Page 470 of Tease Me


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“And then there were the laser alarms that you didn’t even know existed. An expert on avoiding those, are you?”

Now he just seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Maybe I would have gotten caught, but I could have played it off as being lost.”

He nodded. “A very believable story, given your black raincoat. Nice ‘disguise’”—he used air quotes—“by the way.”

“No need to be sardonic.”

“Good word. That’s your strong suit, Ms. Armand.”

“Ashlee,” I corrected, although I thought the moment for rapport building was probably gone.

He gave one curt nod. “Ashlee, your writing is your strength, your weapon, and your shield.”

That turn of phrase intrigued me. I leaned forward again, ready to capture any hints he dropped about who he really was.

“We should all play to our strengths,” he continued. “In case you need more encouragement to stay in your own lane, here are a few ways my team and I cleaned up after your one-woman crime spree.” He began ticking off points on his fingers. “My team remotely erased the footage of you sneaking through a foreign nation’s embassy hallways in your raincoat. They disarmed the office door alarm seconds before you tried and would have failed.” He fished my compact out of his tuxedo jacket pocket and laid it on the coffee table. “You should let your supplier know that descrambler model is two generations old and wouldn’t have done a damn thing to open the cipher lock.”

Talking about my supplier felt uncomfortably close to discussing a source. I lied out of habit. “I ordered it online.”

“You did not. In fact, given the specs, I’m pretty sure I know who sold it to you. I’ll tell him myself.”

I read his implication. He planned to cut off my future access to spy gear. Luckily for me, I had other sources, so I let that one ride.

He resumed counting off my mistakes. “We disabled the laser alarms you tripped. I carried you to safety.”

“That one’s on you.” I sat up straight and stared him down. “You drugged me. I could have gotten myself to safety if I’d been conscious.”

He pointed to my stilettos under the coffee table. “Not in those, you couldn’t. It required running.”

“Well, obviously, not in—”

“Ms. Armand,” he interrupted me, his voice back to being sultry and seductive. “Ashlee, a few words of advice.”

I stopped arguing and waited for him to continue speaking. I wondered if that voice of his was some sort of secret government weapon. It made me want to listen to him, touch him. Then again, maybe my wandering thoughts had something to do with whatever he’d drugged me with. I decided that was likely, and I couldn’t be blamed for my low impulse control. I gave into the invitation of his voice and reached out one finger toward the tattoo on his chest. I traced the upper edge of it. His breathing remained even, but his pupils dilated. He covered my hand with his and trapped my palm against his hot skin. His heart pounded wildly.

He stroked his fingers over the back of my hand. “Sadly, any more contact than this isn’t in the cards for us.”

My own pulse pounded in my throat as my lizard brain took over and flashed potential images of “more contact” to the rest of my body. I wasn’t alone in my sexual attraction. He was physically reacting to me, too, and he wanted me to know it. I allowed myself a few seconds to enjoy the adrenaline rush that accompanied the sexual magnetism between us, then focused my mind so I wouldn’t miss the reason for his admission.

“Are you really going to give me a word of advice, or will it be a demand?” I had the strangest urge to hear him make demands of me. Sexy, dirty demands.

He released my hand, and I took my time removing it from his chest. My head cleared a bit when we were no longer touching.

“Advice, demands, whatever makes you listen,” he finally answered. “First, eat some breakfast. It will settle your stomach and lessen the sedative’s other side effects. Speaking of the sedative, it will make you drowsy for a few more hours, so second, get some rest. After that, call the person helping you—I’m guessing an editor—and tell them your off-the-books investigation into your kidnapping is over. Then—and is this really just advice from a reader who is also a fan—forget the fluff piece on Luka Kovac, drop the shrinking violet act, and get back to exposing corporate corruption.”

“Advocating as a fan?” I arched my eyebrows. “Nice touch, appealing to my ego. I’ll take it under advisement.”

He tapped his ear and started talking to his friends, who were still invisible to me but whom I no longer doubted were real. “I’m ready,” he said. “Pull into the garage.”

Electronic garage doors are surprisingly easy to hack, so when I heard mine roll open, I didn’t bother asking how they’d taken control of it.

When TJ stood to leave, I touched the back of his hand. He turned toward me and waited.

I glanced away from him. “It occurs to me that I haven’t thanked you yet for rescuing me. So, thank you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but if you really want to thank me, don’t require rescuing again.”

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