by Lila Dubois
“Lie back,” Eli told Irina.
Jasper rolled out of the way and Irina lay down, her head on a pillow, glossy hair spread out around her. Jasper wasted no time sliding down the bed and burying his mouth in her pussy. Irina gasped and grabbed his hair. Eli started on her breasts, licking and nipping.
There was a tap on Eli’s shoulder, and he looked over to see Jasper motioning for them to switch.
Eli took his place between her legs. He pushed two fingers into her, fucking her with them and watching her pussy clench in reaction, before pulling his fingers out and setting to work on her clit. She moaned, her hands sliding over Eli’s head and face. Eli looked up to see Jasper kissing her while massaging her breasts.
It felt like it had only been moments, but Irina tensed and said, “I’m coming.”
Eli licked her softly as she came on his tongue. Irina’s fingers scrabbled at Eli’s head and Jasper nipped and licked her breasts to extend the orgasm. They were relentless, leaving no inch of her body untouched, extending the pleasure until she shook from it.
“Too much,” she said through gritted teeth. Eli pulled back, giving her clit one last stroke with his finger. Even that gentle touch made her gasp.
Irina curled onto her side, propping her head on Jasper’s chest.
“Well, that will make you believe in the divine,” Jasper murmured. His eyes, like Irina’s, were closed.
Eli padded into the bathroom. He was sticky, and had to pee, so he took a few minutes to clean up. When he emerged, Irina and Jasper were curled together. He grabbed his glasses and put them on.
They looked vulnerable and battered, two pale forms in the great expanse of the bed.
Eli crawled gingerly onto the bed. “Are you two okay? Do you, uh, need something?”
“Okay? No, I don’t think that’s how I would describe it.” Jasper didn’t bother to open his eyes.
“Oh, uh. Do you want some water?”
Irina rolled over and opened one eye. “Eli, what’s wrong?”
“I’m worried about you. You look…”
“Like we’re exhausted from having our brains fucked out?” Jasper asked.
“From being ordered to have at least three different kinds of kinky sex?” Irina’s lips twitched. “Ordered by you, I should add.”
“Exhausted from being tied down and forced to watch while your husband fucked your wife and it was making you crazy?” Now Jasper opened his eyes.
Eli adjusted his glasses and blinked. Embarrassment heated his cheeks.
Irina started to laugh.
Jasper shook his head. “You’re like Jekyll and Hyde.”
“A gentleman in the streets and a freak in the bed,” Irina gasped through her laughter.
“I didn’t mean to—” Eli started to say.
“Oh yes, you did.” Irina climbed over Eli, so he was in the middle, and cuddled against him.
“Are you trying to make me the little spoon?” he asked, bemused.
Jasper scooted over, so they were all curled together, arms and legs tangled.
“Eli,” Jasper said seriously. “That was amazing. Don’t ever hide that raw sex warrior from us.”
“I don’t want to hurt either of you…”
Irina patted his chest. “Don’t worry, I’m the dangerous one, remember?”
Jasper dissolved into gales of laughter. Eli adjusted his glasses, which for some reason made Irina start to laugh too.
“You’re both lunatics,” he said. “But you’re my lunatics.”
“Damn right,” Jasper said.
They were silent for a moment.
“So, when are we going to go downstairs?” Irina asked.
“Down, girl,” Jasper said. “Give us a chance to recover.”
“You get thirty minutes.” Irina snuggled closer to Eli. “Then I expect some seriously dirty things to happen.”
They were all downstairs twenty-eight minutes later.
Chapter Sixteen
She couldn’t sleep. After the truly incredible sex of the past two days, Irina should have been exhausted, body and mind. But she couldn’t sleep, even though her arms and legs felt heavy with tiredness.
She was…worried. Anxious. It hadn’t even been a week since she’d walked through the doors of the Boston Public Library, sneaking into the rare book room and accessing the secret elevator.
A lot had happened in that week. She’d finally met her trinity. She’d participated in her first art heist. She’d subsequently screwed up her first art heist and had to stage a rescue operation with no planning and a team of two.
Her brain was humming along, thoughts popping to the surface only to be shoved aside by the next thought clamoring for her undivided attention. She’d ended up on one side of the bed, with Jasper in the middle, which made it easy for her to slide out from under the covers. Naked, she crept out of the bedroom, feeling her way down the stairs.
It wasn’t completely dark down here. They’d left two of the lights on—the ones hanging over the stage area—pendant lights with variegated glass shades in tones of gold and amber.
She picked her way across the floor, which was scattered with pillows and, much to her delight, a discarded shirt. Eli’s polo was huge on her and smelled like him. Rubbing the collar against her cheek, she opened the curtains. It was still dark out, but the sky was more blue than black. Dawn was coming.
Irina tugged a few pillows over, fluffing them into place just under the window. Settling herself amid the cushions, with her back against the wall beneath the window, facing the room, she watched the light. The gold lamplight did battle with the light streaming in through the window. The gold light was winning, but as she sat there, breathing in and out, still and quiet in the pre-dawn, the silvery-white light that promised day grew brighter, beating back the lamplight.
The end of their “task” was in sight. Tomorrow she’d check her email. Hopefully they’d have the all-clear from the Grand Master. They could return to Boston, be officially married, and then start their life together.
But what did that mean?
What would she do?
Irina pulled her arms into the torso of the shirt, hugging her waist. They’d turned Eli’s whole life upside down, but Jasper had a plan for fixing that. He’d shared the plan with Irina, but they’d agreed not to tell Eli, in case it didn’t work.
Best case scenario, Eli was able to return to his job in Denver. Jasper’s job wasn’t at risk, so he was fine.
That left her.
Huddled on the floor in that darkest hour before dawn, Irina admitted to herself how woefully unworthy she felt being married to these two handsome, brilliant men. Eli, the dedicated scholar, whose mild-mannered-professor exterior hid a core of raw passion. Jasper, the dashing, dangerous man who lived life to its fullest, and seemed willing and capable of taking on the world with a smile on his face.
Then there was her.
She should have amounted to more. Should have become something, someone spectacular. Instead, she’d peaked in college, and since then she’d slowly fizzled out. She didn’t have a career she cared about; she had a job that had been handed to her through her Trinity Masters’ connection. She was okay at it, but not great. She was pretty, but not beautiful.
Irina swallowed against the pressure in her throat. She was shaking, though whether that was from the cold or a physical manifestation of her feelings, she couldn’t tell. She wanted to go for run. Needed to get away.
Don’t be stupid, Irina.
She looked at the door, warring with herself. Running was the easiest way to control these rather pathetic feelings that periodically crept up on her, but if she went running, she’d have to leave the hotel.
A heavy plastic bag caught her eye.
Irina gasped in relief. Scrambling to her feet, she ran for the shopping bags. They’d sent her into a craft store to get gloves, and on impulse she’d purchased painting supplies along with the digital camera. She wasn’t sure why she’d done i
t. She never painted in front of people. Didn’t even tell people that was her hobby. But something had told her to do it. Her subconscious must have known this moment was coming.
If running was the easiest way for her to deal with unwanted feelings, painting was the best. Running was a Band-Aid. Painting was a healing.
She tipped the bag onto the floor, then tossed aside the pillows they’d used to half hide the stolen art. The second bag was under one of the pillows. She upended that one too.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she tore plastic off canvases. She hadn’t gotten an artist’s palette, so she used a bit of cardboard from the packaging, squeezing out indulgently large glops of oil paint. Oil paint was a silly choice, but she was glad for it now. Using one canvas as a tray, she gathered up brushes, paint, and her makeshift palette, and took everything to the tiled bathroom area.
She stuffed a washcloth over the drain, then turned on one of the shower heads just enough to create a pool of water on the floor and tossed the brushes into it, to soften the new bristles. She quickly prepped a canvas, with none of the care a real artist would take. Propping the canvas on the shower knobs gave her a makeshift easel. With the palette balanced on one hand, she dipped her brush into the paint.
A vivid stripe of blue appeared as she put brush to canvas. Irina closed her eyes in relief. This was what she needed, the outlet for all the emotions rolling inside her. Emotions that great sex could mute, but not vanquish.
Dawn’s light grew, silver turning to white, then warming to gold as the sun rose. Irina poured herself onto the canvas, unaware of anything but the brush in her hand, the rapidly emptying tubes of paint at her feet, and the canvases.
Eli propped his head on his hand and watched Jasper sleep. He looked younger when he was asleep than he did when he was awake. He also looked innocent.
He’d come to regret the way he’d treated Jasper when they’d first met. For the most part, Jasper seemed to be less art thief and more morally ambiguous-for-the-greater-good scholar. There were a few times he’d mentioned stealing things like jewelry, and Eli wanted to figure out if those had been jokes just to rile him up, or if there was more to his thieving.
But even if Jasper had stolen jewelry, Eli respected him. Maybe even loved him.
Eli leaned over and kissed him. It was the first time he’d done that without Irina in the room. He’d expected it to feel weird, but it didn’t. It felt nice. More than nice.
“Mmm, good morning,” Jasper whispered. He sat up at the same time that he pushed on Eli’s shoulder.
Their heads knocked together.
“Ow,” Eli said.
“That didn’t work out the way I thought it would.”
“What did you think would happen?”
“I was going to roll you over and kiss you. If you were Irina’s size, that would have worked.”
Eli chuckled. “Not used to not being the biggest one?”
“I guess I’m not.” Jasper levered himself up, this time more carefully, and kissed Eli’s forehead. “Where is our wife, by the way?”
“I thought I heard her moving around downstairs.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Me too. Let’s find her and go get breakfast.”
They took turns in the bathroom. While Jasper was in there, Eli threw open the curtains, blinking at the bright sunlight. He wasn’t sure what time they’d fallen asleep, but now it had to be at least nine a.m. Once they were both dressed, they made their way downstairs.
Eli hit the bottom stair and froze.
Jasper put a hand on his shoulder, bracing himself to lean around and see why Eli had stopped.
Three breathtaking paintings were propped along the wall in the open bathroom. Luminous color seemed to jump from the canvas, as if there was actually light inside the images, which was a truly astounding trick, considering the dark nature of the subjects.
One was a purely abstract piece that combined strong color play with an overlay of jagged shapes. Colors seemed to battle across the canvas in disjointed, angular installments, silver and gray at war with yellow and gold.
The next was an absurdist-style painting that didn’t seem to be complete. A cutout of a happy couple, smiling huge, fake smiles, and with empty black holes for eyes, was acting as a barrier between a dull gray cityscape and a ball that at first looked like it might be the sun, but on closer inspection was actually a carefully entwined Celtic knot of variegated shades of yellow and gold. A trinity.
The last was a portrait. It was done in the modern style, the features angular and exaggerated, the neck and face elongated. The woman in the portrait had lank hair and lowered eyes. Despite the disproportionate features, sadness was clearly expressed. The figure itself was done in dull, flat tans and browns, but behind it the rest of the canvas exploded with color. The area behind her on the left was all reds and golds, while on the right it was vibrant cyan, turquoise, and azure.
Jasper gave him a little push and Eli let out the breath he’d been holding. He walked toward the bathroom area, Jasper on his heels. Eli crouched down to get a better look at the paintings. Up close they were even more amazing.
Eli would never get tired of the feeling he got when he first saw beautiful art. He’d never found a name for it, but it was as if a bright thread dropped into his heart, a thread that connected him to all of humanity, future, present, and past. For a split second, just a fraction of a thought, he experienced something divine.
“Jasper, I’m not a contemporary art expert, but these are…”
Jasper was crouched, hands over his mouth. He dropped them. “These are revelatory. Raw. Seminal.”
“Did you know she could do this?”
Jasper shook his head, but didn’t take his gaze off the portrait. “I see influences from all the major modern schools, yet there’s a unique perspective here.” Jasper’s jaw clenched. “She’s not who she says she is.”
“What do you mean?” Eli blinked, trying to catch up to Jasper’s line of reasoning.
“Maybe she’s a forger,” Jasper murmured.
A distressed noise made Eli turn. Irina was curled up in a ball on the floor. He’d assumed she’d gone to breakfast, but she was there, small and fragile-looking even as she uncurled and sat up. She was wearing his shirt, and the shirt, her face, and her arms were all streaked with paint.
She rose to her feet, face twisted in a worried expression. “I fell asleep.”
Jasper pivoted in his crouch and then sprang to his feet. “Why did you lie to us?”
Irina fell back a step in shock. “Lie? I didn’t lie.”
Eli rose too, switching his gaze between them. “Jasper, calm down.”
“I am calm.”
“No, you’re not,” Irina pointed out levelly.
Jasper seemed incensed. “Clearly you’re lying. I want to know why. I want to know what you’re hiding.”
Eli looked at Irina. Jasper couldn’t be implying…
Jasper stabbed a finger at her. “Do you really work for Bennett Securities?”
Irina sputtered, then finally said, “You know I do. You went with me to pick up supplies.”
Jasper’s hand slashed through the air. “Easily faked.” He looked over his shoulder at the paintings and his jaw muscle flexed. “Or maybe you technically work for them. Maybe your boss has you working there and you two were just waiting, biding your time.”
“Jasper, stop.” Eli tried to make it a command, but it came out as a plea.
Irina didn’t respond. Her shoulders hunched and head dropped.
“Who are you really?” Jasper demanded. “And why are you lying to us?”
Irina covered her face, and Eli felt the bottom drop out of his world.
Chapter Seventeen
“It’s time to go.”
Bryan Cobb looked up from his desk, at the figure in the doorway.
He turned his attention back to his work. The papers were spread out in neat rows. His heavy fountain pen was poi
sed to sign the letter printed on heavy linen letterhead. Rather than risk dripping ink, he screwed the cap onto his pen and set it in the narrow margin between two sheets of paper.
He had a computer, but he was a paper man. The computer was relegated to a smaller desk tucked into the corner of his large office. When computers were new, and he was trying to keep up with things like that, he’d had a temp come in one day a week and translate all his work from hard-copy pages onto the computer.
Now computers weren’t new, and they weren’t secure. Mr. Cobb’s clients—client—wanted security above all. He’d gone back to doing things the way he had before, with paper and pen, using the computer only when he had to. He’d even bought a special computer and printer that didn’t have an internet connection, and used it as little more than a typewriter.
Toward the end of his workdays, he’d sometimes admit to himself that there were some good features, like the big monitor. His oldest granddaughter had come in and helped him set it up so the type was nice and big. His eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, and a typewriter, which he sometimes grumbled about being so much simpler, would have been harder on his eyes.
Mr. Cobb looked out the window on his left. He’d had this same office for nearly forty years. The skyline outside that window had changed, but the building where he worked had been built to last, by an architect who knew their craft. Things like that were important to Mr. Cobb.
“Did you hear me?”
The man in the doorway didn’t raise his voice, but Mr. Cobb flinched. When he’d first hung out his shingle, he’d cobbled together a living by having a multitude of small fish clients. Most people with money weren’t interested in a jack-of-all-trades like him. They wanted a broker for their stocks, a property manager for their real estate investments, and a whole accounting firm to handle their taxes.
He’d been in business three years, and close to giving up, when he’d gotten a new client. A man who called himself Mr. Storm, though Mr. Cobb never saw a single sheet of paper with that name on it. To be frank, Mr. Storm was a bit of a silly name. In the rare times that Mr. Cobb let himself be distracted by flights of fancy, he wondered if Mr. Storm, whom he’d only ever met in person twice, had made up the name as he’d walked into Mr. Cobb’s office.
