by Donya Lynne
And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. Max is exciting, handsome, and, yes, classy. Look at how he dresses. A dress shirt, slacks, and shined shoes. And that was just for breakfast, where most of the diners were wearing shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers.
There would never be a dull moment with Max. And I didn’t have to meet him to know that. His dossier made that point quite obvious. He likes to travel. He surfs. He enjoys eating at nice restaurants and staying in even nicer hotels. And he has the financial means to do so, thanks to years of pulling cons.
Does that make him a bad person? I don’t know. Some people—okay, a lot of them, as I’m finding out firsthand—are just as crooked as he is—was. Maybe even more so. After all, I didn’t find my way to this assignment by being a law-abiding citizen myself. I’ve seen my share of illegal behavior. I’ve even been a part of it. And when people excuse their corruption by trying to justify it, it’s even worse than someone who isn’t hiding the fact that he’s committed a crime.
In that way, Max is a saint. He’s a good criminal. Because at least he’s honest about it. After all, he didn’t spend the last hour rationalizing what he’s done. He didn’t try to convince me that his victims deserved getting scammed or that he didn’t hurt anyone when he cheated the stock market. He owned his actions.
Isn’t that the kind of man I’ve looked for my whole life? One who’s honest? One who is willing to tell me the worst thing about himself, damn the consequences? If Max can confess his worst sins to me with an open heart, doesn’t that speak to the kind of husband he would be?
Words mean nothing, and actions don’t lie. I’m more willing to trust someone who can drop the worst possible pile of shit on me and apologize for it than someone who tells me he never shits, so there’s nothing to apologize for.
An unbidden smile curves my mouth, and I meet his eyes again.
Hope shines back at me. It’s enough to kick the last ounce of reservation from my thoughts.
“Okay, yes, I’ll marry you.”
A smile breaks over his face.
“On one condition,” I quickly add. Because let’s be real, I still have a job to do. And I only have the rest of today and tomorrow to complete it.
“All you have to do is name it.”
If only he knew the truth, he wouldn’t think it was that simple.
I feel like such a hypocrite, which makes it hard for me to continue.
Somehow I manage to push the words past my lips. “If you still want to marry me on Saturday morning, I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.”
He’s oblivious to my inner turmoil as he kisses me. It’s not a hard kiss, or one full of passion. It’s a promise more than a kiss.
“I’m not going to change my mind, Nash.” He kisses me again, and this time, the passion flows between us, the promise becoming a vow.
Whether or not he changes his mind, only time will tell. He may have shared his worst with me, but my worst is yet to come. If he can forgive me for what I’m about to do to him, he’s definitely a keeper.
Chapter 5
Max
After parting ways with Nash so she can hit up a few of the casinos about job prospects, I go in search of Shaun. Shit is getting out of hand, and I didn’t like the vengeful glint in his eyes when he confronted me at breakfast. I’m beginning to wonder if he really is bluffing. Maybe I misjudged him. I’ve never seen him like this, and it bothers me he could flip a switch on me that quickly.
I text him. We need to talk.
His response comes within seconds. So now you want to talk?
Ignoring his contempt, I reply, Where are you?
iBar.
Of course.
I’ll be there in five.
As I navigate the opulent, palace-like hallways inside the hotel, I caress the locket hanging from the silver chain around my neck. Thank God for insurance policies. And thank God I never told Shaun I have it. For months, I contemplated cluing him in, but a voice in the back of my head warned me not to. Now, I know why. My inner DEFCON system knew one day Shaun and I would part ways and didn’t want me letting the cat out of the bag that I had a get-out-of-jail-free card.
When I enter iBar, I spot him sitting to the side, away from the other patrons.
His cold glare never leaves me as I approach and take the seat across from him.
“Well?” he says.
I match his icy glare with one of my own. “I’m not doing it, Shaun. If you want that ring, you’ll just have to get it yourself. I’m not going to be your errand boy.”
He sits in silence for several seconds, studying me, his jaw rigid, eyes glacial. Then he sits forward. “One way or another, Max, you’re going to get me that ring.”
I match his aggressive posture. “One way or another, Shaun, you’re going to come to understand you’ll just have to go fuck yourself.”
To a casual observer, we’re two friends having a calm but serious conversation. But the vibe whipping between us is anything but calm, anything but quiet. The energy surrounding us is a cyclone of aggression, full of malice and blatant warnings.
Shaun breaks first, leaning away from me and settling against the back of his chair. “So, who’s the blonde you had breakfast with?” His voice is flat.
I don’t even want him thinking about Nash.
“Nobody you need to worry about.” If he thinks he’s going to use her in any way to get to me, he’ll have to think again. I won’t tolerate him coming anywhere near Nash.
“She is if she’s the reason you didn’t get that ring.”
“I told you, she’s nobody.”
“Bullshit. She definitely looked like somebody.” One corner of Shaun’s mouth lifts as he pushes forward again, sliding his forearms across the table’s surface before lacing his fingers together in the center. “Always the classy ones with you.” He shakes his head, making a tsking noise. “When are you going to realize, Max, you’re not good enough for a woman like that?”
Shaun knows right where to hit me. Like a metastasizing cancer, he worms his way to my vulnerabilities, infecting me with guilt.
Even though I’ve already come clean with Nash about who I am and what I’ve done, there’s still a part of me that feels inadequate. Like an imposter trying to fit into a leather coat that’s four sizes too small. No amount of tugging and squirming will make the damn thing fit me. Just like no amount of effort will make me fit into a new life.
But that’s not going to stop me from trying.
I lean forward, crossing my arms on the table. “Maybe I’m not good enough. Then again, maybe I am.” I’ll leave that up to Nash to decide. “The point is, we’re finished, Shaun. I’m done with this life. If you want to hand me over to the authorities, I can’t stop you. But you need to remember, if I go down, you go down. I have dirt on you, too, Shaun. I know where and how to find you, and I have no problem sharing that with the authorities if they take me into custody. Don’t you forget that.”
Shaun’s jaw clenches as his lips creep into a resentful sneer. “You self-righteous little prick. I’m the one who brought you into this. You owe me.”
He needs to come up with a new line. This one is already played out.
“I owe you nothing.”
“Without me, you’d be nothing.”
“Without you, I’d be normal. Yeah, sure, I’d probably be poor as fuck and working some soul-sucking job in an office with no windows and fluorescent lights, but at least I wouldn’t be looking over my shoulder all the time wondering when the feds are going to show up. That’s not living, Shaun. It’s just a different kind of prison. One there’s no escape from, because it follows you everywhere.”
Shaun scoffs. “So now you’ve become a philosopher? Some goddamn do-gooder?” He lifts his arm and waves in the direction of the airport. “You gonna sell all your material possessions, hop on a plane, and move to China to become a Buddhist?”
“Fuck you, Shaun.”
“Fuck you!”
Conv
ersations stop, and curious gazes turn our direction.
I sigh and lower my voice. “Look, Shaun, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Really, I do. But I don’t want to do this, anymore. I’ve moved on.”
“Yeah, to poker and sweet little blondes with tight asses who think you’re a goddamn saint when you’re nothing but a two-bit criminal.”
My blood pressure shoots into the stratosphere. “Nash isn’t any of your business.”
“Well, well. She does have a name.” He settles back in his chair, his body language loose and aloof. “So, what’s Nash gonna think when she learns who you are, Max? Who you really are?”
“She knows.”
This seems to briefly clamp a lid on Shaun’s bluster. At first he appears surprised, then like he doesn’t believe me, and then his smug mask falls back into place. “Really now?”
It’s time for me to sit back and show my arrogance on my sleeve for once. “That’s right.”
“And she’s fine with it?”
“Yep.”
“Bullshit.”
I shrug indifferently. “Believe me or don’t believe me. I don’t care. I told her about my past, and she knows that’s not who I am, anymore.”
“She’s using you.”
I throw my hands in the air. “Jesus Christ! Just because she accepts me for who I am, she’s using me? You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
“I’m telling you, Max, she’s fucking with you. No self-respecting, classy woman like that, who’s known a guy less than a day, would be okay finding out he’s got a criminal past. None. She’s taking you for a ride.”
I ignore the tiny voice inside my head that tells me Shaun could be right. It’s just more of that metastasizing cancer bullshit striking another source of vulnerability. When I talked to Nash earlier, I didn’t get any bad vibes off her, and I’m usually tuned into that kind of thing.
“I’m not going to sit here and listen to this shit.” I push away from the table and stand. “I want you to leave me alone. And I want you to remember what I said. If you take me down, I’ll take you down. Make no mistake about that. If you want to remain a free man, you’ll allow me to do the same.”
I turn and walk away.
“Max, I’m telling you, man, she’s bad news.”
I flip him off over my shoulder. I can’t trust a thing he says, anymore. Not a damn thing.
And yet, the susceptible part of my psyche replays his words over and over. She’s taking you for a ride. She’s using you.
Have I been so blinded by my desperation for a normal life that I missed some vital clue about Nash’s intentions? I really don’t know much about her. I was the one who did most of the talking during our earlier conversation, and last night we spent most of the evening talking about magic, Vegas, gambling, and the music the bar was playing. Then we went to my room and fucked our brains out.
Yet I asked her to marry me today. And I was serious when I asked. I’m still serious. But am I jumping the gun? Do I need to know more about Nash before we make off for the till-death-do-us-part and white-picket-fence business?
My thoughts are still wrapped around how little I know about Nash when I meet her outside Pho Da Nang for dinner. We share meatball and rice noodle soup, rice paper rolls filled with shrimp, pork, and lettuce, and a platter of charbroiled chicken and rice. She’s never eaten Vietnamese food and is surprised by how much she likes it.
She still doesn’t open up much about herself, but I shake away the doubt and suspicion trying to infiltrate my thoughts. I’ve made special plans for us this evening, and I refuse to let Shaun’s poison infect them.
After dinner, we take the elevator up to the rooftop lounge.
It’s a few minutes past eight o’clock, so the night is still young. A brilliant sunset paints the sky in deepening shades of yellow and blue.
The rooftop lounge just opened for the evening, so there’s hardly anyone here. But we’re not here to party. We’re here for the zipline that runs from the Rio to the Ipanema.
“Up here.” I guide her up a flight of stairs to a platform.
She freezes when she sees where we’re going. “Oh. Oh, no. I can’t do this.” She starts to back away from the special, dual-seated contraption connected to the wire that runs between the buildings.
I press my palm against the small of her back, urging her forward with a laugh. “Yes, you can.”
“I’m afraid of heights.”
“It’s perfectly safe.”
“Really, I’m terrified of them.”
“Come on, Nash. You’ll love it.”
She warily eyes the two-seater then glances back at me. “Don’t make me do this.” Her gaze pleads with me to let her off the hook, but her crooked, playful smile says she’s secretly hoping I force her.
So, Nash is that kind of girl. The kind who likes when a man takes charge. That nugget of knowledge could come in handy later. For now, let’s see how she reacts to a little show of force.
I square my shoulders and tighten my hold on her waist. “Get on.” I keep my voice firm but even. Mine is the tone of a man who will entertain no refusal.
She bites her bottom lip. “What if I don’t?”
The tip of my tongue barely peeks out to wet my lips as I close the slight distance between us. If she wants to play, I’ll play.
“Then I’ll have to punish you, Nash.”
_________
Nash
The moment the words leave his mouth, flames ignite between my legs. I’ve always had a thing for dominant men.
Maybe that’s one reason why I’m so enraptured with Max. While there wasn’t much in his dossier about his sexual exploits, my boss told me she’d heard stories. She knew nothing firsthand, but her moles had allegedly made contact with a couple of women who’d slept with him. They’d shared that he could be a bit of a freak. Nothing taboo. A little bondage, some mild S&M, voyeurism and exhibitionism, that sort of thing. They also said he enjoyed taking control in the bedroom.
Given what he just said, as well as the weighty sexual innuendo in his body language right now, I have no doubt they were right.
It’s hard for me to reconcile that with the man I’ve come to know, because he seems so keen on being normal. But as I gaze up into his blue eyes—eyes that now darken with lusty intent—I don’t see someone who wants normal. I see a man bent on acting out whatever fantasy is currently rolling through his thoughts.
His grip on my wrist tightens, and he slides his other hand around to the upper curve of my bottom, where he lightly but firmly swats my rump. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine him spanking my bare ass.
I practically melt as I lean into him, the zipline all but forgotten.
I slide my free hand up the placket of his shirt to his chest. “Promise?”
His eyebrow twitches upward. “Someone likes it rough.”
I lift one shoulder then let it drop. “Maybe.”
He backs me toward the platform. “Good to know.”
He slowly turns me around, winds his arms around my waist, and presses against me. The bulge below his waist nudges my bottom.
He pushes his nose into my hair then brings his mouth around to my ear before whispering, “But it’s not going to get you out of this.”
Biting my lip, I lightly press my backside against his groin and shiver as I bring my gaze up to the two-seat contraption he wants me to sit in.
“You’d better make this worthwhile.” I let him push me forward.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a big reward planned for you in my room later.”
I step onto the platform, letting one of the men wearing a short-sleeved polo, with the words VooDoo Zipline embroidered on the left side of his chest, help me up. My heart races as I force myself to sit down.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this. I really can’t believe you’re making me do this.” I hold back my arms as the attendant fastens me in and checks to make sure I’m secure.
M
ax takes his place beside me and gets fastened in.
The seat is small. Almost too small. But it’s more comfortable than it looks, made of a silver-grey material, with a high back, which supports my head and neck.
Max folds my hand inside his as one of the attendants explains what we can expect. We’re going to be four hundred feet above the ground. We’ll reach speeds over thirty miles per hour. The ride lasts one minute and ten seconds, start to finish, which includes being hauled back up the line backward after we reach the Ipanema.
One minute and ten seconds of pure terror.
Why am I doing this? Why, why, why?
I yelp as the chair begins to rise off the platform and move into position. Inevitability sets in. I’m a death row convict who’s been strapped into the electric chair, holding one last ounce of hope for a pardon, which I know will never come, so in these final moments, I have to find a way to resign myself to my fate.
I’m going to die. My harness is going to malfunction, and I’m going to fall four hundred feet to my death.
“Relax, Nash.”
“Relax?” My eyes are popping out of my head, and I’m on the verge of hyperventilating as I gaze down at the pavement below, which is covered in long shadows from the surrounding buildings. “How am I supposed to relax when I’m about to—”
The line releases us, and gravity drags us forward.
The bloodcurdling shriek that breaks from my throat is the last sound I’ll ever make. Any second, I’m going to tumble out of my seat and freefall like a small meteorite to the earth.
Max lets out a whoop and starts laughing as he lifts his arms in the air, dragging mine up with his, since he’s still holding my hand.
How could he not be? I’ve got a death grip on it.
There’s nothing below my feet but air. Nothing to catch me should I fall. This is the craziest, most horrific thing I’ve ever done.
Then something amazing happens. About halfway down, fear gives way to exhilaration. My harness hasn’t malfunctioned. I haven’t fallen. I’m not going to die.
Suddenly, I’m laughing. I’m laughing so hard my face hurts. My eyes sting against the wind rushing past me, making my hair whip back to trail behind us like a comet’s tail. I thrust both arms high in the air, howling with laughter, cheering as we near the end.
