Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance #2)(3)

In a movie, they'd both be buck-ass naked writhing around on the bed, posing artistically to give me a full view of everything. This isn't a movie. The pair are in the bed and covered up with sheets. Veronica is on top of her girlfriend, and while they're not putting on a show for anyone's benefit when she sits up a little I can see that I was wrong, and they're real, and as the man said, they're spectacular. I feel dirty looking, though. I look away, even as they put on a different kind of show. I need to think with my brain and not my balls and have at least a shred of decency. Don't look.

A man must have a code.

There she is, my huckleberry. The necklace, just sitting on the dresser. In the dark, they don't see me. Here, at the very end, my heart pounds, my mouth goes dry, and I move to take it. No sound. If I move to fast, just snatch it and run, I'll give myself away. The master employs discipline, subtlety, finesse. The master lifts the necklace without even the sound of diamonds scraping on wood, curls it in his hand and very securely tucks it into the pouch on his belt, and turns.

From here it's a matter of slipping out the way I came in.

Now, if I wanted to be daring I'd have planted some means to rappel down the side of the building or climb up to the roof, but I'm not daring, I have Brenda for that. Once I'm through the door I gingerly pull it shut, and crouch along the wall. The lights are still low, lasers and party lights and fog making the whole thing too easy as I slip back into my uniform and meet up with her.

"Follow me," she says, grabbing my wrist.

I let her lead the way to the service elevator. Another staff member in a crushed velvet suit with a bored look in his face strides out, and we just walk in. I hit the button and we ride down to the eighth floor.

I can see she's nervous. She's shaking like a leaf. I squeeze her hand, hoping to calm her down.

She gives me that look.

I know she's attracted to me. It's part of how this whole thing works. I've been flirty, but this is work, and after tonight she's never going to see me again.

I had a long talk about this with my father. No attachments, no regrets. She's going to be fine, she will be well compensated for this.

That’s where we're headed now. Two staff members will attract no attention, walking down the hall, but they might heading into a room. So I hit pause on the elevator, and Brenda holds it while I open the elevator roof and pull down the bag I've planted there. She continues to hold the button while I change, slipping out of crushed velvet and into something simpler, just slacks and a dress shirt to cover up my body glove.

Then I hold the elevator for her and turn away.

I spare a look over my shoulder. I have a code, I'm not dead, and Brenda has a nice body. She's not wearing anything fancy under her uniform, just a bra and white cotton panties, but the sight of the way she hunches her back and shyly hides her body from me stirs something down below and I look away, more to preserve my calm than give her privacy. She changes into sweat pants and a long t-shirt and sneakers, and then the elevator resumes its route, with the gym bag now slung over my shoulder.

The elevator stops, and we walk out. She's pulled her hair into a ponytail and is consciously looking away from the security cameras, trying too hard.

No one is going to check, hon. I planned this.

I open the door and motion her inside, close it, lock it.

"Where is it?"

"Calm," I murmur. "Sit on the bed."

She goes over and folds her hands on her knees, nervously watching me pull open the bottom drawer of the TV stand. Hotel rooms, at the most basic level, are all the same. This place charges over a grand a night and to me it looks like a Motel 6 with fancier carpeting. You still have to pay for the booze in the fridge, even. Anyway.

In the bottom drawer is a small bag, like a toiletry bag. An attache would be so cliche, you know?

I drop it on her lap and her mouth trembles as she opens it and pulls out a wrapped pack of hundred dollar bills. Ten grand. It's probably more money than she's ever seen all together in her entire life, and there's nine more inside the bag. Another reason to skip the briefcase: It would be mostly empty, we're not paying her that much. Enough to cover her bills and have maybe sixty left over, enough to make herself quiet comfortable. I let her count and moon over the money while I repack my goodies, most carefully placing the necklace in a prepared box, first checking it for damage. It's as pristine as the day it left the jeweler's grasp.

As I close everything up, she says, "You're going to leave now, aren't you?"

She looks very sad. She has big, expressive brown eyes, and dyes her hair a pretty natural shade of auburn. She's a woman but my brain calls her a pretty girl. It must be the vulnerability. She looks younger than her thirty-six years, doesn't look nearly old enough to be my mother. She looks scared.

Not my problem. Time to go.

"Yeah. That's how this works. I can't be seen around here for a while. Maybe ever."

She nods. I start for the door.

"Wait. I want something else."

"We have an agreement. You got your hundred grand. Wait a month to give your notice, then get out of here like we talked about."

She doesn't say anything. Instead she stands up and slips her arms around me from behind. Her lips are cool, then hot on the side of my neck. Her hand slides down my stomach and I can feel her breath quicken as she feels the muscle, and then her hand slips inside my jeans, and her fingers wrap around my cock.