Page 96 of The Truths that Deceive

Riley pockets the phone. “Who are you here with?”

“I came looking for you. I read… I saw you were here, and I thought I’d come to ask for your help. Can I get your card?”

His gaze catches on my finger with the rings on it but he doesn’t respond. I need to get out of this before he calls for backup, before he takes down my chance… Smith. I force myself to breathe slow and steady. “Card, Aaron? A number to reach you on.”

He reaches into his pocket and my heart’s slamming against my ribs so hard I worry he’ll hear. But all he does is hand me a heavy card made of high-grade cotton. “I need those blueprints.”

“We’ll talk.”

“I’m only here until tomorrow. Call by seven in the morning.”

And before I can say anything, he hits the Down button, and when it arrives, he steps inside. I look forward, long after the doors shut.

“Ten out of ten for composure, sweetheart.”

My legs wobble at the low, deep tones of Smith, that smoky, dark jazz of him winding around me. I know it’s dangerous, but right now, he’s comfort, and when he touches me, I melt into the arms that close around me.

His mouth brushes the top of my head. “He asked for the blueprints, huh?”

“Aaron was?—”

“CIA. Not in any of the areas I worked, so I don’t think he knows me, and I’ve been out a long time.”

“Yes, but I meant he was my mentor. He recruited me and… Smith?”

I raise my head as he drops a kiss on my lips. It’s for show but I take it, hold it close because I need the magic of that caress, even if it’s not genuine, even if it’s a lie.

“On his phone? I saw the word Bolivia. And it was in that language.”

His fingers rub over my hand, touching the card I’ve got clenched in it. “You’re not meeting him.”

“He wants blueprints.”

“Of course he does. I’ll tie you up if you even think of meeting him.”

“He knows I’m here,” I whisper, pulling back. “That means time is?—”

“Not to be wasted on panic. We spend a little more time in here, and then we’re going out.”

“Where?”

“O-Ring.”

I just stare at him. Anything with that as a name has to be some kind of sex club. And he grins slowly. It’s a feral grin. One that drips with promises and intent. “Like the thing used in sex? Is this another sex club?”

“Smart girl,” he says, spinning me and pinning me to the wall like lovers, but he’s not anywhere near that to me. “I’ve got some meetings scheduled. I need to make an appearance.”

“Smith—”

“Calista.” His gaze rakes my features as one leg slides up between my thighs. I’m wearing a slinky black dress that’ssexy, simple, and when he does what he’s doing, he shows just how thin the material is, how with a touch he can make me feel naked and exposed.

Or maybe that’s just him. And my God, I want to rub myself against him. All over him.

“Fuck, I can feel the heat of your sweet pussy, and I’m betting you’re wet. Ever think of taking up sweet femme fatale as a side hustle?”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” I say. “And why are we at some stupid boring party instead of?—?”

I stop before the words leave my mouth.

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