mansion. Not enough traffic or guards. For a cautious man, he never thinks to make it look more like he's at two places at once.” The Sandman sat back and stretched. “My contacts at his penthouse have him receiving no guests for the past twelve hours. No phone calls from his landline. No clue about his cell phone since they’re harder to tap. He’s had three orders from room service. Last one was an hour ago, and the
big guy was just fine then.”
“Oh, good,” Selia replied, her voice low and cool. “That will make getting in to see him easy.”
“Getting into his penthouse won't be difficult, but it will require a change of clothing.” He glanced back at her, looking her up and down. “You're a size six, aren't you?”
“Good guess,” she replied, curious as to where this was leading. “You keep dresses of all sizes around for the women you rescue?”
“Nah, figured I'd buy you one. Want to keep the blond wig for the night?” he replied casually.
She laughed. “Well, considering how stocked the bathroom was, I had to wonder!” She added with a grin, “Only if you think I should.”
“Well, I think it would be easier to get into the penthouse as the evening's entertainment and her charming handler, rather than punch or shoot our way in.” He glanced at her with mischievous eyes. “As long as that doesn't rub your warrior woman ways wrong.”
Selia shook her head, her smile not fading. “Nope, I think it could be fun. Though I will ask that you let me chat with Al alone, I'd rather not have to use my magic on him. But if I do, I don't want to chance you getting hit, also.” She paused before clarifying. “Glamour, not fireball. Al's related to Soren, so hopefully I won't have to do anything other than talk him into not looking for Soren for a week or so.”
“You presume that Soren didn't call his first cousin on his father's side shortly after you pulled your 'laying on of hands' hocus pocus on him.”
“Yup, that's what he is,” she replied easily. Just how much did this man know about her and her family? “He might have, but I'd rather know for certain. Besides, Al might have some knowledge that I can use.”
It didn't hurt that Al treated her as a beloved niece. He had hosted parties for her, gave her birthday cards, presents, and had even gone to her graduation. They had never been super close, but neither had he ignored her.
“That's fine by me.” The Sandman stood up and clicked his computer's mouse a few times. “I need to get out of this mask anyway. It's starting to itch. Let me make some calls to have the clothes delivered, and I'll take a shower. Then we can prep and suit up.”
“Oh, so I get to see you sans mask?” She purred, her eyes twinkling and an impish smile curving her lips. “Unless you have make-up around here, you might want to add that to the shopping list.”
“Unless you are allergic to the top brands in the business, I think I have you covered.” He paused. “Pardon the pun.”
He walked past her, opening a section of wall that she hadn't noticed as a closet. It revealed a large, old movie-style makeup table and chair, along with racks and racks of high-end cosmetics and facial prosthetics. There were small shelves with wigs as well.
“Try not to play too much while I'm gone, okay?” he teased as he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and made his way out of the room.
“I think I'm in love,” she said with a sigh, sitting on the stool.
She turned to ask him what color dress he was ordering but found only an empty room. Smiling, she began looking through the cosmetics: So many options, so little time. The man was an enigma and one she was growing attached to. Probably not the best idea around, but she hadn't always been known to be the good girl and do what was best. If she had, she'd still be on Temeria and an adviser to the queen and the princesses.
Of course, she wouldn't know what true affection was or learned the truth about a great many things, including what her people were really like. After all, until she'd had a long discussion with Soren, she'd have never known the rulers of Temeria dealt in human trafficking. It was a disturbing fact to learn.
She tucked her braid beneath her blouse and pulled on a bright red wig, tucking her dark brown strands beneath the edge of the hairnet. She studied her reflection and smiled. Red looked good on her, but she needed to do something about the dark circles under her eyes.
A doorbell rang sometime later, startling Selia. She glanced at the computer's old-style LED clock display screensaver and was surprised an hour had passed. She had applied foundation, hidden smudges, and finished her basic makeup routine before starting to explore the drawers and their contents. Selia was waiting to see what color and style of dress the Sandman was bringing her so she could match eye shadow and lipstick to it.
A door opened and conversation exchanged in muted voices. The door closed again sometime later. A minute after that, a man in a very expensive charcoal gray three-piece Armani suit walked into the room, carrying a silk garment bag. His hair was spiked blonde, his handsome face was covered with stubble a week away from a razor, and rimless glasses covered very dark green eyes. There was a mole just above the stubble on his right cheek. He smiled at her.
“Well, red does suit you.” The Sandman, it couldn’t be anyone else, had changed the pitch of his voice. It was higher, more energetic, and upbeat, almost laughing. Selia felt like she was about to be sold a large piece of real estate. “Good thing I bought a red party dress and matching heels, eh?”
Somehow, Selia managed to keep her mouth from dropping. She blinked a few times, trying to get her pulse to stop racing. Damn. He was appealing in the black outfit and mask, but he was downright gorgeous in the suit. Perhaps this was part of the reason Soren had warned her to not trust him?
“Um,” she said, swallowing. “I... I'm glad you, uh, think so.” Geez, she sounded like a high school teen who'd just met her celebrity crush. This was the Sandman. The same damn man she'd been teasing not long ago. That realization helped her. At least to the point of being able to talk. It did nothing for her racing heart and growing desires, though.
Great time for the libido to kick into overdrive, she thought. “Guess it's a good thing you did. Will I need help getting into it?”
He laughed, and when he spoke again, the voice was the Sandman, not some celebrity talk show host combined with a top salesman.
“I will be in the next room if the dress proves to be more than your considerable skills can undoubtedly handle. Before you start getting ideas: no, this isn't what I normally look like.”
He dropped her a wink, handed her the garment bag, and stepped out. The door closed behind him.
“Oh, damn,” she breathed. “If he looks that good like that...” She fanned herself with one hand before turning her attention to the dress. No man should look that handsome.
The dress was a strappy affair with a zipper back and straps that crisscrossed over the shoulders. The silk was smooth as water against her skin as she stepped into it. It had a gorgeous deep v-cut bodice, and with the built-in bra, there was no need for one. She zipped up the back to her waist and stepped into the heels.
Not quite twenty minutes later, she'd finished her make-up and double-checked the wig that she had redone while awaiting the gown. She studied herself in the mirror, making sure the floor length gown fell properly around her. She shifted it slightly and took a few steps back, pleased with the sexy show of her left leg as she moved.
Walking to the door, she opened it and posed in the frame. Jutting her left hip out just enough for her hand to fall onto it, she raised her right slightly above her, so her forearm rested against the frame.
“So? What do you think?” she asked in a soft, husky voice as she fluttered her lashes at him.
“I think you look stunning,” he responded in a voice that was somewhere between the Sandman and the salesman. “I know I am sorry I didn't meet you under different circumstances.”
“Thanks. I have to admit, I feel the same,” she murmured, dropping the exaggerated pose. She reached out a hand and brushed his cheek ever so lightly. “Guess this isn't the time for ideas, huh?”
“No. Unfortunately, now is the time to go over weapons and tactics,” he said with a sad smirk. He kissed her fingers and then placed a small cylinder in her other hand. It was fastened into a Velcro strap.
“Flash bomb. It's smaller than the ones you see in the movies, and the range is little better than s
ix feet. But it's effective. Or would you prefer a compact .45 and a thigh holster?”
“Oh, a thigh holster?” she asked in a soft, purring voice. “That could be fun.” She smiled shyly, adding, “I used to have a knife that I always kept on my thigh, at least until I came here. I've so missed the feeling of having something lethal attached to my leg.”
The Sandman chuckled. He held up a small, hammerless .45 semiautomatic pistol cradled in a nylon thigh holster. The holster, like the gun and grenade rig, was black.
“It's got a six-round clip and there's one in the chamber already. Double action trigger set up. About a six-ounce pull. Good enough? Or would you like a little bit of time on the range with it, first?”
“I wouldn't mind outshooting you on the range,” she teased, taking the thigh holster, and walking away towards one of the chairs in the room. She spoke over her shoulder as she propped up her left leg and slid the holster on. “But it's not needed. Soren let me try any weapon I wanted, and I do so love something that fits easily in a purse. Plus, it was fun seeing his reactions on occasion.”
Chapter Nine
T hey took a cab to one of the high-priced, four-star hotels in the city. The entrance was somewhere between opulent and dull. A black eave covered the entire front of the hotel and a walkway the width of a car in front of the main doors. A pair of doormen dressed in black and gray uniforms stood to each side of the doors.
Selia might have been a part of one of the city’s founding crime families, but that didn’t mean she stayed in four- or five-star hotels on a frequent basis. So having someone open her door caught her a little off guard. Not that she let it show. Pasting a smile on her face, she barely glanced at the man, though she had no doubt he enjoyed the view of her low-cut, cleavage-revealing gown.
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