Sexy Little Sinner

by Kenner, J.

  I can tell from the look on her face that she knows exactly what I’m planning.

  “We’re not playing this game.” Her voice broaches no argument.

  “Right. I know. I’m sorry.” I move to her front door and rest my hand on the knob. “I’ll get out of your hair.” I want to tell her she looks great, but considering where this relationship needs to go—specifically, nowhere—I keep my mouth shut and tug open the door.

  And standing right there, his hand raised to knock, is Leo.

  Chapter Six

  “Connor! Hey, buddy, good to see you.”

  Leo gives my shoulder a friendly pat as he steps past me to enter the house, either not caring or not knowing that his date’s ex-boyfriend is standing right in front of him.

  Is this a date-date, I wonder. Or are they just doing what they’d talked about and getting comfortable with each other so that they can pass themselves off as intimate.

  I glance over in time to see Leo brush a kiss over her lips without appearing the slightest bit self-conscious.

  That, I think, is clue number one.

  “Sorry I’m not ready,” Kerrie says. “Connor and I got to talking.”

  “No worries. We have time before the reservation.”

  Reservation. That sounds like more than a rehearsal to me. Let’s call that clue number two.

  Fucking, Lame-ass Clue Number Two.

  I shake my head like a dog, warding off these damnable thoughts.

  “You okay?” Leo’s squinting at me.

  “Fine. Just a lot of stuff on my plate.” I toss my thumb over my shoulder to indicate the door. “I should head out. And I know you two need time to, ah, rehearse.”

  “Oh,” Leo says. He looks up at Kerrie’s beaming face, then murmurs. “Rehearse. Yeah.” He takes her hand. “That’s a good word for it.”

  My stomach twists, but I remind myself that this is good. Leo’s a stand-up guy. This is what I want.

  My brain knows that. The rest of me just hasn’t caught up with reality.

  Which is why I need to leave before I kill the son-of-a-bitch. “Right,” I say, my voice brisk and cheerful. “I’m out of here.”

  I’m at the door when he calls out, “Actually, can you stay a bit longer? There’s something we need to discuss. About the Rollins case, I mean.”

  My brow furrows as I look to Kerrie, who shrugs. Obviously she doesn’t know what’s going on any more than I do.

  I follow both of them to the living area, which isn’t a long trek in the tiny house. As Kerrie settles onto the floor, her back against the sofa, I cop an armrest. Leo stands in front of us, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression unreadable.

  “Just spit it out,” I say, curious now.

  He draws in a breath, and I see a flicker of consternation cross his face. “As much as I’d enjoy this assignment, there’s been a change in plans.”

  I turn to Kerrie, only to find her looking back at me, clearly just as confused.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “Remember how I told you that my sister went to school with Rollins girlfriend, Amy? The one who’s been helping us? Well, turns out there’s a picture of me in Rollins’ office.”

  “How?” I ask. “According to the briefing notes, Amy and Rollins weren’t together until well after she graduated.”

  “True,” Leo says. “And that’s part of why it never occurred to me that this might be a problem. But apparently Amy had a photo collage of her made for Rollins about seven months ago. To celebrate the anniversary of their first date. Back when she didn’t realize that Rollins was the spawn of Satan.”

  “I still don’t understand what the problem is,” Kerrie says.

  “The problem is that Leo’s picture is part of that collage.” I meet his eyes. “Isn’t it?”

  “Afraid so.” His hands are still in his pockets, but now his shoulders rise and fall in an expression of frustration. “Mae and I went with Amy to a concert in Zilker Park. We were all screwing around, and someone took a picture of the three of us. I’m right in the middle, larger than life, an arm around both girls’ shoulders.”

  “Which means that Rollins might recognize you,” Kerrie says.

  “He probably won’t, but we can’t take the risk. If we’d known, I could have shifted my cover story. Worked Amy in as an old friend. But changing it up now is too risky.”

  Kerrie’s brow furrows. “So what do we do?”

  “Same plan, different players,” Leo says. “I just got off the phone with Cayden and Pierce. Called you,” he adds, looking at me, “but it rolled to voicemail.”

  I pull out my phone. Sure enough, there’s a missed call.

  “Consensus was, as the only single guy in the company not on Rollins’ radar, you’re our man. And Kerrie, of course, is still the girl. And you two have been friends forever, right? So the fake relationship thing won’t be a problem.”

  “No,” I say, my chest suddenly tight, but whether with dread or anticipation, I really don’t know. “That won’t be a problem at all.”

  “Wait, wait,” Kerrie says. “Won’t Rollins realize that Connor’s voice is different?”

  Leo shakes his head. “I doubt it. Our voices are pretty close in timbre. And most of the time, Rollins and I communicated by email. Made it easier, what with the time difference. The one time we did talk, it was on speaker and I turned on a static generator. We could barely hear each other.” He grins, looking pleased with himself. “I like to plan for all contingencies. Guess this time that practice came in handy.”

  “No kidding,” I say.

  “So that’s the plan,” Leo says, looking between Kerrie and me. “All good?”

  I know that I should object. Right now really isn’t the best time for Kerrie and me to be undercover at a sex party. But all I say is, “Yeah. Sure.”

  I am, after all, a professional.

  Besides, this might turn dangerous. And in that case, I’m the only one I truly trust to keep Kerrie safe.

  “Excellent,” Leo says. “So we’ve got about a week before the party. We can start briefing tomorrow, and I’ll get you access to my fake Dubai email account, all our correspondence, and the rest of it.”

  I nod, not worried about getting up to speed. I’ve taken on more complicated personas for undercover work. No, my only concern is sitting right next to me. But—again—professional.

  And that, of course, is going to be my buzzword for the entire operation.

  Leo reaches down and offers Kerrie his hand, helping her up. “Rain check okay?” He’s still holding her hand. “I want to make sure everything in my head is in a brief for Connor.”

  “Of course. We can do dinner some other time.”

  “And you two should probably go out,” he adds, nodding at me. “Play the boyfriend/girlfriend game. You want it to look convincing.”

  “Yeah,” I say, acknowledging that despite my best efforts to stay away from this woman and give her the space to move on, Leo Palermo has just shoved both of us into the rabbit hole.

  Chapter Seven

  Although the image of Kerrie’s hand intertwined with Leo’s stays in my head for the next few days, I get no further clues as to whether or not there’s anything brewing between the two of them. Maybe it was just a friendly, casual gesture. Or maybe they’re both damn fine actors in the office who fuck like bunnies once the workday is over.

  I tell myself that would be just fine. Great in fact. They’d make a cute couple.

  I am, of course, a lying son-of-a-bitch.

  Fortunately, I don’t have much time to ponder. Instead, I’m focusing on the role I’ll be playing. John London. An ex-Pat high roller looking to pad his pocketbook even more. Back in the states for a whirlwind trip to see friends and business advisors, his young and pretty trophy girlfriend—Lydia—at his side.

  And no, I’m not blind to the irony. For this particular assignment, the fifteen years between us works to our advantage.
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  One week is pretty tight prep time for a Thursday-to-Sunday, no-respite undercover assignment. But Leo’s a consummate professional, and he’s been working closely with both me and Kerrie, drilling us over and over again on our cover stories, the details of how I made my fortune, a description of my office in Dubai, the backstory of how I ended up living and working in that part of the world, how I met Kerrie—sorry, Lydia—and on and on and on.

  The three of us have been more or less attached at the hip for days. Certainly, we’ve been locked in close quarters, having commandeered the bigger of the office’s two conference rooms as our own. The downside is that I never have a moment to myself as we cram, study, and stay in character. The upside is that we’ve thoroughly trounced whatever insecure demon had me avoiding Kerrie.

  “I guess my evil plan worked,” she says as we’re taking a break to wolf down a quick lunch, and Leo had stepped out to take a phone call.

  I grin. “I always knew there was a touch of evil inside you. Those wicked, wicked ways of yours.”

  “Not wicked,” she retorts in that silky tone I know so well. “Naughty.” For a moment, I’m caught in her sultry gaze. Then she grins broadly, laughs, and says, “Isn’t this so much better?”

  It takes me a moment to mentally switch gears, and longer for my body to drop back to a normal temperature. I, however, reveal none of that as I say, “Better?”

  “Than you avoiding me. It’s been nice working side-by-side with you again. I’ve missed you.”

  My gut twists. “Kerrie…”

  “No, no. It’s okay.” She lays her hand on mine. “This is what I meant. My evil plan. I mean, I didn’t really have a plan, of course. But I think this job will be good for us. I feel like it’s already repairing our friendship. Don’t you?”

  I glance at where her hand rests on mine. She’s right, of course. We’d been friends for years before we were lovers, and I’ve always respected the hell out of her. She’s smart and loyal and sweet and funny. She’s never met a stranger, and she goes after what she wants. I should know—she went after me, didn’t she?

  Not that I put up much of a fight. Hell, once I saw her as a woman and not the thirteen-year-old girl she’d been when we met years before, I wanted her, too. For that matter, I still do. Only now I’m exercising the self-control that I didn’t have back then.

  And, yes, I regret the month I spent avoiding her. I blame it on Adult Onset Adolescence caused by an unexpected make-out session. Which is to say that I got lucky in the utility room, and like a thirteen year old boy who doesn’t have a clue how to deal, I basically hid under the metaphorical covers and tried to pretend the world—or at least the girl—away.

  Which is especially ironic considering that we broke up because I’m so much older. Apparently older doesn’t always translate to maturity. Who knew?

  “Connor?”

  I hear the worry in her voice and look up, realizing I’m still staring at our hands.

  “You do agree, right? That this has been good for us.”

  “Yes. Yes, sorry. My mind is all over the place, but I do. I absolutely do.”

  “Good.” She gives my hand a quick squeeze, and I wish that I didn’t feel the contact so deeply. But I do, and I hate myself for the fantasies that whip through my head, each and every one flying by on guilt-ridden wings. Because what right do I have to fantasize? I’m the one who called it quits, after all.

  Kerrie, however doesn’t seem to notice my mood shift. And when Leo returns she snatches her hand off mine, flashes him a wide smile, and offers him her bag of potato chips.

  Jealousy, thy name is Connor.

  I force the green monster back into his pen and knuckle down, trying to ignore my growing suspicion. And as more hours turn into more days, it becomes easier. Because Leo is a relentless taskmaster, and there’s no room to think about anything other than the operation.

  Hopefully all our intensive prep is overkill, but the alcohol will surely be flowing at the party, which means that tongues will be loose. And while we can try to limit how much we drink, we can’t refuse to imbibe without causing suspicion.

  Considering the nature of the party, there are other things we can’t avoid doing without causing suspicion. And, damn me, I can’t deny the unwelcome anticipation growing inside me.

  I shouldn’t want it. I should tell Kerrie that no matter what, we’re going to fake it.

  But faking it could put us both in danger. And—hell, I have to at least admit it to myself, right?—I do want it. I want her. Despite everything I know is right and every solid reason I have for not ever touching her again, this job feels like a gift. A strings-free way to have Kerrie beside me—with me—one last time

  And that, of course, is what makes this mission truly dangerous.

  For days, I’ve been expecting Kerrie to make some comment—a tease about how we’re fated and there’s no way I can truly walk away from her because the universe will just draw us back together. But that comment doesn’t come.

  I tell myself that’s good. That she’s healing. That I want her to move on.

  Sure, there’s still a dull ache that surrounds my heart, like the phantom pain of an amputated limb. But that’s okay. I survived multiple tours in the Middle East. I can survive heartache.

  Hell, yeah, I can.

  The party is Friday to Sunday, and I work late Thursday to clear my plate of all my other work. We’re both taking burner phones—Pierce, Cayden, and Leo have the contact info — but nothing that gives away our true identities. We don’t want any identifying information on us if we’re caught red-handed, but I wouldn’t put it past a man like Rollins to ransack his guests’ belongings looking for ammo to fuel a blackmail scheme.

  It’s almost seven by the time I finish. Leo left just after noon for a lunch meeting with a client who’s in town on other business. Before that, we went over the tech one last time—we got some seriously cool new gadgets for this job from our most innovative supplier, Noah Carter over at the Austin Division of Stark Applied Technology—then Leo wished me luck and told me to watch out for Kerrie. And to nail Rollins.

  I assured him that was my plan.

  Cayden and Pierce left later after another quick debrief. They’re both serving as backup, but they’re as up to speed on the job as Kerrie and I are.

  Now, I’m heading home for a quick workout and a full night’s sleep. Considering the reputation of Rollins’ parties, I’m not sure I’ll be getting much shut-eye until Sunday night.

  Although she’s our office manager, lately, Kerrie’s been working more from the reception desk in our small lobby than from her office. We’ve had four receptionists over the last six months and at this point, we’re all pretty convinced that the post is cursed.

  I expect to see her there, buried in either briefs for the operation or spreadsheets for the business. But the computer is shut down and the desk is locked tight.

  Which means that Kerrie left for the night without even a goodbye.

  I tell myself she probably didn’t want to disturb me, but the truth is that her silent departure bothers me more than any interruption would. It’s just not like her.

  Still, I don’t want to read too much into it. She undoubtedly still needs to pack. And I’m sure she wants to get a full night’s sleep, too.

  I lock the office, then take the elevator to the lobby, feeling a little bit hollow and oddly alone.

  The plan is for me to pick up Kerrie at ten tomorrow morning. It’s about a three-hour drive to Rollins’ ranch in North Dallas, and if we stop for lunch along the way, we should get there right at the appointed hour of two. That gives us time to get settled in our room, possibly meet up with Amy, and become familiarized with the layout of the place before the welcome cocktails at five.

  We have the blueprints and Amy’s description, of course. But I’m not willing to take anything for granted. Especially since Kerrie is with me, and no matter how much of an in-and-out job this is supposed to be, her
presence on an operation means that her safety is on the line. And that’s not something I’ll ever take lightly.

  I cross the lobby, then step out onto the sidewalk that runs in front of our building at Sixth and Congress. The street is bustling, and I join the fray, eager to get home.

  Like Kerrie, I moved not too long ago. When I first came to Austin, I lived in a small house in Central Austin, but used some of my trust fund to buy one of Austin’s early downtown condos as a rental property. An investment banker, our dad might have spiraled down after our mom left, but he was always careful with his money, and after his death, our grandmother managed the trusts until Cayden and I were old enough. Not a huge sum, but enough for a nice down payment on the condo, which I turned into a shiny profit a few months ago when I sold it, then upsized to a bigger condo in a nicer building.

  Now I’m living the downtown urban lifestyle in a fabulous two story corner condo with a view of the river. And my original Crestview bungalow has been converted from my primary address to a rental that brings in a tidy monthly income.

  Dad may not have had the wherewithal to survive heartache, but he left his sons a nice legacy. His grandkids, too, since I’m one-hundred-percent certain that Cayden is waiting for kids before spending a penny of his still-untouched trust.

  Unlike my brother who prefers a sprawling house with a yard that requires constant upkeep, I love my condo and its location. My view is exceptional and requires no effort from me. The lobby is always tidy, and if there’s no food in the refrigerator, all I have to do is go out through the lobby door, turn left, and I can grab some supplies at the nearby Royal Blue Grocery. Turn right, and I can eschew cooking all together and grab a sandwich at my favorite deli. Not to mention all the options open to me if I walk even a few blocks.

  My usual after-work routine is to head south down Congress Avenue, popping into Brew for coffee before I head home. They know me there, and I kick back, log onto my favorite news app, and spend half an hour catching up on the world outside my little circle.