Under Pressure (No Pressure, No Diamonds Book 1)

by Kara Greenan

  Instead he shoves Sebastian hard in the chest, causing him to stumble back. Enough to slip outside and slam the door closed behind him. London is already half way down the hall when he hears Sebastian follow, but moments later Sebastian must remember his near nakedness because there’s swearing and then he’s retreating back into the room.

  Good.

  Time to find Hale.

  Venice, almost a year ago

  The bath has just gotten interesting, both of them working up a sweat from long, drawn out minutes of kissing, when someone knocks on the door.

  “Room service!”

  “Aw fuck,” London complains, ducking his head under water for a second.

  “I’ll get it.” Sebastian climbs out carefully, grinning when London watches him closely. He shrugs on a bathrobe and ties the sash, padding on still-wet feet to the main door. He makes a quick detour to hide the David London had carelessly placed on the bedside table.

  The food trolley is laden with extras, not only their order but also a complimentary bottle of champagne, some fruit and several other goodies. Sebastian tips generously; he likes to reward that sort of behaviour in staff.

  London enters the room dressed in the second bathrobe, too big on his smaller frame. Sebastian likes that, likes it a lot, and he has to smother a smile.

  London opens his mouth, but closes it again, like he’s thought better of it.

  “Dinner is served,” he tells London with a bright smile, falling back onto the sofa. London just stands there, so he pulls him down onto his lap, lets him squirm and protest until he settles down.

  They eat like that, Sebastian holding him with one arm around his middle, eating with his free hand only. It’s well worth it, especially when London relaxes into him after they finish the food and turn on the telly, watching some mindless show for half an hour.

  Just when Sebastian’s eyes start drooping, London retrieves lube and condoms from his bathrobe and nudges the side of Sebastian’s face.

  “Want to know what I think?”

  Sebastian looks at the items in his hand with rising interest. “What’s that?”

  “This time, it’s your turn.”

  He grabs London and turns him onto his back, the couch too small if they weren’t intent on getting as close together as they possibly could.

  London isn’t quiet, but he is far more passive and it will take Sebastian several hours to understand that the purpose of that is to tire him out. London is delightfully bendy and soon Sebastian is huffing above him, following his ever-murmured suggestion of harder and faster and again.

  By the time they’re both loose-limbed and sticky from their orgasms, Sebastian can hardly keep his eyes open. London kisses his temple and helps him stagger to bed, watching him fall asleep with a gentle smile on his face while stroking his hair.

  When he wakes up it’s the next morning, sunlight streaming in through the windows they didn’t bother to close. And the statue is back on the nightstand.

  “You’re more devious than a grifter,” he says, rolling into London’s side and burying his face in his shoulder.

  “Takes one to know one,” London murmurs. “Now shut up, I’m still sleeping.”

  Several hours later, after spending another day laying low in the hotel room, Sebastian is lounging on the bed. London walks in with the statue in hand, the one he’d hidden away in a large chest in the drawing room just hours before.

  “Why is his dick so small?”

  London sits down on the bed beside him and Sebastian is rather offended at the fact that he’s wearing pants.

  Deciding to ignore that for now, he gently takes the statue out of London's hands. “Because Michelangelo wanted to show David’s potential. This isn’t a depiction of a grown man, rather a prepubescent boy.”

  London wrinkles his nose. “That makes it worse. Why would he do that?”

  Sebastian smiles, twisting the statue to show London. “See his hands and head? See how they’re slightly too large for the body? And how he’s already got pretty decent musculature?”

  “Yeah?”

  “He’s depicting a boy that hasn’t passed through puberty yet. And yet he’s already got the features of a man. What he’s telling us is that when this boy grows up, he’s going to be stronger still. He’d have to be, to defeat Goliath.”

  “Okay,” London says slowly, leaning over Sebastian to grab for a cotton napkin from the nightstand.

  Sebastian uses that moment to let one hand fall onto London's bum, dragging his pants aside so he can lean down and bite the flesh.

  London clearly tries not to moan, but there’s a shiver going up his spine he can’t seem to hide.

  “Wait,” London says while twisting into a sitting position. He guides Sebastian’s hand by pulling on his wrist with the statue. Next, he ties the napkin toga-style around the little marble body, adjusting the material until it sits just right. “There.”

  Sebastian nods sagely. “Very modest.”

  “Good.” London takes the statue from him and places it on the nightstand again, the napkin trailing behind it like a train on a wedding dress. He considers it before turning the statue around, making it face away from them.

  Sebastian’s long fingers have found their way back onto his bum, pushing the offending material further down.

  “Happy?”

  London grabs for Sebastian’s free hand and guides it down the front of his pants, his hips snapping forward.

  “Very.”

  Paris, present day

  London doesn’t need to break into Hale’s room. He just knocks. When a disheveled looking Amelia opens the door, clutching the duvet to her otherwise naked body, London throws his hands up in frustration

  “Tonight? Honestly? I mean you two have been dancing around for what, a year? And tonight you have to go through with it?”

  Amelia smiles. “Hale made the first move.”

  After a stunned beat of silence, London finds his voice. “No shit?”

  She nods. “Yup.”

  “Well I guess congrats and all that. I’m happy for you but your timing sucks.”

  She grins like an idiot. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Which room is Frankie’s?”

  It takes Frankie considerably longer to open the door.

  “You don’t look half as happy as Amelia about being woken up,” he says, pushing past her. “But then you didn’t just get laid.”

  “Oh god,” Frankie says through a huge yawn. “Will I need to consider Hale’s broken heart as well?”

  As well? Pfft.

  “No, they finally hooked up. He made the first move, apparently.”

  “No shit?”

  “That’s what I said. Now, because you were too stingy to spring for more rooms –”

  “We’re travelling undercover.”

  London waves her off. “I can’t stay in a room with Walker. We’ll need to switch.”

  She groans. “You said you’d be fine with him.”

  “I am. But staying in a room with him is a bad idea.”

  She collects her phone from the nightstand, checking the battery before unplugging it. “Can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you? I’m taking the extra cover.”

  “You haven’t been in a room when Sebastian really wants into your pants.”

  She’s busy stuffing the blanket under her arm, muttering under her breath. “Pretty sure he wants a bit more than just into your pants.”

  “Pretty sure he doesn’t.” Sebastian had made that crystal clear the last time around.

  “You’re an idiot,” she tells him, squeezing past. “I’ll tell him that when he comes whining to me about how he fucked it up with you.”

  “I’m sure there’s other people he can fuck, if he’s that desperate.”

  Frankie is already walking down the hall, and she has no qualms about raising her voice in the middle of the night.

  “I stand corrected, you’re a fucking oblivious idiot.” And mo
re softly, but still loud enough for him to hear she adds, “I’ll have to open a fucking dating company at this rate.”

  London snoozes his alarm twice the next morning and trudges downstairs for breakfast still in Wyatt’s tent of a shirt, but not before sending Wyatt a quick text telling him where to find him. His hair is a mess but he doesn’t even try to fix it in the mirror in the lift. He can barely open his eyes. Fuck, he hates mornings. Thankfully the lights aren’t blinding in the seating area and he sinks into the soft cushioned seat after filling the biggest cup he could find with tea.

  “Morning,” Amelia chirps. She’s sitting with her side pressed to Hale, who nods at him in greeting.

  “Ugh,” London manages, glancing back down at his tea. “You’re already disgusting.”

  “We haven’t done anything.”

  “Exactly,” he says darkly, taking a sip of his tea and scalding his tongue. “It doesn’t bode well.”

  In his attempt to look at anything but two people freshly in love, his gaze falls on Sebastian. He’s at the buffet table, dressed to the nines in heeled boots, tight jeans and a purposefully ripped jumper. He’s wearing several bracelets and rings, big and clunky things. To London’s trained eye they look expensive. His hair is up in an artfully messy bun.

  With his tattoos peeking out, he should look like a washed-up heavy metal enthusiast, but his dimpled smile and sparkling eyes have even the older lady striking up a conversation with him.

  London wonders what lies he’s telling her.

  If they’d have started differently, if they had defined their relationship as nothing but colleagues with benefits, London would drag him up to his room right now.

  But then, he isn’t at all sure if Sebastian is even capable of getting close to people without somehow manipulating them. It’s not even his fault, not really. The part of him that makes him a fantastic grifter is what bothers London the most. Is Sebastian even able to tell just the truth? Or has his work seeped into his daily existence, like London, when he finds himself with a lifted wallet of the rude guy from the tube, not even remembering the decision to take it because it’s second nature to him now?

  He watches Sebastian make his way to their table, he watches the controlled way he moves his body, the self-confidence with which he holds himself.

  Sebastian winks at him.

  London looks back down at his tea.

  “Want some toast?” Sebastian asks, sliding into the seat next to him.

  London shakes his head, feeling sick.

  He’s on his third cup when Wyatt walks into the restaurant. Sebastian notices the smile on his face, his gaze following him to Wyatt, whom he checks out slowly.

  London stands up quickly, chair almost toppling over in his haste to get to his feet. When he flings himself into Wyatt’s waiting arms, it’s not even with the ulterior motive of making Sebastian jealous. It’s just, this is Wyatt. His best friend since they were eight. There’s no other person on the planet be trusts as much as him. He’s family.

  “You should visit me more often, Shrimp.” Wyatt whispers it right into his ear, but London still gives a warning growl. There are some nicknames that should not make it past puberty.

  “Your shoulders aren’t quite broad enough not to fit onto an airplane, so you should come visit, too.”

  Wyatt laughs, a deep rumbling sound that vibrates against his chest. “And get picked up by Interpol? No thanks.”

  He sits down in London’s seat, rearranging him like a doll in his lap. Wyatt has always been big: tall and wide with the sort of muscle that allows him to pick up almost any loot and run with it. When he was younger Wyatt had been his security blanket, scaring away bullies while giving London all the cuddles he needed. He curls into him easily now, Wyatt’s arm around his hip holding him in place, big hand spread on the outside of his thigh. He’s busy fixing Wyatt’s collar, when a cough interrupts him.

  Introductions, right.

  "Guys, this is Wyatt." He turns towards them, leaning back against Wyatt’s broad chest. Wyatt's arm wraps around London easily, the way it has a thousand times before. “You’ve met Hale, right? A job last year?”

  Wyatt nods, greeting him with a little wave.

  "This is Frankie, Amelia, and Sebastian." London points to each in turn. "And this is Wyatt Mackenzie."

  "I've heard a lot about this crew. Can't believe I'm finally meeting you all. And Sebastian Walker, too. I’m impressed. Bit of a fan of yours, if I’m honest."

  He smiles easily at Sebastian, who seems to be unable to take his eyes off the place where Wyatt’s big hand has slipped under London’s shirt. London kicks out, hitting him in the knee, which seems to pull Sebastian out of his stupor.

  "Hey," Wyatt says, hand falling on Sebastian's thigh for a moment instead. London pulls it right off. "Were you really part of the National Palace Museum heist in Taipei last year?"

  "I was, yes." Sebastian says, his voice more flat than London has ever heard it before.

  Wyatt's excitement is palpable and London wonders what he did in a previous life to deserve this.

  "Did you really steal that copied painting? The Qing Palace version?"

  “Along the River during the Qingming Festival? No, the copy by Qing Palace was stolen years before, they’re just keeping it quiet.”

  “That’s the theory,” Frankie chips in. “But then why hasn’t it cropped up on any auctions?”

  “Because the thief has a masterpiece copy on his wall, and they don’t want to share it with the world?” Amelia shrugs. “I wouldn’t sell it, either.”

  “I would,” London says. “Think of all the money.”

  “You’ve got money,” she argues.

  “Yes,” he says levelly. “But then I’d have more.”

  Before their conversation can deteriorate further, Wyatt nudges Sebastian again. “But I didn’t hear of anything else missing from the museum? Was it a bust?”

  "Nah,” Sebastian says and for a moment be seems to forget about glaring at Wyatt’s hands on London’s body, excited to tell his story. “The museum has over half a million pieces in its collection. Like one percent is exhibited and it's only had three complete inventories since 1984. By the time they even notice some things might be missing, I'll probably be out of the game."

  "Chilling on your own private island, no doubt."

  “On one of them, yes.”

  Wyatt nods happily, absentmindedly rearranging London in his lap. London doesn’t miss Sebastian's hand twitching, like he’s just about holding himself back from reaching out.

  "Why are you here then?" Sebastian asks.

  "Oh. I am bringing London his, um," Wyatt looks around, "stuff."

  "Right. And what’s the deal with you and London?”

  Wyatt looks at him quizzically for a long moment before freezing in place.

  He lowers his voice, so only London and Sebastian can hear him. "Shit, are you two. Are you two like, together? You should've told me!"

  London laughs. "Of course not. Sebastian is just a colleague." Wyatt looks between them dubiously. "We're just pretending to be married - it's our cover," London explains.

  "Should you be sitting in my lap, then?" Wyatt asks

  “Probably not,” Sebastian says.

  "For the love of – never mind." London gets up. "Where's my stuff then?"

  "In the car. Give me your room number and I'll bring it right up."

  When he gives Wyatt the number and heads upstairs himself, he doesn’t expect Sebastian to trudge along.

  "What are you doing?" London presses the button for his floor.

  “Trying not to lose my mind,” Sebastian mutters. At London gives him a look. "Maintaining our cover story," he amends.

  “You know as well as I do that that’s bullshit.”

  “Fine,” Sebastian says, and right there, hidden away behind his je ne sais quoi attitude, London sees it for the first time. Anger. And there definitely is something wrong with him, because it sparks som
e of his own. “I don’t like the idea of you alone with him.”

  Is this the truth or just another way to manipulate him?

  “I’ve been alone with Wyatt plenty. And you didn’t make such a fuss with Hale.”

  “Hale is desperately in love with Amelia. Wyatt – you care about him.”

  “No,” London says, just as the lift doors slide open. “I love him.”

  Sebastian is so taken aback, they start closing with him still inside. London rolls his eyes and reaches to activate the sensors.

  “He’s my best friend and I’ve known him all my life. Well, the parts that count, anyway. Of course I love him.”

  “Are you planning to sleep with him?”

  Right.

  He turns and walks to his door, no longer caring if Sebastian is struck dumb in that lift.

  “Is that a yes?”

  London knows he has an explosive temperament, but Sebastian really has a knack for provoking it. He’s suddenly so angry, his hands are shaking so much he can barely unlock the door.

  “How the fuck is that any of your business?” The light turns green and he throws his shoulder against it so hard, the ache reaches all the way down to his fingers.

  "Don't be an arsehole, London."

  London freezes mid-step. "Excuse me?"

  Sebastian lets the door fall closed behind them. "You heard me. Don't be an arsehole. It's not nice."

  London's mouth actually hangs open for a moment. He turns around, furious, advancing on Sebastian.

  "You," he says in a low, menacing voice. "You do not get to tell me what's nice, you utter bastard."

  He pushes Sebastian hard, hands on his chest. The door rattles from the impact and Sebastian rolls away, into the room. "Fuck, that hurt."

  "That hurt? That little nudge hurt you?" He follows Sebastian, practically stalking him now. There’s no reason to his actions now, he knows that. He’s angry, frustrated and confused and it’s all Sebastian’s doing. He pushes him again. "You snuck out of that fucking hotel room while I was asleep!"

  Whatever Sebastian was about to say, he snaps his mouth shut. "I left you a note," he says eventually.

  London's teeth clamp together. He’s pretty sure he’s never been this angry before and the fantasy of actually decking Sebastian is clear in his mind.