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"It's more than I wear to the beach, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"Yeah, you do."
She gave him the big-eyed look that always made men stupid. "Why would I want that?"
"It helps you distance yourself."
Bam. His words hit like a solid punch to the head, just enough to shock you silent but not enough to knock you out. She took a protective step back and was lifting her foot to take another before she caught herself and flipped him the bird.
"Whatever." She strutted over to her suitcase, which some Crest Society flunky had brought from the truck, and unzipped it before pulling out an oversized T-shirt and putting it on. It hung down to mid-thigh. "Better?"
He uncurled the fists he'd held tight to his thighs, but otherwise didn't acknowledge her question. "There are armed patrols on the perimeter and surveillance cameras at regular intervals. Once inside, only the guards are armed, and they're stretched thin because so many men are working outside the compound."
That wasn't how the Crest Society had worked in Daddy Fane's day. Back then they were a self-supporting operation. Looked like junior wasn't up for the task. At least not without an influx of money.
"That explains why he's so anxious for Mark Ryan's cash."
Marko nodded. "Exactly."
The information was good, but not the kind Clay Blackfish's friends at the ATF were looking for. They cared about weapons, not problematic change management.
"Did you spot anything that will get the Feds all hot and bothered?" she asked.
His mouth curled into an ornery grin. "Just the armory. Lots of stuff in there that Uncle Sam does not clear for sale to the general public."
"So why'd they show it to you?"
"Because I'm just that damn charming." Marko practically snarled his response, obviously not liking anyone questioning his abilities.
She lifted an eyebrow, but let it go. Marko was many things—intimidating, smart, tough, sexy as hell—but a sweet talker he was not. "Don't tell Lash. He'll think he's out of a job."
Marko snorted. "What did you find out?"
"I was with all the women, remember?" she asked in her best Southern belle accent while batting her lashes. "What could they possibly know?"
He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The don't-bullshit-me look on his face was enough.
"Fine." She shrugged. "Fane is having problems. We already knew about the money, but he's losing his power base. Too many of the patriarchy patrol saw him agreeing to a divorce as bad enough. That he let Tamara steal away with Essie was about as bad as it could get. There's talk of getting a new leader. Some think you and I are here to be Fane's replacement."
That last bit was what had made the ladies so chatty. When you depended on others for so much of your survival, you learned to always keep your options open during a power play.
"So why would Fane welcome us with open arms?"
"Maybe he didn't have a choice." She paced in front of the bed, rolling the problem in her head like a multi-colored marble that looked different depending on how the light shone through it. Fina
lly it hit her. "To not let us in would be as good as admitting weakness."
"More than a pretty face, aren't you?"
She executed a quick bow that brought her face level with his chest and the faint outline of those tempting bars against his T-shirt. Desire rolled through her, hot and hungry, as she straightened.
"Care to find out? Does the submissive miss get you going?" She lowered her gaze to the floor. "I can put the dress back on." She grasped the edge of her T-shirt and inched it up higher. "Or maybe it's the opposite and you're looking for a dirty girl to do all sorts of naughty things." She met his gaze, saw the same lust burning her up inside in his dark eyes. "Come on, Marko. I know the thought of it turns you on. Tell me what you want."
He stood up slowly, and the full impact of him hit her hard. It was more than just his size or the steely control he seemed to exert just by breathing. It was all of him. The testosterone-filled manliness of him. It sounded dumb even in her head, but there was just no other way to describe it. He was strong, self-contained, and devastatingly male. It took her breath away.
"You." He reached up and glided his thumb across her bottom lip. "No act, no fake personality. I want Elisa Sharp."
The declaration was a sudden wind that blew out a candle flame. All the heat, the wonder, the lust disappeared. No one got her. No one got the real Elisa. She'd made sure of that.
