Marissa glanced over but—unless the painting was stashed outside the enormous window, or there were gunmen hiding outside, or some idiot had pushed a red button somewhere and a mushroom cloud was about to light up the sky—she couldn’t fathom what had been so dire for Trevor to yank her out. “Uh…again…what the hell?”
His index finger wiggled in the air, tracing a vague circle around her body. “You might want to fix that before we talk.”
The sight that met her when she glanced down set her blushing.
Mission definitely not over.
Hell, at a guess, it had barely started. A white lace, tie-front nightie hung open, revealing her breasts and pretty much everything else.
This was not good.
At all. And she was pretty mortified, truth be told. There were fail-safes, more than one, to keep the sex issue from getting this far. She tore her fingers through her hair and let out a sigh.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
It didn’t help her ego any that Trevor was refusing to even glance her way now. “All I know is you’re the one who gets to tell Josh the mission is scrapped.”
Trevor’s head jerked around. “What?” His eyes went wide for a second, and then he twisted back to the window. “Why the hell is the mission ruined? And I thought I told you to fix that.” He circled his finger again.
No. Fuck no. This was not stupidity about her coming onto him. Since snapping out of the hypnosis, she’d assumed there was some big issue at play. She was supposed to be his fiancée for crying out loud. What did he think? That she would never hit on him?
She twisted the ribbons into a bow and yanked a dusty rose throw from the back of the couch, wrapping it around herself. Heat from the embarrassment and hurt rose in her cheeks, but she wasn’t going to hide from him. They needed to deal with this mess. “Look at me.”
“Are you decent?”
“Decent enough, and we need to discuss this like adults.”
He clutched the arms of the chair in a death grip. “I’m a man. You can’t expect—”
She was going to kill him. “I expect you to turn around, or I will strip down to skin and spend every moment in this room buck naked.” She would never, but it was the only threat she had at the moment, and screw him for making her feel embarrassed about her body in the first place.
His neck was a rusty hinge rotating his head toward her.
“Good. Now is this stupid, girly-girl nightie what had you crying mercy?” She tugged at one of the lacy shoulder straps.
“It isn’t only that, Marissa. You wanted me to have sex with you, and I can’t do that.”
She could have done without the slap in the face. Bad enough he’d screwed the mission; now she had to deal with him telling her right to her face that he didn’t want to screw her?
Going through that once was enough.
She bowed her head, trying to hide her distress. But… If he wasn’t interested, why the hell were his pants tented? And did tents come in that size? Her nipples puckered, tightening to near painful points. She tugged the throw closer, the motion making the lace scrape against her breasts. Damn it, was he interested or not? Or was it that his dick wanted her, and his other head didn’t?
There’d been whispers that Trevor didn’t trust her. Regardless of juvie records being sealed, the rest of TRAIT knew her past. And she couldn’t assume no one wondered if she’d ever betray them and dive back into a world of crime.
Especially not since she wondered the same damn thing.
She’d always lived under the illusion that people took Trevor’s stoicism to unnecessary levels, though, assuming he distrusted or hated everyone. Maybe she’d been the stupid one in that regard, thinking he was just afraid of letting people get close.
“You knew the mission parameters when you were assigned. You know what my job entails. For all intents and purposes, I was your fiancée for the week. We went through part of this when you came down to talk to me and Greta. Did you not understand?”
He pressed his full, gorgeous lips together. “I didn’t realize part of your profile meant you would…we would…”
“Then you’re naive and stupid. Everyone was aware of this possibility except you.” She waved at the “EpiPen” loaded with tranquilizers on the nightstand. “You were supposed to drug me if I went too far. Did you not get the message, or did you decide to forget because you’re standing extra firm on the ‘just say no’ campaign?”
His eyes flashed to the EpiPen, and his jaw worked like he could grind reality to a stop between his teeth. “It was a response made to a battlefield situation that had gotten out of hand. Things were going too far faster than I could stop them. Maybe you’d have been fine if I’d gone ahead and had sex with you, too?” He was fuming, angry in a way she’d never had directed at her.
Yay for being special at last.
She didn’t respond to his question but, no, the idea of having sex with Trevor and remembering it the way people remember dreams didn’t sit well. She wanted it to be real when, or if, it happened. And the way he was acting, it was a big if.
“Well, I wasn’t okay with it,” he said, not waiting for her response. “You surprised me, and I forgot about the drugs. All I knew was your clothes were barely on, and I had to put a stop to it immediately. So now we send you back under after I find out from Greta how to tweak your profile so we don’t have to deal with this.” He twisted around, sinking into the chair in front of his laptop.
The air disappeared from the room, leaving Marissa sucking a whole lot of nothing into her lungs. He would have been “dealing with” her wanting him? “Dealing with” sex? Like she was some annoying child he had to tolerate? Fuck him. Fuck him upside the head with a lead pipe.
The hurt cut too deep to not lash out.
“Great plan—if the mission was starting in a couple weeks.” She stalked over and slapped his laptop shut, a strange feeling of Deja vu washing over her. Obviously, she’d made a similar move while she was under. “I can’t re-program for at least ten days. The hypnosis won’t take. I don’t know why, but it’s the reason I’m supposed to stay under until the job is done or the shit hits the fan. There is no in between.”
He paled—something she’d never seen happen to him before. “I—”
“You either never bothered to learn how this stuff works, or you screwed up.” She tapped his laptop with one baby pink fingernail. Standing here, knowing everything had gone to hell, knowing he’d already rejected her once tonight, Marissa still wanted to straddle his lap and feel him rub against her.
Nope.
Not happening.
She could deal with the humiliation of what had already transpired but not going through it again. And she certainly wasn’t letting Trevor off the hook. “Besides, there were reasons I wasn’t a virginal bride-to-be—primarily that no one would buy it. So, you screwed up either way. And, like I said, you get to be the one to explain it to Josh.”
Because no matter how badly this sucked, she wasn’t going to take the fall. Not for Trevor. Not after this. Not after he brought all the old hurt right back to the surface. All she wanted to do was scream…or curl up into a ball until she exploded.
He could be the one who dealt with the repercussions.
There had to be a way to salvage the mission. Yes, he’d clearly made a colossal mistake, but it didn’t have to be over. No way were they leaving before they’d put the hurt on Canalis. They were still here, and it wasn’t like their cover was blown.
Besides, Trevor had seen Marissa in action before. Certainly she could pull off this con without any hypnosis involved. Sure, she was a loose cannon, but he was confident he could control her. Besides, this would keep him busy enough to not let the lure of Canalis get to him. “No. I’m not telling the home office, and neither are you.”
She cocked one hip to the side, and the throw fell, drawing his gaze to the barely covered skin beneath. Blood pulsed through his raging hard-on. She needed to put so
me damn clothes on or all his earlier self-control would be for nothing. It didn’t matter if he wanted her; they had a job to do. One hopefully destined to bring down the man who killed Delray.
“So…your grand plan is to let the painting pass from one Canalis to another, and then what? Josh is going to have our heads and, as curious as I am to see if they actually roll, I’m not so keen on experiencing it.” She fought to tuck the throw into a more stable position.
He stalked to the closet and grabbed one of his shirts, holding it out to her as he sat on the couch. “No, I intend for us to finish this job as is. You don’t need to be someone else to get the painting out of here. Isn’t that what you used to do?”
Teeth caught her lip as she twisted her head to the side. It was several, torturous seconds before she tore the shirt from his grip and thrust her arms inside. “I used to get my parents close. I used to convince people to trust me…by being someone else. Don’t you get it? Mari was designed to be non-threatening, above suspicion. Sure, I could go in as me, but I can’t pretend to be Mari—she’s too not me. Did you not notice the frou-frou lingerie?” She plucked at a bit of the lace. “I can’t be her without the programming. This is the way I was trained. The way I know how to do my damn job, and it works. It makes me the best at this. Also, to make it really clear, you don’t even trust the real me enough to believe I knew what I was getting into with this mission. How the hell do you expect me to get close to Franco and his fiancée?”
The response died on his lips as he examined her. Marissa was no shy, wilting flower. Mari was water, soothing over hurt feelings and irritations, gently wearing away at defenses.
Marissa was fire.
Blazing a path through whatever stood in her way. No subtlety, just power and heat and… Trevor squeezed his hands into fists.
And she was also a damn con artist.
She probably had a million plays in her head that could finish the job, but she obviously wasn’t keen on tapping those resources, so he’d have to figure it out for her.
“We can make this work.” He stood, putting his face above hers. Still, her gaze made him want to wither, but at least he wasn’t staring at the gap where the shirt wasn’t quite covering her up. And her expression was a hell of a place to start. “You play the wounded woman. I messed up, and you’re angry, which is true enough.”
As soon as he started talking, the bits and pieces gelled in his mind like they’d been there all along, waiting for him to share. “The miss sweetness thing was an act because I told you the real you was too much for people to handle, but you’re pissed enough to say ‘screw that’ and show everyone here who you really are.”
“You have got to be kidding. I’m still piecing together the stupid mental slideshow of what went on today, but no one is going to believe that.” She flung the throw at him. “Besides, we’re still back to trying to get me through the defenses of Franco and his little woman. I’m—what did you call me last week?—loud and abrasive?”
And too beautiful for her own good, but obviously, she hadn’t heard that part. Trevor didn’t bother to tell her now. “You are, but we’re going to use that. I saw the way Evangeline watched you tonight. ‘Mari’ would have gotten in to see the painting, but Evangeline’s not the kind to befriend sweet and innocent. She was tolerating ‘Mari.’ Show her some hurt and anger—which I’m guessing you can pull off without much thought—and the real you will be her best friend.” He rooted in his pocket for the wetting drops for his contacts and held them out to her. “The others didn’t leave the dining turret when we did. There’s a good chance Evangeline and Franco aren’t in their room yet.”
Marissa locked gazes with him, the raging fire in her eyes dimming until it bordered on a smolder. Time stood still, the eerie silence of the mountain hotel wrapping them in a cocoon of never and always. She narrowed her eyes to stare into the depths of his soul. And he wanted to bare it for her, for this crazy woman with the criminal past and smart mouth, wanted to lay everything out and try to claim her. A kiss. That’s all it would take. Just kiss her for real and see what happened. It was rash and probably stupid, but her lips beckoned him forward, ripe for the tasting.
Before he could act on his desire, Marissa snatched the bottle from his fingers. “If this goes south, and we die, I’m dragging your ass to hell so I can watch them torture you with improper verb conjugation for all eternity.”
She was already on her way to the bathroom when he regained his senses. Bullet successfully dodged, whether he wanted it to be or not.
His lips quirked to the side at the damnation she had planned for him. “And what kind of torture will I get to watch the demons bestow on you?”
At the bathroom door, Marissa stopped and craned her neck back to glance at him, pain hidden behind her devilish smile. “Oh, hot stuff, they’ve already gotten to me. Once I’m there, I’m on parole and get to sit back and enjoy the scenery.” She gave him an evil grin and sashayed through the door, disappearing from view.
But not before he got a good, long image of some amazing scenery himself. Her ass was more perfect than he’d imagined.
The demons didn’t have anything on Marissa.
She was already torturing him to the point of madness.
She could do this.
Surviving juvie had taught Marissa a lot. There’d been times she’d cursed Josh for not yanking her the moment she agreed to work for him. But criminal or not, she’d been sheltered by her parents.
She’d learned how vicious the world was during her three years of incarceration. And then the government had put her under house arrest until Josh deemed her fit to be an agent. Four years of online classes, training, and more training. Now she was an upstanding citizen with a detailed knowledge of what life was like on the other side and skills no one else had.
She could definitely do this.
Of course, one of those skills was its most effective when she was pretending to be someone else. It didn’t matter since she had no real choice but to go in as herself now. Either that, or tell Josh they’d blown it. Nothing like disappointing him after he trusts you to march into the lion’s den.
Besides, it was Certain Laughter; she’d do a lot to put her hands on it.
She needed to hold that painting like she needed to breathe.
That was the other reason it would have been better if she wasn’t herself.
Maybe it would have been easier if she understood exactly why the Secretary of Defense was so intent on getting the painting. It didn’t make sense after they’d let it sit for all this time. Surely he didn’t believe in the stupid curse. There was no way Canalis was actually using the painting to kill his enemies—no matter how many other crime lords had turned up dead in recent years. But she wasn’t buying the bullshit line that had run through the office about the illusion of power turning into the real deal.
She’d drive herself nutty if she thought about it too hard, and she was already spending too much time dwelling on the painting. Right now, she needed to focus on her new role in this rapidly unraveling mission. Because maybe once Certain Laughter was out of the way, she wouldn’t look back at her old life with longing.
The ghost of the night that changed her life would be dead. And maybe, if she pulled this off, Trevor would decide to finally see beyond her past. At least then if he was turning her down, it wouldn’t be for the life she’d been pushed into by her damn parents.
Bah. Trevor. At least she’d managed to gather enough self-loathing and anger at him to produce real tears in addition to the mascara streaks from the eye drops. She stalked the halls until she found a high-backed bench with deep, red velvet cushions tucked into a corner right next to the King’s Suite. Evangeline and Frankie might be staying in the smaller Queen’s suite, reserving this one for Daddy Canalis when he showed up, but her gut said they were here.
With a sigh, she slumped onto the bench. If she wanted to hold up the act, she needed to let herself wallow in her emotions. As mu
ch as she didn’t want to.
Trevor had barely glanced at her.
Realistically, the white lace nightie wasn’t her style—definitely Mari though—but she’d made a point of examining her reflection in the bathroom mirror. It looked good.
He should have checked her out.
Her gaydar was accurate at a hundred yards, so she knew without doubt that Trevor liked women. Too bad he didn’t seem to like her—at all. Was that whole “abrasive” thing compounding the criminal past angle? Or did she manage to fall for the one guy she knew who didn’t think she was all that and a bag of finger-licking-BBQ-flavored chips?
That was beyond sad and pathetic on her part. Dozens of men who’d told her they were willing to be at her beck and call, hundreds more who didn’t have the stones to say the words, and she picked Trevor. The urge to pull a Tyler Durden and beat some sense into herself was hard to resist, but she had a job to do.
And damn it if she wasn’t going to do her level-best to stay professional.
As luck would have it, professional at the moment involved tears and anger. So at least she had that going for her. She bit the inside of her lip as real tears threatened again. Of all the stupid men in all the stupid world, she had to have a thing for Trevor Harris.
For a brief second, she saw the appeal in being Mari. Her alter ego would have curled up on herself and disappeared. It sounded way too good at the moment. Instead, Marissa clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms until the pain made stars form at the edges of her vision.
Voices echoed down the hall, and she let go. Marissa pulled her knees to her chest and started chipping at the black paint on the bench, flicking tiny pieces and muttering as she went. Her hands throbbed, keeping her grounded.
She could do this.
She had to.
A few seconds later, the voices stopped cold, and she knew she’d made the right call as far as which room. None of the couples but Frankie and Evangeline could be in the suite. A throaty female voice spoke in tones too low for her to make out, but she snapped her head up at the sound as if they’d startled her. Once more, she conjured the embarrassment of Trevor’s dismissal and hoped it colored her cheeks, making her look aghast at being found.
Conning for Keeps: A Novella Page 4
