CHAPTER 18
Of course, she didn’t have a dress. She’d left all her good stuff with James—he’d paid for it. Since buying a dress on short notice was a no go, enter Missy. Again.
Cecily looked in the mirror and felt good about what she saw for the first time in a really long time. Apparently, nobody in this line of work had regular storage. You couldn’t just have a trunk or a box or a closet. Your trunk had to have a secret weapons cache, your box had to have a false bottom, and your closet had to lead into a special tunnel containing a very wide selection of clothing for a variety of identities, occupations, and economic statuses.
Unlike Shane, however, Missy had no qualms about sharing her stash, probably because it was to her credit how freaking organized the woman was. Anything you needed to be, anything you wanted to do, anything you could dream up was probably there on a rack with an identification tag and its own little packet of cedar chips hung around the hanger hook.
By the time all was said and done, she’d snapped the tag off a gorgeous Von Furstenberg wrap dress, unboxed two sets of strappy sandals for Cecily to choose from, and tossed over a fancy little wristlet that pulled the whole thing together.
A dressing area the size of a Neiman Marcus VIP boutique made trying everything on a simple matter; Missy might look like something out of a Dickens musical half the time, but she had vision.
Cecily exhaled an unsteady breath, remembering how looking like this was an everyday occurrence with James. And how uncomfortable it felt trying to keep up. This felt different. She felt special now, like she was presenting Shane with something special.
“Want jewelry?” Missy asked, eyeing Cecily in her outfit like she was trying to decide where to put the next dab of paint.
Cecily wasn’t big on jewelry. She had tiny diamond-chip studs she wore every day, and that was pretty much that. Missy preempted with a sigh, obviously reading the situation. “You’re only, like, the second female who’s been in this place, and I tell you there are two guys tops who even entertain an appreciation for this shit, but I don’t wanna make you late. Your makeup looks nice, by the way; Shane’ll flip. You think he looks at you now, just wait.”
Cecily had decided on soft pinks and neutrals, a light gloss on her mouth, the focus on her eyes and hair, and, well, a bit of cleavage, courtesy of the dress. “How does he look at me?”
“Are you kidding? I could still feel the way he looks at you if I was standing behind a door.”
“I hadn’t really thought . . . I mean, I know how I look at him, so I guess I just figured that that feeling was coming from me.”
Missy was moving Cecily around by the shoulders, giving her a hell of a critical once-over. “You know, on paper, I can’t say you two make any kind of sense. But off paper?” She let Cecily go and smiled. “You’re going to have a great night. You got any questions?”
“I think I’ve got it. We pretend we’re on a date. He’ll get a couple of photographs, maybe some video . . . Flynn is bugging James’s table, and Dex is back here at the Armory with Nick trying to get some financial data from James’s credit card or whatever he uses.”
“Yeah. It really is that simple. Just have a good time. Give Shane the heads-up if you see anything he should know about.” Missy lowered her voice. “And enjoy the date.”
“Pretend date,” Cecily clarified.
“Pretend date. Right.”
“Thanks, Missy. Thanks for everything. For opening your door to me.” She hoisted the expensive wristlet with the bracelet cuff and gave a wicked smile. “Particularly, the closet.”
Missy laughed. “What time is he coming?”
“I’m meeting him at his car.”
Missy’s eyebrow hiked.
“What? Is that weird? I mean, it feels a little weird meeting him at your room.”
“A, it’s your room too as long as you’re here. B, Shane coming to pick you up here in my room for your first date? I’d eat that shit up.” Missy sighed. “Oh, well. With those heels, take the east wing freight elevator down. It’ll save you a hike.”
She heaved the door open, and Cecily stood up, suddenly nervous. Missy’s thumb jerked upward in a “win” sign, and then she literally pushed Cecily through the door. “Go get ’im, tiger.” And then the door slammed shut.
Missy’s elevator tip was a good one, given that the lights were motion sensor only, and a swath of darkness lay in front of her. She made her way down to the garage without seeing anybody and walked to the stall where Shane’s BMW slept barely visible in a shaft of light coming through one of the high windows.
The garage was impressive, to say the least. It looked like a hangar that could house three jumbo jets, but this one looked like it only held one small private jet. The rest of the space held a variety of motorcycles, cars, and armored vehicles repurposed from various international wars, if the markings were accurate. An intricate car elevator displayed at least eight different cars, a selection of vans and trucks, and a rack that actually held an assortment of scooters, bicycles, and hauling equipment. The walls were covered with tools and accessories, and another version of the dry-cleaner pulley system from Missy’s closet, full of what looked like costumes. She couldn’t see past the first row, but the top layer held several sets of motorcycle leathers, police uniforms, armed services, and service-industry suits.
It felt weird standing in the drafty, cavernous space. Too much time and space . . . Cecily shifted her weight from one foot to the next, trying to relax, trying not to make this a big deal, when—oh, boy, did it feel like a big deal.
She heard a door open, but no shaft of light appeared to give her any sort of clue, reminding Cecily again that she wasn’t dealing with normal.
Shane approached her, a completely deadpan expression on his face.
He’s going to cancel. No, he can’t cancel. This is not a real date. This is a mission.
“Hi,” Shane said quietly, his eyes starting at her toes and moving carefully and systematically up her body, where they stalled out at the cleavage revealed by the deep V of the dress and then finally wrenched free and proceeded straight to her mouth for a tense second before they took in the rest of her.
Shane brought her back with a soft “You look . . .” He shook his head, not rushing his words, being deliberate when he settled on “incredible.”
“So do you,” Cecily blurted, all nervous laughter and shaky footing. No lie. No lie at all. Shane looked like he usually did but like he deliberated, like he took a moment to smooth the edges. For one thing, he was wearing new jeans, ink black; a black blazer pulled up at the sleeves; and a button-down shirt. He’d taken a razor to his face, cleaning up his shadow but not eliminating it, for which Cecily said a silent thanks. He wore black boots under his jeans, the black shiny enough to suggest he saved them for nicer occasions, and he considered this one of them.
“Would it be inappropriate to ask you to turn around in a circle?” Cecily said on a tease.
Shane answered that by hauling her into his arms and lifting her off her feet. Cecily gasped, and he was all over the opportunity, his mouth taking hers for a searing kiss. She wove her fingers into his hair, even as he trapped her hard against his chest—all solid-as-fucking-hell man—and then he whirled her around in a circle.
His lips slid to her neck, leaving a trail of heat as he pressed Cecily down on the hood of his car.
“Never too early to get in character,” Shane said.
“Maybe you should do that again,” Cecily said, coming up for air, trying to control herself even as she arched her back, searching for his body. “For the sake of the mission.”
“Love that,” he said, his hands sliding under her back, his mouth back on hers, biting, sucking, claiming.
So, so good. This was different. This was Shane taking what he wanted for himself, his brain not full of shouldn’t, can’t, or won’t.
And Cecily could feel the delicious burn on every inch of her body.
Jesus, he could kiss.
When he finally broke away, leaving her panting and thinking that few things short of bringing down James Peterson could possibly be worth the interruption, Shane’s dark eyes captured her gaze. He stared down at her, holding her in his arms on the hood of his car in the silence of the old drill hall.
The blankness was gone, absolutely erased. The same hot, bad boy was holding her in his arms, the weight of his body capturing her in his embrace. But something had unlocked. Maybe not everything, but the doors were starting to open, and Cecily just loved it. Loved it. Because it meant there wasn’t so much distance between them after all.
“If I walk halfway and you walk halfway, we meet in the middle,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, we do,” he said forcefully. He shook his head and then added, “Hate to say it, but we’ve got to get on the road.”
“Of course,” Cecily murmured.
Neither of them attempted to move.
“Fuck,” Shane finally said. “You know how to kiss. Got a hint back in Chicago, you just touched your tongue to me. Sweetest thing I ever had, and I still thought I could shake it. Had no idea what was waiting, though.”
“I can’t help it,” Cecily said lamely, staring at his mouth, wishing they could just do it some more and ignore the part where they analyzed it. “You just bring it out in me. It’s like there’s a bigger, brighter version of me I’ve been holding back on.”
“No holding back anymore, yeah? I can’t believe you convinced Rothgar to let you do this.”
“Well,” she said with a grin. “I look innocent, but I guess I know how to get what I want.” No more holding back. On anything.
Shane hadn’t figured out how the hell he was going to handle Rothgar and Dex with this “no more holding back” business. The team worried all the time about distractions; the more complicated jobs couldn’t handle distractions, and each didn’t hesitate to point out when someone gave less than 100 percent. Dex’s leg, Flynn’s face, Nick’s situation. . . there was plenty of proof to show that it wasn’t a minor concern.
If he was really going to let Cecily into his heart, he’d have her on his mind all the time now, not only as a distraction merely because he’d like to get her into his bed and claim her once and for all but also because he worried about her becoming collateral damage.
She had no interest in committing to the Hudson Kings life. She’d made it clear that she wanted to be normal. Take classes. Get freelance work that involved a computer and a mouse instead of a weapon, a hacking device, or a bag of unmarked bills. But by being here tonight, he knew without a doubt that there was something about this life that spoke to her, appealed to her, and she was willing to meet him on that halfway line. He suddenly wondered if she understood what that meant to him. Shane thought of the moment she’d walked into the gym, straight into the sights of Shorty and his pathetic band of brothers. He’d never had to worry about somebody he loved getting touched by that kind of dirt.
Stop thinking, sweet boy . . .
Nothing this sweet ever lasts . . .
Madison 57 was your typical tony New York eatery. Modern chandeliers dripping with crystals were paired with gleaming wood tables and striped velvet-upholstered seats. Not Shane’s atmosphere of choice, but the food was probably excellent. Missy’d made the reservation, so Shane was confident they’d be at the right table, but he tipped big in case James and Anya were late and they needed to hang around awhile. As they headed up the stairs, Shane shielded Cecily from sight with his body, making it look like normal PDA. They settled in to their table at the edge of a gold-railed balcony.
It had a clear view of James’s favorite table on the mezzanine but was a little too high for the perfect camera shot if he wanted a clear view of their faces. He’d have to come up with something on the fly for that.
Shane stuck his hand in his pocket and used the wireless remote to unmute his comms device. “Nice table,” he said to the hostess, and then muted it again.
She smiled and gestured for their server to bring water and menus.
“We’re a go,” Chase’s voice said through the comms to the whole team, confirming Shane was in place and the mission was on. Shane imagined Rothgar standing in the war room with his arms crossed over his chest, silently monitoring the screens and the traffic coming over the comms.
A sharp streak of static warped the line.
“Sorry,” Flynn muttered, and the sound cleared up. Shane pretended to scratch an itch and adjusted his earpiece slightly.
“You going to order for me?” Cecily teased.
Shane’s gaze shot up from the menu, taking in the flicker of heat in her eyes. “No.”
“I think you should. You know the food better.”
Shane grinned and gestured for the server. As he ordered a whole host of small plates, he reached out and took Cecily’s hand. When he finished, the server took a matchbox from his long, monogrammed apron and lit the white candle between them, which he then moved off the table to the wide balcony rail. “Gives you a little more space,” the man murmured.
Cecily bit her lip on a smile and looked down.
“Anya’s settled in the bar, ordering a drink . . . ,” Chase said.
“Oh, yeah, baby, and using a credit card to start a tab,” Flynn whispered into the comms. “Dex? You siphoning that info for Nick?”
“On it,” Dex said.
With his hand covering hers, Cecily was blushing—happy blushing—her free hand fiddling with the neck of a dress that had started out real closed up but was kind of easing up with time. Cute. And hot. It also did not escape Shane’s notice that the dress seemed to be held together by a single string that went around Cecily’s waist and tied in front.
A single string keeping that dress on her body.
“James is picking up Anya in the bar,” Chase said.
“They aren’t miked until they’re at their table,” Flynn said.
Shane’s gaze went over the balcony and then back to the string at Cecily’s waist. It was gonna be a long night.
The dishes started coming out, one after the next, enough so that the server had to get creative with a little multilevel stand. Shane looked at the tapas with total amusement. He’d have to eat about a hundred of those little plates to make a meal. “I don’t actually eat out much,” he said. “On the road, it’s fast food or hotel food. Here in New York, I usually go to a place called Bianchi’s. Romeo’s got a big family, and they own a seriously kick-ass Italian restaurant . . .”
He stared at the ice cubes swirling in his glass. “Like I told you, I wasn’t very old when suddenly it was just me. No relatives. I stayed on couches, basements, relied on friends. Tried out the streets, learned a lot of things I use today and learned a lot about things I need to stay away from. Figured out how to dodge social services, because everybody knows that shit’s a crapshoot. Never got too attached. Known Romeo’s family a long time. They invite me to every holiday known to man. Used to go when I was younger, but I always kind of felt like I was borrowing a family. Seriously, if you’re going to borrow a family, the Bianchis are it. But it wasn’t my family, you know? I couldn’t put it together in my mind. Ma Bianchi’s always had an open door for me, though. And later, Rothgar. But in all these years, no matter what I try, I don’t feel like I’m home.”
He looked up at Cecily then and pierced her with his gaze. “Thing is I’m beginning to think it’s because I never really tried stepping over the threshold. Kept my distance to be safe, but just like everything else, where there’s no risk, there’s no reward.”
Shane reached out across the table and tucked a piece of Cecily’s hair behind her ear, letting the lock slip slowly through his fingers, and said quietly, “Sometimes when I look at you, you look like that reward. I never looked for someone like you, Cecily. Never wanted it. Because love that gets taken away is the most painful experience in the world. Nothing close. For a minute there, I thought maybe we could just be like the rest. Just physical, because, sweetling, my body cannot get enough of you. I’ve had so many moments when I had to fight myself over wanting to fuck you, for many reasons. So many moments. But you’re different. You’re special. There’s no answer to what I just said. I just wanted to say it. I wanted you to hear those words. Because no matter what happens with us, I have your back, and nobody, nobody is ever going to hurt you again.”
Cecily sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. And then the huge smile he’d put on her face slowly vanished as James Peterson and Anya Gorchakov were led through the floor of the restaurant and seated in the corner by the piano and the extremely large ficus plant.