I oblige, as I’m sure any girl would when asked to remove an article of his clothing—although, I was hoping for his pants.
He undoes his top two buttons and rolls up his shirtsleeves, getting comfortable. And serious.
Which makes me smile.
His forearms flex as he takes the controller and continues the game. This round our score is more even, mostly because I’m obsessing over his muscles and not giving the game my all.
He’s cursing, banging on the controller, and pulling up his weapons cache trying desperately to even the score.
My dress becomes increasingly uncomfortable and, in theory, could be hindering my performance.
I pause the game.
“What are you doing?”
“Give me your shirt,” I instruct.
He just squints his eyes at me, so I lean over, unbutton it, and strip it off him.
And I’m trying hard not to drool.
Fine. A photo much like this one, where he’s lounging on a couch shirtless may, in fact, be hanging in M’s dorm room.
I stand and turn my back to him. The back of my dress is cut low and held in place by a short zipper that dives from my waist down to my ass.
“Unzip me, please.”
He curses under his breath but complies.
I slide out of the dress, my back still to him. I’m wearing a minute red satin G-string and nothing else. I was going to put my hand across my chest but decide not to. I mean, we’re friends, and they’re just boobs. No big deal.
Besides, I can do a few litmus tests of my own. If it weren’t for the testosterone that oozes off him in waves, I’d think maybe he was gay.
I give him an eyeful of boobage as I lift his shirt off the couch and put it on. It covers my undies nicely and looks hot with my heels. I plop back down, even going so far as to unfurl my legs across his coffee table and cross them in a way that shows off my sky-high black pumps, whose red soles match my dress and lipstick.
Daniel is studying me closely. A quick glance at the bulge in his pants reaffirms my intel on his testosterone levels. I’m contemplating commanding him to remove them, so I can put them on, too, when the doorbell rings announcing our pizza delivery.
Make that pizzas. He ordered two.
Upon seeing my quizzical expression, he shrugs and throws one in the fridge. “One for now. One for breakfast.”
“Shouldn’t you be eating egg whites with spinach or something?”
He chuckles and sets the box in front of us then holds a gooey piece up to my mouth. I take a bite, savoring the combination of cheese, spicy sausage, roasted red peppers, and sweet pineapple.
“Mmm. This is my new favorite pizza,” I groan.
He hands me the piece and takes his own, ripping into it.
His ferocity is hot.
I savor another bite then pull my legs up onto the couch crisscross style, being careful not to stab myself with my heels. I mentally kick myself realizing this is probably not nearly as sexy a position as having my long, tan legs sprawled across his table, but when he glances down and the dimple forms, I stay put.
I demolish piece number one and reach for the box. I might be amassing points faster, but he’s winning the eating game, having mowed through three pieces already.
His appetite for food seemingly quelled, he holds a piece to my mouth again. His cerulean eyes remind me of the deep blue of a starry night sky. He is staring at my lips, wrapped around the crust.
“I’m glad you like the pizza,” he states, his gaze moving downward. “You’re good at Battleground. You should know I don’t like to lose. We may not be leaving this couch tonight.”
“Fine with me,” I say, my desire growing as I care less about this stupid game.
I unzip his pants and proceed to straddle him.
Our lips collide, and he annihilates my mouth with his tongue. He’s treating my mouth much like he did the video game—full on siege.
As he kisses his way down my neck, I move my hips against him.
He pats the couch for his pants, finds his wallet, and takes out a condom.
Things happen quickly and I can feel him smile into my neck when it’s over and I practically collapse into a heap on top of him.
My tiredness is quickly abated when he picks me up, flips me over, and wraps my legs around his waist. I shove my heels into the sides of his legs to hold myself in place—until we both are spent and panting.
Which, as you would expect from a well-conditioned athlete, takes quite some time.
After a few precious moments of his face snuggled into my hair, he picks me up and carries me into his bedroom.
When he is finished with me and passes out, the sun is peeking over the horizon.
I throw on his shirt, belt it with his tie, slip on my shoes, and then steal the pizza from his fridge on my way to catch a cab.
MISSION:DAY TWO
“How’d it go?” Ari asks when I arrive back at our hotel suite. He’s still wearing his tuxedo, and I suspect he just got in himself.
“If we didn’t have a mission, I’d have stayed a few days.”
“And you can cross both Olympic athlete and Vice President’s son off your sexual bucket list.”
“Very funny. That was work. We need to meet the Prince. What did you do?”
“I have my own iron in the fire.”
I squint at him. “How so?”
He pulls up his pants and grins.
“You didn’t! With Allie?” He shrugs. “You good?”
“You wanna find out?” he replies with a smirk.
“Ew. No, you’re supposed to be my brother.”
He shrugs. I want to punch him. “I’m just saying, you ever need to blow off some steam, you and I both know we’re not really related.”
“Did you ever visit Blackwood?”
“No, but I was briefed on your training.”
“They told you about my sex life? How in the world—”
“You were under a microscope the entire time you were there. That’s pretty obvious from your school file.”
“You got to read about me? That isn’t fair. I don’t know anything about you.”
“There wasn’t much in it. Just stuff like your grades and how good you are at, well—everything. But it didn’t tell me anything about your personal life. What about your family?”
“They’re dead.”
“How did they die?” he asks.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Look, I’m not trying to pry—”
I interrupt him. “Why did you get chosen for this mission?”
“Not sure, but I think I’m your babysitter.”
“Why would you be that?”
“Maybe because I don’t have a vagina of my own, and I look silly in a bikini.”
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re obnoxious. Can we have this conversation after I’ve had some sleep?”
“You can sleep on the plane. I just ordered us breakfast.”
“How did you know when I’d get here?”
“Because, I think we’re a lot alike. That’s the goal, right? Leave them wanting more? You had to give Daniel a taste, so he will crave more. The question is, which one of us will win? Shall we wager a bet?”
“So you slept with Allie so she would sleep with Peter and talk him into going to Montrovia? What if she shows up alone? Peter is key to this plan. You better not have screwed that up.”
“I was hoping you might be smart and sleep with Peter instead of Daniel.”
“Peter isn’t really my type, but you’re right. We need access to their group of friends if we’re going to play this game. They would give us instant legitimacy.”
“And a two-pronged approach is always safer than going it alone.” He leans around, his eyes lowering to my ass. “I was told to watch your six. Not too bad of a job.”
I hold my hand in front of my butt. “Stop that! You can’t be lusting after me if we are going to play brother and sister.”
&nb
sp; “Do you have real brothers and sisters? A family?”
“No. Do you?”
“Not anymore.”
“What happened?”
“My mother died of cancer when I was eleven. My father was a four-star Army general stationed at the Pentagon. He died in a car accident a few years ago.” He slides his computer toward me. “Take a look at this. It’s our joint bank account.”
I blink a few times trying to comprehend what I’m seeing. Finally, I say, “That’s a whole lot of zeros.”
“And apparently just our slush fund. We have other investments, too. It’s crazy.”
“Is it real?”
He grins at me. “I say we go shopping in Montrovia and find out.”
Room service brings breakfast, but I use the microwave to heat up the pizza I stole while Ellis and the Kates oversee the loading of our luggage.
Ari groans when I get in the limo with it. “Oh, that smells horrible.”
“It’s not. It’s amazing.”
He holds his head. “I’m fighting a hangover.”
“Do you normally drink much? I mean—”
He holds up his hand to silence me. “I don’t need the talk, sis. I know what’s at stake.”
I nod. “Good. So do we have a plan once we get there?”
“I think we’re just supposed to get settled in the villa. Go The Casino. Make friends.”
“And hopefully the Prince will just show up? No way. We’re going to start with shopping. We’re going to spend an obscene amount on a car. We’re going to drive it to The Casino, looking fabulous, and we’ll get people talking. We’re going to gamble like crazy, which means they will start coming to us. Once they do, we throw a party. We have to have a plan B in case our plan A’s don’t show up. And that includes you getting friendly with the Prince’s cousin.”
“What does she look like?”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s next in line to the throne, followed by her younger sister. I mean, think about it. What’s the big deal if the Prince is killed? There’s a whole line of relatives who would take over. They can’t kill them all off.”
“I suppose,” he says.
“Still it’s odd that there was nothing in our dossier about the cousins. I wonder why not?”
“Ask Ellis.”
“I will on the plane.”
We get loaded on the plane. I bring my pizza box with me, dragging it around like it’s Daniel’s class ring or something. But I really am enjoying the pizza. And I’m going to have more when I wake up.
But first things first.
“Ellis, what do you know about the Prince’s cousins? Why isn’t there more on them in our packets?”
“This case is for you to figure out. But I can get you any information you ask for.”
“I want everything you can tell me about the next five people in line for the throne. I also want to know how many are in line, and what happens if they reach the end of the line?”
He pecks away at a computer. “There are seventy-two in line.”
“Are they all going to be together anytime soon? All in the same place?”
“I would suspect the large majority of them will be at the Queen’s Ball which takes place after the race and is the finale for the week.”
“So they could take them all out, with a bomb or something? Destroy the castle?” Ari asks. “Who rules then?”
“If that were to happen, the highest ranking military official would take over the country, and his bloodline would become royalty. He wouldn’t inherit their money though. The royal family’s funds would go to trusts and charities in the case of no blood relatives.”
“Do we know anything about the highest ranking military official?” I ask.
“Yes, he’s a close friend of the King. Was the best man at his wedding. Very wealthy and ready to retire soon.”
“And his second in command?” Ari wonders.
“The Prince’s godfather.”
“Hmmm. Alright. Let’s sleep on it,” I suggest. “We need to look fresh for our descent into Montrovian society.”
MISSION:DAY THREE
Ellis wakes me up precisely an hour before we are due to land so I can freshen up.
I can barely believe that I just slept for ten hours straight. On a plane. On the way to my first mission.
Note to self: Hot sex is a must before the start of every mission. I close my eyes, allowing myself a moment to relive my night with Daniel. But when I open them back up, I’m all business.
I do my makeup, put on a tight black dress and heels so pointy, I could kill a man with them.
Ari and I don’t go to The Casino first thing as we had originally planned. We’re too busy checking out our villa.
I didn’t expect this. I assumed a villa was a quaint little place—small and cozy.
In Montrovia, villa equals mansion. We’re staying in a massive stucco and tile-roofed home with sweeping terraces overlooking the harbor; a private courtyard featuring an amazing pool and a pool house containing a full bar, kitchen, and gaming tables; and a tennis court. Not to mention a garage full of exotic cars. I’d never leave, except I’m dying to drive them all.
I suggest that we take one of the cars and go shopping in town, but Ellis informs me I have someone coming from Tech and can’t leave.
Ari decides not to wait for me. He chooses a silver Maserati and backs out of the garage.
* * *
Tech equals gadgets. And every spy should have some of those, right?
And apparently Black X agents are no exception.
After Ari leaves, I’m taken down a hidden elevator in the garage to a large secret room made of concrete and corrugated pipe. The floor is a gorgeous terra cotta tile, and the pipe is painted a soft creamy color. It looks like a cross between a wine cellar and a bomb shelter.
I’m introduced to Terrance. He’s young and cute, if not slightly nerdy. He also looks jet lagged.
“You look tired,” I say.
“I wasn’t exactly prepared for this trip. Someone else was assigned to you, but he got sick.”
“With what?”
“Death.”
“He’s dead? What happened?”
“Massive heart attack, I guess.”
I wonder why he doesn’t mention Black X.
Either Terrance and Ari don’t know about it, or they aren’t supposed to talk about it. Maybe I’m not supposed to talk about it either. Terrance takes off his glasses, wipes the lenses with a cloth, and studies me. “You’re very young.”
“I’m twenty,” I say confidently, giving him my cover age and knowing that the clothes and makeup I’m wearing make me look much older than my eighteen years.
“And you trained at The Farm?”
“No. Blackwood Academy.”
“Never heard of it. So are you any good?” He shakes his head, talking to himself. “Of course you are. And this must be a very important mission. I was put on a private plane and told to do everything I can to help you. I understand you will be attending numerous social events, so I’m going to fix you up. Let’s start with your watch. I’ll update it,” he says, unclasping it from my wrist.
“Update it?”
“Unless someone already has.” He takes out a small tool and pops open the back. “See, the liquid in these darts has turned blue. Blue means it’s not as effective. It should be purple.”
I want to ask him why the hell my father’s watch has darts in it. It takes all my will power to clamp my mouth shut and not let out a big WTF. Was my father a spy?
I nod, playing it cool.
I take a deep breath and assimilate this new information.
My dad was a spy, not the international businessman I thought he was? So why didn’t anyone tell me that? Why during all my years at Blackwood didn’t anyone mention this fun fact?
Memories of my mom and dad rushing off on business—sometimes separate, sometimes together, and sometimes with me—cloud my vision. I remember simple rul
es they taught me. Always sit with your back to the wall. Be aware of your surroundings. Immerse yourself in the region’s language and culture. Blend in.
Our lifestyle and our travel—were mom and I his cover? A man on vacation with his family?
I think about the man who killed my mother. Although I’ve dreamed about it for years, I’ve never broken it down. Never used my current knowledge to assess the former situation. Obviously, the man was an assassin.
Could my mother have been a spy, too?
Terrance interrupts my line of thought. “Okay, here’s the watch back. Three o’clock is stun. Six o’clock will knock someone out. Nine o’clock gives them a dose of truth serum. Midnight is lethal. Do you know how to fire it?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t know the watch did all that.”
“That’s okay. It’s easy.” He holds my arm out, shows me how to set the time, how to aim, and how to fire.
“So you’re a spy, and your dad is a spy. That’s really cool. My dad is a mathematician.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-six.”
“How did you get this job?”
“How does anyone get this kind of job? They recruited me. I graduated MIT with a Masters in mathematics and a Doctorate in quantum physics. But they noticed me because I created a bomb the size of a Band-Aid.”
“Do I get one of those?”
He pulls a box of pore cleansing strips out of his bag. “Don’t use these on your face,” he says with a laugh, taking one out of the box and putting it on a sample of cement in the basement. “Peel the back off, stick it to what you want, then you have five seconds to get out of the way.”
We move way back as the cement explodes and disintegrates.
“That’s pretty slick.”
He pulls a syringe out of a container next. “Give me your arm.”
“For what?”
“I’m supposed to inject you with a tracking device. It’s for your own safety.”
“I’m not cool with that,” I tell him. “Is it optional?”
“I was told you were to have one, if that’s what you’re asking. I need to follow my orders.”
“Do you have one?”
“No freaking way. That stuff can be hacked into…” He stops talking. “Shit.”
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