We were both shaking like leaves in the wind. Beneath our feet were ten book thieves wondering what the hell we were doing up here.
This was what could blow our cover.
He let out a rough exhale, pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. We’re going to get found the hell out, and it’ll be because I kissed you.”
“I wanted it,” I said. “We’re both at fault.”
“This is crazy,” Sam said. “We need to stop.”
But whether he was aware of it or not, he kept dragging his mouth along my neck again. And I kept arching against his thick cock. Finally emboldened, our hands were relentless in their exploration.
“I agree,” I sighed, as he bit my earlobe. Tugging it. Soothing it with his tongue.
“I’m going to let you down now,” he said against my ear. “But don’t think for a second I wouldn’t be doing things differently.”
I nodded, too turned on for coherent speech. I slid easily down his body, which meant I got to experience the feel of his erection again. With respectful fingers, he straightened the straps of my dress as I attempted to brush away the wrinkles on his tuxedo jacket. He dipped his head, and I un-messed his messed-up hair, smoothing down the strands.
“I never thought I’d see the day when your hair wasn’t perfectly in place,” I mused.
“This is the first time it’s ever been out of place.” His gaze was flirtatious, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Another point for me, I guess,” I said.
He turned off the water.
Are you okay? I mouthed.
Sam nodded. He pressed his palm to my cheek, a river of unspoken sentiments flowing between us. We needed to get back to this case. But the urge to sit and spill my secrets to this man was unbearably tempting.
Instead, I straightened my glasses—the final piece out of order.
“I’ll be one more minute,” I whispered.
He left a sweet kiss on my cheek and slipped back out of the bathroom.
I immediately dropped onto the toilet, with only the drip-drip-drip of the faucet to distract me from my racing, lust-fueled thoughts. I knew what I needed to do, but I also needed twenty seconds. Twenty seconds to slow my heartbeat. Twenty seconds to catch my breath.
Beneath my dress, my nipples were hard and aching against the tight material. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that if Sam and I weren’t in the middle of an historic building while deep undercover, he would have fucked me on this bathroom sink. Probably would have ripped the whole thing right off the wall with the force of his powerful thrusts. His ass flexing with every motion, my bare legs wrapped around his trim waist, one hand over my mouth to keep our tryst secret.
Oh, god, I wanted that.
My forehead dropped to my hands. The sensations were too strong. He had incited an arousal that was too distracting and much too persuasive. But the fantasies kept coming—Sam and I staring at each other in the mirror as he fucked me from behind, dress around my waist. Sam on his knees with his head between my thighs.
Me on my knees. Staring at Sam with his cock hard and ready for my lips.
I turned the faucet back on and splashed icy cold water on my face until I shocked myself back into the present moment. I looked drunk. Wild and winded. I forced myself to go through Birdie’s messages. All from “friends” who’d seen me at the convention. Every single one was marked unseen.
Thank god.
I fired off general replies to maintain their trust, but then I deleted them all. Either Birdie and Julian had the flu of the century…
…or there was another, more insidious reason why they weren’t here this weekend.
They might have been the rising rock stars in the world of book theft. But now it seemed like they were up to their ears in scalding-hot water.
Are you safe?
Abe’s text came through again.
Safe. Just a lot going on, I sent back.
A beat later: That other firm is still saying they’ll have visual confirmation to Scarlett by midnight. Thoughts?
That was an hour from now. And every investigative instinct I had was screaming that the letters were here. Sam and I were on the right trail. Had to be. And pitting us against another firm was like setting a match to a trail of gasoline. If we weren’t busy competing with each other, competing with someone else was even