She moved quietly through the routine of getting ready for her fake job. The outfit Sophie lent her fit better than she expected, and when she glanced in the mirror, she was pleased with how it appeared to be tailored for her. She also appreciated the efficiency of that little steamer Kennedy sent. Without it, she’d still be trying to torture the wrinkles out of those trousers.
Two strangers had helped her look the part she needed to play. She was grateful, but kindness without strings was foreign territory. Maybe the strings would show up later.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Sinner was sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in cargo pants and a gray T-shirt that molded to every muscled inch of his arms and chest.
He tracked her movements around their small room as she debated whether she had time to brew a pot of coffee.
“You look ready to conquer the day.”
She grabbed the sensible handbag Kennedy lent her and paused in front of Sinclair. Sinner. Caius. Mike.
She finally landed on the name she was supposed to call him, but he didn’t look like a Mike at all.
“I’m ready for anything.” His cocky answer was exactly what she’d expect from a man in ghost ops.
“I bet that’s your motto.”
He chuckled, a deep, low rumble that sent a vibration straight to her chest. But she wasn’t focused on his voice.
Every cell of her body was locked in at the way he waslookingat her.
Brown eyes roaming over her hair that she’d spent more time on like it was her first day of school. Then raking over herface and lingering a beat too long on her lips, before making a slow sweep of her body.
He leaned closer. “And I do mean anything.”
She issued a snort that sounded too much like a gasp. “All men think they’re God’s gift to women. It’s all talk.”
He cocked a brow. “I’m not all men. I’ve got a plaque on the wall in Quantico.”
Her fist balled at her side. To punch him? Or grab him by the shirt and make him show her if he reallywasready for anything?
She didn’t respond to his long perusal, only arched a brow in silent question.
“You look the part.”
She glanced down at herself. “So do you. Oh wait. What are you missing? Ah, got it.” She snagged the bottle of fake pills from the dresser and tossed them to him. She needed the action to cut the tension coiling low in her belly at their talk about being ready foranything.
Sinner caught the pill bottle midair and stuffed them in his pocket. His pants fit him like a glove, tight in all the right places. The visible outline of the bottle left no doubt as to what he carried.
“I can’t be late.” She swung toward the door.
Before she took a single step, long, rough fingers wrapped around her wrist. She went dead still, body locked down tight as her instinct to fight her way out of the hold rushed through her veins.
But she didn’t fight. She tilted her head up to meet his stare.
“Be careful.”
Why did her stomach dip like that? And why did his fingers feel so warm against her skin?
She pulled in a deep breath and regretted it as his fresh-from-the-barber scent hit her senses. She managed to nod…but failed at keeping her stomach from doing a wild flip.
“I will.” Why did her voice sound like that, all breathy and soft?
The entire drive to the office, thoughts of that encounter tumbled through her mind. By the time she arrived, she had to force thoughts of her fake husband out of her head.
She didn’t immediately get out of her car, taking a moment to gather herself and drink in her surroundings. She’d never score drugs in this revitalized section of the city with its clean sidewalks, but according to Dante’s map, a short walk would provide what she was looking for.
When Opal walked inside, her nerves locked down tight, silencing any emotions she might have felt. She had to be at her best, and she refused to fail.
