by Eve Langlais
Popping the trunk, she leaned against it as the bellboy took charge of their meager luggage. A case for each of them. Darren’s much larger, of course, being the client. She slipped the bellboy a some cash then followed Darren inside. He went straight to the registration desk.
The attendant, a fine-boned male, proffered a bright smile. “Hello, sir, and welcome.”
“Evening. I need a room, please.” Darren had a modulated voice and perfect manners.
“We have plenty available,” said the man behind the desk.
“Sergei called ahead,” she muttered to Darren. She peeked around his shoulder to say, “We have a reservation, under Brown.”
The young man’s fingers clacked as he typed on his keyboard. “Here is it. A suite on the eighth floor. Queen bed and—”
“Nope, that won’t do.” Darren shook his head. “I want the penthouse.”
“Let me see if it’s available, sir.”
As the man scurried off, Marina scanned the lobby. “The penthouse? I didn’t take you for a spoiled rich boy.”
“Better amenities.”
“This isn’t a luxury vacation.”
“I’m paying for it.”
True.
In short order, they were upgraded, and the bellboy, with their luggage, escorted them to the top floor. The penthouse level was keycard access only. Ridiculously easy to bypass, but it made the rich folk happy.
The suite was fairly open and fully equipped, including a stark white kitchen, the marble tops gleaming brightly. It overlooked the dining room with its shining, teak wood, six-person set. The massive, curved couch faced the panoramic windows with a view of the ocean. The wrap-around balcony didn’t impede the panorama at all with its glass railing. Given the time of night, all they saw were the lights of boats dotting the water. By day, they’d get an expansive sea view.
Tipping the bellboy again, Marina ushered him out, securely locked the door to ensure no surprises, added a chair under it for good measure, then kicked off her boots before hitting the kitchen. “What are the chances it’s stocked?” she asked.
“It’d better be at this price,” Darren said before he wandered toward the wall of windows, prompting her to say, “Let’s not make you a target for snipers.”
“You’re about as much fun as Kacy was. I’m going to have a shower.” He began stripping before he’d even hit the bedroom, shrugging off his shirt before slamming the door shut.
She sighed into the fridge. “And the cupboard is bare.”
They’d have to order food. First, though, she took a quick shower in the other bathroom. Marina was munching on a protein bar from her suitcase when Darren finally emerged wearing shorts hanging low on his hips. His skin gleamed, still damp from the water, and his hair stood in wet spikes. She’d opted to scrape hers back into a tight bun. She had also changed into athletic shorts and a tank top for ease of movement.
He flung himself into the chair across from her and grimaced. “Does this place have any Advil? That was way too much swimming today.”
“Old,” she coughed before eating another bite of her almond and honey oat bar.
“I’m not even forty.”
“And you won’t reach fifty if you don’t take better care of yourself.”
“Says the woman who’s not even twenty-five. Must be nice to be in a position to judge.”
“Thirty-four, actually,” she said before sipping from the water she’d found in the mini bar.
“But you told me…” He glared. “Was anything you said the truth?”
“My teachers said a mixture of truth and lie is the best as you are less likely to mess up the details.”
“How much of what you told me as Fran was true? Your dog, Tipoux?”
“Fake. Animals are expensive and needy, plus the agency doesn’t allow them.”
“Your love of croissants?”
“That was real. They are evil. And delicious.” It was why she’d given him morning blowjobs with the promise that he’d bring her back some.
“You are nothing like the Fran I met in Paris.”
“Because that woman wasn’t the real me.” She shrugged. “I gave you what you wanted.”
“And what is it you think I want?”
“A woman who is sweet and soft-spoken. Who hangs on your every word. Who laughs at your jokes.” She uttered a false giggle. “Who doesn’t remind you of the killers your academy trains.”
“I am not ashamed of what the school does.”
Her head tilted. “Yet you are most judgmental about my choices.”
“Because of pride. You fooled me. I am trying to get past that.”
His honesty startled. “Why do you want to get past that?”
He shrugged. “Maybe because you’re right. It isn’t cool for me to act like a dick about your job. But I think I’m allowed some leeway, given your occupation revolved around me.”
“You are a popular man.” Still very sexy, too.
She hadn’t lied before about bedding him because of his looks. Then she kept coming back for more because it was just that good. Her body remembered. It shivered and begged her to dive onto Darren. To mash her mouth to his in the hopes he would make her body sing like he used to.
Doubtful he’d agree. They’d barely moved past the hate. Any attempt on her part would be rebuffed. But it didn’t hurt to try.
“Now that we’re here in relative safety, what’s the plan? You said you wanted to use me as bait. How is that going to work?”
“No idea. Sergei hasn’t told me yet.”
He blinked at her. He had really nice lashes for a man. Thick. Dark. His eyes, smoldering. His lips… She stared at them and realized they moved.
“…let someone else make that kind of decision.”
She held up her hand. “Stop. No more talking.”
“You can’t just—”
“Shhh.” She waved the hand. “Just sit there and look pretty. I will take care of it.” Once Sergei advised her. Mavericks didn’t last long in this field, despite what the movies said. A good handler kept his field agent alive.
Darren sputtered. “Look fucking pretty? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Such dirty language.” She dropped the hand. “Did you mean to say, let’s fuck?”
He clamped his lips. “I am never sleeping with you again, Fran.”
“Good, because Fran is gone. Now it’s me who wants to give you a try.” She winked. She expected him to flee.
He remained in his seat. Angry. Stiff. Leaning forward and growling, “Since you obviously want to, let’s do it.”
It took her a moment to grasp that he’d agreed. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to goad him into getting angry enough to stalk off. Thereby, making it easy for her to resist him.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” He shoved back from the table and gestured to his groin. “Let’s go at it. Right here. Right now.”
“I have to do my rounds.”
“Do them after.”
“You need sleep.”
“I sleep better after sex.” He stood and held out his hand. “If you’re in bed with me, I’ll be safe. No one can get to me.”
True. And sex with him was bound to be good; however, she didn’t trust him. Wondered at his motive. He seemed too calm about it.
Do it. Her body had no qualms.
She got to her feet. “What happened to no sex?”
“Can’t a man change his mind?” He reached out and grabbed her, dragged her close enough to tug her into his lap.
A lap she’d missed.
His large hand cupped the back of her head, drew her close. Really damned close. She flattened her hands on his chest, felt the steady thump of his heart. He remained shirtless, meaning her fingers pressed against firm flesh. The heat of him scorched. He drew close enough that his breath feathered her lips.
She swallowed. Anticipation made her tingle. Her sex pulsed with need.
She moved first, slanting her lips over his. Sighing in remembered pleasure.
I missed this. Missed him.
Which made his next actions all the more frustrating. He stood, dumping her from his lap, ending the kiss with a gruffly spoken, “You know what, I changed my mind again. I don’t want sex with you.”
He turned away, and she couldn’t help but exclaim, “Get back here and finish what you started.”
“No can do. See, unlike you, I have a few lines, and one of them is that I don’t fuck my staff.” His bedroom door slammed.
Her pussy cried.
But a part of her also admired him and said, “Bravo.” Admired this harder version of Darren.
I like a challenge. Game on.
Chapter Ten
Darren’s dick ached. It also called him stupid.
Why did I walk away?
She wanted him. He wanted her. So what the fuck was he doing in this room while she remained out there?
I’m being smart and not falling twice for her scam. She’d well and truly fooled him the first time with fake Fran. No way would he get sucked in by Marina. He’d meant what he said. He didn’t fuck his staff.
Technically, I fired her.
However, she’d refused to quit the job, and he admittedly needed some help. He’d gotten rid of Marcus, who truly wasn’t equipped to protect him from the higher-level mercenary stuff. He wouldn’t put his friend in any more danger. Just like he couldn’t keep Kacy working for him even if she was a pro. She and Marcus had only just discovered their feelings for each other. Darren wouldn’t get in the way of that, and neither would he call to hire someone else because…
Admit it. Having Fran/Marina as my bodyguard is much more fun than someone recommended by BBI.
Being around her made him feel alive in ways that proved addictive. She kept throwing him for loops. Set his pulse racing. That said, he needed to get a modicum of control back. She seemed to think she called the shots, or that Sergei did. Darren wasn’t without his own resources. He knew a person or two he could contact who wouldn’t let it slip that he was alive. Someone who would know to look for him if he disappeared for real.
He used the phone on the nightstand by the bed, dialing a number that couldn’t be traced and that immediately wiped all record of it happening as it went through.
“Hello, you’ve reached BBI. What can I help you with?” Harry’s professional tone relaxed Darren. His old friend would know what to do.
“Harry, it’s Darren.”
To his credit, the man didn’t freak. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“You should know better than to believe that without a body.”
“Well, if it’s really you, then you know the drill.”
The drill being that Darren had to use a phrase that only they knew because, sometimes, old-school tricks were the best.
He went with, “How is that kumquat plant of yours growing?”
“Well, I’ll be damned. You are alive. Where are you? What happened?”
Darren spent the next few minutes giving Harry a rundown, pulling the phone as far as it could go, which was the doorway of the bathroom where he had the water running. He wasn’t sure if Marina listened, and he didn’t want to chance her ripping the phone from the wall.
“You need me to extract you?” Harry asked when Darren finished his story with his current location.
“No. I want to see what happens next.” See what Marina had planned. “But I do want something in place just in case. Something she knows nothing about. Plane tickets, train tickets, IDs. In other words, a few escape routes.”
“No problem.”
“How are the wedding plans coming along?” And by wedding, he meant for Reaper and his surprising choice. A civilian, but one who had a lone wolf sister who’d shot up her fiancé. It was a complicated story and, from what he’d heard, an almost deadly match. Reaper had been told by his soon-to-be sister-in-law that if he hurt Annique, he’d die. No one doubted that Jasmine, a killer for hire, would do it.
“We’ve got three locations booked. Catering and flowers, too. The location will be sent out to guests the day before to ensure minimal chance of disruption.”
“Excellent.” That would cause confusion, especially since they planned to leak the three locations to different people in order to flush out any spies in their midst.
If they failed to catch the culprit and his trouble-causing cohorts ahead of time and trouble hit the wedding, then he could placate himself with the thought that dozens of operatives from the academy, BBI, and other mercenary agencies where Reaper was a familiar face would be in attendance.
Having that many people in one place could prove risky, yet they had to do something to flush out whoever kept fucking with them.
His phone call with Harry done, Darren threw himself on the bed. The first quiet moment he’d had since shit hit the fan on the island what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Thinking of a long time ago meant his mind veered back a few months to when he’d first met Fran.
She jostles me, a soft bump that sends my arm up, and the wine in my glass sloshes over the rim. Looking down, I cringe as I see the red stain spreading over the white silk of her dress.
I babble an apology, but she doesn’t seem to care. She is laughing. Her giggle full of mirth, her lips curved into a sweet smile. Before I know it, I’ve got her number and she’s agreed to meet me for dinner. I can hardly wait.
Dinner is amazing. Eyes bright with interest, she leans over the table, listening to me. Laughing at all my jokes. Dropping her gaze shyly. I can’t help but want her.
We sleep together, and it’s cock blowing. She’s wilder than expected in bed. The shy girl quite wanton between the sheets. I am addicted. I neglect my work to see her. It’s pathetic. Marcus remarks on it. “She’s leading you around by your cock.”
What if she is? Marcus doesn’t understand what it’s like to be in love.
Is it love? I think it is. Which is why I visit the jeweler. We’re in Paris, after all, the city of love. And yes, it’s quick. We haven’t known each other that long. But it’s long enough for me to be sure. There is a connection between us.
It’s with a happy bounce in my step that I go to her building. I have a dozen perfect roses in one hand. A bag of croissants from her favorite bakery in the other. I already have a bottle of wine in her fridge.
Entering the apartment, I immediately sense that she’s not home. Probably still at work. Her modeling job keeps her busy. A few times, she’s even been gone overnight.
I place the flowers and pastries on the kitchen table and wander into the bedroom, only to stop dead.
The bed is perfectly made. Fran never makes it, claiming it’s a waste of time since we’ll just mess it up again that night. She hates chores, which is why she never picks up her clothes from the floor and hires a maid. But the maid usually comes on Mondays. The hardwood is bare, and it’s only Thursday.
I don’t panic yet, but I am starting to when I see that the bathroom counter, usually covered in beauty products, is also empty. My toothbrush sitting by itself on the edge of the sink.
Everywhere I look, everything is put away. No sign of clutter. No indication of anything at all. When I open the closets and cupboards, her clothes are gone, my few hanging garments lonely in the closet.
And still, I don’t believe.
I can’t believe.
She left me? Impossible. She wouldn’t do that to me.
I am convinced that something awful has happened. Marcus thinks otherwise, but I make him look anyway. I put resources toward finding Fran before I finally admit the truth.
She’s gone, and she never loved me.
Not like I loved her.
But the woman he loved never existed. Darren had loved a mirage. Marina was the true woman behind the face. He hated the reality, hated her, which begged the question: why was he working with her? Did he really think he could make her regret what she’d done?
He wanted to rap his head off the wall for even wondering. She was off-limits.
Because I can’t handle her.
What? No. He could handle her fine. He just wasn’t about to reward her with good sex.
But isn’t that punishing myself?
Not really. He could have any woman he liked. If that were true, then why hadn’t he slept with anyone since Fran?
Because they weren’t Fran. Marina wasn’t Fran either. But he wanted to—
Argh. He couldn’t help but growl his frustration out loud.
The door was kicked open, and in stalked the object of his strife, gun drawn.
He blinked at her. “What the fuck?”
“I heard you yell.”
“And? Did I sound like I was in pain?”
“Yes.” She tucked the gun into her waistband and gave one last look around before focusing on him. “Seeing as how you’re not being attacked, I am going to assume the noise was because you were jerking off and I interrupted.”
“No.” But only because he’d not gotten to that point yet. It usually happened in the shower when he couldn’t clear his mind of Fran.
“If you’re not jacking off, then why were you yelling? Were you regretting your decision to turn me down? I can see why you’d be disappointed. I am that good.”
She said it with such smugness, such certainty. The worst thing? She was right. Darren had never had better. Hadn’t wanted anyone since. But he wasn’t about to tell her and give her the satisfaction.
“Was the sex good?” he said, feigning a loss of memory. “I don’t recall.”
“I see your ploy.” Marina wagged a finger at him. “You regret turning me down, hence your attempt to goad me into showing you. Unfortunately for you, I took care of myself already.”
“You what?”
“I had a quick second shower when you left to mope. Lucky for me, the head is detachable,” she replied with a wink.
