by Lexi Blake
“As you don’t seem to have one, I think that will be easy.” Ian stood up. His blue eyes were not unkind as they looked at Sean. “I’m going to head out to the club. I’m meeting the rest of the team there. Why don’t you come with us? You don’t need to start this tonight. Your meeting with Wright won’t be for another few weeks or so. You’ll be in deep cover. I talked to a friend in Chicago, and you’re all set. You’re going in as a man negotiating a contract for labor services. You’ll need to work at Kelvin Incorporated for a few weeks to make it look good.”
Yes, a couple of weeks as a corporate drone sounded very exciting. He should go to the club with Ian. He could pick up a sub for the night and spend a few hours forgetting the fact that the next several weeks would be dull as dirt. Of course, the last couple of years had been long, tedious jobs punctuated with the occasional person who tried to kill him. He was used to boredom. His hand found the file, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “No, I want to read over this.”
Ian shrugged. “All right, little brother. Jake and Adam are heading to Fort Worth tomorrow. I’ve already gotten them interviews. Luckily, Wright is always looking for sales staff. Liam is going down to do recon and set up a little base of operations. They’ll make contact when you get there. We can go over it tomorrow. Don’t stay here all night.”
Sean huffed to let his brother know he didn’t need the parenting. One by one his co-workers came by and offered to keep him company. They said goodnight when he turned them down. Sean smiled and went back to his research. She was the key. Grace Hawthorne would break the case; Grace with her sad mouth and those intriguing yellow shoes.
It was a long time before he left his desk.
Chapter Two
“Hello.”
The deep masculine voice brought Grace’s attention up from her work. She lifted her head up, and up, and up. Wow. The man was huge. She couldn’t help but stare. He was dressed in an impeccably-cut dark suit. His snowy white dress shirt stood out against the black of the suit and emphasized the brilliant blue of his silk tie. His shoulders were so broad, she would bet he’d had the suit cut specifically for him. His shoulders tapered down to a lean waist and hips that flowed into legs that she bet were powerfully muscled. All of that she could handle, but then she got to his face.
His jaw was perfectly cut, as though someone had sculpted him from granite, chiseling away all the unneeded bits to leave him with a stark, masculine perfection. His blue eyes were icy, though not cold. As he stood looking down at her, he ran a big hand through his blonde hair. It was slicked back, though some of it fell over his brow giving him a boyish charm to go with the utterly male sexuality he exuded. He shouldn’t be in a suit. He should be wearing one of those helmets with horns on it, wielding a sword while he raided villages. He was a Viking god, and his lips quirked up faintly as she looked up at him. It emphasized the unbearably cute cleft in his chin.
“Hi.” It was all that would come out of her mouth. Several other greetings leapt to mind. Please take me roughly was one of them. She decided a simple hello might be the best way to go. She’d been reading far too many romances. She needed to cool down.
“Hello.” The Viking god had a slow, Southern accent. “I have a lunch appointment with Mr. Wright.”
Grace laughed. She couldn’t help it. Grace had learned long ago that she wasn’t very good at social deception. She glanced down at her calendar. “Of course you do. You must be Sean Johansson. I’ll let Mr. Wright know you’re here.”
His hand shot out as she was reaching for the phone. A grin played on his unbelievably sensual lips. Men shouldn’t have lips like that. “I have to know. What’s so funny? Is the suit bad? I admit I can have terrible taste in clothing. I usually wear jeans and T-shirts. My mother once accused me of buying all my clothes at concerts.”
She shook her head and tried not to think about how her skin tingled where he’d touched her. She sighed. Men were needy creatures. She decided to treat the Viking god like she did every other male in her life, with an amused nonchalance. “The suit is more than fine, and I think you know that. Your eyes appear to function, Mr. Johansson. Tell me, did the girls at reception faint when you walked in?”
A slight flush stained his high cheekbones. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was perfectly nice to them.”
“I bet you’re nice to all the girls.” She winked as she said it. It was a little fun flirtation. It livened up her day. She’d discovered men liked to flirt with a woman who had absolutely no expectations of them.
His expression took a serious turn. Those light blue eyes pinned her, and for the briefest of moments, Grace felt like a rabbit in the company of a hungry wolf. “I prefer women.”
She swallowed once and then was saved by the door to her boss’s office opening suddenly. The sound cracked through the air. Grace hadn’t realized just how quiet it had been before. Evan Parnell strode out of the office, his boots making angry contact with the hardwood floors. Matthew Wright followed him.
“Damn it. We need to talk about this.” Matt’s voice held an edge of desperation.
Evan stopped and held out a hand as though to stop Matt from speaking. Matt’s mouth closed. Grace could feel the tension between the men. She got out of her chair and started to walk toward them, hoping to calm the situation, but Sean Johansson was suddenly in her way. His big body was a wall between her and the arguing men. He’d moved fast. One minute he was in front of the desk, and then next he was a bulwark between her and whatever he apparently feared was about to happen. Grace tried to push her way around him. He turned to her, and the command was there, written plainly on his handsome face.
Stay where you are.
Grace thought briefly about arguing. Johansson’s eyes narrowed, and she backed down. She tried not to think about what the dominant look on his face did to her. Yep, she was going to stop reading romances. She was seeing things that weren’t there. Johansson was simply a gentleman who didn’t want to see her get hurt.
Evan’s muddy brown eyes swept across the room. Grace had never understood why Matt had hired Parnell in the first place. He was rude, difficult to deal with, and far too intense for Grace’s tastes. His face was always flat, as though the world was never enough for him, and he found not an ounce of joy in it.
“We’ll talk about it later. But I mean to have my way in this, Mr. Wright. You won’t like the consequences of backing out of our deal.” Parnell’s voice was dark, like molasses running over concrete. He turned to Grace. “Grace, I’ll take my check now.”
She looked to her boss. “But…”
“Just get the check, Grace.” Matt’s entire body was tight.
She wanted to argue that Parnell wasn’t due a check until the fifteenth, but something about her boss’s body language sent her to the locked drawer of her desk. The minute she sat down, the Viking eased up. He leaned casually against the side of her desk.
While Grace wrote out the check, Matt seemed to figure out that they weren’t alone in his elegant office. He straightened his suit as he checked out Sean Johansson.
“I’m sorry. Is Grace helping you?”
Parnell moved to the door, waiting. He didn’t look back, merely stood there, his arms crossed over his chest. He was a thin man, but strong. He wasn’t dressed in anything like a suit, but that didn’t surprise Grace. He always showed up in jeans, a flannel shirt, and a trucker hat. She supposed that was why he had to use Wright Temps to contract his janitorial services. He wasn’t a very professional man.
“Grace has been very helpful.” The Viking’s tone was smooth and calming. Grace knew it was a trick of her own libido, but she thought she could hear approval in his voice.
Grace tore the check out of the ledger. She stood up. “Matt, this is Sean Johansson. He’s your lunch appointment.”
Matt shook his head as though clearing it. His hand shot out toward the big Viking. “Of course. Please forgive me. You’re with Kelvin, rig
ht?”
“I am. I’m here to get the best deal possible out of you.”
Grace moved to get around Mr. Johansson. He looked down at her and, without asking, took the check out of her hand. He crossed the office in two strides. Parnell’s eyebrows arched, but he took the check. He wasted no time in leaving the office.
Johansson turned and smiled at Matt. “Now, I seem to remember we had a lunch appointment. I made reservations at Blue Moon. I find negotiations go so much smoother with a good margarita, don’t you?”
Matt let out a long breath, the previous tension leaving his body, and in its place was the charming man Grace knew so well. “Absolutely. I can tell we’re going to get along, Mr. Johansson.”
“Sean, please.”
“Of course, and I’m Matt. We should probably be on a first name basis since we’ll be calling each other bastard and asshole by the end of the month.”
Sean threw back his head. His booming laugh did things to Grace’s insides. She was deeply surprised because she was pretty sure she’d buried the sensual parts of her with her husband. She turned away from the sight of Sean. He was just a kid. He looked to be roughly thirty years old. He was only a few years older than her sons.
“Come on into my office, Sean. We can talk for a minute before we get to those margaritas.” Matt held open the door, and the Viking walked through. Grace felt the absence of his presence immediately. Matt’s well-coiffed head poked back out. He grinned at her. “Gracie, can you clear the rest of my appointments, babe?”
“Of course.” She glanced down at the calendar she kept on her desk. There was only one appointment, and she could foist that off on a manager or take it herself. Matt gave her a thumbs up and disappeared.
Grace laughed. It was utterly ridiculous, but she could breathe again. She quickly called one of the more competent managers. He was more than happy to take the meeting for Matt. It would be nice to have a quiet office for the afternoon. She thought of all the things she could catch up on. There were any number of projects she need to work on, so why did she find herself sitting at her desk, staring into space, listening for the sound of Sean Johansson’s voice?
“Holy crap, Gracie, did you see that?”
Grace looked up into her best friend’s face. Kayla Green’s mouth was hanging open. Grace was just waiting for the drool to start. There was no question in Grace’s mind that Kayla was talking about Sean Johansson. Grace shushed her. “He’s in Matt’s office.”
“Are you serious? Can I go in?”
“No. Back down, girl. He’s a client. You can’t jump the clients.”
Kayla set her hip against the desk and a saucy smile covered her sweet face. “I bet that one is used to getting jumped. I swear, I thought I was dreaming when he walked in, Grace. He looks like a…I don’t know what he looks like, but that man is sex on a stick.”
“A Viking.” The words were out of her mouth before she could call them back.
Kayla’s brown eyes went wide. “Oh my god, has your libido come back online? Hallelujah! Now, I think the Viking is a little much to start with, but I have some men in mind.”
“Whoa! Don’t you start on that.” If she didn’t put a stop to it, Kayla would have her own version of speed dating going in under five minutes. She would be fielding calls about dates from everyone from Kayla’s deadbeat brother to the UPS guy. Kayla collected single men’s numbers like others collected bobblehead dolls or stamps. “I’m old, not blind, Kay. I’d have to be blind not to notice that young man.”
“He isn’t that young, Grace. And you aren’t old. Forty isn’t old.”
“Forty with two kids in college sure as hell feels old. I doubt that puppy in there has even contemplated having kids. He’s a boy.”
Kayla shook her head. “You were wrong about being blind. That was a man if I ever saw one.” Kayla looked like she wanted to argue further, but simply sighed. “Fine. I get it. You’re willing to read about dirty, nasty sex, but you won’t let yourself have some. One of these days you’re going to wake up and realize that life has passed you by. I’ll be right by your side telling you I told you so.”
“Gee, that sounds lovely, Kay.” And possibly prophetic.
“If the boss is busy, what do you say we go to the salad bar for lunch and then get our toes done?”
Grace smiled up at her friend, eager to accept the invitation.
“I’m afraid the pedicure is going to have to wait, ladies.” Sean Johansson stood in the doorway, his big body filling the space to bursting. He leaned negligently against the wall, and Grace had the sudden worry that he’d heard way too much of their conversation. “Grace is going to join us for lunch.”
“I am?” The words croaked out of her throat.
His smile was steady and sure. “You are.”
Sean moved out of the way as Matt walked up behind him.
“Come on, Grace. Sean here thinks we need your brilliant brain to help us poor males out.” He was already pulling off his tie. If this was anything like Matt’s other lunchtime meetings, he wouldn’t come back to the office. Grace really hoped he would be sober at the end of the day. “And Gracie, bring something along to take notes.”
Matt was out the door and waiting by the elevator before Grace could grab her purse.
Sean Johansson waited patiently by her desk. His hand came out gallantly to take the large briefcase she carried just about everywhere. He briefly introduced himself to Kayla, and then his hand came out again to help Grace from her chair. His big hand enveloped her small one as he steadied her. He held her hand for a second or two longer than needed. When he let go, Grace felt the loss of his warmth. He offered her his arm as though they were a lord and lady from another time.
“Shall we?”
No. No. They really shouldn’t. It was a bad idea. Grace shook it off. He was a businessman looking for a good deal. She was the boss’s admin. Every halfway decent corporate executive knew the admin was the lifeline to the boss. Grace plastered a bright smile on her face and gave Kay a wink. She could flirt just as well as Sean Johansson could.
“I believe I could use a margarita, Mr. Johansson.”
“It’s Sean, Grace. I’ve heard this place has the best in North Texas. The drinks better be good because I would hate to disappoint you.” He started to lead her out. “And Grace, nice shoes.”
She looked down at the purple peep toes she’d selected this morning. They were the only color in her outfit. She was wearing a black skirt and gray top. The purple seemed to give her a little personality. Now she wondered what those purple, four-inch heels would look like propped on Sean Johansson’s shoulders.
She was definitely going to need that margarita.
* * * *
Evan Parnell strode outside the building. He looked up and down the sidewalk and then carefully planted himself behind a large bush. He pulled out a cigarette, just another guy on a smoke break in a city that didn’t let a man’s vice inside its sanctified walls. He watched as the Mercedes pulled out of the parking lot with three occupants inside.
Damn it, he didn’t like this. They were so close, and Matt had to try to reel in some asshole corporate account? Matt should be concentrating on the goddamn Bryson Building. That was where they would score. Everything else was a distraction.
And distractions cost lives. Of course, they could be helpful on occasion. He chuckled as he thought about the last distraction he’d created. He’d enjoyed his brief time as an “ecoterrorist.” It had put the Agency off him and gotten him a small army of devoted “soldiers.” He had a couple of true believers, and they made excellent pawns. All he had to do was start a couple of fires, ruin some equipment, and suddenly no one was worried about his real activities.
He let his eyes drift across the skyline. He could see the Bryson Building. It was a large, nondescript building like most of the structures that made up Fort Worth’s skyline. It was absolutely perfect because it housed the Texas Natural Gas Corporation. Not that he actual
ly gave a damn about TNG, but it was the perfect cover. He couldn’t see the west side. It was in a small office on the west side of the building that he would make his final, biggest score, and then he could retire.
In another week or so, he would be in Southeast Asia soaking up the sun and fucking as many girls as his dick could handle. Well, he would be if his brother didn’t screw everything up.
Evan took a long drag off his cigarette. He wasn’t looking forward to another round of plastic surgery, but it would be necessary. Evan Parnell would have to disappear the same way Patrick Wright had, and this time he wouldn’t have Agency resources. They’d trained him well. Maybe if they’d paid him as well as they had trained him, he wouldn’t have gone rogue.
He thought about the check in his pocket. Grace Hawthorne might not know it, but she’d been laundering his ill-gotten gains for years. She knew an awful lot about his banking practices. If his ex-handler ever caught up to him, she was a weak link. If Eli Nelson found him, he was screwed, and what Grace knew or didn’t know wouldn’t matter. Still, maybe he should think about taking her out. An accident. Yes, that could be arranged. He pulled out his cell and quickly called one of his loyal soldiers.
Grace taken care of, Evan tossed the cigarette aside, not bothering to put it out. He didn’t care. He had a check to cash.
* * * *
Sean stared at Grace over the empty plates. She was flirting with the waiter. The young idiot was new to his job and had fumbled his way through taking their orders until Grace had turned her vibrant hazel eyes on him and starting talking to him in that ridiculously sexy twang of hers. He’d almost immediately calmed down, and the rest of the meal had been smooth sailing.
She was something else. The photos of her didn’t come close to doing the woman justice. In the photos, he’d seen a woman approaching middle age. The clothes she’d worn had made her seem a bit plump, and the expression on her face had been a little sad. The pictures didn’t show how her skin glowed in the late afternoon light. Her hair, which had seemed a flat brown before, was actually more red than anything else. It was pulled back in a ponytail, but Sean was sure it would reach far past her shoulders when he it took down. Little tendrils, waves of auburn, kept escaping from the brutal captivity of the scrunchie to frame her face. He was fascinated with her throaty laugh. When Grace Hawthorne smiled, she could light up a room.
