Page 132 of At Her Pleasure

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to weather a volcanic eruption of shit hitting a fan the size of a wind tunnel. Or regroup and make a plan work. Usually he only had the space between two rapid, oh shit heartbeats, so he’d consider this amount of lead time a luxury.

He’d figure it out. He refused to lose a single moment to really be with her before he dropped her off.

And no matter how bad my day is, it’s nothing next to how bad every day is for those I work for.

But for this morning, Cyn was his only boss.

The thought helped him smile a little. Not much, but it was something.

“Problem?”

He’d heard her approaching and had already risen from the stoop, turning as she appeared in the motorhome doorway and asked the question. No surprise, she looked damn good. Those form-fitting belted jeans, her boots, a flowing top with angel sleeves that draped her wrists. It was the first time he’d seen her choose sleeves, except when she’d taken his shirt. Which she refused to give back, to his amusement—and deep pleasure.

A long silk cord held that rune-looking stone she’d hit his balls with, that first night they’d seen one another again. His girl could be so sentimental. That necklace framed the shorter one, her skeleton cross. The handcuff key was still on the chain with it.

She had her hair loose and curly, the way he liked it, her eyes bright and sharp. To him, she always looked like a honed knife, ready to cut into a man’s flesh and take pleasure in his pain. He wondered if Billy Joel had met Cyn in the creative ether where “Stiletto” had been written.

“Yeah.” He pocketed the phone as she reached the ground and put her packed bag next to her. Curling his fingers into her hips and belt, he tugged her closer. She leaned against him, a welcome, solid presence. “I have to let you leave.”

“You don’t let me do anything, Mick.”

She was teasing him, but her assessing look said she wasn’t missing a thing. Still, he didn’t want her to carry more worry than he’d already given her. He wrapped his arms around her. “I know you’re not a hugger, but let me hold you a minute.”

She slid her arms up under his, palms pressed to his back, her face against his throat. “Damn, this is going to be difficult,” she muttered.

“Yeah, it is. I’m sorry. I’m supposed to bear all the pain in this relationship.”

“That’s crap.” She eased back. “Tell me what’s going on, Mick. Something’s bugging you.”

“It’s about work. Something I can’t share.”

She kept looking at him. Fuck. He’d promised her he wouldn’t lie, and he could share the high-level details. “Someone joining me for my upcoming meet has to bail. The buyer.”

Goddamn, they’d put so much work into making this come together. If he showed up without her, the chances of getting the intel he’d hoped for would be far less likely. But rescheduling wasn’t an option when months had gone into paving the way for a major trafficking player to be present at the meet.

“Is her backing out a warning flag for your own cover?” Cyn’s expression was gripped with concern. He appreciated the love, but could reassure her on that point.

“No. She’s like me. She’s posing as a buyer, not an actual one. A few months back, I told Tyler I needed a straw man, or in this case a woman, to pose as a lucrative buyer. He pulled the right strings. She’s a retired undercover. If she’s having to pull out at the last minute like this, it’s something that can’t be avoided.”

Her note had been necessarily brief, but she’d included the key intel that it was personal, not professional. The cover identity hadn’t been burned. Personal meant an urgent medical issue, for her or a family member. Ruptured appendix, broken leg, car accident. Though he hoped she and her loved ones were all right, his concern took a back seat to the need to rearrange the pieces on the chess board.

“I can work it that she trusted me to be her proxy, and get some of what I was hoping to get.” He flashed teeth. “I’ll be extra charming.”

Cyn didn’t smile. “Is the meeting going to be a long one?”

“No.” He picked up her bag and nodded toward the car he’d borrowed from the campground owner to take Cyn to the airport. A hundred bucks plus a tank of gas had made that happen. “It’s basically a press-the-flesh, making sure the money and merchandise on either side is as real as promised.”

The cover was that the buyer represented interests that wanted a regular monthly supply line. If the goods onsite right now met her approval, she’d buy some or all of them, and discuss the details of future deliveries. Mick had told Salazar the buyer expected a discount in exchange for her guarantee of monthly orders the same size or larger.

That was what had set the stage for the meet with the higher-up in the food chain. If she was the real deal, she expected the respect of that face-to-face. On their end, they’d want to verify she wasn’t trying to screw them, brokering a better price for a one-time deal.

It would take a lot of charm for Mick to get the higher-up to negotiate with him like he would her. Even if he managed it, the guy wouldn’t be likely to hang out and chat with a middleman, revealing details Mick was hoping to learn.

Still, he’d take what he could get.

“Ready to go?” he asked Cyn.

In answer, she took her bag from him, pivoted, climbed the steps of the motorhome and vanished. When she re-emerged, she stuck her empty hands in her back pockets, arching her back, and lifted her chin. “I’ll do it.”

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