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"It's the way it's got to be done." He clasped his hands behind his back before he lost the battle to touch her again. She'd made the call to end things between them. He wasn't so hard up that he had to chase after women who had no interest in getting caught. "We go in blind and there's a chance we won't get Essie out of there at all. Fane is armed and his people are fanatical. That's a shitastic combination. We have to do this right."
She stopped pacing and stood with her arms crossed and one hip popped out, all attitude and sass. "So what, I just sit here and twiddle my thumbs all night like a good girl instead of making sure Essie is safe?"
Oh God. The ideas that popped into his head at the mention of all night were very R-rated and totally unobtainable. She'd made the call. There wasn't going to be anything between them. Fine. He just had to think of it as a mission. He had to babysit the client. What would he do with any ot
her client in this situation? There wasn't a TV in the room. He spotted a box of cards in the middle of the small table.
"I was thinking we'd play cards."
As long as it wasn't strip poker, he just might survive the night without losing his mind.
Chapter 20
Elisa
Being someone else could be fun—like trying on an expensive pair of leather pants and knowing you'd never buy them, but still loving the way they made your ass look. Other times, it was exhausting, as if you were trudging your way through a muddy swamp in high heels. Pretending to be a gun-toting, hate-filled, prospective cult member sure as hell fell into the second category.
Elisa shut the heavy oak door behind her and managed to keep her game face on, pretending to admire all of the homey touches to the guest cottage while Marko swept the place for bugs of the video and audio variety using what looked like a cell phone. The member of the Crest Society were paranoid sons of bitches, and she wouldn't put it past them to have the cottage on a closed-circuit video and audio feed. It's exactly what she would have done.
"We're good." He pocketed the frequency counter and sat down on the corner of the bed. "Next time I say I'm up for a little undercover, please remind me of today."
Like he ever listened to her about anything. If he did, she would have already seen all those glorious muscles of his up close and personal. The B-Squad was full of prime hotness, but no one was quite like Marko. He was big—six feet five inches big—and built like a tank covered in tattoos. He had dark eyes, black hair, a trim beard, and steel bars that ran through his nipples. The last bit she'd spotted when he'd swapped shirts on a mission a few months ago. To her utter disappointment, that was all the clothing he'd taken off. Good thing she had an amazing imagination to fill in all the blank spots—one that was already putting images in her head that involved lots and lots of exposed, tattooed skin and hard muscle.
"What? You didn't have fun in Patriarchy Land?" she asked, teasing him to get herself back on level ground before she lost focus, a definite problem around him.
"Not even close." He let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Plus I never set eyes on Fane."
"He must be keeping a close watch on Essie." She stopped in front of Marko, standing between his parted legs, and turned around. "Unzip me so I can get out of this thing."
The tight collar on the sister wives' horror of a dress had scratched against her neck all day. The only thing that sounded better than busting Marko's chops was getting the stupid outfit off.
"Can't you do it yourself?"
Dudes. They did not understand the pain of being a girl. "Asks the man who's never been trapped in a dress that's half on and half off. Help."
There was a moment of utter stillness behind her before strong fingers grasped the zipper and lowered it down to her ass in a rush. The back of her dress flapped open and she took a deep breath of freedom.
"Thank God. I thought that thing was going to choke me." She shimmied out of the dress and stepped over the pile of material at her feet while luxuriating in the cool air-conditioned air blowing against her overheated skin. "Women's retreat." She barked out a hard laugh and rolled her sore shoulders. "More like detention center. I spent the day sweating my ass off making bread in a hot kitchen while you had your little tour. Please tell me you learned something worthwhile."
"Get dressed," he said, his deep voice strained. "Then we'll talk."
She went still. Claustrophobia had been clawing away at her all day thanks to that dress, and she hadn't been able to think past the relief of getting the damned thing off. Now that her fear of being constrained wasn't shredding her control, she looked down.
Oops.
She was wearing a black bra and boy shorts the Crest Society would definitely not approve of and a pair of nondescript ballet flats. The undergarments covered more than her string bikini but, judging by his tone, not enough for Marko. Her smirk came automatically. She couldn't help it. Something about teasing the quiet giant just plain did it for her. Oh, this was going to be fun.
Elisa managed to smother her grin before putting a hand on one hip and turning around to face him. "What's wrong?"
He stared at a spot right over her right shoulder, tension squaring his jaw. "You're in your underwear."
She cocked her head, playing the dumb routine to the hilt. "Uh-huh?"
Marko's dark gaze slid over her, blasting heat across every millimeter of bare skin. "Cut the crap, Elisa."
Poking the bear was a bad idea, but damn, it sure was fun. She glanced down at herself and then back up at Marko, taking enough time to enjoy the view from his thick thighs to his broad chest to his glowering face. This was their game. She teased. He resisted. They both knew eventually it would come to a head. She just hoped her headboard would survive the encounter.
Fuck that. She'd be disappointed if it did.
