Resignation pinches her brows together and she groans. “Fine.”
I snap a quick selfie, ignoring her protests, and hope Ruby can ID the guy in the background as I shove the phone in my pocket.
“Hold tight,” I say over my shoulder.
Her hands hover around the seat, clearly searching for something to hold on to that doesn’t involve touching me. With a sigh, I grab her hands and wrap them firmly around my waist.
I push the pedal, bringing the engine to life, and pull into traffic. Her grip tightens. It’s familiar and new all at once, and as I leave the man behind us, I’m forced to remind myself that this can’t mean anything.
A few hours later, the sun slants low in the sky, casting long shadows across the villa’s white oak floors as I finish buttoning my shirt. I haven’t seen Cybil since we got back to the villa. She jumped off the bike and bolted inside before I even had a chance to turn it off.
The concierge handled returning the bike to the vendor, leaving me with nothing but the echo of her arms still wrapped around me. Thatmemory had me distracted through my next meeting with a compliance officer, a guy willing to fast-track the shell companies Ramirez wants, no questions asked.
And now I’m suiting up for round two with Ramirez and Rook. This is my shot to deploy the air-drop device. If I can get Ramirez to open the embedded file, we’ll find what we need to shut this whole thing down. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll figure out a way to get Cybil back in my arms without risking her life or mine.
There’s a knock at my door, and I check my reflection before opening it.
Cybil stands there, fuming. “Did you do this?”
I blink. “What?”
“This.” She gestures at the black dress she’s wearing. She looks incredible. “It was delivered to my room after we got back to the villa.”
“Was it?”
She grabs my shirt and hauls me down the hall to the veranda like I’m a misbehaving child, then checks over both shoulders before turning on me. “Did you buy this dress for me?”
My face must give me away.
“I don’t need your pity,” she snaps, poking my chest.
I gently take her hand. “I remember your right hook, Billy.”
“Don’t call me that.” She snatches her hand back, looking around. “Someone could hear you.”
She’s right. I know. But that nickname—there’s an intimacy in it that makes the risk worth it. Almost.
No ID on the man. No connection to Ramirez.
If anything could keep my focus off Cybil’s touch, it’s the text message from Ruby about the picture I sent her. If he’s American, he should’ve popped up in the system. So who is he? Ruby is going to run him through Interpol next.
Until I have an answer, I need to make sure anything that happens between me and Cybil is professional. At least to anyone watching...
I shrug. “It’s nothing.”
A fiery spark lights her eyes. “It’s expensive.”
“It’s a gift.”
She stands there, hair clipped back, a breeze catching the faint scent of her perfume. Her makeup is light, but she doesn’t need much. Her natural beauty always had a way of driving my pulse crazy—especially when she’s staring me down.
“An expensive gift,” she says.
“I was trying to help,” I say, shrugging like I didn’t put way too much thought into a black dress I picked out in under ninety seconds. “If it makes you feel better, you can pay me back.”
She gives me a long, flat look. “Says the guy who probably keeps a Swiss bank account in his sock drawer.”
“You know,” I say, fighting a grin, “if the dress hadn’t worked out, you could’ve rocked that blue tracksuit at your meeting. It had a real ‘I just wrestled a produce truck’ vibe.”
