Conning For Keeps (An Agents of TRAIT Novella) (Entangled Flaunt) (6 page)

The kiss hadn’t been real—none of this was real, no matter how it had felt. And it sure as hell had felt like Marissa meant it—but was she just such a good actress that even part of him had believed it? Only a few more minutes, and he’d have to give himself a stronger reminder that it was all a mission, a con. For now though, they needed to get out of here. “Point taken. Have a good night, Miss Sheppard.”

“After the personal show, I think we’re all close enough that you can call me Evangeline.”

He snorted in response, then scooped Marissa into his arms. No point in risking her being too drunk to walk. They were out the door without another word, followed by Evangeline’s laughter.

Outside, Marissa snuggled in closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m completely okay to walk, but this is probably better.”

“Agreed.” She didn’t need to know how much he liked the feeling of her close and, since she hadn’t argued, it was perfectly logical to pretend it was all part of the act. They didn’t speak again, and the lack of distraction made him all too aware of her. The musky floral notes of her perfume drew him back to the way their mouths and bodies had melded with each other.

He wanted to taste more of her, all of her.

By the time he shut their door with his foot, he was a walking ball of need.

He tipped her toward the floor so she could stand, but instead, Marissa twisted in his embrace, pressing her lips to his again and setting his nerve endings ablaze.

Had she felt it, too? That primal connection? The way her tongue probed his mouth, searching for a response, screamed ‘yes.’ There was no audience now, only the two of them and the need hovering like a ghost. Perhaps giving into one ghost would help banish another.

At least for tonight.

As soon as he toed off his shoes, Trevor carried her over to the bed, laying her down gently. Their kiss broke, and she met his gaze, her eyes shining with the kind of desire he’d never seen before. Already her hands were at his buttons, sliding them free with a thief’s dextrous fingers.

Then her hands parted the cotton, sliding it over his arms along with his jacket. He stood to shake the clothes off, and she followed, sitting up on the bed. Her lips wrapped around his left nipple, sucking the little nub into her mouth. His toes curled against the carpet as her teeth grazed over the sensitive bit of flesh.

Gentle as he’d been laying her down, now he shoved her back on the bed, fisting her thin t-shirt and tearing it open. She hadn’t bothered with a bra for her performance with Evangeline, and the firm, perfect breasts he’d only glimpsed through lace were laid bare before him.

She tugged on his arms, and when that didn’t work, she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him forward until she could catch his neck and urge him toward her. “Kiss me, Trevor. Kiss me like you want me.”

The desperation in her voice tore at him, and the truth escaped his lips before he could stop it. “I
do
want you. More than you know.”

But as much as he needed to lose himself in her, he couldn’t allow himself to think about it, talk about it. Not now. For the moment, he needed to forget the rest of the world. He buried his head in her neck, nipping at the skin there before he traveled lower, closer and closer to the dusky, rose peaks of perfection.

When Trevor caught her nipple with his mouth, Marissa’s back arched off the bed. He felt so
good
. And he wante
d her. It wasn’t an act for the mission. This was just them, away from prying eyes and suspicion. No ranks. No rules. This was raw and real—everything she’d imagined and more. All her worries over how he felt about her past vanished in that one touch.

She tugged at his belt until it came free then undid his button, sliding her hand into his pants and dipping below the silk of his boxers. A shiver raced through her as she wrapped her hand around his length. Wetness pooled between her legs when she stroked.

Hers. He could be hers right now.

Not for the mission. Not for God and country.

Just for her.

One kiss had led to this. She’d have to thank Evangeline for pushing them to this point. Trevor took a second to breathe and flicked his tongue over her nipple, and Marissa seized the opportunity and slithered down the bed.

“What are you doing?” He stood upright.

Perfect.
On her knees, spine pressed to the edge of the bed, Marissa slid her hands down his hips, taking his pants and boxers with them. His erection sprang free, and her breath caught. The stereotype of black men having bigger cocks definitely held true where Trevor was concerned. She wanted it. All of it, in every way he’d give it to her.

She ran her tongue up the underside, smiling as he let out a deep moan. Her tongue flicked at his glans, lapping up the drop beading there, and then she wrapped her lips around him, sliding down his shaft.

His fingers clawed through her hair as he sucked in a breath. She worked him with her mouth, taking as much as she could before she finally let her hand join in. Her tongue traced lazy circles around his head as she stroked him. The quiet noises he made only drove her on, wanting to take him all, make him come, show him what a very, very good idea this had been.

She tipped her eyes up to find him staring at her, a strange expression on his face. A mixture of want, need, and…a darkness she couldn’t quite identify. She had to know, and she understood Trevor well enough to realize she’d have to ask—before the moment passed. With a hint of longing, she sucked one last time on his length, drawing herself up to stand before him.

His cock pressed tight against her belly. When he shuddered, she could imagine him inside her and knew she was wet and more than ready. All he had to do was make that little jump.

Already his fingers toyed with the denim hugging her hips, but that strange expression remained. Her fingers traced his jaw, lingering for a moment on the fullness of his lips. “What is it? Worried Big Brother is watching?” She nibbled on his neck. “He can’t see a thing. I put the shoes in the closet already.”

Every muscle in his body stiffened, and she couldn’t resist the urge to rub against him. All he had to do was say yes. There wasn’t any doubt anymore—he wanted her. He’d said so, and his actions and responses had said it louder and clearer.

Abandoning her hips, he took her hands in his and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I want this, Marissa. You know I do, but we can’t. I can’t.” He stepped back, his legs tangling in his pants.

His upset balance sent Marissa backward, her ass hitting the bed as he bent and hoisted his slacks, buttoning up before she managed to eke out the one word that kept playing in her head, “What?”

“I’m sorry.” He was already at the door.

Her heart seemed to stop beating as time stretched. He wouldn’t go. Couldn’t go. He couldn’t leave her like this. “What?” she asked again, a bit more frantically, as she scrambled to her feet.

The heat was nothing but a ghost when he looked at her now; all that remained was that unnamed emotion. And then he was gone, shutting the door and sealing her inside with nothing but her need to keep her company.

“Damn you, Trevor!”

Chapter Five

Justify My Love

Trevor spent half an hour wandering the bowels of the hotel, trying to cool the fire in his bl
ood. Finally, he
went outside and stood in the icy air clad in nothing but his pants. A minute out there had everything
but
his blood chilled.

He’d have stayed longer but feared frostbite would set in before he could get Marissa out of his head. Instead, he stalked the corridors for an hour, hunting for anything that would help them wrap this up sooner.

Before he did anything else stupid.

How had he come to this? Using a woman who screamed trouble to get his mind off the past and his desire to exact vengeance? That wasn’t the man he wanted to be, much less the man he’d proven himself to be.

He’d been recruited by the CIA during college but was deemed unfit for fieldwork because of his refusal to play nice with others. Then TRAIT had found him and, more than that, found a place for him in the field. They could use him, and he’d been a stellar agent for years.

Until tonight.

What had he been thinking pulling Marissa out of her hypnosis? Had it actually been noble intentions at play?

As sure as he’d been earlier, now he wasn’t convinced. He knew the parameters, how much keeping her in character had been stressed. Granted, no one had told him specifically that she couldn’t go right back under, but he knew he wasn’t supposed to break protocol.

The problem was, simply meeting Franco Canalis had him thinking revenge. He knew when Leo showed up, his control would have faltered. If he was going to make a play against the Canalis family, he wouldn’t do it on a whim. Which mean he’d needed someone there, tethering him to his sanity and the life he had now.

Marissa had been his only option.

Beyond that, there was a distinct problem with the way the mission had been set up: he hadn’t liked Mari. Pretending to be
in love
with her would’ve been impossible. Having sex with
her
was a non-option. As much as he wanted Marissa, he had to admit he wanted more than just her body, and that’s all Mari would have been.

Tonight he’d had Marissa in his arms. That kiss.
Ay Dios!
He’d kissed plenty of women in his time, but none of them had ever affected him like that. She’d been all he could think about—getting her alone, kissing her again, seeing where things could lead.

Which, in fairness, he did a bang-up job of. It led to a place that dreams were made of. Dreams of warm mouths and wet tongues and…

He shook himself.

They were on a mission—as she had so politely reminded him. Now wasn’t the time or place to lose themselves in each other. Maybe after, if and when he’d had time to come to grips with her past. Once she’d proven she was more agent than thief. Once he wasn’t using her as a gorgeous distraction. Once they had all the time in the world.

He eased open the door to their suite and slipped inside.

Moonlight cast the room in a cold glow, highlighting every curve and dip of the body on the bed. She had her back to him, whether intentionally or not, and he realized he’d surrendered the right to sleep next to her.

Had he stayed…hell, had he stopped her before the oral…maybe they could have talked it through. Found some balance between the connection he craved and the distance he wanted.

That couldn’t happen now—not tonight—and he had to accept the reality might be more along the lines of not ever. The thought left him colder than the time he’d spent barefoot in the snow had. He’d fix this.

Somehow.

But first they had to make it through this week. And he had to be the one ensuring that happened. It was his job, and that came first. The instant he forgot, people would get killed. Surely, Marissa would understand when he explained in the morning.

He stood at the side of the bed, gazing down at her sleeping form. The difference was startling. She didn’t rest softly like she had when she’d been “Mari.” Instead, Marissa curled up, as if protecting something in the circle of her body, her hand under the pillow where he had no doubt she’d stashed a weapon of some sort.

Even at rest, she was a flame dancing before him. Too enticing to resist, but if he got too close, he knew without a doubt he’d get burned. And still, he wanted to climb into the bed with her and curl against her warmth.

Instead, he wandered to the closet, tugged the spare blankets down, and settled onto the couch. As long as he lay still, his body more or less fit. His legs? Not so much. They dangled over one end, the arm already pressing against his thighs in a desperate attempt to slice them free so he’d be the right size. He cast a longing glance at the bed—at Marissa.

No.

He deserved the discomfort tonight and every night until she forgave him for being a rash and taciturn idiot.

Marissa stood in a grand room with a marble fireplace taking up most of the wall in front of her
. Certain Laugh
ter
hung over it, illuminated by a spotlight, casting every brush stroke in stark relief. She’d always thought the artist had painted in shades of gray, but now she saw the hints of red highlighting everything. Contrary to the title, the image didn’t evoke mirth. A pale imitation of
Head of a Woman
, a woman rested in a similar pose, but flames danced around her as if consuming her while she mused. No softness or subtlety to the lines, it had little artistic merit.

Yet it called to her like nothing else ever had.

It was there—
right there
—ripe for the taking. It could be hers. All she had to do was take it and run. She stepped forward, her fingers itching to grab it and disappear.

“What are you doing?”

She twisted her head. Evangeline stood, blocking the door on that side with the Canalis army at her back. Shadows cloaked the blonde in darkness, her smoky makeup taking on a sinister air.

Evangeline stepped forward and tipped her head toward
Certain Laughter
. “Is that what you really want? No you don’t, not when you could have more. Bring it here. You know they don’t appreciate your skills, but believe me, we would. We could use you and shower you with all the shiny baubles you’d want.”

Marissa swallowed hard, backing away from the devil with the crimson lips.

“It’s time to go.”

She spun around.

This voice—deep and familiar—came from her left. Trevor blocked the other door, the moon shining and casting a glow around him. The angel to Evangeline’s devil. “We can’t let them have it. Whether or not the curse is real, it’s too dangerous to leave in their hands. You know what you have to do.”

A step away from him and his radiance had her right in front of
Certain Laughter
again. It mocked her, its humor finally revealing itself. On tiptoe, she reached for it, grasping the edges of the frame and tearing it from the wall. It was so much lighter than it appeared. Nothing more than a piece of canvas edged in gilded wood.

She stared at it, savoring the moment.

“Marissa.” Trevor reached his hand toward her—cuffs dangled from his fingertips.

“Mari?” Evangeline smiled, showing far too many teeth.

Fingers clutched around the painting, Marissa spun and dashed to the big picture window behind her, crashing through it. Shards of glass sliced at her skin as she fell, and her blood spattered the painting, disappearing into the flames.

And then there was the ground.

…

Marissa jerked awake, her fingers clutching at empty air. Fuck a duck on Sunday, that was intense. She squeezed her hands into fists and willed her heart to slow down. It was a dream. A horribly screwed up dream that meant nothing. Right?

The stupidity with Trevor last night had just brought her past screaming back, taunting her. But, if she bolted with the painting, there’d be no coming back. Not to TRAIT. Not to Trevor. She’d also have betrayed the trust Josh had put in her all these years.

But no matter what Trevor thought, she wasn’t seriously thinking about bailing, whether to join the mob or go it alone. Was she?

No. Of course not. Besides, she didn’t believe in the stupid curse. She wouldn’t die from stealing the painting.

Would she? What if it was real? What if some hand of fate had kept her from going after it so long ago because it would have ended like the dream?

She blew out the breath she’d held in since the first question flared to life. No. The curse was bullshit, and she could resist temptation for a few days. Hell, she’d resisted the lure of Trevor for years, and now she knew damn well how sour the first taste of forbidden fruit was.

If nothing else good came of last night, at least he’d dulled her desire to grab hold of one more thing she wasn’t supposed to have.

Regardless of what the dream had shown.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she noticed the big lump of man hugging the couch. He looked like he was about to fall off, and she debated helping him in that regard.

All it would take was a push from the backside of the couch and he’d meet the floor up close and personal. But they were supposed to get “married” in four days, and no bride-to-be in her right mind would risk her man’s face like that.

An evil grin curled her lips.

Oh no, there were much better ways to take advantage of this.

Silently, she freed her phone from its charger and snapped a couple pictures. If she believed for an instant he’d gotten drunk the night before, she would have drawn on his face, but this was Trevor. Clean-living kind of defined his existence—he’d drink, but only wine unless he had no choice for a mission.

She debated her next move as she thumbed through her contacts. Not Greta—it’d clue her in that Marissa was no longer Mari. Ditto with Josh, plus she didn’t think he had an actual sense of humor. More and more names fell into auto-no.

Cal.

He was off, taking a much-needed vacation to some sci-fi convention in Detroit with his girlfriend. He wouldn’t necessarily know the details of their mission, and he most definitely
did
have a sense of humor. She sent the better of the two shots. A return text came a few seconds later.

LOL. If he’s not awake yet, can you swing a gunshot? The expression on his face would be priceless. Also…do I want to know where you are with a half-naked Trevor on your couch?

Oh
… She caught her lip between her teeth to keep from laughing as she texted back.

Tell you later, but it’s not nearly as fun a story as it could have been. His loss. Also, gun is a no-go, but I’ll do my best to improvise. I’ll try to send a picture of the aftermath before he kills me. Tell Penelope I said Hi before I died.

Marissa tiptoed across the room, stepping with care over the boards that squeaked. Every one of them had found their way into her brain instinctively like she’d been casing the place from the first time she walked through. She also knew exactly where the thickest book was on the inn’s lovely bookshelf. A bible, of course. If they wanted people to get on board with the “good book,” they probably shouldn’t have made it so easy to sin with.

One hand holding the phone steady, lining up the perfect shot, she raised the bible in the other, blew out a slow breath, and dropped it.

The book hit the floor nearly as loud as a rifle crack, and Trevor scrambled, his limbs flailing as he tried to right himself on legs that likely didn’t have much feeling left. Instead, he tumbled from the couch onto the floor, catching himself before any damage was done to his handsome face.

Marissa had snapped pictures through the whole thing but couldn’t take anymore because she was laughing too hard.

“You little…”

“Scorned woman? Neglected fiancée? Pick your poison, big guy.” She raced back to the bed, putting it between them as she sent the image of Trevor bolting up to Cal. The barrier was unnecessary since Trevor could hardly stand. The arm of the couch must have cut off his circulation in the night.

“What are you doing?”

“Call it vengeance.” She sent another picture.

“Damn it, Marissa. Stop. I’m sorry about last night, okay?”

She shrugged, holding in another laugh. “It’ll be fine as soon as I’m done.” She sent a third action shot.

She was still busy with the phone when Trevor barreled into her, tackling her to the bed. Obviously, his legs had recovered considering the way they were squeezing her. He pinned her arms down to the mattress. She fought against his grip, but it was too tight, too sure.

She almost managed to get one wrist free. At least she thought she had. Wrong. Trevor had just moved it to join the other in his left hand. Damn, the man had big…everything. She wriggled in his grip, but then he snatched the phone from her fingers.

“So let’s see what was so funny.”

“Trevor…” The word no was on her lips, but their position hit her, and she didn’t want to answer in the negative anymore. To anything. She wanted yes. A whole lot of yes. Maybe a few ‘more’s and a couple ‘oh-my-God’s thrown in for good measure.

It didn’t matter if he’d made it crystal clear she wasn’t good enough for him. The body wants what the body wants—even if hearts were removed from the equation.

He was busy thumbing through her photos, his brows pulling tighter and tighter together, full lips pressing into an angry line. She wriggled under him, pretending to try to break free as she worked her t-shirt higher and higher with her movements.

“What are you…” his words died in his throat when his gaze shifted from the camera to her. The rage burning in those deep brown eyes dimmed to a smolder that had Marissa wishing she could cross her legs and rub them together. Feeling him go hard against her didn’t help matters much.

“I’m trying to convince you that you shouldn’t have run out on me.” Bold words from the woman whose clit was throbbing against her already damp panties. His grip tightened on her wrists, making her wetter.