Chapter 3 #2
Since Ryan was not taking her very obvious hint, she darted around him and made her way to the closed bedroom door. Pasting a bright smile on her face, Simone said, “Thank you. I will not forget this night anytime soon.” Now, time for him to exit. She opened the door. Wide.
He slowly stalked toward her. Slow, steady steps. He didn’t go through the open doorway. No, that would have been too easy. Of course, he stopped right in front of her. “I certainly hope you don’t forget me. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
She widened her eyes. “You will?”
“Um. Knowing your boss, I’m sure there is some massive breakfast that Frederick will offer his guests. I’ll see you then.”
Nah. He wouldn’t. She’d be long gone by dawn. “I’m not much for breakfast.”
“I was your ride here, Simone. I will safely take you home.”
“Aren’t you the gentleman?”
“Not really.” He sucked in a breath. As if his own admission had caught him by surprise.
At least she wasn’t the only one sharing things that she shouldn’t be saying.
Still, he lingered. Even as she kept the door open. “Is there something else?” Simone finally asked because, honestly, as devilishly handsome as the man was, she had things to do. A gallery that she had to sneak back into. A particular item that she needed to retrieve.
Simone had never liked to think of her work as stealing.
The items she collected had already been stolen from their rightful owners.
Others had taken them. Stolen them. They were the thieves, not her.
She was simply retrieving the stolen property and taking the material back where it belonged.
That was like, doing community service. Goodwill.
“Why did you kiss me?” He waved back toward the bed. “Here?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t to distract guards.
” An edge of annoyance underscored her words.
When a man kissed her, she wanted him to do it because he was desperate to taste her.
Was that too much to ask? Simone certainly didn’t think so.
No one should kiss her as a distraction.
Talk about insulting. “I wanted to see if the kiss would be as good when you weren’t faking things. ”
“Faking. Things.” A muscle flexed along his ever-so-kissable jaw. “What is it that you think I faked?”
Almost everything. Her inner alarms were just too loud with him.
“My desire for you is quite real,” he assured her.
Was it? “You’ve kept your hands carefully off me for each of our previous dates.”
“I was being a gentleman.”
“Yet you just said you were not a gentleman.”
They stared at each other.
“Let me get this straight.” He seemed to speak through clenched teeth. “You’re mad because I was a gentleman?”
“I’m not mad.” A few fast blinks. Technically, she did feel annoyed. “I just think that if a man truly wanted a woman, then he would not wait and kiss her only as a distraction when guards were swarming.” There. “He would kiss her on one of their dates. Not hold himself back so carefully.”
“Gentleman,” he gritted again. Those teeth seemed to have clenched harder. “I thought I was being a good guy.”
Since when did she want one of those? She’d never found good guys to be particularly useful in any way.
They were annoyingly focused on rules. On things like obeying the law.
Following orders. Coloring in the lines.
They tended to see the world in black and white, and since she primarily operated in a lovely shade of gray, the good guys out there did not understand her.
“Simone?”
She summoned another smile. A big, bright one. “Thank you for being a gentleman. It was very gentlemanly and good of you to put yourself between me and the guns.”
The furrow between his brows deepened.
Uh, oh. She was really not playing this scene right.
Maybe the smile had been too bright. “I’m tired.
” She let her shoulders slump. A hint of fear entered her voice as she explained, “And I’m still shaken.
I’ve never had guns pointed at me before.
” She had. So many times. “I-I fear I’ll have nightmares tonight.
” If she slept, she probably would have nightmares, but Simone did not intend to rest anytime soon.
Concern flashed on his face. “I’ll be right next door. If you get frightened, call for me. I can come right over.” His gaze darted toward the bed. “Or, if you want me to stay, the offer to sleep on the floor still stands,” he muttered.
Nope. She needed him out of the room. How in the world was she supposed to slip away in the darkness if she had a sleeping good guy between her bed and the door?
Her hand rose and curled around his arm.
“I appreciate the offer.” A little squeeze of her fingers.
“Thank you, but I need to be alone now.” So she could put her plans in motion.
Staying the night at the estate had not been on her agenda.
She’d fully intended to get her prize—um, retrieve the stolen property—while the bash had been in full swing.
And if Ryan hadn’t screwed up and set off the alarm, she would have succeeded.
Luckily, Frederick had offered her a second chance with the offered guest room, and she was snatching that chance while she had it.
Plus, she’d snagged the remote for the alarm system from Frederick’s pocket back when they’d been in the gallery.
Talk about being too tempting to pass up.
The remote was currently hidden inside her dress, in one of the gown’s amazing hidden pockets.
Oh, but Simone did love a dress with pockets. What woman didn’t?
If Ryan would just get moving, she could get busy. Very, very quickly.
Lightning flashed again. The lightning and the thunder were coming almost constantly now.
“I understand,” Ryan finally said, voice lower. “I will see you again soon.”
And yet, the man kept lingering.
Her hand pulled back. It took all of her considerable self-control not to make a shooing motion toward the door for him. Seriously, what was it going to take?
He turned away. Moved for the open door.
Her breath shuddered out.
He looked back at her. “Just so we are clear, I will stand between you and any threat.”
That was something new. No man had ever said those words to her before.
“You will be safe with me, always.”
Again, brand new words. And they made her feel all funny inside. Not that she needed his protection. She was more than capable of looking out for herself. But it was nice of him to say. So she should respond appropriately.
Ah, what was the appropriate way to respond? After swiping her tongue across her lower lip, Simone said, “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
His eyebrows shot up.
Dammit. That had probably not been appropriate.
But he had moved forward a bit more, actually stepped into the hallway, and she started swinging that door closed. “Good night.” The door was nearly shut—
He spun back around. His hand slapped against the wood of the door before it could close fully.
What is it going to take with this man?
“I wanted to kiss you on our first date. I wanted to kiss you on the second date. I wanted to kiss you tonight, as soon as I picked you up.”
Simone sucked in a breath.
“If you want the full truth…”
She would love it, yes.
“I wanted to kiss you the very first moment I saw you. I’ve wanted to kiss you every moment that we’ve been together.”
His words sounded truthful.
“Now that I have kissed you…” Deeper, a little darker. “I will never forget how good you taste. I’ll never forget the little moan you make when my lips take yours.”
She did not remember moaning. Not that she had not potentially done so. Simone just did not recall a moan.
“I want your mouth against mine even more than I did before because, Simone Sailor, you are one hell of a fucking fine kisser.” With that, he let go of the door and walked away.
She shut the door. Then her fingers rose to her mouth. Her index finger slid along her upper lip. You are one hell of a fucking fine kisser, too, Ryan Quinn. It was really too bad that she would never have the chance to kiss him again. But some things were simply not meant to be.
She and Ryan were one of those not-meant-to-be things.
A thief—no, no, a retrieval specialist—did not belong with a billionaire. Not even for one amazing, sweaty, heart-stopping night.
Her hand fell. Her fingers darted into one of the hidden pockets of her gown, and Simone pulled out the remote control for the gallery’s alarm. Time to get to work.
“Mission accomplished, Jez,” Ryan said as he paced the guest room to the left of Simone’s room.
His right hand gripped his phone, holding it against his ear, while the other hand shoved into his inner tux coat pocket and pulled out his prize.
An egg. Not just any egg, of course. A Fabergé egg that had been created for the Russian Imperial family all the way back in 1897.
Very distinct. Made of gold, diamonds, designed to match the coronation gown of—
“You found the egg?” Jezebel Jenkins demanded. “You waltzed into the party and just found a thirty-million-dollar egg?”
“You seem surprised.” He lifted up the egg, squinting at it. “Come on,” he chided her. “First, it’s me. So why was there ever any doubt that I could do the job? And do it in record time?”
His boss’s sigh traveled straight to his ear. Jezebel was in the top echelons at the CIA. The woman normally tolerated zero bullshit, but, since he happened to know for a fact that he was her favorite agent, he was allowed to tease her a bit. Carefully, of course.
“I didn’t expect you to succeed quite so quickly,” Jez muttered. “I also expected Frederick Bradwin to not be such a colossal dumbass and to make this so very easy for you.”
The light hit the egg. “I think you’re underestimating the value of my prize,” he told her. “We both know some estimates have this baby as high as one hundred million—” Ryan broke off.
Had he just heard a creak from the hallway? He shoved the egg back into his tux pocket.
“You are being extremely careful with the egg, aren’t you?” Jez asked.
“Absolutely.” He cracked open the bedroom door and caught sight of a distinct figure in a glorious red dress darting down the hallway. What in the hell?
“That egg is key for our investigation,” Jezebel said. “We can prove Frederick’s involvement with Konstantin Volkov because that egg is the link between them.”
Konstantin Volkov. Otherwise known as the Russian Wolf. A seriously dangerous international criminal who had been at the top of the CIA’s apprehension list for years. Finally, finally, they were going to take down the bastard.
It wasn’t that the egg was just payment for services rendered. Oh, no. The web was far more complicated than that.
“Konstantin intends to access the supply lines that Frederick’s family once used for their textile business.
Only instead of shipping and sending out textiles, they plan to funnel drugs and weapons around the world.
This is going to be a big break for the Agency.
” There was no missing the satisfaction in Jezebel’s voice.
“We’ll bring Frederick in, question him, make him turn on Konstantin and—uh, Ryan? Ryan, are you listening to me?”
He was still peering down the hallway. Simone had vanished. Where had she gone? And why? Why did you haul ass out of that room when you just told me that you needed to be alone? “Something has come up. I have to go.”
“Uh, no, no you do not. You have the egg. You need to give me a full update. Is anyone aware of the switch?”
He’d left an exceptionally good forgery in the gallery. A fake that had come courtesy of the CIA. “Of course not. I’m a professional.” Where was Simone going?
“And you’re away from the scene?”
“Uh…” Not quite.
“You have left the property and are returning to London, yes?”
He had to go find Simone. “About that…”
“What about that?”
“There’s a storm.”
“So? I’ve literally seen you drive through hurricanes.”
Guilty. “My date doesn’t like storms. So we’re staying overnight at the country estate.”
Silence. The ominous kind.
“Your…date? You mean the woman you were using as a cover?”
“I don’t love the word ‘using’,” he mumbled back. “Makes me feel less than noble.”
“Ryan.”
“She’s on the move, something I find concerning since she said she wanted to be alone, so I have to go stalk her and find out what the hell is happening.”
Jezebel seemed to choke. “Excuse me? You’re going to stalk your date?”
He was already doing just that. He’d slipped out of the guest room and was heading for the staircase.
“Where is the egg?” Jezebel’s voice rose in his ear. “The egg is the priority! It is a stolen egg.”
Yes, and not just because he’d stolen it. The egg should have been in a Russian museum, but Konstantin and his crew had taken it years ago. Getting it back into the proper hands was a major deal for the CIA. “It’s safe. Got it close to my heart.” Truly, he did.
“Ryan.” She did not seem reassured. “I want the egg, and I want what is inside of it.”
He was aware.
“You know the contents within the egg are of vital importance to me.”
Yes. That was why he’d taken the damn thing. Because the material inside the egg was of extreme importance to the CIA. It wasn’t simply about acquiring a fancy trinket. He’d already glanced inside the egg to make sure the real prize was in place.
“You need to get the hell away from that location and meet the team at the rendezvous as we agreed! Ryan, Ryan, are you listening to me?”
“I always listen,” he assured her. Did he always follow directions? Nope. Because sometimes, you had to do your own thing in this world.
“Forget your date! Get away from that estate before you get burned. Stay mission-focused.”
“Mission-focused, check. On it. I am locked and loaded. Goodbye, Jez.”
“Ryan!”
He glanced down the staircase. Then up. Which way had Simone gone?
Up would lead back to the party, one that was still in full swing.
The party—and the big gallery with all of the stolen art.
Down would lead to the estate’s main exit, a route that Simone would have taken if she was intent on dashing off into the night.
Choices, choices.
Ryan rolled back his shoulders, then he began to descend the staircase.