Midnight Heist (Outlaws Book 1)

by Katherine McIntyre

  “Do you have to be so distracting?” Dan shot back as they reached the hall. He scratched his neck, trying to collect his composure from where it had dribbled onto the floor.

  Greg’s grin widened, a wolfish, hungry look in his eyes. Of course. Despite the man’s placid surface, Greg Locksley was all passion, whether he delivered bedroom eyes or poignant speeches. Either way, the man drew him in like a magnet.

  “So, what does the board have to say about us?” Greg asked, switching to business with a whiplash-inducing speed. “I’m sure we were a tough sell, what with the new approach you’re taking and all.”

  Dan glanced down the corridor, hoping none of those members would be walking his way any time soon. Guaranteed, if they spotted him bringing Neo-National in for a meeting, someone would try to edge their way in. The scent of whatever off-brand Lysol the cleaning staff used worked its way under his skin, and he half wanted to sneak in at night to replace the supplies. Yet, the problem wasn’t the scent, but this place.

  “Let’s talk in the meeting room,” Dan said, realizing both John and Greg watched him, waiting for an answer. Instead of continuing, he led them down the hall, his gaze narrowing on the handle. Great strategy with new clients: act like a paranoid creep in the place he was supposed to be running. He sucked in a deep breath to compose himself, which snagged in his throat after he caught the intensity of Greg’s stare. Apparently, he failed at one-night stands.

  Greg had been clear from the start—he wasn’t a picket fence kinda guy, and Dan? Well, he couldn’t even take a walk in the park without getting attached to a puppy. The hookup had been a bad, bad plan.

  Dan reached for the handle and ushered them inside.

  The meeting room was bright and spacious, with fluorescent lights beaming up top and a modern rectangular table with an open center lined by dozens of chairs. The white dry-erase board graced the opposite side of the room, perfect for the too-many presentations they cycled through daily. A slender black table lined the back wall, accompanied by a Keurig, a filled pitcher of water, and a mess load of Coffee-Mate powder, straws, and sugar packets. Dan had come to loathe this room.

  The door clicked as it closed behind the pair from Neo-National, and Dan took a seat at the table.

  Greg settled right in beside him, his presence dominating so much of the room it blotted out some of the shitty board meetings. Some.

  “Not to be the worst,” John said from behind them. Dan swiveled to face where he stood by the door with his palm on the handle. “But do you mind telling me where the restroom is?”

  “You are the worst, John,” Greg drawled beside him.

  “Down the corridor and to the left,” Dan said, jabbing a thumb in that direction. “We can wait for you to get back.”

  The door swung open and shut again, leaving Dan alone in a room with Greg Locksley.

  Greg leaned back in the seat, his powerful body eclipsing the flimsy boardroom chairs. A slow, lazy grin rolled over his face, and his electric blues heated like halogen bulbs. Even in the trim suit and with his hair slicked back like polished perfection, the man bore too many scars to look anything but dangerous.

  “Well hello, sexy,” he drawled, locking eyes with Dan. “Dress like that for me?”

  Dan arched an eyebrow, an amused grin rising to his lips. In here, with just the two of them, the trappings melted away, even in the middle of Torres Industries on the top of the Aon Center. “You mean the clothes I wear to work every day? Try a little harder.”

  Greg’s lip quirked with amusement. “I’m a little distracted. Can’t focus while that sweet body of yours is begging to get bent over this table.”

  Thank fuck he wasn’t standing, because his knees trembled at the idea of a repeat. “That’s exactly how I want my board members to find me,” he shot back. “Braced on a table with another guy balls deep in my ass.”

  Greg snorted. “I mean, if that’s your kink, I’m not shaming.” He clasped his hands behind his neck, placing his tree-trunk arms on full display.

  “Please, I prefer a more private setting,” Dan said, scratching his nape. He chanced a glance up to meet Greg’s eyes. “Your shitty week get any better?”

  “This is the highlight.” Greg’s gaze scanned over his lips, fixating there. Dan licked them; too, too dry. The guy evaded his questions, but he seemed to operate on reflex. Whatever pain hid in the depths of those glacier blues was the sort most folks didn’t air out in the open.

  “Yeah, this is all that’s tiding me over too,” Dan admitted, even though he hated the prickle of vulnerability that swept across his arms after. When his dad started Torres Industries, he had taken years to build the company before they’d moved to the Aon Center at the height of their success. This building was nothing like the old one, with the lights that flickered in an off-tempo, the cozy cubicles, and the Miami Vice teal and pink décor.

  The Aon Center was the real deal, all cold professionalism and sharp and cutthroat in a way he could never compete with. Dad believed that to be true too.

  Greg reached forward and placed a palm on his thigh, the heat drawing Dan’s attention. “You’re made of stronger stuff than you think, Torres.”

  Dan bit his lip at the comment, not wanting to let on how much Greg’s words meant. How they settled in his bones right when he’d been feeling like he’d wither away. He wanted to kiss him so badly. The heat from his hand on his thigh, the amber aftershave, and the mere proximity of Greg Locksley scrambled his brains, making him forget he was in Torres Industries and they weren’t two steps away from a bedroom.

  Greg leaned in a little closer, and Dan’s lips parted on instinct.

  Inches away, Greg’s hot breath puffed against his lips, and Dan shivered. Snared in his gaze, he couldn’t look away.

  Just one taste.

  Greg closed the distance to brush his lips against Dan’s. He almost moaned in response at the zephyr touch, at the sweep of those sensuous lips as he deepened the kiss. All the adrenaline from before crashed down again like a lightning strike to earth. Dan couldn’t resist this man. Greg tasted like tobacco, like coffee, and he wanted more.

  The door handle jangled.

  Dan jerked his head away, his back slamming against the seat. Greg leaned back into his seat, the only sign they’d just been locking lips the gentle heave of his shoulders.

  “Sorry I took so long,” John announced as he entered. “Anyone tell you this place is a maze?”

  “All the time,” Dan said, a little too fast as he tried to catch his breath. Business mode. Right. “So, if you’re ready, let’s dive right into the nuts and bolts of this.”

  John settled into the other seat beside him, which came as a relief. He didn’t think he could look Greg square in the eye right now with the hard-on throbbing beneath his slacks. John lifted his briefcase onto the table and cracked it open, pulling out a stack of papers.

  “I brought the other verifications you asked for last time,” he said. “Figured they’d be important if we’re signing anything.”

  “About that,” Dan said, the knot tight in his chest. “We’re working on passing new additions with the board, but I’d like for you to get the process started. I brought letter of intent papers for Neo-National to review and sign, and with any hope, we’ll be able to get you on board by the end of the week.”

  He nudged his own stacks of papers, one in John’s direction, and the other to Greg. Locksley leaned back in the seat, fingertips skating the table and a cool-crispness in his eyes that was pure business, switching back on a hair-trigger like they hadn’t just been kissing. Even though the scorch of Greg’s kiss would fade from his lips, his words would linger far longer.

  Dan was so fucked.

  Thirteen

  Grif had almost forgotten he was here on a job. Dan Torres with his easy blushes, rock-solid body, and vulnerable eyes swirled his mind like a late-night summer run through the city.

  At least, until his comm buzzed.

  “Bo
ss,” Scarlet’s voice came in loud and clear, and he couldn’t dismiss the note of panic. “We’ve got trouble.”

  They’d circumnavigated the first obstacle when John snuck to the “bathroom” to make sure the coast was clear for Scarlet to place a bug in Dan’s office. Which left Grif to sit there in front of a gorgeous, genuine man and lie to his face. In all his time thieving, he’d never felt filthier. John had given Scarlet the all clear and headed to the conference room. During the negotiations, it had been radio silence from Scarlet’s end, which was always a good thing. She didn’t indulge in a lot of idle chatter, unlike Alanna who he needed to mute half the time on the comms.

  “Phil Brennerman and Len James are lurking outside of Dan’s door in the waiting area. They already knocked twice and tried to peek in.” The panic in Scarlet’s voice flared into a living thing, but Greg couldn’t respond. Dan was wrapping up with their meeting.

  “So, if you don’t mind grabbing the signatures from your higher ups, then we can work on getting you guys into the company as soon as possible,” Dan explained, pointing to the spots he’d marked with an X to sign. Unfortunately, all his hard work meant nothing, because Neo-National would vanish the day after they found the blackmail info on one of these damn consoles. His bet was Brennerman’s.

  John met his gaze. He’d heard Scarlet’s plea loud and clear.

  Dan’s gaze lingered on him, and Grif took the lead, extending a hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Torres.” He added a wink so the comment didn’t feel too impersonal, even though he had been fighting a hard-on ever since they’d locked lips. He hadn’t meant to—he was supposed to distract Dan while John slipped away, but the man was like a neat glass of scotch—he couldn’t help but take a sip. Dan pressed his palm against his, and that didn’t help his erection in the slightest. Neither did the danger, if he was being honest.

  “Guys.” Scarlet’s voice sounded through the comm. “They’re rattling the door handle again.”

  They shook, but the handshake lingered a second or two longer than appropriate. Dan’s seeking gaze when he looked into his eyes caused his guts to churn like a food processor.

  “To the two of you as well,” Dan continued when he pulled away at last. “Take your time on the letter of intent, get all the approvals you need from higher up. I’ll be contacting you in a week or so to set up the final meeting so we can get your company on board.” Dan pushed himself from the seat, and judging by the way he tilted his head, he planned on escorting them straight to the front office.

  The opposite direction from Scarlet.

  Grif reached into his pocket and furrowed his brow in a concerted effort, the movements a bit exaggerated. “Sorry to be a pain,” he said. “I think my keys might’ve slipped out of my pocket. Do you mind if I check the waiting room?”

  Dan blinked in surprise, but he nodded and headed for the door. “I’ll take you there. I’m heading in that direction anyway.”

  John slapped a hand on Grif’s back, the flash in his gaze clear. “Good job, buddy.” He cast a glance to Dan. “I promise, his ineptness isn’t a reflection of our company.”

  “Like you haven’t lost your keys before,” Grif muttered, playing into John’s teasing. The amusement in Dan’s eyes did stupid things to Grif’s insides.

  “It’s a common mistake,” Dan agreed, his gaze soft. They walked inches apart, and Grif couldn’t help but count every single one. The kiss had failed to slake his thirst—instead, he only grew hungrier for another night with this man, and another. His body hadn’t staged a full-blown revolution like this in years.

  They strolled down the corridor, and Grif kept his hand in his pocket on his keys to make sure they didn’t jingle. The play was a cheap pickpocket trick, but the more important thing would be getting Scarlet out of Dan’s office without getting caught. He prayed she had gotten the information she needed from his computer before the two disruptions came calling.

  The bright windows of the waiting room peeked into view, dappled rays causing the marble tiles to gleam. As they rounded the corner into the waiting room, Phil Brennerman and Len James both peered into the window of Dan’s office, which Scarlet must’ve locked with the way they rattled the handle.

  Dan coughed into his hand.

  Both men nearly leapt out of their shoes.

  “Go, Scar,” Grif whispered. “John and I will create the distraction.”

  “Getting tired of waiting for me?” Dan gave them the out, even though his raised eyebrows and simmering gaze told a different story. Brennerman and Calvados stepped away from the door, cutting the distance between them fast.

  Not far enough. The wide-open waiting room didn’t have anywhere to hide, a square box filled with chairs on one side and Impressionist paintings lining the far wall that led to the door of Dan’s office. At minimum, they’d need to lure them to the chairs.

  Grif stalked around one side of the room while John took the other, both pretending to search for his keys. They were just waiting.

  “You’ve been gone from your office for a while now, and we needed to discuss some things,” Brennerman responded, his voice as smooth as motor oil, as if he hadn’t been caught snooping.

  “Then learn to do what everyone else in this office does and set an appointment. I had a meeting with these gentlemen from Neo-National.” Dan’s tone grew brisk and cutting, nothing like the warm, spun-sugar glimpses he got of the man.

  “Ready,” Scarlet said over the comms.

  Distraction time.

  Grif reached down. In a fluid motion he dropped his keys and snatched them back up. They jangled as he slipped them into his pocket.

  “Looks like I found them,” he said, loud enough to draw the trio’s stare. The door to the office cracked open, and Scarlet would attempt to slip out, which meant they needed full attention on them. Grif strode up to the trio. John made his way across the room with his focus zeroed in on Brennerman.

  “Mighty fine to meet the two of you.” John extended a hand, drawing the stares of both Len and Phil. “Don’t suppose we’ve had the pleasure yet. I’m John Smith. I know, boring name; blame my parents. We’re here to represent Neo-National.”

  Dan’s gaze strayed. Grif leaned in, close enough he snared his attention.

  “These the guys we were supposed to be meeting with?” he murmured under his breath, low enough only Dan could hear. He nodded, even as his lips flattened with his clear disapproval of them. Grif’s skin prickled, and a drop of sweat crawled down his neck as he searched for Scar in his peripheral.

  She’d cracked the door open a little bit wider, but no path existed that wouldn’t plaster her against the pale white walls. He needed to get them moving in a different direction.

  A loud laugh from John split through the room, drawing everyone’s attention.

  John clapped a hand over Brennerman’s again, ever the charmer. The man played Clark Kent in the city far too well, even though no one who knew the guy would believe his aw-shucks routine for a moment.

  “I suppose it’s best we head out,” Grif said, slipping his hands in his pockets. “We’ve taken up plenty of your time already.”

  “Why don’t the three of us escort them to the front,” Dan suggested, a subtle pressure in his voice that Grif had never heard during their exchanges. Brennerman glared at him, but he and his crony still wore that sheepish air of “I’ve been caught” around them like a knitted shawl. Dan led the way toward the corridor, and Grif chanced a glance back behind them as the rest of the entourage shifted forward.

  Scarlet slipped out from the office, but she moved at a caterpillar’s pace along the far wall, each movement measured to not draw attention.

  They strolled down the corridor at a brisk clip, Dan’s ease and camaraderie vanishing in the wake of the two new arrivals. Apparently, these were the old fogies who made his life a nightmare. Grif’s skin crawled like he’d been shocked out of sleep at three in the morning. Any moment, they might look back and spot Scar.r />
  Their footsteps echoed as they got closer and closer to the end of the hallway where the front room of the office spilled into the cubicle farm. Grif glanced back again.

  Scarlet had reached the corridor. She trailed paces behind them, ducking her head as she leafed through papers on the clipboard she’d brought, pretending to look busy. Oh, thank fuck.

  Dan stopped in front of the door and turned to face him.

  “Well, we’ll let you guys get back to your business,” Grif said, offering Dan another handshake.

  He stared into those dark eyes one last time, memorizing the flash of tenderness there, the heat from his slender palm, and the genuine smile on his lush lips that had felt perfect locked against his. If any of this was real, they were an office romance in the making, but Grif hadn’t been cut out for a simple life since the tender age of sixteen. He drew in one last inhale of Dan’s lime and coconut fragrance, and then those seconds ended. They each pulled their hands away.

  “Looking forward to hearing from you soon,” Grif added even as the lie dried bitter on his tongue.

  That meeting was the last time he’d ever see Dan Torres.

  Grif tore through half of his bottle of Jameson, yet the guilt still lingered.

  He leaned back in the seat at the kitchen table of the penthouse, returned to his comfortable running pants and a gray tee. The only suit he’d be getting into in the near future was a bodysuit for the infiltration of Torres Industries, coming up stat. He slammed the empty bottle back onto the counter, the thwack echoing through the room. Alanna and Scarlet had decided they’d earned a night out at Berlin to dance their stress away. The escape would be good for Scar. She still walked on sandpaper after that close call.

  Not like they’d expected two of the board members to be lurking around their boss’s office. If the CFO hadn’t been in his crosshairs already, the man had just cemented his position as target numero uno when they made the extraction.