Page 12 of When He Lies
But he had moved forward a bit more, actually stepped into the hallway, and she started swinging that door closed. “Good night.” The door was nearly shut?—
He spun back around. His hand slapped against the wood of the door before it could close fully.
What is it going to take with this man?
“I wanted to kiss you on our first date. I wanted to kiss you on the second date. I wanted to kiss you tonight, as soon as I picked you up.”
Simone sucked in a breath.
“If you want the full truth…”
She would love it, yes.
“I wanted to kiss you the very first moment I saw you. I’ve wanted to kiss you every moment that we’ve been together.”
His words sounded truthful.
“Now that I have kissed you…” Deeper, a little darker. “I will never forget how good you taste. I’ll never forget the little moan you make when my lips take yours.”
She did not remember moaning. Not that she had not potentially done so. Simone just did not recall a moan.
“I want your mouth against mine even more than I did before because, Simone Sailor, you are one hell of a fucking fine kisser.” With that, he let go of the door and walked away.
She shut the door. Then her fingers rose to her mouth. Her index finger slid along her upper lip. You are one hell of a fucking fine kisser, too, Ryan Quinn. It was really too bad that she would never have the chance to kiss him again. But some things were simply not meant to be.
She and Ryan were one of those not-meant-to-be things.
A thief—no, no, a retrieval specialist—did not belong with a billionaire. Not even for one amazing, sweaty, heart-stopping night.
Her hand fell. Her fingers darted into one of the hidden pockets of her gown, and Simone pulled out the remote control for the gallery’s alarm. Time to get to work.
“Mission accomplished, Jez,” Ryan said as he paced the guest room to the left of Simone’s room. His right hand gripped his phone, holding it against his ear, while the other hand shoved into his inner tux coat pocket and pulled out his prize. An egg. Not just any egg, of course. A Fabergé egg that had been created for the Russian Imperial family all the way back in 1897. Very distinct. Made of gold, diamonds, designed to match the coronation gown of?—
“You found the egg?” Jezebel Jenkins demanded. “You waltzed into the party and just found a thirty-million-dollar egg?”
“You seem surprised.” He lifted up the egg, squinting at it. “Come on,” he chided her. “First, it’s me. So why was there ever any doubt that I could do the job? And do it in record time?”
His boss’s sigh traveled straight to his ear. Jezebel was in the top echelons at the CIA. The woman normally tolerated zero bullshit, but, since he happened to know for a fact that he was her favorite agent, he was allowed to tease her a bit. Carefully, of course.
“I didn’t expect you to succeed quite so quickly,” Jez muttered. “I also expected Frederick Bradwin to not be such a colossal dumbass and to make this so very easy for you.”
The light hit the egg. “I think you’re underestimating the value of my prize,” he told her. “We both know some estimates have this baby as high as one hundred million—” Ryan broke off.
Had he just heard a creak from the hallway? He shoved the egg back into his tux pocket.
“You are being extremely careful with the egg, aren’t you?” Jez asked.
“Absolutely.” He cracked open the bedroom door and caught sight of a distinct figure in a glorious red dress darting down the hallway. What in the hell?
“That egg is key for our investigation,” Jezebel said. “We can prove Frederick’s involvement with Konstantin Volkov because that egg is the link between them.”
Konstantin Volkov. Otherwise known as the Russian Wolf. A seriously dangerous international criminal who had been at the top of the CIA’s apprehension list for years. Finally, finally, they were going to take down the bastard.
It wasn’t that the egg was just payment for services rendered. Oh, no. The web was far more complicated than that.
“Konstantin intends to access the supply lines that Frederick’s family once used for their textile business. Only instead of shipping and sending out textiles, they plan to funnel drugs and weapons around the world. This is going to be a big break for the Agency.” There was no missing the satisfaction in Jezebel’s voice. “We’ll bring Frederick in, question him, make him turn on Konstantin and—uh, Ryan? Ryan, are you listening to me?”
He was still peering down the hallway. Simone had vanished. Where had she gone? And why? Why did you haul ass out of that room when you just told me that you needed to be alone? “Something has come up. I have to go.”
