A security team at the Primrose Palace gate searched us—and our car—with swift, unfriendly efficiency. I memorized their faces. Where they stood. Their weapons.

If this con was going to buy our freedom, I wanted to make sure we nailed every detail. There was no room for mistakes.

Once we were cleared, the gates opened. Owen guided our rented Range Rover up a winding brick drive. It led out onto the walled complex of the palace.

My head was on a swivel. I took note of the exits. Of cameras. Of distances between the gate and each building and door we passed. In my mind, I counted approximate paces—how long it would take us on foot to get from one spot to another.

The palace itself was enormous, four stories tall in some places with a pitched slate roofline. Very tidy. Very British, with ivy crawling up the walls and gas lamps flickering beside doors painted glossy black. The complex seemed to go on forever. A neatly arranged army of red brick columns and windows, some of which were opened to the pleasant summer evening. The gardens surrounding it were lush. So green and sweet smelling I felt like we’d left the grit and hustle of London for the country. For a different planet, even. It was quiet in here. The kind of quiet, the kind of pretty, that made your chest hurt.

Or maybe it was anxiety that made my heart contract. All of this—the palace and the flowers and the security team—it was a reminder that this con was the biggest we’d ever attempted.

The most dangerous, too. Especially considering I still hadn’t gotten a handle on who Jane was, exactly, and what she wanted.

Maybe that was part of the thrill. The not knowing. The challenge.

The hope that this really would be my last con.

“Ho-ly shit,” Owen breathed, ducking to get a better look.

“Watch it,” I said when he nearly plowed into a well-trimmed hedgerow. “As a chauffeur, don’t you think you would’ve seen places like this already? Stop being so impressed.”

Owen tugged at his chauffeur’s cap, setting it at a jaunty angle. His long dark hair, usually greasy and unkempt, was tucked into the hat. “As a billionaire, don’t you think you would’ve hired a better chauffeur?”

“Fair point.” I lifted my hips to slide my phone out of my pocket. “She said to take the first left, then a quick right. Hers is apartment 2A.”

Owen slowed down, taking the turn with care. “What’s she like?”

“Jane? She’s…interesting.” I blew out my cheeks.

“That why you’re wearing the blue blazer?”

I met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “What does that mean?”

His eyes danced. “C’mon, Charlie, we’ve been doing this for a long time. I know when you’re bringing out the big guns. But the blue blazer…you’ve never worn that for a job before. Only for real dates.”

I ran a hand down my face.

“You’re not gonna—”

“No.” I scratched my scruff just under my chin. “Of course not. I never do. You know that.”

Owen looked at me again in the mirror. “Famous last words.”

“Jesus, Owen, watch where you’re going!” I said, grabbing the headrest in front of me as he swerved, narrowly avoiding a humungous planter.

“Goddamn!” he said, banging the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. “Who would’ve thought Charlie Zeller from bumfuck South Carolina would be boning a princess? Globalism, man. It’s a real thing.”

“So is our freedom if we do this job right.” I looked at him in the mirror again. “And I’m not boning her.”

“Whatever you say.”

I let out a sigh. “Don’t forget she’s a princess. Best behavior, got it?”

“Got it, sir,” Owen said, trying on his British accent. His was still better than mine. Damn him. “I think we’re here.”

He put the car in park. My stomach dipped. More nerves. More curiosity.

What else would she surprise me with tonight?

Would she be wearing that cherry chapstick?

Yesterday I’d put a call in to my friend Monica, who owned the place we were going tonight. Monica wasn’t technically a member of Jimmy’s crew, but she had helped us out on several occasions. I’d explained everything to her—the con, the date I had with Jane—and she’d been more than happy to play her part. I just hoped Jane liked the spot.

I had my fingers on the door handle when Jane’s front door opened. She stepped outside, wearing a smile and black jeans. Jeans that were molded to her legs like a second skin. That let me see just how pert and perfect her ass was.

My fingers tightened on the handle.

Her hair was loose today, blonde and brown waves that caught the sun.

She gave us a little wave, then turned back to her door to lock it. In that moment, she didn’t look like a princess. She looked like a girl going out on a Saturday night. Casual but dressed up. A little guarded. A little excited.

Cute.

Again, not what I was fucking expecting. The first time I’d picked Veronica up for a date, she’d been so high she’d literally climbed me like a tree in her skin tight leopard-print dress.

My heart thumped once. Twice.

“Ho-ly shit,” Owen said again. “Charlie, she’s—”

“I know.” I hadn’t realized I’d gritted my teeth. “Jesus Christ, I know.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he wheezed. “You could’ve warned me. I’ve seen the pictures, but in person—”

Jane was heading for the car. Taking a quick breath through my nose, I opened my door and climbed out, pasting a smile onto my face.

“Where’s the tiger?” I asked, buttoning the top button of my blazer.

I was glad I wore the blue.

Jane’s smile turned playful as she approached, her heeled boots thudding softly on the brick drive. She was close enough to kiss. So I did. I leaned in and pressed a kiss onto her cheek, inhaling her perfume as I did. There was something familiar about it. She smelled like summer nights. Green trees. Sweet air.

My blood got warmer. Redder.

Behind me, I heard Owen getting out of the car.

“My tiger? He’s watching from the window,” she said, looking up at me. She had this teasing look in her eyes. This lit-up energy. “You know that tigers have opposable thumbs, right? So if I give him the signal, he can open the door and maul you in less than five seconds.”

I grinned. Not forced. Not pretend. A real grin.

“Tigers don’t have opposable thumbs.”

“And that’s not a magic carpet,” she said, looking past me to the Range Rover.

“Next best thing. You ready?”

She held her clutch in front of her with both hands. A barrier between us. Maybe her instincts were good—maybe that explained her guardedness. Or maybe it was something else.

Made me think of that comment she’d made. The one about not looking for anyone at the moment. Why not? Did she just want to fuck around for a while after her divorce? I got that. But I still didn’t get her blowing off all those billionaires yesterday. She’d married one of them. What the hell had that asshole done to make her run like that?

I was being the bigger asshole by far. But her ex had had a choice. I didn’t.

Besides, Jane’s past was none of my business. I had a job to do. Had to be professional.

But what did being professional entail, exactly, when I was actually enjoying the company of the woman I was being paid to seduce? This had never happened before. I felt like I was entering new territory. Blind and a little boned up.

Not ideal circumstances.

I had good reasons for not sleeping with my marks. I may have been a con, but I wasn’t a monster. The fewer emotions—and body parts—involved, the better. The less people got hurt. While keeping it to kissing didn’t necessarily make things simple or neat, it definitely made them simpler. Neater.

Stealing money was one thing. But manipulating a woman’s emotions by using her body was something else entirely.

“I’m ready,” she said.

Owen opened the back door for her. “Madam,” he said with a little bow.

“Don’t you dare Madam me,” she replied, holding out her hand. “I’m Jane.”

Owen met my eyes. I just looked at him, too stunned to do anything except stand there.

I started to get this feeling in the pit of my stomach—a feeling that Jane was more than just a little different from the girl I’d been expecting.

It wasn’t a good feeling.

Or maybe it was. I couldn’t really tell.

Owen took her hand.

“Hello, Jane. I’m Bastian. Bastian Winks.” I rolled my eyes. Owen and his stupid fucking aliases. “You look beautiful tonight, if I may be so bold.”

“Thank you.” Jane smiled. “If I may be so bold, Bastian, I like your little hat.”

“You do? I loathe it.” Owen patted it self-consciously, jutting his chin in my direction. “But he makes me wear it, so…nothing to be done, I’m afraid.”

“That’s quite enough, Bastian,” I said, putting my hand on the small of Jane’s back. Her skin was warm against my palm. “We should get going. They start at eight.”

Jane turned her smile on me. “What starts at eight?”

“You’ll see,” I said, and nodded at the car. “After you.”