Page 57 of The San Marco Heist

“Five,” I breathed.Don’t lick your lips. Don’t—I sucked my lips into my mouth, moistening them where he couldn’t see. Imagining that cranberry stain marring his gorgeous face. How much time did we have left before we had to leave?Focus, Scar. This is about Emmett.

“I’m not arm candy. We’re partners tonight.” He leaned closer, his cologne enveloping me. God, he smelled divine. Underneath it, the same need wafted off him as it must have been off me. His words slowed and voice dropped, so deep it joined all the other energy pooling between my thighs. “What if a peck on the lips is necessary?”

“We need clear communication at every level.” Not want. Not need. Not stupid decisions. Communication. It was a job. But still, those lips. What would he taste like? Were his lips as soft as they looked? Would he be the kind of man to grab my throat if he kissed me? The back of my neck? Tangle his fingers in my hair? Caress my cheek? “Some degree of improvisation is occasionally required.”

“I can improvise.” His voice was so quiet. Had he said ‘right now’ at the end of that, or had I imagined it?

I wanted Malcolm. Was that wrong? Was it wrong to be a woman and to want to feel desired for who I actually was? Not for the act I put on?

Mum tapped my fidgeting hands. ‘That’s a tell, and anyone who knows this game will spot it. Scrunch your toes if you need to get control of yourself. Do it often enough and it becomes so deeply ingrained in your psyche that it can snap you out of anything. Never wear sandals or they’ll see that, too.’

No matter what I wanted, the timing was all wrong. I shifted back on the table, releasing my chin from his grasp and my entire body from his spell. “When this is over—”

Someone pounded on the door, and Malcolm spun in his seat as though he could see who it was. “Mr. and Mrs. Stone?”

“That’s Rav.” I stood, collected the cuff links—and my willpower—and handed them to Malcolm. “We need to go.”

Chapter 23

Scarlett

ThebackseatoftheBentley was buttery soft, camel-colored leather. The trim was actual wood and metal. Smooth ride, despite the added weight of the armored panels, it was the perfect vehicle for our bodyguard to chauffeur my bored billionaire husband and me to the wedding of our dear friends. Or our friends’ children, cousins, or besties, depending on who asked.

Malcolm had reached for my hand more than once on the drive, slipping into character too early. If I hadn’t been mentally reviewing every step, every mitigation, every risk of the evening, I might have accepted it as a kindness. But until my brain was fully into Eloise Stone, I couldn’t afford his distraction.

“We’re almost there,” said Rav from the front seat.

I took a deep breath. Eloise Stone. My interests included high fashion, parties, and travel. My husband, Lucius, was a successful investment banker who’d scored big with a few deals five years ago that almost landed him in jail for insider trading. But he had an excellent lawyer.

“Avoid any discussion of how we know the couple,” I muttered.

“I know,” said Malcolm. “Flutter my eyelashes and let you take the lead.”

There was a stifled laugh over the comms.

“I’d say we should do a mic check, but from your response, Brie, I can tell yours is working and so is Malcolm’s.”

“Sorry, Scar. All my systems are online, and I’m ready for any data feeds that come in. I’ll go on mute now.”

“Everyone else who is not going to giggle at us, please check in now.”

“Will’s here. My systems are all up and running. I’m also ready for any feeds that come in.”

“Declan’s magic fingers and magic brain are ready to go.”

Jayce laughed at her partner for the evening. “Jayce’s magiceverythingisn’t just ready, but raring to go.”

“This is Rav. I’m pulling the car into the driveway, making the circle at the end. Stopping. The man approaching the car is my friend who secured access. Let him open your door.”

“Stay safe, everyone,” I said.

As my door cracked open, Malcolm leaned over, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “Showtime, sugar butt.”

Eloise Stone. You’re Eloise Stone. And you’re flattered that your husband loves you so much.I took the security man’s hand and slid out of the car, my heels crunching on the pea gravel, tearing the gorgeous red soles to shreds. What a sin.

Malcolm climbed out after me and handed our invitations to the man. “Mr. and Mrs. Stone.”

The man—a behemoth who reminded me of Rav, with the look in his eyes like he knew fifty-three ways to kill you and hide your body where nobody would ever find it—consulted a tablet, nodded, and returned the invitations to Malcolm. “Dinner is just wrapping up now, but the cake will be out, and dancing will begin any minute.”

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