by Mercy Walker
Callie Thornton met Billionaire Gabriel Sinclair in the used bookstore she works in. A chance accident threw her quite literally into his arms. After a romantic first date attending the symphony, Callie discovers Gabriel’s kinky side, and has the most amazing sex she’s ever had with the mysterious billionaire.
But Gabriel isn’t the only one with secrets…will the happiness Callie has finally found survive the baring of hers.
Making Him Want It 2: Callie’s Secret
Conning the Billionaire
By Mercy Walker
Copyright 2012. All Rights Reserved.
Kindle Edition
1
“We thought you’d never come home,” the older man said, holstering his gun and then picking up a mug of coffee. “You forgot the device…that was sloppy.”
I felt a red thread of annoyance flare through the cold grip of fear the sight of them caused me. But then I concentrated on that thin flare of anger and felt something slide away, like the panel of a slideshow, and my cover was just suddenly gone.
Goodbye Callie Thornton, hello…well, let me introduce myself before we go any further.
I’m Callie Monroe: Professional assassin, industrial spy, grifter, sometimes bodyguard and highly trained mercenary. And no, you can’t hire me…you couldn’t afford me.
I wasn’t exaggerating about the two men standing before me, sipping coffee. They are the two most dangerous men I’ve ever met. They can kill someone faster than almost anyone I know…but not as fast as I can. But they both have talents and skills that make them invaluable to most any operation. That’s why we partnered up about five years ago.
But you can only trust a couple mercenaries so far. That’s why, though they have guns and the element of surprise on their side, I still had the drop on them. I’d set tear gas charges throughout the apartment, just waiting for me to touch a button on my keychain to activate them. One is located right atop my coffee machine: a cute little teddy bear, with glasses.
Plus I have a gun stashed behind hidden panels throughout the apartment as well. They probably already searched the place—I would—but I know they wouldn’t know what to look for. They’re highly trained mercs with Special Forces training.
My training…well, let’s just say, my pay-grade is a little higher than that, and I started my training from before I could walk.
But that’s a really long story, and the two men with their eyes glued on me weren’t supposed to be here. And if there’s one thing I hate are deviations to my plans.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, cracking my neck and then dropping my dry cleaning and my purse on the nearest piece of furniture—I kept my keys in hand. I walked across the apartment, entered my kitchenette and poured myself a cup of coffee: I used my So You Want Me to Hurt You? Hello Kitty mug. She was dressed in a leather bustier, sexy black panties, garters and hose, and was wielding a cat-o-nines whip.
Hello Kitty was the shit…
“As I said, you didn’t wear the device on your…date.” Kroner, the older man said. “So we had no idea how things were going.”
The younger one, Mitch, leered as he said, “From the look of her, I’d say she did better than was expected.” He clucked his tongue admonishingly. “But I thought the plan was to whet his appetite, but to play the chaste virgin?”
“Plans change,” I said, rummaging through my refrigerator: I was starving!
“My son is right,” Kroner said.
Oh, yeah…these two are a father/son act. And they’re more than a little scary…and are all too similar. I know from experience, in the biblical sense.
No, not at the same time! That would be…okay, it would have been interesting. But that was before we joined forces. Now we were purely business associates…but sometimes Mitch forgot.
Kroner continued. “We sent in two different freelancers in the last two months, Bella and Celine, and he ignored them both.”
I knew Bella and Celine. One a blonde, the other with hair the color of coal—both tall, supermodel beautiful, and both oozed sex like perfume. That’s why I’d decided to go in as a bookish wallflower.
“Your point?”
There came that smile again. I’d prefer it if he’d at least try to make it reach his eyes. But he was what he was, a sociopath…but at least he could cover it up when we were around a mark, or civilians he didn’t want to send screaming for help.
“Why did you change the plan?”
Aha! I found some left over lamb curry from the little Indian joint down the street. I popped the to-go box in the microwave and then gave Kroner my best shy school girl look.
“I made first contact; the setup went better than I’d planned. So I let things go at their own pace. What of it?”
“Risky,” he said, no inflection to his voice.
“A calculated one, yes…but not only wouldn’t the man take his hands off me, but he went out of his way to pick me up and bring me home this morning.”
Both men stiffened and then glanced in unison at the kitchen window.
“He changed his schedule for you?” Mitch said.
I nodded. “Little old me. He seems unable to control himself around me.”
Kroner’s smile almost touched his eyes. “Then you’ve done well. You always manage to surprise me.”
I stared into his eyes and held his gaze for a few beats. “You should be used to that by now.”
Mitch cleared his throat. “Not to interrupt this…but is there a second date scheduled?”
I didn’t even look at him. “Tonight. He asked me if I had a passport.”
Mitch leered again. “So he’s going for the globe-hopping thing…probably a private jet. Do you think he’ll want to join the Mile High Club?”
“Whatever Mr. Sinclair wants…” and I finally looked at him, giving him an overtly satisfied look.
His eyes blazed and his mouth set in anger. I’d hit the mark with that one.
“Children,” Kroner sighed. “Do try to get along.”
I smiled at Mitch, never wavering my gaze.
“He started it,” I said with faux petulance.
“Never the less...there’s work to be done.” He gave me a withering, tired glance. “I imagine you still won’t wear the device.”
“Won’t do you any good once we’re in the air…not to mention I’ll probably be naked soon after.”
I could hear a low growl come from Mitch.
“Very well,” Kroner said. “We’ll wait patiently for you to contact us once you’re back.” He poured the rest of his coffee down the sink and rinsed out the mug before setting it to dry on the drain board. “But don’t keep us waiting too long.”
Kroner swept majestically from my apartment, leaving Mitch and I alone.
Mitch moved cautiously, but still in my direction, and stopped less than a foot away from me.
“You look good out of the whore clothes and makeup.”
My microwave dinged. I smiled all the brighter. “You should catch up with daddy, Mitchell…” I knew he hated his full name—made him feel like a kid. “Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting…plus you’re ruining my appetite.”
“Bitch,” he growled, and then exited my apartment, showing me his back the whole way.
He’d left his coffee for me to clean up. I threw the mug away.
*****
Having the boys show up unannounced set me on edge. So it took me a while to slide back into my cover persona. But once I’d checked all my hidden fire arms, and taken another, not as thrilling shower, Callie Thornton came to life while I defused my dark
red curls.
I knew she was in place when I felt my stomach go all tingly, like a freaking school girl at the thought of Gabriel Sinclair.
I mentally checked that I’d shaved my legs, I’d brushed my teeth, and was now trying to tame my hair. But when I looked in the mirror of the bathroom, I saw that I’d whipped my tresses into complete submission. I’d decided to wear my hair down this time, and I looked good enough to shoot a Pantene commercial.
So I took a brush and messed up my perfectly quaffed curls a bit. Couldn’t have me looking too good.
Then I went and looked in my closet for something sexy but comfortable. My stomach tingled, and things much lower tightened just thinking about being alone with Gabriel again.
That’s more like it…
I picked out a nice silk top, and a skirt that wasn’t too form-fitting, and then some mules with a low heel. But before the clothes went on, I went to my underwear drawer and looked over what I had clean. Some granny panties: nope. A studded leather thong with a matching bra…and the nipples where cut out of them—definitely no…and where the hell had they come from? A lacey black bra with matching thong panties—very nice, but I’d worn lace last night.
Finally I pulled out a shiny blue satin bra and thong set. They weren’t really supper fancy, but I knew that when I put them on they looked pretty damned good on my curves—and the color was good against my skin.
Okay…all set. I pulled on the bra and panties, but decided to wait on the rest of the ensemble. I had about two hours to kill, and I still had no idea where Gabriel was taking me. I needed to pack a travel bag, just in case.
And my passport.
I pulled my perfect fake US passport out of my everyday purse and gave it a casual once over. Mitch may have many faults, but forgery wasn’t one of them. The passport was a work of art.
I bristled just thinking about Mitch. I shouldn’t be thinking about anything non-Callie Thornton. It was imperative that I sink back into her persona completely. I couldn’t let even the most covert of out of character expression cross my face.
I’d learned these lessons when I was a child, from my mother.
Alexandra Cordova was a born and bred con artist. She came from a long line of grifters dating back to Romanian gypsies. Her own childhood had been spent in a gated community in the more affluent suburbs of New York. There she was schooled and trained to one day work in the family business: taking the rich and the stupid for every cent she could.
Be it long con or short, my mother was a natural from the start. And she’d schooled me well. Method actors didn’t have shit on Alexandra when it came to technique. She literally became her cover—there was no other way to put it.
But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t pull a gun and put it to someone’s head in the blink of an eye, if her cover was blown.
My dad, Gordon Monroe…well, he had been CIA counter intelligence, and had been all over the world: an operative in Europe, Russia, and the Middle East before the Gulf War. In the twilight of his tenure with the CIA he’d been reassigned to help the FBI catch an illusive band of con artists that were cutting a swath through Florida, but were connected to similar crimes in ten states, including Alaska.
Gordon and Alexandra met while she was on the job, and he was under cover. He tried to turn her as a federal witness; she toyed with him and ultimately seduced him. She turned him into a criminal, since she was never going to go the straight and narrow, and he fell instantly and deeply in love with her. She helped him to just disappear, and about a year later I was born.
The rest is history.
I had the grift and covert opps in my blood. And my acting technique was better than Jody Foster’s…so why was I letting my real thoughts slip through?
And then it hit me: Me, the real me, wanted Gabriel Sinclair just as much as the fake me.
Shit, shit, double shit!
I sat back and took a real long, good look at what I was actually feeling when I thought about Gabriel Sinclair.
He was gorgeous…shit, shit, shit!
He was good in bed…really, very good…shit!
And when I was near him I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world…
Fuck!
I had it bad for a mark. What was I, an amateur?
I tried to think rationally. Maybe I’d spent too long in deep cover with this job. It had been over a month, and I’d never done that before. Especially since most of our jobs were wet works and government assassinations.
Or maybe I’d hit my head too hard last night in that blasted broom closet!
Yeah, that could be it. Maybe I was concussed?
The memories of the broom closet came into focus, and I groaned. I would have done anything he’d wanted…anything to please him…
I sat down on my couch and dropped my head in my hands…I was so fucking screwed.
*****
Gabriel called at five minutes to six, and told me he wouldn’t be picking me up, but that there was a car downstairs waiting to bring me to him.
“Do I really need my passport?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said laconically.
“Should I bring a change of clothes?” I glanced at the overnight bag I had by the door.
“If you like. But we can buy whatever you need as we go.”
“And where would that be, exactly?”
I could practically hear him smile. “That’s a question…to be answered later.”
And he hung up on me.
“Bastard.” But I was smiling.
2
Gabriel Sinclair was worth one hundred and twenty billion dollars as of two months ago, when the boys and I accepted the contract. It wasn’t at all an unusual contract…except that we were never given an exact target or goal. We were to unearth whatever it was that Gabriel Sinclair was hiding from the world.
As far as we knew he was a closet cross dresser, or maybe he had an evil twin that liked sushi and M/M leather orgies.
We were told that the secret would be of the dangerous variety, and that he would probably guard it with great prejudice.
And in a month of thorough, soul-draining research and reconnaissance, we’d found very little about the ambiguous Mr. Sinclair. One thing we did glean was that he was in very good shape, that he surrounded himself with some of the best talent money could buy…especially in the security department.
And, of course, he was an avid reader and frequented Halcyon Books. Thus I created my Callie Thornton identity, got a job clerking at the used book store, and then proceeded to infiltrate Gabriel Sinclair’s life.
The hardest part had been figuring out what books he liked best, and then actually reading them.
Don’t get me wrong, I love reading, and books are great…but give me my Kindle and a John Locke thriller and I’m all set for the evening. I like Carl Hiaasen and some James Paterson (especially when they’re written with Michael Ledwidge) and sometimes I can even be persuaded to try some urban fantasy—Jim Butcher is a favorite.
But I have never been able to get through anything written before 1980.
Everything I know about Austin and Bronte I learned from Google and Netflix.
So I shouldn’t have been all that surprised that Gabriel had the juice to have the town car that was transporting me to him take me directly onto the tarmac and drop me off mere feet from the jet’s boarding stairs.
And what a jet! A custom gulfstream gleaming and new, with probably more cabin space than Air Force One. I actually felt a little intimidated as I ascended the steps and entered the plane, the driver directly behind me, carrying my carry-on.
But once we were on board, things got a little strange. Gabriel was sitting in a swivel chair, flipping through a manila file folder, his expression dire.
The woman standing in front of him was quite the specimen. She was taller than almost every man in the room, but seemed thin and delicate through the shoulders. She was pale as ice cold milk, and her face was as expressionless a
s a white board. But she did have a few facial piercings, a tattoo scrolled up her neck, and had a pitch back Mohawk that made her look unsettlingly like a mix between The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and a professional wrestler.
She glanced at me and I saw absolutely no emotion in her face or in her eyes. She had the blandest face I’d ever seen. And just that glance scared the shit out of me. Not that I didn’t think I could take her, I just didn’t like the unknown. And an icy expression like hers went a long way to making me snuggle up with the paranoia.
But then she moved: reaching forward to take the file folder back from Gabriel, and then turning to walk towards the front of the plane. Just the way she moved, that’s what told me she was a pro, well trained and very dangerous.
This day was getting better and better.
Shit…I wasn’t on the plane more than a minute and I’d already fallen out of character.
Breathe…just breathe.
I looked to Gabriel again and saw a faraway look flicker in his eyes, but it dissipated so quickly it could have meant anything. He turned in his seat and leveled a gaze on me that could have melted titanium…or frozen it on the spot.
He got up and strode towards me faster than I would’ve thought possible, and without even a hello grabbed hold of my arm and started dragging me toward the back of the plane. His grip was hard enough it hurt, and he was showing some of that surprising strength again. I had to tamp down the urge to pull my arm out of his grasp.
I’m book-worm wall-flower Callie Thornton. All I can do is gasp and get pissy. Priority number one is to get him to trust me, and to do that I’ve got to be consistent about what I show him.
A Literature/Library Sciences major working as an underpaid clerk in a used bookstore would not know how to pull free of a grown man’s steel-like grasp. She also wouldn’t know exactly how much extra pressure it would take to dislocate said grown man’s shoulder.
I let him drag me to a door—a regular looking door. I was impressed they had such a thing on a plane. He pulled it open and shoved me in ahead of him. I was suddenly on edge over what the hell was going on, but I channeled that nervousness into fear. Callie Thornton would be afraid right about now.
