“What are you doing here!?” he asked, glancing around the room.
“What am I doing here? What the fuck are you doing here!?” Lily shot back, still struggling against his hold. People around them started to notice and openly stared.
“Dance with me,” Marc suddenly said, pulling her close. She snorted.
“You're fucking crazy if you think -”
“People are staring. Dance with me.”
He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist. She took a sharp breath, and for a moment he thought she would argue with him. But then he started moving and she didn't resist.
It was crazy, that someone could look so different, yet feel exactly the same. The curve of her waist, the heat of her body. And the smell, good god. Lavender, surrounding him. It was like stepping into a time machine. All he needed was some sand and some scorching sun, and they would be back in Africa.
Of course, half of his mind was always in Africa, anyway. Always with her.
“I can't believe this is happening,” she suddenly whispered. He glanced at her. Many things may have been different, but she hadn't been able to change her most striking feature. Those large, green eyes. So big, they could've swallowed him whole.
“What the fuck are you doing here? Have you been following me?” he asked, keeping his teeth clenched together. She snorted again.
“Don't flatter yourself.”
“Ah. Stankovski,” he figured. “Apparently, you don't know how to read.”
“What?”
“I told you to forget him, that I would take care of it.”
“Great fucking job you've done so far.”
Still feisty. He'd almost forgotten how annoying she could be.
Had almost forgotten how much he'd missed it.
“The song is gonna end soon. I'll walk you to the door, then you can -” Marc started to inform her, but then she stopped moving, forcing him to break hold.
“Who the fuck do you think you are!?” she demanded, her voice louder than he would've liked. He glared at her.
“Keep it down!”
“You don't tell me what to do. You don't ever get to tell me what to do, De Sant. You're nothing to me. A stranger. You have no right to say anything to me. Six months! Six months and no word, and then you just show up out of nowhere, and you think you can start telling me what to do!? You don't know me. You have no idea who I am now, and you, you're just ... just a bad memory. Now get the fuck out of my way.”
The scariest part of her statement, Marc realized as they stared at each other, was that she was technically right. He didn't know this woman, this raven haired, cold hearted beauty. Her words were filled with a venom that actually surprised him, and they stung. A bad memory? Almost getting killed for her were some of his best memories. He'd once told her that she didn't have to be the person she was anymore; clearly, she'd taken it to heart. She was something entirely new.
But still. His heart recognized hers, and that was all that mattered.
“It would seem, Brewster, that your job and my job conflict with each other,” he replied, trying to keep his voice even and flat. She continued to glare up at him. “Do you know what happens when competing mercenaries show up for the same gig?”
That earned him a laugh. A real laugh. He'd imagined it so many times, but imagination was never as good as the real thing.
“I'm sorry, competing? I don't see any competition here,” she challenged him.
“What the fuck have you been doing these last six months?”
“None of your goddamn business. Just walk away, De Sant. You may have been playing the gallant this whole time, but I've invested years in this man, and I'm not about to let you fuck it up again. So turn around and -”
Anger was rolling off of Lily in thick waves. He could feel her aggression, her hurt. Her feelings of betrayal and abandonment. But that didn't matter. A job was still a job, and right at that moment, he noticed Damiano glancing at them. Worse than that, Damiano's companion was glancing their way, too. Roksana's hair just barely hid the bruise on her forehead, the one she'd gotten when he'd slammed her face first into a dresser. He grimaced and turned, yanking Lily around with him.
“Look, as much as I love it when you yell at me, sweetheart, we don't have time for this. C'mon, you can tag along,” he said, stepping back from her.
“Tag along!? I'm going to shoot you, De Sant, I swear to christ.”
“Sounds fun. Let's go.”
He grabbed her forearm and didn't give her a chance to argue, just yanked her along behind him. He pushed his way through the crowd and finally emerged in the foyer. He would've dragged her outside, but a guard was standing in the doorway. Fuck. Marc frowned and turned, hurrying up the stairs. She stayed with him till the top, but as soon as they headed down a hallway, she yanked free of him.
“What is going on!?” she whisper shouted at him. He finally turned to look at her.
He had a realization. He'd only ever seen Lily in her “work gear” in Africa – usually tank tops and cargo pants. Clean face and hair in a pony tail. Now she was dressed up, her all black outfit making her look even taller and trimmer than she really was; very model-esque. She was also wearing make up, making her eyes even more hypnotizing. It was impossible to look away from them. To look away from her.
Goddamn, she is gorgeous.
“That blonde woman down there is Mrs. Roksana Stankovski. She knows me. She might have recognized me,” he explained. She groaned and rolled her eyes.
“Are you serious!? Months of fucking tracking these people, then you go and fuck it all up for me! You are the worst. If you would've just gone on your way, it would've been fine! I had no ties to you, she wouldn't have recognized me. Now they might have seen us together. You are such a fuck up, De Sant,” she growled at him. He'd never heard her sound like that; he'd heard her mad and upset and sad, but never hateful. Clearly, time had done nothing to soften the hurt he'd caused.
“Hey, I didn't know you were going to be here, didn't know you'd be fucking dancing with one of my marks. Why can't you ever do what you're fucking told? I left you for a reason! A good goddamn reason!” he snapped. She stomped up close to him.
“I don't give a fuck why you left. A note? A fucking letter? What are you, a girl? Couldn't do it to my face? Fucking pussy. You're outclassed, De Sant. Get out of my way, or you'll get hurt,” she threatened.
Oh my, she's grown some balls. What have you been up to, sweetheart?
“You're even bitchier than I remembered. What've you been doing this whole time?”
“Nothing that's any of your business.”
“You're here, that makes you my business.”
“Get fucked, De Sant.”
“Ah, if only we had the time.”
She went to respond, then stopped. Seemed to hold her breath for a second, even closed her eyes. After she'd calmed herself down, she opened her eyes again and stared straight at him. It was obvious she was struggling very hard to control herself.
“I don't have time for this. You're right, we're here for the same reason. I don't want this to get ugly, so let's make a deal. You can have Damiano – he's got plenty of bounties on his head. There's nothing on Stankovski, so leave him to me. You get a payday. I get revenge. We both win,” she suggested. He shook his head. Whether she liked it or not, he'd made a promise to her. He was going to keep that promise.
“I don't want a payday. I want to finish what I started.”
“What I started. You have no quarrel with him and you know it, De Sant,” she pointed out.
“My name is Marc.”
“Your name is unimportant. We're wasting time.”
“You're wasting time.”
“Is this really happening!? Shut up, De Sant, and get the fuck out of here!” she yelled at him.
“Keep talking to me that way, and we'll see -” he started to threaten, but then he heard something. Footsteps at the bottom of the stairs.
“Shit
,” Lily whispered.
Marc growled and grabbed her arm, pulling her into the nearest room. He shut the door behind them, then shoved her up against the wall, boxing her in with his arms. They stood completely still, both of them listening.
“See what your bitching has done?” he whispered. “Now we're both going to be up shit creek.”
“My bitching!? I'm surprised you could even hear me over your own ego!” she hissed back. He pressed his hand over her mouth.
“Please keep quiet, princess, or neither of us will have to worry about finding Stankovski because he'll find us,” he warned her. She glared, and then he yelped as she bit down into the fleshy part of his palm.
“Don't call me that! Don't call me anything! Let me go, and I'll deal with this situation on my own!” she told him, pushing against his chest.
“You're not equipped to deal with a sitution like this, Lily. You're in over your head,” he informed her.
“We've been training for this situation for six months, don't tell me what I can and can't do. Let me go,” she ordered.
“We!?” he asked, staring down at her, forgetting to listen for a moment.
“I'm warning you, De Sant.”
“Who the fuck is 'we'!?” he demanded.
He never got an answer. There were heavy footsteps in the hallway, which effectively shut them both up. Whoever it was, they were moving slowly. Almost stealthily. Searching for something.
Or someone.
Through the course of his snooping around, Marc had noticed other people traipsing up the stairs. Giggling women and drunken men, stumbling into rooms together. Presumably, they weren't all sneaking off to plot the deaths of their hosts, and thus their actions were overlooked.
“We can't just stand here. They're checking the room across the hall,” Lily whispered. Marc looked down at her and she was staring back, her eyes big and glassy. A sliver of moonlight was cutting through the room, landing directly across her face. They'd fought and argued, and he was still absolutely floored that he was standing in a room with her, but he pushed through all that and thought up a plan. He smiled at her.
“I'd say forgive me, but I'm not gonna be sorry at all.”
“Sorry for what?”
He pressed his lips to hers, flattening his body against hers. She let out a muffled yell and pushed against his chest, but he didn't move. He cupped his hands on either side of her neck and moaned. He thought he'd remembered how soft her skin was, but memory was a poor substitute for the real thing. Like satin. Like silk. Like a small piece of heaven.
“Stop it! Or I really will shoot you!” she threatened when he finally moved his mouth away from hers.
“Lily,” he breathed, trailing his lips along her jaw. “Hear that? They're in the hall. They're going to come in here, and they're going to wonder what business two people could possibly have in this room.”
“That doesn't mean you have the right to just -”
“Shut up and sell it, Lily.”
He heard the door knob jiggle, and it must have had an effect on Lily, because she sighed, and the next thing he knew, she was kissing him back. Like warm memories and better times. Marc groaned again. Even if it was just pretend, if it meant his fantasies for the last six months were going to come to life, he was going to take advantage of it.
God, I missed you, sweetheart.
DAY TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN
Shock wasn't a big enough word to describe how Lily felt, looking up to find Marc staring at her in that ballroom. Anyone else. It literally could have been anyone else – her father, Mickey Mouse, Hitler, and she would've been less surprised. Marcelle De Sant wasn't real, anymore. He was a figment of her imagination, something that usually only appeared late at night, when she was alone and missing a more dangerous time in her life.
Besides, wasn't he supposed to be in Brazil!? Wasn't he ... anywhere she wasn't?
Wasn't he not quite this good looking!? It's unfair that such a dick can be so good looking.
Dancing with her was bad enough. They'd fought, as had always been in their nature, but it wasn't the same. She hated him. He'd lied to her, and he'd manipulated her, and he'd abandoned her. Told her she wasn't good enough, then told her to go home. She loathed him.
And yet, his arm was around her, and his eyes were so blue, and she'd missed him so much.
Rat bastard.
And of course, along with fighting, their other old friend made an appearance – bad luck. Next thing Lily had known, she was being dragged upstairs and shoved into a bedroom. There was arguing. There was kissing.
So really, it was just like old times.
The bedroom door swung open, but she barely registered it. Marc's hands were moving over her body, pressing down on her breasts. He moved one lower, sliding it over her hip and around to her ass, pulling her away from the wall and into himself. She ran her hands down his chest and worked them under his jacket, smoothing around to his back. She bit into his bottom lip and that earned her yet another groan, followed by his tongue filling her mouth.
Acting a part, acting a part. Not enjoying this at all. Nope, nooooope.
People were in the room. Someone was barking questions in Spanish. Marc ignored them, and the hand on her ass suddenly moved and grabbed her thigh, yanking her leg up to his hip. She made a big show of pulling his belt apart, all while his mouth moved down her neck, leaving sloppy wet kisses in its wake. His hands were back at her chest and buttons flew as he yanked open her blouse. One hand went down the top of her tank, and suddenly Lily didn't care that they had an audience. Marc was touching her again, that was all that mattered.
“Excuse me!” a voice barked out. “You cannot be in here. You go now.”
Marc's free hand began rooting around in his pocket, and he pulled out a handful of pesos. He held them out to the nearest guard.
“We go in twenty minutes,” he panted, shoving the money into an open hand.
“Twenty minutes? Jesus, that's disappointing,” she gave a husky laugh, then moaned when the hand on her breast squeezed.
“Alright. Twenty minutes. We come back, and you leave room,” they were warned.
But neither of them could answer, as their mouths met again and their tongues moved against each other.
Her mind had registered the length of time since he'd left her, but her body didn't notice it at all. It recognized his touch as if they'd been together just the day before; like no time had passed. It made it all even worse. Her brain had done a good job of pretending it was over him. But her body had longed for him for six months. Had missed him. Hadn't understood why he'd left.
That thought brought her to her senses, and Lily abruptly shoved him away. They were both breathing hard. Marc's pants were undone and Lily's blouse was hanging open. Her matte red lipstick was smeared across his mouth and chin. She took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over her hips.
“Okay, we need to figure this out, right now,” she told him.
“Alright,” he agreed, though he seemed a little dazed. She resisted the urge to smirk.
“I didn't come here for you. Nothing I've done in the last six months has been for you,” she lied. “You're not a part of this. You were never a part of this, except for a couple weeks in Africa. I will not let you ruin this for me again, De Sant. When we walk out of this room, you're going to leave the house, and I'm going to finish this job.”
Marc's daze wore off and he glared as he put his pants back to rights.
“I've been a part of this since the moment you opened that safe, and you know it. What do you think I've been doing this whole time? Fucking vacationing? I'm not exactly getting paid for this shit.”
“No one asked you to do any of this shit. You just took it upon yourself. You just ran away and decided to solve a problem that wasn't even any of your business.”
He flinched and Lily smiled.
“I thought you'd understand,” he grumbled, glancing in a mirror that was behind her. He yanked off hi
s bow tie and used it to wipe at lipstick around his mouth.
“Then you thought wrong. All I understand is that I got lied to and told I wasn't good enough. So I went and found someone who did think I was good enough, and then I threw all my efforts into solving my own problems,” she filled him in.
“Someone, huh? Who is this amazing soul that's turned you into this raging bitch?” he asked.
“I was always a raging bitch, and who he is, is absolutely none of your business. Now get out of my life and get back to your own.”
“I liked you better when you weren't so combative.”
“You haven't seen combative yet.”
“I also liked you better when you had tits. What's happened to you?” he stated bluntly, his eyes wandering over her body. She sucked in a sharp gasp of air.
“It's been six months, De Sant – you don't care about my tits.”
“On the contrary. There are few things in life that I've ever cared more about than your tits.”
“My tits aren't any of your business, anymore.”
“And your ass is gone, too. Is looking like a man your goal? Because you're succeeding.”
It was true. She'd lost a lot of weight, what with all the training she'd done with Kingsley. She'd never been overweight, but she'd been curvy. As they'd ran and fought and taken jobs, she'd watched her body shrink, her curves replaced by tone muscles. She was proud of her body, proud of the work she'd done.
But that didn't make his words hurt any less.
“Time to go, De Sant. We're done.”
She shoved past him and moved into the hallway. Of course, he'd never listened to her in the past, so she wasn't exactly surprised when he ignored her command and followed her. The upper floor appeared to be empty, and a glance at her watch told her the guards wouldn't be back to check on them for another fifteen minutes or so.
“So what's your plan?”
“Go away,” she hissed, skirting the edge of the banister and heading into the west wing of the house – where she knew the personal rooms were situated. Damiano would've placed Stankovski's room close to his own, as a valued guest.
Out of Plans (The Mercenaries #2) Page 5
