Power Play: A Romance Collection

by Lauren Landish

  He claps Bryce on the shoulder, and I can see the puzzle pieces clicking into place. The desire to not believe is quickly overriding whatever gossip he’s heard.

  As Caleb leads Bryce out of the room, I glance back to see Maddy poking her head out from under the desk. Very clearly, I mouth out, “Stay away from my brother.”

  Her nod is enough answer. Bullet dodged.

  At least it had been that time, I think as I come out of the memory. But Caleb and I have been through a lot of shady shit, both with women and with missions.

  But the one constant? Each other.

  “Caleb, I need to talk to you about something,” I broach carefully.

  But he knows me, knows that tone and can read me like a fucking Dr. Seuss book. Easily.

  “Spill it.”

  “So, between the party and the date,” I say, giving in because semantics are the least of our issues right now, “I did some digging. Something felt off about Kitty’s explanation, so I looked into her.”

  He points at me, finding a chair and sitting down. One ankle rests on his other knee, the epitome of chill, but I know he’s fully engaged. “Smart. What’d you find?”

  I sigh. “There is no Kitty Williamson with Mostest Hostesses. Dug all around, and nada, so I called her on it last night.”

  Caleb sputters, out of his chair almost as fast as he’d gotten into it. “Dayum, right for the throat. What’d she say?”

  “She said it was a pseudonym for the job and that she was covering for a girl who had car trouble.”

  His eyes narrow, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. “You believe her? Or want me to do some more digging?”

  His words seem off-hand, but the double-meaning of whether I want him to investigate or actually dig a hole for her is intentional and slick. It’s one of the things he’s so good at, even if we’ve both left the grittier side of our mercenary work behind in favor of more above-board actions for the company. I wonder if Caleb misses living in the dark a bit, though, even if he does still do some grey area gigs for us.

  “I’ve got it,” I tell him decisively, not wanting to allow for any miscommunication where Emma is concerned. “We talked . . . a lot. Her real name is Emma. She’s an actress and works as an assistant to an archeologist at NYU.”

  Caleb’s lips curl. “How convenient. Lara Croft just happens to drop by our party.”

  I nod. “I know. She even admitted the combo was unusual and that Tomb Raider is her favorite movie.” I let the acknowledgement marinate for a beat. “But I tested her and her knowledge seemed genuine. We’re going out again today, more prep for the dinner with Nikolai, and I confess, I want to challenge her story more.”

  Caleb sets his coffee cup on the edge of my desk, leaning forward and staring into my eyes. “Why? Why not just wash your hands of her? Go to the dinner with Nikolai, or fuck, cancel the whole thing. Maybe this is a sign, a complication you need to be paying attention to.”

  Though I try to stay stoic, he sees the truth.

  “You fucking like her!”

  He begins pacing the room. “Goddammit, Nathan. First, the whole obsession with Dad’s papers, his maps and fairy tales. Then, you’re working with the Russians to fulfill Dad’s last mission, like it’s his dying wish. And now, some skirt has you following along like a fucking hungry dog on a leash. What the hell is going on? This isn’t like you, man. You’re always solid, tight. But you’re pussying out on me, and we can’t afford that now that you’re a big-shot businessman! Why can’t you just run the damn company and call it good?”

  The accusation stings. It’s not like I wanted to give up the hard life, trade in my combat boots and M4 for a suit and laptop. The truth is, I’d rather be doing what Caleb is, wearing tank tops and getting my hands dirty still . . . but we all have duties.

  “I’m not going fucking soft! But yes, I like her. There’s something about her that intrigues me.”

  Caleb laughs darkly. “That’s why they call them honey pots. Her job is to entice you, whether that’s as a hostess or just as a fucking woman who sees a fat wallet. Seems like someone pretty smart told me that once.” He raises a brow, throwing my own words back at me. “But she’s not even the problem, just a symptom. Nathan, this is about Dad. And you and me. We’ve got a good thing going here now. Why can’t you just walk away from the whole damn thing about Dad’s diamond?”

  I shake my head, wishing I could explain this in a way Caleb would understand and accept. “I can’t do that. I need to see this through.”

  Caleb shakes his head too, mirroring me in so many ways but on the other side of the field this time. It’s uncomfortable, for us both, I suspect. “Dad thought he was some Indiana Jones come to life. Always chasing adventure and some treasure that probably didn’t even exist. He lived in maps and history. Why do this for a Dad you didn’t care about and who didn’t care for us? I don’t get it. Just let it go. All of it.”

  He plops into the chair, looking as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

  But it’s not. The responsibility is on my head. Always has been. To keep me and Caleb on the right path and out of trouble, to look out for us both. And just like when we were kids and I tucked him back in bed after a nightmare, I’m still the one looking out for us.

  “I need to see what was more important than we were. Hold it in my hand, crush it, and destroy it. And yes, I do feel some call to avenge him, but I need to see this through. Not for him, not really. But for us. I couldn’t handle it if whatever led to his death came back to haunt us and got us—got you—hurt or worse. I need answers, and the only way to get them is to follow through with this.”

  He sighs deeply. “I don’t want to lose you too, Nathan. Losing Dad sucked, but I didn’t really even know him. My childhood? I remember you. Grant some too, since he was always around, fussing about dinner and school. But mostly . . . you raised me, taught me what to do and not do, and made sure that I didn’t end up a total asshole. Whatever shit Dad got mixed up in, I wish you’d stay far away from it.”

  I can hear the brotherly love in Caleb’s words, and I wish I could give him the peace he’s seeking. “I hear you. And I promise to be careful. But this is me protecting you, and myself, and maybe even our company. We’ll do this the same way we’ve done everything else, together, side by side. I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine.”

  “And the girl? Emma?” Caleb asks, a smirk on his face that lets me know he’s moving past the heavy shit for the moment and easing back to some brotherly teasing. “Do I get to have her back too? You can have the front,” he says, like it’s a concession. “Or do you want the old-fashioned spit roast?”

  I growl, but it’s jokingly. “Fuck no. You’re my brother, but I’m not into that sharing shit.”

  He laughs. “I don’t know. She seemed to jump right into the kinky shit at the party. Maybe she’d be into it?”

  “No,” I say tersely. “She’s all mine.”

  I mean it to sound salacious, but it comes out a bit more genuine than I’d intended. And possessive.

  Caleb’s smile falters for a split second, but he recovers. “Just be careful, Nathan. With Nikolai and with Emma. I’m not sure which of them has you more by the balls. Enjoy your . . . date.”

  “I hear you. And I will . . . be careful and enjoy it,” I tell him with a grin.

  My promise is still on my mind when my driver pulls up to the front steps of the MOMA. Out of habit, I scan the crowd of tourists, looking for outliers and analyzing threats.

  But then I see her and everything else disappears.

  Emma is standing near one of the columns, her blonde hair long and sunny against the yellow of her dress.

  A smile curves my lips. Yellow, not canary, but buttery and soft. And I wonder if she wore her favorite color as a sort of armor for our date. A buzz of amusement hits me at the thought. Maybe she is just as affected by me as I am by her.

  I climb out of the car, telling the driver, “I’ll c
all when we’re ready to be picked up.”

  I assume he responds, but my attention is focused solely on Emma. I catch the instant she sees me, the look in her eyes changing from one of anticipation to one of excitement as she watches me climb the steps toward her.

  “Hi,” she says demurely, but I know better. She’s not shy. She’s steel and fire covered in satin. And for the next few hours, she’s mine.

  “Hello,” I say, taking her hand and planting a kiss to the back of it like I’m a gentleman, though we both know I’m not. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you. You look handsome too,” she says, looking me up and down. I came straight from the office, but my standard custom suit and silk tie seemed reasonable and I’d barely given them a second thought. But now I’m curious what she sees as she looks at me. When her tongue peeks out to wet her lips, the flash of pink makes me want to chase it with my own mouth.

  I offer her my elbow, my eyes barely flicking toward the entrance. “Shall we?”

  Though she slips her hand around my bicep, she argues, “I was sure this was when you said to meet, but the museum is already closed.” She gestures to the crowds continuing to pour out the main door.

  My answering smirk makes her pause.

  “What did you do?” she asks, surprise giving way to suspicion.

  I lead her to the side, away from the central door, saying nothing to give away my little surprise. Instead, I leave that to the uniformed guard, who tips his hat as we approach. “Mr. Stone, right this way with your guest, please.”

  Emma’s eyes are wide, her grip tight on my arm as she mouths, “Oh, my God!” But she follows my lead as we head into the museum.

  The lights are softer, only half on in the hallways though the spotlights shine on the collection of items. The quiet is complete, our steps echoing around us.

  It feels like a spell, like a dream. I suspect that for Emma, it may well be.

  Her sass and fire are snuffed, overtaken by childlike giddiness as she lets go of my arm to rush from display to display. She tells me trivia facts about each item, information I suspect is well beyond what the plaques on the wall describe because she seems to be pulling from the library inside her mind.

  Honestly, I barely hear the words because her beauty and excitement are enthralling.

  We walk together, experiencing the museum in a way no one ever has before. Not because it’s after hours and magical but because it’s the two of us. Most women I’ve dated since taking over the family business have expected fancy cars, expensive restaurants, and paparazzi-dotted red carpets.

  But not Emma. She wants none of that, just the opportunity to explore past civilizations and old art with me by her side. It’s refreshing and makes me want her that much more.

  “The monolithic art of the fifth century brought a whole new—”

  Her words falter as she realizes I’m staring openly at her. The heat burning through my body from seeing her has only intensified as she’s passionately spoken nearly non-stop. Her intelligence is even sexier than her shapely body.

  “What?” she asks, not privy to the train of my thoughts.

  “You are captivating.” I move closer, cupping her cheek in my palm and tracing along her cheekbone with my thumb.

  One side of her mouth tilts upward, not quite giving into the smile, but her delight is palpable in the inches of space between us. “You are rather fascinating yourself, sir.”

  Her play with calling me sir like she did with Nikolai is both a reminder of just what’s at stake and how far we’re both willing to go.

  I pull her to me, catching her weight against my own as I press our bodies together and grip her other cheek, cradling her face in my palms. Her lips part, letting me know she feels the same way I do.

  I don’t hold back, no softness or mercy given. I simply take her, roughly and savagely. As our lips press, our teeth clack once, but I still need more. I shove my tongue into her mouth, wanting to taste her, needing to devour her. She gives as good as she’s getting, rising up to her toes to gain better access and gripping my lapels for leverage.

  Heat builds between us as her moan echoes through the quiet room. I’m one kiss away from bending her over the nearest bench and flipping her dress over her ass to get at her pussy when I hear footsteps. They’re far away, but they’re close enough that I won’t risk it. I won’t chance someone else, even a paid off security guard, seeing her that way.

  Despite the public display at the party, I was telling the truth when I said I prefer privacy. I want her sounds, her passion, her complete submission to whatever this is between us to be mine and mine alone. Her pussy, her orgasms, her pleasure, I selfishly want them all.

  So I pull back, breaths heaving, still sharing air between us. “We should go.”

  Emma nods, biting her lip, and I know that if I took her back to my home right now, I could have her.

  But I will always wonder. As much as I can feel that she wants me, I don’t want this to happen with Nikolai’s threat hanging over us. I want it to be just the two of us when I slip inside her. Because I am going to fuck her, hard and raw and powerfully.

  So, as painful as it is for us both, I have the driver head to her apartment and force myself to stay in the car, not trusting myself to even walk her to her door. Her promise of “Dinner, tomorrow night,” echoes in my ears as I head home.

  Alone.

  Chapter 13

  Emma

  Stepping outside, I see that Nathan didn’t use a driver for tonight. Instead, his Jaguar is parked by the curb and he’s leaning against the front fender, watching me with total desire as I approach. It’s like a car commercial if you skip the backdrop my neighborhood offers. My block’s not ghetto by any stretch, but it’s also not Nathan’s kind of fancy.

  The sleek black car suits him, aggressive but refined, befitting the manufacturer’s name. He holds the door open for me and my breath catches as he sweeps around the front, highlighted by the headlights like a freaking model.

  How did I end up here? And with him?

  The rhetorical question resonates in my mind, reminding me that though I’m powerfully drawn to Nathan, there’s so much I don’t know. And even more that he doesn’t know.

  The ride is quiet at first, the radio playing RnB softly, but both of us are lost in our thoughts. I’m nervous about tonight. Not because of Nathan but because of Nikolai.

  Like Claire said, Nikolai is the impulsive one, a loose cannon who might decide that whatever I did or didn’t hear at the party is reason enough to kill me, regardless of Nathan’s vouching for me.

  Why did I agree to pose as a hostess for a party attended by Russian mob bosses again? Claire’s pleading face floats through my mind to remind me. Even with the potential for danger, I’d do anything for her. Well, almost anything, since she also begged me to skip tonight. But I just couldn’t.

  Nathan reaches over, taking my hand, and his warmth helps relax me the smallest amount. “You okay? What’s going on in that brain of yours?” he asks.

  I shake my head, deciding that truth’s vital right now. “Not exactly okay. I’m scared. I don’t do things like this. Dinner with a mobster? Lying like we have some relationship beyond what began at the party? Acting as if my life depends on it because it actually does?”

  My voice has a hint of hysteria, my nerves fraying at the edges, and I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to regain control. It’s not working and my chest hitches. Christ, I don’t need to cry right now.

  “Hey, hey . . .” Nathan interrupts, his thumb tracing calming circles on my hand. “We’re going to be fine. You’re going to be okay.”

  His voice is steady, like he actually believes what he’s saying wholeheartedly. It helps, giving me an anchor to latch onto, even if that anchor’s a phantom itself. I look at him, willing his belief to come true, praying that he’s right.

  He smiles softly. “Besides, I think we both know that there is more here than just some casual meet-and-gr
eet in passing like everyone else at the party. I like you, Emma. And I’m pretty fucking sure you like me too. So getting Nikolai to believe that shouldn’t be difficult.”

  His admission is bold and brazen, reassuring my mind and heating my body. I look down at our intertwined hands, his tan fingers linked through my pale ones. Swallowing my nerves, I look up.

  “I do like you, of course. I’m just nervous,” I admit. “And kind of allergic to bullets.”

  His lips quirk, and even with the seriousness of the evening’s plans, I can sense that he’s holding back a laugh, which soothes my jitteriness even more. “Well, for tonight, just follow my lead. It’s likely what Nikolai will expect after our little show before, and more importantly, I’ve got you.”

  It’s a promise, a vow to get me through tonight safely. I want to return the gift. “I’ve got you too. Whatever you need me to do so that you can work your deal with Nikolai. Being a charming hostess is certainly something I can handle.”

  I give him a wink, and with his charming smile, the knot in my belly clenches for an altogether different reason. Maybe we can get through this . . . together.

  At the restaurant, the maître d’ leads Nathan and me to a private table in the corner. Nikolai is already sitting there, but surprisingly, so is Maritziana. They look rather cozy, her blonde hair hanging forward, creating a curtain to hide their mouths, but judging by the crinkles at Nikolai’s eyes, he’s smiling.

  What the hell? I mouth at Nathan, who shrugs.

  He offers his hand, a smile on his lips but ice in his eyes. “Nikolai.”

  The men shake and then Nathan captures Maritziana’s hand as well, lightly kissing the back. Nikolai does the same to my hand, but Maritziana moves in, air-kissing me on both cheeks. All very cultured . . . but about as authentic as a Chicken McNugget.

  The four of us settle down, for all intents and purposes looking like we’re on a double date. But this is a business dinner, a very important one for Nathan. And I’m going to do my best to uphold my promise and help him any way I can.