by Bethany-Kris
Was she making the right moves?
Sargon didn’t know.
“Everything has been fine on my end,” Sargon assured Kirk.
The guy was considered to be Jett’s head of security, but frankly, Sargon answered to no one but Jett when it came to his job. Lately, he wasn’t even answering to Jett all that well, either. But that was another matter for a different day.
“Good, good,” Kirk said.
The guy’s gaze never left the many flat-screen monitors in front of his face. He was the only man on the grounds—besides Jett—to be allowed in this room to run the security cameras, and keep an eye on the footage. He was afforded an eagle eye view of everything happening at the party without actually being there.
“Thanks for checking in,” Kirk said.
Sargon nodded. “No problem. Anything else before I get back out there?”
“Nope.”
“Perfect.”
Sargon waved a hand over his shoulder as he left the security room, and figured he wouldn’t need to check in with Kirk again unless something particular came up. It was the only thing he agreed to for the night was to check in with Kirk periodically to let the man know if everything was fine on the main floor, or if he should be watching someone in particular.
He had not realized how painfully paranoid Jett could be at times. He didn’t understand why the man threw parties like this if it was such a taxing event when it came to stress. Why not just have the goddamn parties where your personal life and business did not intermingle with the guests you invited?
Because that would be too easy.
Clearly.
Jett—like most everyone else in attendance at the party—had too deep of pockets to shy away. Showing off the expensive things he had amassed over the years came with the territory of being as wealthy as he was. Keeping a good public persona, and seemingly inviting people into his life allowed for a little more trust when it was needed.
It was all a well-crafted lie.
A spectacular charade.
Sargon doubted that most—maybe only a handful—of the guests knew what Jett really did behind the scenes. They likely had no idea that they were shaking the hand and breaking bread with a man who had brokered deals with some of the biggest, and most feared, names in organized crime all over North America.
Or … shit.
Maybe they did know.
Who was he to say?
Sargon found Jett had finally separated from Cozen’s side for the first time all night when he made it back to the main rooms hosting the party. The man of the hour was having another two fingers of whiskey poured for him at the bar.
Quickly scanning the room and the people, Sargon couldn’t find Cozen. Instantly, his heart rate picked up a little bit.
Where had she gone?
He didn’t get the chance to even move into the connecting room to check if she was there, or somewhere else. Jett caught sight of Sargon standing just beyond the entryway of the dining room, and waved a hand as if to silently call him over.
What the king wants …
Sargon scoffed internally at that thought. Jett was no king. At least, not to him, anyway.
“How are things looking around here?” Jett asked once Sargon joined him.
“Quiet,” Sargon replied, “and Kirk says the same. I just came back from checking in with him.”
Jett nodded, and smiled. “Good, good. I assume my guests have spent enough time in my home to know what the rules are. I hate having to repeat them time and time again.”
“Yes, well, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to get back to my—”
“There is something else, actually.”
Jett tipped up his glass for a long swig of the whiskey, and didn’t bat a lash at the likely harsh sting it left behind when he set the glass down to the wet bar.
“What is that?” Sargon asked.
“I need you to do me a favor,” Jett murmured. “I would have had one of the other guys do it, but I don’t even like them being upstairs in my private spaces unless they need to be. I assume you won’t be missed out here on the floor. You haven’t been mingling.”
Sargon lifted a brow. “My job is not to mingle.”
“Exactly, and you don’t linger, either.”
Not with these people.
“I won’t linger in your private rooms, if that’s what you’re saying,” Sargon replied.
Jett nodded once. “Yes, that’s what I am saying.”
“What do you need?”
“There’s a bag I set on the foot of my bed—a black duffle. I didn’t have time to set my things out for the evening before the party got underway. I would appreciate it if you would set my room up for me.”
Sargon cleared his throat. “And by set your things up, you mean …?”
“Some of the things are meant to make Cozen comfortable for the evening. You can place those items in the attached bathroom that doesn’t have my personal belongings inside. Other things will clearly be mine. Put them in my bathroom. Nothing more, nothing less.”
That sounded simple enough.
Except it made Sargon want to rage.
Jesus.
He needed to get a handle on this shit.
“Well, go,” Jett said to him sharply with a wave of his hand. “I would like to end my evening sooner rather than later.”
“What about the party?” Sargon forced himself to ask.
Jett laughed. “The party will continue on with or without me. There’s nothing rich people like more than drinking and mingling with other rich people. Now go.”
That was that.
Sargon figured—at least—he would be able to leave a gift behind for Cozen.
A just in case.
Jett was not the only man in the mansion who came prepared to make Cozen far more comfortable with her night. Sargon had been counting down to this evening, after all. It had only been a matter of time before it happened.
He’d prepared for it, too.
Prepared to help her, anyway.
She just had to use it.
Jett was wrong when he assumed Sargon wouldn’t linger in his private rooms. Lingering, and quietly searching through Jett’s belongings—not that he found anything interesting, or something that might hurt Cozen—was the only thing that kept him from going downstairs, and ruining Jett’s night entirely.
By taking Cozen away.
If she didn’t want this—didn’t want to do this—the woman wouldn’t do it. It was as simple as that. Sargon forced himself to repeat those words even as he set out the things he had found in the black duffle bag at the foot of Jett’s bed.
Sargon had even rifled through those things a bit.
Some items were obvious—safety measures, like condoms. Sargon wondered how long it had been that Jett didn’t keep a pack of those on him. Or maybe it had been just long enough that he recently ran out. Who was to say?
Other things were not as obvious. The pretty white box wrapped with a red ribbon, for example. Sargon carefully unwrapped that present to find a black lace lingerie set that would make the devil’s cock hard, frankly.
It left nothing to the imagination. Scraps of thin, pretty fabric that would be easy to rip off, and would look damn good for the short time a woman wore it.
Jett had good—and expensive—taste.
Sargon hated that, too.
Once he had put everything where it needed to go between the respective bathrooms, he took the chance to look around Jett’s master bedroom. It had the same look, feel, and style of the man’s office.
A large, four-poster bed that dominated the space in a dark wood stain. Deep, rich colored rugs, bedding, and tapestries decorated the space. More bookshelves lined with old, leather-wrapped books. A small bar meant for one or two people, but with only the very best top-shelf liquor setting next to the crystal glasses. A walk-in closet showcased Jett’s love for tailored, name-brand suits, Italian leather shoes, and Rolex watches.
&
nbsp; A person could take a handful of the man’s jewelry he left sitting out in the open inside his walk-in closet, and make a killing selling the items at pawn shops.
The two bathrooms were polar opposites. One strictly meant for a man, and his business. The towels being a dark, rich brown like the tilework in the shower, and the shiny marble on the countertops. While the other bathroom was more feminized even in its soft colors, and pale beige towels.
Before Sargon thought to change his mind, he moved back into the bathroom, and left his little gift for Cozen sitting under the white box with the red bow. He had used the notepad and pen he found in Jett’s nightstand to scribble a quick note that he folded up around the small bag.
Just in case.
It was only when Sargon heard the laughter rumbling from down the hall that he finally decided it was time to stop lingering. Male laughter, and female. Both he recognized. Only one, he loved.
Sargon slipped into the only opened door just down the hall from the master bedroom at the same time Cozen and Jett rounded the corner near the large stairwell.
Jett’s office.
Their forms passed by the door, and their laughter continued. Although, he was pretty sure he could hear a soft note of stress in Cozen’s sweet laugh. It just wasn’t as musical—not as high and free as it usually would be.
Neither of the two noticed him standing just a few feet in the office hidden by the shadows. He always did blend in quite well with the darkness.
Sargon didn’t leave the office. Not even when he heard the bedroom door close down the hall. He had other things to do, now.
Cozen’s laughter died the very second Jett closed the bedroom door behind them. His subtle touches and whispered words suddenly became far more forward, and clear. She barely had time to turn around to face him, and he was in front of her.
On her.
A hand grabbed her clutch, and tossed it aside before coming around her waist pulling her closer. His other hand snaked into the free waves of her hair to tangle into the strands, and tug firm enough to keep her in place. His body beneath his fitted suit pressing tightly against hers—so tightly she could feel his growing erection pressing into her clenching stomach.
Fight or flight wanted to kick in.
Cozen forced herself to relax; she calmed to give her brain a chance to take in her surroundings, and figure out a way out. Or … something.
Jett’s kiss coming down hard on her lips all but silenced her plans. She couldn’t afford to make this man think she was plotting against him in any kind of way, so despite the revulsion in her body, she responded back.
Fisted his suit jacket to bring him closer. Answered his kiss with her own. Laughed breathlessly when he murmured something unintelligible in her ear.
“Let me help you out of this dress,” he demanded.
Cozen swallowed hard when his mouth traveled down over the column of her neck. “Impatience looks good on no man.”
At least, not on this man.
Jett’s hands tightened on her body and in her hair. To an almost painful point as his gaze found hers again. The hand at her waist slipped lower, and snaked beneath the slit in her dress. All too soon, she felt his hand edging its way closer to the spot between her thighs.
All the while, Cozen grinned.
She didn’t show anything else.
Not her panic.
Not her disgust.
She kept that mask on—kept it firmly in place. She only needed to get Jett in a space where he was distracted, and then she was free to finish the rest of her business here. She would never need to deal with him again after tonight.
“Do you know how long I have waited to get a taste of you?” he asked.
Cozen cocked a brow.
She did know.
About as long as she had been waiting for her chance to extract a ruby ring from him. His fascination with her was only caused by her presence in his life, and little else. He never would have known she even existed in any other case.
“Do you know how long?” he asked again.
“Long enough, I imagine,” Cozen replied quietly.
Jett flashed a grin. “Then you will forgive me for my impatience. And for my forwardness, too, I hope.”
Cozen reached up to grab Jett’s jaw, and brought him in for a quick kiss. “You’re forgiven.”
As fast as she was on her feet, Cozen found herself turned around, and on her back on the bed. She stared up at the vaulted ceiling as Jett climbed over top on her. The slit in her dress had opened up entirely to expose her bare legs and thighs.
Not to mention, the red lace underneath.
Jett’s hands skimmed from her ankles to her knees, and then the insides of her thighs, too. He pushed her legs open a little more to fit in between, and his fingers dug firmly into her thighs. Hard enough to leave marks behind, likely.
She didn’t want his marks. His marks owned no place on her body. She was not his—not his to have, or to claim, or to leave a piece of him behind when he was done. She would never be his despite his foolish notions, and this diversion she was playing on him.
It’s a game. It’s a job.
Do what you have to do.
Cozen’s internal mantra helped to keep her steady. It helped to keep her legs open when all she wanted to do was close them, and put her fist through this man’s throat. She didn’t think that would work out very well for her in the end.
So instead, she played her part.
She did what was needed.
Widening her thighs, and letting his hands travel. Letting his mouth explore her inner thighs, and then higher on the swells of her breasts, and her throat. She pulled him closer when what she really wanted to do was shove him away, and she let him believe …
For a moment, he only had to believe this was real. Soon, reality was going to come down hard on Jett Griffin, and it would not be a nice place for him to be sitting. To realize that a woman he had become so attached to had only come into his life to use him, and hurt him in the end.
She didn’t feel badly.
This was who she was.
This was what Cozen did.
Without warning, Jett was pushing away from her. He straightened to his full height at the foot of the bed while she propped herself up on her elbows. His change in pace gave her a chance to look around, and think.
Knocking him out with something would do the trick. She only needed him down for just long enough to do her business, and get the hell out of there.
Her gaze scanned the room for something to—
Jett pointed at the bathroom nearest to them with the door wide open, the light turned on. “You have some things waiting for you in there—a gift, or two. I wanted you to be comfortable tonight. And every night with me, Cozen. Always.”
She smiled.
“I’m comfortable with you.”
But five minutes away from him would give her more of a time to plan, so she took that offer faster than he could remove it from her.
“But I would love to see what you got me,” she said.
Jett flashed her a grin. “I’ll give you a few minutes, then.”
She disappeared into her bathroom just as he moved into his across the room. She was quick to close the door behind her, and lock it, too.
Just in case.
Cozen overlooked the items clearly set out for her. A white gift box with a red ribbon. New toiletries to say he absolutely intended for her to stay the entire night, and have things to freshen up with in the morning.
No, instead she looked for something to use. Something to make sure Jett would be down for the count while she finished this goddamn job. She didn’t want to actually kill Jett—her job wasn’t to end his life, and she rarely took on that responsibility during a heist, anyway.
Quickly, Cozen realized there was nothing for her to use in the bathroom. She cussed a blue streak under her breath, and sat her ass down on the edge of the marble bathtub. The gift box on the counter taunted her.
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What was inside?
Likely nothing she wanted.
Still, she reached for it. Pulling it from the counter, something else underneath the box fell with it. She opened the top of the gift at the same time she reached for the folded up piece of paper on the floor.
Black lace—racy and sexy—rested inside the box. A note, and a baggie of powder, rested inside the paper.
Cozen dropped the box to the floor, uncaring about the lingerie Jett clearly wanted her to wear. She was much more interested in the note and drug she was holding.
Crushed Quaaludes. In case you need an out. – Sargon
Cozen held tight to that bagged, and crumped the note in her other fist. He was her saving grace, and Sargon couldn’t even possibly know it.
Or maybe he did.
She didn’t have time to think about it.
Cozen just needed to act. Quickly, she stripped down out of the wine-red dress, and let it fall to a forgotten heap on the floor. She removed the red lace bra and panty set to replace it with the black set inside the box on the floor.
The lace hid nothing. It barely covered her breasts, and her ass was fully on display in the thong.
It didn’t matter.
Not now.
Opening the bathroom door just enough to peer out, she found Jett was still hidden behind the door of his own private space. Cozen came out quickly, and moved across the room to the small wet bar. She grabbed one of the crystal glasses, and used the spirit Jett had been drinking for most of the night to fill it almost to the rim.
Far too much alcohol for just him.
That was okay, too.
Cozen opened the baggie, and dropped the powder into the whiskey. A couple of swirls of the glass, and the powder was gone entirely. Like it hadn’t even been there to begin with. She hid the baggie in her palm as a knob jiggled.
She just turned around as Jett’s bathroom door opened, and he came out. He’d left his jacket, and shirt behind. His pants were undone, and his shoes were gone. He was not a bad looking man—fit for his age, and aging well, too.
Like a fine wine.
Another woman would suit him well, and be what he needed. Cozen was never going to be that woman, though.