She huffs, rolling her eyes as she flits away to start a fresh pot. She starts muttering to herself in Italian, her voice mock-pained as she does. “American girls, Italian girls . . . all only want bad boys.”
I’m laughing because honestly, I don’t know what I like in a man. I never had the option to choose for myself. Yes, a ‘good man’ would be nice, but isn’t everyone allowed that one bad choice, if only to learn from? I don’t know.
But what I do know is that I’m not scared of that monster, even if I probably should be. Instead, I’m intrigued and want to know more about the hulking, brooding giant.
And with a small smile to myself, I know whose face I’m hoping to see in the crowd at my show tonight. And whose I’ll be picturing between my thighs the next time I need to let my fingers do the walking.
Chapter 8
Emma
By early morning, after a night more full of staring at the ceiling than sleep, I’m wishing the whole party was just a surreal nightmare. There’s no way I went undercover to a party, ended up chatting up a crime boss and a high-value target, as Claire called Nathan, got busted, and am now dating the guy I’m supposed to be spying on.
It’s like some movie, not my life.
But it is my life.
Rolling over, I snuggle in under the quilt my mother bought for my thirteenth birthday. She didn’t make it, of course, but she had it made from some of my favorite T-shirts and jumpers from my childhood, so every square holds a memory from my earliest days. More importantly, this quilt has been with me through teenage angst, tears buried in the stitches, through cozy nights with hot cocoa with marshmallows and holiday movies, and even through my happiest days where it was the joyful hug I needed.
But right now, it’s a barrier, keeping the reality at bay and letting me pretend, just for a moment longer, that last night was just some crazy dream.
Even that comfort is breached when I hear a banging on the door. With the trademark knock, I know it’s Claire and that there’s no way I can avoid the truth anymore.
“Coming. Hold your horses, Claire. I’m coming,” I holler, and the repeat of the knock stops mid-rhythm.
Before I even get the door open, Claire bursts through. “I brought coffee. Tell me everything.”
Jeez, Claire. Why not ‘I’m from the government, I brought coffee, and I’m here to help!’ It’d be more quippable.
It’s the barest of bribes and a definite order broadcasting that Claire’s in full business mode, bossy as ever. “Won’t you come in?” I ask sarcastically, but I grab at the coffee. She relinquishes it and follows me to the couch, where I sit and curl my legs underneath me.
She sits at the other end, turning toward me with her own coffee in hand. Despite the casual posture, she looks professional in her dress pants and blouse, her hair pulled back and her makeup tasteful.
In contrast, I’m messy-haired and bare-faced, still in an oversized T-shirt nightgown and socks. Even more of a discrepancy than our dress, though, are the looks on our faces.
I’m trying to keep a cool neutral look, but I imagine my sister can read me like a book, the same way she could when we were kids, because her eyes are boring into me like she can read my darkest, deepest secrets without my saying a single word.
Of course, the fact that I’m having a hard time meeting her eyes and instead seem intent on studying the texture of the plastic lid to my coffee cup probably has something to do with it, too.
“Spill it. Everything big and little. Tell me everything.”
I decide to take her at her word and tell her every detail, hoping that something will be helpful, maybe something she can use to catch Nathan or Nikolai and get me out of the fake dating setup I know she’s going to hate.
“So I go in, and Nathan has an honest-to-God butler. Isn’t that crazy? But he seemed nice enough, kinda super Alfred-ish, dry and British. The brother, Caleb, came in before the party, kind of a jokester, I guess, a shameless flirt. I mean, the dude showed up in a sleeveless T-shirt sporting biceps and tats and all sorts of bad boy machismo. By the way, it seemed pretty apparent that Caleb wasn’t onboard with whatever mission Nathan hoped to accomplish with the party.”
She interrupts, asking why I think that, and I rehash the conversation between Nathan and Caleb. “Then Nathan asked me to escort him to the party.”
I drop that bomb, waiting for her reaction with bated breath.
“What? Oh, my gosh, that’s great!” She offers a fist, and I bump it as she continues, “Then what?”
But when I explain about standing nearby, her smile turns into a frown. “Were you careful?”
“As much as I could be, but you told me to get info, so that’s what I did.” I tell her about Nathan’s story about spreading his dad’s ashes and the pink diamonds and how it seemed like a good old boys’ bartering more than anything else. “It mostly seemed like a you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours deal . . . diamonds for access.”
She hums, thinking, and that’s when I tell her about getting caught eavesdropping. “Holy shit, Em! Are you okay? I mean, you’re sitting here, but holy shit.”
I glare at her. “Nikolai wanted to kill me on the spot, literally.” I let a bit of guilt bubble up inside her before dropping the real bomb. “But Nathan stopped him by saying we’re dating.”
Her eyebrows jump together in confusion. “Why would he do that?”
I shrug. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He seemed really interested in me from the beginning, and he totally saved my bacon with Nikolai. After that, he took me to his office and asked me what I’d heard. When I told him everything, he said that we’ll have to go through with the fake dating or else Nikolai will likely come back to kill me just to cover his bases. Nathan doesn’t want to look wishy-washy either. So I’m going to dinner with the two of them next week.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not, Emma! What the hell?” Claire screeches. “Going on a date with a thug like Nathan?”
“It’s not like I had a fucking choice in the matter. You’re the one who asked me to go there. Look, I got some good info for you, and you told me to get close to Nathan if I could. Guess what? I did!” I argue, even though I’d spent hours last night alternately wishing for a way out of this whole mess and telling myself it was a dream anyway.
In the morning hours, when all my defenses were down and I had to be honest with myself, I’d also felt a secret thrill at the dominating way Nathan had spoken to me, even if it was mostly a cover story. I’ve never been into anything like that, and judging by the slight smirk on his face, it was out of his box too, but it’d been fun to pretend.
Or at least it might’ve been if there hadn’t been the threat hanging over my head. A picture of me on my knees with Nathan feeding me his cock flashes through my mind, but the momentary fantasy is cut short when Claire interjects, pulling me back to reality.
“I just meant for the party, Emma. Not to be his fake girlfriend because you almost got yourself killed,” she says vehemently. “Maybe this was too much? I thought it’d be easy, safe.”
I think she’s saying the last bit more to herself than to me.
I shake my head and down some more coffee. “Claire, you asked me to do this and I did. And as wild as it turned out to be, it was a success. I got you a bit of information and made the connection you told me would be your best-case scenario. Maybe I can get you even more info if I go to this dinner.”
She rubs at her cheek the way she’s always done when she doesn’t like something, but I can see the hunger in her eyes warring with her desire to protect me. It’s the role she’s always played, the big sister protector even when I didn’t need protecting. Though this time, I truly might. But as much as she’s done for me, I’m willing to risk it for her.
And for yourself, a small voice whispers, and I know it’s true. There’s a part deep inside me that wants to know more about Nathan, that isn’t reconciling the man who saved me with the one who’d kill a pregnant woman for asking t
oo many questions.
Claire bites her lip, and I think I’ve won her over, but her conservative rule-following nature takes over. “No, I can’t let you do this, Em. Maybe I should’ve listened to Matt and left the Stone thing alone. I just couldn’t, but I shouldn’t have asked you to do it in the first place, and I’m sorry for getting you mixed up in this. But it stops now. No dinner, no seeing Nathan again. He doesn’t even know your real name, right? So just let it go.”
Dawning realization of how deep I’m in strikes. He doesn’t even know my name. It’d felt almost like his calling me Kitty had been a nickname of sorts, like a term of endearment.
But no, to him, that’s my actual name. And it’s a lie, which feels wrong somehow, though playing a role is nearly second-nature to me by now after years on the stage. But this doesn’t feel like a role, even though that’s how it started. For better or for worse, it’s something that morphed as soon as he put his hand on my head. It’s become . . . I’m not sure how to describe it.
But something else in what Claire said comes into stark focus. “What do you mean, Matt told you to leave it alone?” Matt is Claire’s partner at the FBI, and they’ve successfully worked together for several years. I’ve met him a few times, and he seems like the least-likely agent ever, which is probably what makes him so good. He comes off as a bit of a bland nerd, more IT than 9mm, and he’s a bigger rule follower than even Claire is. And I hate to say it, but the most memorable thing about him is his red hair. Past that, he’s just . . . nice.
Claire stands up, rolling her eyes and huffing. “I wanted to send someone in undercover, felt like we had enough to warrant a closer look and could potentially get some decent intel. And Matt agreed. We went back and forth, dissecting and discussing it from every angle before going to the Assistant Director. I thought our plan had merit even if it felt too dangerous.”
“What happened?” I prompt, thinking that she should’ve shared this information when she asked me to go undercover.
“The AD basically said that though Stone is probably dirty, he’s just another corporate monkey, no worse than any other.”
“Any other?” I ask, and Claire nods. “As in?”
“As in half the Dow Jones are breaking laws on the regular, but we don’t have the manpower to do anything about it, so we only go after the ones who do the really evil shit. I figure Stone is one of those, but the AD hamstrung me. I’d told Matt I was doing something anyway, going off-books, but he tried to talk me out of it.” Her eyes bug out in shock like she still can’t believe Matt hadn’t gone along with her special brand of crazy. I think of the three of us, he might be the only sane one to step away before the shit hit the fan.
“I’m confused. I thought you said the rumor was that Nathan was a bad guy and a likely murder suspect? It sounded like you believed it.”
“I do. We know Stone is up to something. I just couldn’t let the opportunity pass, but I never would’ve asked you if I’d known it’d end up like this. I shouldn’t have asked in the first place. I was desperate and it was stupid and reckless of me. And that was when it was mingling at a party and keeping your eyes and ears open. You’re in Stone’s sights now, and worse, in Romanov’s. A private dinner is too risky. No, Em.”
She shakes her head like her word is law. And usually, I’d bend to her will. Hell, I remember countless times I’ve done exactly as she said just because she told me to, whether it was climbing a tree, the dress I wore to my senior prom, or her advice for my first kiss.
But not this time.
“I’m doing this, Claire.” My voice is just as certain as hers.
Her eyes narrow at the challenge. “Why? What are you getting out of it?” Her jaw drops, and she stares at me in shock. “You like him! Holy shit, Emma! Don’t be blinded by his charm and good looks. He’s dangerous, and his money and power make him even more so. This isn’t some fairy tale with a happily ever after. It’s the fable with the lesson about staying away from the big bad wolf. Stay away from him or maybe you’ll be the next woman to end up dead.”
I rise from the couch, walking around my coffee table to stand in front of her. “That’s not fair. I’m not some stupid girl who thinks she can fix the bad boy, even if this one is more Italian suit than leather jacket. I get that he’s dangerous in a way I don’t remotely understand. But you asked me to do this because you think he should pay for what he’s done, and that’s still true. If I can help that happen, or at least get some information about what did happen to Anna, I’m going to do it. For you, and for her. Besides, just because he doesn’t know my real name doesn’t mean a man like him with unlimited resources can’t find out if he thinks I could be a threat.”
She clucks her tongue. “You could be right. But high and mighty words aside, you’re doing this for you. You might be an actress, able to fool audiences into believing you’re something you’re not, but I can read you. I’ve always been able to read you, and this has nothing to do with Anna or me.”
Her head shake isn’t one of disagreement but of disappointment this time, something I don’t know I’ve ever felt from her. We’ve always been on the same side, but this time, even though she recruited me to the game, we’re on opposing sidelines. Still, I think we’re still hoping for the same result, the truth about Nathan and about Anna.
She’s just hoping Nathan’s responsible while I’m hoping he’s not.
Downing the last of her coffee, she walks to the door, stopping before turning the handle to look back at me. “This isn’t over, and I don’t want you to go to this dinner. But if I can’t stop you, I still want you to tell me everything. Every. Thing. Understood?” Standing in the doorway, she sighs deeply, her voice haunted. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Don’t get yourself killed, Emma.”
The way she says it, like I’m halfway dead already, sends chills up my spine. And with that, she’s gone.
Chapter 9
Nathan
She’s a no-show.
I guess a small part of me expected it, even wanted her to fight this a little. I wanted her to show a bit of spine, a bit of bite, maybe a little sass I could punish her for in ways that would leave us both glad she’d fought me.
When I’d called the number I’d insisted on getting from her, I’d half expected it to be a fake or for her to ignore the call. But it’d been her sweet voice that answered, giving me a shade of hope that this would be easy. However, when I demanded her presence at dinner tonight, I was taken aback by her laughing refusal.
“Look, I agreed to dinner with you and Nikolai to save my life, not some private tete-a-tete with you. So, a polite decline. Just let me know when and where Nikolai plans his dinner, and I’ll meet you there.”
My returning chuckle had been dark, none of the airy casualness she had. “Honey, that’s not how this works. You’re going to dinner with two of the most dangerous men you’ve ever met. You think Nikolai is going to be fooled again by some faux kinky bullshit? No, don’t flatter yourself. Tonight is a business strategy session so we’re both prepped for a dinner and show with Nikolai. And if you’re good tonight, I’ll feed you. If not, well I guess we’ll have to see.” I’d let the threat hang, hoping she’d fill in some ugly conclusion herself that would push her over the line to giving in.
I’d heard her swallow thickly, felt her resistance even through the phone, but she’d yielded reluctantly. “Fine. What time?”
But now eight o’clock has come and gone, and Kitty is still not here thirty minutes after my requested arrival time. My pacing has given way to sulking as I sit in the corner of the leather couch in my front room, nursing a tumbler of bourbon.
I take another sip, letting the vanilla and spicy notes of the Blanton’s Original wash through me, easing the knot of fury tightening in my gut.
Where the fuck is she? I am not a man accustomed to waiting for others, and in fact, I do my damnedest to make sure they don’t wait on me either. Timeliness is paramount, something I learned from watching
my father’s complete disregard for others’ schedules. He always ran on his own timeline, regularly forgetting meetings or skipping appointments if he became lost in his adventures.
So Kitty’s tardiness, and by now absence, triggers those same buttons of my youth, waiting at the dinner table for a father who never showed and belittled his son’s feelings of disregard when he did manage to make a school function.
It was a lesson the military strengthened. As they say in the Army, ‘five minutes early is just on time. On time is five minutes late.’
I can hear my CO ranting about timeliness as well and how the lack of it is disrespectful to your senior ranking officers. I may not be a military man any longer, but the disrespect is the same.
I won’t allow it. Not when the risk is so great to us both.
I pick up my phone to call her, my anger already poised to boil over, ready to unleash on her at her disobedience, when the doorbell rings.
I get up, nearly slamming my tumbler onto the wooden coffee table before me, and stride to the front entry hall. Grant walks in from the kitchen, a man on a mission, as always, but I intercept him.
“I’ve got this one, Grant,” I say, my voice clipped.
He dips his chin in deference, slowing down. “Of course, sir.”
He doesn’t disappear, instead standing back with his hands behind his back, ready to step in if he can be of service.
I swing the door open, the words already rolling from my tongue. “It’s about damn . . .” But I falter at the sight before me, and my next word is a bare whisper. “Time.”
Kitty is resplendent in a blush-colored dress that hugs her every curve. The dress is almost demure, with a high neck and long hemline, but its slim fit leaves nothing to the imagination, and I fight the urge to order her to twirl for me just so I can glimpse the fabric slipping over the apple of her ass. Her hair is down, honey-blonde curls tumbling loosely, and her eyes are smoky, dark with questions her shiny lips don’t ask.
Power Play Page 9
