Chapter 16
Sixteen
John gripped the wheel.
The approach to Monte Carlo was nuts. Like Mario Kart except there’d be no hang glider rescue if they careened off the mountainside. To keep pace with the traffic, he hurtled into the tunnel carved into the rock. It was mostly a straight shot until—
“Holy shit, a roundabout in a tunnel?”
Vivian looked up. “At least it’s not the Laerdal Tunnel in Norway. That fucker’s fifteen miles long. Lighting’s better, though.”
On the roundabout’s other side, the road spit him into daylight.
“We’ll be at the Casino d’Or in about five minutes. A piece of advice. Act like money doesn’t matter. If they offer us a room upgrade, we take it. Thousand-dollar bottles of wine, no problem. Hundred-dollar cigars might as well be loose cigarettes.”
“But I don’t like cigars.”
“Then don’t light it. My point is, we’ll exude glitterati.” She pom-pommed her fists like fireworks. “Wealthy young tastemakers.”
“Ew.” His jam was more flannel and discounts at Safeway.
“It’s what gets you in with this crowd.”
“So if I bragged about working with my hands…”
“They’d hope you were being lewd.” She pointed to an ornate building beyond a lush green park. “I think that’s the Casino d’Or. I checked in while we were on the road. We can go straight to the room.”
He caught her uncertainty. “Is Monte Carlo our first new city together?”
This being a novel experience for both of them made him happy. As much as he loved her expertise, equal footing made him feel like less of a liability.
She quirked her lips. “Yeah, I guess so. Ready for an adventure?”
“Never.”
As he eased past a fleet of Lamborghinis, Porsches, Ferraris, Aston Martins and Bentleys, he whistled. The amount of insurance premiums paid among this lineup must be astronomical.
“Pessimist. One more thing,” she said. “There’s a good chance Jean-Michel will be here. And if not, he’ll have eyes at the event. When I ended things with him, I told him I was in love with someone else. So we need to act like a couple.”
This he could do.
“What kind of couple? Chastely affectionate? All over each other?”
“Somewhere between an engaged couple on a Love Is Blind reunion show—” she wiggled her hand in the air “—and Morticia and Gomez Addams.”
This was excellent news.
Since Casablanca, his hands had been eager to skim her skin. True, he’d told her he couldn’t get past her job. Then they’d almost died, like, four times, and he decided life was too short to deny himself Vivian.
Which he should probably tell her.
They slipped from the car. Droplets from the enormous water fountains’ arcing spray dotted his shirt. After handing the keys to the valet, he grabbed the garment bags.
“Got everything?”
She slung her bag onto her shoulder. “Yep.”
“Then let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and escorted her inside.
In the lobby, tall columns rocketed toward a stained glass ceiling. Curved blue glass panels hung suspended in the air, mimicking the azure sea surrounding the city. At the elevator bank, Vivian held her phone to the sensor, then pressed the button for five.
While they waited for the elevator, he nuzzled her neck.
“Perfect,” she murmured. “That’s great.”
Several vacationers boarded the elevator with them. John slipped his free hand around Vivian’s waist and let his fingers play at her hip. When the doors opened, they turned left, while another couple turned right.
After a short walk, she paused at a double-doored entry to Le Suite de Prestige. As she pressed her phone to the sensor, he hovered behind her, not touching, building anticipation. Except for that spot, just below her ear. He planted a kiss, then licked her salty skin.
Vivian arched her back and sucked in her breath.
That was her tell that she was turned on.
Good.
The doors unlocked. She held one open for him, then clicked it shut after he crossed the threshold.
Contemporary furniture, gleaming fabrics, refined textures greeted them.
Beyond their terrace lay the Mediterranean’s infinite cerulean cascade.
But the only view he cared about was the red-haired spitfire behind him.
He hung the bags in the armoire.
“So,” she said. “Let’s get down to business.”
Hell yes. “Sounds good to me.”
When he turned, Vivian had her privacy pen out and was skimming the walls with it.
“You said you didn’t like improv—” she ran the pen behind a painting “—but that acting was chef’s kiss. Lift the mattress?”
Ah. Her version of down to business was different than his.
Ten minutes later, she flung open the terrace doors. As she worked, the Mediterranean sun suffused her clothing, revealing the curves of her body in shadow.
Torture.
She returned to the room and closed the terrace doors. “We’re all clear. Come with me.”
“Where?” He pushed up from the settee at the foot of the bed.
“Shower.”
In the palatial marble bathroom, Vivian spun the dial until water rained from several angles. Maybe her version of down to business wasn’t different from his after all?
She gestured for him to lean closer.
His cock twitched as he obeyed her command.
“Let’s look at the blueprints,” she said.
If blue balls were a thing, his would match the sea outside their window.
“Why’d you turn on the shower?” he asked.
“So I can brief you without worrying about listening devices. They can’t filter out rushing water easily—it’s pattern-less.” She shifted her attention back to the tablet. “The gallery is between the casino and the main hotel lobby, here.”
Okay, so, this was definitely a logistics meeting.
“This is the service hallway network.” She enlarged the schematic’s left wing, then pointed to hash marks that symbolized doorways.
“Casinos have secret doors everywhere, so security can appear and disappear quickly without disturbing the patrons. Casino d’Or’s security team is structured like a police force.
Large, intense and fully trained. Cameras are everywhere, and footage is fed through facial recognition software.
We should stay as behind-the-scenes as possible.
Fortunately, this service hallway runs directly behind the gallery. ”
She tapped on the screen.
“We’re climbing through ducts again, aren’t we?”
“Got it in one,” she said. “This duct connects the service hallway to the gallery. Since the casino’s holding everything overnight, we can inspect the paintings for the drive after hours.”
“Which means we need to break into the gallery.”
“Correct.” She notched her fist under her chin. “I want to check out the security setup, but we should change into something less bedraggled.”
“Now?” he asked.
She nodded, then turned off the shower.
“Okay.” He grabbed her garment bag from the armoire. “This one’s labeled for you.”
After taking the bag, she laid it on the bed and unzipped it. A rich spectrum of colors blossomed from inside. She selected a pale green flowy dress, then stepped into the bathroom.
Without closing the door, she said, “Put on whatever daytime clothing they provided.”
“How’d they know my size?” he asked.
A full-length mirror stood across from the open bathroom door. He shouldn’t look. But the soft curves and strong muscles of her back deserved admiration.
“There’s a system,” she said.
“Like a body scan?”
“No,” she laughed. “I told them your sizes. When you’re an active officer, they want family details in case something like this happens.”
“How often does something like this happen?”
“They don’t tell us when an officer goes black with their families, so I don’t know.”
With three quarters of her back to the mirror, she dropped her underpants, revealing the bitable curve of her ass.
Next, she angled her arms behind her back and unhooked the bra.
He tried not to groan as the slope of her breast came into view for a hot second before she slipped the maxi-dress over her head.
Damn.
“Be glad you have clothes.” She emerged from the bathroom. “Do they not fit?”
“Sorry. I got distracted by the view.”
Let her interpret that how she wanted. Since they weren’t being shy, he dropped his pants. Vivian couldn’t take her eyes off him. He peeled off his shirt, then slipped on a fresh white oxford. Pink shorts that hit him above the knee came next, followed by boat shoes.
Vivian’s gaze scanned him, top to bottom.
“Hang on—a finishing touch.” She rummaged in his bag and found several gold chains. Her hands were soft around his neck as she clasped them. “There. Now you blend.”
He fiddled with the chains. “I feel like a peacock.”
“Lots of men wear them.” She withdrew a smaller purse from her garment bag and loaded it with items from her backpack. “Don’t forget your phone. We’ll need it for photos.”
They were about to case a casino’s art gallery.
He should have been nervous, but he was with Vivian, so it was actually fun.
In the main gallery, art-covered white panels were fixed to poles and could be spun like tiles to create different artwork arrangements. Vivian and John meandered through the maze of panels to the large exhibition room featuring the pieces to be auctioned.
“‘This fundraiser provides vital support toward artists through commissioned exhibition and residency opportunities, incubator grants for Monegasque artists, artist resources and more.’” Vivian twisted her lips. “I bet very little actually makes it back to the artists.”
“Now who’s a pessimist?” He laid his hand on the back of her neck.
Territorial? Yes, but he’d argue that it fell in the sweet spot she’d described.
“This pessimist has been studying money funnels for ten years.” She gestured toward the description. “It’s a tax write-off for the collector who donated.”
Here, in the smaller gallery, the auction items were more classically arranged. When Vivian paused to admire a piece, he slid behind her and wrapped his hand around her waist.
She palmed his cheek. “Remember to take pictures, Mr. Influencer. Ooh, your face is rough without the beard.”
“Haven’t shaved today. For the pics, can I go big?” he asked.