I turned to face our reflection in the door. It was time for our first date. I was absolutely ready. But as the doors were just sliding shut, there was the thump, thump, thump of footsteps, followed by a guy saying, “Hold that door!” And a tanned hand shot between the doors to open them back up.
There he was. The sheikh.
Stella coughed delicately in the general direction of the stack of towels on the back of the maid’s cart, and I lowered my eyes, sizing him up in my peripheral vision. What immediately caught my attention was what he was wearing on his feet and the ridiculous contrast they made to the rest of us in the elevator. The maid’s orthopedic sneakers. Stella’s gorgeous heels. My Italian whatevers.
And the sheikh’s gold Crocs.
Of fucking course.
As the doors rolled shut, the elevator instantly began to smell like the fragrance room at the Axe Body Spray factory. The smell was so thick, so acrid, that I could feel it on my tongue. The maid rubbed her nose, and I saw a smile, a painful near-laugh smile, start to creep up Stella’s cheeks. She lifted her eyes to me, and I gave her a look to say, No fucking laughing, cutie. If you start, we’re hosed.
She nodded and lowered her eyes again. The maid sniffed hard, her nostrils thick with a sudden rush of protective snot. I blinked hard. It was the closest I ever hoped to get to being maced, that was for damned sure. The maid pounded on the button for the lobby, but the elevator didn’t move.
Yet again the door rolled open, offering a burst of mercifully fresh air. The maid inhaled like she’d been given a whiff of smelling salts, and Stella made a little meep and tried to cover it with a cough. At first, nobody appeared outside the door, but then I heard a shuffling. Or a swishing.
It was the bodyguard. He held the Zero Halliburton, just like we’d known he would.
He was massive, and he looked even more massive in his cheap, too-tight suit that didn’t fit him right anywhere, especially under the arms, which were dark with half circles of sweat. He lumbered into the elevator, thighs rubbing, and stood right in front of the sheikh. His hair plugs were the worst I’d ever seen in my life, and I’d met some seriously macho motherfuckers in my day, guys with a deep and abiding phobia of early male-pattern baldness. This guy’s plugs took the prize. They were like porcupine quills—spiky and separate like that. In the reflection on the door, I watched him study Stella, then the maid, and then me. His eyes went right to the tattoo on my neck. He didn’t even glance at my face.
But regardless, the situation was less than ideal. Though we weren’t exactly doing this job with ski masks, I didn’t want his eyes on us if we could help it. Especially not on her. What we really needed was a distraction, and I seriously contemplated laying a kiss on Stella right there and then. Maybe I’d walk her back into the maid’s cart and send all the tiny bottles of shampoo tumbling.
But before I could make a move on her, Priscilla waddled over to the sheikh and gave his bare, hairy calf a sniff. She lowered her ears and looked up at him. Her snout barely cleared his ankle. Her tail was straight and rigid. Very slowly, she maneuvered herself around to face me. She looked up at me—and our eyes connected in total human-canine connection. And then she squatted, closed her eyes, and let loose with a long and magnificent piss. All over the sheikh’s golden Croc.
Stella still had laugh-tears in her eyes when we dropped Priscilla off for Yappy Hour, and she was occasionally overcome with a sudden snort even as we headed out to the poolside bar for drinks. I, too, was fighting back laughter, because over and over again I kept replaying it in my head. It was like Priscilla had saved up on pee for days; when the sheikh moved his right foot, she backed her ass up onto his left one in one continuous stream of dog urine so potent, it overwhelmed the cologne with something that smelled a whole hell of a lot like wet pretzels.
We walked down the flagstone steps and headed for the poolside bar area, a classy looking tiki hut surrounded by small café tables. I picked the table that had the best view of the pool and the back of the hotel so we could get a sense of what we were up against for tomorrow. I pulled her chair out for her. As she sat, I got a killer view of her cleavage. Then I sat across from her, looking out at the water. She was still laughing a little. As her head fell back, the beautiful creamy line of her throat made a perfect curve, interrupted only by the string of decoy pearls that I had asked her to wear. Because fuck, they looked good on her—even hotter because she’d made them. Even hotter still because they were concrete proof of her—so sweet, so nice, so lovely—being nothing but trouble with a capital T.
Once she let all the laughter out, she inhaled and fanned her face with her slightly spread fingers. “OK. I think I’m OK. Probably.”
“It’s OK if you’re not,” I said. “I could watch you laugh all damned night. That’s why I first noticed you, that laugh.”
She blinked away the shine in her eyes. “What! Really?”
“Fuck yeah,” I said as I got comfortable in my chair. Much to my surprise, the suspenders both looked good and felt good. Way better than a belt. She’d make a hipster out of me yet. “I had a feeling if I got too close, I’d never let you go.” I reached out my hand for her, and she laced her fingers in mine. For a few beats, we held each other’s stare. It was fucking blissful, like nobody else existed on earth.
But at that moment, the sheikh jumped into the pool, hollering, “Cannonball, suckas!”
Stella winced and turned away to look at the pool. The backsplash made a little boy start crying. A stooped old man removed his glasses to dry them on his soaking wet shirt.
The guy was insufferable. “What a dick.”
“The worst,” Stella answered.
Together, we took in the scene. The sheikh’s pissed-on Crocs were stuck on the arms of his lounge chair, drying in the setting sun. He sloshed out of the shallow end of the pool, knocking over someone’s bottle of water on his way out. He flopped down on his chair and took a selfie with a folding umbrella from his drink between his teeth. He typed something into his phone, and I heard the burner vibrate in Stella’s purse, but neither of us reached for it. Planted between two nearby palms stood the bodyguard. Except for the Halliburton in his hand, he looked like he was in a natural history diorama about early humans in the tropics.
The tables around us were unoccupied, and I wasn’t concerned about being overheard, but I still wanted to be careful. Plus, she was way too fucking far away. I grabbed the leg of her chair and pulled her over to me. I put my arm around her and got in close. “What was the original plan?”
Stella relaxed into me, one hand on my thigh. She toyed with her pearls, twisting them and letting them go. “I decided it had to be something to do with the hair.”
The guard hadn’t been outside the cannonball range either, and he kept dabbing at his quills—like he was checking to make sure they hadn’t fallen out. “I’m with you so far.”
“We planned to drop something on him. Anything, really. Something sticky or smelly or slippery. Anything messy. Honey. Shampoo. When we were here last, which we timed to coincide with the sheikh visiting, a seagull pooped on the guard. You’d have thought he was attacked by bees. Forty-five minutes later, he came back, hair still wet from the shower. We discovered he leaves the sheikh every afternoon at six-ish, with the briefcase. That was when we planned to do it; I figured the most reliable spot to make it happen was underneath the archway.”
I saw the spot exactly—it was the most logical choice. A path led from the pool back into the hotel, and above that was a walkway that acted as a kind of balcony, providing a direct view, and a direct line, to anybody walking on the path.
The only problem that I saw was that it would require so much precision. Walking at a normal pace, the guard would only be underneath the drop zone for a second. “We’d need to slow him down,” I said, running it backward and forward. “I’ll bet you I could slip him a mickey at the bar. Dose him with something untraceable. He’ll be out like a light.”
She deadpanned me. “Do
n’t be such a brute.”
Point taken, but still . . . “I think I lost brute status when I put on this hat,” I said. She gave it a playful little nudge with the tip of her finger, and I repositioned it so it sat lower again. Truth be told, I liked it. Al Capone wore a hat, and if it was good enough for Capone, it was good enough for me. Minus the tertiary syphilis, obviously. “You think you can do better? Hit me.”
“I mean, I’m not talking about hurting the poor guy. He suffers enough having to work for You-Know-Who,” she said, looking back at the pool. “Let’s keep it simple. Easy. Basic. Nonviolent.”
“Stella. I’m a criminal. Not a pacifist. This is a jewel heist, not a Buddhist retreat.”
She tossed her head back and shook it, laughing at the clear blue sky. “Oh you.”
Just then, the dog sitter appeared on the path, walking Priscilla. She had her little snout raised and her chest puffed, marching along like a little superhero. “Oh look!” Stella cooed. “There’s our little lamb.”
At that moment, a ball popped out of the kiddie pool and bounced along the path. Priscilla charged after it, accidentally kicking it with her paw. She juked left to chase it and zipped around—tangling up the giggling dog sitter like she’d been snared in a spider’s web.
Very slowly, Stella turned me, wide-eyed. “Nick. Did you see that?”
Holy fuck. It was exactly the same thing that had happened to Stella and me in the hallway. “That damned leash. Can we make her do it on command?”
“She’d chase a cookie anywhere,” Stella said, nodding slowly, blinking once. “All we need to do is practice.”
The dog sitter was still trying to extract herself. Every step she took just made it exponentially worse. She lost her flip-flop, she dropped her bag, and Priscilla kept on zipping and zooming around like it was the best thing she’d ever experienced.
Stella went slack in my arms. She put her hand to her forehead and looked up at the clear sky. “Oh my God. That’s it. That is it!”
A retractable dog leash as a trap was a far fucking cry from doing shady deals in the desert. But the truth was, I liked the simplicity. I liked the innocence. No weapons, no violence. Just a simple heist, with simple parts.
I pulled Stella even closer and pushed her blonde hair aside and gave her a kiss on the side of the neck, right underneath her ear. The spot that made her shiver. “Tomorrow, we work,” I growled into her ear. “But for tonight, we play.”
She shivered, nuzzled against me, and said, “Now you’re talking.”
The waitress came by and gave a little cough. Stella pulled away and smoothed her wig, smiling—all shy and sweet as ever. “Congratulations on your honeymoon, Mr. and Mrs. McNamara. Can I get you a glass of champagne to start?”
To start. To start the night, to start this last job, and to start something much bigger and much more important. With Stella.
35
STELLA
The sheikh was insufferable. He was seated across the restaurant, with his back to us. He sent his steak back twice, sent his lobster back three times, then got behind the bar to show the bartender how to make a Moscow mule.
“Fucker’s lucky it’s not me behind the bar,” Nick muttered. “I’d coldcock him with that copper mug before he knew what hit him.”
The sheikh threw a cherry up in the air and tried to catch it. It ricocheted off his lip and landed in the olives.
But even in spite of his nonsense, we had a perfectly wonderful night. It was amazing to me. I was as comfortable with him drinking sangria out of plastic cups in my favorite spot in the world as I was across a white tablecloth from him, drinking wine from balloon glasses. I was as much myself with him in my element as I was out of it. He made me feel like as long as we were together, we were fine, no matter what. For an instant, as I watched him sign the bill, adding an eye-popping tip in cash, I thought about Ruth’s favorite saying. She had a journal, a poster, a hoodie, and three water bottles that said it: A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
Until Nick came along, I’d agreed. But, I thought as I finished off the last of my sweet port, he made this fish really glad that there was a bicycle for her in the world.
He closed the small leather folder with the receipt and the cash and tucked it under his napkin and stood. I moved to stand as well, but he held out a finger in the air to stop me. “No you don’t,” he said, and came around to pull my chair back for me. “As long as you’re with me, you’ll never do that for yourself again.”
Maybe it was the champagne or the wine or the port or the intoxicating newness of being in a magical place with someone I was falling for, but in that moment I honestly didn’t mind if all our well-laid plans for tomorrow failed. I didn’t care if we went back to the Love Boat with the resin North Star instead of the real one. It wouldn’t be a failure, even then, because this was real. This was happening. This man was, minute by minute, inching his way into my heart. And making me feel more beautiful, special, and safe than I ever had before.
Hand in hand and barefoot, we walked the half mile down the beach back to the Ritz. The hissing waves kissed my toes, and I looked back to see our footprints, side by side. Back at the hotel, we made our way across the lobby, toward where the lady at Yappy Hour had told us Priscilla would be when we finished dinner. It was set up a little bit like a nursery, only with squeaky toys and dog beds scattered everywhere. In the middle of it all lay a huge white polar bear of a dog, as big as a person or a smallish cow. He was sprawled out on his side, sound asleep. His jowls pooled in droopy piles on the carpet, and his chest rose and fell dramatically as he breathed. Then I noticed that tucked in a tiny ball underneath his chin, rolled up like a furry little roly-poly, was Priscilla.
“Oh my goodness,” I said, taking out my phone to snap a few photos, while Nick’s grip on my free hand tightened.
“I really hope his name is Elvis,” Nick said, peering with me through the glass.
The lady who was supervising the dog nursery stood up from the couch and crept across the floor, careful not to disturb the sleeping bear-dog or Priscilla, who were the only two there.
“Hi!” she whispered as she came out into the corner of the lobby. As she closed the door, Priscilla was roused from her nap, but only briefly. When she snuggled back to sleep, she placed her face on the huge dog’s face, and I watched her little eyes slide shut.
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said. “And I’m a big fan of cute animal videos.”
The dog sitter laughed. “They played tug-of-war for like an hour. He let her win every time.”
“That’s my girl!” I said, and Nick snickered next to me.
“She’s out cold if you two want to go have a drink or walk the beach or something.”
I looked up at Nick, who now had a very naughty glint in his eye. All that desire sent a prickle right up my body. I pulled my eyes off him—it was agony—and made myself focus on the dog sitter again.
“Really?”
She nodded. “They had so much fun. So take your time.”
Nick and I agreed, with a silent glance between us, and the dog sitter clapped her hands. “Oh goodie. She’s really easy. I love looking after her. She’s got good parents!”
He gripped my hand a little tighter, and my toes curled inside my heels. Gaaaaaaaaah!
We agreed to come back in a few hours and turned around, hand in hand. I began to head for the beachfront, ready to kick off my shoes, but he stopped me and pulled me to him. “We’re not going for a walk on the beach, Stella.”
Gulp. “We aren’t?”
He shook his head and moved my bangs aside. His hand slid up the jeweled side of my dress, until his fingertips touched my bare back. He scooped me into him, making his hips press into my stomach and making it abundantly clear what he wanted right then. “We’re going upstairs to fuck. Just you and me. No dog. No interruptions.”
A shiver of pleasure zipped through me. The tension pinged back and forth bet
ween us, and all the world fell away once again. There was, in fact, something I had been thinking about doing to him since he’d first opened the puzzle box. Something I’d never done before but had always fantasized about doing. And so I very purposefully slid my pearls along my neck, teasing my cleavage with the knot at the end of the strand, and led him toward the elevators. There was one camera pointed at the row of doors, and as I pushed the up button, I yanked Nick toward me by his suspenders for a kiss . . . because I wanted his back to the camera. And because I just couldn’t resist.
He put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign and locked the door, and that’s when I took him by the shirt collar. I walked him backward through the suite and yanked his shirt tight to pull him in for a kiss. I laid a dirty one on him, and then I planted my hand on his chest and pushed him back onto the bed. The mattress answered his weight with a cushy squeak. I stepped into him, straddling one of his knees, so much taller in my heels than I usually was. I finally understood why Roxie had always been so obsessed with heels.
Rawwwwwwwr.
He moved one hand between my legs and slid his finger along my opening. I grasped his hand by the wrist and brought it to my lips, licking the two of us off him.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he growled.
Leaning over him, my hair catching the moonlight, I began undoing his belt. He tried to help me, but I moved his hand away. He slid two fingers inside me, making me freeze with his fly only halfway down, while my G-spot said, Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes.
“Jesus Christ, you are so fucking sexy,” he said, accentuating every syllable with gruff desire. “And so goddamned wet.”
Using his thumb, he touched my clit, and I groaned, steadying myself with my fingertips on his thigh. He played with just the edge, not the center, teasing me, tempting me, making spirals around the most sensitive part of me. I touched each hill and valley of his abs, over his pecs. I rolled my left shoulder, and the rhinestone strap slid away. Then I did the same on the other side, and the dress slipped off me, making a metallic clatter as it fell at my feet. I stepped out of it, still in my heels, unzipped his fly, and stripped him, until he was naked in the moonlight.
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