Chapter 17
Seventeen
The need John had for Vivian crushed him. Running, fighting and hiding had pounded a truth into him that he only began to realize back when he bought the ring on her finger.
Vivian Flint, in whatever form she took, was a treasure.
Losing her was not an option.
He leaned forward, sealing his chest to her back, and threaded his fingers with hers. “Tell me what you need?”
“You.” Her heavy-lidded gaze locked with his. “Forever you.”
“I need you too,” he said.
His life partner criteria hadn’t included unflinching badass. Shame on him, because he would’ve missed out on someone he couldn’t breathe without. Her essence was what mattered. The package didn’t. What’d she call it? Window dressing.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
She gasped as he eased into her, then met his rolling thrusts. From their first night together, this was how it was. Partnership, shared bliss. As though they were the only two people in the world, locked in love.
This was what mattered.
And he’d learned a powerful, mind-blowing lesson since she revealed herself to him. Their relationship was precious, but it wasn’t fragile. They’d fuck up, yes, but they’d find their way back to each other.
They had to, because life didn’t make sense without her.
God, he wanted her. Needed her. Needed to touch her everywhere.
As he withdrew, she mewled a complaint.
“Be patient,” he said, and palmed her ass.
After dropping to his side, he hugged her to him.
With her head pillowed by his arm, he draped her top leg over his thigh, then slid into her tight, wet heat.
Their slick friction was magic, like her body welcomed him again, and again and again.
Her eager grinding turned him to steel, tightened his balls, made him want to come like a comet.
Not yet, he told himself.
Bringing her pleasure was one of the reasons he’d been made, he was sure of it. He roamed his hands over her perfect skin. Soft on the outside, strong and resilient on the inside. He turned her face to his, then swallowed her whimpering moans with a kiss.
Their tongues found the same rhythm as their bodies.
She was close. The writhing, whimpering, undulating was an unmistakable signal.
A tickle crept through every part of his body, building up into unbearable tension only the woman in his arms could relieve. Soon she bucked and moaned into his mouth.
There she goes.
She arched her back and pulsed around his cock.
This was how she came, loud and hard. He usually started kissing her through her climax so they wouldn’t wake the tenants at home.
When she hit this moment, she preferred him to double down on his strokes, harder, faster, deeper, which triggered his own—
Fuck. It was her turn to swallow his moan as he came.
Bliss blanketed him. On this side of an orgasm, his stacked-up worries disappeared. Criminal that they’d denied themselves this perfection on the run.
Under his palm, Vivian’s heart beat a tattoo into his skin.
She turned to him. “Hi. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome? You’ve never thanked me for sex before.”
“It was for everything this week, not sex.” She twiddled his hair. “Did you want me to thank you for sex?”
“Obviously.” He eased himself from her.
She giggled, which turned into a yawn. “What time is it?”
He twisted to look at the bedside clock. “Four.”
“Perfect time for a disco nap.” She slithered from his arms and padded toward the bathroom. “Set the alarm for seven?”
“Nap? I’m not tired.” John nudged the clock’s buttons. “It’s 10:00 a.m. East Coast time.”
“You’ve been away too many days for time zones to matter,” she called. “And we need to be sharp tonight.”
He sat up. “We could have sex again, then nap?”
“Sounds like a plan.” She closed the door.
As the dopamine receded, he braced himself for a possible wave of regret, but none came.
Forgiveness was a powerful thing.
He’d better shut the blackout curtains. After another round of sex, he wouldn’t want to get out of bed. He slipped back under the lush covers. The darkened room was the perfect chilled temperature, but he definitely would not be napping.
* * *
In the bathroom, Vivian’s smile faltered. Officers often used sex as a stress reliever before undertaking tactical actions in the field. It cleared nerves and eased tensions without compromising mental acuity.
No, stop. She was overthinking things. That was bona fide makeup sex.
She glanced at the stubborn ring on her left hand.
She’d been steady in her love for John. He was the one who had doubts. Had he fully forgiven her? She could ask him, straight out, like she did in Casablanca. There was no need to be delicate and subtle. Lives weren’t at stake if he didn’t love her.
Just her heart.
She washed her hands and slathered herself in the hotel’s lotion. She sniffed her skin. Rose, orange and…sage? This job allowed her to try on different lifestyles, but she always came back to her personal favorites.
Like John, and the person she was with him.
Please let them be back together.
She scrubbed her eyes. She needed to talk to him.
She grabbed one of the plush robes hanging in the bathroom. It dwarfed her. In the darkened bedroom, she padded carefully toward the bed to avoid breaking a toe. Nothing blended like hobbling around a fancy soirée.
“John?” she asked.
She veered to her side of the bed. After dropping the robe, she slipped between the sheets. Her damp hair would dry crazily, but she didn’t care.
“Hey, John?” She rested her head on her fist. “Can I be vulnerable with you?”
John, who wasn’t tired five minutes ago, was asleep.
She sighed. Later, then. Allowing herself an indulgence, she scooted closer to him. Cuddling wouldn’t wake him, but she could soak up his warmth.
* * *
“Hey, Gorgeous.” John’s gravelly voice, coupled with the soothing strokes on her shoulders, coaxed her to consciousness.
She fluttered her eyes open. “What time is it?”
“Seven,” he answered. “The alarm just went off.”
He opened the curtains. The early golds of what would be a magnificent sunset streamed into the room. It couldn’t compete with his naked ass, though.
“Time to rise and grind.” She stretched against her pillow.
There was something she’d meant to do before falling asleep. What was it? She played back their afternoon. Plans, recon, sex. Ah. Right. A forgiveness heart-to-heart.
She punched her arms into her robe.
“You okay?” John asked. “You just sighed.”
“Did I?” She forced a smile. “I’m great. How wild is my hair?”
“It’s…” The sun lit him up like an angel from behind. “Big. Large. Cloud-ish.”
“Thanks.” She twitched back the blankets.
He laughed at her sarcasm. “You asked.”
She rolled her neck. It seemed like he’d forgiven her. She needed to know for sure, though. But if he still hadn’t, it would fuck with her head. That might compromise their operation tonight. She couldn’t risk it.
She’d ask later. After they found the drive.
“It’ll take me a minute to deal with this.” She gestured to her head, then withdrew her clothing and prep kit from the garment bag and dipped into the bathroom.
Oh, holy Jesus.
Half her hair lay flat to her face while the other half stuck up like a cockatoo’s crested feathers.
She flicked on the shower and grabbed the handheld to douse her hair.
After wetting it, she scrunched in gel. Normally she’d tame the waves into sleek, straight, polished strands, but tonight called for a wilder style.
Especially with the dress they’d picked out for her.
When she finished drying her hair, she laughed.
This was the biggest it had been since college.
Back then her style wasn’t so much a choice as it was a consequence of only having time to wash and go.
The fresh red color and the curls made her look more like her younger self than she had in a decade.
Now, to get dressed.
The chardonnay strapless high-waisted thong bodysuit and wraparound silk skirt were simple and elegant. Lovely as they were, thongs were her least favorite undergarment. Like her job was literally up her ass.
The things she did for her country.
After dusting herself with makeup and applying her new bold Parisian-red lipstick, she emerged from the bathroom. The silk skirt fluttered around her, and the thigh-high split revealed a generous portion of her golden leg.
She poked her head out of the door. “Can you join me in my office?”
John whistled. “Gorgeous, as always.”
Words dried in her throat. John’s pale blue shirt set off his eyes, and the sand-colored linen suit looked like it had been made for him.
Seriously, his ass in those tailored pants.
The agency’s costumer had added a nice touch—John’s yellow pocket square matched her dress.
If there had been any way to Snap a pic to Thomas and Logan, she would have.
They’d never believe John wore something besides jeans.
“Is this suit okay?” he asked as he buttoned a cuff link. “It creases.”
“That’s part of the charm. Your fit’s perfect. All sartorial nonchalance.” She turned on the faucet. “Any special instructions come with it?”
“Yep, in my inside pocket.” He opened the flap of his jacket, then removed a card.
“Excellent. Carry this for me?” She extracted her ceramic screwdrivers from her bag and handed them to him. “What nifty gadgets did you get?”
“A digital watch and cuff links that have trackers in them. There’s a QR code on the card that pulls up a map of where they are.”
“So I can find you if we get separated?” She scanned the code, and two dots lit up on an anonymous webpage’s map.
“By separated, do you mean kidnapped?”
“Not necessarily. Let’s be positive tonight.” She layered the camera necklace over her L-Pill necklace. “Help me with this?”
His fingers brushed her nape as he fastened it, making her shiver.
“Is that where you want it? There are a lot of loops back here.”
The camera nestled directly between her hoisted boobs.
After turning, she said, “You tell me.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Perfect.”
“Good. Are you wearing the swim shorts they gave you?”
He shifted his weight. “Shorts is a generous word, but yeah. Why am I wearing them?”
“In case we need to hide in plain sight. Seaside cities are lousy with pools, hot tubs and beaches.” She grabbed the instruction cards. “Can I borrow your Zippo?”
“Sure.” He fished it out of his pants pocket and handed it to her.
She removed the plastic liner from the metal ice bucket, then opened the door to the patio. The breeze raised goose bumps on her shoulders. She flicked the Zippo and set the cards alight. As they curled to ash, she dropped them in the bucket.
“Thanks.” She tossed John’s lighter back to him.
John leaned over the terrace’s railing. “Why’s everyone in matching outfits?”
Below them, people dressed in white-and-red clothing moved through the plaza.
She shrugged. “First-timer, remember?”
John searched on his phone. “It’s the St. John’s festival. The Roman Catholic church co-opted a solstice celebration that includes a procession, folklore groups, traditional costumes, songs, dance, a church service and a bonfire.”
“Spectacle’s always handy.” She doused the cards’ smoldering remains with Perrier, then dumped the muck into the liner. “That should do it.”
Back in the room, she loaded up her oversized clutch with everything they might need during this action.
Passports, the drive, Ruckus’s super bouncing balls, her trusty index cards, camera glasses, vape pen, euros, atomizer, EpiPen, two N95 masks and surgical gloves from the first-aid kit, and a few lady essentials.
The tablet wouldn’t fit, though.
“Can you grab a pillowcase?” she asked John.
They couldn’t risk leaving it for anyone to find. After tapping a few buttons, she erased all content. Not done yet, though. She took the pillowcase from John and slipped the tablet inside. Unfortunately, her narrow heels were useless for this next part.
“What kind of shoes did they give you?” she asked.
He lifted his pant leg. “Italian loafers, I think.”
“Perfect. Stomp on this, please?”
The device crunched under his heel. After several more direct hits, she bundled the pillowcase and shattered remains into the ice bucket liner.
“You’ve got your phone?” she asked John. “Money clip?”
“And my lighter. I’ll take that.” He accepted the bag of sodden ashes from her. “This color’s amazing on you, by the way.”
She ran her hand down the bodice. “My handler must want me to stand out. They normally put me in dark pantsuits.”
“And what do you want?” he asked.
“This, actually.” The flowing silk siphoned heat from her body.
On the way to the elevators, they passed their floor’s trash chute. Vivian opened its golden door, then nodded toward the bag. After John deposited it, she let go, and the busted tablet clunked toward the dumpsters.
Now they could go to the auction. Butterflies fluttered in her belly.
Good—excitement kept her alert.
She threaded her hand with John’s. “Still okay?”
He nodded. “I’m Jason Jones, lifestyle influencer. In my charmed life, nothing goes wrong, so this’ll be a macaron.”
“A macaron?”
He lifted a shoulder. “We both like them better than a piece of cake.”
“True.” They stepped into the mirrored elevator.
She cleared her throat. One last thing to disclose about the way tonight might unfold.
“We’re still playing the hopelessly-into-each-other couple this evening, but I may also need to be flirty tonight. With others. Café Americain taught me people are more agreeable and loose-lipped if they think they have a shot at sex.”
“Define flirting?” He nuzzled her neck.
Unfair. He knew this buckled her knees.
“Touching. Dancing. Maybe light groping.”
“Noted.” John pinched her chin and raised her mouth to his. “Flirt away, as long as I get to take you to bed tonight. But if your ex is here and crosses a line, I might throw hands.”
She palmed the back of his neck. “When’s the last time you punched anyone?”
“Fifteen years ago. Thomas donated my lucky jersey. He said it was too small and he couldn’t trust me not to wear it in public.”
“No fighting.” She kissed him again. “We can’t get kicked out. Just understand that everything I do tonight is designed to be coercive. It’s all an act.”
“All of it?” John rubbed his thumb on her cheekbone.
“Yep.” She grinned. Tonight would be fun. She could feel it.
The doors opened to the Casino d’Or’s glittering lobby.