Page 43 of Rockland

His dark gaze searches my face. He gives a nod. “Good. Then it’s decided. Hit our vault. You’re going to need cash.”

“Yes, sir.” I rise from the table.

He stands. Places a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Rockland. I can always count on you.”

“Yes. You can.”

His mind is already on the next fire he’s got to put out as he ushers me to the door, forgetting about this task that’s worried him for the past few hours. He knows I’ll get the job done.

I leave the truck. Bronson will have his driver come and park it back in storage after I board the jet.

I head in the direction of the lot to pick up the car I know she loves—the red Mercedes. I need the short walk to calm my head. Steady my nerves. Funny, the things I’ve done today, things that would normally rattle someone for the rest of their lives seem like child’s play compared to what I have to do next.

Leave her behind.

Tess

Rockland’s surprised me at work. He’s brought that sexy little red sports car and he’s taking me out for an early dinner. He slides in beside me and I enjoy the scent of the leather seats. He never drives these things for long and they always have that new car smell. We pull out of the Village gate and I ask, “Where are you taking me?”

There’s a heaviness hanging around his shoulders. He must have had a long day. When he speaks, it seems he’s making an effort to keep his tone light. “We are trying the diner again.”

“After last time? What if that waitress remembers us?”

“It was weeks ago. She’s had hundreds of customers since then.”

“I think we may have made an impression.”

He smirks at me. “Such as? You think she got some idea I was taking you home to punish your naughty bottom and get you back into line?”

I mumble under my breath, “Something like that.”

His tone is soft. Almost apologetically, he says, “You can order the salad this time.”

“Good. At the rate you’re feeding me, my clothes are all going to be too small, soon.”

“You’re perfect at any size.”

I blush. Remember the way his face looked the night before. Taking my breath away. I joke, “What about as big as a house?”

He says, “I’d still think you were beautiful. You’ll always be beautiful in my eyes.”

“Thank you,” I manage to murmur. A soft glow comes over me.

“But I’d still make you run for cardiovascular health.” He gives me that crooked smile and squeezes my knee, leaving his hand there.

And I like it.

Shyly, I put my hand on top of his. He shoots me a smile. But his gaze is heavy. I worry that he’s bothered by what we did last night, how intense our connection was. I push the thought from my mind. I’m sure it’s just a long day. Three missions total, I think he mentioned.

I smile back, the pad of my thumb stroking the back of his hand.

I’ve softened a good bit over the last few weeks. And now that we’ve once again crossed the bridge of sleeping together, things feel… different between us. But a good different. A warm, melty feeling. I’m so attached to him now, I’ve no idea what I’ll do when he goes back. I decide not to think about it and enjoy the ride.

There’s something so intimate about riding together in such a sexy car. It reminds me of our bodies twisted around one another the evening before. Two becoming one. My glow deepens. We pull up to the diner. He parks. Gets out. Always the gentleman, he opens my door, taking my hand. Our fingers interlock and a surge of electricity dances up my arms.

He leads me into the restaurant, and surprisingly, we are seated at the same booth as before. I slide in the red leather seat and say, “Funny. Same seat.”

His eyes lock on mine and he says, “I called ahead and requested it.”