Say the Word(113)
“I don’t know who we’ll see in there or what will happen. We’re going in blind, so we need to stick together. No going off by yourself, no heroics. As far as the members inside are concerned, you’re nothing but arm candy — don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t call any unnecessary attention to yourself. The less they notice you, the better you can observe them without detection. And, trust me, you don’t want to be on their radar if you can avoid it.” Bash grumbled something indecipherable under his breath. “I don’t care if we haven’t found anything — if either of us senses any kind of trouble, we leave. End of story.”
I nodded in agreement.
When we pulled up at the valet, Bash leaned over into my space, slipped one hand around the back of my neck, and pulled me toward him with little tenderness. His lips landed hard on mine, crushing them in a rough kiss that I knew would leave my mouth swollen and bruised. His tongue invaded my mouth in an abrupt onslaught that left me no time to prepare and utterly unable to even begin to return his kiss. And as quickly as he’d begun, it was over, leaving me dizzied and breathless. His hands released my neck and I fell back against the smooth leather seat, attempting to catch my breath and staring at him with wide eyes.
He cupped my jaw lightly, his thumb skimming over my well-bitten bottom lip. “I had to do that, at least once. Just in case… things don’t go well in there.”
A warm feeling spread through my chest and my throat went dry. Nipping at his thumb with my teeth, I tried to bring a smile back to his grim face. “Don’t say things like that. It’s going to be fine. And, if it’s not, well… I’ll make it up to you.”
His wolfish smile appeared.
“Not like that, you pervert.” I huffed. “I meant I’d buy you a beer or cook you dinner.”
“You cook now?” he asked, surprise evident in his eyes.
I laughed. “I can reheat take-out leftovers. Does that count?”
His laughter joined mine, filling the small space with joy and chasing away our apprehension for a brief moment. Eyes warm on my face, he leaned forward once more and touched his forehead to mine. “Let’s go,” he whispered against my lips.
For once, it was me who initiated. I threw caution to the wind and leaned in, brushing my lips against his. On the surface, it was a small kiss — a single ripple on the ocean of lust we’d been wading in for the past few weeks. But beneath the surface, in the deepest reaches of the sea, a monumental tidal shift had occurred.
When we broke contact, Bash stared at me, his expression totally unguarded and a question burning in his eyes. I opened my mouth to speak but before either of us could say anything, a valet appeared at my window and pulled open my door, extending his hand down to guide me from the car.
I’d always seen movie stars being helped from their vehicles by chauffeurs and laughed, thinking Jeeze, she can’t even get out of a car by herself? But tonight, I finally understood. There was no way heels this tall and a skirt this short would make it out of the Land Rover unassisted — at least, not without flashing the world a view of the lady bits I’d rather keep private.
The valet, a huge man clothed in a familiar black t-shirt with scrawling green print, led me around the front of the hood and handed me off to Sebastian, who was standing at the curb waiting for me. I slid my hand into the crook of his extended arm and smoothed my face into a mask of serenity. Summoning an air of confidence I certainly didn’t feel, I matched Bash stride for stride as we made our way up the elaborate marble stairway outside the towering four-story building. It looked imperial — like some odd mix between a traditional English estate and a gothic French cathedral leftover from ancient times. Not wanting to seem like a naive, wide-eyed tourist, I only allowed myself a quick glance upward, but it was enough to note that there were several turrets and multi-tiered gables ornamenting the stone-shingled roof. I even thought I spotted a baleful gargoyle or two, but was forced to look away before I could make out a clear image. The only flaws in the building’s elegant, old-fashioned veneer were the security cameras — sleek, black electronic eyes trained on the stairwell and valet entrance, no doubt there to alert anyone inside about approaching visitors.
The ornate gilded doors loomed before us, at least fifteen feet tall. We reached the top step and waited for several seconds. When nothing happened, Bash shrugged and extended his hand to take hold of the right door handle. Freezing in simultaneous alarm, we shared a quick glance as the sound of lock-bars unbolting and the loud creak of grating hinges rang out in the night. The doors swung inward, revealing a well-adorned atrium of priceless antique furniture pieces and elaborate wall sconces. At the far side of the hall, a huge grand staircase — at least twenty feet across, and solid marble from the looks of it — dominated the wall space and presumably led up to the second floor, though at the moment it was cordoned off with red velvet ropes. A resplendent chandelier in tiers of gold, glass, and light hung from the ceiling, its statement unmissable: this place we’d come to was a haven for the truly wealthy.
We stepped inside hesitantly, unsure how to proceed. My grip tightened on Sebastian’s arm as my eyes swept the hall, searching for any living beings and finding none. The click of my heels against the gold-veined marble was the only noise to be heard in the hushed hall, until the delicate clearing of a throat sounded several feet to our left.