"Agreed," Andre says, his eyes dark and serious.
“I’m going in as a worker bee. One of you will need to get in as a guest and it will need to be someone Thorne would be interested in actually speaking to, which means, obscenely wealthy. So far, I haven’t found a vice of hers that can be exploited. She doesn’t drink or do drugs and I don’t even know what her sexual preference is. The only thing this woman loves is money and destroying grieving families financially. Whoever goes in as a guest will need a public profile built that will stand up to scrutiny.” I look around at the neat but not fancy house and shrug.
"You need to move. It’s too far from the estate and don’t think for a second her security won’t be looking into where you’ll be staying. The location needs to match your level of recorded wealth. I have some extra funds left over from the last two jobs that can help with that."
Damon grins. "Where do you want us to go, Princess? The Four Seasons? The Ritz?"
"Somewhere close to the action," I say. "We need a base of operations in Napa or close to it. A suite. Something that screams 'high rollers' so you can establish cover before the party. If we’re going to rob a billionaire, you need to look like you belong in her world."
"Done," Marcus says, already pulling out his phone. "I’ll book a private maison at the Auberge du Soleil in Napa."
"Good." I drain the coffee and set the mug down with a definitive clink. "Then let’s get into the details. I need my laptop to start building a history for you."
Andre and Marcus drive me back to where my van is parked to grab the things I’ll need and I take the time to remove my Martha disguise and change into more comfortable clothes. When I step out of the van, both men scan me from head to toe, their eyes filled with all the things they want to do to my body. The effect on me is instant as an ache forms between my legs but now’s not the time so I ignore it and jump into the back seat for the ride back to their rental. I need to keep the lines from blurring here. The job has to come first. I’ve been working up to this final justice for four years and I can’t let dick distract me. Even if it is the best dick I’ve ever had.
After we get back to the house, I spend the first hour setting up my tech station on the dining table, connecting to the internet through three different VPNs. Damon works silently beside me, his fingers flying across his own keyboard as he builds their digital backstories. Andre is on the deck, talking to a contact about getting him in as one of the wait staff for the party and Marcus is pacing. He’s been watching me. Every time I look up, his hazel eyes are on me, burning with a mix of amusement and hunger. He’s the wildcard. The burning spark that feels like it’s going to ignite any minute and right now, the tension rolling off him is making my skin prickle.
An hour later, Andre comes in and tosses a stack of take out flyers on the table to order food for supper. I ignore them all and keep my eyes on the screen. In the van, I had my steel walls. I had my cramped, cold reality to keep me sharp. Here, surrounded by all the comforts of a home, with three men who look at me like I’m the only meal on the menu they want to eat, Ifeel exposed. I finish the encryption protocol and slam my laptop shut, needing a minute without their eyes on me.
"I need a shower," I announce, standing up.
"Master bath is all yours," Damon mutters without looking up, though the tips of his ears turn pink like he’s imagining me naked in that shower.
I grab my bag, the one with the few clothes and toiletries I packed and head for the bedroom. I close the door, but I don't lock it. My hand hovers over the knob, finger pointed at the little button to engage the lock but then it falls away as I step back.
Why didn't I lock it? Because you’re a liar, Demi. You don't want a lock between you and them. I groan in annoyance at myself and strip off my clothes, kicking them into a corner. I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror and frown at how pale and tired I look plus my deep red hair is a mess from being under that horrible wig all day. But inside my body is buzzing. The adrenaline of the reunion, the caffeine, the sheer proximity of them, it’s all pooling low in my belly.
I step into the massive walk-in shower and turn the water on hot. Steam fills the glass enclosure almost instantly. I grab a bar of soap that smells like sandalwood and start scrubbing, trying to wash away the last six weeks of loneliness. But I can’t wash away the memory of them. Of how it felt to be claimed. To be owned.
When I hear the bedroom door open, my heart hammers against my ribs. I don't turn off the water or cover myself as I stand there with water sluicing down my back, and wait. The bathroom door opens and through the steam-fogged glass, I see a silhouette that I know is Marcus. He stops at the glass door and makes no move to come in. He just watches with all the desire he’s feeling for me in his eyes.
"You didn't lock the door," he says, his voice raised just enough to be heard over the spray.
I turn slowly to face him fully, all resistance gone. I did say we could fuck, right? And that’s exactly what I need right now. I need him to overwhelm all the doubts and fears I have floating through my brain with the ecstasy I know he’s capable of making me feel. The water plasters my hair to my skull, runs in rivulets over my breasts and down my stomach. I place my hand on the glass handle and push the door open.
"I didn't want to," I tell him, my voice steady.
Marcus’s eyes darken, his pupils blowing wide. He scans me, taking in every inch of wet skin, every curve. He looks like he’s starving, and I’m the feast.
"We promised," he says, his voice rough. "No pressure. Professional merger."
"We can fuck and still be professional on the job," I snap, stepping out of the shower. I don't reach for a towel as I walk straight up to him, stopping inches away. I’m soaking wet, dripping onto the tile, and he’s fully dressed in his jeans and a tight t-shirt. "You said I was yours, Green. You said you’d chase me. Well, you caught me. Now what are you going to do about it?"
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Not Green...Marcus. No more colors Demi. This is the real us now."
"Don't you dare go soft on me," I warn him, reaching out to grip the front of his shirt. I yank him forward, hard. "I spent six weeks in a freezing van thinking about your mouth between my legs. I spent six weeks hating you and wanting you at the same time. I need to feel that again. I need you… Marcus."
A growl rips from his chest. His restraint snaps like a dry twig. He grabs my hips, his fingers digging into my wet skin, and slams me back against the bathroom wall. The cold tile shocks my water heated skin, but his body is a furnace against my front.
"You want real?" he growls, his face inches from mine. "I’ll give you real."
He crushes his mouth to mine. It’s not a gentle kiss, it’s a collision of teeth and tongue and desperation. He kisses me like he wants to breathe for me, like he wants to consume me whole. I moan into his mouth, wrapping my legs around his waist as he lifts me effortlessly. This. This is what I missed. The chaos. The fire and the way they can make me burn.
He carries me out of the bathroom, not breaking the kiss until he throws me onto the massive bed. He follows me down, his weight settling between my thighs, heavy and perfect.
"Say it," he demands, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. "Say you missed this. Say you missed me."
I glare up at him, my chest heaving. I shouldn't give him the satisfaction. I should keep my walls up. But looking at him, seeing the raw need in his eyes that mirrors my own... I can't lie.
