“That’s my perfume. It’s Caron’s Poivre. You like it?”
I lightly bite her neck. “It’s edible. Like you.”
A little shudder runs through her body. She pulls away and tilts her head toward the restaurant. “Shall we?”
“Yes. But don’t be surprised if I drag you off halfway through dinner. This dress is testing the limits of my self-control.”
Her smile is pleased. Apparently, devastation of the male population was her goal when she dressed. Nailed it.
She takes my arm. We stroll toward the restaurant while I enjoy the unexpected pleasure of being the envy of every man in sight. Even some of the women look like they’d like to take my place. The rest look like they’re hoping Angeline will trip.
“So, did you finish your article?”
There’s not a quiver in her voice when she answers. “I did.”
“How’d it go?”
From the corner of my eye, I see her mysterious smile. “There are always some unexpected difficulties near the end, but nothing insurmountable. I think my editor will be very pleased with how it turns out.”
“Turns” out, not “turned” out. Which indicates the work is still in progress, but she just said she finished it.
Interesting. I make a vague “hmm” sound and settle my arm around her waist. Our steps fall in sync like we’ve been walking together for years.
When we reach the restaurant, I check in with the hostess. She says the rest of our party is in the bar, so we head over, holding hands.
“Hiya, kids,” I say when we reach them. “This is Angeline.”
I introduce her to Tabby, who’s wearing ponytails and what looks like a turquoise tube sock for a dress, Connor, in his usual all-black ensemble of T-shirt, cargo pants, and boots, and Darcy and Kai. Juanita is nowhere to be seen.
After the introductions are made and everyone has said a friendly hello, I ask Tabby, “Where’s Juanita?”
“She found an MMA match on cable. I left her in front of the TV with Elvis and enough Red Bull and Cheetos to last a lifetime.”
“Elvis?” Angeline asks.
Tabby nods. “The rat she never goes anywhere without.”
When Angeline’s brows lift, Tabby grins. “It’s a long story. I love your dress, by the way.”
“And I love your Tinker Bell tattoo,” Angeline counters, looking at Tabby’s ankle. “She was always my favorite Disney character.”
“Mine, too!” Tabby says, smiling. “She’s badass.”
“But also fragile. She can’t exist unless Peter believes in her. Faith is the only thing that keeps her alive.”
I see it the instant Tabby’s curiosity kicks into gear. If she were a cat, her ears would’ve just pricked and her tail would’ve begun twitching. “All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust.”
Without hesitation, Angeline responds. “Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting.”
Tabby claps her hands and hoots. “Oh my God! I think I love you, Angeline!”
I look at Connor. “Brother, you have any idea what’s happening?”
“White girls be crazy, Ryan, you know this,” Darcy says dismissively, and downs the rest of her martini.
“Let’s eat,” says Kai, stroking Darcy’s arm and staring up at her in adoration. “My Häschen needs fuel for later.”
They exchange a pair of truly lascivious smiles. Before the conversation can get any weirder, I motion for the hostess to seat us.
* * *
An hour later, dinner is over, Kai and Darcy are fondling each other under the table, and Tabby and Angeline have become fast friends.
“You do not like Hello Kitty!” pronounces Tabby. She’s been peppering Angeline with questions for the past twenty minutes as Connor and I listened, stealing amused glances at each other.
Angeline nods, swallowing another spoonful of her dessert. She delicately pats her lips with her napkin. “I know you probably think it’s silly, but I was obsessed with her for my entire teenage years. I had this backpack I carried everywhere. It was pink, with little butterflies and flowers—”
“And Kitty was wearing an embroidered kimono,” interrupts Tabby in a low, thrilled voice. “I had the exact same one.”
Angeline blinks. “You like Hello Kitty?”
Tabby pounds both fists on the table and shouts, “I fucking love her!”
They beam at each other.
“Would you two like to get a room?” I ask.
“Don’t hate, Ryan,” Tabby says. Kitty’s worth seven billion dollars a year. What’re you bringing in annually?”
“Not enough,” Connor says. “He’s due for a raise.”
Now he’s got my attention. “Oh yeah? This is news.”
He smiles and slings his arm over the back of Tabby’s chair. “Just got a bonus from Karpov. A big one. And that’s thanks to you, brother. That job would never have gone so well if it weren’t for you. I think the guy wants to put you in his will or something. He wouldn’t shut up about how you saved his daughter’s life.”
I chuckle. “Well, you never know when you might need a favor from a Russian oligarch. His gratitude could come in handy someday.”
Beside me, Angeline falls still. Her gaze cuts from Connor to me. “You two work together?”
“Yep. This big ape recruited me straight outta the corps into his security firm. I thought we talked about that.”
“No, we didn’t. You said you knew each other in the military, and then we all started talking about the wedding.”
I think for a minute. “Oh yeah.” I shrug. “Anyway, we work together. Tabby helps, too.”
Angeline turns to Tabby with a new look on her face, one of wariness, as if she’s seeing her for the first time. “Oh?”
Tabby leans back into Connor’s arm and smiles at him. “Technically I work for the government, but these bozos need a little assistance from time to time.”
“Assistance?” Angeline asks tightly.
Tabby looks back at Angeline and says what she always says when someone asks what she does, with the same flat, no more questions delivery. “I’m in computers.”
It’s like a wall comes down over Angeline’s face. Her smile vanishes. The light goes out in her eyes. “You’re a hacker,” she says tonelessly.
That almost jolts me out of my seat. How the fuck did she put that together? Connor and I glance sharply at each other. Tabby merely smiles.
“I prefer the term social engineer.”
Angeline carefully sets her spoon on the edge of her dessert plate. “How interesting. I’ve been thinking about writing a book about hackers, actually. Which branch of the government do you work for?”
Tabby’s way too smart not to notice the sudden change of vibe from Angeline, but she’s also too smart to let that show. “Well, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you!” she says brightly. Then she laughs.
Angeline stifles the small tremor in her right hand by sliding it into her lap and curling it into a fist. “And you, Darcy? Do you work for the government, too?”
Darcy snorts like a farm animal. “Girlfriend, I couldn’t work for Uncle Sam even if I wanted to. I’ve got waaay too many skeletons in my closet. It’s like a damn boneyard in there. Nope, I’m a food blogger. And me and my baby, here”—she tenderly kisses Kai’s temple—“just published our first cookbook!”
Angeline’s smile looks like someone is holding a gun to her head and ordering her to act normal on pain of death. “That’s wonderful. So you’re writers, too.”
Kai politely belches behind his hand. “I’m a chef. Darcy does the writing. She’s the one with all the talent.”
Darcy pets his golf hat like he’s her favorite Chihuahua she dressed up and brought to dinner. “Aww, baby, that’s so sweet! But without your recipes, there would’ve been no cookbook. You’re the talent. I just transcribe your genius onto paper.”
Kai is incandescent with pr
ide. Meanwhile, I’m too focused on every nuance of Angeline’s reaction to this conversation to pay much attention to anything else.
She’s pretty good at concealing her emotions, but I’m better at reading people. And right now, the thing she most wants to do is bolt.
I reach out and give her clenched fist a squeeze. Instantly, it loosens. She threads her fingers through mine and sends me a small smile.
I lean over and murmur to her, “You ready to go?”
“Yes.” She gazes gratefully at me, like she’s surrounded by highway bandits and I’ve just charged in on my white steed, brandishing a sword.
“Well, kids, this has been fun,” I say, addressing the group. “Sayonara.”
I stand, pull a wad of cash from my wallet, throw it on the table, grab Angeline’s hand, and pull her to her feet.
“Guess we’ll say our goodbyes in the morning!” Connor calls out after us as I stride away from the table without a backward glance. The sound of everyone’s laughter fades quickly as I lead the way through the lobby, Angeline by my side.
When we get to the elevator bank, I stab my finger on the call button. Beside me, Angeline is silent and tense. The doors open, we get in, and the doors shut behind us. As soon as we’re in motion, I turn and press the emergency stop button. The elevator jolts to a halt.
Angeline lets out a little yip of surprise and grabs the handrail for balance. Then she flattens herself against the wall as I advance. Her eyes widen. When we’re chest to chest, toe to toe, I say, “Let’s play a game, Angel. It’s called Truth or Dare.”
She swallows.
“I’ll go first. I choose Truth. Ask me anything you want, and I’ll answer it truthfully.”
Angeline silently searches my face for a moment. I wonder what she sees.
In a husky whisper, she asks, “Can I trust you?”
“Now that’s an interesting question.” I brush my fingertips across her jaw, slide my hand into her hair, and cup the back of her neck. “I could ask you the same thing. But since it’s my turn, I’ll honor the rules of the game and give you an answer.” I lean in and softly press my lips to hers. Against her mouth, I say, “It depends.”
An alarm buzzes. We ignore it.
“Depends on what?”
“How you define trust.”
She drops her tiny handbag and grabs fistfuls of my shirt, her arms braced against my chest, pushing me away at the same time she’s pulling me closer. “That’s not an answer.”
I dip my head and skim my nose down her neck to her collarbone. She shivers but tries to suppress it, which makes me smile. I wrap my arms around her body and nuzzle my face into her hair. My hands find the full, round perfection of her ass, and squeeze.
“Can I trust you?” I ask into her neck.
She arches against me, moaning softly when she finds me hard for her. When I open my mouth over the pulse on her neck, her next moan is almost drowned by that damn buzzer.
I lift my head and stare into her eyes. “Can I trust you, Angeline?”
“Of course you can,” she says, staring earnestly back at me.
I throw my head back and laugh. “Fuck, I love the way you lie!”
Then I kiss her until we’re both panting and the buzzer gets too loud to ignore. I press the button for my floor and turn back to Angeline with a smile.
“Okay, sweetheart. Since we’re obviously not gonna do too well with Truth, let’s move on to Dare.”
My gaze drops to the neckline of her dress.
Five
Mariana
The look in Ryan’s eyes is savage. I know exactly what’s coming next.
Time to apply the brakes.
I place a hand flat on his chest, lock my elbow, and level him with a look. “Let’s not move on to Dare. Let’s just have a drink, cowboy, and slow this rodeo down.”
Beneath my hand, his heart thuds like there’s someone inside his rib cage whacking it with a sledgehammer. Mine is doing the same thing. Not only because he turns me on like nobody’s business, but also because I’m unsettled.
This man can sniff out a lie like a dog sniffs out a rat.
And worse than that? Far worse?
He knows I’m lying, and he doesn’t care.
I don’t know what to make of that. I don’t know what he has planned. All I know is that I’m far out in rough water, there’s a dangerous riptide, and something with a mouthful of sharp, hungry teeth is closing in.
Ryan takes my hand from my chest and kisses it. He sends me a dazzling game-show-host smile. “Sure thing, darlin’. I can go slow. I can go as slow as you like.”
His smile turns filthy. Unexpectedly, I laugh.
“You have a dirty mind.”
Chuckling, he pushes the button to start the elevator’s ascent. “Angel, you have no idea.”
But I do, and it intrigues me. Just one more part of the problem.
When we arrive at his room, I watch in fascination as he takes several minutes to disarm and unlock a series of electronic and mechanical security devices hidden behind various pieces of furniture and on all the doors, including the one to the bathroom. His paranoia seems like overkill, even to the woman planning on drugging his drink.
Amused, I ask, “Were you expecting company? Other than me, I mean.”
He turns to me with a twinkle in his eye. “Better safe than sorry, in my experience. You never know when someone with sticky fingers might take a stroll through your door.”
My heart stops. It starts back up with a painful beat, then flutters erratically while I draw a breath.
I decide the best way to handle this is with a frontal attack. He’ll know if I’m bullshitting anyway. Looking him dead in the eye, I say, “I’m not here to steal from you.”
His smile comes on slow. He wanders over to me, moving casually, his arms loose at his sides. He stops in front of me and murmurs, “I know. I just haven’t figured out what you are here for.”
I can’t tell if he’s talking about here in his room, here in this hotel, or here on this island. Possibly all three. Everything he says to me now seems layered with meaning. It’s all innuendoes and undertones. Insinuation is his middle name.
Better than Tiberius.
He touches my cheek. “Why’re you smilin’ like that, Angel?”
“I’m trying to decide if I like you or not.”
“Oh, you do. You just don’t want to. The question is why.”
Suddenly, I’m tired, and more than a little depressed. He’s worn me out with his eagle-eyed intuition. I’ve never met a man so perceptive. It’s exhausting.
“Can I ask a favor, Ryan?” I ask quietly, holding his gaze.
He answers without hesitation. “Yes.”
“Can we pretend, just for tonight, that nothing bad has ever happened to either one of us? That we still have faith that the world is a good place, filled with good people? That all our tomorrows can be as good as today?”
He searches my face in silence. He lifts his hand and cups my cheek. When he speaks, his voice is husky with emotion. “When you let me see you, the real you, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. If you give me more of that, I’ll pretend anything you want.”
We stare at each other. My pulse gallops like a whipped horse. Finally, I decide what the hell. I’ll never see him again. I’ve got two hours until Khalid passes out—as he does every night like clockwork after half a dozen cocktails. I might as well spend it being the real me with a stranger while we pretend everything is what it’s not.
I nod. “Okay. That’s sufficiently fucked up for my liking. But I’m warning you, I haven’t been the real me in so long, it might take a minute for me to remember who that is. And I have one condition, but it’s nonnegotiable.”
Ryan might as well be a live wire for all his crackling energy. “Which is?”
“We don’t talk about work. Mine or yours.”
He replies instantly. “Deal.”
I’m so relieved, I want to c
ollapse into hysterical laughter onto the floor. “Good. Pour me a drink while I take off these heels. They’re killing me. Being a femme fatale is hell on the feet.”
He blinks. Then he laughs. It’s a sound I enjoy far too much for my own good.
“I’ve got a full minibar, Angel,” he says, grinning. “Name your poison.”
“Bourbon.”
His eyebrows lift. He nods approvingly. “America’s number one spirit. Interestin’ choice for a girl from Paris.” He winks and saunters across the room toward the wet bar, leaving me astonished once again.
He knows I’m not from Paris.
How does he know?
Who is this guy?
“I’m going to snoop around now,” I pronounce.
“Knock yourself out, sweetheart. I got nothin’ to hide from you.” He doesn’t even turn, just casually proceeds to pour us drinks.
Teetering between exasperation, exhilaration, and the urge to abandon the job altogether and run away quick as I can, I kick off my heels, set my handbag on the TV console, and look around.
His room is large, with one wall missing and open to the view of the sea, as all the rooms in the resort are. Built right into the side of a mountain, the resort is the playground for the rich and famous, those who require both luxury and privacy. Everything about the décor and architecture supports both needs, from the thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets to the huge wading pools on the balconies to the ban on camera use in all the public spaces.
I walk through the living room and stare at the view. In the distance, the ocean sparkles under patchy moonlight. Fat gray thunderclouds slink down the hills. A humid breeze stirs my hair.
Ryan appears silently beside me and hands me my drink. “Gonna be a storm tonight.” He looks sideways at me. He’s not smiling.
I gulp the bourbon. It sears a stinging path down my throat. Steady, Mari. Steady.
I begin my inspection of the room.
First stop is the dresser. I pull open a drawer and peer inside. Underwear. White cotton briefs, folded with military precision. I resist the urge to touch them and close the drawer. The next drawer holds T-shirts, all of them plain black, all of them exactly alike. He must look amazing in them, tattooed biceps bulging from beneath the sleeves, the color setting off his golden skin and hair…
Wicked Intentions: The Wicked Games Series, Book 3 Page 4