Page 30 of Sinful Like Us
That was, until, they dropped a Mary-Kate and Ashley sized bomb on me.
“It’s just one week,” Banks says with a slight smile, one teeming with confidence that Thatcher matches in a shared glance. “This is nothing for me, even less for Thatcher.” He cocks his head to his brother. “Pack me up and ship me out, I’m ready.”
I begin to smile, sensing their energy. “You’re both excited about this, aren’t you?” Thatcher enjoys his job, and it’s often a high-octane, high-risk one, and I suppose this will jolt them with more adrenaline.
“To spend more time with you,” Thatcher says, looking down at me. “Hell yeah.”
A smile explodes across my face, and I sip my beer, feeling like my thirteen-year-old easily smitten sister. But realities take hold, and my smile starts to fade. “If you’re caught…” I trail off as they shake their heads.
“It won’t happen,” Thatcher assures.
It makes me sad to think they truly believe very few people can tell them apart. It makes me sadder to think it could be true.
They said they’d be fooling a small number of individuals. Mostly Tony, which should be easy enough.
I take another sip of beer. Thatcher keeps a hand on my binder that I placed on the bar counter, as though someone might snatch it and leak Maximoff & Farrow’s wedding plans.
It is a possibility, and I love how he ensures that all parts of my life are safe.
Thatcher looks into me. “You’re going to help us.”
My lips rise. “I like the sound of this.” I doubt I could sit idly backseat to this plan. I want to make sure the risk is low for them. With the tilt of my chin, I stare up at my boyfriend. “How can I be of service, Mr. Moretti?”
His palm slyly disappears under my robust, tulle skirt. The better to hide my boyfriend’s hand with.
I smooth my lips together and try to subdue my shallow breathing. His warm hand tracks hot lines up my thigh. Thatcher kisses the nape of my neck before whispering, “Okay?”
“Yes.”Oh my God, yes.If I blink three times, I feel like this raw, sexual, warrior of a man will disappear in a poof, and I’m wide-eyed and too eager.
Banks… is staring right at me. He nearly laughs.
Am I panting? Am I childishly head-over-heels?
My face is on fire. “I like your brother,” I state outright.
“Right on.” He smiles and swigs his beer. He’s been standing and shielding bar patrons from reaching me. People pack in tight to watch football and a pro-wrestling pre-show.
I sweep Banks more curiously. Whereas Thatcher carries himself like a commander in a mythic warzone, Banks is a primed solider who would fill every frame of a documentary. He’s background that can’t be unseen.
I glance back at Thatcher, just as he tells me, “Banks and I need an objective eye when it comes to our similarities and differences.”
“That’s where I come in?” I ask.
Banks nods. “My four,” he suddenly says to Thatcher.
“I see them,” Thatcher replies, but he never shifts his gaze or hand off me.
I just now notice a few men ogling me from afar. Not nicely either. I’d saysnidelyis more like it.
I lean more of my weight against Thatcher. He pulls me closer to his chest, and I feel his heavy heartbeat that thumps in a calming rhythm.
Thatcher and Banks are off-duty. Yet, they’re still watching. Still surveying our surroundings.
Tony, my actual bodyguard, is seven-stools down the bar, and I make a concentrated effort not to glance at him. Though, I’m sure he’s observing everyone and also pompously gawking at us.
At least he’s not in earshot.
I sit more upright. “From what I’ve seen, Tony can’t discern your personalities, so the biggest risk might be mannerisms and physical traits.”
