Conning for Keeps: A Novella

by Seleste deLaney

  They should have taken the damn stairs.

  He wrapped his hands around hers, gently pushing them down. Her expression fell alongside her hands, and a fist formed around his pounding heart. “Not long enough for what you have in mind. Plus…the wicked wedding planner, remember?”

  Her lower lip stuck out in an affected pout that he wanted to take between his teeth and…

  No. He sure as hell wouldn’t take advantage of her like this no matter how much part of him wanted her. Actually, no. He didn’t want Mari—he wanted Marissa. He hadn’t realized the desire went deeper than physical attraction until this moment. But with her like this… It was just wrong. Somehow, he had to play the role of besotted fiancé without touching her.

  “Fine. Later then.” She perched up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his before he could protest.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  What was he supposed to do? She thought they were in love. If he didn’t respond, she’d be hurt. That could affect how things played out with Evangeline and Canalis junior—not to mention senior. This was the game. Acting. He could act. He’d done theater in college.

  Once.

  Slowly, he shifted his mouth against hers, barely allowing the kiss to move beyond something virginal.

  This isn’t Marissa. This isn’t Marissa. The elevator shuddered as it came to a stop, and, thanking God in every language he knew, Trevor pulled away. Giving her the hint of a smile, he pressed his lips to her forehead and pulled open the door. “Mrs. Smythe…”

  Marissa giggled, and the sound was so unfamiliar it sent a slither of discomfort up his spine. “We’re not married yet and, if you don’t kiss me good and proper before the night’s over, I might have to re-think things. The valet was pretty cute, you know.”

  Oh, hell no.

  He dragged the suitcases free from the elevator and closed the grate. The stark gray hallway seemed to laugh at him as he strode toward their room—reminding him of the TRAIT offices and their mission. “With the date this close, I was thinking maybe we should pull back, make the wedding kiss more special.”

  At their door, Marissa leaned against the wall and blinked at him. “You’re kidding, right? Because unless you rented a second room, we’re going to be lying right next to each other all night for almost a week. I know both of us well enough to know chastity won’t work, never mind not kissing.”

  He fumbled with the big, old key, wiggling it in the lock. Like that would distract her. “I could sleep on the couch.”

  “Yeah. Six-three and sleeping on the couch.” She took the key and opened the door in one smooth motion. “What’s gotten into you? Is it nerves?”

  An out.

  Thank you, Marissa, I knew you were in there somewhere.

  “That’s it exactly.”

  “Get over it, sweetie. Considering the only way we were going to get a honeymoon was to steal what time we could here before the wedding, we’re going to enjoy every minute.” She pecked him on the cheek and stepped into the room.

  What the…?

  Of course. Every couple here besides Canalis and his bride were charity cases—the two of them included. The “knowledge” there wouldn’t be a trip after the group wedding had been in the profile.

  When he got back to the field office, he was going to kill Greta. Couldn’t she have installed some trigger word in Marissa’s brain that would make her swoon and think she’d been ravaged? That had to be possible. Didn’t it?

  That would have been too easy. Like it or not, he was here alone.

  With her.

  For a week.

  She sauntered past the leather couch and the table nestled into the nook by the bay window straight to the bed with its rich silk bedding in taupe embroidered with cherry blossoms. Seductively, Marissa ran her fingers over the duvet, cast a glance at him over her shoulder, and winked.

  Obviously the one thing all Marissa’s personalities had in common was her stubbornness. There wasn’t a damn thing about this week that was going to be easy. And one thing had already started to get noticeably hard.

  …

  When they stepped into the dining room, Trevor wanted nothing more than to claim illness and disappear. Six other couples and the wedding planner. He didn’t do social. He did angry and brooding. Strong and silent and…

  Marissa nudged him. “Do I look okay?”

  Happy for the distraction, he drank her in. She toyed with the sleeves of her orange sweater dress, tugging them over her hands. Sheer black tights painted her gorgeous legs all the way down to a pair of four-inch heels bejeweled to match the trim on her dress. Unbeknownst to Mari, the gems on the shoes also hid a tiny camera and mic.

  Someone, likely Greta, would be listening in back at TRAIT in case they were separated during an important conversation tonight. His gaze roved back up her body until he met her eyes.

  “You look incredible,” he answered honestly.

  “Can you say it in French? Out of all the languages you speak, that’s my favorite. It’ll make me sound prettier in French.”

  Trevor took her hands and, knowing damn well that Marissa didn’t understand more than the most common French phrases, said exactly what he was thinking. “Tu es la plus belle femme sur terre et tout le monde va être sous ton charme. Je le suis déjà, mais tu ne le sauras jamais.” He translated in his head as he spoke. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and everyone here will be under your spell. I already am, but you’ll never know it. Yes, that should cover everything.

  It wasn’t until after he finished the admission of his feelings that he remembered the microphone. Too late to take it back. Besides, Marissa’s smile—wide and glowing—felt so natural, so real, it was worth it. She squeezed his hands and strode toward the table, seeming much more like the confident, brash woman he knew.

  He trailed her by a step, pulling out one of the last two open chairs for her before sitting himself.

  Amy stood and beamed at all of them. “I’m glad everyone arrived safely. Marriage is a wonderful thing, a blessing from God. To have so many couples…”

  Trevor tuned her out, more interested in the room than her blathering. It was housed in one of the hotel’s enormous “turrets,” providing nearly three hundred degrees worth of breath-taking mountain views. Dark beams reached up to the ceiling, joining at the peaked center. Candles—actual candles—blazed in the chandelier overhead. The rough, almost castle motif carried to the stone floors, heavy table, and carved chairs. Between the windows hung narrow tapestries depicting woodland animals, with the odd unicorn thrown in.

  The inclusion of the horned steed drew him back to the other tapestries. Examining them closer, he noticed fantasy elements woven into each of them. The wolf with human toes peeking from beneath the fur on one hind leg. The eagle sitting in its nest, a lion’s tail wrapping around the branch. A mountain lion grooming itself with a wing tucked behind some long grass. The unknown bird with muted plumage…and flames licking its tail feathers.

  His lips quirked to the side, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the tapestries had been purchased blindly or if someone liked their decorating with a flair for the fantastic. Delray would have loved it. He’d always been into the fantasy stuff.

  Amy waved toward the head of the table, grabbing his attention once more. “…thank the couple who brought you all here: Evangeline Sheppard and Franco Canalis.”

  Everyone clapped politely, and Trevor fought the urge to narrow his eyes as their targets rose and gave tiny bows. Frankie swept too-long, dark hair off his face, not exactly the poster boy for organized crime. Still, there was a glimmer in his eyes, a craftiness that spoke of hidden deviousness.

  Trevor’s hand fisted. Hurting the son would hurt the man—tear his world asunder the same way losing Delray had done to Trevor. So easy. And so very wrong. No. This was about Leo Canalis alone. Frankie hadn’t done anything wrong other than having been born to the wrong father. At least as far as Trevor knew, and that was all that
mattered for the moment.

  Besides, justice would be vengeance enough.

  It had to be.

  He spread his fingers wide, laying his hand on the arm of his chair and pressing hard against the wood to calm himself.

  “Hi everyone, and thanks for joining us. I… hate public speaking, so I’m going to hand you over to the more than capable hands of my beautiful fiancée.” A flush rose beneath Frankie’s olive skin, and he quickly turned to Evangeline, brushing a kiss over her cheek before he sat, leaving her to the crowd’s attention.

  Interesting.

  Or maybe Frankie didn’t want people studying him too closely.

  Even if the assembled couples were willing to let the mob pay for their weddings, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t report anything suspicious to the authorities.

  A stark contrast to Frankie, Evangeline fit the part of the stereotypical, scheming mob wife. Long blond hair worn stick straight emphasized the fake smile on her face. Crimson lips gave the illusion of blood.

  Yes, she’d probably be a fantastic addition to a crime family.

  Trevor really didn’t like the idea of Evangeline alone with Marissa—especially not while she was “Mari.” At least her programming had a fail-safe that would wake her up the instant violence was involved. Which was a good thing since Evangeline seemed like she’d happily disembowel someone for looking at her wrong, and Trevor couldn’t handle the idea of losing anyone else to this damn family.

  “Thank you all for agreeing to start on this incredible adventure with us. When I first mentioned to Frankie that I’d always dreamed of a group wedding, he thought I was crazy, but he kissed me and said he loved me anyway. You see, my parents died when I was a teenager, and the idea of going into my marriage ‘alone’ terrified me. Then I saw a special about people pledging to share their wedding day, and I couldn’t imagine a better celebration. With most of my close friends either already married or nowhere near ready, I was afraid the dream would never come true.”

  She smiled down at Frankie, more baring her teeth as if she wanted to bite him than anything else. “Then Frankie suggested inviting people who couldn’t afford the big destination wedding on their own to join us. Without you, there’d be no party. Without you, I would have had to settle for less than my perfect happily-ever-after. From the bottom of my heart…thank you.”

  More applause erupted, but Trevor couldn’t help but be offended by the slight in her speech. Maybe the Canalis money had helped to fund other dream weddings, but she didn’t need to remind them of it. And no matter that his would-be marriage was a farce, she didn’t need to remind him of the years scraping by as a kid and escaping the lure of easy money promised by a life of crime.

  He’d gotten out of the gang, taken his share of the money, and never looked back. He didn’t need another reminder of the Canalis family’s part in all that. He clenched his napkin and took several steadying breaths. He wasn’t a street-kid anymore. After Delray’s murder, Trevor had clawed his way out of that life, gotten his family out. He’d left gang life far behind him—until now.

  As soon as Evangeline took her seat, waiters appeared with covered trays, and Trevor buried his irritation in food.

  “Mari” picked up the small talk as if she was born to it, but every time she glanced to where Evangeline sat, she’d lower her gaze as if embarrassed.

  “What is it?”

  She pushed her vegetables around with her fork. “She’s gorgeous. I feel frumpy and unworthy.”

  “Who? The bitch-goddess?” He couldn’t help but smirk at one of Marissa’s favorite terms falling from his mouth.

  She sucked in a breath, her eyes panicked. “Shhh…she’ll hear you.”

  One more reminder that the woman next to him wasn’t Marissa. He sighed. “Okay, how’s this? You are gorgeous, and while glaring sunlight might favor the blonde, candlelight definitely makes your brunette glow. In this room, in this light, she can’t compare to you. And to me, she never could in any light.”

  “I love you.” Marissa ducked her head, not quite hiding her blush, and Trevor’s heart lurched at her declaration.

  Not Marissa. Don’t forget that.

  “I suppose one of us should thank her for all this.” Mari laid her napkin on the table.

  Considering he’d pondered beating Canalis junior earlier, he tipped his glass toward her. “And I suppose I should leave that to the one who isn’t likely to call her something insulting.”

  She stole his wine and took a long swallow. “Wish me luck?”

  This time, he didn’t need the prodding to kiss her cheek and whisper, “Good luck.”

  Her chair scraped on the stone as Marissa stood and smoothed down the back of her dress. One deep breath and she was gone, walking onto the carefully set stage.

  Show time.

  …

  The stress across Trevor’s shoulders unwound a bit with every step down the grand staircases. He’d managed not to injure Frankie Canalis. Marissa had made strides with Evangeline.

  And, if all went well, she’d be in to see—and steal—the painting well before their fake wedding. Plus, at the end of dinner, she’d been yawning like she couldn’t possibly open her mouth wide enough to let her exhaustion exit. It meant they didn’t need to stick around for idle chitchat.

  The job was done for the night.

  He held the door to their room open, and she gave him a soft smile as she eased past.

  Marissa stifled another yawn. “I think I’m going to get changed for bed.”

  “Okay.”

  Without another word, she went into the bathroom and shut the door. Part of him—a part he was none-too-impressed-with at the moment—was disappointed she wasn’t changing out here. The other, more respectable, part rushed to the table in the windowed alcove. He woke his laptop and, as soon as he could access his email, hastily started typing a note to Greta.

  Surely there was a way to tweak Marissa’s “programming,” make her a bit more “blushing virgin” than she was now. Or maybe there was some other ridiculous code word that would help.

  “Oh no you don’t. No work tonight.” Marissa pushed the lid of his laptop down.

  He hadn’t heard her come out of the bathroom.

  “It won’t keep you up. I’m almost…” He caught sight of her, and all hopes of getting an answer from Greta before things went too far flew out the bay window next to him.

  Marissa stood there clad in nothing more than a couple scraps of white lace that had been packed in case their luggage was searched. Along with an economy pack of condoms. To make their ruse more believable to everyone involved. Clearly, that had been a mistake. One they were bound to pay for with a very uncomfortable conversation.

  He knew if she turned around, there’d be nothing covering the ass he’d dreamed of touching, because the strings that secured the lower scrap would disappear between her cheeks. And the top was held together over her breasts by nothing but the piece of ribbon she was already toying with. The darker circles of her areolae hid like shadows, but shifting his gaze lower only gave him the bare expanse of her tight, toned abs.

  Trevor swallowed hard, the part of him that had to play fiancé battling with the logic of not looking and, thereby, not losing his head. “I thought you were changing for bed.”

  “I’d thought bed, but couch works, too. Or floor. Or table. But I’d kind of planned on starting slow since we spent all day traveling.” She bit her lip and tugged the edge of the nightie open.

  He glanced at the clock. Nine-forty-five. Scheiße.

  So much for her tired act.

  He should have kept her downstairs for the hour. Apparently, Mari’d had plans he hadn’t accounted for.

  She slithered closer, and the next thing he knew she was on his lap, trailing kisses up his neck and tracing the edge of his ear with her tongue. A shiver of electricity raced through him, feeding a yearning he hadn’t realized was only waiting for a catalyst.

  He needed to stop this
.

  She dragged her teeth over his earlobe, and his body started to respond.

  He didn’t want to stop anything.

  Marissa was on his lap, urging him on. It was like every damn dream he’d ever had about her. Except not on a mission.

  Not when she wasn’t herself.

  He clenched his hands into fists, but she brought them up to her breasts. Her thumbs pried his hands open and tucked the white ribbon inside them.

  “All you have to do is pull,” she whispered before her lips found his skin again.

  He could not take advantage of her. He would not take advantage of her. She didn’t know what she was doing. And as much as an idiotic part of him wanted Marissa, he knew this would shatter her trust in him. Considering that trust barely went more than a single direction as it was, he couldn’t risk it.

  Wouldn’t.

  “Mari?”

  “Hmmm?” The sound purred against his throat, and his pants got tighter.

  “There’s something important I want to tell you before I do anything else.”

  She drew back with a sigh. The motion made the ribbons in his grip tighten, pulling the bow free. He didn’t let go, holding the nightie together with only the barest thread of control and ribbon, and kept his eyes glued to her face.

  He had to—there was no choice in the matter. “The zombie apocalypse has started. Get your squirt-gun.”

  Her brows knit together in confusion for half a second. Then her eyes rolled back, and her body went limp against him.

  Chapter Three

  Bring Me To Life

  Marissa hopped to her feet, hand going for a gun that was most definitely not tucked in her waistband. Screw waistband. She barely had string. Shifting to a fighting stance, she found herself facing no one but Trevor.

  “What the hell?” Slow, steady breaths tamped down the adrenaline rush that inevitably followed coming out of the hypnosis.

  Was the mission over?

  What little she could grasp of her memories at the moment said no. “What’s going on?”

  Trevor didn’t say anything; he just stood there and stared at the wall to their right.