by Donya Lynne
“It’s about time,” the voice in my ear says. “What have you been doing in there?”
“Any means necessary,” I remind my employer. Even though I’m whispering, my voice trembles.
“Are you in the safe, yet?”
“It’s cycling now.” I watch the unit’s screen.
It lights with four numbers. I punch them in.
“Where is he?” the voice asks.
“Shower.” I open the safe’s door. It’s too dark to see inside, so I fish the penlight out of my pocketbook and flip it on.
“Well . . .?” The female voice in my ear is full of impatience.
Other than a couple of stacks of hundred-dollar bills and a gold watch, the safe is empty. “It’s not here.”
“What?”
“It’s not here!” I whisper urgently, glancing over my shoulder toward the bathroom.
“It has to be. He never goes anywhere without it.”
“Maybe he’s hidden it. You said it would be in the safe. How good is your intel on this?”
“It was a logical assumption, Natasha. We know he has it with him. We assumed he would put it in the safe.”
“You assumed? What am I supposed to do now?”
“Find it.”
“How?”
“Any means necessary.” The voice pauses only for a moment before adding, “Don’t forget why you’re there, Natasha.”
“How can I when you keep reminding me?”
“If you want out of your contract, you’ll make sure you find that chip.”
The water shuts off in the bathroom.
“Shit!” I shut the safe. “He’s coming.”
I remove the earpiece, take the device off the safe, unplug the unit, and shove everything in my pocketbook.
The bathroom door opens. There’s no way I’ll make it back into bed without him seeing me.
As he steps out of the bathroom, I grab him and shove him against the wall, planting my mouth on his in a blazing kiss.
He’s caught off guard but quickly recovers, kissing me back.
“One more time,” I say, breaking away, breathless not only from how close I came to being caught but by the feel of his damp, clean skin and the way his lips mold against mine.
He grins, drops his towel, and picks me up so I can wrap my legs around his waist. “Friends then?”
“Oh yes. We’re definitely friends.” I laugh as he tosses me onto the bed and reaches for another condom.
“I think I hit the jackpot with you.” He rolls it on and drops onto his back, pulling me on top of him as he shifts toward the center of the bed.
“Well, we are in Vegas.” I lower myself on him. We both moan as the connection is made once more.
“Then luck be a lady tonight.” He grips my hips, grinding me against him, oblivious that if I’d found what I was looking for, I’d have been long gone by now.
If I’m smart, I’ll drag this assignment out so I can steal as much of the fantasy from him as I can before I have to leave him behind.
Chapter 3
Max
It’s ten thirty in the morning, and Nash and I are sitting inside Hash House A Go Go with astronomical portions of french toast and scrambled eggs between us. There’s more food on the table than four offensive linemen can eat, but that’s Vegas. The town of excess and action.
They say New York is the city that never sleeps. Well, Vegas is the city that never stops.
The city that never goes hungry, either, if this breakfast is any indication.
Nash got up early and returned to her own room to shower and freshen up. She looks like a million bucks in a pair of loose-legged slacks and a white blouse that reveals her lightly tanned shoulders.
I might have had four hours of sleep, but I feel as rested as if I’d slept a full eight. I’m usually exhausted the morning after sex, but sex with Nash rejuvenated me. Like a cell phone plugged into a charger, my battery is at one hundred percent, and I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than spend the day with her.
“What brought you to Vegas?” I ask, cutting off another bite of her french toast and swirling it in syrup before shoving it in my mouth.
We’re sharing our Texas-sized breakfasts with each another, and, despite the fact that she and I just met, I can’t suppress the comforting thought that this is what couples do. They share their food, stealing bites from each other’s plates without fear of reprimand.
She blushes and looks away. “You’ll laugh.”
“No I won’t.”
“Didn’t we discuss this last night?” She pulls one of the rectangles of chocolate-covered graham cracker from her s’mores mocha and bites it in half.
“Interestingly enough, no, we didn’t discuss it last night.” All the crazy things we did talk about before making the exit for my room, and neither of us mentioned why we were in Vegas.
“Are you sure?”
I laugh and swipe the graham cracker from her hand before she can stuff it in her mouth. “Quite sure. Now, quit stalling.”
She huffs, letting her shoulders droop. “Fine. I came here because . . .”
I shift forward in my seat, raising my eyebrows expectantly. “Yes . . .?”
“I’m here to become a showgirl.”
I straighten. “A showgirl?” That’s not what I expected.
“You know, a dancer.”
I grin. “Yes, I know what a showgirl is. I’ve seen enough to know they dance.”
She certainly has the right look, and I know from personal inspection last night that she has a dancer’s body. Lithe, lean, and strong. And flexible. In fact, there was a moment last night when I got the impression she’s a lot more flexible than most women. Could make for some interesting positions.
“What kind of dancing are you talking about exactly? Actual dancing, or . . .?”
Her eyelids fall as she fidgets with her napkin. “Are you asking me if I came here to be a stripper?”
“What if I am?”
Her shoulders stiffen, and her chin lifts proudly. “Then I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s not the type of dancing I want to do.”
“I’m not disappointed.” I take another bite of french toast. “There’s a lot worse you can do to earn a buck, and Vegas strippers make a lot of money.”
I’ll admit, part of me isn’t fond of her body being on display for hundreds of men every night, so I’m glad to hear she isn’t interested in stripping. But another part of me gets off on the idea that I could be sitting in the audience night after night, watching her, knowing that the woman other men are fantasizing about is the one going home with me. That while they’re beating their meat to the fantasy, I’ll be sampling the real thing.
“Sorry, but I only strip in private.” Her brown eyes glimmer enticingly as her lids lower provocatively.
Well, now, this conversation just got interesting. I shift in my chair and let my gaze travel over the front of her. “Private, huh?”
“When the mood strikes me.” She swirls the tip of her index finger in a pool of maple syrup then sucks it into her mouth.
My cock perks up at the notion that later tonight it could feel what her finger is feeling right now.
“Do you think the mood might strike you tonight? Say, in my suite?”
A coquettish smirk overtakes her lips as she gathers more syrup. “Maybe.”
“I certainly hope—”
“And good morning to you, Max.”
I spin to find Shaun marching toward my table. Shit. Not now.
He comes to a stop beside me. “Do you have something for me?”
My two worlds collide as my criminal past careens into my fledgling future, and Nash is smack in the middle.
“Can we talk about this later?” I glare at Shaun like I could burn him with my gaze.
He only glares back at me, as if he’s determined to destroy me one way or another, whether personally or professionally.
“You didn’t get it, did you?”
He huffs then glances toward Nash.
Just knowing he’s looking at her is enough to send bolts of possessive lightning down my spine.
“Shaun, this is Nash. Nash, this is my friend, Shaun.”
She wipes her syrupy finger on a napkin then warily holds out her hand, probably because she’s afraid he’ll rip it off instead of shake it. Shaun doesn’t have what I would call warm fuzzies pouring out of him right now.
He rudely ignores her hand then jabs his finger at me. “Don’t forget what I said, Max. You owe me. I suggest you stop fucking around.” He pokes me hard in the center of the chest, between my collarbones, then spins on his heel and marches toward the exit.
Nash lowers her hand to the table. “Friend, huh?” She says it like she can’t believe anyone like that could even have friends.
I watch him disappear around the corner. “He used to be.”
The light, breezy mood from a few minutes ago is gone, replaced by shadows and guilt. And something darker. The knowledge that I have to come clean. I have to tell Nash the truth about who and what I am, otherwise, everything budding between us is going to be based on lies. I can’t have that. I don’t want my life to be about lies, anymore. For once, I want an honest chance at something real. Something authentic.
Nash places her hand over mine. Her warmth is both a comfort and a curse. She deserves better than a man like me.
This is insane. I’ve known her less than twenty-four hours, but I already don’t want to lose her.
“Max? Are you okay?” Her eyes are filled with worry and concern.
I slowly shake my head.
Her delicate blond eyebrows furrow, scrunching the skin over her nose. Her hand curls around mine, but she doesn’t push for more. She waits, as if she senses I just need a moment to collect my thoughts.
I press my lips together then turn my hand over so our fingers twine around one another. “I need to tell you something.”
Her face flinches ever so little. “Okay?” She sounds cautious, like she knows this is going to be bad but wants to make an attempt at being receptive.
I release her hand and push away from the table, glancing side to side as I stand and reach for my wallet. “Not here, though.”
She sets her napkin on the table and rises awkwardly from her chair. Our easy morning has been obliterated by the truth. A truth Shaun’s untimely visit forced to the surface before I’m ready to face it.
I set a hundred-dollar bill on the table then stuff my wallet back in my pocket. I take her hand and lead her toward the exit.
“Don’t you want your change?” She glances back at the table.
“No.”
“But you overpaid by more than fifty dollars.”
“I don’t need it.”
“But—”
“You’ll understand soon enough.” I lead her out of the restaurant into the wide, gold-imbued hall of the Rio Hotel and Casino. “And then you’ll never want to see me again.”
Fuck my life. Fuck my past. Fuck Shaun and his piss-poor timing. More than anything, fuck me. I’m responsible for what’s happening to me right now. I made the decision. I’m the one who agreed to go along with Shaun’s games. I’m the one who decided to become a con man. Me! I did this to myself, and now I have to pay.
I’ll never be free. Not in the way that matters most.
Not in the way that will matter to Nash.
Chapter 4
Nash
Have you ever tried to pretend you don’t know a certain something about a person as that person tries to tell you about it? If you have, then you must know how damn near impossible it is for me to pretend this is the first I’ve heard of Max’s scam-filled past.
I feel like the priest in a confessional as Max reveals his sins in search of absolution. He’s pouring out his soul, confessing the damnable secrets of his past, telling me things I bet he’s never told anyone else.
How am I supposed to react? Should I gasp? Pretend to be offended? Act angry?
I’m not a very good actress, so I opt to remain silent, carefully guarding my emotions. With any luck, he’ll think I’m simply processing his confession and giving him the benefit of the doubt instead of hiding the amount of information I already know about him.
We’re on a quiet patio overlooking the desert. There’s a stone and granite water feature in the middle, gurgling tiny rivers down the sides of the stone centerpiece.
It’s hard to find privacy in Vegas unless you’re in a hotel room, but the July heat has driven most people to stay indoors, so we’re alone.
Max grows silent, and I pull my attention away from the fountain and look at him. He’s watching me expectantly.
“So?” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.
He acts as if I should be running away now that I know the truth. That he should already be watching my backside grow smaller as I put him in my rearview mirror, filled with regret about what I did with him last night.
I have no intention of running. Not just because my employer would never allow it, but because there’s something about Max that makes it impossible to leave. He reminds me of the fuzzy brown teddy bear I had when I was a little girl. I carried that teddy bear everywhere. It was my friend when I was alone. It was what reassured me that no six-headed monsters would leap out from my closet or grab my ankles and drag me under the bed at night.
Maybe Max isn’t the typical alpha hero, but, to me, he is. I want to stay with him. I want to see where last night could lead.
Is that insane? I’m falling for the man I’m supposed to be working. A man who has lied his way through life. A man any other woman would say can’t be trusted. Yet, I trust him. I can’t explain why, but I do. There’s an honesty in his gaze. A vulnerability I didn’t expect to find in a con man.
Whether or not I should trust him, just being around him makes me feel more alive than I ever have. There’s something elusive about Max I find immensely provocative. Something honorable. I felt it last night. I feel it even stronger now. In his heart, Max is a good man. I don’t know what happened to turn him toward a dishonest life, but at his core, that’s not the man he is. He’s a man of worth. Like me, he somehow lost his way. And I know better than anyone how hard it is to find your way back to a noble purpose once you’ve gone astray.
“So, you’re a con man?” I force myself to sound wary but open.
His expression flinches as if the words wound him. “Was. I was a con man.”
“But you’re not anymore?”
“No. At least, I’m trying not to be.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Shaun.”
“Your friend? Mr. Happy-to-See-Me this morning at breakfast?”
He nods and gives me a one-sided smile, as if he wants to find humor in my comment but is too afraid to let himself believe I’d be joking at a time like this. “That’s the one.”
“What’s he holding over you to make it so hard to get out?”
“Everything I just told you. My past. All the cons I’ve pulled.”
I recall what Shaun said while he loomed over Max.
“What did he mean when he said you didn’t get it? What were you supposed to get for him?”
Max sighs and leans forward, elbows on his knees. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “A ring.”
“A ring?”
“A big ring.”
“Like a diamond ring?”
He leans back, blowing out a heavy exhale as he turns his gaze toward the clear, blue sky. “Yes.” He pulls the same deck of cards he had at the bar last night from his pocket and begins shuffling them.
That’s when I understand. Cards are his security blanket. They bring him comfort the way my teddy bear used to comfort me.
“Why are you in Vegas?” I ask.
“Huh?” He looks up at me with a quizzical expression.
“Did you come here to pull a con? Or are you here for something else? Is this a vacation?” I let out a little laugh at the iro
ny.
His frown deepens. “What’s so funny?”
I look around me and gesture in the direction of the Strip. “You have to admit, Max, that Vegas does make the perfect vacation spot for a con man. What better place to go for a little R and R than a city built by the mafia.”
I know why he’s here. At least the reason listed on the dossier. But maybe the poker tournament is a ruse for something else. Perhaps he came here to run a scam. Unlikely, given the way he’s talking, but not an impossibility, especially if Shaun is riding his ass about the ring he was supposed to hijack from God only knows whose finger.
Max genuinely smiles for the first time since breakfast. “I see your point.” He shuffles the cards and deftly flips the top card to the bottom of the deck with his thumb. He has long fingers. Elegant fingers. Sexy fingers that did wondrous things to me last night.
“But no,” he says, “I didn’t come here to pull a con, and this isn’t a vacation.” He crosses his ankle over his knee and settles against the back of the bench. “I’m here for a poker tournament.”
“Poker?”
“There’s a big tournament tomorrow. That’s why I’m here.”
The look of determination in his eyes, as well as the set of his jaw, tells me there’s more to this tournament than he’s saying.
“To play poker? That’s it?”
His gaze skirts sideways to mine as he continues shuffling his cards, but he doesn’t reply.
“Do you cheat?” I’m not sure how I’ll feel if he does.
Instead of answering, he sits a little straighter and shuffles the cards a few times then deals me a hand.
I begin to turn the cards over, but he stops me.
“No, don’t look at them. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
He sets the remainder of the deck in his palm. “I just dealt you an ace-high flush.”
“A flush? What’s that?” I’m not familiar with poker.
“Five cards of the same suit. Yours are all hearts.”