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He turns to face me slowly, a light flickering inside the depths of his icy blue eyes.
“You’re a little tall for me to kiss, so you might have to bend down a little and help a girl out.” I stand on my tiptoes to prove a point, puckering my red lips slightly so he gets the idea.
After another long moment of pause, Waldo bends just enough for me to place a kiss at the center of his cheek.
“Is that supposed to be for good luck?” he asks.
“You’ll have to let me know if it works.” Another waiter passes us, and I flag him down, grabbing another flute of champagne and replacing my empty glass. “Or perhaps it’s not good luck so much as a wish,” I continue.
“Then what have you wished for?” His gaze scours me from top to bottom, lingering on my chest.
“It’s not polite to ask a lady to reveal her secrets. Not unless you’d like to share first.”
“I’m not in the habit of letting people know my secrets. Not unless they are easily carried out.”
“Then perhaps you’d like to tell me something you’re most proud of; one of those wishes you’ve had carried out.” The fastest way to get a man to open up was to get him to brag about himself, and in this case, it fits right along with the flirtation. Stroke his ego, make him believe I’m invested in what he has to say, and he’ll start to talk. They always inevitably slip, especially when there’s alcohol involved.
I take another sip of champagne while I wait for him to answer.
Waldo the Rat happens to be a big bragger. It’s easier than expected to get him to talk, and my second flute of champagne settles nice and warm in my empty stomach. His movements grow grander as he speaks, life glinting in his eyes through each story.
“You know, working with the Zicaris brings about a fair share of drama.” Waldo’s voice drops into a conspirator’s whisper.
“Oh my, tell me more.” I’m close enough to touch him, and I run my free hand along his forearm. He’s about to let something big slip. I can feel it.
A throat clears, and Waldo straightens, his gaze shuttering, the rest of him going stiff. “Marco.” He inclines his head just as heat presses into my back—a solid, male body.
An arm bands around my waist. “I see you’ve been keeping my date company while I’ve been busy, Waldo,” Marco replies.
My blood is alight, his nearness doing strange things to me, undoing every last reservation I have about my ability to get this job done.
I don’t make the mistake of turning to look at Marco, however. Not when he yanks me back against him, his grip leaving no other way to interpret his actions: possession.
“Yes, we’ve been swapping stories,” Waldo says tightly.
“And perhaps I’d been about to share a story of my own. There is quite a lot of drama in my world, too—such as trying to find a place to hide a gun in this outfit.” I let out a laugh.
“That’s enough.” Marco yanks me back harder. “Say goodnight,Natasha.”
I barely have a chance to glance at Waldo the Rat before Marco hauls me against his chest and turns, my feet skimming the ground.
“What the hell are you doing?” he whispers in my ear.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re fucking drunk. I leave you alone for five minutes and you, what? Down an entire bottle of champagne? Here I thought you had more tact than this.”
Tact? I’m not drunk.
I’ve only had three glasses of…my head spins, my limbs hot and heavy once I tune into the sensation. I’d been so focused on getting the Rat to talk that I hadn’t given a thought to drinking more than I should have.
“I’m not sloppy,” I argue.
“Which is what a sloppy drunk would say. You almost gave yourself away, did you know that? Did you even realize?” Marco pulls me away to the party down a short hallway lit by only a few lights speckled overhead.
He stops to drag open a door to the left and thrusts me inside before slamming it shut behind us. Crates are stacked against one of the walls, an antique fainting couch with gilded finishes in the center. Art hangs on the other walls, along with several display stands boasting vases and sculptures. There’s more wealth in one room than I’ve seen in my life.
“What are you doing?” I turn on him. I know I’m small in size, but I’ve had combat training, and I don’t appreciate him man-handling me. “I almost got him to talk. Do you know how much intel I could have gotten from him?”
