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Shit. There’s a world of questions, nuances in that one word, in her utterance of my name.
I nod at the body. “I’m going to assume you’re not here for some kind of weird ass tryst with bird-boy on the ground.”
Jac kicks the body and peers at it. “Oh, yeah. His mask is birdlike.”
Jac fucking Miller, everyone. Poster boy for stating the obvious.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“You really think I know?” she says, voice a slight snap.
“So not a kink game then.”
I meet that amber gaze, and it turns molten as unsaid things shift and thicken between us. I know the kind of kink she likes and it’s rough, borderline wrong, and so hot it could burn my hotel down to the fucking ground.
It’s not just me that feels the heat. Jac does too. I know the fucker. He’s a little too still, a little too focused on the body. He’s biding time. And I think, for once, Jac did this to help.
Jac’s fucked up version of savior, hero. Man of the goddamned hour.
Someone trying to shake of the shackles of guilt for going too far without Cat’s explicit consent.
I don’t have to like him to see that, but Jac’s a big fucking boy now, so he can deal.
I crouch down a moment, ease off the mask. And go still. So does Jac.
We both know this asshole. Not personally, but dirty bastards who hire themselves out to dirtier bastards tend to make a blip on the radar of the Quinate.
“I didn’t hire him,” Jac says needlessly.
“Me either,” I mutter.
I look then at Cat. She’s got a dispassionate expression on, but her eyes are full of silent fury.
“Odd. No one was outside the room,” I point out.
Her gaze switches to me. “Trying to say something, Hendrick?”
“Not unless you got something to tell me.”
“Again, nothing to do with kinks. Get your mind out of the gutter.” Her words are soft beneath the anger, sumptuous inside the brittle edges.
My cock twitches because Magdalena Rossi has an entire stable of talents that have nothing to do with heists. “With mynecklace? I’d maybe pay to see that. But…you’re not wearing it. And your clothed.”
She is, however, wearing a cheap and nasty bracelet thing, and for a woman who never wears jewelry, it’s got my attention.
Jac snorts. “That’s my fucking fantasy, too. One naked MG, inmynecklace. Rope. Her ass and cunt dripping with cum, still open from a thorough—”
“Miller.” I growl my warning, and to my shock, he heeds it.
“Smooth, Jac,” Cat says. “Really smooth.”
This time he locks eyes with her, and that pull that’s between them is as strong as the one with me and her. Just…different.
“You like it,” he says. “Don’t you, MG?”
“I’m just saying that it’s odd.” I cut the tension into ribbons. “Then again, this isn’t the kind of hotel to allow that to happen.”
“How do you know?”
