Sexy Little Sinner

by Kenner, J.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. But I don’t know his passwords.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t worry about that. We’ve got it covered.”

  Her eyes go wide. “How?”

  “If I understood that, I’d be in R&D and someone else would be here risking his neck.”

  In truth, I do understand it. Sort of. Okay, not really. The way Noah described it, we’re accomplishing the electronic equivalent of stealing the entire safe when all we’re really after is the brick of gold inside. But we’ll take the safe back home and crack it after we’re free and clear. Only with a safe, the bad guy will notice that it’s missing. With digital information, our larceny should go undetected.

  That’s the plan, anyway.

  Hopefully it will work like Noah said. Not that I doubt him. The man’s a genius, and now that he has billions of dollars in R&D money thanks to Damien Stark’s worldwide conglomerate, he has the scratch to make the crazy things his brilliant mind conceives.

  “So are we moving in tonight?”

  I can tell by Kerrie’s voice that she hopes so. Most of her nervousness is because of anticipation. Get the job over with and she can relax.

  But Amy shakes her head. “He’s always keyed up on the first night, making sure everyone’s having a good time, that kind of thing. He’ll notice if you wander. But he never stops drinking at these things. So by tomorrow, you could pop into Dallas and spend the day shopping and the odds are he wouldn’t even blink.”

  “That works,” I say. “Plus it gives me time to get a feel for his patterns. Will you be able to get away from him to go with me?” I ask Amy.

  “I don’t think that will be a problem at all. He likes to say we’re exclusive except when we’re not.” She smiles at Kerrie. “And I’m sure he’ll be more than happy keeping you company.”

  “Great,” Kerrie says.

  I think about the man and the way he leered at her. And I know right then that as simple as this assignment may look on paper, it’s still going to rank as the hardest in my career.

  Chapter Nine

  Yes, I know that the plan was for Kerrie to cozy up to Rollins so that Amy and I could get away.

  And yes, I know what’s riding on the plan working out.

  Moreover, I know that Kerrie is perfectly capable of taking care of herself with that arrogant fucktard of a human.

  I know all of that; I do.

  And at the same time when I see the way Rollins’ hand slides over her ass as he moves behind her, I pretty much want to rip his balls off. The man’s dangerous, after all. And the thought of him touching her makes me ill.

  At the same time, I can’t really blame him for being so handsy. Kerrie looks incredible.

  We’d been unsure about the dress code, a problem that I solved by bringing jeans and a Henley as one option and a tailored silk suit as the other.

  To this, Kerrie informed me that I was not only cheating, but that as a man I didn’t realize how difficult it is to maneuver in her world. When she unpacked in our room, I understood what she meant. Being careful to remain in character as Lydia and John, she showed me the options she’d brought. A tube style gown you might see on a hooker trolling for tricks in Hollywood. A denim miniskirt and a midriff-revealing top that accentuated her assets in a way that I thoroughly approved of, but which didn’t come under the umbrella of elegant. A sexy cocktail dress that I thought would be just fine, but that she insisted was too “pearls and snobbery.”

  “I have a few other things, too,” she said. “But nothing that feels right.”

  I just stood there in my suit and thanked my parents for providing me with my particular pair of chromosomes.

  Finally, she remembered that there were outfits in the closet. And that’s where she found the shimmery gold gown with the plunging back, equally revealing neckline, and a slit up her left thigh that made no allowance for underwear.

  She’s wearing it now and looks good enough to eat, and from the stares she’s getting from both men and women as they mingle in the ballroom, I know that I’m not the only one who thinks so.

  The material has some stretch to it, and it clings to the curve of her ass, which is where Rollins’ hand dallies before sliding over a bit so that his fingertips caress the bare skin of her thigh.

  She turns, ostensibly to talk to him more directly, but it has the effect of shifting his hand away from her bare thigh and back to her ass. Under the circumstances, I consider that an improvement.

  At least I do until his fingers creep up. And when I see him brush the pad of his thumb on the skin at the base of her spine, I realize I have to intervene. Not for me, but for her. She’s going to have to deal with him all alone tomorrow when Amy and I make our escape. Tonight, she deserves to relax with me.

  A waiter glides by with a tray of champagne, and I grab two glasses, then join them. “Lydia,” I say, handing her a flute, then sliding my free hand around her waist as I nod to Rollins, claiming what’s mine.

  She turns to me, and I see the trust—and the gratitude—in her eyes. I want to pull her close and kiss her. And since Rollins is watching us—and since it’s that kind of party—that’s exactly what I do.

  She’s just sipped her champagne, and I can still taste the tingle of tiny bubbles on her lips. She gasps in surprise, but doesn’t pull away, instead she deepens the kiss, her body going soft in my arms, her mouth opening to me. I close my eyes, wishing we were anywhere but here and at the same time grateful that this is exactly where we are, because under what other circumstances would I have done this?

  I know better, after all. I know exactly what kind of door I’m opening.

  And I know damn well that once this fantasy of John and Lydia is over, I’m going to have to close it tight again.

  I pull away gently, breaking the kiss. Her lips are parted, her skin flushed, and her nipples are hard against the soft, clingy material. I take a step back, sucking in air to get my own body under control. Because right now, all I can think about is ripping that dress off of her and tasting every delicious inch of her sweet little body.

  I meet Rollins’ eyes and note the way he’s watching us, his own face flush with desire. “I think Lydia and I are going to go explore. There must be a dark corner around here somewhere.”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up, and I’m quite certain that his eyes are following us. If I were to take her into a dark corner and do all the things I want, I’m absolutely positive that Rollins would follow.

  “Thank you,” she whispers as we move away.

  “For the kiss?”

  “Yes.” Her smile teases me. “And for rescuing me. At least until tomorrow. Tomorrow, I guess there’s no rescue allowed.” She sighs, and I have to join in. Because she’s right.

  Great.

  “Then again, maybe it won’t be so bad.” She glances around the room. “Considering this is supposed to be a sex party, it seems rather tame. Maybe all he’ll want to do tomorrow is play chess.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that. But you’re right about the party.”

  I look around, too. There are couples and clusters everywhere. Amy told us the house has twenty bedrooms and all are occupied by two people at a minimum. There are also a dozen or so people staying in a guest-house about half a mile away on the property. So the place is teeming. But it’s not like we’re in a porn film. Hell, it’s not even like we’re at a Vegas strip club.

  “I’d conjured up a lot more risqué things in my imagination,” she says.

  “Oh, really?” We’re in the dining room now, standing in a corner near the food-laden table.

  She takes a step toward me, then cups her hands on my ass as she eases against me. I watch as she bites her lower lip, and I know that she can tell exactly what kind of effect the feel of her is having on me.

  “Lydia…”

  The corner of her mouth twitches. “Hmm?”

  But I say nothing. Instead, my hand glides around to trace the plunging edge of her
dress, my fingertip warm against her soft skin. I watch as she closes her eyes, as her breath comes in short, stuttering gasps. Her teeth drag across her lower lip, and she opens her eyes, soft with a desire so familiar to me it makes my heart ache.

  “John.” She swallows. “Please.”

  “Please what?” I want to hear it. I want her to beg for my touch. I want to close my eyes and imagine all of our nights, remembering the feel of her in my arms, the joy of knowing that this incredible woman belonged to me.

  “Please don’t start something you’re not willing to finish.”

  Crash!

  And just like that, the moment shatters. Because what the hell am I doing? Where am I taking this? How can I justify this moment—or where this moment was going—knowing that it can’t go anywhere?

  I take a step back. “I’m sorry.”

  She licks her lips, then nods. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  I take her hand. “Come on.” This time, I lead her outside. The backyard is like a fairy land with twinkling lights, intimate seating areas, a steaming hot tub, a crystal clear pool, and walking paths through the kind of garden that usually isn’t found on North Texas ranch land. Presumably, Rollins pays a fortune for irrigation and landscaping.

  “Should we sue for false advertising?”

  I shoot her a questioning glance.

  “The party. Not really as expected.”

  “Disappointed?”

  I’m teasing, but she considers the question. “I’ll admit to being curious. But if a bunch of people standing around talking while a few more make out in corners constitutes a sex party, then I went to at least half a dozen my senior year of high school.”

  I chuckle. “Guess I’ve been to quite a few sex parties myself if that’s the definition.”

  I love the way she laughs. None of that ridiculous attempt to pull back. When she finds something amusing, she doesn’t try to hide it. With Kerrie, what you see is what you get, and I’ve always admired the hell out of her for that.

  Casually, she reaches over and takes my hand. I glance down, more affected by her touch than I want to let on.

  “I want to talk to you. It’s easier if I’m holding your hand.”

  My chest constricts with apprehension, but I simply nod. “All right.”

  “I just want to say that I get it. Why we broke up, I mean.”

  I turn just enough to see her face, trying to ascertain where she’s going with this.

  “I don’t agree with it,” she adds, with enough humor in her voice that I know she’s not looking for an argument, “but I do understand.”

  She pauses, as if making sure that I understand. So I nod and say, “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “And I really do want to stay friends.”

  “So do I. If you’re still worried about what I said in the office—about that not being possible, I mean—I was just—”

  “No, no, I get it. I cornered you and it was weird and we’re fine.” She draws a breath. “But you are right that it can be awkward. And I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

  “Oh, Ke-Lydia.” I wince, then watch her fight not to laugh. It’s not as if we think that there’s surveillance out here. I’m actually pretty sure there’s not, as I have a bug detector in my pocket. Any mics, and it should be vibrating. But I also don’t want to drop character too much. “I don’t want that either,” I assure her.

  She draws a breath. “That’s why I’m thinking about taking another job.”

  We’ve been walking through a young maze, not too tricky since the hedge is only about shoulder height. Now, I pull her to a stop. “What are you talking about? What job?”

  She starts to rub her chin with her thumb, something she does only when she’s nervous.

  “Lydia…”

  “I’m thinking of moving to Los Angeles, okay?”

  The words hit me with the force of a wrecking ball, and I take a step back, stunned. “What? Why?”

  “Delilah asked me to come work for her. Like a manager, but not. I’d basically help run her life. All the stuff that a star needs except for the actual Hollywood part, which I know nothing about. But her finances and organizing her life and arranging her travel and overseeing security and on and on.”

  I stand there in shock. “Does Pierce know about this?” Delilah is Pierce’s sister-in-law. He and Jezebel met when Delilah, a young movie star, was in town and needed protection from some truly rabid fans.

  “Not yet. I was talking to Del about us, and one thing led to another. I’m seriously considering the job. The title is executive assistant, and the woman who did have the job recently married and moved to Chicago.”

  “You’re really thinking about leaving?”

  Her shoulders rise and fall. “I’d miss you. But the thing is, I already miss you, you know? And I do think that we can go back to the way things were before the utility room. But I also know that in the back of my mind, I’m always going to be wondering if history will repeat itself. And the real kicker—the thing that lets me know that leaving is right—is that I want it to.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I admit. I can’t tell her I want that as well. It was my decision to break up, and I know it was the right one. I have to at least give the illusion of being strong.

  “Age really is just a number, you know.”

  “We’ve had this conversation. You know my reasons. We both know I’m right.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I don’t know that at all. In fact, I think you’re dead wrong. You’re grandmother loved your grandfather. It wasn’t an imposition when his health declined. And your mother was an idiot. I’m not an idiot. And just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re going to get old and feeble before me. And just because you were in combat and exposed to all sorts of weird shit doesn’t mean you’re going to fall down dead tomorrow.”

  She sucks in air. “I get it. I do. But don’t put words in my mouth. I think you’re wrong. Hell, I’m certain you’re wrong. But that doesn’t matter. Because while couples can have disagreements, whether or not to be together can’t be a subject that’s up for debate. So I respect your decision. I do. And I want to be your friend. Truly. But I just think that it will be easier from fifteen hundred miles away.”

  I swallow. Then nod. Then slide my hands into my pockets. “I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Same as you. I don’t like it. But I get it.”

  She flashes me a wide, side smile. “See? We really are compatible.”

  Despite myself, I laugh.

  “I didn’t mean to lay all of this on you, tonight. I mean, if there was any sort of bondage or wild fondling going on in there, I never would have brought it up.”

  At that, we both laugh. We also decide that we’ve escaped the party long enough, and so we head back to the sex party that lacks sex, only to find out that we made our assessment far too early. Because as soon as we enter the house, it’s clear that things have changed.

  The lights are off, and now the interior is illuminated only by candlelight, the orange light flickering over bare flesh. It’s as if our departure was everyone’s cue to get busy. From where we stand in the kitchen, we can see that there are couples and threesomes and foursomes on sofas and on the floor of the room beyond. And just a few feet away, a woman on her knees is giving a blowjob to a man leaning back against the counter. To our left, in the dining room, a woman is strapped naked and spread-eagled to the table as another woman brushes the soft end of a flail over her body, then snaps it, making the woman cry out in a mixture of pain and bliss.

  “Oh,” Kerrie says, and for a second I think that’s a reaction to what we’re seeing. Then I realize that she’s seen Rollins. He’s heading toward us, though I don’t think he’s seen us yet. Nor do I want him to. She’s going to be with him—in this environment—tomorrow. As far as I’m concerned, that’s more time with her than he deserves.

  I tug her sideways until we end up in a narrow bu
tler’s pantry. I put my finger over her lips, and she nods. We can’t see him now, but I can hear someone walking. I can also hear the sounds of sex all around us.

  “Does it turn you on?” I whisper, then immediately regret my words.

  She meets my eyes. “Yes. And no.”

  I wait, silently inviting her to explain. For a moment, we just look at each other. Then she steps forward, her arms sliding around my neck, her mouth brushing my ear as she speaks.

  “It’s hot, like when we’d watch porn. Remember?”

  I do, and the feel of her lips and the whisper of breath are as arousing as her words.

  “But I never wanted to be in the movie, and I don’t want to be on display here. Public group sex isn’t my thing. I just wanted—I want—to be with you.” She runs her tongue along the edge of my ear, and I stifle a moan.

  I should put a stop to this. Weren’t we just having the friends-only talk? “We shouldn’t,” I manage.

  “Probably not. But I’m leaving anyway. The utility room was hardly a good send off. There’s a bedroom here. And a shower with jets.”

  Her hand slides down to stroke me. I’m already as hard as steel. “What about Leo?”

  Her hand stills. “Huh?”

  “Aren’t you two seeing each other?”

  Again, her tongue teases me. “Would that be a problem?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  Her laugh is like the tinkling of bells. “We’re not dating. What gave you that idea?”

  I don’t bother answering. They’re friends, of course. And I wished a relationship on her because I want her happy. Because I didn’t want to be the asshole who loved her and left her.

  Still…

  “We shouldn’t. You know we shouldn’t.”

  But she just shakes her head. “No, John, you’re wrong. It’s a sex party, remember? And we’re not Kerrie and Connor,” she adds, her voice so soft I can barely hear it, even with her lips against my ear. “We’re Lydia and John. And they’re hot and heavy. So isn’t that what we need to be? Isn’t that how to not only survive undercover, but to excel at it? To get fully and completely into character? To embrace the role?”